diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:55 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:24:55 -0700 |
| commit | cc52bbb0a95c277d25b437a60575198a54b3097a (patch) | |
| tree | c72b2fe66a5774f3ca1f15f8c7714419aa95396a /5135-h/5135-h.htm | |
Diffstat (limited to '5135-h/5135-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 5135-h/5135-h.htm | 15570 |
1 files changed, 15570 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/5135-h/5135-h.htm b/5135-h/5135-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7d0602 --- /dev/null +++ b/5135-h/5135-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15570 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fortune of the Rougons, by Émile Zola</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fortune of the Rougons, by Émile Zola</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Fortune of the Rougons</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Émile Zola</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 11, 2002 [eBook #5135]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 20, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Dagny, John Bickers and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS ***</div> + +<h1>The Fortune of the Rougons</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Émile Zola</h2> + +<h3>Edited With Introduction By Ernest Alfred Vizetelly</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">AUTHOR’S PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap00"><b>THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p> +“The Fortune of the Rougons” is the initial volume of the +Rougon-Macquart series. Though it was by no means M. Zola’s first essay +in fiction, it was undoubtedly his first great bid for genuine literary fame, +and the foundation of what must necessarily be regarded as his life-work. The +idea of writing the “natural and social history of a family under the +Second Empire,” extending to a score of volumes, was doubtless suggested +to M. Zola by Balzac’s immortal “Comedie Humaine.” He was +twenty-eight years of age when this idea first occurred to him; he was +fifty-three when he at last sent the manuscript of his concluding volume, +“Dr. Pascal,” to the press. He had spent five-and-twenty years in +working out his scheme, persevering with it doggedly and stubbornly, whatever +rebuffs he might encounter, whatever jeers and whatever insults might be +directed against him by the ignorant, the prejudiced, and the hypocritical. +Truth was on the march and nothing could stay it; even as, at the present hour, +its march, if slow, none the less continues athwart another and a different +crisis of the illustrious novelist’s career. +</p> + +<p> +It was in the early summer of 1869 that M. Zola first began the actual writing +of “The Fortune of the Rougons.” It was only in the following year, +however, that the serial publication of the work commenced in the columns of +“Le Siècle,” the Republican journal of most influence in Paris in +those days of the Second Empire. The Franco-German war interrupted this issue +of the story, and publication in book form did not take place until the latter +half of 1871, a time when both the war and the Commune had left Paris +exhausted, supine, with little or no interest in anything. No more unfavourable +moment for the issue of an ambitious work of fiction could have been found. +Some two or three years went by, as I well remember, before anything like a +revival of literature and of public interest in literature took place. Thus, M. +Zola launched his gigantic scheme under auspices which would have made many +another man recoil. “The Fortune of the Rougons,” and two or three +subsequent volumes of his series, attracted but a moderate degree of attention, +and it was only on the morrow of the publication of +“L’Assommoir” that he awoke, like Byron, to find himself +famous. +</p> + +<p> +As previously mentioned, the Rougon-Macquart series forms twenty volumes. The +last of these, “Dr. Pascal,” appeared in 1893. Since then M. Zola +has written “Lourdes,” “Rome,” and “Paris.” +Critics have repeated <i>ad nauseam</i> that these last works constitute a new +departure on M. Zola’s part, and, so far as they formed a new series, +this is true. But the suggestion that he has in any way repented of the +Rougon-Macquart novels is ridiculous. As he has often told me of recent years, +it is, as far as possible, his plan to subordinate his style and methods to his +subject. To have written a book like “Rome,” so largely devoted to +the ambitions of the Papal See, in the same way as he had written books dealing +with the drunkenness or other vices of Paris, would have been the climax of +absurdity. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the publication of “Rome,” was the signal for a general outcry +on the part of English and American reviewers that Zolaism, as typified by the +Rougon-Macquart series, was altogether a thing of the past. To my thinking this +is a profound error. M. Zola has always remained faithful to himself. The only +difference that I perceive between his latest work, “Paris,” and +certain Rougon-Macquart volumes, is that with time, experience and assiduity, +his genius has expanded and ripened, and that the hesitation, the groping for +truth, so to say, which may be found in some of his earlier writings, has +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +At the time when “The Fortune of the Rougons” was first published, +none but the author himself can have imagined that the foundation-stone of one +of the great literary monuments of the century had just been laid. From the +“story” point of view the book is one of M. Zola’s very best, +although its construction—particularly as regards the long interlude of +the idyll of Miette and Silvère—is far from being perfect. Such a work +when first issued might well bring its author a measure of popularity, but it +could hardly confer fame. Nowadays, however, looking backward, and bearing in +mind that one here has the genius of M. Zola’s lifework, “The +Fortune of the Rougons” becomes a book of exceptional interest and +importance. This has been so well understood by French readers that during the +last six or seven years the annual sales of the work have increased threefold. +Where, over a course of twenty years, 1,000 copies were sold, 2,500 and 3,000 +are sold to-day. How many living English novelists can say the same of their +early essays in fiction, issued more than a quarter of a century ago? +</p> + +<p> +I may here mention that at the last date to which I have authentic figures, +that is, Midsummer 1897 (prior, of course, to what is called +“L’Affaire Dreyfus”), there had been sold of the entire +Rougon-Macquart series (which had begun in 1871) 1,421,000 copies. These were +of the ordinary Charpentier editions of the French originals. By adding thereto +several <i>éditions de luxe</i> and the widely-circulated popular illustrated +editions of certain volumes, the total amounts roundly to 2,100,000. +“Rome,” “Lourdes,” “Paris,” and all M. +Zola’s other works, apart from the “Rougon-Macquart” series, +together with the translations into a dozen different languages—English, +German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Danish, Portuguese, Bohemian, Hungarian, and +others—are not included in the above figures. Otherwise the latter might +well be doubled. Nor is account taken of the many serial issues which have +brought M. Zola’s views to the knowledge of the masses of all Europe. +</p> + +<p> +It is, of course, the celebrity attaching to certain of M. Zola’s +literary efforts that has stimulated the demand for his other writings. Among +those which are well worthy of being read for their own sakes, I would assign a +prominent place to the present volume. Much of the story element in it is +admirable, and, further, it shows M. Zola as a genuine satirist and humorist. +The Rougons’ yellow drawing-room and its <i>habitués</i>, and many of the +scenes between Pierre Rougon and his wife Félicité, are worthy of the pen of +Douglas Jerrold. The whole account, indeed, of the town of Plassans, its +customs and its notabilities, is satire of the most effective kind, because it +is satire true to life, and never degenerates into mere caricature. +</p> + +<p> +It is a rather curious coincidence that, at the time when M. Zola was thus +portraying the life of Provence, his great contemporary, bosom friend, and +rival for literary fame, the late Alphonse Daudet, should have been producing, +under the title of “The Provencal Don Quixote,” that unrivalled +presentment of the foibles of the French Southerner, with everyone nowadays +knows as “Tartarin of Tarascon.” It is possible that M. Zola, while +writing his book, may have read the instalments of “Le Don Quichotte +Provencal” published in the Paris “Figaro,” and it may be +that this perusal imparted that fillip to his pen to which we owe the many +amusing particulars that he gives us of the town of Plassans. Plassans, I may +mention, is really the Provencal Aix, which M. Zola’s father provided +with water by means of a canal still bearing his name. M. Zola himself, though +born in Paris, spent the greater part of his childhood there. Tarascon, as is +well known, never forgave Alphonse Daudet for his “Tartarin”; and +in a like way M. Zola, who doubtless counts more enemies than any other +literary man of the period, has none bitterer than the worthy citizens of Aix. +They cannot forget or forgive the rascally Rougon-Macquarts. +</p> + +<p> +The name Rougon-Macquart has to me always suggested that splendid and amusing +type of the cynical rogue, Robert Macaire. But, of course, both Rougon and +Macquart are genuine French names and not inventions. Indeed, several years ago +I came by chance upon them both, in an old French deed which I was examining at +the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. I there found mention of a Rougon family +and a Macquart family dwelling virtually side by side in the same village. +This, however, was in Champagne, not in Provence. Both families farmed +vineyards for a once famous abbey in the vicinity of Epernay, early in the +seventeenth century. To me, personally, this trivial discovery meant a great +deal. It somehow aroused my interest in M. Zola and his works. Of the latter I +had then only glanced through two or three volumes. With M. Zola himself I was +absolutely unacquainted. However, I took the liberty to inform him of my little +discovery; and afterwards I read all the books that he had published. Now, as +it is fairly well known, I have given the greater part of my time, for several +years past, to the task of familiarising English readers with his writings. An +old deed, a chance glance, followed by the great friendship of my life and +years of patient labour. If I mention this matter, it is solely with the object +of endorsing the truth of the saying that the most insignificant incidents +frequently influence and even shape our careers. +</p> + +<p> +But I must come back to “The Fortune of the Rougons.” It has, as I +have said, its satirical and humorous side; but it also contains a strong +element of pathos. The idyll of Miette and Silvère is a very touching one, and +quite in accord with the conditions of life prevailing in Provence at the +period M. Zola selects for his narrative. Miette is a frank child of nature; +Silvère, her lover, in certain respects foreshadows, a quarter of a century in +advance, the Abbé Pierre Fromont of “Lourdes,” “Rome,” +and “Paris.” The environment differs, of course, but germs of the +same nature may readily be detected in both characters. As for the other +personages of M. Zola’s book—on the one hand, Aunt Dide, Pierre +Rougon, his wife, Félicité, and their sons Eugène, Aristide and Pascal, and, on +the other, Macquart, his daughter Gervaise of “L’Assommoir,” +and his son Jean of “La Terre” and “La Debacle,” +together with the members of the Mouret branch of the ravenous, neurotic, +duplex family—these are analysed or sketched in a way which renders their +subsequent careers, as related in other volumes of the series, thoroughly +consistent with their origin and their up-bringing. I venture to asset that, +although it is possible to read individual volumes of the Rougon-Macquart +series while neglecting others, nobody can really understand any one of these +books unless he makes himself acquainted with the alpha and the omega of the +edifice, that is, “The Fortune of the Rougons” and “Dr. +Pascal.” +</p> + +<p> +With regard to the present English translation, it is based on one made for my +father several years ago. But to convey M. Zola’s meaning more accurately +I have found it necessary to alter, on an average, at least one sentence out of +every three. Thus, though I only claim to edit the volume, it is, to all +intents and purposes, quite a new English version of M. Zola’s work. +</p> + +<p> +E. A. V. MERTON, SURREY: August, 1898. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>AUTHOR’S PREFACE</h2> + +<p> +I wish to explain how a family, a small group of human beings, conducts itself +in a given social system after blossoming forth and giving birth to ten or +twenty members, who, though they may appear, at the first glance, profoundly +dissimilar one from the other, are, as analysis demonstrates, most closely +linked together from the point of view of affinity. Heredity, like gravity, has +its laws. +</p> + +<p> +By resolving the duplex question of temperament and environment, I shall +endeavour to discover and follow the thread of connection which leads +mathematically from one man to another. And when I have possession of every +thread, and hold a complete social group in my hands, I shall show this group +at work, participating in an historical period; I shall depict it in action, +with all its varied energies, and I shall analyse both the will power of each +member, and the general tendency of the whole. +</p> + +<p> +The great characteristic of the Rougon-Macquarts, the group or family which I +propose to study, is their ravenous appetite, the great outburst of our age +which rushes upon enjoyment. Physiologically the Rougon-Macquarts represent the +slow succession of accidents pertaining to the nerves or the blood, which +befall a race after the first organic lesion, and, according to environment, +determine in each individual member of the race those feelings, desires and +passions—briefly, all the natural and instinctive manifestations peculiar +to humanity—whose outcome assumes the conventional name of virtue or +vice. Historically the Rougon-Macquarts proceed from the masses, radiate +throughout the whole of contemporary society, and ascend to all sorts of +positions by the force of that impulsion of essentially modern origin, which +sets the lower classes marching through the social system. And thus the dramas +of their individual lives recount the story of the Second Empire, from the +ambuscade of the Coup d’État to the treachery of Sedan. +</p> + +<p> +For three years I had been collecting the necessary documents for this long +work, and the present volume was even written, when the fall of the Bonapartes, +which I needed artistically, and with, as if by fate, I ever found at the end +of the drama, without daring to hope that it would prove so near at hand, +suddenly occurred and furnished me with the terrible but necessary +<i>dénouement</i> for my work. My scheme is, at this date, completed; the +circle in which my characters will revolve is perfected; and my work becomes a +picture of a departed reign, of a strange period of human madness and shame. +</p> + +<p> +This work, which will comprise several episodes, is therefore, in my mind, the +natural and social history of a family under the Second Empire. And the first +episode, here called “The Fortune of the Rougons,” should +scientifically be entitled “The Origin.” +</p> + +<p class="right"> ÉMILE ZOLA +</p> + +<p class="letter"> P<small>ARIS</small>, <i>July</i> 1, 1871. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap00"></a>THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +On quitting Plassans by the Rome Gate, on the southern side of the town, you +will find, on the right side of the road to Nice, and a little way past the +first suburban houses, a plot of land locally known as the Aire Saint-Mittre. +</p> + +<p> +This Aire Saint-Mittre is of oblong shape and on a level with the footpath of +the adjacent road, from which it is separated by a strip of trodden grass. A +narrow blind alley fringed with a row of hovels borders it on the right; while +on the left, and at the further end, it is closed in by bits of wall overgrown +with moss, above which can be seen the top branches of the mulberry-trees of +the Jas-Meiffren—an extensive property with an entrance lower down the +road. Enclosed upon three sides, the Aire Saint-Mittre leads nowhere, and is +only crossed by people out for a stroll. +</p> + +<p> +In former times it was a cemetery under the patronage of Saint-Mittre, a +greatly honoured Provencal saint; and in 1851 the old people of Plassans could +still remember having seen the wall of the cemetery standing, although the +place itself had been closed for years. The soil had been so glutted with +corpses that it had been found necessary to open a new burial-ground at the +other end of town. Then the old abandoned cemetery had been gradually purified +by the dark thick-set vegetation which had sprouted over it every spring. The +rich soil, in which the gravediggers could no longer delve without turning up +some human remains, was possessed of wondrous fertility. The tall weeds +overtopped the walls after the May rains and the June sunshine so as to be +visible from the high road; while inside, the place presented the appearance of +a deep, dark green sea studded with large blossoms of singular brilliancy. +Beneath one’s feet amidst the close-set stalks one could feel that the +damp soil reeked and bubbled with sap. +</p> + +<p> +Among the curiosities of the place at that time were some large pear-trees, +with twisted and knotty boughs; but none of the housewives of Plassans cared to +pluck the large fruit which grew upon them. Indeed, the townspeople spoke of +this fruit with grimaces of disgust. No such delicacy, however, restrained the +suburban urchins, who assembled in bands at twilight and climbed the walls to +steal the pears, even before they were ripe. +</p> + +<p> +The trees and the weeds with their vigorous growth had rapidly assimilated all +the decomposing matter in the old cemetery of Saint-Mittre; the malaria rising +from the human remains interred there had been greedily absorbed by the flowers +and the fruit; so that eventually the only odour one could detect in passing by +was the strong perfume of wild gillyflowers. This had merely been a question of +a few summers. +</p> + +<p> +At last the townspeople determined to utilise this common property, which had +long served no purpose. The walls bordering the roadway and the blind alley +were pulled down; the weeds and the pear-trees uprooted; the sepulchral remains +were removed; the ground was dug deep, and such bones as the earth was willing +to surrender were heaped up in a corner. For nearly a month the youngsters, who +lamented the loss of the pear-trees, played at bowls with the skulls; and one +night some practical jokers even suspended femurs and tibias to all the +bell-handles of the town. This scandal, which is still remembered at Plassans, +did not cease until the authorities decided to have the bones shot into a hole +which had been dug for the purpose in the new cemetery. All work, however, is +usually carried out with discreet dilatoriness in country towns, and so during +an entire week the inhabitants saw a solitary cart removing these human remains +as if they had been mere rubbish. The vehicle had to cross Plassans from end to +end, and owing to the bad condition of the roads fragments of bones and +handfuls of rich mould were scattered at every jolt. There was not the briefest +religious ceremony, nothing but slow and brutish cartage. Never before had a +town felt so disgusted. +</p> + +<p> +For several years the old cemetery remained an object of terror. Although it +adjoined the main thoroughfare and was open to all comers, it was left quite +deserted, a prey to fresh vegetable growth. The local authorities, who had +doubtless counted on selling it and seeing houses built upon it, were evidently +unable to find a purchaser. The recollection of the heaps of bones and the cart +persistently jolting through the streets may have made people recoil from the +spot; or perhaps the indifference that was shown was due to the indolence, the +repugnance to pulling down and setting up again, which is characteristic of +country people. At all events the authorities still retained possession of the +ground, and at last forgot their desire to dispose of it. They did not even +erect a fence round it, but left it open to all comers. Then, as time rolled +on, people gradually grew accustomed to this barren spot; they would sit on the +grass at the edges, walk about, or gather in groups. When the grass had been +worn away and the trodden soil had become grey and hard, the old cemetery +resembled a badly-levelled public square. As if the more effectually to efface +the memory of all objectionable associations, the inhabitants slowly changed +the very appellation of the place, retaining but the name of the saint, which +was likewise applied to the blind alley dipping down at one corner of the +field. Thus there was the Aire Saint-Mittre and the Impasse Saint-Mittre. +</p> + +<p> +All this dates, however, from some considerable time back. For more than thirty +years now the Aire Saint-Mittre has presented a different appearance. One day +the townspeople, far too inert and indifferent to derive any advantage from it, +let it, for a trifling consideration, to some suburban wheelwrights, who turned +it into a wood-yard. At the present day it is still littered with huge pieces +of timber thirty or forty feet long, lying here and there in piles, and looking +like lofty overturned columns. These piles of timber, disposed at intervals +from one end of the yard to the other, are a continual source of delight to the +local urchins. In some places the ground is covered with fallen wood, forming a +kind of uneven flooring over which it is impossible to walk, unless one balance +one’s self with marvellous dexterity. Troops of children amuse themselves +with this exercise all day long. You will see them jumping over the big beams, +walking in Indian file along the narrow ends, or else crawling astride them; +various games which generally terminate in blows and bellowings. Sometimes, +too, a dozen of them will sit, closely packed one against the other, on the +thin end of a pole raised a few feet from the ground, and will see-saw there +for hours together. The Aire Saint-Mittre thus serves as a recreation ground, +where for more than a quarter of a century all the little suburban ragamuffins +have been in the habit of wearing out the seats of their breeches. +</p> + +<p> +The strangeness of the place is increased by the circumstance that wandering +gipsies, by a sort of traditional custom always select the vacant portions of +it for their encampments. Whenever any caravan arrives at Plassans it takes up +its quarters on the Aire Saint-Mittre. The place is consequently never empty. +There is always some strange band there, some troop of wild men and withered +women, among whom groups of healthy-looking children roll about on the grass. +These people live in the open air, regardless of everybody, setting their pots +boiling, eating nameless things, freely displaying their tattered garments, and +sleeping, fighting, kissing, and reeking with mingled filth and misery. +</p> + +<p> +The field, formerly so still and deserted, save for the buzzing of hornets +around the rich blossoms in the heavy sunshine, has thus become a very rowdy +spot, resounding with the noisy quarrels of the gipsies and the shrill cries of +the urchins of the suburb. In one corner there is a primitive saw-mill for +cutting the timber, the noise from which serves as a dull, continuous bass +accompaniment to the sharp voices. The wood is placed on two high tressels, and +a couple of sawyers, one of whom stands aloft on the timber itself, while the +other underneath is half blinded by the falling sawdust, work a large saw to +and fro for hours together, with rigid machine-like regularity, as if they were +wire-pulled puppets. The wood they saw is stacked, plank by plank, along the +wall at the end, in carefully arranged piles six or eight feet high, which +often remain there several seasons, and constitute one of the charms of the +Aire Saint-Mittre. Between these stacks are mysterious, retired little alleys +leading to a broader path between the timber and the wall, a deserted strip of +verdure whence only small patches of sky can be seen. The vigorous vegetation +and the quivering, deathlike stillness of the old cemetery still reign in this +path. In all the country round Plassans there is no spot more instinct with +languor, solitude, and love. It is a most delightful place for love-making. +When the cemetery was being cleared the bones must have been heaped up in this +corner; for even to-day it frequently happens that one’s foot comes +across some fragment of a skull lying concealed in the damp turf. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody, however, now thinks of the bodies that once slept under that turf. In +the daytime only the children go behind the piles of wood when playing at hide +and seek. The green path remains virginal, unknown to others who see nought but +the wood-yard crowded with timber and grey with dust. In the morning and +afternoon, when the sun is warm, the whole place swarms with life. Above all +the turmoil, above the ragamuffins playing among the timber, and the gipsies +kindling fires under their cauldrons, the sharp silhouette of the sawyer +mounted on his beam stands out against the sky, moving to and fro with the +precision of clockwork, as if to regulate the busy activity that has sprung up +in this spot once set apart for eternal slumber. Only the old people who sit on +the planks, basking in the setting sun, speak occasionally among themselves of +the bones which they once saw carted through the streets of Plassans by the +legendary tumbrel. +</p> + +<p> +When night falls the Aire Saint-Mittre loses its animation, and looks like some +great black hole. At the far end one may just espy the dying embers of the +gipsies’ fires, and at times shadows slink noiselessly into the dense +darkness. The place becomes quite sinister, particularly in winter time. +</p> + +<p> +One Sunday evening, at about seven o’clock, a young man stepped lightly +from the Impasse Saint-Mittre, and, closely skirting the walls, took his way +among the timber in the wood-yard. It was in the early part of December, 1851. +The weather was dry and cold. The full moon shone with that sharp brilliancy +peculiar to winter moons. The wood-yard did not have the forbidding appearance +which it wears on rainy nights; illumined by stretches of white light, and +wrapped in deep and chilly silence, it spread around with a soft, melancholy +aspect. +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds the young man paused on the edge of the yard and gazed +mistrustfully in front of him. He carried a long gun, the butt-end of which was +hidden under his jacket, while the barrel, pointed towards the ground, +glittered in the moonlight. Pressing the weapon to his side, he attentively +examined the square shadows cast by the piles of timber. The ground looked like +a chess-board, with black and white squares clearly defined by alternate +patches of light and shade. The sawyers’ tressels in the centre of the +plot threw long, narrow fantastic shadows, suggesting some huge geometrical +figure, upon a strip of bare grey ground. The rest of the yard, the flooring of +beams, formed a great couch on which the light reposed, streaked here and there +with the slender black shadows which edged the different pieces of timber. In +the frigid silence under the wintry moon, the motionless, recumbent poles, +stiffened, as it were, with sleep and cold, recalled the corpses of the old +cemetery. The young man cast but a rapid glance round the empty space; there +was not a creature, not a sound, no danger of being seen or heard. The black +patches at the further end caused him more anxiety, but after a brief +examination he plucked up courage and hurriedly crossed the wood-yard. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he felt himself under cover he slackened his pace. He was now in the +green pathway skirting the wall behind the piles of planks. Here his very +footsteps became inaudible; the frozen grass scarcely crackled under his tread. +He must have loved the spot, have feared no danger, sought nothing but what was +pleasant there. He no longer concealed his gun. The path stretched away like a +dark trench, except that the moonrays, gliding ever and anon between the piles +of timber, then streaked the grass with patches of light. All slept, both +darkness and light, with the same deep, soft, sad slumber. No words can +describe the calm peacefulness of the place. The young man went right down the +path, and stopped at the end where the walls of the Jas-Meiffren form an angle. +Here he listened as if to ascertain whether any sound might be coming from the +adjoining estate. At last, hearing nothing, he stooped down, thrust a plank +aside, and hid his gun in a timber-stack. +</p> + +<p> +An old tombstone, which had been overlooked in the clearing of the +burial-ground, lay in the corner, resting on its side and forming a high and +slightly sloping seat. The rain had worn its edges, and moss was slowly eating +into it. Nevertheless, the following fragment of an inscription, cut on the +side which was sinking into the ground, might still have been distinguished in +the moonlight: “<i>Here lieth . . . Marie . . . died . . .</i>” The +finger of time had effaced the rest. +</p> + +<p> +When the young man had concealed his gun he again listened attentively, and +still hearing nothing, resolved to climb upon the stone. The wall being low, he +was able to rest his elbows on the coping. He could, however, perceive nothing +except a flood of light beyond the row of mulberry-trees skirting the wall. The +flat ground of the Jas-Meiffren spread out under the moon like an immense sheet +of unbleached linen; a hundred yards away the farmhouse and its outbuildings +formed a still whiter patch. The young man was still gazing anxiously in that +direction when, suddenly, one of the town clocks slowly and solemnly struck +seven. He counted the strokes, and then jumped down, apparently surprised and +relieved. +</p> + +<p> +He seated himself on the tombstone, like one who is prepared to wait some +considerable time. And for about half an hour he remained motionless and deep +in thought, apparently quite unconscious of the cold, while his eyes gazed +fixedly at a mass of shadow. He had placed himself in a dark corner, but the +beams of the rising moon had gradually reached him, and at last his head was in +the full light. +</p> + +<p> +He was a strong, sturdy-looking lad, with a fine mouth, and soft delicate skin +that bespoke youthfulness. He looked about seventeen years of age, and was +handsome in a characteristic way. +</p> + +<p> +His thin, long face looked like the work of some master sculptor; his high +forehead, overhanging brows, aquiline nose, broad flat chin, and protruding +cheek bones, gave singularly bold relief to his countenance. Such a face would, +with advancing age, become too bony, as fleshless as that of a knight errant. +But at this stage of youth, with chin and cheek lightly covered with soft down, +its latent harshness was attenuated by the charming softness of certain +contours which had remained vague and childlike. His soft black eyes, still +full of youth, also lent delicacy to his otherwise vigorous countenance. The +young fellow would probably not have fascinated all women, as he was not what +one calls a handsome man; but his features, as a whole, expressed such ardent +and sympathetic life, such enthusiasm and energy, that they doubtless engaged +the thoughts of the girls of his own part—those sunburnt girls of the +South—as he passed their doors on sultry July evenings. +</p> + +<p> +He remained seated upon the tombstone, wrapped in thought, and apparently quite +unconscious of the moonlight which now fell upon his chest and legs. He was of +middle stature, rather thick-set, with over-developed arms and a +labourer’s hands, already hardened by toil; his feet, shod with heavy +laced boots, looked large and square-toed. His general appearance, more +particularly the heaviness of his limbs, bespoke lowly origin. There was, +however, something in him, in the upright bearing of his neck and the +thoughtful gleams of his eyes, which seemed to indicate an inner revolt against +the brutifying manual labour which was beginning to bend him to the ground. He +was, no doubt, an intelligent nature buried beneath the oppressive burden of +race and class; one of those delicate refined minds embedded in a rough +envelope, from which they in vain struggle to free themselves. Thus, in spite +of his vigour, he seemed timid and restless, feeling a kind of unconscious +shame at his imperfection. An honest lad he doubtless was, whose very ignorance +had generated enthusiasm, whose manly heart was impelled by childish intellect, +and who could show alike the submissiveness of a woman and the courage of a +hero. On the evening in question he was dressed in a coat and trousers of +greenish corduroy. A soft felt hat, placed lightly on the back of his head, +cast a streak of shadow over his brow. +</p> + +<p> +As the neighbouring clock struck the half hour, he suddenly started from his +reverie. Perceiving that the white moonlight was shining full upon him, he +gazed anxiously ahead. Then he abruptly dived back into the shade, but was +unable to recover the thread of his thoughts. He now realised that his hands +and feet were becoming very cold, and impatience seized hold of him. So he +jumped upon the stone again, and once more glanced over the Jas-Meiffren, which +was still empty and silent. Finally, at a loss how to employ his time, he +jumped down, fetched his gun from the pile of planks where he had concealed it, +and amused himself by working the trigger. The weapon was a long, heavy +carbine, which had doubtless belonged to some smuggler. The thickness of the +butt and the breech of the barrel showed it to be an old flintlock which had +been altered into a percussion gun by some local gunsmith. Such firearms are to +be found in farmhouses, hanging against the wall over the chimney-piece. The +young man caressed his weapon with affection; twenty times or more he pulled +the trigger, thrust his little finger into the barrel, and examined the butt +attentively. By degrees he grew full of youth enthusiasm, combined with +childish frolicsomeness, and ended by levelling his weapon and aiming at space, +like a recruit going through his drill. +</p> + +<p> +It was now very nearly eight o’clock, and he had been holding his gun +levelled for over a minute, when all at once a low, panting call, light as a +breath, came from the direction of the Jas-Meiffren. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you there, Silvère?” the voice asked. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère dropped his gun and bounded on to the tombstone. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he replied, also in a hushed voice. “Wait, +I’ll help you.” +</p> + +<p> +Before he could stretch out his arms, however, a girl’s head appeared +above the wall. With singular agility the damsel had availed herself of the +trunk of a mulberry-tree, and climbed aloft like a kitten. The ease and +certainty with which she moved showed that she was familiar with this strange +spot. In another moment she was seated on the coping of the wall. Then Silvère, +taking her in his arms, carried her, though not without a struggle, to the +seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go,” she laughingly cried; “let go, I can get down alone +very well.” And when she was seated on the stone slab she added: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been waiting for me long? I’ve been running, and am quite +out of breath.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère made no reply. He seemed in no laughing humour, but gazed sorrowfully +into the girl’s face. “I wanted to see you, Miette,” he said, +as he seated himself beside her. “I should have waited all night for you. +I am going away at daybreak to-morrow morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Miette had just caught sight of the gun lying on the grass, and with a +thoughtful air, she murmured: “Ah! so it’s decided then? +There’s your gun!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Silvère, after a brief pause, his voice still +faltering, “it’s my gun. I thought it best to remove it from the +house to-night; to-morrow morning aunt Dide might have seen me take it, and +have felt uneasy about it. I am going to hide it, and shall fetch it just +before starting.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Miette could not remove her eyes from the weapon which he had so +foolishly left on the grass, he jumped up and again hid it among the +woodstacks. +</p> + +<p> +“We learnt this morning,” he said, as he resumed his seat, +“that the insurgents of La Palud and Saint Martin-de-Vaulx were on the +march, and spent last night at Alboise. We have decided to join them. Some of +the workmen of Plassans have already left the town this afternoon; those who +still remain will join their brothers to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke the word brothers with youthful emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +“A contest is becoming inevitable,” he added; “but, at any +rate, we have right on our side, and we shall triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +Miette listened to Silvère, her eyes meantime gazing in front of her, without +observing anything. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Tis well,” she said, when he had finished speaking. And +after a fresh pause she continued: “You warned me, yet I still hoped. . . +. However, it is decided.” +</p> + +<p> +Neither of them knew what else to say. The green path in the deserted corner of +the wood-yard relapsed into melancholy stillness; only the moon chased the +shadows of the piles of timber over the grass. The two young people on the +tombstone remained silent and motionless in the pale light. Silvère had passed +his arm round Miette’s waist, and she was leaning against his shoulder. +They exchanged no kisses, naught but an embrace in which love showed the +innocent tenderness of fraternal affection. +</p> + +<p> +Miette was enveloped in a long brown hooded cloak reaching to her feet, and +leaving only her head and hands visible. The women of the lower classes in +Provence—the peasantry and workpeople—still wear these ample +cloaks, which are called pelisses; it is a fashion which must have lasted for +ages. Miette had thrown back her hood on arriving. Living in the open air and +born of a hotblooded race, she never wore a cap. Her bare head showed in bold +relief against the wall, which the moonlight whitened. She was still a child, +no doubt, but a child ripening into womanhood. She had reached that adorable, +uncertain hour when the frolicsome girl changes to a young woman. At that stage +of life a bud-like delicacy, a hesitancy of contour that is exquisitely +charming, distinguishes young girls. The outlines of womanhood appear amidst +girlhood’s innocent slimness, and woman shoots forth at first all +embarrassment, still retaining much of the child, and ever and unconsciously +betraying her sex. This period is very unpropitious for some girls, who +suddenly shoot up, become ugly, sallow and frail, like plants before their due +season. For those, however, who, like Miette, are healthy and live in the open +air, it is a time of delightful gracefulness which once passed can never be +recalled. +</p> + +<p> +Miette was thirteen years of age, and although strong and sturdy did not look +any older, so bright and childish was the smile which lit up her countenance. +However, she was nearly as tall as Silvère, plump and full of life. Like her +lover, she had no common beauty. She would not have been considered ugly, but +she might have appeared peculiar to many young exquisites. Her rich black hair +rose roughly erect above her forehead, streamed back like a rushing wave, and +flowed over her head and neck like an inky sea, tossing and bubbling +capriciously. It was very thick and inconvenient to arrange. However, she +twisted it as tightly as possible into coils as thick as a child’s fist, +which she wound together at the back of her head. She had little time to devote +to her toilette, but this huge chignon, hastily contrived without the aid of +any mirror, was often instinct with vigorous grace. On seeing her thus +naturally helmeted with a mass of frizzy hair which hung about her neck and +temples like a mane, one could readily understand why she always went +bareheaded, heedless alike of rain and frost. +</p> + +<p> +Under her dark locks appeared her low forehead, curved and golden like a +crescent moon. Her large prominent eyes, her short tip-tilted nose with dilated +nostrils, and her thick ruddy lips, when regarded apart from one another, would +have looked ugly; viewed, however, all together, amidst the delightful +roundness and vivacious mobility of her countenance, they formed an ensemble of +strange, surprising beauty. When Miette laughed, throwing back her head and +gently resting it on her right shoulder, she resembled an old-time Bacchante, +her throat distending with sonorous gaiety, her cheeks round like those of a +child, her teeth large and white, her twists of woolly hair tossed by every +outburst of merriment, and waving like a crown of vine leaves. To realise that +she was only a child of thirteen, one had to notice the innocence underlying +her full womanly laughter, and especially the child-like delicacy of her chin +and soft transparency of her temples. In certain lights Miette’s +sun-tanned face showed yellow like amber. A little soft black down already +shaded her upper lip. Toil too was beginning to disfigure her small hands, +which, if left idle, would have become charmingly plump and delicate. +</p> + +<p> +Miette and Silvère long remained silent. They were reading their own anxious +thoughts, and, as they pondered upon the unknown terrors of the morrow, they +tightened their mutual embrace. Their hearts communed with each other, they +understood how useless and cruel would be any verbal plaint. The girl, however, +could at last no longer contain herself, and, choking with emotion, she gave +expression, in one phrase, to their mutual misgivings. +</p> + +<p> +“You will come back again, won’t you?” she whispered, as she +hung on Silvère’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère made no reply, but, half-stifling, and fearing lest he should give way +to tears like herself, he kissed her in brotherly fashion on the cheek, at a +loss for any other consolation. Then disengaging themselves they again lapsed +into silence. +</p> + +<p> +After a moment Miette shuddered. Now that she no longer leant against +Silvère’s shoulder she was becoming icy cold. Yet she would not have +shuddered thus had she been in this deserted path the previous evening, seated +on this tombstone, where for several seasons they had tasted so much happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very cold,” she said, as she pulled her hood over her +head. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we walk about a little?” the young man asked her. +“It’s not yet nine o’clock; we can take a stroll along the +road.” +</p> + +<p> +Miette reflected that for a long time she would probably not have the pleasure +of another meeting—another of those evening chats, the joy of which +served to sustain her all day long. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, let us walk a little,” she eagerly replied. “Let us go +as far as the mill. I could pass the whole night like this if you wanted +to.” +</p> + +<p> +They rose from the tombstone, and were soon hidden in the shadow of a pile of +planks. Here Miette opened her cloak, which had a quilted lining of red twill, +and threw half of it over Silvère’s shoulders, thus enveloping him as he +stood there close beside her. The same garment cloaked them both, and they +passed their arms round each other’s waist, and became as it were but one +being. When they were thus shrouded in the pelisse they walked slowly towards +the high road, fearlessly crossing the vacant parts of the wood-yard, which +looked white in the moonlight. Miette had thrown the cloak over Silvère, and he +had submitted to it quite naturally, as though indeed the garment rendered them +a similar service every evening. +</p> + +<p> +The road to Nice, on either side of which the suburban houses are built, was, +in the year 1851, lined with ancient elm-trees, grand and gigantic ruins, still +full of vigour, which the fastidious town council has replaced, some years +since, by some little plane-trees. When Silvère and Miette found themselves +under the elms, the huge boughs of which cast shadows on the moonlit footpath, +they met now and again black forms which silently skirted the house fronts. +These, too, were amorous couples, closely wrapped in one and the same cloak, +and strolling in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +This style of promenading has been instituted by the young lovers of Southern +towns. Those boys and girls among the people who mean to marry sooner or later, +but who do not dislike a kiss or two in advance, know no spot where they can +kiss at their ease without exposing themselves to recognition and gossip. +Accordingly, while strolling about the suburbs, the plots of waste land, the +footpaths of the high road—in fact, all these places where there are few +passers-by and numerous shady nooks—they conceal their identity by +wrapping themselves in these long cloaks, which are capacious enough to cover a +whole family. The parents tolerate these proceedings; however stiff may be +provincial propriety, no apprehensions, seemingly, are entertained. And, on the +other hand, nothing could be more charming than these lovers’ rambles, +which appeal so keenly to the Southerner’s fanciful imagination. There is +a veritable masquerade, fertile in innocent enjoyments, within the reach of the +most humble. The girl clasps her sweetheart to her bosom, enveloping him in her +own warm cloak; and no doubt it is delightful to be able to kiss one’s +sweetheart within those shrouding folds without danger of being recognised. One +couple is exactly like another. And to the belated pedestrian, who sees the +vague groups gliding hither and thither, ‘tis merely love passing, love +guessed and scarce espied. The lovers know they are safely concealed within +their cloaks, they converse in undertones and make themselves quite at home; +most frequently they do not converse at all, but walk along at random and in +silence, content in their embrace. The climate alone is to blame for having in +the first instance prompted these young lovers to retire to secluded spots in +the suburbs. On fine summer nights one cannot walk round Plassans without +coming across a hooded couple in every patch of shadow falling from the house +walls. Certain places, the Aire Saint-Mittre, for instance, are full of these +dark “dominoes” brushing past one another, gliding softly in the +warm nocturnal air. One might imagine they were guests invited to some +mysterious ball given by the stars to lowly lovers. When the weather is very +warm and the girls do not wear cloaks, they simply turn up their over-skirts. +And in the winter the more passionate lovers make light of the frosts. Thus, +Miette and Silvère, as they descended the Nice road, thought little of the +chill December night. +</p> + +<p> +They passed through the slumbering suburb without exchanging a word, but +enjoying the mute delight of their warm embrace. Their hearts were heavy; the +joy which they felt in being side by side was tinged with the painful emotion +which comes from the thought of approaching severance, and it seemed to them +that they could never exhaust the mingled sweetness and bitterness of the +silence which slowly lulled their steps. But the houses soon grew fewer, and +they reached the end of the Faubourg. There stands the entrance to the +Jas-Meiffren, an iron gate fixed to two strong pillars; a low row of +mulberry-trees being visible through the bars. Silvère and Miette instinctively +cast a glance inside as they passed on. +</p> + +<p> +Beyond the Jas-Meiffren the road descends with a gentle slope to a valley, +which serves as the bed of a little rivulet, the Viorne, a brook in summer but +a torrent in winter. The rows of elms still extended the whole way at that +time, making the high road a magnificent avenue, which cast a broad band of +gigantic trees across the hill, which was planted with corn and stunted vines. +On that December night, under the clear cold moonlight, the newly-ploughed +fields stretching away on either hand resembled vast beds of greyish wadding +which deadened every sound in the atmosphere. The dull murmur of the Viorne in +the distance alone sent a quivering thrill through the profound silence of the +country-side. +</p> + +<p> +When the young people had begun to descend the avenue, Miette’s thoughts +reverted to the Jas-Meiffren which they had just left behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“I had great difficulty in getting away this evening,” she said. +“My uncle wouldn’t let me go. He had shut himself up in a cellar, +where he was hiding his money, I think, for he seemed greatly frightened this +morning at the events that are taking place.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère clasped her yet more lovingly. “Be brave!” said he. +“The time will come when we shall be able to see each other freely the +whole day long. You must not fret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” replied the girl, shaking her head, “you are very +hopeful. For my part I sometimes feel very sad. It isn’t the hard work +which grieves me; on the contrary, I am often very glad of my uncle’s +severity, and the tasks he sets me. He was quite right to make me a peasant +girl; I should perhaps have turned out badly, for, do you know, Silvère, there +are moments when I fancy myself under a curse. . . . I feel, then, that I +should like to be dead. . . . I think of you know whom.” +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke these last words, her voice broke into a sob. Silvère interrupted +her somewhat harshly. “Be quiet,” he said. “You promised not +to think about it. It’s no crime of yours. . . . We love each other very +much, don’t we?” he added in a gentler tone. “When +we’re married you’ll have no more unpleasant hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” murmured Miette. “You are so kind, you sustain me. +But what am I to do? I sometimes have fears and feelings of revolt. I think at +times that I have been wronged, and then I should like to do something wicked. +You see I pour forth my heart to you. Whenever my father’s name is thrown +in my face, I feel my whole body burning. When the urchins cry at me as I pass, +‘Eh, La Chantegreil,’ I lose all control of myself, and feel that I +should like to lay hold of them and whip them.” +</p> + +<p> +After a savage pause she resumed: “As for you, you’re a man; +you’re going to fight; you’re very lucky.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère had let her speak on. After a few steps he observed sorrowfully: +“You are wrong, Miette; yours is bad anger. You shouldn’t rebel +against justice. As for me, I’m going to fight in defence of our common +rights, not to gratify any personal animosity.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the same,” the young girl continued, “I should like to +be a man and handle a gun. I feel that it would do me good.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Silvère remained silent, she perceived that she had displeased him. +Her feverishness subsided, and she whispered in a supplicating tone: “You +are not angry with me, are you? It’s your departure which grieves me and +awakens such ideas. I know very well you are right—that I ought to be +humble.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she began to cry, and Silvère, moved by her tears, grasped her hands and +kissed them. +</p> + +<p> +“See, now, how you pass from anger to tears, like a child,” he said +lovingly. “You must be reasonable. I’m not scolding you. I only +want to see you happier, and that depends largely upon yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +The remembrance of the drama which Miette had so sadly evoked cast a temporary +gloom over the lovers. They continued their walk with bowed heads and troubled +thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I’m much happier than you?” Silvère at last +inquired, resuming the conversation in spite of himself. “If my +grandmother had not taken care of me and educated me, what would have become of +me? With the exception of my Uncle Antoine, who is an artisan like myself, and +who taught me to love the Republic, all my other relations seem to fear that I +might besmirch them by coming near them.” +</p> + +<p> +He was now speaking with animation, and suddenly stopped, detaining Miette in +the middle of the road. +</p> + +<p> +“God is my witness,” he continued, “that I do not envy or +hate anybody. But if we triumph, I shall have to tell the truth to those fine +gentlemen. Uncle Antoine knows all about this matter. You’ll see when we +return. We shall all live free and happy.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Miette gently led him on, and they resumed their walk. +</p> + +<p> +“You dearly love your Republic?” the girl asked, essaying a joke. +“Do you love me as much?” +</p> + +<p> +Her smile was not altogether free from a tinge of bitterness. She was thinking, +perhaps, how easily Silvère abandoned her to go and scour the country-side. But +the lad gravely replied: “You are my wife, to whom I have given my whole +heart. I love the Republic because I love you. When we are married we shall +want plenty of happiness, and it is to procure a share of that happiness that +I’m going way to-morrow morning. You surely don’t want to persuade +me to remain at home?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” cried the girl eagerly. “A man should be brave! +Courage is beautiful! You must forgive my jealousy. I should like to be as +strong-minded as you are. You would love me all the more, wouldn’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +After a moment’s silence she added, with charming vivacity and +ingenuousness: “Ah, how willingly I shall kiss you when you come +back!” +</p> + +<p> +This outburst of a loving and courageous heart deeply affected Silvère. He +clasped Miette in his arms and printed several kisses on her cheek. As she +laughingly struggled to escape him, her eyes filled with tears of emotion. +</p> + +<p> +All around the lovers the country still slumbered amid the deep stillness of +the cold. They were now half-way down the hill. On the top of a rather lofty +hillock to the left stood the ruins of a windmill, blanched by the moon; the +tower, which had fallen in on one side, alone remained. This was the limit +which the young people had assigned to their walk. They had come straight from +the Faubourg without casting a single glance at the fields between which they +passed. When Silvère had kissed Miette’s cheek, he raised his head and +observed the mill. +</p> + +<p> +“What a long walk we’ve had!” he exclaimed. +“See—here is the mill. It must be nearly half-past nine. We must go +home.” +</p> + +<p> +But Miette pouted. “Let us walk a little further,” she implored; +“only a few steps, just as far as the little cross-road, no farther, +really.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère smiled as he again took her round the waist. Then they continued to +descend the hill, no longer fearing inquisitive glances, for they had not met a +living soul since passing the last houses. They nevertheless remained enveloped +in the long pelisse, which seemed, as it were, a natural nest for their love. +It had shrouded them on so many happy evenings! Had they simply walked side by +side, they would have felt small and isolated in that vast stretch of country, +whereas, blended together as they were, they became bolder and seemed less +puny. Between the folds of the pelisse they gazed upon the fields stretching on +both sides of the road, without experiencing that crushing feeling with which +far-stretching callous vistas oppress the human affections. It seemed to them +as though they had brought their house with them; they felt a pleasure in +viewing the country-side as from a window, delighting in the calm solitude, the +sheets of slumbering light, the glimpses of nature vaguely distinguishable +beneath the shroud of night and winter, the whole of that valley indeed, which +while charming them could not thrust itself between their close-pressed hearts. +</p> + +<p> +All continuity of conversation had ceased; they spoke no more of others, nor +even of themselves. They were absorbed by the present, pressing each +other’s hands, uttering exclamations at the sight of some particular +spot, exchanging words at rare intervals, and then understanding each other but +little, for drowsiness came from the warmth of their embrace. Silvère forgot +his Republican enthusiasm; Miette no longer reflected that her lover would be +leaving her in an hour, for a long time, perhaps for ever. The transports of +their affection lulled them into a feeling of security, as on other days, when +no prospect of parting had marred the tranquility of their meetings. +</p> + +<p> +They still walked on, and soon reached the little crossroad mentioned by +Miette—a bit of a lane which led through the fields to a village on the +banks of the Viorne. But they passed on, pretending not to notice this path, +where they had agreed to stop. And it was only some minutes afterwards that +Silvère whispered, “It must be very late; you will get tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I assure you I’m not at all tired,” the girl replied. +“I could walk several leagues like this easily.” Then, in a coaxing +tone, she added: “Let us go down as far as the meadows of Sainte-Claire. +There we will really stop and turn back.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, whom the girl’s rhythmic gait lulled to semi-somnolence, made no +objection, and their rapture began afresh. They now went on more slowly, +fearing the moment when they would have to retrace their steps. So long as they +walked onward, they felt as though they were advancing to the eternity of their +mutual embrace; the return would mean separation and bitter leave-taking. +</p> + +<p> +The declivity of the road was gradually becoming more gentle. In the valley +below there are meadows extending as far as the Viorne, which runs at the other +end, beneath a range of low hills. These meadows, separated from the high-road +by thickset hedges, are the meadows of Sainte-Claire. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” exclaimed Silvère this time, as he caught sight of the first +patches of grass: “we may as well go as far as the bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Miette burst out laughing, clasped the young man round the neck, and +kissed him noisily. +</p> + +<p> +At the spot where the hedges begin, there were in those days two elms forming +the end of the long avenue, two colossal trees larger than any of the others. +The treeless fields stretch out from the high road, like a broad band of green +wool, as far as the willows and birches by the river. The distance from the +last elms to the bridge is scarcely three hundred yards. The lovers took a good +quarter of an hour to cover that space. At last, however slow their gait, they +reached the bridge, and there they stopped. +</p> + +<p> +The road to Nice ran up in front of them, along the opposite slope of the +valley. But they could only see a small portion of it, as it takes a sudden +turn about half a mile from the bridge, and is lost to view among the wooded +hills. On looking round they caught sight of the other end of the road, that +which they had just traversed, and which leads in a direct line from Plassans +to the Viorne. In the beautiful winter moonlight it looked like a long silver +ribbon, with dark edgings traced by the rows of elms. On the right and left the +ploughed hill-land showed like vast, grey, vague seas intersected by this +ribbon, this roadway white with frost, and brilliant as with metallic lustre. +Up above, on a level with the horizon, lights shone from a few windows in the +Faubourg, resembling glowing sparks. By degrees Miette and Silvère had walked +fully a league. They gazed at the intervening road, full of silent admiration +for the vast amphitheatre which rose to the verge of the heavens, and over +which flowed bluish streams of light, as over the superposed rocks of a +gigantic waterfall. The strange and colossal picture spread out amid deathlike +stillness and silence. Nothing could have been of more sovereign grandeur. +</p> + +<p> +Then the young people, having leant against the parapet of the bridge, gazed +beneath them. The Viorne, swollen by the rains, flowed on with a dull, +continuous sound. Up and down stream, despite the darkness which filled the +hollows, they perceived the black lines of the trees growing on the banks; here +and there glided the moonbeams, casting a trail of molten metal, as it were, +over the water, which glittered and danced like rays of light on the scales of +some live animal. The gleams darted with a mysterious charm along the gray +torrent, betwixt the vague phantom-like foliage. You might have thought this an +enchanted valley, some wondrous retreat where a community of shadows and gleams +lived a fantastic life. +</p> + +<p> +This part of the river was familiar to the lovers; they had often come here in +search of coolness on warm July nights; they had spent hours hidden among the +clusters of willows on the right bank, at the spot where the meadows of +Sainte-Claire spread their verdant carpet to the waterside. They remembered +every bend of the bank, the stones on which they had stepped in order to cross +the Viorne, at that season as narrow as a brooklet, and certain little grassy +hollows where they had indulged in their dreams of love. Miette, therefore, now +gazed from the bridge at the right bank of the torrent with longing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“If it were warmer,” she sighed, “we might go down and rest +awhile before going back up the hill.” Then, after a pause, during which +she kept her eyes fixed on the banks, she resumed: “Look down there, +Silvère, at that black mass yonder in front of the lock. Do you remember? +That’s the brushwood where we sat last Corpus Christi Day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, so it is,” replied Silvère, softly. +</p> + +<p> +This was the spot where they had first ventured to kiss each other on the +cheek. The remembrance just roused by the girl’s words brought both of +them a delightful feeling, an emotion in which the joys of the past mingled +with the hopes of the morrow. Before their eyes, with the rapidity of +lightening, there passed all the delightful evenings they had spent together, +especially that evening of Corpus Christi Day, with the warm sky, the cool +willows of the Viorne, and their own loving talk. And at the same time, whilst +the past came back to their hearts full of a delightful savour, they fancied +they could plunge into the unknown future, see their dreams realised, and march +through life arm in arm—even as they had just been doing on the +highway—warmly wrapped in the same cloak. Then rapture came to them +again, and they smiled in each other’s eyes, alone amidst all the silent +radiance. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, however, Silvère raised his head and, throwing off the cloak, +listened attentively. Miette, in her surprise, imitated him, at a loss to +understand why he had started so abruptly from her side. +</p> + +<p> +Confused sounds had for a moment been coming from behind the hills in the midst +of which the Nice road wends its way. They suggested the distant jolting of a +procession of carts; but not distinctly, so loud was the roaring of the Viorne. +Gradually, however, they became more pronounced, and rose at last like the +tramping of an army on the march. Then amidst the continuous growing rumble one +detected the shouts of a crowd, strange rhythmical blasts as of a hurricane. +One could even have fancied they were the thunderclaps of a rapidly approaching +storm which was already disturbing the slumbering atmosphere. Silvère listened +attentively, unable to tell, however, what were those tempest-like shouts, for +the hills prevented them from reaching him distinctly. Suddenly a dark mass +appeared at the turn of the road, and then the “Marseillaise” burst +forth, formidable, sung as with avenging fury. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, here they are!” cried Silvère, with a burst of joyous +enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +Forthwith he began to run up the hill, dragging Miette with him. On the left of +the road was an embankment planted with evergreen oaks, up which he clambered +with the young girl, to avoid being carried away by the surging, howling +multitude. +</p> + +<p> +When he had reached the top of the bank and the shadow of the brushwood, +Miette, rather pale, gazed sorrowfully at those men whose distant song had +sufficed to draw Silvère from her embrace. It seemed as if the whole band had +thrust itself between them. They had been so happy a few minutes before, locked +in each other’s arms, alone and lost amidst the overwhelming silence and +discreet glimmer of the moon! And now Silvère, whose head was turned away from +her, who no longer seemed even conscious of her presence, had eyes only for +those strangers whom he called his brothers. +</p> + +<p> +The band descended the slope with a superb, irresistible stride. There could +have been nothing grander than the irruption of those few thousand men into +that cold, still, deathly scene. The highway became a torrent, rolling with +living waves which seemed inexhaustible. At the bend in the road fresh masses +ever appeared, whose songs ever helped to swell the roar of this human tempest. +When the last battalions came in sight the uproar was deafening. The +“Marseillaise” filled the atmosphere as if blown through enormous +trumpets by giant mouths, which cast it, vibrating with a brazen clang, into +every corner of the valley. The slumbering country-side awoke with a +start—quivering like a beaten drum resonant to its very entrails, and +repeating with each and every echo the passionate notes of the national song. +And then the singing was no longer confined to the men. From the very horizon, +from the distant rocks, the ploughed land, the meadows, the copses, the +smallest bits of brushwood, human voices seemed to come. The great +amphitheatre, extending from the river to Plassans, the gigantic cascade over +which the bluish moonlight flowed, was as if filled with innumerable invisible +people cheering the insurgents; and in the depths of the Viorne, along the +waters streaked with mysterious metallic reflections, there was not a dark nook +but seemed to conceal human beings, who took up each refrain with yet greater +passion. With air and earth alike quivering, the whole country-side cried for +vengeance and liberty. So long as the little army was descending the slope, the +roar of the populace thus rolled on in sonorous waves broken by abrupt +outbursts which shook the very stones in the roadway. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, pale with emotion, still listened and looked on. The insurgents who +led the van of that swarming, roaring stream, so vague and monstrous in the +darkness, were rapidly approaching the bridge. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” murmured Miette, “that you would not pass +through Plassans?” +</p> + +<p> +“They must have altered the plan of operations,” Silvère replied; +“we were, in fact, to have marched to the chief town by the Toulon road, +passing to the left of Plassans and Orcheres. They must have left Alboise this +afternoon and passed Les Tulettes this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +The head of the column had already arrived in front of the young people. The +little army was more orderly than one would have expected from a band of +undisciplined men. The contingents from the various towns and villages formed +separate battalions, each separated by a distance of a few paces. These +battalions were apparently under the orders of certain chiefs. For the nonce +the pace at which they were descending the hillside made them a compact mass of +invincible strength. There were probably about three thousand men, all united +and carried away by the same storm of indignation. The strange details of the +scene were not discernible amidst the shadows cast over the highway by the +lofty slopes. At five or six feet from the brushwood, however, where Miette and +Silvère were sheltered, the left-hand embankment gave place to a little pathway +which ran alongside the Viorne; and the moonlight, flowing through this gap, +cast a broad band of radiance across the road. When the first insurgents +reached this patch of light they were suddenly illumined by a sharp white glow +which revealed, with singular distinctness, every outline of visage or costume. +And as the various contingents swept on, the young people thus saw them emerge, +fiercely and without cessation, from the surrounding darkness. +</p> + +<p> +As the first men passed through the light Miette instinctively clung to +Silvère, although she knew she was safe, even from observation. She passed her +arm round the young fellow’s neck, resting her head against his shoulder. +And with the hood of her pelisse encircling her pale face she gazed fixedly at +that square patch of light as it was rapidly traversed by those strange faces, +transfigured by enthusiasm, with dark open mouths full of the furious cry of +the “Marseillaise.” Silvère, whom she felt quivering at her side, +then bent towards her and named the various contingents as they passed. +</p> + +<p> +The column marched along eight abreast. In the van were a number of big, +square-headed fellows, who seemed to possess the herculean strength and naïve +confidence of giants. They would doubtless prove blind, intrepid defenders of +the Republic. On their shoulders they carried large axes, whose edges, freshly +sharpened, glittered in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +“Those are the woodcutters of the forests of the Seille,” said +Silvère. “They have been formed into a corps of sappers. At a signal from +their leaders they would march as far as Paris, battering down the gates of the +towns with their axes, just as they cut down the old cork-trees on the +mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man spoke with pride of the heavy fists of his brethren. And on +seeing a band of labourers and rough-bearded men, tanned by the sun, coming +along behind the woodcutters, he continued: “That is the contingent from +La Palud. That was the first place to rise. The men in blouses are labourers +who cut up the cork-trees; the others in velveteen jackets must be sportsmen, +poachers, and charcoal-burners living in the passes of the Seille. The poachers +knew your father, Miette. They have good firearms, which they handle skilfully. +Ah! if all were armed in the same manner! We are short of muskets. See, the +labourers have only got cudgels!” +</p> + +<p> +Miette, still speechless, looked on and listened. As Silvère spoke to her of +her father, the blood surged to her cheeks. Her face burnt as she scrutinised +the sportsmen with a strange air of mingled indignation and sympathy. From this +moment she grew animated, yielding to the feverish quiver which the +insurgents’ songs awakened. +</p> + +<p> +The column, which had just begun the “Marseillaise” afresh, was +still marching down as though lashed on by the sharp blasts of the +“Mistral.” The men of La Palud were followed by another troop of +workmen, among whom a goodly number of middle class folks in great-coats were +to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“Those are the men of Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx,” Silvère resumed. +“That <i>bourg</i> rose almost at the same time as La Palud. The masters +joined the workmen. There are some rich men there, Miette; men whose wealth +would enable them to live peacefully at home, but who prefer to risk their +lives in defence of liberty. One can but admire them. Weapons are very scarce, +however; they’ve scarcely got a few fowling-pieces. But do you see those +men yonder, Miette, with red bands round their left elbows? They are the +leaders.” +</p> + +<p> +The contingents descended the hill more rapidly than Silvère could speak. While +he was naming the men from Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx, two battalions had already +crossed the ray of light which blanched the roadway. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the insurgents from Alboise and Les Tulettes pass by just +now?” he asked. “I recognised Burgat the blacksmith. They must have +joined the band to-day. How they do run!” +</p> + +<p> +Miette was now leaning forward, in order to see more of the little bands +described to her by the young man. The quiver she felt rose from her bosom to +her throat. Then a battalion larger and better disciplined than the others +appeared. The insurgents composing it were nearly all dressed in blue blouses, +with red sashes round their waists. One would have thought they were arrayed in +uniform. A man on horseback, with a sabre at his side, was in the midst of +them. And most of these improvised soldiers carried guns, probably carbines and +old muskets of the National Guard. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know those,” said Silvère. “The man on +horseback must be the chief I’ve heard spoken of. He brought with him the +contingents from Faverolles and the neighbouring villages. The whole column +ought to be equipped in the same manner.” +</p> + +<p> +He had no time to take breath. “Ah! see, here are the country +people!” he suddenly cried. +</p> + +<p> +Small groups of ten or twenty men at the most were now advancing behind the men +of Faverolles. They all wore the short jacket of the Southern peasantry, and as +they sang they brandished pitchforks and scythes. Some of them even only +carried large navvies’ shovels. Every hamlet, however, had sent its +able-bodied men. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, who recognised the parties by their leaders, enumerated them in +feverish tones. “The contingent from Chavanoz!” said he. +“There are only eight men, but they are strong; Uncle Antoine knows them. +Here’s Nazeres! Here’s Poujols! They’re all here; not one has +failed to answer the summons. Valqueyras! Hold, there’s the parson +amongst them; I’ve heard about him, he’s a staunch +Republican.” +</p> + +<p> +He was becoming intoxicated with the spectacle. Now that each battalion +consisted of only a few insurgents he had to name them yet more hastily, and +his precipitancy gave him the appearance of one in a frenzy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Miette,” he continued, “what a fine march past! Rozan! +Vernoux! Corbière! And there are more still, you’ll see. These have only +got scythes, but they’ll mow down the troops as close as the grass in +their meadows—Saint-Eutrope! Mazet! Les Gardes, Marsanne! The whole north +side of the Seille! Ah, we shall be victorious! The whole country is with us. +Look at those men’s arms, they are hard and black as iron. There’s +no end to them. There’s Pruinas! Roches Noires! Those last are smugglers: +they are carrying carbines. Still more scythes and pitchforks, the contingents +of country folk are still passing. Castel-le-Vieux! Sainte-Anne! Graille! +Estourmel! Murdaran!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was husky with emotion as he finished naming these men, who seemed to +be borne away by a whirlwind as fast as he enumerated them. Erect, with glowing +countenance, he pointed out the several contingents with a nervous gesture. +Miette followed his movements. The road below attracted her like the depths of +a precipice. To avoid slipping down the incline she clung to the young +man’s neck. A strange intoxication emanated from those men, who +themselves were inebriated with clamour, courage, and confidence. Those beings, +seen athwart a moonbeam, those youths and those men in their prime, those old +people brandishing strange weapons and dressed in the most diverse costumes, +from working smock to middle class overcoat, those endless rows of heads, which +the hour and the circumstances endowed with an expression of fanatical energy +and enthusiasm, gradually appeared to the girl like a whirling, impetuous +torrent. At certain moments she fancied they were not of themselves moving, +that they were really being carried away by the force of the +“Marseillaise,” by that hoarse, sonorous chant. She could not +distinguish any conversation, she heard but a continuous volume of sound, +alternating from bass to shrill notes, as piercing as nails driven into +one’s flesh. This roar of revolt, this call to combat, to death, with its +outbursts of indignation, its burning thirst for liberty, its remarkable +blending of bloodthirsty and sublime impulses, unceasingly smote her heart, +penetrating more deeply at each fierce outburst, and filling her with the +voluptuous pangs of a virgin martyr who stands erect and smiles under the lash. +And the crowd flowed on ever amidst the same sonorous wave of sound. The march +past, which did not really last more than a few minutes, seemed to the young +people to be interminable. +</p> + +<p> +Truly, Miette was but a child. She had turned pale at the approach of the band, +she had wept for the loss of love, but she was a brave child, whose ardent +nature was easily fired by enthusiasm. Thus ardent emotions had gradually got +possession of her, and she became as courageous as a youth. She would willingly +have seized a weapon and followed the insurgents. As the muskets and scythes +filed past, her white teeth glistened longer and sharper between her red lips, +like the fangs of a young wolf eager to bite and tear. And as she listened to +Silvère enumerating the contingents from the country-side with ever-increasing +haste, the pace of the column seemed to her to accelerate still more. She soon +fancied it all a cloud of human dust swept along by a tempest. Everything began +to whirl before her. Then she closed her eyes; big hot tears were rolling down +her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère’s eyelashes were also moist. “I don’t see the men who +left Plassans this afternoon,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to distinguish the end of the column, which was still hidden by the +darkness. Suddenly he cried with joyous exultation: “Ah, here they are! +They’ve got the banner—the banner has been entrusted to +them!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he wanted to leap from the slope in order to join his companions. At this +moment, however, the insurgents halted. Words of command ran along the column, +the “Marseillaise” died out in a final rumble, and one could only +hear the confused murmuring of the still surging crowd. Silvère, as he +listened, caught the orders which were passed on from one contingent to +another; they called the men of Plassans to the van. Then, as each battalion +ranged itself alongside the road to make way for the banner, the young man +reascended the embankment, dragging Miette with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” he said; “we can get across the river before they +do.” +</p> + +<p> +When they were on the top, among the ploughed land, they ran along to a mill +whose lock bars the river. Then they crossed the Viorne on a plank placed there +by the millers, and cut across the meadows of Sainte-Claire, running +hand-in-hand, without exchanging a word. The column threw a dark line over the +highway, which they followed alongside the hedges. There were some gaps in the +hawthorns, and at last Silvère and Miette sprang on to the road through one of +them. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of the circuitous way they had come, they arrived at the same time as +the men of Plassans. Silvère shook hands with some of them. They must have +thought he had heard of the new route they had chosen, and had come to meet +them. Miette, whose face was half-concealed by her hood, was scrutinised rather +inquisitively. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s Chantegreil,” at last said one of the men from the +Faubourg of Plassans, “the niece of Rebufat, the <i>méger</i>[*] of the +Jas-Meiffren.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] A <i>méger</i> is a farmer in Provence who shares the expenses and profits +of his farm with the owner of the land. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have you sprung from, gadabout?” cried another voice. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, intoxicated with enthusiasm, had not thought of the distress which his +sweetheart would feel at the jeers of the workmen. Miette, all confusion, +looked at him as if to implore his aid. But before he could even open his lips +another voice rose from the crowd, brutally exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“Her father’s at the galleys; we don’t want the daughter of a +thief and murderer amongst us.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Miette turned dreadfully pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You lie!” she muttered. “If my father did kill anybody, he +never thieved!” +</p> + +<p> +And as Silvère, pale and trembling more than she, began to clench his fists: +“Stop!” she continued; “this is my affair.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, turning to the men, she repeated with a shout: “You lie! You lie! +He never stole a copper from anybody. You know it well enough. Why do you +insult him when he can’t be here?” +</p> + +<p> +She drew herself up, superb with indignation. With her ardent, half-wild nature +she seemed to accept the charge of murder composedly enough, but that of theft +exasperated her. They knew it, and that was why folks, from stupid malice, +often cast the accusation in her face. +</p> + +<p> +The man who had just called her father a thief was merely repeating what he had +heard said for many years. The girl’s defiant attitude only incited the +workmen to jeer the more. Silvère still had his fists clenched, and matters +might have become serious if a poacher from the Seille, who had been sitting on +a heap of stones at the roadside awaiting the order to march, had not come to +the girl’s assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“The little one’s right,” he said. “Chantegreil was one +of us. I knew him. Nobody knows the real facts of his little matter. I always +believed in the truth of his deposition before the judge. The gendarme whom he +brought down with a bullet, while he was out shooting, was no doubt taking aim +at him at the time. A man must defend himself! At all events Chantegreil was a +decent fellow; he committed no robbery.” +</p> + +<p> +As often happens in such cases, the testimony of this poacher sufficed to bring +other defenders to Miette’s aid. Several workmen also professed to have +known Chantegreil. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, it’s true!” they all said. “He wasn’t +a thief. There are some scoundrels at Plassans who ought to be sent to prison +in his place. Chantegreil was our brother. Come, now, be calm, little +one.” +</p> + +<p> +Miette had never before heard anyone speak well of her father. He was generally +referred to as a beggar, a villain, and now she found good fellows who had +forgiving words for him, and declared him to be an honest man. She burst into +tears, again full of the emotion awakened in her by the +“Marseillaise;” and she bethought herself how she might thank these +men for their kindness to her in misfortune. For a moment she conceived the +idea of shaking them all by the hand like a man. But her heart suggested +something better. By her side stood the insurgent who carried the banner. She +touched the staff, and, to express her gratitude, said in an entreating tone, +“Give it to me; I will carry it.” +</p> + +<p> +The simple-minded workmen understood the ingenuous sublimity of this form of +gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” they all cried, “Chantegreil shall carry the +banner.” +</p> + +<p> +However, a woodcutter remarked that she would soon get tired, and would not be +able to go far. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’m quite strong,” she retorted proudly, tucking up her +sleeves and showing a pair of arms as big as those of a grown woman. Then as +they handed her the flag she resumed, “Wait just a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Forthwith she pulled off her cloak, and put it on again after turning the red +lining outside. In the clear moonlight she appeared to be arrayed in a purple +mantle reaching to her feet. The hood resting on the edge of her chignon formed +a kind of Phrygian cap. She took the flag, pressed the staff to her bosom, and +held herself upright amid the folds of that blood-coloured banner which waved +behind her. Enthusiastic child that she was, her countenance, with its curly +hair, large eyes moist with tears, and lips parted in a smile, seemed to rise +with energetic pride as she turned it towards the sky. At that moment she was +the virgin Liberty. +</p> + +<p> +The insurgents burst into applause. The vivid imagination of those Southerners +was fired with enthusiasm at the sudden apparition of this girl so nervously +clasping their banner to her bosom. Shouts rose from the nearest group: +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, Chantegreil! Chantegreil for ever! She shall remain with us; +she’ll bring us luck!” +</p> + +<p> +They would have cheered her for a long time yet had not the order to resume the +march arrived. Whilst the column moved on, Miette pressed Silvère’s hand +and whispered in his ear: “You hear! I shall remain with you. Are you +glad?” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, without replying, returned the pressure. He consented. In fact, he was +deeply affected, unable to resist the enthusiasm which fired his companions. +Miette seemed to him so lovely, so grand, so saintly! During the whole climb up +the hill he still saw her before him, radiant, amidst a purple glory. She was +now blended with his other adored mistress—the Republic. He would have +liked to be in action already, with his gun on his shoulder. But the insurgents +moved slowly. They had orders to make as little noise as possible. Thus the +column advanced between the rows of elms like some gigantic serpent whose every +ring had a strange quivering. The frosty December night had again sunk into +silence, and the Viorne alone seemed to roar more loudly. +</p> + +<p> +On reaching the first houses of the Faubourg, Silvère ran on in front to fetch +his gun from the Aire Saint-Mittre, which he found slumbering in the moonlight. +When he again joined the insurgents they had reached the Porte de Rome. Miette +bent towards him, and with her childish smile observed: “I feel as if I +were at the procession on Corpus Christi Day carrying the banner of the +Virgin.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p> +Plassans is a sub-prefecture with about ten thousand inhabitants. Built on a +plateau overlooking the Viorne, and resting on the north side against the +Garrigues hills, one of the last spurs of the Alps, the town is situated, as it +were, in the depths of a cul-de-sac. In 1851 it communicated with the adjoining +country by two roads only, the Nice road, which runs down to the east, and the +Lyons road, which rises to the west, the one continuing the other on almost +parallel lines. Since that time a railway has been built which passes to the +south of the town, below the hill which descends steeply from the old ramparts +to the river. At the present day, on coming out of the station on the right +bank of the little torrent, one can see, by raising one’s head, the first +houses of Plassans, with their gardens disposed in terrace fashion. It is, +however, only after an uphill walk lasting a full quarter of an hour that one +reaches these houses. +</p> + +<p> +About twenty years ago, owing, no doubt, to deficient means of communication, +there was no town that had more completely retained the pious and aristocratic +character of the old Provencal cities. Plassans then had, and has even now, a +whole district of large mansions built in the reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis +XV., a dozen churches, Jesuit and Capuchin houses, and a considerable number of +convents. Class distinctions were long perpetuated by the town’s division +into various districts. There were three of them, each forming, as it were, a +separate and complete locality, with its own churches, promenades, customs, and +landscapes. +</p> + +<p> +The district of the nobility, called Saint-Marc, after the name of one of its +parish churches, is a sort of miniature Versailles, with straight streets +overgrown with grass, and large square houses which conceal extensive gardens. +It extends to the south along the edge of the plateau. Some of the mansions +built on the declivity itself have a double row of terraces whence one can see +the whole valley of the Viorne, a most charming vista much vaunted in that part +of the country. Then on the north-west, the old quarter, formed of the original +town, rears its narrow, tortuous lanes bordered with tottering hovels. The +Town-Hall, the Civil Court, the Market, and the Gendarmerie barracks are +situated here. This, the most populous part of the Plassans, is inhabited by +working-men and shop-keepers, all the wretched, toiling, common folk. The new +town forms a sort of parallelogram to the north-east; the well-to-do, those who +have slowly amassed a fortune, and those engaged in the liberal professions, +here occupy houses set out in straight lines and coloured a light yellow. This +district, which is embellished by the Sub-Prefecture, an ugly plaster building +decorated with rose-mouldings, numbered scarcely five or six streets in 1851; +it is of quite recent formation, and it is only since the construction of the +railway that it has been growing in extent. +</p> + +<p> +One circumstance which even at the present time tends to divide Plassans into +three distinct independent parts is that the limits of the districts are +clearly defined by the principal thoroughfares. The Cours Sauvaire and the Rue +de Rome, which is, as it were, a narrow extension of the former, run from west +to east, from the Grand’-Porte to the Porte de Rome, thus cutting the +town into two portions, and dividing the quarter of the nobility from the +others. The latter are themselves parted by the Rue de la Banne. This street, +the finest in the locality, starts from the extremity of the Cours Sauvaire, +and ascends northwards, leaving the black masses of the old quarter on its +left, and the light-yellow houses of the new town on its right. It is here, +about half-way along the street, that stands the Sub-Prefecture, in the rear of +a small square planted with sickly trees; the people of Plassans are very proud +of this edifice. +</p> + +<p> +As if to keep more isolated and shut up within itself, the town is belted with +old ramparts, which only serve to increase its gloom and render it more +confined. These ridiculous fortifications, preyed upon by ivy and crowned with +wild gillyflowers, are about as high and as thick as the walls of a convent, +and could be demolished by gunshot. They have several openings, the principal +of which, the Porte de Rome and the Grand’-Porte, afford access to the +Nice road and the Lyons road, at the other end of town. Until 1853 these +openings were furnished with huge wooden two-leaved gates, arched at the top, +and strengthened with bars of iron. These gates were double-locked at eleven +o’clock in summer, and ten o’clock in winter. The town having thus +shot its bolts like a timid girl, went quietly to sleep. A keeper, who lived in +a little cell in one of the inner corners of each gateway, was authorised to +admit belated persons. But it was necessary to stand parleying a long time. The +keeper would not let people in until, by the light of his lantern, he had +carefully scrutinised their faces through a peep-hole. If their looks +displeased him they had to sleep outside. This custom of locking the gates +every evening was highly characteristic of the spirit of the town, which was a +commingling of cowardice, egotism, routine, exclusiveness, and devout longing +for a cloistered life. Plassans, when it had shut itself up, would say to +itself, “I am at home,” with the satisfaction of some pious +bourgeois, who, assured of the safety of his cash-box, and certain that no +noise will disturb him, duly says his prayers and retires gladly to bed. No +other town, I believe, has so long persisted in thus incarcerating itself like +a nun. +</p> + +<p> +The population of Plassans is divided into three groups, corresponding with the +same number of districts. Putting aside the functionaries—the +sub-prefect, the receiver of taxes, the mortgage commissioner, and the +postmaster, who are all strangers to the locality, where they are objects of +envy rather than of esteem, and who live after their own fashion—the real +inhabitants, those who were born there and have every intention of ending their +days there, feel too much respect for traditional usages and established +boundaries not to pen themselves of their own accord in one or other of the +town’s social divisions. +</p> + +<p> +The nobility virtually cloister themselves. Since the fall of Charles X. they +scarcely ever go out, and when they do they are eager to return to their large +dismal mansions, and walk along furtively as though they were in a hostile +country. They do not visit anyone, nor do they even receive each other. Their +drawing-rooms are frequented by a few priests only. They spend the summer in +the chateaux which they possess in the environs; in the winter, they sit round +their firesides. They are, as it were, dead people weary of life. And thus the +gloomy silence of a cemetery hangs over their quarter of the town. The doors +and windows are carefully barricaded; one would think their mansions were so +many convents shut off from all the tumult of the world. At rare intervals an +abbé, whose measured tread adds to the gloomy silence of these sealed houses, +passes by and glides like a shadow through some half-opened doorway. +</p> + +<p> +The well-to-do people, the retired tradesmen, the lawyers and notaries, all +those of the little easy-going, ambitious world that inhabits the new town, +endeavour to infuse some liveliness into Plassans. They go to the parties given +by the sub-prefect, and dream of giving similar entertainments. They eagerly +seek popularity, call a workman “my good fellow,” chat with the +peasants about the harvest, read the papers, and walk out with their wives on +Sundays. Theirs are the enlightened minds of the district, they are the only +persons who venture to speak disparagingly of the ramparts; in fact, they have +several times demanded of the authorities the demolition of those old walls, +relics of a former age. At the same time, the most sceptical among them +experience a shock of delight whenever a marquis or a count deigns to honour +them with a stiff salutation. Indeed, the dream of every citizen of the new +town is to be admitted to a drawing-room of the Saint-Marc quarter. They know +very well that their ambition is not attainable, and it is this which makes +them proclaim all the louder that they are freethinkers. But they are +freethinkers in words only; firm friends of the authorities, they are ready to +rush into the arms of the first deliverer at the slightest indication of +popular discontent. +</p> + +<p> +The group which toils and vegetates in the old quarter is not so clearly +defined as the others. The labouring classes are here in a majority; but retail +dealers and even a few wholesale traders are to be found among them. As a +matter of fact, Plassans is far from being a commercial centre; there is only +just sufficient trade to dispose of the products of the country—oil, +wine, and almonds. As for industrial labour, it is represented almost entirely +by three or four evil-smelling tanyards, a felt hat manufactory, and some +soap-boiling works, which last are relegated to a corner of the Faubourg. This +little commercial and industrial world, though it may on high days and holidays +visit the people of the new district, generally takes up its quarters among the +operatives of the old town. Merchants, retail traders, and artisans have common +interests which unite them together. On Sundays only, the masters make +themselves spruce and foregather apart. On the other hand, the labouring +classes, which constitute scarcely a fifth of the population, mingle with the +idlers of the district. +</p> + +<p> +It is only once a week, and during the fine weather, that the three districts +of Plassans come together face to face. The whole town repairs to the Cours +Sauvaire on Sunday after vespers; even the nobility venture thither. Three +distinct currents flow along this sort of boulevard planted with rows of +plane-trees. The well-to-do citizens of the new quarter merely pass along +before quitting the town by the Grand’-Porte and taking the Avenue du +Mail on the right, where they walk up and down till nightfall. Meantime, the +nobility and the lower classes share the Cours Sauvaire between them. For more +than a century past the nobility have selected the walk on the south side, +which is bordered with large mansions, and is the first to escape the heat of +the sun; the lower classes have to rest content with the walk on the north, +where the cafes, inns, and tobacconists’ shops are located. The people +and the nobility promenade the whole afternoon, walking up and down the Cours +without anyone of either party thinking of changing sides. They are only +separated by a distance of some seven or eight yards, yet it is as if they were +a thousand leagues away from each other, for they scrupulously follow those two +parallel lines, as though they must not come in contact here below. Even during +the revolutionary periods each party kept to its own side. This regulation walk +on Sunday and the locking of the town gates in the evening are analogous +instances which suffice to indicate the character of the ten thousand people +inhabiting the town. +</p> + +<p> +Here, amidst these surroundings, until the year 1848, there vegetated an +obscure family that enjoyed little esteem, but whose head, Pierre Rougon, +subsequently played an important part in life owing to certain circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre Rougon was the son of a peasant. His mother’s family, the Fouques, +owned, towards the end of the last century, a large plot of ground in the +Faubourg, behind the old cemetery of Saint-Mittre; this ground was subsequently +joined to the Jas-Meiffren. The Fouques were the richest market-gardeners in +that part of the country; they supplied an entire district of Plassans with +vegetables. However, their name died out a few years before the Revolution. +Only one girl, Adélaïde, remained; born in 1768, she had become an orphan at +the age of eighteen. This girl, whose father had died insane, was a long, lank, +pale creature, with a scared look and strange ways which one might have taken +for shyness so long as she was a little girl. As she grew up, however, she +became still stranger; she did certain things which were inexplicable even to +the cleverest folk of the Faubourg, and from that time it was rumoured that she +was cracked like her father. +</p> + +<p> +She had scarcely been an orphan six months, in possession of a fortune which +rendered her an eagerly sought heiress, when it transpired that she had married +a young gardener named Rougon, a rough-hewn peasant from the Basses-Alpes. This +Rougon, after the death of the last of the male Fouques, who had engaged him +for a term, had remained in the service of the deceased’s daughter. From +the situation of salaried servant he ascended rapidly to the enviable position +of husband. This marriage was a first shock to public opinion. No one could +comprehend why Adélaïde preferred this poor fellow, coarse, heavy, vulgar, +scarce able to speak French, to those other young men, sons of well-to-do +farmers, who had been seen hovering round her for some time. And, as provincial +people do not allow anything to remain unexplained, they made sure there was +some mystery at the bottom of this affair, alleging even that the marriage of +the two young people had become an absolute necessity. But events proved the +falsity of the accusation. More than a year went by before Adélaïde had a son. +The Faubourg was annoyed; it could not admit that it was wrong, and determined +to penetrate the supposed mystery; accordingly all the gossips kept a watch +upon the Rougons. They soon found ample matter for tittle-tattle. Rougon died +almost suddenly, fifteen months after his marriage, from a sunstroke received +one afternoon while he was weeding a bed of carrots. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely a year then elapsed before the young widow caused unheard-of scandal. +It became known, as an indisputable fact, that she had a lover. She did not +appear to make any secret of it; several persons asserted that they had heard +her use endearing terms in public to poor Rougon’s successor. Scarcely a +year of widowhood and a lover already! Such a disregard of propriety seemed +monstrous out of all reason. And the scandal was heightened by Adélaïde’s +strange choice. At that time there dwelt at the end of the Impasse +Saint-Mittre, in a hovel the back of which abutted on the Fouques’ land, +a man of bad repute, who was generally referred to as “that scoundrel +Macquart.” This man would vanish for weeks and then turn up some fine +evening, sauntering about with his hands in his pockets and whistling as though +he had just come from a short walk. And the women sitting at their doorsteps as +he passed: “There’s that scoundrel Macquart! He has hidden his +bales and his gun in some hollow of the Viorne.” The truth was, Macquart +had no means, and yet ate and drank like a happy drone during his short +sojourns in the town. He drank copiously and with fierce obstinacy. Seating +himself alone at a table in some tavern, he would linger there evening after +evening, with his eyes stupidly fixed on his glass, neither seeing nor hearing +anything around him. When the landlord closed his establishment, he would +retire with a firm step, with his head raised, as if he were kept yet more +erect by inebriation. “Macquart walks so straight, he’s surely dead +drunk,” people used to say, as they saw him going home. Usually, when he +had had no drink, he walked with a slight stoop and shunned the gaze of curious +people with a kind of savage shyness. +</p> + +<p> +Since the death of his father, a journeyman tanner who had left him as sole +heritage the hovel in the Impasse Saint-Mittre, he had never been known to have +either relatives or friends. The proximity of the frontiers and the +neighbouring forests of the Seille had turned this singular, lazy fellow into a +combination of smuggler and poacher, one of those suspicious-looking characters +of whom passers-by observe: “I shouldn’t care to meet that man at +midnight in a dark wood.” Tall, with a formidable beard and lean face, +Macquart was the terror of the good women of the Faubourg of Plassans; they +actually accused him of devouring little children raw. Though he was hardly +thirty years old, he looked fifty. Amidst his bushy beard and the locks of hair +which hung over his face in poodle fashion, one could only distinguish the +gleam of his brown eyes, the furtive sorrowful glance of a man of vagrant +instincts, rendered vicious by wine and a pariah life. Although no crimes had +actually been brought home to him, no theft or murder was ever perpetrated in +the district without suspicion at once falling upon him. +</p> + +<p> +And it was this ogre, this brigand, this scoundrel Macquart, whom Adélaïde had +chosen! In twenty months she had two children by him, first a boy and then a +girl. There was no question of marriage between them. Never had the Faubourg +beheld such audacious impropriety. The stupefaction was so great, the idea of +Macquart having found a young and wealthy mistress so completely upset the +gossips, that they even spoke gently of Adélaïde. “Poor thing! +She’s gone quite mad,” they would say. “If she had any +relatives she would have been placed in confinement long ago.” And as +they never knew anything of the history of those strange amours, they accused +that rogue Macquart of having taken advantage of Adélaïde’s weak mind to +rob her of her money. +</p> + +<p> +The legitimate son, little Pierre Rougon, grew up with his mother’s other +offspring. The latter, Antoine and Ursule, the young wolves as they were called +in the district, were kept at home by Adélaïde, who treated them as +affectionately as her first child. She did not appear to entertain a very clear +idea of the position in life reserved for these two poor creatures. To her they +were the same in every respect as her first-born. She would sometimes go out +holding Pierre with one hand and Antoine with the other, never noticing how +differently the two little fellows were already regarded. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange home. For nearly twenty years everyone lived there after his +or her fancy, the children like the mother. Everything went on free from +control. In growing to womanhood, Adélaïde had retained the strangeness which +had been taken for shyness when she was fifteen. It was not that she was +insane, as the people of the Faubourg asserted, but there was a lack of +equilibrium between her nerves and her blood, a disorder of the brain and heart +which made her lead a life out of the ordinary, different from that of the rest +of the world. She was certainly very natural, very consistent with herself; but +in the eyes of the neighbours her consistency became pure insanity. She seemed +desirous of making herself conspicuous, it was thought she was wickedly +determined to turn things at home from bad to worse, whereas with great naivete +she simply acted according to the impulses of her nature. +</p> + +<p> +Ever since giving birth to her first child she had been subject to nervous fits +which brought on terrible convulsions. These fits recurred periodically, every +two or three months. The doctors whom she consulted declared they could do +nothing for her, that age would weaken the severity of the attacks. They simply +prescribed a dietary regimen of underdone meat and quinine wine. However, these +repeated shocks led to cerebral disorder. She lived on from day to day like a +child, like a fawning animal yielding to its instincts. When Macquart was on +his rounds, she passed her time in lazy, pensive idleness. All she did for her +children was to kiss and play with them. Then as soon as her lover returned she +would disappear. +</p> + +<p> +Behind Macquart’s hovel there was a little yard, separated from the +Fouques’ property by a wall. One morning the neighbours were much +astonished to find in this wall a door which had not been there the previous +evening. Before an hour had elapsed, the entire Faubourg had flocked to the +neighbouring windows. The lovers must have worked the whole night to pierce the +opening and place the door there. They could now go freely from one house to +the other. The scandal was revived, everyone felt less pity for Adélaïde, who +was certainly the disgrace of the suburb; she was reproached more wrathfully +for that door, that tacit, brutal admission of her union, than even for her two +illegitimate children. “People should at least study appearances,” +the most tolerant women would say. But Adélaïde did not understand what was +meant by studying appearances. She was very happy, very proud of her door; she +had assisted Macquart to knock the stones from the wall and had even mixed the +mortar so that the work might proceed the quicker; and she came with childish +delight to inspect the work by daylight on the morrow—an act which was +deemed a climax of shamelessness by three gossips who observed her +contemplating the masonry. From that date, whenever Macquart reappeared, it was +thought, as no one then ever saw the young woman, that she was living with him +in the hovel of the Impasse Saint-Mittre. +</p> + +<p> +The smuggler would come very irregularly, almost always unexpectedly, to +Plassans. Nobody ever knew what life the lovers led during the two or three +days he spent there at distant intervals. They used to shut themselves up; the +little dwelling seemed uninhabited. Then, as the gossips had declared that +Macquart had simply seduced Adélaïde in order to spend her money, they were +astonished, after a time, to see him still lead his wonted life, ever up hill +and down dale and as badly equipped as previously. Perhaps the young woman +loved him all the more for seeing him at rare intervals, perhaps he had +disregarded her entreaties, feeling an irresistible desire for a life of +adventure. The gossips invented a thousand fables, without succeeding in giving +any reasonable explanation of a connection which had originated and continued +in so strange a manner. The hovel in the Impasse Saint-Mittre remained closed +and preserved its secrets. It was merely guessed that Macquart had probably +acquired the habit of beating Adélaïde, although the sound of a quarrel never +issued from the house. However, on several occasions she was seen with her face +black and blue, and her hair torn away. At the same time, she did not display +the least dejection or grief, nor did she seek in any way to hide her bruises. +She smiled, and seemed happy. No doubt she allowed herself to be beaten without +breathing a word. This existence lasted for more than fifteen years. +</p> + +<p> +At times when Adélaïde returned home she would find her house upside down, but +would not take the least notice of it. She was utterly ignorant of the +practical meaning of life, of the proper value of things and the necessity for +order. She let her children grow up like those plum-trees which sprout along +the highways at the pleasure of the rain and sun. They bore their natural +fruits like wild stock which has never known grafting or pruning. Never was +nature allowed such complete sway, never did such mischievous creatures grow up +more freely under the sole influence of instinct. They rolled among the +vegetables, passed their days in the open air playing and fighting like +good-for-nothing urchins. They stole provisions from the house and pillaged the +few fruit-trees in the enclosure; they were the plundering, squalling, familiar +demons of this strange abode of lucid insanity. When their mother was absent +for days together, they would make such an uproar, and hit upon such diabolical +devices for annoying people, that the neighbours had to threaten them with a +whipping. Moreover, Adélaïde did not inspire them with much fear; if they were +less obnoxious to other people when she was at home, it was because they made +her their victim, shirking school five or six times a week and doing everything +they could to receive some punishment which would allow them to squall to their +hearts’ content. But she never beat them, nor even lost her temper; she +lived on very well, placidly, indolently, in a state of mental abstraction +amidst all the uproar. At last, indeed, this uproar became indispensable to +her, to fill the void in her brain. She smiled complacently when she heard +anyone say, “Her children will beat her some day, and it will serve her +right.” To all remarks, her utter indifference seemed to reply, +“What does it matter?” She troubled even less about her property +than about her children. The Fouques’ enclosure, during the many years +that this singular existence lasted would have become a piece of waste ground +if the young woman had not luckily entrusted the cultivation of her vegetables +to a clever market-gardener. This man, who was to share the profits with her, +robbed her impudently, though she never noticed it. This circumstance had its +advantages, however; for, in order to steal the more, the gardener drew as much +as possible from the land, which in the result almost doubled in value. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre, the legitimate son, either from secret instinct or from his knowledge +of the different manner in which he and the others were regarded by the +neighbours, domineered over his brother and sister from an early age. In their +quarrels, although he was much weaker than Antoine, he always got the better of +the contest, beating the other with all the authority of a master. With regard +to Ursule, a poor, puny, wan little creature, she was handled with equal +roughness by both the boys. Indeed, until they were fifteen or sixteen, the +three children fraternally beat each other without understanding their vague, +mutual hatred, without realising how foreign they were to one another. It was +only in youth that they found themselves face to face with definite, +self-conscious personalities. +</p> + +<p> +At sixteen, Antoine was a tall fellow, a blend of Macquart’s and +Adélaïde’s failings. Macquart, however, predominated in him, with his +love of vagrancy, his tendency to drunkenness, and his brutish savagery. At the +same time, under the influence of Adélaïde’s nervous nature, the vices +which in the father assumed a kind of sanguinary frankness were in the son +tinged with an artfulness full of hypocrisy and cowardice. Antoine resembled +his mother by his total want of dignified will, by his effeminate voluptuous +egotism, which disposed him to accept any bed of infamy provided he could +lounge upon it at his ease and sleep warmly in it. People said of him: +“Ah! the brigand! He hasn’t even the courage of his villainy like +Macquart; if ever he commits a murder, it will be with pin pricks.” +Physically, Antoine inherited Adélaïde’s thick lips only; his other +features resembled those of the smuggler, but they were softer and more prone +to change of expression. +</p> + +<p> +In Ursule, on the other hand, physical and moral resemblance to the mother +predominated. There was a mixture of certain characteristics in her also; but +born the last, at a time when Adélaïde’s love was warmer than +Macquart’s, the poor little thing seemed to have received with her sex a +deeper impress of her mother’s temperament. Moreover, hers was not a +fusion of the two natures, but rather a juxtaposition, a remarkably close +soldering. Ursule was whimsical, and displayed at times the shyness, the +melancholy, and the transports of a pariah; then she would often break out into +nervous fits of laughter, and muse lazily, like a woman unsound both in head +and heart. Her eyes, which at times had a scared expression like those of +Adélaïde, were as limpid as crystal, similar to those of kittens doomed to die +of consumption. +</p> + +<p> +In presence of those two illegitimate children Pierre seemed a stranger; to one +who had not penetrated to the roots of his being he would have appeared +profoundly dissimilar. Never did child’s nature show a more equal balance +of the characteristics of its parents. He was the exact mean between the +peasant Rougon and the nervous Adélaïde. Paternal grossness was attenuated by +the maternal influence. One found in him the first phase of that evolution of +temperaments which ultimately brings about the amelioration or deterioration of +a race. Although he was still a peasant, his skin was less coarse, his face +less heavy, his intellect more capacious and more supple. In him the defects of +his father and his mother had advantageously reacted upon each other. If +Adélaïde’s nature, rendered exquisitely sensitive by her rebellious +nerves, had combated and lessened Rougon’s full-bodied ponderosity, the +latter had successfully prevented the young woman’s tendency to cerebral +disorder from being implanted in the child. Pierre knew neither the passions +nor the sickly ravings of Macquart’s young whelps. Very badly brought up, +unruly and noisy, like all children who are not restrained during their +infancy, he nevertheless possessed at bottom such sense and intelligence as +would always preserve him from perpetrating any unproductive folly. His vices, +his laziness, his appetite for indulgence, lacked the instinctiveness which +characterised Antoine’s; he meant to cultivate and gratify them +honourably and openly. In his plump person of medium height, in his long pale +face, in which the features derived from his father had acquired some of the +maternal refinement, one could already detect signs of sly and crafty ambition +and insatiable desire, with the hardness of heart and envious hatred of a +peasant’s son whom his mother’s means and nervous temperament had +turned into a member of the middle classes. +</p> + +<p> +When, at the age of seventeen, Pierre observed and was able to understand +Adélaïde’s disorders and the singular position of Antoine and Ursule, he +seemed neither sorry nor indignant, but simply worried as to the course which +would best serve his own interests. He was the only one of the three children +who had pursued his studies with any industry. When a peasant begins to feel +the need of instruction he most frequently becomes a fierce calculator. At +school Pierre’s playmates roused his first suspicions by the manner in +which they treated and hooted his brother. Later on he came to understand the +significance of many looks and words. And at last he clearly saw that the house +was being pillaged. From that time forward he regarded Antoine and Ursule as +shameless parasites, mouths that were devouring his own substance. Like the +people of the Faubourg, he thought that his mother was a fit subject for a +lunatic asylum, and feared she would end by squandering all her money, if he +did not take steps to prevent it. What gave him the finishing stroke was the +dishonesty of the gardener who cultivated the land. At this, in one day, the +unruly child was transformed into a thrifty, selfish lad, hurriedly matured, as +regards his instincts, by the strange improvident life which he could no longer +bear to see around him without a feeling of anguish. Those vegetables, from the +sale of which the market-gardener derived the largest profits, really belonged +to him; the wine which his mother’s offspring drank, the bread they ate, +also belonged to him. The whole house, the entire fortune, was his by right; +according to his boorish logic, he alone, the legitimate son, was the heir. And +as his riches were in danger, as everybody was greedily gnawing at his future +fortune, he sought a means of turning them all out—mother, brother, +sister, servants—and of succeeding immediately to his inheritance. +</p> + +<p> +The conflict was a cruel one; the lad knew that he must first strike his +mother. Step by step, with patient tenacity, he executed a plan whose every +detail he had long previously thought out. His tactics were to appear before +Adélaïde like a living reproach—not that he flew into a passion, or +upbraided her for her misconduct; but he had acquired a certain manner of +looking at her, without saying a word, which terrified her. Whenever she +returned from a short sojourn in Macquart’s hovel she could not turn her +eyes on her son without a shudder. She felt his cold glances, as sharp as steel +blades pierce her deeply and pitilessly. The severe, taciturn demeanour of the +child of the man whom she had so soon forgotten strangely troubled her poor +disordered brain. She would fancy at times that Rougon had risen from the dead +to punish her for her dissoluteness. Every week she fell into one of those +nervous fits which were shattering her constitution. She was left to struggle +until she recovered consciousness, after which she would creep about more +feebly than ever. She would also often sob the whole night long, holding her +head in her hands, and accepting the wounds that Pierre dealt her with +resignation, as if they had been the strokes of an avenging deity. At other +times she repudiated him; she would not acknowledge her own flesh and blood in +that heavy-faced lad, whose calmness chilled her own feverishness so painfully. +She would a thousand times rather have been beaten than glared at like that. +Those implacable looks, which followed her everywhere, threw her at last into +such unbearable torments that on several occasions she determined to see her +lover no more. As soon, however, as Macquart returned she forgot her vows and +hastened to him. The conflict with her son began afresh, silent and terrible, +when she came back home. At the end of a few months she fell completely under +his sway. She stood before him like a child doubtful of her behaviour and +fearing that she deserves a whipping. Pierre had skilfully bound her hand and +foot, and made a very submissive servant of her, without opening his lips, +without once entering into difficult and compromising explanations. +</p> + +<p> +When the young man felt that his mother was in his power, that he could treat +her like a slave, he began, in his own interest, to turn her cerebral weakness +and the foolish terror with which his glances inspired her to his own +advantage. His first care, as soon as he was master at home, was to dismiss the +market-gardener and replace him by one of his own creatures. Then he took upon +himself the supreme direction of the household, selling, buying, and holding +the cash-box. On the other hand, he made no attempt to regulate +Adélaïde’s actions, or to correct Antoine and Ursule for their laziness. +That mattered little to him, for he counted upon getting rid of these people as +soon as an opportunity presented itself. He contented himself with portioning +out their bread and water. Then, having already got all the property in his own +hands, he awaited an event which would permit him to dispose of it as he +pleased. +</p> + +<p> +Circumstances proved singularly favourable. He escaped the conscription on the +ground of being a widow’s eldest son. But two years later Antoine was +called out. His bad luck did not affect him much; he counted on his mother +purchasing a substitute for him. Adélaïde, in fact, wished to save him from +serving; Pierre, however, who held the money, turned a deaf ear to her. His +brother’s compulsory departure would be a lucky event for him, and +greatly assist the accomplishment of his plans. When his mother mentioned the +matter to him, he gave her such a look that she did not venture to pursue it. +His glance plainly signified, “Do you wish, then, to ruin me for the sake +of your illegitimate offspring?” Forthwith she selfishly abandoned +Antoine, for before everything else she sought her own peace and quietness. +Pierre, who did not like violent measures, and who rejoiced at being able to +eject his brother without a disturbance, then played the part of a man in +despair: the year had been a bad one, money was scarce, and to raise any he +would be compelled to sell a portion of the land, which would be the beginning +of their ruin. Then he pledged his word of honour to Antoine that he would buy +him out the following year, though he meant to do nothing of the kind. Antoine +then went off, duped, and half satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre got rid of Ursule in a still more unexpected manner. A journeyman hatter +of the Faubourg, named Mouret, conceived a real affection for the girl, whom he +thought as white and delicate as any young lady from the Saint-Marc quarter. He +married her. On his part it was a love match, free from all sordid motives. As +for Ursule, she accepted the marriage in order to escape a home where her +eldest brother rendered life intolerable. Her mother, absorbed in her own +courses, and using her remaining energy to defend her own particular interests, +regarded the matter with absolute indifference. She was even glad of +Ursule’s departure from the house, hoping that Pierre, now that he had no +further cause for dissatisfaction, would let her live in peace after her own +fashion. No sooner had the young people been married than Mouret perceived that +he would have to quit Plassans, if he did not wish to hear endless disparaging +remarks about his wife and his mother-in-law. Taking Ursule with him, he +accordingly repaired to Marseilles, where he worked at his trade. It should be +mentioned that he had not asked for one sou of dowry. When Pierre, somewhat +surprised by this disinterestedness, commenced to stammer out some +explanations, Mouret closed his mouth by saying that he preferred to earn his +wife’s bread. Nevertheless the worthy son of the peasant remained uneasy; +Mouret’s indifference seemed to him to conceal some trap. +</p> + +<p> +Adélaïde now remained to be disposed of. Nothing in the world would have +induced Pierre to live with her any longer. She was compromising him; it was +with her that he would have liked to make a start. But he found himself between +two very embarrassing alternatives: to keep her, and thus, in a measure, share +her disgrace, and bind a fetter to his feet which would arrest him in his +ambitious flight; or to turn her out, with the certainty of being pointed at as +a bad son, which would have robbed him of the reputation for good nature which +he desired. Knowing that he would be in want of everybody, he desired to secure +an untarnished name throughout Plassans. There was but one method to adopt, +namely, to induce Adélaïde to leave of her own accord. Pierre neglected nothing +to accomplish this end. He considered his mother’s misconduct a +sufficient excuse for his own hard-heartedness. He punished her as one would +chastise a child. The tables were turned. The poor woman cowered under the +stick which, figuratively, was constantly held over her. She was scarcely +forty-two years old, and already had the stammerings of terror, and vague, +pitiful looks of an old woman in her dotage. Her son continued to stab her with +his piercing glances, hoping that she would run away when her courage was +exhausted. The unfortunate woman suffered terribly from shame, restrained +desire and enforced cowardice, receiving the blows dealt her with passive +resignation, and nevertheless returning to Macquart with the determination to +die on the spot rather than submit. There were nights when she would have got +out of bed, and thrown herself into the Viorne, if with her weak, nervous, +nature she had not felt the greatest fear of death. On several occasions she +thought of running away and joining her lover on the frontier. It was only +because she did not know whither to go that she remained in the house, +submitting to her son’s contemptuous silence and secret brutality. Pierre +divined that she would have left long ago if she had only had a refuge. He was +waiting an opportunity to take a little apartment for her somewhere, when a +fortuitous occurrence, which he had not ventured to anticipate, abruptly +brought about the realisation of his desires. Information reached the Faubourg +that Macquart had just been killed on the frontier by a shot from a +custom-house officer, at the moment when he was endeavouring to smuggle a load +of Geneva watches into France. The story was true. The smuggler’s body +was not even brought home, but was interred in the cemetery of a little +mountain village. Adélaïde’s grief plunged her into stupor. Her son, who +watched her curiously, did not see her shed a tear. Macquart had made her sole +legatee. She inherited his hovel in the Impasse Saint-Mittre, and his carbine, +which a fellow-smuggler, braving the balls of the custom-house officers, +loyally brought back to her. On the following day she retired to the little +house, hung the carbine above the mantelpiece, and lived there estranged from +all the world, solitary and silent. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre was at last sole master of the house. The Fouques’ land belonged +to him in fact, if not in law. He never thought of establishing himself on it. +It was too narrow a field for his ambition. To till the ground and cultivate +vegetables seemed to him boorish, unworthy of his faculties. He was in a hurry +to divest himself of everything recalling the peasant. With his nature refined +by his mother’s nervous temperament, he felt an irresistible longing for +the enjoyments of the middle classes. In all his calculations, therefore, he +had regarded the sale of the Fouques’ property as the final consummation. +This sale, by placing a round sum of money in his hands, would enable him to +marry the daughter of some merchant who would take him into partnership. At +this period the wars of the First Empire were greatly thinning the ranks of +eligible young men. Parents were not so fastidious as previously in the choice +of a son-in-law. Pierre persuaded himself that money would smooth all +difficulties, and that the gossip of the Faubourg would be overlooked; he +intended to pose as a victim, as an honest man suffering from a family +disgrace, which he deplored, without being soiled by it or excusing it. +</p> + +<p> +For several months already he had cast his eyes on a certain Félicité Puech, +the daughter of an oil-dealer. The firm of Puech & Lacamp, whose warehouses +were in one of the darkest lanes of the old quarter, was far from prosperous. +It enjoyed but doubtful credit in the market, and people talked vaguely of +bankruptcy. It was precisely in consequence of these evil reports that Pierre +turned his batteries in this direction. No well-to-do trader would have given +him his daughter. He meant to appear on the scene at the very moment when old +Puech should no longer know which way to turn; he would then purchase Félicité +of him, and re-establish the credit of the house by his own energy and +intelligence. It was a clever expedient for ascending the first rung of the +social ladder, for raising himself above his station. Above all things, he +wished to escape from that frightful Faubourg where everybody reviled his +family, and to obliterate all these foul legends, by effacing even the very +name of the Fouques’ enclosure. For that reason the filthy streets of the +old quarter seemed to him perfect paradise. There, only, he would be able to +change his skin. +</p> + +<p> +The moment which he had been awaiting soon arrived. The firm of Puech and +Lacamp seemed to be at the last gasp. The young man then negotiated the match +with prudent skill. He was received, if not as a deliverer, at least as a +necessary and acceptable expedient. The marriage agreed upon, he turned his +attention to the sale of the ground. The owner of the Jas-Meiffren, desiring to +enlarge his estate, had made him repeated offers. A low, thin, party-wall alone +separated the two estates. Pierre speculated on the eagerness of his wealthy +neighbour, who, to gratify his caprice, offered as much as fifty thousand +francs for the land. It was double its value. Pierre, whoever, with the +craftiness of a peasant, pulled a long face, and said that he did not care to +sell; that his mother would never consent to get rid of the property where the +Fouques had lived from father to son for nearly two centuries. But all the time +that he was seemingly holding back he was really making preparations for the +sale. Certain doubts had arisen in his mind. According to his own brutal logic, +the property belonged to him; he had the right to dispose of it as he chose. +Beneath this assurance, however, he had vague presentiments of legal +complications. So he indirectly consulted a lawyer of the Faubourg. +</p> + +<p> +He learnt some fine things from him. According to the lawyer, his hands were +completely tied. His mother alone could alienate the property, and he doubted +whether she would. But what he did not know, what came as a heavy blow to him, +was that Ursule and Antoine, those young wolves, had claims on the estate. +What! they would despoil him, rob him, the legitimate child! The lawyer’s +explanations were clear and precise, however; Adélaïde, it is true, had married +Rougon under the common property system; but as the whole fortune consisted of +land, the young woman, according to law, again came into possession of +everything at her husband’s death. Moreover, Macquart and Adélaïde had +duly acknowledged their children when declaring their birth for registration, +and thus these children were entitled to inherit from their mother. For sole +consolation, Pierre learnt that the law reduced the share of illegitimate +children in favour of the others. This, however, did not console him at all. He +wanted to have everything. He would not have shared ten sous with Ursule and +Antoine. +</p> + +<p> +This vista of the intricacies of the Code opened up a new horizon, which he +scanned with a singularly thoughtful air. He soon recognised that a shrewd man +must always keep the law on his side. And this is what he devised without +consulting anyone, even the lawyer, whose suspicions he was afraid of arousing. +He knew how to turn his mother round his finger. One fine morning he took her +to a notary and made her sign a deed of sale. Provided she were left the hovel +in the Impasse Saint-Mittre, Adélaïde would have sold all Plassans. Besides, +Pierre assured her an annual income of six hundred francs, and made the most +solemn promises to watch over his brother and sister. This oath satisfied the +good woman. She recited, before the notary, the lesson which it had pleased her +son to teach her. On the following day the young man made her place her name at +the foot of a document in which she acknowledged having received fifty thousand +francs as the price of the property. This was his stroke of genius, the act of +a rogue. He contented himself with telling his mother, who was a little +surprised at signing such a receipt when she had not seen a centime of the +fifty thousand francs, that it was a pure formality of no consequence whatever. +As he slipped the paper into his pocket, he thought to himself, “Now, let +the young wolves ask me to render an account. I will tell them the old woman +has squandered everything. They will never dare to go to law with me about +it.” A week afterwards, the party-wall no longer existed: a plough had +turned up the vegetable beds; the Fouques’ enclosure, in accordance with +young Rougon’s wish, was about to become a thing of the past. A few +months later, the owner of the Jas-Meiffren even had the old +market-gardener’s house, which was falling to pieces, pulled down. +</p> + +<p> +When Pierre had secured the fifty thousand francs he married Félicité Puech +with as little delay as possible. Félicité was a short, dark woman, such as one +often meets in Provence. She looked like one of those brown, lean, noisy +grasshoppers, which in their sudden leaps often strike their heads against the +almond-trees. Thin, flat-breasted, with pointed shoulders and a face like that +of a pole-cat, her features singularly sunken and attenuated, it was not easy +to tell her age; she looked as near fifteen as thirty, although she was in +reality only nineteen, four years younger than her husband. There was much +feline slyness in the depths of her little black eyes, which suggested gimlet +holes. Her low, bumpy forehead, her slightly depressed nose with delicate +quivering nostrils, her thin red lips and prominent chin, parted from her +cheeks by strange hollows, all suggested the countenance of an artful dwarf, a +living mask of intrigue, an active, envious ambition. With all her ugliness, +however, Félicité possessed a sort of gracefulness which rendered her +seductive. People said of her that she could be pretty or ugly as she pleased. +It would depend on the fashion in which she tied her magnificent hair; but it +depended still more on the triumphant smile which illumined her golden +complexion when she thought she had got the better of somebody. Born under an +evil star, and believing herself ill-used by fortune, she was generally content +to appear an ugly creature. She did not, however, intend to abandon the +struggle, for she had vowed that she would some day make the whole town burst +with envy, by an insolent display of happiness and luxury. Had she been able to +act her part on a more spacious stage, where full play would have been allowed +her ready wit, she would have quickly brought her dream to pass. Her +intelligence was far superior to that of the girls of her own station and +education. Evil tongues asserted that her mother, who had died a few years +after she was born, had, during the early period of her married life, been +familiar with the Marquis de Carnavant, a young nobleman of the Saint-Marc +quarter. In fact, Félicité had the hands and feet of a marchioness, and, in +this respect, did not appear to belong to that class of workers from which she +was descended. +</p> + +<p> +Her marriage with Pierre Rougon, that semi-peasant, that man of the Faubourg, +whose family was in such bad odour, kept the old quarter in a state of +astonishment for more than a month. She let people gossip, however, receiving +the stiff congratulations of her friends with strange smiles. Her calculations +had been made; she had chosen Rougon for a husband as one would choose an +accomplice. Her father, in accepting the young man, had merely had eyes for the +fifty thousand francs which were to save him from bankruptcy. Félicité, +however, was more keen-sighted. She looked into the future, and felt that she +would be in want of a robust man, even if he were somewhat rustic, behind whom +she might conceal herself, and whose limbs she would move at will. She +entertained a deliberate hatred for the insignificant little exquisites of +provincial towns, the lean herd of notaries’ clerks and prospective +barristers, who stand shivering with cold while waiting for clients. Having no +dowry, and despairing of ever marrying a rich merchant’s son, she by far +preferred a peasant whom she could use as a passive tool, to some lank graduate +who would overwhelm her with his academical superiority, and drag her about all +her life in search of hollow vanities. She was of opinion that the woman ought +to make the man. She believed herself capable of carving a minister out of a +cow-herd. That which had attracted her in Rougon was his broad chest, his heavy +frame, which was not altogether wanting in elegance. A man thus built would +bear with ease and sprightliness the mass of intrigues which she dreamt of +placing on his shoulders. However, while she appreciated her husband’s +strength and vigour, she also perceived that he was far from being a fool; +under his coarse flesh she had divined the cunning suppleness of his mind. +Still she was a long way from really knowing her Rougon; she thought him far +stupider than he was. A few days after her marriage, as she was by chance +fumbling in the drawer of a secretaire, she came across the receipt for fifty +thousand francs which Adélaïde had signed. At sight of it she understood +things, and felt rather frightened; her own natural average honesty rendered +her hostile to such expedients. Her terror, however, was not unmixed with +admiration; Rougon became in her eyes a very smart fellow. +</p> + +<p> +The young couple bravely sought to conquer fortune. The firm of Puech & +Lacamp was not, after all, so embarrassed as Pierre had thought. Its +liabilities were small, it was merely in want of ready-money. In the provinces, +traders adopt prudent courses to save them from serious disasters. Puech & +Lacamp were prudent to an excessive degree; they never risked a thousand crowns +without the greatest fear, and thus their house, a veritable hole, was an +unimportant one. The fifty thousand francs that Pierre brought into it sufficed +to pay the debts and extend the business. The beginnings were good. During +three successive years the olive harvest was an abundant one. Félicité, by a +bold stroke which absolutely frightened both Pierre and old Puech, made them +purchase a considerable quantity of oil, which they stored in their warehouse. +During the following years, as the young woman had foreseen, the crops failed, +and a considerable rise in prices having set in, they realised large profits by +selling out their stock. +</p> + +<p> +A short time after this haul, Puech & Lacamp retired from the firm, content +with the few sous they had just secured, and ambitious of living on their +incomes. +</p> + +<p> +The young couple now had sole control of the business, and thought that they +had at last laid the foundation of their fortune. “You have vanquished my +ill-luck,” Félicité would sometimes say to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +One of the rare weaknesses of her energetic nature was to believe herself +stricken by misfortune. Hitherto, so she asserted, nothing had been successful +with either herself or her father, in spite of all their efforts. Goaded by her +southern superstition, she prepared to struggle with fate as one struggles with +somebody who is endeavouring to strangle one. Circumstances soon justified her +apprehensions in a singular manner. Ill-luck returned inexorably. Every year +some fresh disaster shook Rougon’s business. A bankruptcy resulted in the +loss of a few thousand francs; his estimates of crops proved incorrect, through +the most incredible circumstances; the safest speculations collapsed miserably. +It was a truceless, merciless combat. +</p> + +<p> +“You see I was born under an unlucky star!” Félicité would bitterly +exclaim. +</p> + +<p> +And yet she still struggled furiously, not understanding how it was that she, +who had shown such keen scent in a first speculation, could now only give her +husband the most deplorable advice. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre, dejected and less tenacious than herself, would have gone into +liquidation a score of times had it not been for his wife’s firm +obstinacy. She longed to be rich. She perceived that her ambition could only be +attained by fortune. As soon as they possessed a few hundred thousand francs +they would be masters of the town. She would get her husband appointed to an +important post, and she would govern. It was not the attainment of honours +which troubled her; she felt herself marvellously well armed for such a combat. +But she could do nothing to get together the first few bags of money which were +needed. Though the ruling of men caused her no apprehensions, she felt a sort +of impotent rage at the thought of those inert, white, cold, five-franc pieces +over which her intriguing spirit had no power, and which obstinately resisted +her. +</p> + +<p> +The battle lasted for more than thirty years. The death of Puech proved another +heavy blow. Félicité, who had counted upon an inheritance of about forty +thousand francs, found that the selfish old man, in order to indulge himself in +his old age, had sunk all his money in a life annuity. The discovery made her +quite ill. She was gradually becoming soured, she was growing more lean and +harsh. To see her, from morning till night, whirling round the jars of oil, one +would have thought she believed that she could stimulate the sales by +continually flitting about like a restless fly. Her husband, on the contrary, +became heavier; misfortune fattened him, making him duller and more indolent. +These thirty years of combat did not, however, bring him to ruin. At each +annual stock-taking they managed to make both ends meet fairly well; if they +suffered any loss during one season, they recouped themselves the next. +However, it was precisely this living from hand to mouth which exasperated +Félicité. She would, by far, have preferred a big failure. They would then, +perhaps, have been able to commence life over again, instead of obstinately +persisting in their petty business, working themselves to death to gain the +bare necessaries of life. During one third of a century they did not save fifty +thousand francs. +</p> + +<p> +It should be mentioned that, from the very first years of their married life, +they had a numerous family, which in the long run became a heavy burden to +them. In the course of five years, from 1811 to 1815, Félicité gave birth to +three boys. Then during the four ensuing years she presented her husband with +two girls. These had but an indifferent welcome; daughters are a terrible +embarrassment when one has no dowry to give them. +</p> + +<p> +However, the young woman did not regard this troop of children as the cause of +their ruin. On the contrary, she based on her sons’ heads the building of +the fortune which was crumbling in her own hands. They were hardly ten years +old before she discounted their future careers in her dreams. Doubting whether +she would ever succeed herself, she centred in them all her hopes of overcoming +the animosity of fate. They would provide satisfaction for her disappointed +vanity, they would give her that wealthy, honourable position which she had +hitherto sought in vain. From that time forward, without abandoning the +business struggle, she conceived a second plan for obtaining the gratification +of her domineering instincts. It seemed to her impossible that, amongst her +three sons, there should not be a man of superior intellect, who would enrich +them all. She felt it, she said. Accordingly, she nursed the children with a +fervour in which maternal severity was blended with an usurer’s +solicitude. She amused herself by fattening them as though they constituted a +capital which, later on, would return a large interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough!” Pierre would sometimes exclaim, “all children are +ungrateful. You are spoiling them, you are ruining us.” +</p> + +<p> +When Félicité spoke of sending them to college, he got angry. Latin was a +useless luxury, it would be quite sufficient if they went through the classes +of a little neighbouring school The young woman, however, persisted in her +design. She possessed certain elevated instincts which made her take a great +pride in surrounding herself with accomplished children; moreover, she felt +that her sons must never remain as illiterate as her husband, if she wished to +see them become prominent men. She fancied them all three in Paris in high +positions, which she did not clearly define. When Rougon consented, and the +three youngsters had entered the eighth class, Félicité felt the most lively +satisfaction she had ever experienced. She listened with delight as they talked +of their professors and their studies. When she heard her eldest son make one +of his brothers decline <i>Rosa, a rose</i>, it sounded like delicious music to +her. It is only fair to add that her delight was not tarnished by any sordid +calculations. Even Rougon felt the satisfaction which an illiterate man +experiences on perceiving his sons grow more learned than himself. Then the +fellowship which grew up between their sons and those of the local big-wigs +completed the parents’ gratification. The youngsters were soon on +familiar terms with the sons of the Mayor and the Sub-Prefect, and even with +two or three young noblemen whom the Saint-Marc quarter had deigned to send to +the Plassans College. Félicité was at a loss how to repay such an honour. The +education of the three lads weighed seriously on the budget of the Rougon +household. +</p> + +<p> +Until the boys had taken their degrees, their parents, who kept them at college +at enormous sacrifices, lived in hopes of their success. When they had obtained +their diplomas Félicité wished to continue her work, and even persuaded her +husband to send the three to Paris. Two of them devoted themselves to the study +of law, and the third passed through the School of Medicine. Then, when they +were men, and had exhausted the resources of the Rougon family and were obliged +to return and establish themselves in the provinces, their parents’ +disenchantment began. They idled about and grew fat. And Félicité again felt +all the bitterness of her ill-luck. Her sons were failing her. They had ruined +her, and did not return any interest on the capital which they represented. +This last blow of fate was the heaviest, as it fell on her ambition and her +maternal vanity alike. Rougon repeated to her from morning till night, “I +told you so!” which only exasperated her the more. +</p> + +<p> +One day, as she was bitterly reproaching her eldest son with the large amount +of money expended on his education, he said to her with equal bitterness, +“I will repay you later on if I can. But as you had no means, you should +have brought us up to a trade. We are out of our element, we are suffering more +than you.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité understood the wisdom of these words. From that time she ceased to +accuse her children, and turned her anger against fate, which never wearied of +striking her. She started her old complaints afresh, and bemoaned more and more +the want of means which made her strand, as it were, in port. Whenever Rougon +said to her, “Your sons are lazy fellows, they will eat up all we +have,” she sourly replied, “Would to God I had more money to give +them; if they do vegetate, poor fellows, it’s because they haven’t +got a sou to bless themselves with.” +</p> + +<p> +At the beginning of the year 1848, on the eve of the Revolution of February, +the three young Rougons held very precarious positions at Plassans. They +presented most curious and profoundly dissimilar characteristics, though they +came of the same stock. They were in reality superior to their parents. The +race of the Rougons was destined to become refined through its female side. +Adélaïde had made Pierre a man of moderate enterprise, disposed to low +ambitions; Félicité had inspired her sons with a higher intelligence, with a +capacity for greater vices and greater virtues. +</p> + +<p> +At the period now referred to the eldest, Eugène, was nearly forty years old. +He was a man of middle height, slightly bald, and already disposed to obesity. +He had his father’s face, a long face with broad features; beneath his +skin one could divine the fat to which were due the flabby roundness of his +features, and his yellowish, waxy complexion. Though his massive square head +still recalled the peasant, his physiognomy was transfigured, lit up from +within as it were, when his drooping eyelids were raised and his eyes awoke to +life. In the son’s case, the father’s ponderousness had turned to +gravity. This big fellow, Eugène, usually preserved a heavy somnolent +demeanour. At the same time, certain of his heavy, languid movements suggested +those of a giant stretching his limbs pending the time for action. By one of +those alleged freaks of nature, of which, however, science is now commencing to +discover the laws, if physical resemblance to Pierre was perfect in Eugène, +Félicité on her side seemed to have furnished him with his brains. He offered +an instance of certain moral and intellectual qualities of maternal origin +being embedded in the coarse flesh he had derived from his father. He cherished +lofty ambitions, possessed domineering instincts, and showed singular contempt +for trifling expedients and petty fortunes. +</p> + +<p> +He was a proof that Plassans was perhaps not mistaken in suspecting that +Félicité had some blue blood in her veins. The passion for indulgence, which +became formidably developed in the Rougons, and was, in fact, the family +characteristic, attained in his case its highest pitch; he longed for +self-gratification, but in the form of mental enjoyment such as would gratify +his burning desire for domination. A man such as this was never intended to +succeed in a provincial town. He vegetated there for fifteen years, his eyes +turned towards Paris, watching his opportunities. On his return home he had +entered his name on the rolls, in order to be independent of his parents. After +that he pleaded from time to time, earning a bare livelihood, without appearing +to rise above average mediocrity. At Plassans his voice was considered thick, +his movements heavy. He generally wandered from the question at issue, rambled, +as the wiseacres expressed it. On one occasion particularly, when he was +pleading in a case for damages, he so forgot himself as to stray into a +political disquisition, to such a point that the presiding judge interfered, +whereupon he immediately sat down with a strange smile. His client was +condemned to pay a considerable sum of money, a circumstance which did not, +however, seem to cause Eugène the least regret for his irrelevant digression. +He appeared to regard his speeches as mere exercises which would be of use to +him later on. It was this that puzzled and disheartened Félicité. She would +have liked to see her son dictating the law to the Civil Court of Plassans. At +last she came to entertain a very unfavourable opinion of her first-born. To +her mind this lazy fellow would never be the one to shed any lustre on the +family. Pierre, on the contrary, felt absolute confidence in him, not that he +had more intuition than his wife, but because external appearances sufficed +him, and he flattered himself by believing in the genius of a son who was his +living image. A month prior to the Revolution of February, 1848, Eugène became +restless; some special inspiration made him anticipate the crisis. From that +time forward he seemed to feel out of his element at Plassans. He would wander +about the streets like a distressed soul. At last he formed a sudden +resolution, and left for Paris, with scarcely five hundred francs in his +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Aristide, the youngest son, was, so to speak, diametrically opposed to Eugène. +He had his mother’s face, and a covetousness and slyness of character +prone to trivial intrigues, in which his father’s instincts predominated. +Nature has need of symmetry. Short, with a pitiful countenance suggesting the +knob of a stick carved into a Punch’s head, Aristide ferretted and +fumbled everywhere, without any scruples, eager only to gratify himself. He +loved money as his eldest brother loved power. While Eugène dreamed of bending +a people to his will, and intoxicated himself with visions of future +omnipotence, the other fancied himself ten times a millionaire, installed in a +princely mansion, eating and drinking to his heart’s content, and +enjoying life to the fullest possible extent. Above all things, he longed to +make a rapid fortune. When he was building his castles in the air, they would +rise in his mind as if by magic; he would become possessed of tons of gold in +one night. These visions agreed with his indolence, as he never troubled +himself about the means, considering those the best which were the most +expeditious. In his case the race of the Rougons, of those coarse, greedy +peasants with brutish appetites, had matured too rapidly; every desire for +material indulgence was found in him, augmented threefold by hasty education, +and rendered the more insatiable and dangerous by the deliberate way in which +the young man had come to regard their realisation as his set purpose. In spite +of her keen feminine intuition, Félicité preferred this son; she did not +perceive the greater affinity between herself and Eugène; she excused the +follies and indolence of her youngest son under the pretext that he would some +day be the superior genius of the family, and that such a man was entitled to +live a disorderly life until his intellectual strength should be revealed. +</p> + +<p> +Aristide subjected her indulgence to a rude test. In Paris he led a low, idle +life; he was one of those students who enter their names at the taverns of the +Quartier Latin. He did not remain there, however, more than two years; his +father, growing apprehensive, and seeing that he had not yet passed a single +examination, kept him at Plassans and spoke of finding a wife for him, hoping +that domestic responsibility would make him more steady. Aristide let himself +be married. He had no very clear idea of his own ambitions at this time; +provincial life did not displease him; he was battening in his little +town—eating, sleeping, and sauntering about. Félicité pleaded his cause +so earnestly that Pierre consented to board and lodge the newly-married couple, +on condition that the young man should turn his attention to the business. From +that time, however, Aristide led a life of ease and idleness. He spent his days +and the best part of his nights at the club, again and again slipping out of +his father’s office like a schoolboy to go and gamble away the few louis +that his mother gave him clandestinely. +</p> + +<p> +It is necessary to have lived in the depths of the French provinces to form an +idea of the four brutifying years which the young fellow spent in this fashion. +In every little town there is a group of individuals who thus live on their +parents, pretending at times to work, but in reality cultivating idleness with +a sort of religious zeal. Aristide was typical of these incorrigible drones. +For four years he did little but play écarté. While he passed his time at the +club, his wife, a fair-complexioned nerveless woman, helped to ruin the Rougon +business by her inordinate passion for showy gowns and her formidable appetite, +a rather remarkable peculiarity in so frail a creature. Angèle, however, adored +sky-blue ribbons and roast beef. She was the daughter of a retired captain who +was called Commander Sicardot, a good-hearted old gentleman, who had given her +a dowry of ten thousand francs—all his savings. Pierre, in selecting +Angèle for his son had considered that he had made an unexpected bargain, so +lightly did he esteem Aristide. However, that dowry of ten thousand francs, +which determined his choice, ultimately became a millstone round his neck. His +son, who was already a cunning rogue, deposited the ten thousand francs with +his father, with whom he entered into partnership, declining, with the most +sincere professions of devotion, to keep a single copper. +</p> + +<p> +“We have no need of anything,” he said; “you will keep my +wife and myself, and we will reckon up later on.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre was short of money at the time, and accepted, not, however, without some +uneasiness at Aristide’s disinterestedness. The latter calculated that it +would be years before his father would have ten thousand francs in ready money +to repay him, so that he and his wife would live at the paternal expense so +long as the partnership could not be dissolved. It was an admirable investment +for his few bank-notes. When the oil-dealer understood what a foolish bargain +he had made he was not in a position to rid himself of Aristide; Angèle’s +dowry was involved in speculations which were turning out unfavourably. He was +exasperated, stung to the heart, at having to provide for his +daughter-in-law’s voracious appetite and keep his son in idleness. Had he +been able to buy them out of the business he would twenty times have shut his +doors on those bloodsuckers, as he emphatically expressed it. Félicité secretly +defended them; the young man, who had divined her dreams of ambition, would +every evening describe to her the elaborate plans by which he would shortly +make a fortune. By a rare chance she had remained on excellent terms with her +daughter-in-law. It must be confessed that Angèle had no will of her +own—she could be moved and disposed of like a piece of furniture. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Pierre became enraged whenever his wife spoke to him of the success +their youngest son would ultimately achieve; he declared that he would really +bring them to ruin. During the four years that the young couple lived with him +he stormed in this manner, wasting his impotent rage in quarrels, without in +the least disturbing the equanimity of Aristide and Angèle. They were located +there, and there they intended to remain like blocks of wood. At last Pierre +met with a stroke of luck which enabled him to return the ten thousand francs +to his son. When, however, he wanted to reckon up accounts with him, Aristide +interposed so much chicanery that he had to let the couple go without deducting +a copper for their board and lodging. They installed themselves but a short +distance off, in a part of the old quarter called the Place Saint-Louis. The +ten thousand francs were soon consumed. They had everything to get for their +new home. Moreover Aristide made no change in his mode of living as long as any +money was left in the house. When he had reached the last hundred-franc note he +felt rather nervous. He was seen prowling about the town in a suspicious +manner. He no longer took his customary cup of coffee at the club; he watched +feverishly whilst play was going on, without touching a card. Poverty made him +more spiteful than he would otherwise have been. He bore the blow for a long +time, obstinately refusing to do anything in the way of work. +</p> + +<p> +In 1840 he had a son, little Maxime, whom his grandmother Félicité fortunately +sent to college, paying his fees clandestinely. That made one mouth less at +home; but poor Angèle was dying of hunger, and her husband was at last +compelled to seek a situation. He secured one at the Sub-Prefecture. He +remained there nearly ten years, and only attained a salary of eighteen hundred +francs per annum. From that time forward it was with ever increasing +malevolence and rancour that he hungered for the enjoyments of which he was +deprived. His lowly position exasperated him; the paltry hundred and fifty +francs which he received every month seemed to him an irony of fate. Never did +man burn with such desire for self-gratification. Félicité, to whom he imparted +his sufferings, was by no means grieved to see him so eager. She thought his +misery would stimulate his energies. At last, crouching in ambush as it were, +with his ears wide open, he began to look about him like a thief seeking his +opportunity. At the beginning of 1848, when his brother left for Paris, he had +a momentary idea of following him. But Eugène was a bachelor; and he, Aristide, +could not take his wife so far without money. So he waited, scenting a +catastrophe, and ready to fall on the first prey that might come within his +reach. +</p> + +<p> +The other son, Pascal, born between Eugène and Aristide, did not appear to +belong to the family. He was one of those frequent cases which give the lie to +the laws of heredity. During the evolution of a race nature often produces some +one being whose every element she derives from her own creative powers. Nothing +in the moral or physical constitution of Pascal recalled the Rougons. Tall, +with a grave and gentle face, he had an uprightness of mind, a love of study, a +retiring modesty which contrasted strangely with the feverish ambitions and +unscrupulous intrigues of his relatives. After acquitting himself admirably of +his medical studies in Paris, he had retired, by preference, to Plassans, +notwithstanding the offers he received from his professors. He loved a quiet +provincial life; he maintained that for a studious man such a life was +preferable to the excitement of Paris. Even at Plassans he did not exert +himself to extend his practice. Very steady, and despising fortune, he +contented himself with the few patients sent him by chance. All his pleasures +were centred in a bright little house in the new town, where he shut himself +up, lovingly devoting his whole time to the study of natural history. He was +particularly fond of physiology. It was known in the town that he frequently +purchased dead bodies from the hospital grave-digger, a circumstance which +rendered him an object of horror to delicate ladies and certain timid +gentlemen. Fortunately, they did not actually look upon him as a sorcerer; but +his practice diminished, and he was regarded as an eccentric character, to whom +people of good society ought not to entrust even a finger-tip, for fear of +being compromised. The mayor’s wife was one day heard to say: “I +would sooner die than be attended by that gentleman. He smells of death.” +</p> + +<p> +From that time, Pascal was condemned. He seemed to rejoice at the mute terror +which he inspired. The fewer patients he had, the more time he could devote to +his favourite sciences. As his fees were very moderate, the poorer people +remained faithful to him; he earned just enough to live, and lived contentedly, +a thousand leagues away from the rest of the country, absorbed in the pure +delight of his researches and discoveries. From time to time he sent a memoir +to the Academie des Sciences at Paris. Plassans did not know that this +eccentric character, this gentleman who smelt of death was well-known and +highly-esteemed in the world of science. When people saw him starting on +Sundays for an excursion among the Garrigues hills, with a botanist’s bag +hung round his neck and a geologist’s hammer in his hand, they would +shrug their shoulders and institute a comparison between him and some other +doctor of the town who was noted for his smart cravat, his affability to the +ladies, and the delicious odour of violets which his garments always diffused. +Pascal’s parents did not understand him any better than other people. +When Félicité saw him adopting such a strange, unpretentious mode of life she +was stupefied, and reproached him for disappointing her hopes. She, who +tolerated Aristide’s idleness because she thought it would prove fertile, +could not view without regret the slow progress of Pascal, his partiality for +obscurity and contempt for riches, his determined resolve to lead a life of +retirement. He was certainly not the child who would ever gratify her vanities. +</p> + +<p> +“But where do you spring from?” she would sometimes say to him. +“You are not one of us. Look at your brothers, how they keep their eyes +open, striving to profit by the education we have given them, whilst you waste +your time on follies and trifles. You make a very poor return to us, who have +ruined ourselves for your education. No, you are certainly not one of +us.” +</p> + +<p> +Pascal, who preferred to laugh whenever he was called upon to feel annoyed, +replied cheerfully, but not without a sting of irony: “Oh, you need not +be frightened, I shall never drive you to the verge of bankruptcy; when any of +you are ill, I will attend you for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, though he never displayed any repugnance to his relatives, he very +rarely saw them, following in this wise his natural instincts. Before Aristide +obtained a situation at the Sub-Prefecture, Pascal had frequently come to his +assistance. For his part he had remained a bachelor. He had not the least +suspicion of the grave events that were preparing. For two or three years he +had been studying the great problem of heredity, comparing the human and animal +races together, and becoming absorbed in the strange results which he obtained. +Certain observations which he had made with respect to himself and his +relatives had been, so to say, the starting-point of his studies. The common +people, with their natural intuition, so well understood that he was quite +different from the other Rougons, that they invariably called him Monsieur +Pascal, without ever adding his family name. +</p> + +<p> +Three years prior to the Revolution of 1848 Pierre and Félicité retired from +business. Old age was coming on apace; they were both past fifty and were weary +enough of the struggle. In face of their ill fortune, they were afraid of being +ultimately ruined if they obstinately persisted in the fight. Their sons, by +disappointing their expectations, had dealt them the final blow. Now that they +despaired of ever being enriched by them, they were anxious to make some little +provision for old age. They retired with forty thousand francs at the utmost. +This sum provided an annual income of two thousand francs, just sufficient to +live in a small way in the provinces. Fortunately, they were by themselves, +having succeeded in marrying their daughters Marthe and Sidonie, the former of +whom resided at Marseilles and the latter in Paris. +</p> + +<p> +After they had settled their affairs they would much have liked to take up +their abode in the new town, the quarter of the retired traders, but they dared +not do so. Their income was too small; they were afraid that they would cut but +a poor figure there. So, as a sort of compromise, they took apartments in the +Rue de la Banne, the street which separates the old quarter from the new one. +As their abode was one of the row of houses bordering the old quarter, they +still lived among the common people; nevertheless, they could see the town of +the richer classes from their windows, so that they were just on the threshold +of the promised land. +</p> + +<p> +Their apartments, situated on the second floor, consisted of three large +rooms—dining-room, drawing-room, and bedroom. The first floor was +occupied by the owner of the house, a stick and umbrella manufacturer, who had +a shop on the ground floor. The house, which was narrow and by no means deep, +had only two storeys. Félicité moved into it with a bitter pang. In the +provinces, to live in another person’s house is an avowal of poverty. +Every family of position at Plassans has a house of its own, landed property +being very cheap there. Pierre kept the purse-strings well tied; he would not +hear of any embellishments. The old furniture, faded, worn, damaged though it +was, had to suffice, without even being repaired. Félicité, however, who keenly +felt the necessity for this parsimony, exerted herself to give fresh polish to +all the wreckage; she herself knocked nails into some of the furniture which +was more dilapidated than the rest, and darned the frayed velvet of the +arm-chairs. +</p> + +<p> +The dining-room, which, like the kitchen, was at the back of the house, was +nearly bare; a table and a dozen chairs were lost in the gloom of this large +apartment, whose window faced the grey wall of a neighbouring building. As no +strangers ever went into the bedroom, Félicité had stowed all her useless +furniture there; thus, besides a bedstead, wardrobe, secretaire, and +wash-stand, it contained two cradles, one perched atop of the other, a +sideboard whose doors were missing, and an empty bookcase, venerable ruins +which the old woman could not make up her mind to part with. All her cares, +however, were bestowed upon the drawing-room, and she almost succeeded in +making it comfortable and decent. The furniture was covered with yellowish +velvet with satin flowers; in the middle stood a round table with a marble top, +while a couple of pier tables, surmounted by mirrors, leant against the walls +at either end of the room. There was even a carpet, which just covered the +middle of the floor, and a chandelier in a white muslin cover which the flies +had spotted with black specks. On the walls hung six lithographs representing +the great battles of Napoleon I. Moreover, the furniture dated from the first +years of the Empire. The only embellishment that Félicité could obtain was to +have the walls hung with orange-hued paper covered with large flowers. Thus the +drawing room had a strange yellow glow, which filled it with an artificial +dazzling light. The furniture, the paper, and the window curtains were yellow; +the carpet and even the marble table-tops showed touches of yellow. However, +when the curtains were drawn the colours harmonised fairly well and the +drawing-room looked almost decent. +</p> + +<p> +But Félicité had dreamed of quite a different kind of luxury. She regarded with +mute despair this ill-concealed misery. She usually occupied the drawing-room, +the best apartment in the house, and the sweetest and bitterest of her pastimes +was to sit at one of the windows which overlooked the Rue de la Banne and gave +her a side view of the square in front of the Sub-Prefecture. That was the +paradise of her dreams. That little, neat, tidy square, with its bright houses, +seemed to her a Garden of Eden. She would have given ten years of her life to +possess one of those habitations. The house at the left-hand corner, in which +the receiver of taxes resided, particularly tempted her. She contemplated it +with eager longing. Sometimes, when the windows of this abode were open, she +could catch a glimpse of rich furniture and tasteful elegance which made her +burn with envy. +</p> + +<p> +At this period the Rougons passed through a curious crisis of vanity and +unsatiated appetite. The few proper feelings which they had once entertained +had become embittered. They posed as victims of evil fortune, not with +resignation, however, for they seemed still more keenly determined that they +would not die before they had satisfied their ambitions. In reality, they did +not abandon any of their hopes, notwithstanding their advanced age. Félicité +professed to feel a presentiment that she would die rich. However, each day of +poverty weighed them down the more. When they recapitulated their vain +attempts—when they recalled their thirty years’ struggle, and the +defection of their children—when they saw their airy castles end in this +yellow drawing-room, whose shabbiness they could only conceal by drawing the +curtains, they were overcome with bitter rage. Then, as a consolation, they +would think of plans for making a colossal fortune, seeking all sorts of +devices. Félicité would fancy herself the winner of the grand prize of a +hundred thousand francs in some lottery, while Pierre pictured himself carrying +out some wonderful speculation. They lived with one sole thought—that of +making a fortune immediately, in a few hours—of becoming rich and +enjoying themselves, if only for a year. Their whole beings tended to this, +stubbornly, without a pause. And they still cherished some faint hopes with +regard to their sons, with that peculiar egotism of parents who cannot bear to +think that they have sent their children to college without deriving some +personal advantage from it. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité did not appear to have aged; she was still the same dark little woman, +ever on the move, buzzing about like a grasshopper. Any person walking behind +her on the pavement would have thought her a girl of fifteen, from the +lightness of her step and the angularity of her shoulders and waist. Even her +face had scarcely undergone any change; it was simply rather more sunken, +rather more suggestive of the snout of a pole-cat. +</p> + +<p> +As for Pierre Rougon, he had grown corpulent, and had become a highly +respectable looking citizen, who only lacked a decent income to make him a very +dignified individual. His pale, flabby face, his heaviness, his languid manner, +seemed redolent of wealth. He had one day heard a peasant who did not know him +say: “Ah! he’s some rich fellow, that fat old gentleman there. +He’s no cause to worry about his dinner!” This was a remark which +stung him to the heart, for he considered it cruel mockery to be only a poor +devil while possessing the bulk and contented gravity of a millionaire. When he +shaved on Sundays in front of a small five-sou looking-glass hanging from the +fastening of a window, he would often think that in a dress coat and white tie +he would cut a far better figure at the Sub-Prefect’s than such or such a +functionary of Plassans. This peasant’s son, who had grown sallow from +business worries, and corpulent from a sedentary life, whose hateful passions +were hidden beneath naturally placid features, really had that air of solemn +imbecility which gives a man a position in an official salon. People imagined +that his wife held a rod over him, but they were mistaken. He was as +self-willed as a brute. Any determined expression of extraneous will would +drive him into a violent rage. Félicité was far too supple to thwart him +openly; with her light fluttering nature she did not attack obstacles in front. +When she wished to obtain something from her husband, or drive him the way she +thought best, she would buzz round him in her grasshopper fashion, stinging him +on all sides, and returning to the charge a hundred times until he yielded +almost unconsciously. He felt, moreover, that she was shrewder than he, and +tolerated her advice fairly patiently. Félicité, more useful than the coach +fly, would sometimes do all the work while she was thus buzzing round +Pierre’s ears. Strange to say, the husband and wife never accused each +other of their ill-success. The only bone of contention between them was the +education lavished on their children. +</p> + +<p> +The Revolution of 1848 found all the Rougons on the lookout, exasperated by +their bad luck, and disposed to lay violent hands on fortune if ever they +should meet her in a byway. They were a family of bandits lying in wait, ready +to rifle and plunder. Eugène kept an eye on Paris; Aristide dreamed of +strangling Plassans; the mother and father, perhaps the most eager of the lot, +intended to work on their own account, and reap some additional advantage from +their sons’ doings. Pascal alone, that discreet wooer of science, led the +happy, indifferent life of a lover in his bright little house in the new town. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p> +In that closed, sequestered town of Plassans, where class distinction was so +clearly marked in 1848, the commotion caused by political events was very +slight. Even at the present day the popular voice sounds very faintly there; +the middle classes bring their prudence to bear in the matter, the nobility +their mute despair, and the clergy their shrewd cunning. Kings may usurp +thrones, or republics may be established, without scarcely any stir in the +town. Plassans sleeps while Paris fights. But though on the surface the town +may appear calm and indifferent, in the depths hidden work goes on which it is +curious to study. If shots are rare in the streets, intrigues consume the +drawing-rooms of both the new town and the Saint-Marc quarter. Until the year +1830 the masses were reckoned of no account. Even at the present time they are +similarly ignored. Everything is settled between the clergy, the nobility, and +the bourgeoisie. The priests, who are very numerous, give the cue to the local +politics; they lay subterranean mines, as it were, and deal blows in the dark, +following a prudent tactical system, which hardly allows of a step in advance +or retreat even in the course of ten years. The secret intrigues of men who +desire above all things to avoid noise requires special shrewdness, a special +aptitude for dealing with small matters, and a patient endurance such as one +only finds in persons callous to all passions. It is thus that provincial +dilatoriness, which is so freely ridiculed in Paris, is full of treachery, +secret stabs, hidden victories and defeats. These worthy men, particularly when +their interests are at stake, kill at home with a snap of the fingers, as we, +the Parisians, kill with cannon in the public thoroughfares. +</p> + +<p> +The political history of Plassans, like that of all little towns in Provence, +is singularly characteristic. Until 1830, the inhabitants remained observant +Catholics and fervent royalists; even the lower classes only swore by God and +their legitimate sovereigns. Then there came a sudden change; faith departed, +the working and middle classes deserted the cause of legitimacy, and gradually +espoused the great democratic movement of our time. When the Revolution of 1848 +broke out, the nobility and the clergy were left alone to labour for the +triumph of Henri V. For a long time they had regarded the accession of the +Orleanists as a ridiculous experiment, which sooner or later would bring back +the Bourbons; although their hopes were singularly shaken, they nevertheless +continued the struggle, scandalised by the defection of their former allies, +whom they strove to win back to their cause. The Saint-Marc quarter, assisted +by all the parish priests, set to work. Among the middle classes, and +especially among the people, the enthusiasm was very great on the morrow of the +events of February; these apprentice republicans were in haste to display their +revolutionary fervour. As regards the gentry of the new town, however, the +conflagration, bright though it was, lasted no longer than a fire of straw. The +small houseowners and retired tradespeople who had had their good days, or had +made snug little fortunes under the monarchy, were soon seized with panic; the +Republic, with its constant shocks and convulsions, made them tremble for their +money and their life of selfishness. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently, when the Clerical reaction of 1849 declared itself, nearly all +the middle classes passed over to the Conservative party. They were received +with open arms. The new town had never before had such close relations with the +Saint-Marc quarter: some of the nobility even went so far as to shake hands +with lawyers and retired oil-dealers. This unexpected familiarity kindled the +enthusiasm of the new quarter, which henceforward waged bitter warfare against +the republican government. To bring about such a coalition, the clergy had to +display marvellous skill and endurance. The nobility of Plassans for the most +part lay prostrate, as if half dead. They retained their faith, but lethargy +had fallen on them, and they preferred to remain inactive, allowing the heavens +to work their will. They would gladly have contented themselves with silent +protest, feeling, perhaps, a vague presentiment that their divinities were +dead, and that there was nothing left for them to do but rejoin them. Even at +this period of confusion, when the catastrophe of 1848 was calculated to give +them a momentary hope of the return of the Bourbons, they showed themselves +spiritless and indifferent, speaking of rushing into the melee, yet never +quitting their hearths without a pang of regret. +</p> + +<p> +The clergy battled indefatigably against this feeling of impotence and +resignation. They infused a kind of passion into their work: a priest, when he +despairs, struggles all the more fiercely. The fundamental policy of the Church +is to march straight forward; even though she may have to postpone the +accomplishment of her projects for several centuries, she never wastes a single +hour, but is always pushing forward with increasing energy. So it was the +clergy who led the reaction of Plassans; the nobility only lent them their +name, nothing more. The priests hid themselves behind the nobles, restrained +them, directed them, and even succeeded in endowing them with a semblance of +life. When they had induced them to overcome their repugnance so far as to make +common cause with the middle classes, they believed themselves certain of +victory. The ground was marvellously well prepared. This ancient royalist town, +with its population of peaceful householders and timorous tradespeople, was +destined to range itself, sooner or later, on the side of law and order. The +clergy, by their tactics, hastened the conversion. After gaining the landlords +of the new town to their side, they even succeeded in convincing the little +retail-dealers of the old quarter. From that time the reactionary movement +obtained complete possession of the town. All opinions were represented in this +reaction; such a mixture of embittered Liberals, Legitimists, Orleanists, +Bonapartists, and Clericals had never before been seen. It mattered little, +however, at that time. The sole object was to kill the Republic; and the +Republic was at the point of death. Only a fraction of the people—a +thousand workmen at most, out of the ten thousand souls in the town—still +saluted the tree of liberty planted in the middle of the square in front of the +Sub-Prefecture. +</p> + +<p> +The shrewdest politicians of Plassans, those who led the reactionary movement, +did not scent the approach of the Empire until very much later. Prince Louis +Napoleon’s popularity seemed to them a mere passing fancy of the +multitude. His person inspired them with but little admiration. They reckoned +him a nonentity, a dreamer, incapable of laying his hands on France, and +especially of maintaining his authority. To them he was only a tool whom they +would make use of, who would clear the way for them, and whom they would turn +out as soon as the hour arrived for the rightful Pretender to show himself.[*] +However, months went by, and they became uneasy. It was only then that they +vaguely perceived they were being duped: they had no time, however, to take any +steps; the Coup d’État burst over their heads, and they were compelled to +applaud. That great abomination, the Republic, had been assassinated; that, at +least, was some sort of triumph. So the clergy and the nobility accepted +accomplished facts with resignation; postponing, until later, the realisation +of their hopes, and making amends for their miscalculations by uniting with the +Bonapartists for the purpose of crushing the last Republicans. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] The Count de Chambord, “Henri V.” +</p> + +<p> +It was these events that laid the foundation of the Rougons’ fortune. +After being mixed up with the various phases of the crisis, they rose to +eminence on the ruins of liberty. These bandits had been lying in wait to rob +the Republic; as soon as it had been strangled, they helped to plunder it. +</p> + +<p> +After the events of February 1848, Félicité, who had the keenest scent of all +the members of the family, perceived that they were at last on the right track. +So she began to flutter round her husband, goading him on to bestir himself. +The first rumours of the Revolution that had overturned King Louis Philippe had +terrified Pierre. When his wife, however, made him understand that they had +little to lose and much to gain from a convulsion, he soon came round to her +way of thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you can do,” Félicité repeatedly said, +“but it seems to me that there’s plenty to be done. Did not +Monsieur de Carnavant say to us one day that he would be rich if ever Henri V. +should return, and that this sovereign would magnificently recompense those who +had worked for his restoration? Perhaps our fortune lies in that direction. We +may yet be lucky.” +</p> + +<p> +The Marquis de Carnavant, the nobleman who, according to the scandalous talk of +the town, had been on very familiar terms with Félicité’s mother, used +occasionally to visit the Rougons. Evil tongues asserted that Madame Rougon +resembled him. He was a little, lean, active man, seventy-five years old at +that time, and Félicité certainly appeared to be taking his features and manner +as she grew older. It was said that the wreck of his fortune, which had already +been greatly diminished by his father at the time of the Emigration, had been +squandered on women. Indeed, he cheerfully acknowledged his poverty. Brought up +by one of his relatives, the Count de Valqueyras, he lived the life of a +parasite, eating at the count’s table and occupying a small apartment +just under his roof. +</p> + +<p> +“Little one,” he would often say to Félicité, as he patted her on +the cheek, “if ever Henri V. gives me a fortune, I will make you my +heiress!” +</p> + +<p> +He still called Félicité “little one,” even when she was fifty +years old. It was of these friendly pats, of these repeated promises of an +inheritance, that Madame Rougon was thinking when she endeavoured to drive her +husband into politics. Monsieur de Carnavant had often bitterly lamented his +inability to render her any assistance. No doubt he would treat her like a +father if ever he should acquire some influence. Pierre, to whom his wife half +explained the situation in veiled terms, declared his readiness to move in any +direction indicated. +</p> + +<p> +The marquis’s peculiar position qualified him to act as an energetic +agent of the reactionary movement at Plassans from the first days of the +Republic. This bustling little man, who had everything to gain from the return +of his legitimate sovereigns, worked assiduously for their cause. While the +wealthy nobility of the Saint-Marc quarter were slumbering in mute despair, +fearing, perhaps that they might compromise themselves and again be condemned +to exile, he multiplied himself, as it were, spread the propaganda and rallied +faithful ones together. He was a weapon whose hilt was held by an invisible +hand. From that time forward he paid daily visits to the Rougons. He required a +centre of operations. His relative, Monsieur de Valqueyras, had forbidden him +to bring any of his associates into his house, so he had chosen +Félicité’s yellow drawing-room. Moreover, he very soon found Pierre a +valuable assistant. He could not go himself and preach the cause of Legitimacy +to the petty traders and workmen of the old quarter; they would have hooted +him. Pierre, on the other hand, who had lived among these people, spoke their +language and knew their wants, was able to catechise them in a friendly way. He +thus became an indispensable man. In less than a fortnight the Rougons were +more determined royalists than the king himself. The marquis, perceiving +Pierre’s zeal, shrewdly sheltered himself behind him. What was the use of +making himself conspicuous, when a man with such broad shoulders was willing to +bear on them the burden of all the follies of a party? He allowed Pierre to +reign, puff himself out with importance and speak with authority, content to +restrain or urge him on, according to the necessities of the cause. Thus, the +old oil-dealer soon became a personage of mark. In the evening, when they were +alone, Félicité used to say to him: “Go on, don’t be frightened. +We’re on the right track. If this continues we shall be rich; we shall +have a drawing-room like the tax-receiver’s, and be able to entertain +people.” +</p> + +<p> +A little party of Conservatives had already been formed at the Rougons’ +house, and meetings were held every evening in the yellow drawing-room to +declaim against the Republic. +</p> + +<p> +Among those who came were three or four retired merchants who trembled for +their money, and clamoured with all their might for a wise and strong +government. An old almond-dealer, a member of the Municipal Council, Monsieur +Isidore Granoux, was the head of this group. His hare-lipped mouth was cloven a +little way from the nose; his round eyes, his air of mingled satisfaction and +astonishment, made him resemble a fat goose whose digestion is attended by +wholesome terror of the cook. He spoke little, having no command of words; and +he only pricked up his ears when anyone accused the Republicans of wishing to +pillage the houses of the rich; whereupon he would colour up to such a degree +as to make one fear an approaching apoplectic fit, and mutter low imprecations, +in which the words “idlers,” “scoundrels,” +“thieves,” and “assassins” frequently recurred. +</p> + +<p> +All those who frequented the yellow drawing-room were not, however, as heavy as +this fat goose. A rich landowner, Monsieur Roudier, with a plump, insinuating +face, used to discourse there for hours altogether, with all the passion of an +Orleanist whose calculations had been upset by the fall of Louis Philippe. He +had formerly been a hosier at Paris, and a purveyor to the Court, but had now +retired to Plassans. He had made his son a magistrate, relying on the Orleanist +party to promote him to the highest dignities. The revolution having ruined all +his hopes, he had rushed wildly into the reaction. His fortune, his former +commercial relations with the Tuileries, which he transformed into friendly +intercourse, that prestige which is enjoyed by every man in the provinces who +has made his money in Paris and deigns to come and spend it in a far away +department, gave him great influence in the district; some persons listened to +him as though he were an oracle. +</p> + +<p> +However, the strongest intellect of the yellow drawing-room was certainly +Commander Sicardot, Aristide’s father-in-law. Of Herculean frame, with a +brick-red face, scarred and planted with tufts of grey hair, he was one of the +most glorious old dolts of the Grande Armée. During the February Revolution he +had been exasperated with the street warfare and never wearied of referring to +it, proclaiming with indignation that this kind of fighting was shameful: +whereupon he recalled with pride the grand reign of Napoleon. +</p> + +<p> +Another person seen at the Rougons’ house was an individual with clammy +hands and equivocal look, one Monsieur Vuillet, a bookseller, who supplied all +the devout ladies of the town with holy images and rosaries. Vuillet dealt in +both classical and religious works; he was a strict Catholic, a circumstance +which insured him the custom of the numerous convents and parish churches. +Further, by a stroke of genius he had added to his business the publication of +a little bi-weekly journal, the “Gazette de Plassans,” which was +devoted exclusively to the interests of the clergy. This paper involved an +annual loss of a thousand francs, but it made him the champion of the Church, +and enabled him to dispose of his sacred unsaleable stock. Though he was +virtually illiterate and could not even spell correctly, he himself wrote the +articles of the “Gazette” with a humility and rancour that +compensated for his lack of talent. The marquis, in entering on the campaign, +had perceived immediately the advantage that might be derived from the +co-operation of this insipid sacristan with the coarse, mercenary pen. After +the February Revolution the articles in the “Gazette” contained +fewer mistakes; the marquis revised them. +</p> + +<p> +One can now imagine what a singular spectacle the Rougons’ yellow +drawing-room presented every evening. All opinions met there to bark at the +Republic. Their hatred of that institution made them agree together. The +marquis, who never missed a meeting, appeased by his presence the little +squabbles which occasionally arose between the commander and the other +adherents. These plebeians were inwardly flattered by the handshakes which he +distributed on his arrival and departure. Roudier, however, like a free-thinker +of the Rue Saint-Honoré, asserted that the marquis had not a copper to bless +himself with, and was disposed to make light of him. M. de Carnavant on his +side preserved the amiable smile of a nobleman lowering himself to the level of +these middle class people, without making any of those contemptuous grimaces +which any other resident of the Saint-Marc quarter would have thought fit under +such circumstances. The parasite life he had led had rendered him supple. He +was the life and soul of the group, commanding in the name of unknown +personages whom he never revealed. “They want this, they don’t want +that,” he would say. The concealed divinities who thus watched over the +destinies of Plassans from behind some cloud, without appearing to interfere +directly in public matters, must have been certain priests, the great political +agents of the country. When the marquis pronounced that mysterious word +“they,” which inspired the assembly with such marvellous respect, +Vuillet confessed, with a gesture of pious devotion, that he knew them very +well. +</p> + +<p> +The happiest person in all this was Félicité. At last she had people coming to +her drawing-room. It was true she felt a little ashamed of her old yellow +velvet furniture. She consoled herself, however, thinking of the rich things +she would purchase when the good cause should have triumphed. The Rougons had, +in the end, regarded their royalism as very serious. Félicité went as far as to +say, when Roudier was not present, that if they had not made a fortune in the +oil business the fault lay in the monarchy of July. This was her mode of giving +a political tinge to their poverty. She had a friendly word for everybody, even +for Granoux, inventing each evening some new polite method of waking him up +when it was time for departure. +</p> + +<p> +The drawing-room, that little band of Conservatives belonging to all parties, +and daily increasing in numbers, soon wielded powerful influence. Owing to the +diversified characters of its members, and especially to the secret impulse +which each one received from the clergy, it became the centre of the +reactionary movement and spread its influence throughout Plassans. The policy +of the marquis, who sank his own personality, transformed Rougon into the +leader of the party. The meetings were held at his house, and this circumstance +sufficed in the eyes of most people to make him the head of the group, and draw +public attention to him. The whole work was attributed to him; he was believed +to be the chief artisan of the movement which was gradually bringing over to +the Conservative party those who had lately been enthusiastic Republicans. +There are some situations which benefit only persons of bad repute. These lay +the foundations of their fortune where men of better position and more +influence would never dare to risk theirs. Roudier, Granoux, and the others, +all men of means and respectability, certainly seemed a thousand times +preferable to Pierre as the acting leaders of the Conservative party. But none +of them would have consented to turn his drawing-room into a political centre. +Their convictions did not go so far as to induce them to compromise themselves +openly; in fact, they were only so many provincial babblers, who liked to +inveigh against the Republic at a neighbour’s house as long as the +neighbour was willing to bear the responsibility of their chatter. The game was +too risky. There was no one among the middle classes of Plassans who cared to +play it except the Rougons, whose ungratified longings urged them on to extreme +measures. +</p> + +<p> +In the month of April, 1849, Eugène suddenly left Paris, and came to stay with +his father for a fortnight. Nobody ever knew the purpose of this journey. It is +probable that Eugène wanted to sound his native town, to ascertain whether he +might successfully stand as a candidate for the legislature which was about to +replace the Constituent Assembly. He was too shrewd to risk a failure. No doubt +public opinion appeared to him little in his favour, for he abstained from any +attempt. It was not known at Plassans what had become of him in Paris, what he +was doing there. On his return to his native place, folks found him less heavy +and somnolent than formerly. They surrounded him and endeavoured to make him +speak out concerning the political situation. But he feigned ignorance and +compelled them to talk. A little perspicacity would have detected that beneath +his apparent unconcern there was great anxiety with regard to the political +opinions of the town. However, he seemed to be sounding the ground more on +behalf of a party than on his own account. +</p> + +<p> +Although he had renounced all hope for himself, he remained at Plassans until +the end of the month, assiduously attending the meetings in the yellow +drawing-room. As soon as the bell rang, announcing the first visitor, he would +take up his position in one of the window recesses as far as possible from the +lamp. And he remained there the whole evening, resting his chin on the palm of +his right hand, and listening religiously. The greatest absurdities did not +disturb his equanimity. He nodded approval even to the wild grunts of Granoux. +When anyone asked him his own opinion, he politely repeated that of the +majority. Nothing seemed to tire his patience, neither the hollow dreams of the +marquis, who spoke of the Bourbons as if 1815 were a recent date, nor the +effusions of citizen Roudier, who grew quite pathetic when he recounted how +many pairs of socks he had supplied to the citizen king, Louis Philippe. On the +contrary, he seemed quite at his ease in this Tower of Babel. Sometimes, when +these grotesque personages were storming against the Republic, his eyes would +smile, while his lips retained their expression of gravity. His meditative +manner of listening, and his invariable complacency, had earned him the +sympathy of everyone. He was considered a nonentity, but a very decent fellow. +Whenever an old oil or almond dealer failed to get a hearing, amidst the +clamour, for some plan by which he could save France if he were only a master, +he took himself off to Eugène and shouted his marvellous suggestions in his +ear. And Eugène gently nodded his head, as though delighted with the grand +projects he was listening to. Vuillet, alone, regarded him with a suspicious +eye. This bookseller, half-sacristan and half-journalist, spoke less than the +others, but was more observant. He had noticed that Eugène occasionally +conversed at times in a corner with Commander Sicardot. So he determined to +watch them, but never succeeded in overhearing a word. Eugène silenced the +commander by a wink whenever Vuillet approached them. From that time, Sicardot +never spoke of the Napoleons without a mysterious smile. +</p> + +<p> +Two days before his return to Paris, Eugène met his brother Aristide, on the +Cours Sauvaire, and the latter accompanied him for a short distance with the +importunity of a man in search of advice. As a matter of fact, Aristide was in +great perplexity. Ever since the proclamation of the Republic, he had +manifested the most lively enthusiasm for the new government. His intelligence, +sharpened by two years’ stay at Paris, enabled him to see farther than +the thick heads of Plassans. He divined the powerlessness of the Legitimists +and Orleanists, without clearly distinguishing, however, what third thief would +come and juggle the Republic away. At all hazard he had ranged himself on the +side of the victors, and he had severed his connection with his father, whom he +publicly denounced as an old fool, an old dolt whom the nobility had +bamboozled. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet my mother is an intelligent woman,” he would add. “I +should never have thought her capable of inducing her husband to join a party +whose hopes are simply chimerical. They are taking the right course to end +their lives in poverty. But then women know nothing about politics.” +</p> + +<p> +For his part he wanted to sell himself as dearly as possible. His great anxiety +as to the direction in which the wind was blowing, so that he might invariably +range himself on the side of that party, which, in the hour of triumph, would +be able to reward him munificently. Unfortunately, he was groping in the dark. +Shut up in his far away province, without a guide, without any precise +information, he felt quite lost. While waiting for events to trace out a sure +and certain path, he preserved the enthusiastic republican attitude which he +had assumed from the very first day. Thanks to this demeanour, he remained at +the Sub-Prefecture; and his salary was even raised. Burning, however, with the +desire to play a prominent part, he persuaded a bookseller, one of +Vuillet’s rivals, to establish a democratic journal, to which he became +one of the most energetic contributors. Under his impulse the +“Indépendant” waged merciless warfare against the reactionaries. +But the current gradually carried him further than he wished to go; he ended by +writing inflammatory articles, which made him shudder when he re-perused them. +It was remarked at Plassans that he directed a series of attacks against all +whom his father was in the habit of receiving of an evening in his famous +yellow drawing-room. The fact is that the wealth of Roudier and Granoux +exasperated Aristide to such a degree as to make him forget all prudence. Urged +on by his jealous, insatiate bitterness, he had already made the middle classes +his irreconcilable enemy, when Eugène’s arrival and demeanour at Plassans +caused him great consternation. He confessed to himself that his brother was a +skilful man. According to him, that big, drowsy fellow always slept with one +eye open, like a cat lying in wait before a mouse-hole. And now here was Eugène +spending entire evenings in the yellow drawing-room, and devoting himself to +those same grotesque personages whom he, Aristide, had so mercilessly +ridiculed. When he discovered from the gossip of the town that his brother +shook hands with Granoux and the marquis, he asked himself, with considerable +anxiety, what was the meaning of it? Could he himself have been deceived? Had +the Legitimists or the Orleanists really any chance of success? The thought +terrified him. He lost his equilibrium, and, as frequently happens, he fell +upon the Conservatives with increased rancour, as if to avenge his own +blindness. +</p> + +<p> +On the evening prior to the day when he stopped Eugène on the Cours Sauvaire, +he had published, in the “Indépendant,” a terrible article on the +intrigues of the clergy, in response to a short paragraph from Vuillet, who had +accused the Republicans of desiring to demolish the churches. Vuillet was +Aristide’s bugbear. Never a week passed but these two journalists +exchanged the greatest insults. In the provinces, where a periphrastic style is +still cultivated, polemics are clothed in high-sounding phrases. Aristide +called his adversary “brother Judas,” or “slave of +Saint-Anthony.” Vuillet gallantly retorted by terming the Republican +“a monster glutted with blood whose ignoble purveyor was the +guillotine.” +</p> + +<p> +In order to sound his brother, Aristide, who did not dare to appear openly +uneasy, contented himself with asking: “Did you read my article +yesterday? What do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +Eugène lightly shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a simpleton, +brother,” was his sole reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think Vuillet right?” cried the journalist, turning pale; +“you believe in Vuillet’s triumph?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!—Vuillet——” +</p> + +<p> +He was certainly about to add, “Vuillet is as big a fool as you +are.” But, observing his brother’s distorted face anxiously +extended towards him, he experienced sudden mistrust. “Vuillet has his +good points,” he calmly replied. +</p> + +<p> +On parting from his brother, Aristide felt more perplexed than before. Eugène +must certainly have been making game of him, for Vuillet was really the most +abominable person imaginable. However, he determined to be prudent and not tie +himself down any more; for he wished to have his hands free should he ever be +called upon to help any party in strangling the Republic. +</p> + +<p> +Eugène, on the morning of his departure, an hour before getting into the +diligence, took his father into the bedroom and had a long conversation with +him. Félicité, who remained in the drawing-room, vainly tried to catch what +they were saying. They spoke in whispers, as if they feared lest a single word +should be heard outside. When at last they quitted the bedroom they seemed in +high spirits. After kissing his father and mother, Eugène, who usually spoke in +a drawling tone, exclaimed with vivacity: “You have understood me, +father? There lies our fortune. We must work with all our energy in that +direction. Trust in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll follow your instructions faithfully,” Rougon replied. +“Only don’t forget what I asked you as the price of my +cooperation.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we succeed your demands shall be satisfied, I give you my word. +Moreover, I will write to you and guide you according to the direction which +events may take. Mind, no panic or excitement. You must obey me +implicitly.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have you been plotting there?” Félicité asked inquisitively. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear mother,” Eugène replied with a smile, “you have had +too little faith in me thitherto to induce me to confide in you my hopes, +particularly as at present they are only based on probabilities. To be able to +understand me you would require faith. However, father will inform you when the +right time comes.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Félicité assumed the demeanour of a woman who feels somewhat piqued, +he added in her ear, as he kissed her once more: “I take after you, +although you disowned me. Too much intelligence would be dangerous at the +present moment. When the crisis comes, it is you who will have to manage the +business.” +</p> + +<p> +He then quitted the room, but, suddenly re-opening the door, exclaimed in an +imperious tone: “Above all things, do not trust Aristide; he is a +mar-all, who would spoil everything. I have studied him sufficiently to feel +certain that he will always fall on his feet. Don’t have any pity; if we +make a fortune, he’ll know well enough how to rob us of his share.” +</p> + +<p> +When Eugène had gone, Félicité endeavoured to ferret out the secret that was +being hidden from her. She knew her husband too well to interrogate him openly. +He would have angrily replied that it was no business of hers. In spite, +however, of the clever tactics she pursued, she learnt absolutely nothing. +Eugène had chosen a good confidant for those troubled times, when the greatest +discretion was necessary. Pierre, flattered by his son’s confidence, +exaggerated that passive ponderosity which made him so impenetrable. When +Félicité saw she would not learn anything from him, she ceased to flutter round +him. On one point only did she remain inquisitive, but in this respect her +curiosity was intense. The two men had mentioned a price stipulated by Pierre +himself. What could that price be? This after all was the sole point of +interest for Félicité, who did not care a rap for political matters. She knew +that her husband must have sold himself dearly, but she was burning to know the +nature of the bargain. One evening, when they had gone to bed, finding Pierre +in a good humour, she brought the conversation round to the discomforts of +their poverty. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s quite time to put an end to this,” she said. “We +have been ruining ourselves in oil and fuel since those gentlemen have been +coming here. And who will pay the reckoning? Nobody perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband fell into the trap, and smiled with complacent superiority. +“Patience,” said he. And with an air of shrewdness he looked into +his wife’s eyes and added: “Would you be glad to be the wife of a +receiver of taxes?” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité’s face flushed with a joyous glow. She sat up in bed and clapped +her old withered little hands like a child. +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” she stammered. “At Plassans?” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre, without replying, gave a long affirmative nod. He enjoyed his +consort’s astonishment and emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” she at last resumed, half sitting, “you would have to +deposit an enormous sum as security. I have heard that our neighbour, Monsieur +Peirotte, had to deposit eighty thousand francs with the Treasury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said the retired oil-dealer, “that’s nothing to +do with me; Eugène will see to that. He will get the money advanced by a banker +in Paris. You see, I selected an appointment bringing in a good income. Eugène +at first made a wry face, saying one must be rich to occupy such posts, to +which influential men were usually nominated. I persisted, however, and he +yielded. To be a receiver of taxes one need not know either Greek or Latin. I +shall have a representative, like Monsieur Peirotte, and he will do all the +work.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité listened to him with rapture. +</p> + +<p> +“I guessed, however,” he continued, “what it was that worried +our dear son. We’re not much liked here. People know that we have no +means, and will make themselves obnoxious. But all sorts of things occur in a +time of crisis. Eugène wished to get me an appointment in another town. +However, I objected; I want to remain at Plassans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, we must remain here,” the old woman quickly replied. +“We have suffered here, and here we must triumph. Ah! I’ll crush +them all, those fine ladies on the Mail, who scornfully eye my woollen dresses! +I didn’t think of the appointment of receiver of taxes at all; I thought +you wanted to become mayor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mayor! Nonsense. That appointment is honorary. Eugène also mentioned the +mayoralty to me. I replied: ‘I’ll accept, if you give me an income +of fifteen thousand francs.’” +</p> + +<p> +This conversation, in which high figures flew about like rockets, quite excited +Félicité. She felt delightfully buoyant. But at last she put on a devout air, +and gravely said: “Come, let us reckon it out. How much will you +earn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Pierre, “the fixed salary, I believe, is three +thousand francs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three thousand,” Félicité counted. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there is so much per cent on the receipts, which at Plassans, may +produce the sum of twelve thousand francs.” +</p> + +<p> +“That makes fifteen thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, about fifteen thousand francs. That’s what Peirotte earns. +That’s not all. Peirotte does a little banking business on his own +account. It’s allowed. Perhaps I shall be disposed to make a venture when +I feel luck on my side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let us say twenty thousand. Twenty thousand francs a year!” +repeated Félicité, overwhelmed by the amount. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have to repay the advances,” Pierre observed. +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t matter,” Félicité replied, “we shall be +richer than many of those gentlemen. Are the marquis and the others going to +share the cake with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; it will be all for us,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as she continued to importune him with her questions, Pierre frowned, +thinking that she wanted to wrest his secret from him. “We’ve +talked enough,” he said, abruptly. “It’s late, let us go to +sleep. It will bring us bad luck to count our chickens beforehand. I +haven’t got the place yet. Above all things, be prudent.” +</p> + +<p> +When the lamp was extinguished, Félicité could not sleep. With her eyes closed +she built the most marvellous castles in the air. Those twenty thousand francs +a year danced a diabolical dance before her in the darkness. She occupied +splendid apartments in the new town, enjoyed the same luxuries as Monsieur +Peirotte, gave parties, and bespattered the whole place with her wealth. That, +however, which tickled her vanity most was the high position that her husband +would then occupy. He would pay their state dividends to Granoux, Roudier, and +all those people who now came to her house as they might come to a cafe, to +swagger and learn the latest news. She had noticed the free-and-easy manner in +which these people entered her drawing-room, and it had made her take a dislike +to them. Even the marquis, with his ironical politeness, was beginning to +displease her. To triumph alone, therefore, to keep the cake for themselves, as +she expressed it, was a revenge which she fondly cherished. Later on, when all +those ill-bred persons presented themselves, hats off, before Monsieur Rougon +the receiver of taxes, she would crush them in her turn. She was busy with +these thoughts all night; and on the morrow, as she opened the shutters, she +instinctively cast her first glance across the street towards Monsieur +Peirotte’s house, and smiled as she contemplated the broad damask +curtains hanging in the windows. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité’s hopes, in becoming modified, had grown yet more intense. Like +all women, she did not object to a tinge of mystery. The secret object that her +husband was pursuing excited her far more than the Legitimist intrigues of +Monsieur de Carnavant had ever done. She abandoned, without much regret, the +calculations she had based on the marquis’s success now that her husband +declared he would be able to make large profits by other means. She displayed, +moreover, remarkable prudence and discretion. +</p> + +<p> +In reality, she was still tortured by anxious curiosity; she studied +Pierre’s slightest actions, endeavouring to discover their meaning. What +if by chance he were following the wrong track? What if Eugène were dragging +them in his train into some break-neck pit, whence they would emerge yet more +hungry and impoverished? However, faith was dawning on her. Eugène had +commanded with such an air of authority that she ultimately came to believe in +him. In this case again some unknown power was at work. Pierre would speak +mysteriously of the high personages whom their eldest son visited in Paris. For +her part she did not know what he could have to do with them, but on the other +hand she was unable to close her eyes to Aristide’s ill-advised acts at +Plassans. The visitors to her drawing-room did not scruple to denounce the +democratic journalist with extreme severity. Granoux muttered that he was a +brigand, and Roudier would three or four times a week repeat to Félicité: +“Your son is writing some fine articles. Only yesterday he attacked our +friend Vuillet with revolting scurrility.” +</p> + +<p> +The whole room joined in the chorus, and Commander Sicardot spoke of boxing his +son-in-law’s ears, while Pierre flatly disowned him. The poor mother hung +her head, restraining her tears. For an instant she felt an inclination to +burst forth, to tell Roudier that her dear child, in spite of his faults, was +worth more than he and all the others put together. But she was tied down, and +did not wish to compromise the position they had so laboriously attained. +Seeing the whole town so bitter against Aristide, she despaired of his future, +thinking he was hopelessly ruining himself. On two occasions she spoke to him +in secret, imploring him to return to them, and not to irritate the yellow +drawing-room any further. Aristide replied that she did not understand such +matters; that she was the one who had committed a great blunder in placing her +husband at the service of the marquis. So she had to abandon her son to his own +courses, resolving, however that if Eugène succeeded she would compel him to +share the spoils with the poor fellow who was her favourite child. +</p> + +<p> +After the departure of his eldest son, Pierre Rougon pursued his reactionary +intrigues. Nothing seemed to have changed in the opinions of the famous yellow +drawing-room. Every evening the same men came to join in the same propaganda in +favour of the establishment of a monarchy, while the master of the house +approved and aided them with as much zeal as in the past. Eugène had left +Plassans on May 1. A few days later, the yellow drawing-room was in raptures. +The gossips were discussing the letter of the President of the Republic to +General Oudinot, in which the siege of Rome had been decided upon. This letter +was regarded as a brilliant victory, due to the firm demeanour of the +reactionary party. Since 1848 the Chambers had been discussing the Roman +question; but it had been reserved for a Bonaparte to stifle a rising Republic +by an act of intervention which France, if free, would never have countenanced. +The marquis declared, however, that one could not better promote the cause of +legitimacy, and Vuillet wrote a superb article on the matter. The enthusiasm +became unbounded when, a month later, Commander Sicardot entered the +Rougons’ house one evening and announced to the company that the French +army was fighting under the walls of Rome. Then, while everybody was raising +exclamations at this news, he went up to Pierre, and shook hands with him in a +significant manner. And when he had taken a seat, he began to sound the praises +of the President of the Republic, who, said he, was the only person able to +save France from anarchy. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him save it, then, as quickly as possible,” interrupted the +marquis, “and let him then understand his duty by restoring it to its +legitimate masters.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre seemed to approve this fine retort, and having thus given proof of his +ardent royalism, he ventured to remark that Prince Louis Bonaparte had his +entire sympathy in the matter. He thereupon exchanged a few short sentences +with the commander, commending the excellent intentions of the President, which +sentences one might have thought prepared and learnt beforehand. Bonapartism +now, for the first time, made its entry into the yellow drawing-room. It is +true that since the election of December 10 the Prince had been treated there +with a certain amount of consideration. He was preferred a thousand times to +Cavaignac, and the whole reactionary party had voted for him. But they regarded +him rather as an accomplice than a friend; and, as such, they distrusted him, +and even began to accuse him of a desire to keep for himself the chestnuts +which he had pulled out of the fire. On that particular evening, however, owing +to the fighting at Rome, they listened with favour to the praises of Pierre and +the commander. +</p> + +<p> +The group led by Granoux and Roudier already demanded that the President should +order all republican rascals to be shot; while the marquis, leaning against the +mantelpiece, gazed meditatively at a faded rose on the carpet. When he at last +lifted his head, Pierre, who had furtively watched his countenance as if to see +the effect of his words, suddenly ceased speaking. However, Monsieur de +Carnavant merely smiled and glanced at Félicité with a knowing look. This rapid +by-play was not observed by the other people. Vuillet alone remarked in a sharp +tone: +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather see your Bonaparte at London than at Paris. Our affairs +would get along better then.” +</p> + +<p> +At this the old oil-dealer turned slightly pale, fearing that he had gone too +far. “I’m not anxious to retain ‘my’ Bonaparte,” +he said, with some firmness; “you know where I would send him to if I +were the master. I simply assert that the expedition to Rome was a good +stroke.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité had followed this scene with inquisitive astonishment. However, she +did not speak of it to her husband, which proved that she adopted it as the +basis of secret study. The marquis’s smile, the significance of which +escaped her, set her thinking. +</p> + +<p> +From that day forward, Rougon, at distant intervals, whenever the occasion +offered, slipped in a good word for the President of the Republic. On such +evenings, Commander Sicardot acted the part of a willing accomplice. At the +same time, Clerical opinions still reigned supreme in the yellow drawing-room. +It was more particularly in the following year that this group of reactionaries +gained decisive influence in the town, thanks to the retrograde movement which +was going on at Paris. All those anti-Liberal laws which the country called +“the Roman expedition at home” definitively secured the triumph of +the Rougon faction. The last enthusiastic bourgeois saw the Republic tottering, +and hastened to rally round the Conservatives. Thus the Rougons’ hour had +arrived; the new town almost gave them an ovation on the day when the tree of +Liberty, planted on the square before the Sub-Prefecture, was sawed down. This +tree, a young poplar brought from the banks of the Viorne, had gradually +withered, much to the despair of the republican working-men, who would come +every Sunday to observe the progress of the decay without being able to +comprehend the cause of it. A hatter’s apprentice at last asserted that +he had seen a woman leave Rougon’s house and pour a pail of poisoned +water at the foot of the tree. It thenceforward became a matter of history that +Félicité herself got up every night to sprinkle the poplar with vitriol. When +the tree was dead the Municipal Council declared that the dignity of the +Republic required its removal. For this, as they feared the displeasure of the +working classes, they selected an advanced hour of the night. However, the +conservative householders of the new town got wind of the little ceremony, and +all came down to the square before the Sub-Prefecture in order to see how the +tree of Liberty would fall. The frequenters of the yellow drawing-room +stationed themselves at the windows there. When the poplar cracked and fell +with a thud in the darkness, as tragically rigid as some mortally stricken +hero, Félicité felt bound to wave a white handkerchief. This induced the crowd +to applaud, and many responded to the salute by waving their handkerchiefs +likewise. A group of people even came under the window shouting: +“We’ll bury it, we’ll bury it.” +</p> + +<p> +They meant the Republic, no doubt. Such was Félicité’s emotion, that she +almost had a nervous attack. It was a fine evening for the yellow drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +However, the marquis still looked at Félicité with the same mysterious smile. +This little old man was far too shrewd to be ignorant of whither France was +tending. He was among the first to scent the coming of the Empire. When the +Legislative Assembly, later on, exhausted its energies in useless squabbling, +when the Orleanists and the Legitimists tacitly accepted the idea of the Coup +d’État, he said to himself that the game was definitely lost. In fact, he +was the only one who saw things clearly. Vuillet certainly felt that the cause +of Henry V., which his paper defended, was becoming detestable; but it mattered +little to him; he was content to be the obedient creature of the clergy; his +entire policy was framed so as to enable him to dispose of as many rosaries and +sacred images as possible. As for Roudier and Granoux, they lived in a state of +blind scare; it was not certain whether they really had any opinions; all that +they desired was to eat and sleep in peace; their political aspirations went no +further. The marquis, though he had bidden farewell to his hopes, continued to +come to the Rougons’ as regularly as ever. He enjoyed himself there. The +clash of rival ambitions among the middle classes, and the display of their +follies, had become an extremely amusing spectacle to him. He shuddered at the +thought of again shutting himself in the little room which he owed to the +beneficence of the Count de Valqueyras. With a kind of malicious delight, he +kept to himself the conviction that the Bourbons’ hour had not yet +arrived. He feigned blindness, working as hitherto for the triumph of +Legitimacy, and still remaining at the orders of the clergy and nobility, +though from the very first day he had penetrated Pierre’s new course of +action, and believed that Félicité was his accomplice. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, being the first to arrive, he found the old lady alone in the +drawing-room. “Well! little one,” he asked, with his smiling +familiarity, “are your affairs going on all right? Why the deuce do you +make such mysteries with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not hiding anything from you,” Félicité replied, +somewhat perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, do you think you can deceive an old fox like me, eh? My dear +child, treat me as a friend. I’m quite ready to help you secretly. Come +now, be frank!” +</p> + +<p> +A bright idea struck Félicité. She had nothing to tell; but perhaps she might +find out something if she kept quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you smile?” Monsieur de Carnavant resumed. +“That’s the beginning of a confession, you know. I suspected that +you must be behind your husband. Pierre is too stupid to invent the pretty +treason you are hatching. I sincerely hope the Bonapartists will give you what +I should have asked for you from the Bourbons.” +</p> + +<p> +This single sentence confirmed the suspicions which the old woman had +entertained for some time past. +</p> + +<p> +“Prince Louis has every chance, hasn’t he?” she eagerly +inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you betray me if I tell you that I believe so?” the marquis +laughingly replied. “I’ve donned my mourning over it, little one. +I’m simply a poor old man, worn out and only fit to be laid on the shelf. +It was for you, however, that I was working. Since you have been able to find +the right track without me, I shall feel some consolation in seeing you triumph +amidst my own defeat. Above all things, don’t make any more mysteries. +Come to me if you are ever in trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +And he added, with the sceptical smile of a nobleman who has lost caste: +“Pshaw! I also can go in for a little treachery!” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the clan of retired oil and almond dealers arrived. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the dear reactionaries!” Monsieur de Carnavant continued in an +undertone. “You see, little one, the great art of politics consists in +having a pair of good eyes when other people are blind. You hold all the best +cards in the pack.” +</p> + +<p> +On the following day, Félicité, incited by this conversation, desired to make +sure on the matter. They were then in the first days of the year 1851. For more +than eighteen months, Rougon had been in the habit of receiving a letter from +his son Eugène regularly every fortnight. He would shut himself in the bedroom +to read these letters, which he then hid at the bottom of an old secretaire, +the key of which he carefully kept in his waistcoat pocket. Whenever his wife +questioned him about their son he would simply answer: “Eugène writes +that he is going on all right.” Félicité had long since thought of laying +hands on her son’s letters. So early on the morning after her chat with +the marquis, while Pierre was still asleep, she got up on tiptoes, took the key +of the secretaire from her husband’s waistcoat and substituted in its +place that of the chest of drawers, which was of the same size. Then, as soon +as her husband had gone out, she shut herself in the room in her turn, emptied +the drawer, and read all the letters with feverish curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur de Carnavant had not been mistaken, and her own suspicions were +confirmed. There were about forty letters, which enabled her to follow the +course of that great Bonapartist movement which was to terminate in the second +Empire. The letters constituted a sort of concise journal, narrating events as +they occurred, and drawing hopes and suggestions from each of them. Eugène was +full of faith. He described Prince Louis Bonaparte to his father as the +predestined necessary man who alone could unravel the situation. He had +believed in him prior even to his return to France, at a time when Bonapartism +was treated as a ridiculous chimera. Félicité understood that her son had been +a very active secret agent since 1848. Although he did not clearly explain his +position in Paris, it was evident that he was working for the Empire, under the +orders of personages whose names he mentioned with a sort of familiarity. Each +of his letters gave information as to the progress of the cause, to which an +early <i>dénouement</i> was foreshadowed; and usually concluded by pointing out +the line of action that Pierre should pursue at Plassans. Félicité could now +comprehend certain words and acts of her husband, whose significance had +previously escaped her; Pierre was obeying his son, and blindly following his +recommendations. +</p> + +<p> +When the old woman had finished reading, she was convinced. Eugène’s +entire thoughts were clearly revealed to her. He reckoned upon making his +political fortune in the squabble, and repaying his parents the debt he owed +them for his education, by throwing them a scrap of the prey as soon as the +quarry was secured. However small the assistance his father might render to him +and to the cause, it would not be difficult to get him appointed receiver of +taxes. Nothing would be refused to one who like Eugène had steeped his hands in +the most secret machinations. His letters were simply a kind attention on his +part, a device to prevent the Rougons from committing any act of imprudence, +for which Félicité felt deeply grateful. She read certain passages of the +letters twice over, notably those in which Eugène spoke, in vague terms, of +“a final catastrophe.” This catastrophe, the nature or bearings of +which she could not well conceive became a sort of end of the world for her. +God would range the chosen ones on His right hand and the damned on His left, +and she placed herself among the former. +</p> + +<p> +When she succeeded in replacing the key in her husband’s waistcoat pocket +on the following night, she made up her mind to employ the same expedient for +reading every fresh letter that arrived. She resolved, likewise, to profess +complete ignorance. This plan was an excellent one. Henceforward, she gave her +husband the more assistance as she appeared to render it unconsciously. When +Pierre thought he was working alone it was she who brought the conversation +round to the desired topic, recruiting partisans for the decisive moment. She +felt hurt at Eugène’s distrust of her. She wanted to be able to say to +him, after the triumph: “I knew all, and so far from spoiling anything, I +have secured the victory.” Never did an accomplice make less noise or +work harder. The marquis, whom she had taken into her confidence, was astounded +at it. +</p> + +<p> +The fate of her dear Aristide, however, continued to make her uneasy. Now that +she shared the faith of her eldest son, the rabid articles of the +“Indépendant” alarmed her all the more. She longed to convert the +unfortunate republican to Napoleonist ideas; but she did not know how to +accomplish this in a discreet manner. She recalled the emphasis with which +Eugène had told them to be on their guard against Aristide. At last she +submitted the matter to Monsieur de Carnavant, who was entirely of the same +opinion. +</p> + +<p> +“Little one,” he said to her, “in politics one must know how +to look after one’s self. If you were to convert your son, and the +‘Indépendant’ were to start writing in defence of Bonapartism, it +would deal the party a rude blow. The ‘Indépendant’ has already +been condemned, its title alone suffices to enrage the middle classes of +Plassans. Let dear Aristide flounder about; this only moulds young people. He +does not appear to me to be cut out for carrying on the role of a martyr for +any length of time.” +</p> + +<p> +However, in her eagerness to point out the right way to her family, now that +she believed herself in possession of the truth, Félicité even sought to +convert her son Pascal. The doctor, with the egotism of a scientist immersed in +his researches, gave little heed to politics. Empires might fall while he was +making an experiment, yet he would not have deigned to turn his head. He at +last yielded, however, to certain importunities of his mother, who accused him +more than ever of living like an unsociable churl. +</p> + +<p> +“If you were to go into society,” she said to him, “you would +get some well-to-do patients. Come, at least, and spend some evenings in our +drawing-room. You will make the acquaintance of Messieurs Roudier, Granoux, and +Sicardot, all gentlemen in good circumstances, who will pay you four or five +francs a visit. The poor people will never enrich you.” +</p> + +<p> +The idea of succeeding in life, of seeing all her family attain to fortune, had +become a form of monomania with Félicité. Pascal, in order to be agreeable to +her, came and spent a few evenings in the yellow drawing-room. He was much less +bored there than he had apprehended. At first he was rather stupefied at the +degree of imbecility to which sane men can sink. The old oil and almond +dealers, the marquis and the commander even, appeared to him so many curious +animals, which he had not hitherto had an opportunity of studying. He looked +with a naturalist’s interest at their grimacing faces, in which he +discerned traces of their occupations and appetites; he listened also to their +inane chatter, just as he might have tried to catch the meaning of a +cat’s mew or a dog’s bark. At this period he was occupied with +comparative natural history, applying to the human race the observations which +he had made upon animals with regard to the working of heredity. While he was +in the yellow drawing-room, therefore, he amused himself with the belief that +he had fallen in with a menagerie. He established comparisons between the +grotesque creatures he found there and certain animals of his acquaintance. The +marquis, with his leanness and small crafty-looking head, reminded him exactly +of a long green grasshopper. Vuillet impressed him as a pale, slimy toad. He +was more considerate for Roudier, a fat sheep, and for the commander, an old +toothless mastiff. But the prodigious Granoux was a perpetual cause of +astonishment to him. He spent a whole evening measuring this imbecile’s +facial angle. When he heard him mutter indistinct imprecations against those +blood-suckers the Republicans, he always expected to hear him moan like a calf; +and he could never see him rise from his chair without imagining that he was +about to leave the room on all fours. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk to them,” his mother used to say in an undertone; “try +and make a practice out of these gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not a veterinary surgeon,” he at last replied, exasperated. +</p> + +<p> +One evening Félicité took him into a corner and tired to catechise him. She was +glad to see him come to her house rather assiduously. She thought him +reconciled to Society, not suspecting for a moment the singular amusement that +he derived from ridiculing these rich people. She cherished the secret project +of making him the fashionable doctor of Plassans. It would be sufficient if men +like Granoux and Roudier consented to give him a start. She wished, above all, +to impart to him the political views of the family, considering that a doctor +had everything to gain by constituting himself a warm partisan of the regime +which was to succeed the Republic. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy,” she said to him, “as you have now become +reasonable, you must give some thought to the future. You are accused of being +a Republican, because you are foolish enough to attend all the beggars of the +town without making any charge. Be frank, what are your real opinions?” +</p> + +<p> +Pascal looked at his mother with naïve astonishment, then with a smile replied: +“My real opinions? I don’t quite know—I am accused of being a +Republican, did you say? Very well! I don’t feel at all offended. I am +undoubtedly a Republican, if you understand by that word a man who wishes the +welfare of everybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will never attain to any position,” Félicité quickly +interrupted. “You will be crushed. Look at your brothers, they are trying +to make their way.” +</p> + +<p> +Pascal then comprehended that he was not called upon to defend his philosophic +egotism. His mother simply accused him of not speculating on the political +situation. He began to laugh somewhat sadly, and then turned the conversation +into another channel. Félicité could never induce him to consider the chances +of the various parties, nor to enlist in that one of them which seemed likely +to carry the day. However, he still occasionally came to spend an evening in +the yellow drawing-room. Granoux interested him like an antediluvian animal. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, events were moving. The year 1851 was a year of anxiety and +apprehension for the politicians of Plassans, and the cause which the Rougons +served derived advantage from this circumstance. The most contradictory news +arrived from Paris; sometimes the Republicans were in the ascendant, sometimes +the Conservative party was crushing the Republic. The echoes of the squabbles +which were rending the Legislative Assembly reached the depths of the +provinces, now in an exaggerated, now in an attenuated form, varying so greatly +as to obscure the vision of the most clear-sighted. The only general feeling +was that a <i>dénouement</i> was approaching. The prevailing ignorance as to +the nature of this <i>dénouement</i> kept timid middle class people in a +terrible state of anxiety. Everybody wished to see the end. They were sick of +uncertainty, and would have flung themselves into the arms of the Grand Turk, +if he would have deigned to save France from anarchy. +</p> + +<p> +The marquis’s smile became more acute. Of an evening, in the yellow +drawing-room, when Granoux’s growl was rendered indistinct by fright, he +would draw near to Félicité and whisper in her ear: “Come, little one, +the fruit is ripe—but you must make yourself useful.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité, who continued to read Eugène’s letters, and knew that a +decisive crisis might any day occur, had already often felt the necessity of +making herself useful, and reflected as to the manner in which the Rougons +should employ themselves. At last she consulted the marquis. +</p> + +<p> +“It all depends upon circumstances,” the little old man replied. +“If the department remains quiet, if no insurrection occurs to terrify +Plassans, it will be difficult for you to make yourselves conspicuous and +render any services to the new government. I advise you, in that case, to +remain at home, and peacefully await the bounties of your son Eugène. But if +the people rise, and our brave bourgeois think themselves in danger, there will +be a fine part to play. Your husband is somewhat heavy—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Félicité, “I’ll undertake to make him +supple. Do you think the department will revolt?” +</p> + +<p> +“To my mind it’s a certainty. Plassans, perhaps, will not make a +stir; the reaction has secured too firm a hold here for that. But the +neighbouring towns, especially the small ones and the villages, have long been +worked by certain secret societies, and belong to the advanced Republican +party. If a Coup d’État should burst forth, the tocsin will be heard +throughout the entire country, from the forests of the Seille to the plateau of +Sainte-Roure.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité reflected. “You think, then,” she resumed, “that an +insurrection is necessary to ensure our fortune!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my opinion,” replied Monsieur de Carnavant. And he +added, with a slightly ironical smile: “A new dynasty is never founded +excepting upon an affray. Blood is good manure. It will be a fine thing for the +Rougons to date from a massacre, like certain illustrious families.” +</p> + +<p> +These words, accompanied by a sneer, sent a cold chill through Félicité’s +bones. But she was a strong-minded woman, and the sight of Monsieur +Peirotte’s beautiful curtains, which she religiously viewed every +morning, sustained her courage. Whenever she felt herself giving way, she +planted herself at the window and contemplated the tax-receiver’s house. +For her it was the Tuileries. She had determined upon the most extreme measures +in order to secure an entree into the new town, that promised land, on the +threshold of which she had stood with burning longing for so many years. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation which she had held with the marquis had at last clearly +revealed the situation to her. A few days afterwards, she succeeded in reading +one of Eugène’s letters, in which he, who was working for the Coup +d’État, seemed also to rely upon an insurrection as the means of endowing +his father with some importance. Eugène knew his department well. All his +suggestions had been framed with the object of placing as much influence as +possible in the hands of the yellow drawing-room reactionaries, so that the +Rougons might be able to hold the town at the critical moment. In accordance +with his desires, the yellow drawing-room was master of Plassans in November, +1851. Roudier represented the rich citizens there, and his attitude would +certainly decide that of the entire new town. Granoux was still more valuable; +he had the Municipal Council behind him: he was its most powerful member, a +fact which will give some idea of its other members. Finally, through Commander +Sicardot, whom the marquis had succeeded in getting appointed as chief of the +National Guard, the yellow drawing-room had the armed forces at their disposal. +</p> + +<p> +The Rougons, those poor disreputable devils, had thus succeeded in rallying +round themselves the instruments of their own fortune. Everyone, from cowardice +or stupidity, would have to obey them and work in the dark for their +aggrandisement. They simply had to fear those other influences which might be +working with the same object as themselves, and might partially rob them of the +merit of victory. That was their great fear, for they wanted to reserve to +themselves the role of deliverers. They knew beforehand that they would be +aided rather than hindered by the clergy and the nobility. But if the +sub-prefect, the mayor, and the other functionaries were to take a step in +advance and at once stifle the insurrection they would find themselves thrown +into the shade, and even arrested in their exploits; they would have neither +time nor means to make themselves useful. What they longed for was complete +abstention, general panic among the functionaries. If only all regular +administration should disappear, and they could dispose of the destinies of +Plassans for a single day, their fortune would be firmly established. +</p> + +<p> +Happily for them, there was not a man in the government service whose +convictions were so firm or whose circumstances were so needy as to make him +disposed to risk the game. The sub-prefect was a man of liberal spirit whom the +executive had forgetfully left at Plassans, owing, no doubt, to the good repute +of the town. Of timid character and incapable of exceeding his authority, he +would no doubt be greatly embarrassed in the presence of an insurrection. The +Rougons, who knew that he was in favour of the democratic cause, and who +consequently never dreaded his zeal, were simply curious to know what attitude +he would assume. As for the municipality, this did not cause them much +apprehension. The mayor, Monsieur Garconnet, was a Legitimist whose nomination +had been procured by the influence of the Saint-Marc quarter in 1849. He +detested the Republicans and treated them with undisguised disdain; but he was +too closely united by bonds of friendship with certain members of the church to +lend any active hand in a Bonapartist Coup d’État. The other +functionaries were in exactly the same position. The justices of the peace, the +post-master, the tax-collector, as well as Monsieur Peirotte, the chief +receiver of taxes, were all indebted for their posts to the Clerical reaction, +and could not accept the Empire with any great enthusiasm. The Rougons, though +they did not quite see how they might get rid of these people and clear the way +for themselves, nevertheless indulged in sanguine hopes on finding there was +little likelihood of anybody disputing their role as deliverers. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>dénouement</i> was drawing near. In the last few days of November, as +the rumour of a Coup d’État was circulating, the prince-president was +accused of seeking the position of emperor. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! we’ll call him whatever he likes,” Granoux exclaimed, +“provided he has those Republican rascals shot!” +</p> + +<p> +This exclamation from Granoux, who was believed to be asleep, caused great +commotion. The marquis pretended not to have heard it; but all the bourgeois +nodded approval. Roudier, who, being rich, did not fear to applaud the +sentiment aloud, went so far as to declare, while glancing askance at Monsieur +de Carnavant, that the position was no longer tenable, and that France must be +chastised as soon as possible, never mind by what hand. +</p> + +<p> +The marquis still maintained a silence which was interpreted as acquiescence. +And thereupon the Conservative clan, abandoning the cause of Legitimacy, +ventured to offer up prayers in favour of the Empire. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends,” said Commander Sicardot, rising from his seat, +“only a Napoleon can now protect threatened life and property. Have no +fear, I’ve taken the necessary precautions to preserve order at +Plassans.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact the commander, in concert with Rougon, had concealed, in a +kind of cart-house near the ramparts, both a supply of cartridges and a +considerable number of muskets; he had also taken steps to secure the +co-operation of the National Guard, on which he believed he could rely. His +words produced a very favourable impression. On separating for the evening, the +peaceful citizens of the yellow drawing-room spoke of massacring the +“Reds” if they should dare to stir. +</p> + +<p> +On December 1, Pierre Rougon received a letter from Eugène which he went to +read in his bedroom, in accordance with his prudent habit. Félicité observed, +however, that he was very agitated when he came out again. She fluttered round +the secretaire all day. When night came, she could restrain her impatience no +longer. Her husband had scarcely fallen asleep, when she quietly got up, took +the key of the secretaire from the waistcoat pocket, and gained possession of +the letter with as little noise as possible. Eugène, in ten lines, warned his +father that the crisis was at hand, and advised him to acquaint his mother with +the situation of affairs. The hour for informing her had arrived; he might +stand in need of her advice. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité awaited, on the morrow, a disclosure which did not come. She did not +dare to confess her curiosity; but continued to feign ignorance, though enraged +at the foolish distrust of her husband, who, doubtless, considered her a +gossip, and weak like other women. Pierre, with that marital pride which +inspires a man with the belief in his own superiority at home, had ended by +attributing all their past ill-luck to his wife. From the time that he fancied +he had been conducting matters alone everything seemed to him to have gone as +he desired. He had decided, therefore, to dispense altogether with his +consort’s counsels, and to confide nothing to her, in spite of his +son’s recommendations. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité was piqued to such a degree that she would have upset the whole affair +had she not desired the triumph as ardently as Pierre. So she continued to work +energetically for victory, while endeavouring to take her revenge. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! if he could only have some great fright,” thought she; +“if he would only commit some act of imprudence! Then I should see him +come to me and humbly ask for advice; it would be my turn to lay down the +law.” +</p> + +<p> +She felt somewhat uneasy at the imperious attitude Pierre would certainly +assume if he were to triumph without her aid. On marrying this peasant’s +son, in preference to some notary’s clerk, she had intended to make use +of him as a strongly made puppet, whose strings she would pull in her own way; +and now, at the decisive moment, the puppet, in his blind stupidity, wanted to +work alone! All the cunning, all the feverish activity within the old woman +protested against this. She knew Pierre was quite capable of some brutal +resolve such as that which he had taken when he compelled his mother to sign +the receipt for fifty thousand francs; the tool was indeed a useful and +unscrupulous one; but she felt the necessity for guiding it, especially under +present circumstances, when considerable suppleness was requisite. +</p> + +<p> +The official news of the Coup d’État did not reach Plassans until the +afternoon of December 3—a Thursday. Already, at seven o’clock in +the evening, there was a full meeting in the yellow drawing-room. Although the +crisis had been eagerly desired, vague uneasiness appeared on the faces of the +majority. They discussed events amid endless chatter. Pierre, who like the +others was slightly pale, thought it right, as an extreme measure of prudence, +to excuse Prince Louis’s decisive act to the Legitimists and Orleanists +who were present. +</p> + +<p> +“There is talk of an appeal to the people,” he said; “the +nation will then be free to choose whatever government it likes. The president +is a man to retire before our legitimate masters.” +</p> + +<p> +The marquis, who had retained his aristocratic coolness, was the only one who +greeted these words with a smile. The others, in the enthusiasm of the moment, +concerned themselves very little about what might follow. All their opinions +foundered. Roudier, forgetting the esteem which as a former shopkeeper he had +entertained for the Orleanists, stopped Pierre rather abruptly. And everybody +exclaimed: “Don’t argue the matter. Let us think of preserving +order.” +</p> + +<p> +These good people were terribly afraid of the Republicans. There had, however +been very little commotion in the town on the announcement of the events in +Paris. People had collected in front of the notices posted on the door of the +Sub-Prefecture; it was also rumoured that a few hundred workmen had left their +work and were endeavouring to organise resistance. That was all. No serious +disturbance seemed likely to occur. The course which the neighbouring towns and +rural districts might take seemed more likely to occasion anxiety; however, it +was not yet known how they had received the news of the Coup d’État. +</p> + +<p> +Granoux arrived at about nine o’clock, quite out of breath. He had just +left a sitting of the Municipal Council which had been hastily summoned +together. Choking with emotion, he announced that the mayor, Monsieur +Garconnet, had declared, while making due reserves, that he was determined to +preserve order by the most stringent measures. However, the intelligence which +caused the noisiest chattering in the yellow drawing-room was that of the +resignation of the sub-prefect. This functionary had absolutely refused to +communicate the despatches of the Minister of the Interior to the inhabitants +of Plassans; he had just left the town, so Granoux asserted, and it was thanks +to the mayor that the messages had been posted. This was perhaps the only +sub-prefect in France who ever had the courage of his democratic opinions. +</p> + +<p> +Although Monsieur Garconnet’s firm demeanour caused the Rougons some +secret anxiety, they rubbed their hands at the flight of the sub-prefect, which +left the post vacant for them. It was decided on this memorable evening that +the yellow drawing-room party should accept the Coup d’État and openly +declare that it was in favour of accomplished facts. Vuillet was commissioned +to write an article to that effect, and publish it on the morrow in the +“Gazette.” Neither he nor the marquis raised any objection. They +had, no doubt, received instructions from the mysterious individuals to whom +they sometimes made pious allusions. The clergy and the nobility were already +resigned to the course of lending a strong hand to the victors, in order to +crush their common enemy, the Republic. +</p> + +<p> +While the yellow drawing-room was deliberating on the evening in question, +Aristide was perspiring with anxiety. Never had gambler, staking his last louis +on a card, felt such anguish. During the day the resignation of his chief, the +sub-prefect, had given him much matter for reflection. He had heard him repeat +several times that the Coup d’État must prove a failure. This +functionary, endowed with a limited amount of honesty, believed in the final +triumph of the democracy, though he had not the courage to work for that +triumph by offering resistance. Aristide was in the habit of listening at the +doors of the Sub-Prefecture, in order to get precise information, for he felt +that he was groping in the dark, and clung to the intelligence which he gleaned +from the officials. The sub-prefect’s opinion struck him forcibly; but he +remained perplexed. He thought to himself: “Why does the fellow go away +if he is so certain that the prince-president will meet with a check?” +However, as he was compelled to espouse one side or the other, he resolved to +continue his opposition. He wrote a very hostile article on the Coup +d’État, and took it to the “Indépendant” the same evening for +the following morning’s issue. He had corrected the proofs of this +article, and was returning home somewhat calmed, when, as he passed along the +Rue de la Banne, he instinctively raised his head and glanced at the +Rougons’ windows. Their windows were brightly lighted up. +</p> + +<p> +“What can they be plotting up there?” the journalist asked himself, +with anxious curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +A fierce desire to know the opinion of the yellow drawing-room with regard to +recent events then assailed him. He credited this group of reactionaries with +little intelligence; but his doubts recurred, he was in that frame of mind when +one might seek advice from a child. He could not think of entering his +father’s home at that moment, after the campaign he had waged against +Granoux and the others. Nevertheless, he went upstairs, reflecting what a +singular figure he would cut if he were surprised on the way by anyone. On +reaching the Rougons’ door, he could only catch a confused echo of +voices. +</p> + +<p> +“What a child I am,” said he, “fear makes me stupid.” +And he was going to descend again, when he heard the approach of his mother, +who was about to show somebody out. He had barely time to hide in a dark corner +formed by a little staircase leading to the garrets of the house. The +Rougons’ door opened, and the marquis appeared, followed by Félicité. +Monsieur de Carnavant usually left before the gentlemen of the new town did, in +order no doubt to avoid having to shake hands with them in the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! little one,” he said on the landing, in a low voice, +“these men are greater cowards than I should have thought. With such men +France will always be at the mercy of whoever dares to lay his hands upon +her!” And he added, with some bitterness, as though speaking to himself: +“The monarchy is decidedly becoming too honest for modern times. Its day +is over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eugène announced the crisis to his father,” replied Félicité. +“Prince Louis’s triumph seems to him certain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you can proceed without fear,” the marquis replied, as he +descended the first steps. “In two or three days the country will be well +bound and gagged. Good-bye till to-morrow, little one.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité closed the door again. Aristide had received quite a shock in his dark +corner. However, without waiting for the marquis to reach the street, he +bounded down the staircase, four steps at a time, rushed outside like a madman, +and turned his steps towards the printing-office of the +“Indépendant.” A flood of thoughts surged through his mind. He was +enraged, and accused his family of having duped him. What! Eugène kept his +parents informed of the situation, and yet his mother had never given him any +of his eldest brother’s letters to read, in order that he might follow +the advice given therein! And it was only now he learnt by chance that his +eldest brother regarded the success of the Coup d’État as certain! This +circumstance, moreover, confirmed certain presentiments which that idiot of a +sub-prefect had prevented him from obeying. He was especially exasperated +against his father, whom he had thought stupid enough to be a Legitimist, but +who revealed himself as a Bonapartist at the right moment. +</p> + +<p> +“What a lot of folly they have allowed me to perpetrate,” he +muttered as he ran along. “I’m a fine fellow now. Ah! what a +lesson! Granoux is more capable than I.” +</p> + +<p> +He entered the office of the “Indépendant” like a hurricane, and +asked for his article in a choking voice. The article had already been imposed. +He had the forme unlocked and would not rest until he had himself destroyed the +setting, mixing the type in a furious manner, like a set of dominoes. The +bookseller who managed the paper looked at him in amazement. He was, in +reality, rather glad of the incident, as the article had seemed to him somewhat +dangerous. But he was absolutely obliged to have some copy, if the +“Indépendant” was to appear. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to give me something else?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied Aristide. +</p> + +<p> +He sat down at the table and began a warm panegyric on the Coup d’État. +At the very first line, he swore that Prince Louis had just saved the Republic; +but he had hardly written a page before he stopped and seemed at a loss how to +continue. A troubled look came over his pole-cat face. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go home,” he said at last. “I will send you this +immediately. Your paper can appear a little later, if necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked slowly on his way home, lost in meditation. He was again giving way +to indecision. Why should he veer round so quickly? Eugène was an intelligent +fellow, but his mother had perhaps exaggerated the significance of some +sentence in his letter. In any case, it would be better to wait and hold his +tongue. +</p> + +<p> +An hour later Angèle called at the bookseller’s, feigning deep emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“My husband has just severely injured himself,” she said. “He +jammed his four fingers in a door as he was coming in. In spite of his +sufferings, he has dictated this little note, which he begs you to publish +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +On the following day the “Indépendant,” made up almost entirely of +miscellaneous items of news, appeared with these few lines at the head of the +first column: +</p> + +<p> +“A deplorable accident which has occurred to our eminent contributor +Monsieur Aristide Rougon will deprive us of his articles for some time. He will +suffer at having to remain silent in the present grave circumstances. None of +our readers will doubt, however, the good wishes which he offers up with +patriotic feelings for the welfare of France.” +</p> + +<p> +This burlesque note had been maturely studied. The last sentence might be +interpreted in favour of all parties. By this expedient, Aristide devised a +glorious return for himself on the morrow of battle, in the shape of a +laudatory article on the victors. On the following day he showed himself to the +whole town, with his arm in a sling. His mother, frightened by the notice in +the paper, hastily called upon him, but he refused to show her his hand, and +spoke with a bitterness which enlightened the old woman. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t be anything,” she said in a reassuring and somewhat +sarcastic tone, as she was leaving. “You only want a little rest.” +</p> + +<p> +It was no doubt owing to this pretended accident, and the sub-prefect’s +departure, that the “Indépendant” was not interfered with, like +most of the democratic papers of the departments. +</p> + +<p> +The 4th day of the month proved comparatively quiet at Plassans. In the evening +there was a public demonstration which the mere appearance of the gendarmes +sufficed to disperse. A band of working-men came to request Monsieur Garconnet +to communicate the despatches he had received from Paris, which the latter +haughtily refused to do; as it retired the band shouted: “Long live the +Republic! Long live the Constitution!” After this, order was restored. +The yellow drawing-room, after commenting at some length on this innocent +parade, concluded that affairs were going on excellently. +</p> + +<p> +The 5th and 6th were, however, more disquieting. Intelligence was received of +successive risings in small neighbouring towns; the whole southern part of the +department had taken up arms; La Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx had been the +first to rise, drawing after them the villages of Chavanos, Nazeres, Poujols, +Valqueyras and Vernoux. The yellow drawing-room party was now becoming +seriously alarmed. It felt particularly uneasy at seeing Plassans isolated in +the very midst of the revolt. Bands of insurgents would certainly scour the +country and cut off all communications. Granoux announced, with a terrified +look, that the mayor was without any news. Some people even asserted that blood +had been shed at Marseilles, and that a formidable revolution had broken out in +Paris. Commander Sicardot, enraged at the cowardice of the bourgeois, vowed he +would die at the head of his men. +</p> + +<p> +On Sunday the 7th the terror reached a climax. Already at six o’clock the +yellow drawing-room, where a sort of reactionary committee sat <i>en +permanence</i>, was crowded with pale, trembling men, who conversed in +undertones, as though they were in a chamber of death. It had been ascertained +during the day that a column of insurgents, about three thousand strong, had +assembled at Alboise, a big village not more than three leagues away. It was +true that this column had been ordered to make for the chief town of the +department, leaving Plassans on its left; but the plan of campaign might at any +time be altered; moreover, it sufficed for these cowardly cits to know that +there were insurgents a few miles off, to make them feel the horny hands of the +toilers already tightened round their throats. They had had a foretaste of the +revolt in the morning; the few Republicans at Plassans, seeing that they would +be unable to make any determined move in the town, had resolved to join their +brethren of La Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx; the first group had left at +about eleven o’clock, by the Porte de Rome, shouting the +“Marseillaise” and smashing a few windows. Granoux had had one +broken. He mentioned the circumstance with stammerings of terror. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the most acute anxiety agitated the yellow drawing-room. The +commander had sent his servant to obtain some information as to the exact +movements of the insurgents, and the others awaited this man’s return, +making the most astonishing surmises. They had a full meeting. Roudier and +Granoux, sinking back in their arm-chairs, exchanged the most pitiable glances, +whilst behind them moaned a terror-stricken group of retired tradesmen. +Vuillet, without appearing over scared, reflected upon what precautions he +should take to protect his shop and person; he was in doubt whether he should +hide himself in his garret or cellar, and inclined towards the latter. For +their part Pierre and the commander walked up and down, exchanging a word ever +and anon. The old oil-dealer clung to this friend Sicardot as if to borrow a +little courage from him. He, who had been awaiting the crisis for such a long +time, now endeavoured to keep his countenance, in spite of the emotion which +was stifling him. As for the marquis, more spruce and smiling than usual, he +conversed in a corner with Félicité, who seemed very gay. +</p> + +<p> +At last a ring came. The gentlemen started as if they had heard a gun-shot. +Dead silence reigned in the drawing-room when Félicité went to open the door, +towards which their pale, anxious faces were turned. Then the commander’s +servant appeared on the threshold, quite out of breath, and said abruptly to +his master: “Sir, the insurgents will be here in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a thunderbolt. They all started up, vociferating, and raising their +arms towards the ceiling. For several minutes it was impossible to hear +one’s self speak. The company surrounded the messenger, overwhelming him +with questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Damnation!” the commander at length shouted, “don’t +make such a row. Be calm, or I won’t answer for anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Everyone sank back in his chair again, heaving long-drawn sighs. They then +obtained a few particulars. The messenger had met the column at Les Tulettes, +and had hastened to return. +</p> + +<p> +“There are at least three thousand of them,” said he. “They +are marching in battalions, like soldiers. I thought I caught sight of some +prisoners in their midst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prisoners!” cried the terrified bourgeois. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt,” the marquis interrupted in his shrill voice. +“I’ve heard that the insurgents arrest all persons who are known to +have conservative leanings.” +</p> + +<p> +This information gave a finishing touch to the consternation of the yellow +drawing-room. A few bourgeois got up and stealthily made for the door, +reflecting that they had not too much time before them to gain a place of +safety. +</p> + +<p> +The announcement of the arrests made by the Republicans appeared to strike +Félicité. She took the marquis aside and asked him: “What do these men do +with the people they arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, they carry them off in their train,” Monsieur de Carnavant +replied. “They no doubt consider them excellent hostages.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” the old woman rejoined, in a strange tone. +</p> + +<p> +Then she again thoughtfully watched the curious scene of panic around her. The +bourgeois gradually disappeared; soon there only remained Vuillet and Roudier, +whom the approaching danger inspired with some courage. As for Granoux, he +likewise remained in his corner, his legs refusing to perform their office. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I like this better,” Sicardot remarked, as he observed the +flight of the other adherents. “Those cowards were exasperating me at +last. For more than two years they’ve been speaking of shooting all the +Republicans in the province, and to-day they wouldn’t even fire a +halfpenny cracker under their noses.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he took up his hat and turned towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s see,” he continued, “time presses. Come, +Rougon.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité, it seemed, had been waiting for this moment. She placed herself +between the door and her husband, who, for that matter, was not particularly +eager to follow the formidable Sicardot. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t have you go out,” she cried, feigning sudden +despair. “I won’t let you leave my side. Those scoundrels will kill +you.” +</p> + +<p> +The commander stopped in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Hang it all!” he growled, “if the women are going to whine +now—Come along, Rougon!’ +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” continued the old woman, affecting increase of terror, +“he sha’n’t follow you. I will hang on to his clothes and +prevent him.” +</p> + +<p> +The marquis, very much surprised at the scene, looked inquiringly at Félicité. +Was this really the woman who had just now been conversing so merrily? What +comedy was she playing? Pierre, meantime, seeing that his wife wanted to detain +him, deigned a determination to force his way out. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you you shall not go,” the old woman reiterated, as she +clung to one of his arms. And turning towards the commander, she said to him: +“How can you think of offering any resistance? They are three thousand +strong, and you won’t be able to collect a hundred men of any spirit. You +are rushing into the cannon’s mouth to no purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! that is our duty,” said Sicardot, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité burst into sobs. +</p> + +<p> +“If they don’t kill him, they’ll make him a prisoner,” +she continued, looked fixedly at her husband. “Good heavens! What will +become of me, left alone in an abandoned town?” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” exclaimed the commander, “we shall be arrested just +the same if we allow the insurgents to enter the town unmolested. I believe +that before an hour has elapsed the mayor and all the functionaries will be +prisoners, to say nothing of your husband and the frequenters of this +drawing-room.” +</p> + +<p> +The marquis thought he saw a vague smile play about Félicité’s lips as +she answered, with a look of dismay: “Do you really think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” replied Sicardot; “the Republicans are not so +stupid as to leave enemies behind them. To-morrow Plassans will be emptied of +its functionaries and good citizens.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words, which she had so cleverly provoked, Félicité released her +husband’s arms. Pierre no longer looked as if he wanted to go out. Thanks +to his wife, whose skilful tactics escaped him, however, and whose secret +complicity he never for a moment suspected, he had just lighted on a whole plan +of campaign. +</p> + +<p> +“We must deliberate before taking any decision,” he said to the +commander. “My wife is perhaps not wrong in accusing us of forgetting the +true interests of our families.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, madame is not wrong,” cried Granoux, who had been +listening to Félicité’s terrified cries with the rapture of a coward. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon the commander energetically clapped his hat on his head, and said in +a clear voice: “Right or wrong, it matters little to me. I am commander +of the National Guard. I ought to have been at the mayor’s before now. +Confess that you are afraid, that you leave me to act alone. . . . Well, +good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +He was just turning the handle of the door, when Rougon forcibly detained him. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Sicardot,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He drew him into a corner, on seeing Vuillet prick up his big ears. And there +he explained to him, in an undertone, that it would be a good plan to leave a +few energetic men behind the insurgents, so as to restore order in the town. +And as the fierce commander obstinately refused to desert his post, Pierre +offered to place himself at the head of such a reserve corps. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me the key of the cart-shed in which the arms and ammunition are +kept,” he said to him, “and order some fifty of our men not to stir +until I call for them.” +</p> + +<p> +Sicardot ended by consenting to these prudent measures. He entrusted Pierre +with the key of the cart-shed, convinced as he was of the inexpediency of +present resistance, but still desirous of sacrificing himself. +</p> + +<p> +During this conversation, the marquis had whispered a few words in +Félicité’s ear with a knowing look. He complimented her, no doubt, on her +theatrical display. The old woman could not repress a faint smile. But, as +Sicardot shook hands with Rougon and prepared to go, she again asked him with +an air of fright: “Are you really determined to leave us?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not for one of Napoleon’s old soldiers to let himself be +intimidated by the mob,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +He was already on the landing, when Granoux hurried after him, crying: +“If you go to the mayor’s tell him what’s going on. +I’ll just run home to my wife to reassure her.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Félicité bent towards the marquis’s ear, and whispered with discreet +gaiety: “Upon my word, it is best that devil of a commander should go and +get himself arrested. He’s far too zealous.” +</p> + +<p> +However, Rougon brought Granoux back to the drawing-room. Roudier, who had +quietly followed the scene from his corner, making signs in support of the +proposed measures of prudence, got up and joined them. When the marquis and +Vuillet had likewise risen, Pierre began: +</p> + +<p> +“Now that we are alone, among peaceable men, I propose that we should +conceal ourselves so as to avoid certain arrest, and be at liberty as soon as +ours again becomes the stronger party.” +</p> + +<p> +Granoux was ready to embrace him. Roudier and Vuillet breathed more easily. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall want you shortly, gentlemen,” the oil-dealer continued, +with an important air. “It is to us that the honour of restoring order in +Plassans is reserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may rely upon us!” cried Vuillet, with an enthusiasm which +disturbed Félicité. +</p> + +<p> +Time was pressing. These singular defenders of Plassans, who hid themselves the +better to protect the town, hastened away, to bury themselves in some hole or +other. Pierre, on being left alone with his wife, advised her not to make the +mistake of barricading herself indoors, but to reply, if anybody came to +question her, that he, Pierre, had simply gone on a short journey. And as she +acted the simpleton, feigning terror and asking what all this was coming to, he +replied abruptly: “It’s nothing to do with you. Let me manage our +affairs alone. They’ll get on all the better.” +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later he was rapidly threading his way along the Rue de la Banne. +On reaching the Cours Sauvaire, he saw a band of armed workmen coming out of +the old quarter and singing the “Marseillaise.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil!” he thought. “It was quite time, indeed; +here’s the town itself in revolt now!” +</p> + +<p> +He quickened his steps in the direction of the Porte de Rome. Cold perspiration +came over him while he waited there for the dilatory keeper to open the gate. +Almost as soon as he set foot on the high road, he perceived in the moonlight +at the other end of the Faubourg the column of insurgents, whose gun barrels +gleamed like white flames. So it was at a run that he dived into the Impasse +Saint-Mittre, and reached his mother’s house, which he had not visited +for many a long year. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p> +Antoine Macquart had returned to Plassans after the fall of the first Napoleon. +He had had the incredible good fortune to escape all the final murderous +campaigns of the Empire. He had moved from barracks to barracks, dragging on +his brutifying military life. This mode of existence brought his natural vices +to full development. His idleness became deliberate; his intemperance, which +brought him countless punishments, became, to his mind, a veritable religious +duty. But that which above all made him the worst of scapegraces was the +supercilious disdain which he entertained for the poor devils who had to earn +their bread. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got money waiting for me at home,” he often said to his +comrades; “when I’ve served my time, I shall be able to live like a +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +This belief, together with his stupid ignorance, prevented him from rising even +to the grade of corporal. +</p> + +<p> +Since his departure he had never spent a day’s furlough at Plassans, his +brother having invented a thousand pretexts to keep him at a distance. He was +therefore completely ignorant of the adroit manner in which Pierre had got +possession of their mother’s fortune. Adélaïde, with her profound +indifference, did not even write to him three times to tell him how she was +going on. The silence which generally greeted his numerous requests for money +did not awaken the least suspicion in him; Pierre’s stinginess sufficed +to explain the difficulty he experienced in securing from time to time a paltry +twenty-franc piece. This, however, only increased his animosity towards his +brother, who left him to languish in military service in spite of his formal +promise to purchase his discharge. He vowed to himself that on his return home +he would no longer submit like a child, but would flatly demand his share of +the fortune to enable him to live as he pleased. In the diligence which +conveyed him home he dreamed of a delightful life of idleness. The shattering +of his castles in the air was terrible. When he reached the Faubourg, and could +no longer even recognise the Fouques’ plot of ground, he was stupefied. +He was compelled to ask for his mother’s new address. There a terrible +scene occurred. Adélaïde calmly informed him of the sale of the property. He +flew into a rage, and even raised his hand against her. +</p> + +<p> +The poor woman kept repeating: “Your brother has taken everything; it is +understood that he will take care of you.” +</p> + +<p> +At last he left her and ran off to see Pierre, whom he had previously informed +of his return, and who was prepared to receive him in such a way as to put an +end to the matter at the first word of abuse. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” the oil-dealer said to him, affecting distant coldness; +“don’t rouse my anger, or I’ll turn you out. As a matter of +fact, I don’t know you. We don’t bear the same name. It’s +quite misfortune enough for me that my mother misconducted herself, without +having her offspring coming here and insulting me. I was well disposed towards +you, but since you are insolent I shall do nothing for you, absolutely +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Antoine was almost choking with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“And what about my money,” he cried; “will you give it up, +you thief, or shall I have to drag you before the judges?” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got no money of yours,” he replied, more calmly than +ever. “My mother disposed of her fortune as she thought proper. I am +certainly not going to poke my nose into her business. I willingly renounced +all hope of inheritance. I am quite safe from your foul accusations.” +</p> + +<p> +And as his brother, exasperated by this composure, and not knowing what to +think, muttered something, Pierre thrust Adélaïde’s receipt under his +nose. The reading of this scrap of paper completed Antoine’s dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said, in a calmer voice, “I know now what I +have to do.” +</p> + +<p> +The truth was, however, he did not know what to do. His inability to hit upon +any immediate expedient for obtaining his share of the money and satisfying his +desire of revenge increased his fury. He went back to his mother and subjected +her to a disgraceful cross-examination. The wretched woman could do nothing but +again refer him to Pierre. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you are going to make me run to and fro like a +shuttle?” he cried, insolently. “I’ll soon find out which of +you two has the hoard. You’ve already squandered it, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +And making an allusion to her former misconduct he asked her if there were +still not some low fellow to whom she gave her last sous? He did not even spare +his father, that drunkard Macquart, as he called him, who must have lived on +her till the day of his death, and who left his children in poverty. The poor +woman listened with a stupefied air; big tears rolled down her cheeks. She +defended herself with the terror of a child, replying to her son’s +questions as though he were a judge; she swore that she was living respectably, +and reiterated with emphasis that she had never had a sou of the money, that +Pierre had taken everything. Antoine almost came to believe it at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the scoundrel!” he muttered; “that’s why he +wouldn’t purchase my discharge.” +</p> + +<p> +He had to sleep at his mother’s house, on a straw mattress flung in a +corner. He had returned with his pockets perfectly empty, and was exasperated +at finding himself destitute of resources, abandoned like a dog in the streets, +without hearth or home, while his brother, as he thought, was in a good way of +business, and living on the fat of the land. As he had no money to buy clothes +with, he went out on the following day in his regimental cap and trousers. He +had the good fortune to find, at the bottom of a cupboard, an old yellowish +velveteen jacket, threadbare and patched, which had belonged to Macquart. In +this strange attire he walked about the town, relating his story to everyone, +and demanding justice. +</p> + +<p> +The people whom he went to consult received him with a contempt which made him +shed tears of rage. Provincial folks are inexorable towards fallen families. In +the general opinion it was only natural that the Rougon-Macquarts should seek +to devour each other; the spectators, instead of separating them, were more +inclined to urge them on. Pierre, however, was at that time already beginning +to purify himself of his early stains. People laughed at his roguery; some even +went so far as to say that he had done quite right, if he really had taken +possession of the money, and that it would be a good lesson to the dissolute +folks of the town. +</p> + +<p> +Antoine returned home discouraged. A lawyer had advised him, in a scornful +manner, to wash his dirty linen at home, though not until he had skilfully +ascertained whether Antoine possessed the requisite means to carry on a +lawsuit. According to this man, the case was very involved, the pleadings would +be very lengthy, and success was doubtful. Moreover, it would require money, +and plenty of it. +</p> + +<p> +Antoine treated his mother yet more harshly that evening. Not knowing on whom +else to wreak his vengeance, he repeated his accusation of the previous day; he +kept the wretched woman up till midnight, trembling with shame and fright. +Adélaïde having informed him that Pierre made her an allowance, he now felt +certain that his brother had pocketed the fifty thousand francs. But, in his +irritation, he still affected to doubt it, and did not cease to question the +poor woman, again and again reproaching her with misconduct. +</p> + +<p> +Antoine soon found out that, alone and without resources, he could not +successfully carry on a contest with his brother. He then endeavoured to gain +Adélaïde to his cause; an accusation lodged by her might have serious +consequences. But, at Antoine’s first suggestion of it, the poor, lazy, +lethargic creature firmly refused to bring trouble on her eldest son. +</p> + +<p> +“I am an unhappy woman,” she stammered; “it is quite right of +you to get angry. But I should feel too much remorse if I caused one of my sons +to be sent to prison. No; I’d rather let you beat me.” +</p> + +<p> +He saw that he would get nothing but tears out of her, and contented himself +with saying that she was justly punished, and that he had no pity for her. In +the evening, upset by the continual quarrels which her son had sought with her, +Adélaïde had one of those nervous attacks which kept her as rigid as if she had +been dead. The young man threw her on her bed, and then began to rummage the +house to see if the wretched woman had any savings hidden away. He found about +forty francs. He took possession of them, and, while his mother still lay +there, rigid and scarce able to breathe, he quietly took the diligence to +Marseilles. +</p> + +<p> +He had just bethought himself that Mouret, the journeyman hatter who had +married his sister Ursule, must be indignant at Pierre’s roguery, and +would no doubt be willing to defend his wife’s interests. But he did not +find in him the man he expected. Mouret plainly told him that he had become +accustomed to look upon Ursule as an orphan, and would have no contentions with +her family at any price. Their affairs were prospering. Antoine was received so +coldly that he hastened to take the diligence home again. But, before leaving, +he was anxious to revenge himself for the secret contempt which he read in the +workman’s eyes; and, observing that his sister appeared rather pale and +dejected, he said to her husband, in a slyly cruel way, as he took his +departure: “Have a care, my sister was always sickly, and I find her much +changed for the worse; you may lose her altogether.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears which rushed to Mouret’s eyes convinced him that he had touched +a sore wound. But then those work-people made too great a display of their +happiness. +</p> + +<p> +When he was back again in Plassans, Antoine became the more menacing from the +conviction that his hands were tied. During a whole month he was seen all over +the place. He paraded the streets, recounting his story to all who would listen +to him. Whenever he succeeded in extorting a franc from his mother, he would +drink it away at some tavern, where he would revile his brother, declaring that +the rascal should shortly hear from him. In places like these, the good-natured +fraternity which reigns among drunkards procured him a sympathetic audience; +all the scum of the town espoused his cause, and poured forth bitter +imprecations against that rascal Rougon, who left a brave soldier to starve; +the discussion generally terminating with an indiscriminate condemnation of the +rich. Antoine, the better to revenge himself, continued to march about in his +regimental cap and trousers and his old yellow velvet jacket, although his +mother had offered to purchase some more becoming clothes for him. But no; he +preferred to make a display of his rags, and paraded them on Sundays in the +most frequented parts of the Cours Sauvaire. +</p> + +<p> +One of his most exquisite pleasures was to pass Pierre’s shop ten times a +day. He would enlarge the holes in his jacket with his fingers, slacken his +step, and sometimes stand talking in front of the door, so as to remain longer +in the street. On these occasions, too, he would bring one of his drunken +friends and gossip to him; telling him about the theft of the fifty thousand +francs, accompanying his narrative with loud insults and menaces, which could +be heard by everyone in the street, and taking particular care that his abuse +should reach the furthest end of the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll finish by coming to beg in front of our house,” +Félicité used to say in despair. +</p> + +<p> +The vain little woman suffered terribly from this scandal. She even at this +time felt some regret at ever having married Rougon; his family connections +were so objectionable. She would have given all she had in the world to prevent +Antoine from parading his rags. But Pierre, who was maddened by his +brother’s conduct, would not allow his name to be mentioned. When his +wife tried to convince him that it would perhaps be better to free himself from +all annoyance by giving Antoine a little money: “No, nothing; not a +sou,” he cried with rage. “Let him starve!” +</p> + +<p> +He confessed, however, at last that Antoine’s demeanour was becoming +intolerable. One day, Félicité, desiring to put an end to it, called to +“that man,” as she styled him with a disdainful curl on her lip. +“That man” was in the act of calling her a foul name in the middle +of the street, where he stood with one of his friends, even more ragged than +himself. They were both drunk. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, they want us in there,” said Antoine to his companion in a +jeering tone. +</p> + +<p> +But Félicité drew back, muttering: “It’s you alone we wish to speak +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” the young man replied, “my friend’s a decent +fellow. You needn’t mind him hearing. He’ll be my witness.” +</p> + +<p> +The witness sank heavily on a chair. He did not take off his hat, but began to +stare around him, with the maudlin, stupid grin of drunkards and coarse people +who know that they are insolent. Félicité was so ashamed that she stood in +front of the shop door in order that people outside might not see what strange +company she was receiving. Fortunately her husband came to the rescue. A +violent quarrel ensued between him and his brother. The latter, after +stammering insults, reiterated his old grievances twenty times over. At last he +even began to cry, and his companion was near following his example. Pierre had +defended himself in a very dignified manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said at last, “you’re unfortunate, and +I pity you. Although you have cruelly insulted me, I can’t forget that we +are children of the same mother. If I give you anything, however, you must +understand I give it you out of kindness, and not from fear. Would you like a +hundred francs to help you out of your difficulties?” +</p> + +<p> +This abrupt offer of a hundred francs dazzled Antoine’s companion. He +looked at the other with an air of delight, which clearly signified: “As +the gentleman offers a hundred francs, it is time to leave off abusing +him.” But Antoine was determined to speculate on his brother’s +favourable disposition. He asked him whether he took him for a fool; it was his +share, ten thousand francs, that he wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wrong, you’re wrong,” stuttered his friend. +</p> + +<p> +At last, as Pierre, losing all patience, was threatening to turn them both out, +Antoine lowered his demands and contented himself with claiming one thousand +francs. They quarrelled for another quarter of an hour over this amount. +Finally, Félicité interfered. A crowd was gathering round the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” she said, excitedly; “my husband will give you two +hundred francs. I’ll undertake to buy you a suit of clothes, and hire a +room for a year for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon got angry at this. But Antoine’s comrade cried, with transports of +delight: “All right, it’s settled, then; my friend accepts.” +</p> + +<p> +Antoine did, in fact, declare, in a surly way, that he would accept. He felt he +would not be able to get any more. It was arranged that the money and clothes +should be sent to him on the following day, and that a few days later, as soon +as Félicité should have found a room for him, he would take up his quarters +there. As they were leaving, the young man’s sottish companion became as +respectful as he had previously been insolent. He bowed to the company more +than a dozen times, in an awkward and humble manner, muttering many indistinct +thanks, as if the Rougons’ gifts had been intended for himself. +</p> + +<p> +A week later Antoine occupied a large room in the old quarter, in which +Félicité, exceeding her promises, had placed a bed, a table, and some chairs, +on the young man formally undertaking not to molest them in future. Adélaïde +felt no regret at her son leaving her; the short stay he had made with her had +condemned her to bread and water for more than three months. However, Antoine +had soon eaten and drunk the two hundred francs he received from Pierre. He +never for a moment thought of investing them in some little business which +would have helped him to live. When he was again penniless, having no trade, +and being, moreover, unwilling to work, he again sought to slip a hand into the +Rougons’ purse. Circumstances were not the same as before, however, and +he failed to intimidate them. Pierre even took advantage of this opportunity to +turn him out, and forbade him ever to set foot in his house again. It was of no +avail for Antoine to repeat his former accusations. The townspeople, who were +acquainted with his brother’s munificence from the publicity which +Félicité had given to it, declared him to be in the wrong, and called him a +lazy, idle fellow. Meantime his hunger was pressing. He threatened to turn +smuggler like his father, and perpetrate some crime which would dishonour his +family. At this the Rougons shrugged their shoulders; they knew he was too much +of a coward to risk his neck. At last, blindly enraged against his relatives in +particular and society in general, Antoine made up his mind to seek some work. +</p> + +<p> +In a tavern of the Faubourg he made the acquaintance of a basket-maker who +worked at home. He offered to help him. In a short time he learnt to plait +baskets and hampers—a coarse and poorly-paid kind of labour which finds a +ready market. He was very soon able to work on his own account. This trade +pleased him, as it was not over laborious. He could still indulge his idleness, +and that was what he chiefly cared for. He would only take to his work when he +could no longer do otherwise; then he would hurriedly plait a dozen baskets and +go and sell them in the market. As long as the money lasted he lounged about, +visiting all the taverns and digesting his drink in the sunshine. Then, when he +had fasted a whole day, he would once more take up his osier with a low growl +and revile the wealthy who lived in idleness. The trade of a basket-maker, when +followed in such a manner, is a thankless one. Antoine’s work would not +have sufficed to pay for his drinking bouts if he had not contrived a means of +procuring his osier at low cost. He never bought any at Plassans, but used to +say that he went each month to purchase a stock at a neighbouring town, where +he pretended it was sold cheaper. The truth, however, was that he supplied +himself from the osier-grounds of the Viorne on dark nights. A rural policeman +even caught him once in the very act, and Antoine underwent a few days’ +imprisonment in consequence. It was from that time forward that he posed in the +town as a fierce Republican. He declared that he had been quietly smoking his +pipe by the riverside when the rural policeman arrested him. And he added: +“They would like to get me out of the way because they know what my +opinions are. But I’m not afraid of them, those rich scoundrels.” +</p> + +<p> +At last, at the end of ten years of idleness, Antoine considered that he had +been working too hard. His constant dream was to devise some expedient by which +he might live at his ease without having to do anything. His idleness would +never have rested content with bread and water; he was not like certain lazy +persons who are willing to put up with hunger provided they can keep their +hands in their pockets. He liked good feeding and nothing to do. He talked at +one time of taking a situation as servant in some nobleman’s house in the +Saint-Marc quarter. But one of his friends, a groom, frightened him by +describing the exacting ways of his masters. Finally Macquart, sick of his +baskets, and seeing the time approach when he would be compelled to purchase +the requisite osier, was on the point of selling himself as an army substitute +and resuming his military life, which he preferred a thousand times to that of +an artisan, when he made the acquaintance of a woman, an acquaintance which +modified his plans. +</p> + +<p> +Josephine Gavaudan, who was known throughout the town by the familiar +diminutive of Fine, was a tall, strapping wench of about thirty. With a square +face of masculine proportions, and a few terribly long hairs about her chin and +lips, she was cited as a doughty woman, one who could make the weight of her +fist felt. Her broad shoulders and huge arms consequently inspired the town +urchins with marvellous respect; and they did not even dare to smile at her +moustache. Notwithstanding all this, Fine had a faint voice, weak and clear +like that of a child. Those who were acquainted with her asserted that she was +as gentle as a lamb, in spite of her formidable appearance. As she was very +hard-working, she might have put some money aside if she had not had a +partiality for liqueurs. She adored aniseed, and very often had to be carried +home on Sunday evenings. +</p> + +<p> +On week days she would toil with the stubbornness of an animal. She had three +or four different occupations; she sold fruit or boiled chestnuts in the +market, according to the season; went out charring for a few well-to-do people; +washed up plates and dishes at houses when parties were given, and employed her +spare time in mending old chairs. She was more particularly known in the town +as a chair-mender. In the South large numbers of straw-bottomed chairs are +used. +</p> + +<p> +Antoine Macquart formed an acquaintance with Fine at the market. When he went +to sell his baskets in the winter he would stand beside the stove on which she +cooled her chestnuts and warm himself. He was astonished at her courage, he who +was frightened of the least work. By degrees he discerned, beneath the apparent +roughness of this strapping creature, signs of timidity and kindliness. He +frequently saw her give handfuls of chestnuts to the ragged urchins who stood +in ecstasy round her smoking pot. At other times, when the market inspector +hustled her, she very nearly began to cry, apparently forgetting all about her +heavy fists. Antoine at last decided that she was exactly the woman he wanted. +She would work for both and he would lay down the law at home. She would be his +beast of burden, an obedient, indefatigable animal. As for her partiality for +liqueurs, he regarded this as quite natural. After well weighing the advantages +of such an union, he declared himself to Fine, who was delighted with his +proposal. No man had ever yet ventured to propose to her. Though she was told +that Antoine was the most worthless of vagabonds, she lacked the courage to +refuse matrimony. The very evening of the nuptials the young man took up his +abode in his wife’s lodgings in the Rue Civadière, near the market. These +lodgings, consisting of three rooms, were much more comfortably furnished than +his own, and he gave a sigh of satisfaction as he stretched himself out on the +two excellent mattresses which covered the bedstead. +</p> + +<p> +Everything went on very well for the first few days. Fine attended to her +various occupations as in the past; Antoine, seized with a sort of marital +self-pride which astonished even himself, plaited in one week more baskets than +he had ever before done in a month. On the first Sunday, however, war broke +out. The couple had a goodly sum of money in the house, and they spent it +freely. During the night, when they were both drunk, they beat each other +outrageously, without being able to remember on the morrow how it was that the +quarrel had commenced. They had remained on most affectionate terms until about +ten o’clock, when Antoine had begun to beat Fine brutally, whereupon the +latter, growing exasperated and forgetting her meekness, had given him back as +much as she received. She went to work again bravely on the following day, as +though nothing had happened. But her husband, with sullen rancour, rose late +and passed the remainder of the day smoking his pipe in the sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +From that time forward the Macquarts adopted the kind of life which they were +destined to lead in the future. It became, as it were, tacitly understood +between them that the wife should toil and moil to keep her husband. Fine, who +had an instinctive liking for work, did not object to this. She was as patient +as a saint, provided she had had no drink, thought it quite natural that her +husband should remain idle, and even strove to spare him the most trifling +labour. Her little weakness, aniseed, did not make her vicious, but just. On +the evenings when she had forgotten herself in the company of a bottle of her +favourite liqueur, if Antoine tried to pick a quarrel with her, she would set +upon him with might and main, reproaching him with his idleness and +ingratitude. The neighbours grew accustomed to the disturbances which +periodically broke out in the couple’s room. The two battered each other +conscientiously; the wife slapped like a mother chastising a naughty child; but +the husband, treacherous and spiteful as he was, measured his blows, and, on +several occasions, very nearly crippled the unfortunate woman. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be in a fine plight when you’ve broken one of my arms +or legs,” she would say to him. “Who’ll keep you then, you +lazy fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +Excepting for these turbulent scenes, Antoine began to find his new mode of +existence quite endurable. He was well clothed, and ate and drank his fill. He +had laid aside the basket work altogether; sometimes, when he was feeling +over-bored, he would resolve to plait a dozen baskets for the next market day; +but very often he did not even finish the first one. He kept, under a couch, a +bundle of osier which he did not use up in twenty years. +</p> + +<p> +The Macquarts had three children, two girls and a boy. Lisa,[*] born the first, +in 1827, one year after the marriage, remained but little at home. She was a +fine, big, healthy, full-blooded child, greatly resembling her mother. She did +not, however, inherit the latter’s animal devotion and endurance. +Macquart had implanted in her a most decided longing for ease and comfort. +While she was a child she would consent to work for a whole day in return for a +cake. When she was scarcely seven years old, the wife of the postmaster, who +was a neighbour of the Macquarts, took a liking to her. She made a little maid +of her. And when she lost her husband in 1839, and went to live in Paris, she +took Lisa with her. The parents had almost given her their daughter. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] The pork-butcher’s wife in <i>Le Ventre de Paris</i> (<i>The Fat and +the Thin</i>). +</p> + +<p> +The second girl, Gervaise,[*] born the following year, was a cripple from +birth. Her right thigh was smaller than the left and showed signs of curvature, +a curious hereditary result of the brutality which her mother had to endure +during her fierce drunken brawls with Macquart. Gervaise remained puny, and +Fine, observing her pallor and weakness, put her on a course of aniseed, under +the pretext that she required something to strengthen her. But the poor child +became still more emaciated. She was a tall, lank girl, whose frocks, +invariably too large, hung round her as if they had nothing under them. Above a +deformed and puny body she had a sweet little doll-like head, a tiny round +face, pale and exquisitely delicate. Her infirmity almost became graceful. Her +body swayed gently at every step with a sort of rhythmical swing. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] The chief female character in <i>L’Assommoir</i> (<i>The +Dramshop</i>). +</p> + +<p> +The Macquarts’ son, Jean,[*] was born three years later. He was a robust +child, in no respect recalling Gervaise. Like the eldest girl, he took after +his mother, without having any physical resemblance to her. He was the first to +import into the Rougon-Macquart stock a fat face with regular features, which +showed all the coldness of a grave yet not over-intelligent nature. This boy +grew up with the determination of some day making an independent position for +himself. He attended school diligently, and tortured his dull brain to force a +little arithmetic and spelling into it. After that he became an apprentice, +repeating much the same efforts with a perseverance that was the more +meritorious as it took him a whole day to learn what others acquired in an +hour. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] Figures prominently in <i>La Terre</i> (<i>The Earth</i>) and <i>La +Debacle</i> (<i>The Downfall</i>). +</p> + +<p> +As long as these poor little things remained a burden to the house, Antoine +grumbled. They were useless mouths that lessened his own share. He vowed, like +his brother, that he would have no more children, those greedy creatures who +bring their parents to penury. It was something to hear him bemoan his lot when +they sat five at table, and the mother gave the best morsels to Jean, Lisa, and +Gervaise. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” he would growl; “stuff them, make them +burst!” +</p> + +<p> +Whenever Fine bought a garment or a pair of boots for them, he would sulk for +days together. Ah! if he had only known, he would never had had that pack of +brats, who compelled him to limit his smoking to four sous’ worth of +tobacco a day, and too frequently obliged him to eat stewed potatoes for +dinner, a dish which he heartily detested. +</p> + +<p> +Later on, however, as soon as Jean and Gervaise earned their first francs, he +found some good in children after all. Lisa was no longer there. He lived upon +the earnings of the two others without compunction, as he had already lived +upon their mother. It was a well-planned speculation on his part. As soon as +little Gervaise was eight years old, she went to a neighbouring dealer’s +to crack almonds; she there earned ten sous a day, which her father pocketed +right royally, without even a question from Fine as to what became of the +money. The young girl was next apprenticed to a laundress, and as soon as she +received two francs a day for her work, the two francs strayed in a similar +manner into Macquart’s hands. Jean, who had learnt the trade of a +carpenter, was likewise despoiled on pay-days, whenever Macquart succeeded in +catching him before he had handed the money to his mother. If the money escaped +Macquart, which sometimes happened, he became frightfully surly. He would glare +at his wife and children for a whole week, picking a quarrel for nothing, +although he was, as yet, ashamed to confess the real cause of his irritations. +On the next pay-day, however, he would station himself on the watch, and as +soon as he had succeeded in pilfering the youngster’s earnings, he +disappeared for days together. +</p> + +<p> +Gervaise, beaten and brought up in the streets among all the lads of the +neighbourhood, became a mother when she was fourteen years of age. The father +of her child was not eighteen years old. He was a journeyman tanner named +Lantier. At first Macquart was furious, but he calmed down somewhat when he +learnt that Lantier’s mother, a worthy woman, was willing to take charge +of the child. He kept Gervaise, however; she was then already earning +twenty-five sous a day, and he therefore avoided all question of marriage. Four +years later she had a second child, which was likewise taken in by +Lantier’s mother. This time Macquart shut his eyes altogether. And when +Fine timidly suggested that it was time to come to some understanding with the +tanner, in order to end a state of things which made people chatter, he flatly +declared that his daughter should not leave him, and that he would give her to +her lover later on, “when he was worthy of her, and had enough money to +furnish a home.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a fine time for Antoine Macquart. He dressed like a gentleman, in +frock-coats and trousers of the finest cloth. Cleanly shaved, and almost fat, +he was no longer the emaciated ragged vagabond who had been wont to frequent +the taverns. He dropped into cafes, read the papers, and strolled on the Cours +Sauvaire. He played the gentleman as long as he had any money in his pocket. At +times of impecuniosity he remained at home, exasperated at being kept in his +hovel and prevented from taking his customary cup of coffee. On such occasions +he would reproach the whole human race with his poverty, making himself ill +with rage and envy, until Fine, out of pity, would often give him the last +silver coin in the house so that he might spend his evening at the cafe. This +dear fellow was fiercely selfish. Gervaise, who brought home as much as sixty +francs a month, wore only thin cotton frocks, while he had black satin +waistcoats made for him by one of the best tailors in Plassans. +</p> + +<p> +Jean, the big lad who earned three or four francs a day, was perhaps robbed +even more impudently. The cafe where his father passed entire days was just +opposite his master’s workshop, and while he had plane or saw in hand he +could see “Monsieur” Macquart on the other side of the way, +sweetening his coffee or playing piquet with some petty annuitant. It was his +money that the lazy old fellow was gambling away. He, Jean, never stepped +inside a cafe, he never had so much as five sous to pay for a drink. Antoine +treated him like a little girl, never leaving him a centime, and always +demanding an exact account of the manner in which he had employed his time. If +the unfortunate lad, led away by some of his mates, wasted a day somewhere in +the country, on the banks of the Viorne, or on the slopes of Garrigues, his +father would storm and raise his hand, and long bear him a grudge on account of +the four francs less that he received at the end of the fortnight. He thus held +his son in a state of dependence, sometimes even looking upon the sweethearts +whom the young carpenter courted as his own. Several of Gervaise’s +friends used to come to the Macquarts’ house, work-girls from sixteen to +eighteen years of age, bold and boisterous girls who, on certain evenings, +filled the room with youth and gaiety. Poor Jean, deprived of all pleasure, +ever kept at home by the lack of money, looked at these girls with longing +eyes; but the childish life which he was compelled to lead had implanted +invincible shyness in him; in playing with his sister’s friends, he was +hardly bold enough to touch them with the tips of his fingers. Macquart used to +shrug his shoulders with pity. +</p> + +<p> +“What a simpleton!” he would mutter, with an air of ironical +superiority. +</p> + +<p> +And it was he who would kiss the girls, when his wife’s back was turned. +He carried his attentions even further with a little laundress whom Jean +pursued rather more earnestly than the others. One fine evening he stole her +almost from his arms. The old rogue prided himself on his gallantry. +</p> + +<p> +There are some men who live upon their mistresses. Antoine Macquart lived on +his wife and children with as much shamelessness and impudence. He did not feel +the least compunction in pillaging the home and going out to enjoy himself when +the house was bare. He still assumed a supercilious air, returning from the +cafe only to rail against the poverty and wretchedness that awaited him at +home. He found the dinner detestable, he called Gervaise a blockhead, and +declared that Jean would never be a man. Immersed in his own selfish +indulgence, he rubbed his hands whenever he had eaten the best piece in the +dish; and then he smoked his pipe, puffing slowly, while the two poor children, +overcome with fatigue, went to sleep with their heads resting on the table. +Thus Macquart passed his days in lazy enjoyment. It seemed to him quite natural +that he should be kept in idleness like a girl, to sprawl about on the benches +of some tavern, or stroll in the cool of the day along the Cours or the Mail. +At last he went so far as to relate his amorous escapades in the presence of +his son, who listened with glistening eyes. The children never protested, +accustomed as they were to see their mother humble herself before her husband. +</p> + +<p> +Fine, that strapping woman who drubbed him soundly when they were both +intoxicated, always trembled before him when she was sober, and allowed him to +rule despotically at home. He robbed her in the night of the coppers which she +had earned during the day at the market, but she never dared to protest, except +by veiled rebukes. Sometimes, when he had squandered the week’s money in +advance, he accused her, poor thing, who worked herself to death, of being +stupid and not knowing how to manage. Fine, as gentle as a lamb, replied, in +her soft, clear voice, which contrasted so strangely with her big figure, that +she was no longer twenty years old, and that money was becoming hard to earn. +In order to console herself, she would buy a pint of aniseed, and drink little +glassfuls of it with her daughter of an evening, after Antoine had gone back to +the cafe. That was their dissipation. Jean went to bed, while the two women +remained at the table, listening attentively in order to remove the bottle and +glasses at the first sound. +</p> + +<p> +When Macquart was late, they often became intoxicated by the many +“nips” they thus thoughtlessly imbibed. Stupefied and gazing at +each other with vague smiles, this mother and daughter would end by stuttering. +Red patches appeared on Gervaise’s cheeks; her delicate doll-like face +assumed a look of maudlin beatitude. Nothing could be more heart-rending than +to see this wretched, pale child, aglow with drink and wearing the idiotic +smile of a confirmed sot about her moist lips. Fine, huddled up on her chair, +became heavy and drowsy. They sometimes forgot to keep watch, or even lacked +the strength to remove the bottle and glasses when Antoine’s footsteps +were heard on the stairs. On these occasions blows were freely exchanged among +the Macquarts. Jean had to get up to separate his father and mother and make +his sister go to bed, as otherwise she would have slept on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Every political party numbers its grotesques and its villains. Antoine +Macquart, devoured by envy and hatred, and meditating revenge against society +in general, welcomed the Republic as a happy era when he would be allowed to +fill his pockets from his neighbour’s cash-box, and even strangle the +neighbour if the latter manifested any displeasure. His cafe life and all the +newspaper articles he had read without understanding them had made him a +terrible ranter who enunciated the strangest of political theories. It is +necessary to have heard one of those malcontents who ill digest what they read, +haranguing the company in some provincial taproom, in order to conceive the +degree of hateful folly at which Macquart had arrived. As he talked a good +deal, had seen active service, and was naturally regarded as a man of energy +and spirit, he was much sought after and listened to by simpletons. Although he +was not the chief of any party, he had succeeded in collecting round him a +small group of working-men who took his jealous ravings for expressions of +honest and conscientious indignation. +</p> + +<p> +Directly after the Revolution of February ‘48, he persuaded himself that +Plassans was his own, and, as he strolled along the streets, the jeering manner +in which he regarded the little retail traders who stood terrified at their +shop doors clearly signified: “Our day has come, my little lambs; we are +going to lead you a fine dance!” He had grown insolent beyond belief; he +acted the part of a victorious despot to such a degree that he ceased to pay +for his drinks at the cafe, and the landlord, a simpleton who trembled whenever +Antoine rolled his eyes, dared not present his bill. The number of cups of +coffee he consumed during this period was incalculable; sometimes he invited +his friends, and shouted for hours together that the people were dying of +hunger, and that the rich ought to share their wealth with them. He himself +would never have given a sou to a beggar. +</p> + +<p> +That which chiefly converted him into a fierce Republican was the hope of at +last being able to revenge himself on the Rougons, who had openly ranged +themselves on the side of the reactionary party. Ah, what a triumph if he could +only hold Pierre and Félicité at his mercy! Although the latter had not +succeeded over well in business, they had at last become gentlefolks, while he, +Macquart, had still remained a working-man. That exasperated him. Perhaps he +was still more mortified because one of their sons was a barrister, another a +doctor, and the third a clerk, while his son Jean merely worked at a +carpenter’s shop, and his daughter Gervaise at a washerwoman’s. +When he compared the Macquarts with the Rougons, he was still more ashamed to +see his wife selling chestnuts in the market, and mending the greasy old +straw-seated chairs of the neighbourhood in the evening. Pierre, after all, was +but his brother, and had no more right than himself to live fatly on his +income. Moreover, this brother was actually playing the gentleman with money +stolen from him. Whenever Macquart touched upon this subject, he became +fiercely enraged; he clamoured for hours together, incessantly repeating his +old accusations, and never wearying of exclaiming: “If my brother was +where he ought to be, I should be the moneyed man at the present time!” +</p> + +<p> +And when anyone asked him where his brother ought to be, he would reply, +“At the galleys!” in a formidable voice. +</p> + +<p> +His hatred further increased when the Rougons had gathered the Conservatives +round them, and thus acquired a certain influence in Plassans. The famous +yellow drawing-room became, in his hare-brained chatter at the cafe, a cave of +bandits, an assembly of villains who every evening swore on their daggers that +they would murder the people. In order to incite the starvelings against +Pierre, Macquart went so far as to circulate a report that the retired +oil-dealer was not so poor as he pretended, but that he concealed his treasures +through avarice and fear of robbery. His tactics thus tended to rouse the poor +people by a repetition of absurdly ridiculous tales, which he often came to +believe in himself. His personal animosity and his desire for revenge were ill +concealed beneath his professions of patriotism; but he was heard so +frequently, and he had such a loud voice, that no one would have dared to doubt +the genuineness of his convictions. +</p> + +<p> +At bottom, all the members of this family had the same brutish passions. +Félicité, who clearly understood that Macquart’s wild theories were +simply the fruit of restrained rage and embittered envy, would much have liked +to purchase his silence. Unfortunately, she was short of money, and did not +dare to interest him in the dangerous game which her husband was playing. +Antoine now injured them very much among the well-to-do people of the new town. +It sufficed that he was a relation of theirs. Granoux and Roudier often +scornfully reproached them for having such a man in their family. Félicité +consequently asked herself with anguish how they could manage to cleanse +themselves of such a stain. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her monstrous and indecent that Monsieur Rougon should have a +brother whose wife sold chestnuts, and who himself lived in crapulous idleness. +She at last even trembled for the success of their secret intrigues, so long as +Antoine seemingly took pleasure in compromising them. When the diatribes which +he levelled at the yellow drawing-room were reported to her, she shuddered at +the thought that he was capable of becoming desperate and ruining all their +hopes by force of scandal. +</p> + +<p> +Antoine knew what consternation his demeanour must cause the Rougons, and it +was solely for the purpose of exhausting their patience that he from day to day +affected fiercer opinions. At the cafe he frequented he used to speak of +“my brother Pierre” in a voice which made everybody turn round; and +if he happened to meet some reactionary from the yellow drawing-room in the +street, he would mutter some low abuse which the worthy citizen, amazed at such +audacity, would repeat to the Rougons in the evening, as though to make them +responsible for his disagreeable encounter. +</p> + +<p> +One day Granoux arrived in a state of fury. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” he exclaimed, when scarcely across the threshold, +“it’s intolerable; one can’t move a step without being +insulted.” Then, addressing Pierre, he added: “When one has a +brother like yours, sir, one should rid society of him. I was just quietly +walking past the Sub-Prefecture, when that rascal passed me muttering something +in which I could clearly distinguish the words ‘old rogue.’” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité turned pale, and felt it necessary to apologise to Granoux, but he +refused to accept any excuses, and threatened to leave altogether. The marquis, +however, exerted himself to arrange matters. +</p> + +<p> +“It is very strange,” he said, “that the wretched fellow +should have called you an old rogue. Are you sure that he intended the insult +for you?” +</p> + +<p> +Granoux was perplexed; he admitted at last, however, that Antoine might have +muttered: “So you are again going to that old rogue’s?” +</p> + +<p> +At this Monsieur de Carnavant stroked his chin to conceal the smile which rose +to his lips in spite of himself. +</p> + +<p> +Then Rougon, with superb composure, replied: “I thought as much; the +‘old rogue’ was no doubt intended for me. I’ve very glad that +this misunderstanding is now cleared up. Gentlemen, pray avoid the man in +question, whom I formally repudiate.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité, however, did not take matters so coolly; every fresh scandal caused +by Macquart made her more and more uneasy; she would sometimes pass the whole +night wondering what those gentlemen must think of the matter. +</p> + +<p> +A few months before the Coup d’État, the Rougons received an anonymous +letter, three pages of foul insults, in which they were warned that if their +party should ever triumph, the scandalous story of Adélaïde’s amours +would be published in some newspaper, together with an account of the robbery +perpetrated by Pierre, when he had compelled his mother, driven out of her +senses by debauchery, to sign a receipt for fifty thousand francs. This letter +was a heavy blow for Rougon himself. Félicité could not refrain from +reproaching her husband with his disreputable family; for the husband and wife +never for a moment doubted that this letter was Antoine’s work. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have to get rid of the blackguard at any price,” said +Pierre in a gloomy tone. “He’s becoming too troublesome by +far.” +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Macquart, resorting to his former tactics, looked round among +his own relatives for accomplices who would join him against the Rougons. He +had counted upon Aristide at first, on reading his terrible articles in the +“Indépendant.” But the young man, in spite of all his jealous rage, +was not so foolish as to make common cause with such a fellow as his uncle. He +never even minced matters with him, but invariably kept him at a distance, a +circumstance which induced Antoine to regard him suspiciously. In the taverns, +where Macquart reigned supreme, people went so far as to say the journalist was +paid to provoke disturbances. +</p> + +<p> +Baffled on this side, Macquart had no alternative but to sound his sister +Ursule’s children. Ursule had died in 1839, thus fulfilling her +brother’s evil prophecy. The nervous affection which she had inherited +from her mother had turned into slow consumption, which gradually killed her. +She left three children; a daughter, eighteen years of age, named Helene, who +married a clerk, and two boys, the elder, Francois, a young man of +twenty-three, and the younger, a sickly little fellow scarcely six years old, +named Silvère. The death of his wife, whom he adored, proved a thunderbolt to +Mouret. He dragged on his existence for another year, neglecting his business +and losing all the money he had saved. Then, one morning, he was found hanging +in a cupboard where Ursule’s dresses were still suspended. His elder son, +who had received a good commercial training, took a situation in the house of +his uncle Rougon, where he replaced Aristide, who had just left. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon, in spite of his profound hatred for the Macquarts, gladly welcomed this +nephew, whom he knew to be industrious and sober. He was in want of a youth +whom he could trust, and who would help him to retrieve his affairs. Moreover, +during the time of Mouret’s prosperity, he had learnt to esteem the young +couple, who knew how to make money, and thus he had soon become reconciled with +his sister. Perhaps he thought he was making Francois some compensation by +taking him into his business; having robbed the mother, he would shield himself +from remorse by giving employment to the son; even rogues make honest +calculations sometimes. It was, however, a good thing for him. If the house of +Rougon did not make a fortune at this time, it was certainly through no fault +of that quiet, punctilious youth, Francois, who seemed born to pass his life +behind a grocer’s counter, between a jar of oil and a bundle of dried +cod-fish. Although he physically resembled his mother, he inherited from his +father a just if narrow mind, with an instinctive liking for a methodical life +and the safe speculations of a small business. +</p> + +<p> +Three months after his arrival, Pierre, pursuing his system of compensation, +married him to his young daughter Marthe,[*] whom he did not know how to +dispose of. The two young people fell in love with each other quite suddenly, +in a few days. A peculiar circumstance had doubtless determined and enhanced +their mutual affection. There was a remarkably close resemblance between them, +suggesting that of brother and sister. Francois inherited, through Ursule, the +face of his grandmother Adélaïde. Marthe’s case was still more curious; +she was an equally exact portrait of Adélaïde, although Pierre Rougon had none +of his mother’s features distinctly marked; the physical resemblance had, +as it were, passed over Pierre, to reappear in his daughter. The similarity +between husband and wife went, however, no further than their faces; if the +worthy son of a steady matter-of-fact hatter was distinguishable in Francois, +Marthe showed the nervousness and mental weakness of her grandmother. Perhaps +it was this combination of physical resemblance and moral dissimilarity which +threw the young people into each other’s arms. From 1840 to 1844 they had +three children. Francois remained in his uncle’s employ until the latter +retired. Pierre had desired to sell him the business, but the young man knew +what small chance there was of making a fortune in trade at Plassans; so he +declined the offer and repaired to Marseilles, where he established himself +with his little savings. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] Both Francois and Marthe figure largely in <i>The Conquest of Plassans</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Macquart soon had to abandon all hope of dragging this big industrious fellow +into his campaign against the Rougons; whereupon, with all the spite of a +lazybones, he regarded him as a cunning miser. He fancied, however, that he had +discovered the accomplice he was seeking in Mouret’s second son, a lad of +fifteen years of age. Young Silvère had never even been to school at the time +when Mouret was found hanging among his wife’s skirts. His elder brother, +not knowing what to do with him, took him also to his uncle’s. The latter +made a wry face on beholding the child; he had no intention of carrying his +compensation so far as to feed a useless mouth. Thus Silvère, to whom Félicité +also took a dislike, was growing up in tears, like an unfortunate little +outcast, when his grandmother Adélaïde, during one of the rare visits she paid +the Rougons, took pity on him, and expressed a wish to have him with her. +Pierre was delighted; he let the child go, without even suggesting an increase +of the paltry allowance that he made Adélaïde, and which henceforward would +have to suffice for two. +</p> + +<p> +Adélaïde was then nearly seventy-five years of age. Grown old while leading a +cloistered existence, she was no longer the lanky ardent girl who formerly ran +to embrace the smuggler Macquart. She had stiffened and hardened in her hovel +in the Impasse Saint-Mittre, that dismal silent hole where she lived entirely +alone on potatoes and dry vegetables, and which she did not leave once in the +course of a month. On seeing her pass, you might have thought her to be one of +those delicately white old nuns with automatic gait, whom the cloister has kept +apart from all the concerns of this world. Her pale face, always scrupulously +girt with a white cap, looked like that of a dying woman; a vague, calm +countenance it was, wearing an air of supreme indifference. Prolonged +taciturnity had made her dumb; the darkness of her dwelling and the continual +sight of the same objects had dulled her glance and given her eyes the +limpidity of spring water. Absolute renunciation, slow physical and moral +death, had little by little converted this crazy <i>amorosa</i> into a grave +matron. When, as often happened, a blank stare came into her eyes, and she +gazed before her without seeing anything, one could detect utter, internal void +through those deep bright cavities. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing now remained of her former voluptuous ardour but weariness of the flesh +and a senile tremor of the hands. She had once loved like a she-wolf, but was +now wasted, already sufficiently worn out for the grave. There had been strange +workings of her nerves during her long years of chastity. A dissolute life +would perhaps have wrecked her less than the slow hidden ravages of unsatisfied +fever which had modified her organism. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, even now, this moribund, pale old woman, who seemed to have no blood +left in her, was seized with nervous fits like electric shocks, which +galvanised her, and for an hour brought her atrocious intensity of life. She +would lie on her bed rigid, with her eyes open; then hiccoughs would come upon +her and she would writhe and struggle, acquiring the frightful strength of +those hysterical madwomen whom one has to tie down in order to prevent them +from breaking their heads against a wall. This return to former vigour, these +sudden attacks, gave her a terrible shock. When she came to again, she would +stagger about with such a scared, stupefied look, that the gossips of the +Faubourg used to say: “She’s been drinking, the crazy old +thing!” +</p> + +<p> +Little Silvère’s childish smile was for her the last pale ray which +brought some warmth to her frozen limbs. Weary of solitude, and frightened at +the thought of dying alone in one of her fits, she had asked to have the child. +With the little fellow running about near her, she felt secure against death. +Without relinquishing her habits of taciturnity, or seeking to render her +automatic movements more supple, she conceived inexpressible affection for him. +Stiff and speechless, she would watch him playing for hours together, listening +with delight to the intolerable noise with which he filled the old hovel. That +tomb had resounded with uproar ever since Silvère had been running about it, +bestriding broomsticks, knocking up against the doors, and shouting and crying. +He brought Adélaïde back to the world, as it were; she looked after him with +the most adorable awkwardness; she who, in her youth, had neglected the duties +of a mother, now felt the divine pleasures of maternity in washing his face, +dressing him, and watching over his sickly life. It was a reawakening of love, +a last soothing passion which heaven had granted to this woman who had been so +ravaged by the want of some one to love; the touching agony of a heart that had +lived amidst the most acute desires, and which was now dying full of love for a +child. +</p> + +<p> +She was already too far gone to pour forth the babble of good plump +grandmothers; she adored the child in secret with the bashfulness of a young +girl, without knowing how to fondle him. Sometimes she took him on her knees, +and gazed at him for a long time with her pale eyes. When the little one, +frightened by her mute white visage, began to cry, she seemed perplexed by what +she had done, and quickly put him down upon the floor without even kissing him. +Perhaps she recognised in him a faint resemblance to Macquart the poacher. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère grew up, ever <i>tête-à-tête</i> with Adélaïde. With childish cajolery +he used to call her aunt Dide, a name which ultimately clung to the old woman; +the word “aunt” employed in this way is simply a term of endearment +in Provence. The child entertained singular affection, not unmixed with +respectful terror, for his grandmother. During her nervous fits, when he was +quite a little boy, he ran away from her, crying, terrified by her disfigured +countenance; and he came back very timidly after the attack, ready to run away +again, as though the old woman were disposed to beat him. Later on, however, +when he was twelve years old, he would stop there bravely and watch in order +that she might not hurt herself by falling off the bed. He stood for hours +holding her tightly in his arms to subdue the rude shocks which distorted her. +During intervals of calmness he would gaze with pity on her convulsed features +and withered frame, over which her skirts lay like a shroud. These hidden +dramas, which recurred every month, this old woman as rigid as a corpse, this +child bent over her, silently watching for the return of consciousness, made up +amidst the darkness of the hovel a strange picture of mournful horror and +broken-hearted tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +When aunt Dide came round, she would get up with difficulty, and set about her +work in the hovel without even questioning Silvère. She remembered nothing, and +the child, from a sort of instinctive prudence, avoided the least allusion to +what had taken place. These recurring fits, more than anything else, +strengthened Silvère’s deep attachment for his grandmother. In the same +manner as she adored him without any garrulous effusiveness, he felt a secret, +almost bashful, affection for her. While he was really very grateful to her for +having taken him in and brought him up, he could not help regarding her as an +extraordinary creature, a prey to some strange malady, whom he ought to pity +and respect. No doubt there was not sufficient life left in Adélaïde; she was +too white and too stiff for Silvère to throw himself on her neck. Thus they +lived together amidst melancholy silence, in the depths of which they felt the +tremor of boundless love. +</p> + +<p> +The sad, solemn atmosphere, which he had breathed from childhood, gave Silvère +a strong heart, in which gathered every form of enthusiasm. He early became a +serious, thoughtful little man, seeking instruction with a kind of +stubbornness. He only learnt a little spelling and arithmetic at the school of +the Christian Brothers, which he was compelled to leave when he was but twelve +years old, on account of his apprenticeship. He never acquired the first +rudiments of knowledge. However, he read all the odd volumes which fell into +his hands, and thus provided himself with strange equipment; he had some +notions of a multitude of subjects, ill-digested notions, which he could never +classify distinctly in his head. When he was quite young, he had been in the +habit of playing in the workshop of a master wheelwright, a worthy man named +Vian, who lived at the entrance of the blind-alley in front of the Aire +Saint-Mittre where he stored his timber. Silvère used to jump up on the wheels +of the tilted carts undergoing repair, and amuse himself by dragging about the +heavy tools which his tiny hands could scarcely lift. One of his greatest +pleasures, too, was to assist the workmen by holding some piece of wood for +them, or bringing them the iron-work which they required. When he had grown +older he naturally became apprenticed to Vian. The latter had taken a liking to +the little fellow who was always kicking about his heels, and asked Adélaïde to +let him come, refusing to take anything for his board and lodging. Silvère +eagerly accepted, already foreseeing the time when he would be able to make his +poor aunt Dide some return for all she had spent upon him. +</p> + +<p> +In a short time he became an excellent workman. He cherished, however, much +higher ambitions. Having once seen, at a coachbuilder’s at Plassans, a +fine new carriage, shining with varnish, he vowed that he would one day build +carriages himself. He remembered this carriage as a rare and unique work of +art, an ideal towards which his aspirations should tend. The tilted carts at +which he worked in Vian’s shop, those carts which he had lovingly +cherished, now seemed unworthy of his affections. He began to attend the local +drawing-school, where he formed a connection with a youngster who had left +college, and who lent him an old treatise on geometry. He plunged into this +study without a guide, racking his brains for weeks together in order to grasp +the simplest problem in the world. In this matter he gradually became one of +those learned workmen who can hardly sign their name and yet talk about algebra +as though it were an intimate friend. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing unsettles the mind so much as this desultory kind of education, which +reposes on no firm basis. Most frequently such scraps of knowledge convey an +absolutely false idea of the highest truths, and render persons of limited +intellect insufferably stupid. In Silvère’s case, however, his scraps of +stolen knowledge only augmented his liberal aspirations. He was conscious of +horizons which at present remained closed to him. He formed for himself divine +conceptions of things beyond his reach, and lived on, regarding in a deep, +innocent, religious way the noble thoughts and grand conceptions towards which +he was raising himself, but which he could not as yet comprehend. He was one of +the simple-minded, one whose simplicity was divine, and who had remained on the +threshold of the temple, kneeling before the tapers which from a distance he +took for stars. +</p> + +<p> +The hovel in the Impasse Saint-Mittre consisted, in the first place, of a large +room into which the street door opened. The only pieces of furniture in this +room, which had a stone floor, and served both as a kitchen and a dining-room, +were some straw-seated chairs, a table on trestles, and an old coffer which +Adélaïde had converted into a sofa, by spreading a piece of woollen stuff over +the lid. In the left hand corner of the large fireplace stood a plaster image +of the Holy Virgin, surrounded by artificial flowers; she is the traditional +good mother of all old Provencal women, however irreligious they may be. A +passage led from the room into a yard situated at the rear of the house; in +this yard there was a well. Aunt Dide’s bedroom was on the left side of +the passage; it was a little apartment containing an iron bedstead and one +chair; Silvère slept in a still smaller room on the right hand side, just large +enough for a trestle bedstead; and he had been obliged to plan a set of +shelves, reaching up to the ceiling, to keep by him all those dear odd volumes +which he saved his sous to purchase from a neighbouring general dealer. When he +read at night-time, he would hang his lamp on a nail at the head of the bed. If +his grandmother had an attack, he merely had to leap out at the first gasp to +be at her side in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +The young man led the life of a child. He passed his existence in this lonely +spot. Like his father, he felt a dislike for taverns and Sunday strolling. His +mates wounded his delicate susceptibilities by their coarse jokes. He preferred +to read, to rack his rain over some simple geometrical problem. Since aunt Dide +had entrusted him with the little household commissions she did not go out at +all, but ceased all intercourse even with her family. The young man sometimes +thought of her forlornness; he reflected that the poor old woman lived but a +few steps from the children who strove to forget her, as though she were dead; +and this made him love her all the more, for himself and for the others. When +he at times entertained a vague idea that aunt Dide might be expiating some +former transgressions, he would say to himself: “I was born to pardon +her.” +</p> + +<p> +A nature such as Silvère’s, ardent yet self-restrained, naturally +cherished the most exalted republican ideas. At night, in his little hovel, +Silvère would again and again read a work of Rousseau’s which he had +picked up at the neighbouring dealer’s among a number of old locks. The +reading of this book kept him awake till daylight. Amidst his dream of +universal happiness so dear to the poor, the words liberty, equality, +fraternity, rang in his ears like those sonorous sacred calls of the bells, at +the sound of which the faithful fall upon their knees. When, therefore, he +learnt that the Republic had just been proclaimed in France he fancied that the +whole world would enjoy a life of celestial beatitude. His knowledge, though +imperfect, made him see farther than other workmen; his aspirations did not +stop at daily bread; but his extreme ingenuousness, his complete ignorance of +mankind, kept him in the dreamland of theory, a Garden of Eden where universal +justice reigned. His paradise was for a long time a delightful spot in which he +forgot himself. +</p> + +<p> +When he came to perceive that things did not go on quite satisfactorily in the +best of republics he was sorely grieved, and indulged in another dream, that of +compelling men to be happy even by force. Every act which seemed to him +prejudicial to the interest of the people roused him to revengeful indignation. +Though he was as gentle as a child, he cherished the fiercest political +animosity. He would not have killed a fly, and yet he was for ever talking of a +call to arms. Liberty was his passion, an unreasoning, absolute passion, to +which he gave all the feverish ardour of his blood. Blinded by enthusiasm, he +was both too ignorant and too learned to be tolerant, and would not allow for +men’s weaknesses; he required an ideal government of perfect justice and +perfect liberty. It was at this period that Antoine Macquart thought of setting +him against the Rougons. He fancied that this young enthusiast would work +terrible havoc if he were only exasperated to the proper pitch. This +calculation was not altogether devoid of shrewdness. +</p> + +<p> +Such being Antoine’s scheme, he tried to induce Silvère to visit him, by +professing inordinate admiration for the young man’s ideas. But he very +nearly compromised the whole matter at the outset. He had a way of regarding +the triumph of the Republic as a question of personal interest, as an era of +happy idleness and endless junketing, which chilled his nephew’s purely +moral aspirations. However, he perceived that he was on the wrong track, and +plunged into strange bathos, a string of empty but high-sounding words, which +Silvère accepted as a satisfactory proof of his civism. Before long the uncle +and the nephew saw each other two or three times a week. During their long +discussions, in which the fate of the country was flatly settled, Antoine +endeavoured to persuade the young man that the Rougons’ drawing-room was +the chief obstacle to the welfare of France. But he again made a false move by +calling his mother “old jade” in Silvère’s presence. He even +repeated to him the early scandals about the poor woman. The young man blushed +for shame, but listened without interruption. He had not asked his uncle for +this information; he felt heart-broken by such confidences, which wounded his +feeling of respectful affection for aunt Dide. From that time forward he +lavished yet more attention upon his grandmother, greeting her always with +pleasant smiles and looks of forgiveness. However, Macquart felt that he had +acted foolishly, and strove to take advantage of Silvère’s affection for +Adélaïde by charging the Rougons with her forlornness and poverty. According to +him, he had always been the best of sons, whereas his brother had behaved +disgracefully; Pierre had robbed his mother, and now, when she was penniless, +he was ashamed of her. He never ceased descanting on this subject. Silvère +thereupon became indignant with his uncle Pierre, much to the satisfaction of +his uncle Antoine. +</p> + +<p> +The scene was much the same every time the young man called. He used to come in +the evening, while the Macquarts were at dinner. The father would be swallowing +some potato stew with a growl, picking out the pieces of bacon, and watching +the dish when it passed into the hands of Jean and Gervaise. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, Silvère,” he would say with a sullen rage which was +ill-concealed beneath his air of cynical indifference, “more potatoes, +always potatoes! We never eat anything else now. Meat is only for rich people. +It’s getting quite impossible to make both ends meet with children who +have the devil’s appetite and their own too.” +</p> + +<p> +Gervaise and Jean bent over their plates, no longer even daring to cut some +bread. Silvère, who in his dream lived in heaven, did not grasp the situation. +In a calm voice he pronounced these storm-laden words: +</p> + +<p> +“But you should work, uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! yes,” sneered Macquart, stung to the quick. “You want me +to work, eh! To let those beggars, the rich folk, continue to prey upon me. I +should earn probably twenty sous a day, and ruin my constitution. It’s +worth while, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everyone earns what he can,” the young man replied. “Twenty +sous are twenty sous; and it all helps in a home. Besides, you’re an old +soldier, why don’t you seek some employment?” +</p> + +<p> +Fine would then interpose, with a thoughtlessness of which she soon repented. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’m always telling him,” said she. +“The market inspector wants an assistant; I mentioned my husband to him, +and he seems well disposed towards us.” +</p> + +<p> +But Macquart interrupted her with a fulminating glance. “Eh! hold your +tongue,” he growled with suppressed anger. “Women never know what +they’re talking about! Nobody would have me; my opinions are too +well-known.” +</p> + +<p> +Every time he was offered employment he displayed similar irritation. He did +not cease, however, to ask for situations, though he always refused such as +were found for him, assigning the most extraordinary reasons. When pressed upon +the point he became terrible. +</p> + +<p> +If Jean were to take up a newspaper after dinner he would at once exclaim: +“You’d better go to bed. You’ll be getting up late to-morrow, +and that’ll be another day lost. To think of that young rascal coming +home with eight francs short last week! However, I’ve requested his +master not give him his money in future; I’ll call for it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Jean would go to bed to avoid his father’s recriminations. He had but +little sympathy with Silvère; politics bored him, and he thought his cousin +“cracked.” When only the women remained, if they unfortunately +started some whispered converse after clearing the table, Macquart would cry: +“Now, you idlers! Is there nothing that requires mending? we’re all +in rags. Look here, Gervaise, I was at your mistress’s to-day, and I +learnt some fine things. You’re a good-for-nothing, a gad-about.” +</p> + +<p> +Gervaise, now a grown girl of more than twenty, coloured up at thus being +scolded in the presence of Silvère, who himself felt uncomfortable. One +evening, having come rather late, when his uncle was not at home, he had found +the mother and daughter intoxicated before an empty bottle. From that time he +could never see his cousin without recalling the disgraceful spectacle she had +presented, with the maudlin grin and large red patches on her poor, pale, puny +face. He was not less shocked by the nasty stories that circulated with regard +to her. He sometimes looked at her stealthily, with the timid surprise of a +schoolboy in the presence of a disreputable character. +</p> + +<p> +When the two women had taken up their needles, and were ruining their eyesight +in order to mend his old shirts, Macquart, taking the best seat, would throw +himself back with an air of delicious comfort, and sip and smoke like a man who +relishes his laziness. This was the time when the old rogue generally railed +against the wealthy for living on the sweat of the poor man’s brow. He +was superbly indignant with the gentlemen of the new town, who lived so idly, +and compelled the poor to keep them in luxury. The fragments of communistic +notions which he culled from the newspapers in the morning became grotesque and +monstrous on falling from his lips. He would talk of a time near at hand when +no one would be obliged to work. He always, however, kept his fiercest +animosity for the Rougons. He never could digest the potatoes he had eaten. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw that vile creature Félicité buying a chicken in the market this +morning,” he would say. “Those robbers of inheritances must eat +chicken, forsooth!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aunt Dide,” interposed Silvère, “says that uncle Pierre was +very kind to you when you left the army. Didn’t he spend a large sum of +money in lodging and clothing you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A large sum of money!” roared Macquart in exasperation; +“your grandmother is mad. It was those thieves who spread those reports +themselves, so as to close my mouth. I never had anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Fine again foolishly interfered, reminding him that he had received two hundred +francs, besides a suit of clothes and a year’s rent. Antoine thereupon +shouted to her to hold her tongue, and continued, with increasing fury: +“Two hundred francs! A fine thing! I want my due, ten thousand francs. +Ah! yes, talk of the hole they shoved me into like a dog, and the old +frock-coat which Pierre gave me because he was ashamed to wear it any longer +himself, it was so dirty and ragged!” +</p> + +<p> +He was not speaking the truth; but, seeing the rage that he was in, nobody +ventured to protest any further. Then, turning towards Silvère: +“It’s very stupid of you to defend them!” he added. +“They robbed your mother, who, good woman, would be alive now if she had +had the means of taking care of herself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you’re not just, uncle,” the young man said; “my +mother did not die for want of attention, and I’m certain my father would +never have accepted a sou from his wife’s family!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh! don’t talk to me! your father would have taken the money +just like anybody else. We were disgracefully plundered, and it’s high +time we had our rights.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Macquart, for the hundredth time, began to recount the story of the fifty +thousand francs. His nephew, who knew it by heart, and all the variations with +which he embellished it, listened to him rather impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“If you were a man,” Antoine would say in conclusion, “you +would come some day with me, and we would kick up a nice row at the Rougons. We +would not leave without having some money given us.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, however, grew serious, and frankly replied: “If those wretches +robbed us, so much the worse for them. I don’t want their money. You see, +uncle, it’s not for us to fall on our relatives. If they’ve done +wrong, well, one of these days they’ll be severely punished for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! what a big simpleton you are!” the uncle cried. “When we +have the upper hand, you’ll see whether I sha’n’t settle my +own little affairs myself. God cares a lot about us indeed! What a foul family +ours is! Even if I were starving to death, not one of those scoundrels would +throw me a dry crust.” +</p> + +<p> +Whenever Macquart touched upon this subject, he proved inexhaustible. He bared +all his bleeding wounds of envy and covetousness. He grew mad with rage when he +came to think that he was the only unlucky one in the family, and was forced to +eat potatoes, while the others had meat to their heart’s content. He +would pass all his relations in review, even his grand-nephews, and find some +grievance and reason for threatening every one of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he repeated bitterly, “they’d leave me to +die like a dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Gervaise, without raising her head or ceasing to ply her needle, would +sometimes say timidly: “Still, father, cousin Pascal was very kind to us, +last year, when you were ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“He attended you without charging a sou,” continued Fine, coming to +her daughter’s aid, “and he often slipped a five-franc piece into +my hand to make you some broth.” +</p> + +<p> +“He! he’d have killed me if I hadn’t had a strong +constitution!” Macquart retorted. “Hold your tongues, you fools! +You’d let yourselves be twisted about like children. They’d all +like to see me dead. When I’m ill again, I beg you not to go and fetch my +nephew, for I didn’t feel at all comfortable in his hands. He’s +only a twopenny-halfpenny doctor, and hasn’t got a decent patient in all +his practice.” +</p> + +<p> +When once Macquart was fully launched, he could not stop. “It’s +like that little viper, Aristide,” he would say, “a false brother, +a traitor. Are you taken in by his articles in the ‘Indépendant,’ +Silvère? You would be a fine fool if you were. They’re not even written +in good French; I’ve always maintained that this contraband Republican is +in league with his worthy father to humbug us. You’ll see how he’ll +turn his coat. And his brother, the illustrious Eugène, that big blockhead of +whom the Rougons make such a fuss! Why, they’ve got the impudence to +assert that he occupies a good position in Paris! I know something about his +position; he’s employed at the Rue de Jerusalem; he’s a police +spy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you so? You know nothing about it,” interrupted Silvère, +whose upright spirit at last felt hurt by his uncle’s lying accusations. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I know nothing about it? Do you think so? I tell you he is a police +spy. You’ll be shorn like a lamb one of these days, with your +benevolence. You’re not manly enough. I don’t want to say anything +against your brother Francois; but, if I were in your place, I shouldn’t +like the scurvy manner in which he treats you. He earns a heap of money at +Marseilles, and yet he never sends you a paltry twenty-franc piece for pocket +money. If ever you become poor, I shouldn’t advise you to look to him for +anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no need of anybody,” the young man replied in a proud +and slightly injured tone of voice. “My own work suffices for aunt Dide +and myself. You’re cruel, uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only say what’s true, that’s all. I should like to open +your eyes. Our family is a disreputable lot; it’s sad but true. Even that +little Maxime, Aristide’s son, that little nine-year-old brat, pokes his +tongue out at me when he meets me. That child will some day beat his own +mother, and a good job too! Say what you like, all those folks don’t +deserve their luck; but it’s always like this in families, the good ones +suffer while the bad ones make their fortunes.” +</p> + +<p> +All this dirty linen, which Macquart washed with such complacency before his +nephew, profoundly disgusted the young man. He would have liked to soar back +into his dream. As soon as he began to show unmistakable signs of impatience, +Antoine would employ strong expedients to exasperate him against their +relatives. +</p> + +<p> +“Defend them! Defend them!” he would say, appearing to calm down. +“I, for my part, have arranged to have nothing more to do with them. I +only mention the matter out of pity for my poor mother, whom all that gang +treat in a most revolting manner.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are wretches!” Silvère murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you don’t know, you don’t understand. These Rougons pour +all sorts of insults and abuse on the good woman. Aristide has forbidden his +son even to recognise her. Félicité talks of having her placed in a lunatic +asylum.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man, as white as a sheet, abruptly interrupted his uncle: +“Enough!” he cried. “I don’t want to know any more +about it. There will have to be an end to all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll hold my tongue, since it annoys you,” the old rascal +replied, feigning a good-natured manner. “Still, there are some things +that you ought not to be ignorant of, unless you want to play the part of a +fool.” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart, while exerting himself to set Silvère against the Rougons, +experienced the keenest pleasure on drawing tears of anguish from the young +man’s eyes. He detested him, perhaps, more than he did the others, and +this because he was an excellent workman and never drank. He brought all his +instincts of refined cruelty into play, in order to invent atrocious falsehoods +which should sting the poor lad to the heart; then he revelled in his pallor, +his trembling hands and his heart-rending looks, with the delight of some evil +spirit who measures his stabs and finds that he has struck his victim in the +right place. When he thought that he had wounded and exasperated Silvère +sufficiently, he would at last touch upon politics. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been assured,” he would say, lowering his voice, +“that the Rougons are preparing some treachery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Treachery?” Silvère asked, becoming attentive. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, one of these nights they are going to seize all the good citizens +of the town and throw them into prison.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man was at first disposed to doubt it, but his uncle gave precise +details; he spoke of lists that had been drawn up, he mentioned the persons +whose names were on these lists, he indicated in what manner, at what hour, and +under what circumstances the plot would be carried into effect. Silvère +gradually allowed himself to be taken in by this old woman’s tale, and +was soon raving against the enemies of the Republic. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s they that we shall have to reduce to impotence if they +persist in betraying the country!” he cried. “And what do they +intend to do with the citizens whom they arrest?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do they intend to do with them? Why, they will shoot them in the +lowest dungeons of the prison, of course,” replied Macquart, with a +hoarse laugh. And as the young man, stupefied with horror, looked at him +without knowing what to say: “This will not be the first lot to be +assassinated there,” he continued. “You need only go and prowl +about the Palais de Justice of an evening to hear the shots and groans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the wretches!” Silvère murmured. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon uncle and nephew launched out into high politics. Fine and Gervaise, +on finding them hotly debating things, quietly went to bed without attracting +their attention. Then the two men remained together till midnight, commenting +on the news from Paris and discussing the approaching and inevitable struggle. +Macquart bitterly denounced the men of his own party, Silvère dreamed his dream +of ideal liberty aloud, and for himself only. Strange conversations these were, +during which the uncle poured out many a little nip for himself, and from which +the nephew emerged quite intoxicated with enthusiasm. Antoine, however, never +succeeded in obtaining from the young Republican any perfidious suggestion or +play of warfare against the Rougons. In vain he tried to goad him on; he seldom +heard him suggest aught but an appeal to eternal justice, which sooner or later +would punish the evil-doers. +</p> + +<p> +The ingenuous youth did indeed speak warmly of taking up arms and massacring +the enemies of the Republic; but, as soon as these enemies strayed out of his +dream or became personified in his uncle Pierre or any other person of his +acquaintance, he relied upon heaven to spare him the horror of shedding blood. +It is very probable that he would have ceased visiting Macquart, whose jealous +fury made him so uncomfortable, if he had not tasted the pleasure of being able +to speak freely of his dear Republic there. In the end, however, his uncle +exercised decisive influence over his destiny; he irritated his nerves by his +everlasting diatribes, and succeeded in making him eager for an armed struggle, +the conquest of universal happiness by violence. +</p> + +<p> +When Silvère reached his sixteenth year, Macquart had him admitted into the +secret society of the Montagnards, a powerful association whose influence +extended throughout Southern France. From that moment the young Republican +gazed with longing eyes at the smuggler’s carbine, which Adélaïde had +hung over her chimney-piece. Once night, while his grandmother was asleep, he +cleaned and put it in proper condition. Then he replaced it on its nail and +waited, indulging in brilliant reveries, fancying gigantic epics, Homeric +struggles, and knightly tournaments, whence the defenders of liberty would +emerge victorious and acclaimed by the whole world. +</p> + +<p> +Macquart meantime was not discouraged. He said to himself that he would be able +to strangle the Rougons alone if he could ever get them into a corner. His +envious rage and slothful greed were increased by certain successive accidents +which compelled him to resume work. In the early part of 1850 Fine died, almost +suddenly, from inflammation of the lungs, which she had caught by going one +evening to wash the family linen in the Viorne, and carrying it home wet on her +back. She returned soaked with water and perspiration, bowed down by her load, +which was terribly heavy, and she never recovered. +</p> + +<p> +Her death filled Macquart with consternation. His most reliable source of +income was gone. When, a few days later, he sold the caldron in which his wife +had boiled her chestnuts, and the wooden horse which she used in reseating old +chairs, he foully accused the Divinity of having robbed him of that strong +strapping woman of whom he had often felt ashamed, but whose real worth he now +appreciated. He now also fell upon the children’s earnings with greater +avidity than ever. But, a month later, Gervaise, tired of his continual +exactions, ran away with her two children and Lantier, whose mother was dead. +The lovers took refuge in Paris. Antoine, overwhelmed, vented his rage against +his daughter by expressing the hope that she might die in hospital like most of +her kind. This abuse did not, however, improve the situation, which was +decidedly becoming bad. Jean soon followed his sister’s example. He +waited for pay-day to come round, and then contrived to receive the money +himself. As he was leaving he told one of his friends, who repeated it to +Antoine, that he would no longer keep his lazy father, and that if the latter +should take it into his head to have him brought back by the gendarmes he would +touch neither saw nor plane. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow, when Antoine, having vainly sought him, found himself alone and +penniless in the house where for twenty years he had been comfortably kept, he +flew into the most frantic rage, kicked the furniture about, and yelled the +vilest imprecations. Then he sank down exhausted, and began to drag himself +about and moan like a convalescent. The fear of having to earn his bread made +him positively ill. When Silvère came to see him, he complained, with tears, of +his children’s ingratitude. Had he not always been a good father to them? +Jean and Gervaise were monsters, who had made him an evil return for all he had +done for them. Now they abandoned him because he was old, and they could not +get anything more out of him! +</p> + +<p> +“But uncle,” said Silvère, “you are not yet too old to +work!” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart, coughing and stooping, shook his head mournfully, as if to say that +he could not bear the least fatigue for any length of time. Just as his nephew +was about to withdraw, he borrowed ten francs of him. Then for a month he lived +by taking his children’s old clothes, one by one, to a second-hand +dealer’s, and in the same way, little by little, he sold all the small +articles in the house. Soon nothing remained but a table, a chair, his bed, and +the clothes on his back. He ended by exchanging the walnut-wood bedstead for a +plain strap one. When he had exhausted all his resources, he cried with rage; +and, with the fierce pallor of a man who is resigned to suicide, he went to +look for the bundle of osier that he had forgotten in some corner for a quarter +of a century past. As he took it up he seemed to be lifting a mountain. +However, he again began to plait baskets and hampers, while denouncing the +human race for their neglect. +</p> + +<p> +It was particularly at this time that he talked of dividing and sharing the +riches of the wealthy. He showed himself terrible. His speeches kept up a +constant conflagration in the tavern, where his furious looks secured him +unlimited credit. Moreover, he only worked when he had been unable to get a +five-franc piece out of Silvère or a comrade. He was no longer +“Monsieur” Macquart, the clean-shaven workman, who wore his Sunday +clothes every day and played the gentleman; he again became the big slovenly +devil who had once speculated on his rags. Félicité did not dare to go to +market now that he was so often coming there to sell his baskets. He once had a +violent quarrel with her there. His hatred against the Rougons grew with his +wretchedness. He swore, with horrible threats, that he would wreak justice +himself, since the rich were leagued together to compel him to toil. +</p> + +<p> +In this state of mind, he welcomed the Coup d’État with the ardent, +obstreperous delight of a hound scenting the quarry. As the few honest Liberals +in the town had failed to arrive at an understanding amongst themselves, and +therefore kept apart, he became naturally one of the most prominent agents of +the insurrection. The working classes, notwithstanding the unfavourable opinion +which they at last entertained of this lazy fellow, would, when the time +arrived, have to accept him as a rallying flag. On the first few days, however, +the town remained quiet, and Macquart thought that his plans were frustrated. +It was not until the news arrived of the rising of the rural districts that he +recovered hope. For his own part he would not have left Plassans for all the +world; accordingly he invented some pretext for not following those workmen +who, on the Sunday morning, set off to join the insurrectionary band of La +Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx. +</p> + +<p> +On the evening of the same day he was sitting in some disreputable tavern of +the old quarter with a few friends, when a comrade came to inform him that the +insurgents were only a few miles from Plassans. This news had just been brought +by an express, who had succeeded in making his way into the town, and had been +charged to get the gates opened for the column. There was an outburst of +triumph. Macquart, especially, appeared to be delirious with enthusiasm. The +unforeseen arrival of the insurgents seemed to him a delicate attention of +Providence for his own particular benefit. His hands trembled at the idea that +he would soon hold the Rougons by the throat. +</p> + +<p> +He hastily quitted the tavern with his friends. All the Republicans who had not +yet left the town were soon assembled on the Cours Sauvaire. It was this band +that Rougon had perceived as he was hastening to conceal himself in his +mother’s house. When the band had reached the top of the Rue de la Banne, +Macquart, who had stationed himself at the rear, detained four of his +companions, big fellows who were not over-burdened with brains and whom he +swayed by his tavern bluster. He easily persuaded them that the enemies of the +Republic must be arrested immediately if they wished to prevent the greatest +calamities. The truth was that he feared Pierre might escape him in the midst +of the confusion which the entry of the insurgents would produce. However, the +four big fellows followed him with exemplary docility, and knocked violently at +the door of the Rougons’ abode. In this critical situation Félicité +displayed admirable courage. She went down and opened the street door herself. +</p> + +<p> +“We want to go upstairs into your rooms,” Macquart said to her +brutally. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, gentlemen, walk up,” she replied with ironical +politeness, pretending that she did not recognise her brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +Once upstairs, Macquart ordered her to fetch her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“My husband is not here,” she said with perfect calmness; “he +is travelling on business. He took the diligence for Marseilles at six +o’clock this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Antoine at this declaration, which Félicité uttered in a clear voice, made a +gesture of rage. He rushed through the drawing-room, and then into the bedroom, +turned the bed up, looked behind the curtains and under the furniture. The four +big fellows assisted him. They searched the place for a quarter of an hour. +Félicité meantime quietly seated herself on the drawing-room sofa, and began to +fasten the strings of her petticoats, like a person who has been surprised in +her sleep and has not had time to dress properly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true then, he’s run away, the coward!” Macquart +muttered on returning to the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, he continued to look about him with a suspicious air. He felt a +presentiment that Pierre could not have given up the game at the decisive +moment. At last he approached Félicité, who was yawning: “Show us the +place where your husband is hidden,” he said to her, “and I promise +no harm shall be done to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have told you the truth,” she replied impatiently. “I +can’t deliver my husband to you, as he’s not here. You have +searched everywhere, haven’t you? Then leave me alone now.” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart, exasperated by her composure, was just going to strike her, when a +rumbling noise arose from the street. It was the column of insurgents entering +the Rue de la Banne. +</p> + +<p> +He then had to leave the yellow drawing-room, after shaking his fist at his +sister-in-law, calling her an old jade, and threatening that he would soon +return. At the foot of the staircase, he took one of the men who accompanied +him, a navvy named Cassoute, the most wooden-headed of the four, and ordered +him to sit on the first step, and remain there. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come and inform me,” he said to him, “if you see +the scoundrel from upstairs return.” +</p> + +<p> +The man sat down heavily. When Macquart reached the pavement, he raised his +eyes and observed Félicité leaning out of the window of the yellow-drawing +room, watching the march past of the insurgents, as if it was nothing but a +regiment passing through the town to the strains of its band. This last sign of +perfect composure irritated him to such a degree that he was almost tempted to +go up again and throw the old woman into the street. However, he followed the +column, muttering in a hoarse voice: “Yes, yes, look at us passing. +We’ll see whether you will station yourself at your balcony +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when the insurgents entered the +town by the Porte de Rome. The workmen remaining in Plassans had opened the +gate for them, in spite of the wailings of the keeper, from whom they could +only wrest the keys by force. This man, very jealous of his office, stood +dumbfoundered in the presence of the surging crowd. To think of it! he, who +never allowed more than one person to pass in at a time, and then only after a +prolonged examination of his face! And he murmured that he was dishonoured. The +men of Plassans were still marching at the head of the column by way of guiding +the others; Miette, who was in the front rank, with Silvère on her left, held +up her banner more proudly than ever now that she could divine behind the +closed blinds the scared looks of well-to-do bourgeois startled out of their +sleep. The insurgents passed along the Rue de Rome and the Rue de la Banne +slowly and warily; at every crossway, although they well knew the quiet +disposition of the inhabitants, they feared they might be received with +bullets. The town seemed lifeless, however; there was scarcely a stifled +exclamation to be heard at the windows. Only five or six shutters opened. Some +old householder then appeared in his night-shirt, candle in hand, and leant out +to obtain a better view; but as soon as he distinguished the tall red girl who +appeared to be drawing that crowd of black demons behind her, he hastily closed +his window again, terrified by such a diabolical apparition. +</p> + +<p> +The silence of the slumbering town reassured the insurgents, who ventured to +make their way through the lanes of the old quarter, and thus reached the +market-place and the Place de l’Hôtel-de-Ville, which was connected by a +short but broad street. These open spaces, planted with slender trees, were +brilliantly illumined by the moon. Against the clear sky the recently restored +town-hall appeared like a large patch of crude whiteness, the fine black lines +of the wrought-iron arabesques of the first-floor balcony showing in bold +relief. Several persons could be plainly distinguished standing on this +balcony, the mayor, Commander Sicardot, three or four municipal councillors, +and other functionaries. The doors below were closed. The three thousand +Republicans, who covered both open spaces, halted with upraised heads, ready to +force the doors with a single push. +</p> + +<p> +The arrival of the insurrectionary column at such an hour took the authorities +by surprise. Before repairing to the mayor’s, Commander Sicardot had +taken time to don his uniform. He then had to run and rouse the mayor. When the +keeper of the Porte de Rome, who had been left free by the insurgents, came to +announce that the villains were already in the town, the commander had so far +only managed to assemble a score of the national guards. The gendarmes, though +their barracks were close by, could not even be warned. It was necessary to +shut the town-hall doors in all haste, in order to deliberate. Five minutes +later a low continuous rumbling announced the approach of the column. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur Garconnet, out of hatred to the Republic, would have greatly liked to +offer resistance. But he was of a prudent nature, and comprehended the futility +of a struggle on finding only a few pale men, who were scarcely awake, around +him. So the deliberations did not last long. Sicardot alone was obstinate; he +wanted to fight, asserting that twenty men would suffice to bring these three +thousand villains to reason. At this Monsieur Garconnet shrugged his shoulders, +and declared that the only step to take was to make an honourable capitulation. +As the uproar of the mob increased, he went out on the balcony, followed by all +the persons present. Silence was gradually obtained. Below, among the black, +quivering mass of insurgents, the guns and scythes glittered in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, and what do you want?” cried the mayor in a loud +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon a man in a greatcoat, a landowner of La Palud, stepped forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the doors,” he said, without replying to Monsieur +Garconnet’s question. “Avoid a fratricidal conflict.” +</p> + +<p> +“I call upon you to withdraw,” the mayor continued. “I +protest in the name of the law.” +</p> + +<p> +These words provoked deafening shouts from the crowd. When the tumult had +somewhat abated, vehement calls ascended to the balcony. Voices shouted: +“It is in the name of the law that we have come here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your duty as a functionary is to secure respect for the fundamental law +of the land, the constitution, which has just been outrageously +violated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Long live the constitution! Long live the Republic!” +</p> + +<p> +Then as Monsieur Garconnet endeavoured to make himself heard, and continued to +invoke his official dignity, the land-owner of La Palud, who was standing under +the balcony, interrupted him with great vehemence: “You are now nothing +but the functionary of a fallen functionary; we have come to dismiss you from +your office.” +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto, Commander Sicardot had been ragefully biting his moustache, and +muttering insulting words. The sight of the cudgels and scythes exasperated +him; and he made desperate efforts to restrain himself from treating these +twopenny-halfpenny soldiers, who had not even a gun apiece, as they deserved. +But when he heard a gentleman in a mere greatcoat speak of deposing a mayor +girded with his scarf, he could no longer contain himself and shouted: +“You pack of rascals! If I only had four men and a corporal, I’d +come down and pull your ears for you, and make you behave yourselves!” +</p> + +<p> +Less than this was needed to raise a serious disturbance. A long shout rose +from the mob as it made a rush for the doors. Monsieur Garconnet, in +consternation, hastily quitted the balcony, entreating Sicardot to be +reasonable unless he wished to have them massacred. But in two minutes the +doors gave way, the people invaded the building and disarmed the national +guards. The mayor and the other functionaries present were arrested. Sicardot, +who declined to surrender his sword, had to be protected from the fury of some +insurgents by the chief of the contingent from Les Tulettes, a man of great +self-possession. When the town-hall was in the hands of the Republicans, they +led their prisoners to a small cafe in the market-place, and there kept them +closely watched. +</p> + +<p> +The insurrectionary army would have avoided marching through Plassans if its +leaders had not decided that a little food and a few hours’ rest were +absolutely necessary for the men. Instead of pushing forward direct to the +chief town of the department, the column, owing to the inexcusable weakness and +the inexperience of the improvised general who commanded it, was now diverging +to the left, making a detour which was destined, ultimately, to lead it to +destruction. It was bound for the heights of Sainte-Roure, still about ten +leagues distant, and it was in view of this long march that it had been decided +to pass through Plassans, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. It was now +half-past eleven. +</p> + +<p> +When Monsieur Garconnet learnt that the band was in quest of provisions, he +offered his services to procure them. This functionary formed, under very +difficult circumstances, a proper estimate of the situation. Those three +thousand starving men would have to be satisfied; it would never do for +Plassans, on waking up, to find them still squatting on the pavements; if they +withdrew before daybreak they would simply have passed through the slumbering +town like an evil dream, like one of those nightmares which depart with the +arrival of dawn. And so, although he remained a prisoner, Monsieur Garconnet, +followed by two guards, went about knocking at the bakers’ doors, and had +all the provisions that he could find distributed among the insurgents. +</p> + +<p> +Towards one o’clock the three thousand men began to eat, squatting on the +ground, with their weapons between their legs. The market-place and the +neighbourhood of the town-hall were turned into vast open-air refectories. In +spite of the bitter cold, humorous sallies were exchanged among the swarming +multitude, the smallest groups of which showed forth in the brilliant +moonlight. The poor famished fellows eagerly devoured their portions while +breathing on their fingers to warm them; and, from the depths of adjoining +streets, where vague black forms sat on the white thresholds of the houses, +there came sudden bursts of laughter. At the windows emboldened, inquisitive +women, with silk handkerchiefs tied round their heads, watched the repast of +those terrible insurgents, those blood-suckers who went in turn to the market +pump to drink a little water in the hollows of their hands. +</p> + +<p> +While the town-hall was being invaded, the gendarmes’ barracks, situated +a few steps away, in the Rue Canquoin, which leads to the market, had also +fallen into the hands of the mob. The gendarmes were surprised in their beds +and disarmed in a few minutes. The impetus of the crowd had carried Miette and +Silvère along in this direction. The girl, who still clasped her flagstaff to +her breast, was pushed against the wall of the barracks, while the young man, +carried away by the human wave, penetrated into the interior, and helped his +comrades to wrest from the gendarmes the carbines which they had hastily caught +up. Silvère, waxing ferocious, intoxicated by the onslaught, attacked a big +devil of a gendarme named Rengade, with whom for a few moments he struggled. At +last, by a sudden jerk, he succeeded in wresting his carbine from him. But the +barrel struck Rengade a violent blow in the face, which put his right eye out. +Blood flowed, and, some of it splashing Silvère’s hands, quickly brought +him to his senses. He looked at his hands, dropped the carbine, and ran out, in +a state of frenzy, shaking his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“You are wounded!” cried Miette. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” he replied in a stifled voice, “I’ve just +killed a gendarme.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he really dead?” asked Miette. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied Silvère, “his face was all +covered with blood. Come quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he hurried the girl away. On reaching the market, he made her sit down on +a stone bench, and told her to wait there for him. He was still looking at his +hands, muttering something at the same time. Miette at last understood from his +disquieted words that he wished to go and kiss his grandmother before leaving. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, go,” she said; “don’t trouble yourself about me. +Wash your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +But he went quickly away, keeping his fingers apart, without thinking of +washing them at the pump which he passed. Since he had felt Rengade’s +warm blood on his skin, he had been possessed by one idea, that of running to +Aunt Dide’s and dipping his hands in the well-trough at the back of the +little yard. There only, he thought, would he be able to wash off the stain of +that blood. Moreover, all his calm, gentle childhood seemed to return to him; +he felt an irresistible longing to take refuge in his grandmother’s +skirts, if only for a minute. He arrived quite out of breath. Aunt Dide had not +gone to bed, a circumstance which at any other time would have greatly +surprised Silvère. But on entering he did not even see his uncle Rougon, who +was seated in a corner on the old chest. He did not wait for the poor old +woman’s questions. “Grandmother,” he said quickly, “you +must forgive me; I’m going to leave with the others. You see I’ve +got blood on me. I believe I’ve killed a gendarme.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve killed a gendarme?” Aunt Dide repeated in a strange +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes gleamed brightly as she fixed them on the red stains. And suddenly she +turned towards the chimney-piece. “You’ve taken the gun,” she +said; “where’s the gun?” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, who had left the weapon with Miette, swore to her that it was quite +safe. And for the very first time, Adélaïde made an allusion to the smuggler +Macquart in her grandson’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll bring the gun back? You promise me!” she said with +singular energy. “It’s all I have left of him. You’ve killed +a gendarme; ah, it was the gendarmes who killed him!” +</p> + +<p> +She continued gazing fixedly at Silvère with an air of cruel satisfaction, and +apparently without thought of detaining him. She never asked him for any +explanation, nor wept like those good grandmothers who always imagine, at sight +of the least scratch, that their grandchildren are dying. All her nature was +concentrated in one unique thought, to which she at last gave expression with +ardent curiosity: “Did you kill the gendarme with the gun?” +</p> + +<p> +Either Silvère did not quite catch what she said, or else he misunderstood her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” he replied. “I’m going to wash my hands.” +</p> + +<p> +It was only on returning from the well that he perceived his uncle. Pierre had +turned pale on hearing the young man’s words. Félicité was indeed right; +his family took a pleasure in compromising him. One of his nephews had now +killed a gendarme! He would never get the post of receiver of taxes, if he did +not prevent this foolish madman from rejoining the insurgents. So he planted +himself in front of the door, determined to prevent Silvère from going out. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he said to the young fellow, who was greatly surprised to +find him there. “I am the head of the family, and I forbid you to leave +this house. You’re risking both your honour and ours. To-morrow I will +try to get you across the frontier.” +</p> + +<p> +But Silvère shrugged his shoulders. “Let me pass,” he calmly +replied. “I’m not a police-spy; I shall not reveal your +hiding-place, never fear.” And as Rougon continued to speak of the family +dignity and the authority with which his seniority invested him: “Do I +belong to your family?” the young man continued. “You have always +disowned me. To-day, fear has driven you here, because you feel that the day of +judgment has arrived. Come, make way! I don’t hide myself; I have a duty +to perform.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon did not stir. But Aunt Dide, who had listened with a sort of delight to +Silvère’s vehement language, laid her withered hand on her son’s +arm. “Get out of the way, Pierre,” she said; “the lad must +go.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man gave his uncle a slight shove, and dashed outside. Then Rougon, +having carefully shut the door again, said to his mother in an angry, +threatening tone: “If any mischief happens to him it will be your fault. +You’re an old mad-woman; you don’t know what you’ve just +done.” +</p> + +<p> +Adélaïde, however, did not appear to hear him. She went and threw some +vine-branches on the fire, which was going out, and murmured with a vague +smile: “I’m used to it. He would remain away for months together, +and then come back to me in much better health.” +</p> + +<p> +She was no doubt speaking of Macquart. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Silvère hastily regained the market-place. As he approached +the spot where he had left Miette, he heard a loud uproar of voices and saw a +crowd which made him quicken his steps. A cruel scene had just occurred. Some +inquisitive people were walking among the insurgents, while the latter quietly +partook of their meal. Amongst these onlookers was Justin Rebufat, the son of +the farmer of the Jas-Meiffren, a youth of twenty years old, a sickly, +squint-eyed creature, who harboured implacable hatred against his cousin +Miette. At home he grudged her the bread she ate, and treated her like a beggar +picked up from the gutter out of charity. It is probable that the young girl +had rejected his advances. Lank and pale, with ill-proportioned limbs and face +all awry, he revenged himself upon her for his own ugliness, and the contempt +which the handsome, vigorous girl must have evinced for him. He ardently longed +to induce his father to send her about her business; and for this reason he was +always spying upon her. For some time past, he had become aware of the meetings +with Silvère, and had only awaited a decisive opportunity to reveal everything +to his father, Rebufat. +</p> + +<p> +On the evening in question, having seen her leave home at about eight +o’clock, Justin’s hatred had overpowered him, and he had been +unable to keep silent any longer. Rebufat, on hearing his story, fell into a +terrible rage, and declared that he would kick the gadabout out of his house +should she have the audacity to return. Justin then went to bed, relishing +beforehand the fine scene which would take place on the morrow. Then, however, +a burning desire came upon him for some immediate foretaste of his revenge. So +he dressed himself again and went out. Perhaps he might meet Miette. In that +case he was resolved to treat her insolently. This is how he came to witness +the arrival of the insurgents, whom he followed to the town-hall with a vague +presentiment that he would find the lovers there. And, indeed, he at last +caught sight of his cousin on the seat where she was waiting for Silvère. +Seeing her wrapped in her long pelisse, with the red flag at her side, resting +against a market pillar, he began to sneer and deride her in foul language. The +girl, thunderstruck at seeing him, was unable to speak. She wept beneath his +abuse, and whist she was overcome by sobbing, bowing her head and hiding her +face, Justin called her a convict’s daughter, and shouted that old +Rebufat would give her a good thrashing should she ever dare to return to +Jas-Meiffren. +</p> + +<p> +For a quarter of an hour he thus kept her smarting and trembling. Some people +had gathered round, and grinned stupidly at the painful scene. At last a few +insurgents interfered, and threatened the young man with exemplary chastisement +if he did not leave Miette alone. But Justin, although he retreated, declared +that he was not afraid of them. It was just at this moment that Silvère came +up. Young Rebufat, on catching sight of him, made a sudden bound, as if to take +flight; for he was afraid of him, knowing that he was much stronger than +himself. He could not, however, resist the temptation to cast a parting insult +on the girl in her lover’s presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I knew very well,” he cried, “that the wheelwright could +not be far off! You left us to run after that crack-brained fellow, eh? You +wretched girl! When’s the baptism to be?” +</p> + +<p> +Then he retreated a few steps further on seeing Silvère clench his fists. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind,” he continued, with a vile sneer, “don’t +come to our house again. My father will kick you out if you do! Do you +hear?” +</p> + +<p> +But he ran away howling, with bruised visage. For Silvère had bounded upon him +and dealt him a blow full in the face. The young man did not pursue him. When +he returned to Miette he found her standing up, feverishly wiping her tears +away with the palm of her hand. And as he gazed at her tenderly, in order to +console her, she made a sudden energetic gesture. “No,” she said, +“I’m not going to cry any more, you’ll see. I’m very +glad of it. I don’t feel any regret now for having left home. I am +free.” +</p> + +<p> +She took up the flag and led Silvère back into the midst of the insurgents. It +was now nearly two o’clock in the morning. The cold was becoming so +intense that the Republicans had risen to their feet and were marching to and +fro in order to warm themselves while they finished their bread. At last their +leaders gave orders for departure. The column formed again. The prisoners were +placed in the middle of it. Besides Monsieur Garconnet and Commander Sicardot, +the insurgents had arrested Monsieur Peirotte, the receiver of taxes, and +several other functionaries, all of whom they led away. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Aristide was observed walking about among the groups. In +presence of this formidable rising, the dear fellow had thought it imprudent +not to remain on friendly terms with the Republicans; but as, on the other +hand, he did not desire to compromise himself too much, he had come to bid them +farewell with his arm in a sling, complaining bitterly of the accursed injury +which prevented him from carrying a weapon. As he walked through the crowd he +came across his brother Pascal, provided with a case of surgical instruments +and a little portable medicine chest. The doctor informed him, in his quiet, +way, that he intended to follow the insurgents. At this Aristide inwardly +pronounced him a great fool. At last he himself slunk away, fearing lest the +others should entrust the care of the town to him, a post which he deemed +exceptionally perilous. +</p> + +<p> +The insurgents could not think of keeping Plassans in their power. The town was +animated by so reactionary a spirit that it seemed impossible even to establish +a democratic municipal commission there, as had already been done in other +places. So they would simply have gone off without taking any further steps if +Macquart, prompted and emboldened by his own private animosities, had not +offered to hold Plassans in awe, on condition that they left him twenty +determined men. These men were given him, and at their head he marched off +triumphantly to take possession of the town-hall. Meantime the column of +insurgents was wending its way along the Cours Sauvaire, and making its exit by +the Grand’-Porte, leaving the streets, which it had traversed like a +tempest, silent and deserted in its rear. The high road, whitened by the +moonshine, stretched far into the distance. Miette had refused the support of +Silvère’s arm; she marched on bravely, steady and upright, holding the +red flag aloft with both hands, without complaining of the cold which was +turning her fingers blue. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p> +The high roads stretched far way, white with moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +The insurrectionary army was continuing its heroic march through the cold, +clear country. It was like a mighty wave of enthusiasm. The thrill of +patriotism, which transported Miette and Silvère, big children that they were, +eager for love and liberty, sped, with generous fervour, athwart the sordid +intrigues of the Macquarts and the Rougons. At intervals the trumpet-voice of +the people rose and drowned the prattle of the yellow drawing-room and the +hateful discourses of uncle Antoine. And vulgar, ignoble farce was turned into +a great historical drama. +</p> + +<p> +On quitting Plassans, the insurgents had taken the road to Orcheres. They +expected to reach that town at about ten o’clock in the morning. The road +skirts the course of the Viorne, following at some height the windings of the +hillocks, below which the torrent flows. On the left, the plain spreads out +like an immense green carpet, dotted here and there with grey villages. On the +right, the chain of the Garrigues rears its desolate peaks, its plateaux of +stones, its huge rusty boulders that look as though they had been reddened by +the sun. The high road, embanked along the riverside, passes on amidst enormous +rocks, between which glimpses of the valley are caught at every step. Nothing +could be wilder or more strikingly grand than this road out of the hillside. At +night time, especially, it inspires one with a feeling of deep awe. The +insurgents advanced under the pale light, along what seemed the chief street of +some ruined town, bordered on either side with fragments of temples. The moon +turned each rock into a broken column, crumbling capital, or stretch of wall +pierced with mysterious arches. On high slumbered the mass of the Garrigues, +suffused with a milky tinge, and resembling some immense Cyclopean city whose +towers, obelisks, houses and high terraces hid one half of the heavens; and in +the depths below, on the side of the plain, was a spreading ocean of diffused +light, vague and limitless, over which floated masses of luminous haze. The +insurrectionary force might well have thought they were following some gigantic +causeway, making their rounds along some military road built on the shore of a +phosphorescent sea, and circling some unknown Babel. +</p> + +<p> +On the night in question, the Viorne roared hoarsely at the foot of the rocks +bordering the route. Amidst the continuous rumbling of the torrent, the +insurgents could distinguish the sharp, wailing notes of the tocsin. The +villages scattered about the plain, on the other side of the river, were +rising, sounding alarm-bells, and lighting signal fires. Till daybreak the +marching column, which the persistent tolling of a mournful knell seemed to +pursue in the darkness, thus beheld the insurrection spreading along the +valley, like a train of powder. The fires showed in the darkness like stains of +blood; echoes of distant songs were wafted to them; the whole vague distance, +blurred by the whitish vapours of the moon, stirred confusedly, and suddenly +broke into a spasm of anger. For leagues and leagues the scene remained the +same. +</p> + +<p> +These men, marching on under the blind impetus of the fever with which the +events in Paris had inspired Republican hearts, became elated at seeing that +long stretch of country quivering with revolt. Intoxicated with enthusiastic +belief in the general insurrection of which they dreamed, they fancied that +France was following them; on the other side of the Viorne, in that vast ocean +of diffused light, they imagined there were endless files of men rushing like +themselves to the defence of the Republic. All simplicity and delusion, as +multitudes so often are, they imagined, in their uncultured minds, that victory +was easy and certain. They would have seized and shot as a traitor any one who +had then asserted that they were the only ones who had the courage of their +duty, and that the rest of the country, overwhelmed with fright, was +pusillanimously allowing itself to be garrotted. +</p> + +<p> +They derived fresh courage, too, from the welcome accorded to them by the few +localities that lay along their route on the slopes of the Garrigues. The +inhabitants rose <i>en masse</i> immediately the little army drew near; women +ran to meet them, wishing them a speedy victory, while men, half clad, seized +the first weapons they could find and rushed to join their ranks. There was a +fresh ovation at every village, shouts of welcome and farewell many times +reiterated. +</p> + +<p> +Towards daybreak the moon disappeared behind the Garrigues and the insurgents +continued their rapid march amidst the dense darkness of a winter night. They +were now unable to distinguish the valley or the hills; they heard only the +hoarse plaints of the bells, sounding through the deep obscurity like invisible +drums, hidden they knew not where, but ever goading them on with despairing +calls. +</p> + +<p> +Miette and Silvère went on, all eagerness like the others. Towards daybreak, +the girl suffered greatly from fatigue; she could only walk with short hurried +steps, and was unable to keep up with the long strides of the men who +surrounded her. Nevertheless she courageously strove to suppress all +complaints; it would have cost her too much to confess that she was not as +strong as a boy. During the first few leagues of the march Silvère gave her his +arm; then, seeing that the standard was gradually slipping from her benumbed +hands, he tried to take it in order to relieve her; but she grew angry, and +would only allow him to hold it with one hand while she continued to carry it +on her shoulder. She thus maintained her heroic demeanour with childish +stubbornness, smiling at the young man each time he gave her a glance of loving +anxiety. At last, when the moon hid itself, she gave way in the sheltering +darkness. Silvère felt her leaning more heavily on his arm. He now had to carry +the flag, and hold her round the waist to prevent her from stumbling. +Nevertheless she still made no complaint. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very tired, poor Miette?” Silvère asked her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, a little tired,” she replied in a weary tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to rest a bit?” +</p> + +<p> +She made no reply; but he realised that she was staggering. He thereupon handed +the flag to one of the other insurgents and quitted the ranks, almost carrying +the girl in his arms. She struggled a little, she felt so distressed at +appearing such a child. But he calmed her, telling her that he knew of a +cross-road which shortened the distance by one half. They would be able to take +a good hour’s rest and reach Orcheres at the same time as the others. +</p> + +<p> +It was then six o’clock. There must have been a slight mist rising from +the Viorne, for the darkness seemed to be growing denser. The young people +groped their way along the slope of the Garrigues, till they came to a rock on +which they sat down. Around them lay an abyss of darkness. They were stranded, +as it were, on some reef above a dense void. And athwart that void, when the +dull tramp of the little army had died away, they only heard two bells, the one +clear toned and ringing doubtless at their feet, in some village across the +road; and the other far-off and faint, responding, as it were, with distant +sobs to the feverish plaints of the first. One might have thought that these +bells were recounting to each other, through the empty waste, the sinister +story of a perishing world. +</p> + +<p> +Miette and Silvère, warmed by their quick march, did not at first feel the +cold. They remained silent, listening in great dejection to the sounds of the +tocsin, which made the darkness quiver. They could not even see one another. +Miette felt frightened, and, seeking for Silvère’s hand, clasped it in +her own. After the feverish enthusiasm which for several hours had carried them +along with the others, this sudden halt and the solitude in which they found +themselves side by side left them exhausted and bewildered as though they had +suddenly awakened from a strange dream. They felt as if a wave had cast them +beside the highway, then ebbed back and left them stranded. Irresistible +reaction plunged them into listless stupor; they forgot their enthusiasm; they +thought no more of the men whom they had to rejoin; they surrendered themselves +to the melancholy sweetness of finding themselves alone, hand in hand, in the +midst of the wild darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not angry with me?” the girl at length inquired. “I +could easily walk the whole night with you; but they were running too quickly, +I could hardly breathe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I be angry with you?” the young man said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I was afraid you might not love me any longer. I +wish I could have taken long strides like you, and have walked along without +stopping. You will think I am a child.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère smiled, and Miette, though the darkness prevented her from seeing him, +guessed that he was doing so. Then she continued with determination: “You +must not always treat me like a sister. I want to be your wife some day.” +</p> + +<p> +Forthwith she clasped Silvère to her bosom, and, still with her arms about him, +murmured: “We shall grow so cold; come close to me that we may be +warm.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they lapsed into silence. Until that troublous hour, they had loved one +another with the affection of brother and sister. In their ignorance they still +mistook their feelings for tender friendship, although beneath their guileless +love their ardent blood surged more wildly day by day. Given age and +experience, a violent passion of southern intensity would at last spring from +this idyll. Every girl who hangs on a youth’s neck is already a woman, a +woman unconsciously, whom a caress may awaken to conscious womanhood. When +lovers kiss on the cheeks, it is because they are searching, feeling for one +another’s lips. Lovers are made by a kiss. It was on that dark and cold +December night, amid the bitter wailing of the tocsin, that Miette and Silvère +exchanged one of those kisses that bring all the heart’s blood to the +lips. +</p> + +<p> +They remained silent, close to one another. A gentle glow soon penetrated them, +languor overcame them, and steeped them in feverish drowsiness. They were quite +warm at last, and lights seemed to flit before their closed eyelids, while a +buzzing mounted to their brains. This state of painful ecstasy, which lasted +some minutes, seemed endless to them. Then, in a kind of dream, their lips met. +The kiss they exchanged was long and greedy. It seemed to them as if they had +never kissed before. Yet their embrace was fraught with suffering and they +released one another. And the chilliness of the night having cooled their +fever, they remained in great confusion at some distance one from the other. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the bells were keeping up their sinister converse in the dark abyss +which surrounded the young people. Miette, trembling and frightened, did not +dare to draw near to Silvère again. She did not even know if he were still +there, for she could no longer hear him move. The stinging sweetness of their +kiss still clung to their lips, to which passionate phrases surged, and they +longed to kiss once more. But shame restrained them from the expression of any +such desire. They felt that they would rather never taste that bliss again than +speak of it aloud. If their blood had not been lashed by their rapid march, if +the darkness had not offered complicity, they would, for a long time yet, have +continued kissing each other on the cheeks like old playfellows. Feelings of +modesty were coming to Miette. She remembered Justin’s coarseness. A few +hours previously she had listened, without a blush, to that fellow who called +her a shameless girl. She had wept without understanding his meaning, she had +wept simply because she guessed that what he spoke of must be base. Now that +she was becoming a woman, she wondered in a last innocent transport whether +that kiss, whose burning smart she could still feel, would not perhaps suffice +to cover her with the shame to which her cousin had referred. Thereupon she was +seized with remorse, and burst into sobs. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter; why are you crying?” asked Silvère in an +anxious voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, leave me,” she faltered, “I do not know.” +</p> + +<p> +Then in spite of herself, as it were, she continued amidst her tears: +“Ah! what an unfortunate creature I am! When I was ten years old people +used to throw stones at me. To-day I am treated as the vilest of creatures. +Justin did right to despise me before everybody. We have been doing wrong, +Silvère.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man, quite dismayed, clasped her in his arms again, trying to console +her. “I love you,” he whispered, “I am your brother. Why say +that we have been doing wrong? We kissed each other because we were cold. You +know very well that we used to kiss each other every evening before +separating.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! not as we did just now,” she whispered. “It must be +wrong, for a strange feeling came over me. The men will laugh at me now as I +pass, and they will be right in doing so. I shall not be able to defend +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The young fellow remained silent, unable to find a word to calm the agitation +of this big child, trembling at her first kiss of love. He clasped her gently, +imagining that he might calm her by his embrace. She struggled, however, and +continued: “If you like, we will go away; we will leave the province. I +can never return to Plassans; my uncle would beat me; all the townspeople would +point their fingers at me—” And then, as if seized with sudden +irritation, she added: “But no! I am cursed! I forbid you to leave aunt +Dide to follow me. You must leave me on the highway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miette, Miette!” Silvère implored; “don’t talk like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I want to please you. Be reasonable. They have turned me out like a +vagabond. If I went back with you, you would always be fighting for my sake, +and I don’t want that.” +</p> + +<p> +At this the young man again pressed a kiss upon her lips, murmuring: “You +shall be my wife, and nobody will then dare to hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! please, I entreat you!” she said, with a stifled cry; +“don’t kiss me so. You hurt me.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, after a short silence: “You know quite well that I cannot be your +wife now. We are too young. You would have to wait for me, and meanwhile I +should die of shame. You are wrong in protesting; you will be forced to leave +me in some corner.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Silvère, his fortitude exhausted, began to cry. A man’s sobs are +fraught with distressing hoarseness. Miette, quite frightened as she felt the +poor fellow shaking in her arms, kissed him on the face, forgetting she was +burning her lips. But it was all her fault. She was a little simpleton to have +let a kiss upset her so completely. She now clasped her lover to her bosom as +if to beg forgiveness for having pained him. These weeping children, so +anxiously clasping one another, made the dark night yet more woeful than +before. In the distance, the bells continued to complain unceasingly in panting +accents. +</p> + +<p> +“It is better to die,” repeated Silvère, amidst his sobs; “it +is better to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t cry; forgive me,” stammered Miette. “I will be +brave; I will do all you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +When the young man had dried his tears: “You are right,” he said; +“we cannot return to Plassans. But the time for cowardice has not yet +come. If we come out of the struggle triumphant, I will go for aunt Dide, and +we will take her ever so far away with us. If we are +beaten——” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“If we are beaten?” repeated Miette, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then be it as God wills!” continued Silvère, in a softer voice. +“I most likely shall not be there. You will comfort the poor woman. That +would be better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! as you said just now,” the young girl murmured, “it +would be better to die.” +</p> + +<p> +At this longing for death they tightened their embrace. Miette relied upon +dying with Silvère; he had only spoken of himself, but she felt that he would +gladly take her with him into the earth. They would there be able to love each +other more freely than under the sun. Aunt Dide would die likewise and join +them. It was, so to say, a rapid presentiment, a desire for some strange +voluptuousness, to which Heaven, by the mournful accents of the tocsin, was +promising early gratification. To die! To die! The bells repeated these words +with increasing passion, and the lovers yielded to the calls of the darkness; +they fancied they experienced a foretaste of the last sleep, in the drowsiness +into which they again sank, whilst their lips met once more. +</p> + +<p> +Miette no longer turned away. It was she, now, who pressed her lips to +Silvère’s, who sought with mute ardour for the delight whose stinging +smart she had not at first been able to endure. The thought of approaching +death had excited her; she no longer felt herself blushing, but hung upon her +love, while he in faltering voice repeated: “I love you! I love +you!” +</p> + +<p> +But at this Miette shook her head, as if to say it was not true. With her free +and ardent nature she had a secret instinct of the meaning and purposes of +life, and though she was right willing to die she would fain have known life +first. At last, growing calmer, she gently rested her head on the young +man’s shoulder, without uttering a word. Silvère kissed her again. She +tasted those kisses slowly, seeking their meaning, their hidden sweetness. As +she felt them course through her veins, she interrogated them, asking if they +were all love, all passion. But languor at last overcame her, and she fell into +gentle slumber. Silvère had enveloped her in her pelisse, drawing the skirt +around himself at the same time. They no longer felt cold. The young man +rejoiced to find, from the regularity of her breathing, that the girl was now +asleep; this repose would enable them to proceed on their way with spirit. He +resolved to let her slumber for an hour. The sky was still black, and the +approach of day was but faintly indicated by a whitish line in the east. Behind +the lovers there must have been a pine wood whose musical awakening it was that +the young man heard amidst the morning breezes. And meantime the wailing of the +bells grew more sonorous in the quivering atmosphere, lulling Miette’s +slumber even as it had accompanied her passionate fever. +</p> + +<p> +Until that troublous night, these young people had lived through one of those +innocent idylls that blossom among the toiling masses, those outcasts and folks +of simple mind amidst whom one may yet occasionally find amours as primitive as +those of the ancient Greek romances. +</p> + +<p> +Miette had been scarcely nine years old at the time when her father was sent to +the galleys for shooting a gendarme. The trial of Chantegreil had remained a +memorable case in the province. The poacher boldly confessed that he had killed +the gendarme, but he swore that the latter had been taking aim at him. “I +only anticipated him,” he said, “I defended myself; it was a duel, +not a murder.” He never desisted from this line of argument. The +presiding Judge of the Assizes could not make him understand that, although a +gendarme has the right to fire upon a poacher, a poacher has no right to fire +upon a gendarme. Chantegreil escaped the guillotine, owing to his obviously +sincere belief in his own innocence, and his previous good character. The man +wept like a child when his daughter was brought to him prior to his departure +for Toulon. The little thing, who had lost her mother in her infancy, dwelt at +this time with her grandfather at Chavanoz, a village in the passes of the +Seille. When the poacher was no longer there, the old man and the girl lived +upon alms. The inhabitants of Chavanoz, all sportsmen and poachers, came to the +assistance of the poor creatures whom the convict had left behind him. After a +while, however, the old man died of grief, and Miette, left alone by herself, +would have had to beg on the high roads, if the neighbours had not remembered +that she had an aunt at Plassans. A charitable soul was kind enough to take her +to this aunt, who did not, however, receive her very kindly. +</p> + +<p> +Eulalie Chantegreil, the spouse of <i>méger</i> Rebufat, was a big, dark, +stubborn creature, who ruled the home. She led her husband by the noise, said +the people of the Faubourg of Plassans. The truth was, Rebufat, avaricious and +eager for work and gain, felt a sort of respect for this big creature, who +combined uncommon vigour with strict sobriety and economy. +</p> + +<p> +Thanks to her, the household thrived. The <i>méger</i> grumbled one evening +when, on returning home from work, he found Miette installed there. But his +wife closed his mouth by saying in her gruff voice: “Bah, the little +thing’s strongly built, she’ll do for a servant; we’ll keep +her and save wages.” +</p> + +<p> +This calculation pleased Rebufat. He went so far as to feel the little +thing’s arms, and declared with satisfaction that she was sturdy for her +age. Miette was then nine years old. From the very next day he made use of her. +The work of the peasant-woman in the South of France is much lighter than in +the North. One seldom sees them employed in digging the ground, carrying loads, +or doing other kinds of men’s work. They bind sheaves, gather olives and +mulberry leaves; perhaps their most laborious work is that of weeding. Miette +worked away willingly. Open-air life was her delight, her health. So long as +her aunt lived she was always smiling. The good woman, in spite of her +roughness, at last loved her as her own child; she forbade her doing the hard +work which her husband sometimes tried to force upon her, saying to the latter: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you’re a clever fellow! You don’t understand, you fool, +that if you tire her too much to-day, she won’t be able to do anything +to-morrow!” +</p> + +<p> +This argument was decisive. Rebufat bowed his head, and carried the load which +he had desired to set on the young girl’s shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +The latter would have lived in perfect happiness under the secret protection of +her aunt Eulalie, but for the teasing of her cousin, who was then a lad of +sixteen, and employed his idle hours in hating and persecuting her. +Justin’s happiest moments were those when by means of some gross +falsehood he succeeded in getting her scolded. Whenever he could tread on her +feet, or push her roughly, pretending not to have seen her, he laughed and felt +the delight of those crafty folks who rejoice at other people’s +misfortunes. Miette, however, would stare at him with her large black childish +eyes gleaming with anger and silent scorn, which checked the cowardly +youngster’s sneers. In reality he was terribly afraid of his cousin. +</p> + +<p> +The young girl was just attaining her eleventh year when her aunt Eulalie +suddenly died. From that day everything changed in the house. Rebufat gradually +come to treat her like a farm-labourer. He overwhelmed her with all sorts of +rough work, and made use of her as a beast of burden. She never even +complained, however, thinking that she had a debt of gratitude to repay him. In +the evening, when she was worn out with fatigue, she mourned for her aunt, that +terrible woman whose latent kindliness she now realised. However, it was not +the hard work that distressed her, for she delighted in her strength, and took +a pride in her big arms and broad shoulders. What distressed her was her +uncle’s distrustful surveillance, his continual reproaches, and the +irritated employer-like manner he assumed towards her. She had now become a +stranger in the house. Yet even a stranger would not have been so badly treated +as she was. Rebufat took the most unscrupulous advantage of this poor little +relative, whom he pretended to keep out of charity. She repaid his harsh +hospitality ten times over with her work, and yet never a day passed but he +grudged her the bread she ate. Justin especially excelled in wounding her. +Since his mother had been dead, seeing her without a protector, he had brought +all his evil instincts into play in trying to make the house intolerable to +her. The most ingenious torture which he invented was to speak to Miette of her +father. The poor girl, living away from the world, under the protection of her +aunt, who had forbidden any one ever to mention the words “galleys” +or “convict” before her, hardly understood their meaning. It was +Justin who explained it to her by relating, in his own manner, the story of the +murder of the gendarme, and Chantegreil’s conviction. There was no end to +the horrible particulars he supplied: the convicts had a cannonball fastened to +one ankle by a chain, they worked fifteen hours a day, and all died under their +punishment; their prison, too, was a frightful place, the horrors of which he +described minutely. Miette listened to him, stupefied, her eyes full of tears. +Sometimes she was roused to sudden violence, and Justin quickly retired before +her clenched fists. However, he took a savage delight in thus instructing her +as to the nature of prison life. When his father flew into a passion with the +child for any little negligence, he chimed in, glad to be able to insult her +without danger. And if she attempted to defend herself, he would exclaim: +“Bah! bad blood always shows itself. You’ll end at the galleys like +your father.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Miette sobbed, stung to the heart, powerless and overwhelmed with +shame. +</p> + +<p> +She was already growing to womanhood at this period. Of precocious nature, she +endured her martyrdom with extraordinary fortitude. She rarely gave way, +excepting when her natural pride succumbed to her cousin’s outrages. Soon +even, she was able to bear, without a tear, the incessant insults of this +cowardly fellow, who ever watched her while he spoke, for fear lest she should +fly at his face. Then, too, she learnt to silence him by staring at him +fixedly. She had several times felt inclined to run away from the Jas-Meiffren; +but she did not do so, as her courage could not brook the idea of confessing +that she was vanquished by the persecution she endured. She certainly earned +her bread, she did not steal the Rebufats’ hospitality; and this +conviction satisfied her pride. So she remained there to continue the struggle, +stiffening herself and living on with the one thought of resistance. Her plan +was to do her work in silence, and revenge herself for all harsh treatment by +mute contempt. She knew that her uncle derived too much advantage from her to +listen readily to the insinuations of Justin, who longed to get her turned out +of doors. And in a defiant spirit she resolved that she would not go away of +her own accord. +</p> + +<p> +Her continuous voluntary silence was full of strange fancies. Passing her days +in the enclosure, isolated from all the world, she formed ideas for herself +which would have strangely shocked the good people of the Faubourg. Her +father’s fate particularly occupied her thoughts. All Justin’s +abuse recurred to her; and she ended by accepting the charge of murder, saying +to herself, however, that her father had done well to kill the gendarme who had +tried to kill him. She had learnt the real story from a labourer who had worked +for a time at the Jas-Meiffren. From that moment, on the few occasions when she +went out, she no longer even turned if the ragamuffins of the Faubourg followed +her, crying: “Hey! La Chantegreil!” +</p> + +<p> +She simply hastened her steps homeward, with lips compressed, and black, fierce +eyes. Then after shutting the gate, she perhaps cast one long glance at the +gang of urchins. She would have become vicious, have lapsed into fierce pariah +savagery, if her childishness had not sometimes gained the mastery. Her extreme +youth brought her little girlish weaknesses which relieved her. She would then +cry with shame for herself and her father. She would hide herself in a stable +so that she might sob to her heart’s content, for she knew that, if the +others saw her crying, they would torment her all the more. And when she had +wept sufficiently, she would bathe her eyes in the kitchen, and then again +subside into uncomplaining silence. It was not interest alone, however, which +prompted her to hide herself; she carried her pride in her precocious strength +so far that she was unwilling to appear a child. In time she would have become +very unhappy. Fortunately she was saved by discovering the latent tenderness of +her loving nature. +</p> + +<p> +The well in the yard of the house occupied by aunt Dide and Silvère was a +party-well. The wall of the Jas-Meiffren cut it in halves. Formerly, before the +Fouques’ property was united to the neighbouring estate, the +market-gardeners had used this well daily. Since the transfer of the +Fouques’ ground, however, as it was at some distance from the outhouses, +the inmates of the Jas, who had large cisterns at their disposal, did not draw +a pail of water from it in a month. On the other side, one could hear the +grating of the pulley every morning when Silvère drew the water for aunt Dide. +</p> + +<p> +One day the pulley broke. The young wheelwright made a good strong one of oak, +and put it up in the evening after his day’s work. To do this he had to +climb upon the wall. When he had finished the job he remained resting astride +the coping, and surveyed with curiosity the large expanse of the Jas-Meiffren. +At last a peasant-girl, who was weeding the ground a few feet from him, +attracted his attention. It was in July, and the air was broiling, although the +sun had already sank to the horizon. The peasant-girl had taken off her jacket. +In a white bodice, with a coloured neckerchief tied over her shoulders, and the +sleeves of her chemise turned up as far as her elbows, she was squatting amid +the folds of her blue cotton skirt, which was secured to a pair of braces +crossed behind her back. She crawled about on her knees as she pulled up the +tares and threw them into a basket. The young man could only see her bare, +sun-tanned arms stretching out right and left to seize some overlooked weed. He +followed this rapid play of her arms complacently, deriving a singular pleasure +from seeing them so firm and quick. The young person had slightly raised +herself on noticing that he was no longer at work, but had again lowered her +head before he could distinguish her features. This shyness kept him in +suspense. Like an inquisitive lad he wondered who this weeder could be, and +while he lingered there, whistling and beating time with a chisel, the latter +suddenly slipped out of his hand. It fell into the Jas-Meiffren, striking the +curb of the well, and then bounding a few feet from the wall. Silvère looked at +it, leaning forward and hesitating to get over. But the peasant-girl must have +been watching the young man askance, for she jumped up without saying anything, +picked up the chisel, and handed it to Silvère, who then perceived that she was +a mere child. He was surprised and rather intimidated. The young girl raised +herself towards him in the red glare of the sunset. The wall at this spot was +low, but nevertheless too high for her to reach him. So he bent low over the +coping, while she still raised herself on tiptoes. They did not speak, but +looked at each other with an air of smiling confusion. The young man would +indeed have liked to keep the girl in that position. She turned to him a +charming head, with handsome black eyes, and red lips, which quite astonished +and stirred him. He had never before seen a girl so near; he had not known that +lips and eyes could be so pleasant to look at. Everything about the girl seemed +to possess a strange fascination for him—her coloured neckerchief, her +white bodice, her blue cotton skirt hanging from braces which stretched with +the motion of her shoulders. Then his glance glided along the arm which was +handing him the tool; as far as the elbow this arm was of a golden brown, as +though clothed with sun-burn; but higher up, in the shadow of the tucked-up +sleeve, Silvère perceived a bare, milk-white roundness. At this he felt +confused; however, he leant further over, and at last managed to grasp the +chisel. The little peasant-girl was becoming embarrassed. Still they remained +there, smiling at each other, the child beneath with upturned face, and the lad +half reclining on the coping of the wall. They could not part from each other. +So far they had not exchanged a word, and Silvère even forgot to say, +“Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Marie,” replied the peasant-girl; “but everybody calls me +Miette.” +</p> + +<p> +Again she raised herself slightly, and in a clear voice inquired in her turn: +“And yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Silvère,” the young workman replied. +</p> + +<p> +A pause ensued, during which they seemed to be listening complacently to the +music of their names. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m fifteen years old,” resumed Silvère. “And +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” said Miette; “oh, I shall be eleven on All Saints’ +Day.” +</p> + +<p> +The young workman made a gesture of surprise. “Ah! really!” he +said, laughing, “and to think I took you for a woman! You’ve such +big arms.” +</p> + +<p> +She also began to laugh, as she lowered her eyes to her arms. Then they ceased +speaking. They remained for another moment gazing and smiling at each other. +And finally, as Silvère seemingly had no more questions to ask her, Miette +quietly withdrew and went on plucking her weeds, without raising her head. The +lad for his part remained on the wall for a while. The sun was setting; a +stream of oblique rays poured over the yellow soil of the Jas-Meiffren, which +seemed to be all ablaze—one would have said that a fire was running along +the ground—and, in the midst of the flaming expanse, Silvère saw the +little stooping peasant-girl, whose bare arms had resumed their rapid motion. +The blue cotton skirt was now becoming white; and rays of light streamed over +the child’s copper-coloured arms. At last Silvère felt somewhat ashamed +of remaining there, and accordingly got off the wall. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, preoccupied with his adventure, he endeavoured to question aunt +Dide. Perhaps she would know who this Miette was who had such black eyes and +such red lips. But, since she had lived in the house in the alley, the old +woman had never once given a look behind the wall of the little yard. It was, +to her, like an impassable rampart, which shut off her past. She did not +know—she did not want to know—what there might now be on the other +side of that wall, in that old enclosure of the Fouques, where she had buried +her love, her heart and her flesh. As soon as Silvère began to question her she +looked at him with childish terror. Was he, then, going to stir up the ashes of +those days now dead and gone, and make her weep like her son Antoine had done? +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” she said in a hasty voice; “I no longer +go out, I never see anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère waited the morrow with considerable impatience. And as soon as he got +to his master’s workshop, he drew his fellow-workmen into conversation. +He did not say anything about his interview with Miette; but spoke vaguely of a +girl whom he had seen from a distance in the Jas-Meiffren. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! that’s La Chantegreil!” cried one of the workmen. +</p> + +<p> +There was no necessity for Silvère to question them further, for they told him +the story of the poacher Chantegreil and his daughter Miette, with that +unreasoning spite which is felt for social outcasts. The girl, in particular, +they treated in a foul manner; and the insulting gibe of “daughter of a +galley-slave” constantly rose to their lips like an incontestable reason +for condemning the poor, dear innocent creature to eternal disgrace. +</p> + +<p> +However, wheelwright Vian, an honest, worthy fellow, at last silenced his men. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongues, you foul mouths!” he said, as he let fall the +shaft of a cart that he had been examining. “You ought to be ashamed of +yourselves for being so hard upon the child. I’ve seen her, the little +thing looks a very good girl. Besides, I’m told she doesn’t mind +work, and already does as much as any woman of thirty. There are some lazy +fellows here who aren’t a match for her. I hope, later on, that +she’ll get a good husband who’ll stop this evil talk.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, who had been chilled by the workmen’s gross jests and insults, +felt tears rise to his eyes at the last words spoken by Vian. However, he did +not open his lips. He took up his hammer, which he had laid down near him, and +began with all his might to strike the nave of a wheel which he was binding +with iron. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, as soon as he had returned home from the workshop, he ran to +the wall and climbed upon it. He found Miette engaged upon the same labour as +the day before. He called her. She came to him, with her smile of +embarrassment, and the charming shyness of a child who from infancy had grown +up in tears. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re La Chantegreil, aren’t you?” he asked her, +abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +She recoiled, she ceased smiling, and her eyes turned sternly black, gleaming +with defiance. So this lad was going to insult her, like the others! She was +turning her back upon him, without giving an answer, when Silvère, perplexed by +her sudden change of countenance, hastened to add: “Stay, I beg +you—I don’t want to pain you—I’ve got so many things to +tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +She turned round, still distrustful. Silvère, whose heart was full, and who had +resolved to relieve it, remained for a moment speechless, not knowing how to +continue, for he feared lest he should commit a fresh blunder. At last he put +his whole heart in one phrase: “Would you like me to be your +friend?” he said, in a voice full of emotion. And as Miette, in surprise, +raised her eyes, which were again moist and smiling, he continued with +animation: “I know that people try to vex you. It’s time to put a +stop to it. I will be your protector now. Shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +The child beamed with delight. This proffered friendship roused her from all +her evil dreams of taciturn hatred. Still she shook her head and answered: +“No, I don’t want you to fight on my account. You’d have too +much to do. Besides which, there are persons from whom you cannot protect +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère wished to declare that he would defend her against the whole world, but +she closed his mouth with a coaxing gesture, as she added: “I am +satisfied to have you as a friend.” +</p> + +<p> +They then conversed together for a few minutes, lowering their voices as much +as possible. Miette spoke to Silvère of her uncle and her cousin. For all the +world she would not have liked them to catch him astride the coping of the +wall. Justin would be implacable with such a weapon against her. She spoke of +her misgivings with the fright of a schoolgirl on meeting a friend with whom +her mother has forbidden her to associate. Silvère merely understood, however, +that he would not be able to see Miette at his pleasure. This made him very +sad. Still, he promised that he would not climb upon the wall any more. They +were both endeavouring to find some expedient for seeing each other again, when +Miette suddenly begged him to go away; she had just caught sight of Justin, who +was crossing the grounds in the direction of the wall. Silvère quickly +descended. When he was in the little yard again, he remained by the wall to +listen, irritated by his flight. After a few minutes he ventured to climb again +and cast a glance into the Jas-Meiffren, but he saw Justin speaking with +Miette, and quickly withdrew his head. On the following day he could see +nothing of his friend, not even in the distance; she must have finished her +work in that part of the Jas. A week passed in this fashion, and the young +people had no opportunity of exchanging a single word. Silvère was in despair; +he thought of boldly going to the Rebufats to ask for Miette. +</p> + +<p> +The party-well was a large one, but not very deep. On either side of the wall +the curb formed a large semicircle. The water was only ten or twelve feet down +at the utmost. This slumbering water reflected the two apertures of the well, +two half-moons between which the shadow of the wall cast a black streak. On +leaning over, one might have fancied in the vague light that the half-moons +were two mirrors of singular clearness and brilliance. Under the morning +sunshine, when the dripping of the ropes did not disturb the surface of the +water, these mirrors, these reflections of the heavens, showed like white +patches on the green water, and in them the leaves of the ivy which had spread +along the wall over the well were repeated with marvellous exactness. +</p> + +<p> +One morning, at an early hour, Silvère, as he came to draw water for aunt Dide, +bent over the well mechanically, just as he was taking hold of the rope. He +started, and then stood motionless, still leaning over. He had fancied that he +could distinguish in the well the face of a young girl who was looking at him +with a smile; however, he had shaken the rope, and the disturbed water was now +but a dim mirror that no longer reflected anything clearly. Silvère, who did +not venture to stir, and whose heart beat rapidly, then waited for the water to +settle. As its ripples gradually widened and died away, he perceived the image +reappearing. It oscillated for a long time, with a swing which lent a vague, +phantom-like grace to its features, but at last it remained stationary. It was +the smiling countenance of Miette, with her head and shoulders, her coloured +neckerchief, her white bodice, and her blue braces. Silvère next perceived his +own image in the other mirror. Then, knowing that they could see each other, +they nodded their heads. For the first moment, they did not even think of +speaking. At last they exchanged greetings. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Silvère.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Miette.” +</p> + +<p> +They were surprised by the strange sound of their voices, which became +singularly soft and sweet in that damp hole. The sound seemed, indeed, to come +from a distance, like the soft music of voices heard of an evening in the +country. They understood that it would suffice to speak in a whisper in order +to hear each other. The well echoed the faintest breath. Leaning over its +brink, they conversed while gazing at one another’s reflection. Miette +related how sad she had been the last week. She was now working at the other +end of the Jas, and could only get out early in the morning. Then she made a +pout of annoyance which Silvère distinguished perfectly, and to which he +replied by nodding his head with an air of vexation. They were exchanging all +those gestures and facial expressions that speech entails. They cared but +little for the wall which separated them now that they could see each other in +those hidden depths. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew,” continued Miette, with a knowing look, “that you +came here to draw water every morning at the same hour. I can hear the grating +of the pulley from the house. So I made an excuse, I pretended that the water +in this well boiled the vegetables better. I thought that I might come here +every morning to draw water at the same time as you, so as to say good morning +to you without anyone suspecting it.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled innocently, as though well pleased with her device, and ended by +saying: “But I did not imagine we should see each other in the +water.” +</p> + +<p> +It was, in fact, this unhoped-for pleasure which so delighted them. They only +spoke to see their lips move, so greatly did this new frolic amuse their +childish natures. And they resolved to use all means in their power to meet +here every morning. When Miette had said that she must go away, she told +Silvère that he could draw his pail of water. But he did not dare to shake the +rope; Miette was still leaning over—he could see her smiling face, and it +was too painful to him to dispel that smile. As he slightly stirred his pail, +the water murmured, and the smile faded. Then he stopped, seized with a strange +fear; he fancied that he had vexed her and made her cry. But the child called +to him, “Go on! go on!” with a laugh which the echo prolonged and +rendered more sonorous. She herself then nosily sent down a pail. There was a +perfect tempest. Everything disappeared under the black water. And Silvère made +up his mind to fill two pitchers, while listening to the retreating steps of +Miette on the other side of the wall. +</p> + +<p> +From that day, the young people never missed their assignations. The slumbering +water, the white mirrors in which they gazed at one another, imparted to their +interviews a charm which long sufficed their playful, childish imaginations. +They had no desire to see each other face to face: it seemed much more amusing +to them to use the well as a mirror, and confide their morning greetings to its +echo. They soon came to look upon the well as an old friend. They loved to bend +over the motionless water that resembled molten silver. A greenish glimmer +hovered below, in a mysterious half light, and seemed to change the damp hole +into some hiding-place in the depths of a wood. They saw each other in a sort +of greenish nest bedecked with moss, in the midst of fresh water and foliage. +And all the strangeness of the deep spring, the hollow tower over which they +bent, trembling with fascination, added unconfessed and delightful fear to +their merry laughter. The wild idea occurred to them of going down and seating +themselves on a row of large stones which formed a kind of circular bench at a +few inches above the water. They would dip their feet in the latter, converse +there for hours, and no one would think of coming to look for them in such a +spot. But when they asked each other what there might be down there, their +vague fears returned; they thought it quite sufficient to let their reflected +images descend into the depths amidst those green glimmers which tinged the +stones with strange moire-like reflections, and amidst those mysterious noises +which rose from the dark corners. Those sounds issuing from the invisible made +them particularly uneasy; they often fancied that voices were replying to their +own; and then they would remain silent, detecting a thousand faint plaints +which they could not understand. These came from the secret travail of the +moisture, the sighs of the atmosphere, the drops that glided over the stones, +and fell below with the sonorousness of sobs. They would nod affectionately to +each other in order to reassure themselves. Thus the attraction which kept them +leaning over the brink had a tinge of secret terror, like all poignant charms. +But the well still remained their old friend. It was such an excellent pretext +for meeting! Justin, who watched Miette’s every movement, never suspected +the cause of her eagerness to go and draw some water every morning. At times, +he saw her from the distance, leaning over and loitering. “Ah! the lazy +thing!” he muttered; “how fond she is of dawdling about!” How +could he suspect that, on the other side of the wall, there was a wooer +contemplating the girl’s smile in the water, and saying to her: “If +that red-haired donkey Justin should illtreat you, just tell me of it, and he +shall hear from me!” +</p> + +<p> +This amusement lasted for more than a month. It was July then; the mornings +were sultry; the sun shone brightly, and it was quite a pleasure to come to +that damp spot. It was delightful to feel the cold breath of the well on +one’s face, and make love amidst this spring water while the skies were +kindling their fires. Miette would arrive out of breath after crossing the +stubble fields; as she ran along, her hair fell down over her forehead and +temples; and it was with flushed face and dishevelled locks that she would lean +over, shaking with laughter, almost before she had had time to set her pitcher +down. Silvère, who was almost always the first at the well, felt, as he +suddenly saw her smiling face in the water, as keen a joy as he would have +experienced had she suddenly thrown herself into his arms at the bend of a +pathway. Around them the radiant morning hummed with mirth; a wave of warm +light, sonorous with the buzzing of insects, beat against the old wall, the +posts, and the curbstone. They, however, no longer saw the shower of morning +sunshine, nor heard the thousand sounds rising from the ground; they were in +the depths of their green hiding-place, under the earth, in that mysterious and +awesome cavity, and quivered with pleasure as they lingered there enjoying its +fresh coolness and dim light. +</p> + +<p> +On some mornings, Miette, who by nature could not long maintain a contemplative +attitude, began to tease; she would shake the rope, and make drops of water +fall in order to ripple the mirrors and deface the reflections. Silvère would +then entreat her to remain still; he, whose fervour was deeper than hers, knew +no keener pleasure than that of gazing at his love’s image reflected so +distinctly in every feature. But she would not listen to him; she would joke +and feign a rough old bogey’s voice, to which the echo imparted a raucous +melodiousness. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she would say in chiding fashion; “I don’t +love you to-day! I’m making faces at you; see how ugly I am.” +</p> + +<p> +And she laughed at seeing the fantastic forms which their spreading faces +assumed as they danced upon the disturbed water. +</p> + +<p> +One morning she got angry in real earnest. She did not find Silvère at the +trysting-place, and waited for him for nearly a quarter of an hour, vainly +making the pulley grate. She was just about to depart in a rage when he +arrived. As soon as she perceived him she let a perfect tempest loose in the +well, shook her pail in an irritated manner, and made the blackish water whirl +and splash against the stones. In vain did Silvère try to explain that aunt +Dide had detained him. To all his excuses she replied: “You’ve +vexed me; I don’t want to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +The poor lad, in despair, vainly questioned that sombre cavity, now so full of +lamentable sounds, where, on other days, such a bright vision usually awaited +him amid the silence of the stagnant water. He had to go away without seeing +Miette. On the morrow, arriving before the time, he gazed sadly into the well, +hearing nothing, and thinking that the obstinate girl would not come, when she, +who was already on the other side slyly watching his arrival, bent over +suddenly with a burst of laughter. All was at once forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +In this wise the well was the scene of many a little drama and comedy. That +happy cavity, with its gleaming mirrors and musical echoes, quickly ripened +their love. They endowed it with such strange life, so filled it with their +youthful love, that, long after they had ceased to come and lean over the +brink, Silvère, as he drew water every morning, would fancy he could see +Miette’s smiling face in the dim light that still quivered with the joy +they had set there. +</p> + +<p> +That month of playful love rescued Miette from her mute despair. She felt a +revival of her affections, her happy childish carelessness, which had been held +in check by the hateful loneliness in which she lived. The certainty that she +was loved by somebody, and that she was no longer alone in the world, enabled +her to endure the persecutions of Justin and the Faubourg urchins. A song of +joy, whose glad notes drowned their hootings, now sounded in her heart. She +thought of her father with tender compassion, and did not now so frequently +yield to dreams of bitter vengeance. Her dawning love cooled her feverish +broodings like the fresh breezes of the dawn. At the same time she acquired the +instinctive cunning of a young girl in love. She felt that she must maintain +her usual silent and rebellious demeanour if she were to escape Justin’s +suspicions. But, in spite of her efforts, her eyes retained a sweet unruffled +expression when the lad bullied her; she was no longer able to put on her old +black look of indignant anger. One morning he heard her humming to herself at +breakfast-time. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem very gay, Chantegreil!” he said to her suspiciously, +glancing keenly at her from his lowering eyes. “I bet you’ve been +up to some of your tricks again!” +</p> + +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders, but she trembled inwardly; and she did all she +could to regain her old appearance of rebellious martyrdom. However, though +Justin suspected some secret happiness, it was long before he was able to +discover how his victim had escaped him. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, on his side, enjoyed profound happiness. His daily meetings with +Miette made his idle hours pass pleasantly away. During his long silent +companionship with aunt Dide, he recalled one by one his remembrances of the +morning, revelling in their most trifling details. From that time forward, the +fulness of his heart cloistered him yet more in the lonely existence which he +had adopted with his grandmother. He was naturally fond of hidden spots, of +solitary retirement, where he could give himself up to his thoughts. At this +period already he had eagerly begun to read all the old odd volumes which he +could pick up at brokers’ shops in the Faubourg, and which were destined +to lead him to a strange and generous social religion and morality. His +reading—ill-digested and lacking all solid foundation—gave him +glimpses of the world’s vanities and pleasures, especially with regard to +women, which would have seriously troubled his mind if his heart had not been +contented. When Miette came, he received her at first as a companion, then as +the joy and ambition of his life. In the evening, when he had retired to the +little nook where he slept, and hung his lamp at the head of his +strap-bedstead, he would find Miette on every page of the dusty old volume +which he had taken at random from a shelf above his head and was reading +devoutly. He never came across a young girl, a good and beautiful creature, in +his reading, without immediately identifying her with his sweetheart. And he +would set himself in the narrative as well. If he were reading a love story, it +was he who married Miette at the end, or died with her. If, on the contrary, he +were perusing some political pamphlet, some grave dissertation on social +economy, works which he preferred to romances, for he had that singular +partiality for difficult subjects which characterises persons of imperfect +scholarship, he still found some means of associating her with the tedious +themes which frequently he could not even understand. For instance, he tried to +persuade himself that he was learning how to be good and kind to her when they +were married. He thus associated her with all his visionary dreamings. +Protected by the purity of his affection against the obscenity of certain +eighteenth-century tales which fell into his hands, he found particular +pleasure in shutting himself up with her in those humanitarian Utopias which +some great minds of our own time, infatuated by visions of universal happiness +have imagined. Miette, in his mind, became quite essential to the abolition of +pauperism and the definitive triumph of the principles of the Revolution. There +were nights of feverish reading, when his mind could not tear itself from his +book, which he would lay down and take up at least a score of times, nights of +voluptuous weariness which he enjoyed till daybreak like some secret orgy, +cramped up in that tiny room, his eyes troubled by the flickering yellow light, +while he yielded to the fever of insomnia and schemed out new social schemes of +the most absurdly ingenuous nature, in which woman, always personified by +Miette, was worshipped by the nations on their knees. +</p> + +<p> +He was predisposed to Utopian ideas by certain hereditary influences; his +grandmother’s nervous disorders became in him so much chronic enthusiasm, +striving after everything that was grandiose and impossible. His lonely +childhood, his imperfect education, had developed his natural tendencies in a +singular manner. However, he had not yet reached the age when the fixed idea +plants itself in a man’s mind. In the morning, after he had dipped his +head in a bucket of water, he remembered his thoughts and visions of the night +but vaguely; nothing remained of his dreams save a childlike innocence, full of +trustful confidence and yearning tenderness. He felt like a child again. He ran +to the well, solely desirous of meeting his sweetheart’s smile, and +tasting the delights of the radiant morning. And during the day, when thoughts +of the future sometimes made him silent and dreamy, he would often, prompted by +some sudden impulse, spring up and kiss aunt Dide on both cheeks, whereat the +old woman would gaze at him anxiously, perturbed at seeing his eyes so bright, +and gleaming with a joy which she thought she could divine. +</p> + +<p> +At last, as time went on, Miette and Silvère began to tire of only seeing each +other’s reflection. The novelty of their play was gone, and now they +began to dream of keener pleasures than the well could afford them. In this +longing for reality which came upon them, there was the wish to see each other +face to face, to run through the open fields, and return out of breath with +their arms around each other’s waist, clinging closely together in order +that they might the better feel each other’s love. One morning Silvère +spoke of climbing over the wall, and walking in the Jas with Miette. But the +child implored him not to perpetrate such folly, which would place her at +Justin’s mercy. He then promised to seek some other means. +</p> + +<p> +The wall in which the well was set made a sudden bend a few paces further on, +thereby forming a sort of recess, where the lovers would be free from +observation, if they were to take shelter there. The question was how to reach +this recess. Silvère could no longer entertain the idea of climbing over, as +Miette had appeared so afraid. He secretly thought of another plan. The little +door which Macquart and Adélaïde had set up one night long years previously had +remained forgotten in this remote corner. The owner of the Jas-Meiffren had not +even thought of blocking it up. Blackened by damp and green with moss, its lock +and hinges eaten away with rust, it looked like a part of the old wall. +Doubtless the key was lost; the grass growing beside the lower boards, against +which slight mounds had formed, amply proved that no one had passed that way +for many a long year. However, it was the lost key that Silvère hoped to find. +He knew with what devotion his aunt Dide allowed the relics of the past to lie +rotting wherever they might be. He searched the house for a week without any +result, and went stealthily night by night to see if he had at last put his +hand on the right key during the daytime. In this way he tried more than thirty +keys which had doubtless come from the old property of the Fouques, and which +he found all over the place, against the walls, on the floors, and at the +bottom of drawers. He was becoming disheartened, when all at once he found the +precious key. It was simply tied by a string to the street door latch-key, +which always remained in the lock. It had hung there for nearly forty years. +Aunt Dide must every day have touched it with her hand, without ever making up +her mind to throw it away, although it could now only carry her back +sorrowfully into the past. When Silvère had convinced himself that it really +opened the little door, he awaited the ensuing day, dreaming of the joyful +surprise which he was preparing for Miette. He had not told her for what he had +been searching. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow, as soon as he heard the girl set her pitcher down, he gently +opened the door, sweeping away with a push the tall weeds which covered the +threshold. Stretching out his head, he saw Miette leaning over the brink of the +well, looking into the water, absorbed in expectation. Thereupon, in a couple +of strides, he reached the recess formed by the wall, and thence called, +“Miette! Miette!” in a soft voice, which made her tremble. She +raised her head, thinking he was on the coping of the wall. But when she saw +him in the Jas, at a few steps from her, she gave a faint cry of surprise, and +ran up to him. They took each other’s hand, and looked at one another, +delighted to be so near, thinking themselves far handsomer like this, in the +warm sunshine. It was the middle of August, the Feast of the Assumption. In the +distance, the bells were pealing in the limpid atmosphere that so often +accompanies great days of festival, an atmosphere full of bright gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Silvère!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Miette!” +</p> + +<p> +The voices in which they exchanged their morning greetings sounded strange to +them. They knew only the muffled accents transmitted by the echo of the well. +And now their voices seemed to them as clear as the notes of a lark. And ah! +how delightful it was in that warm corner, in that holiday atmosphere! They +still held each other’s hands. Silvère leaning against the wall, Miette +with her figure slightly thrown backwards. They were about to tell each other +all the soft things which they had not dared to confide to the reverberations +of the well, when Silvère, hearing a slight noise, started, and, turning pale, +dropped Miette’s hands. He had just seen aunt Dide standing before him +erect and motionless on the threshold of the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +The grandmother had come to the well by chance. And on perceiving, in the old +black wall, the white gap formed by the doorway which Silvère had left wide +open, she had experienced a violent shock. That open gap seemed to her like a +gulf of light violently illumining her past. She once more saw herself running +to the door amidst the morning brightness, and crossing the threshold full of +the transports of her nervous love. And Macquart was there awaiting her. She +hung upon his neck and pressed against his bosom, whilst the rising sun, +following her through the doorway, which she had left open in her hurry, +enveloped them with radiance. It was a sudden vision which roused her cruelly +from the slumber of old age, like some supreme chastisement, and awakened a +multitude of bitter memories within her. Had the well, had the entire wall, +disappeared beneath the earth, she would not have been more stupefied. She had +never thought that this door would open again. In her mind it had been walled +up ever since the hour of Macquart’s death. And amidst her amazement she +felt angry, indignant with the sacrilegious hand that had penetrated this +violation, and left that white open space agape like a yawning tomb. She +stepped forward, yielding to a kind of fascination, and halted erect within the +framework of the door. +</p> + +<p> +Then she gazed out before her, with a feeling of dolorous surprise. She had +certainly been told that the old enclosure of the Fouques was now joined to the +Jas-Meiffren; but she would never have thought the associations of her youth +could have vanished so completely. It seemed as though some tempest had carried +off everything that her memory cherished. The old dwelling, the large +kitchen-garden, the beds of green vegetables, all had disappeared. Not a stone, +not a tree of former times remained. And instead of the scene amidst which she +had grown up, and which in her mind’s eye she had seen but yesterday, +there lay a strip of barren soil, a broad patch of stubbles, bare like a +desert. Henceforward, when, on closing her eyes, she might try to recall the +objects of the past, that stubble would always appear to her like a shroud of +yellowish drugget spread over the soil, in which her youth lay buried. In the +presence of that unfamiliar commonplace scene her heart died, as it were, a +second time. Now all was completely, finally ended. She was robbed even of her +dreams of the past. Then she began to regret that she had yielded to the +attraction of that white opening, of that doorway gaping upon the days which +were now for ever lost. +</p> + +<p> +She was about to retire and close the accursed door, without even seeking to +discover who had opened it, when she suddenly perceived Miette and Silvère. And +the sight of the two young lovers, who, with hanging heads, nervously awaited +her glance, kept her on the threshold, quivering with yet keener pain. She now +understood all. To the very end, she was destined to picture herself there, +clasped in Macquart’s arms in the bright sunshine. Yet a second time had +the door served as an accomplice. Where love had once passed, there was it +passing again. ‘Twas the eternal and endless renewal, with present joys +and future tears. Aunt Dide could only see the tears, and a sudden presentiment +showed her the two children bleeding, with stricken hearts. Overwhelmed by the +recollection of her life’s sorrow, which this spot had just awakened +within her, she grieved for her dear Silvère. She alone was guilty; if she had +not formerly had that door made Silvère would not now be at a girl’s feet +in that lonely nook, intoxicating himself with a bliss which prompts and angers +the jealousy of death. +</p> + +<p> +After a brief pause, she went up to the young man, and, without a word, took +him by the hand. She might, perhaps, have left them there, chattering under the +wall, had she not felt that she herself was, to some extent, an accomplice in +this fatal love. As she came back with Silvère, she turned on hearing the light +footfall of Miette, who, having quickly taken up her pitcher, was hastening +across the stubble. She was running wildly, glad at having escaped so easily. +And aunt Dide smiled involuntarily as she watched her bound over the ground +like a runaway goat. +</p> + +<p> +“She is very young,” she murmured, “she has plenty of +time.” +</p> + +<p> +She meant, no doubt, that Miette had plenty of time before her to suffer and +weep. Then, turning her eyes upon Silvère, who with a glance of ecstasy had +followed the child as she ran off in the bright sunshine, she simply added: +“Take care, my boy; this sort of thing sometimes kills one.” +</p> + +<p> +These were the only words she spoke with reference to the incident which had +awakened all the sorrows that lay slumbering in the depths of her being. +Silence had become a real religion with her. When Silvère came in, she +double-locked the door, and threw the key down the well. In this wise she felt +certain that the door would no longer make her an accomplice. She examined it +for a moment, glad at seeing it reassume its usual gloomy, barrier-like aspect. +The tomb was closed once more; the white gap was for ever boarded up with that +damp-stained mossy timber over which the snails had shed silvery tears. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, aunt Dide had another of those nervous attacks which came upon +her at intervals. At these times she would often talk aloud and ramble +incoherently, as though she was suffering from nightmare. That evening, while +Silvère held her down on her bed, he heard her stammer in a panting voice such +words as “custom-house officer,” “fire,” and +“murder.” And she struggled, and begged for mercy, and dreamed +aloud of vengeance. At last, as always happened when the attack was drawing to +a close, she fell into a strange fright, her teeth chattering, while her limbs +quivered with abject terror. Finally, after raising herself into a sitting +posture, she cast a haggard look of astonishment at one and another corner of +the room, and then fell back upon the pillow, heaving deep sighs. She was, +doubtless, a prey to some hallucination. However, she drew Silvère to her +bosom, and seemed to some degree to recognise him, though ever and anon she +confused him with someone else. +</p> + +<p> +“There they are!” she stammered. “Do you see? They are going +to take you, they will kill you again. I don’t want them to—Send +them away, tell them I won’t; tell them they are hurting me, staring at +me like that—” +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned to the wall, to avoid seeing the people of whom she was +talking. And after an interval of silence, she continued: “You are near +me, my child, aren’t you? You must not leave me. I thought I was going to +die just now. We did wrong to make an opening in the wall. I have suffered ever +since. I was certain that door would bring us further misfortune—Oh! the +innocent darlings, what sorrow! They will kill them as well, they will be shot +down like dogs.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she relapsed into catalepsy; she was no longer even aware of +Silvère’s presence. Suddenly, however, she sat up, and gazed at the foot +of her bed, with a fearful expression of terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you send them away?” she cried, hiding her white +head against the young man’s breast. “They are still there. The one +with the gun is making signs that he is going to fire.” +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterwards she fell into the heavy slumber that usually terminated +these attacks. On the next day, she seemed to have forgotten everything. She +never again spoke to Silvère of the morning on which she had found him with a +sweetheart behind the wall. +</p> + +<p> +The young people did not see each other for a couple of days. When Miette +ventured to return to the well, they resolved not to recommence the pranks +which had upset aunt Dide. However, the meeting which had been so strangely +interrupted had filled them with a keen desire to meet again in some happy +solitude. Weary of the delights afforded by the well, and unwilling to vex aunt +Dide by seeing Miette again on the other side of the wall, Silvère begged the +girl to meet him somewhere else. She required but little pressing; she received +the proposal with the willing smile of a frolicsome lass who has no thought of +evil. What made her smile was the idea of outwitting that spy of a Justin. When +the lovers had come to agreement, they discussed at length the choice of a +favourable spot. Silvère proposed the most impossible trysting-places. He +planned regular journeys, and even suggested meeting the young girl at midnight +in the barns of the Jas-Meiffren. Miette, who was much more practical, shrugged +her shoulders, declaring she would try to think of some spot. On the morrow, +she tarried but a minute at the well, just time enough to smile at Silvère and +tell him to be at the far end of the Aire Saint-Mittre at about ten +o’clock in the evening. One may be sure that the young man was punctual. +All day long Miette’s choice had puzzled him, and his curiosity increased +when he found himself in the narrow lane formed by the piles of planks at the +end of the plot of ground. “She will come this way,” he said to +himself, looking along the road to Nice. But he suddenly heard a loud shaking +of boughs behind the wall, and saw a laughing head, with tumbled hair, appear +above the coping, whilst a joyous voice called out: “It’s +me!” +</p> + +<p> +And it was, in fact, Miette, who had climbed like an urchin up one of the +mulberry-trees, which even nowadays still border the boundary of the +Jas-Meiffren. In a couple of leaps she reached the tombstone, half buried in +the corner at the end of the lane. Silvère watched her descend with delight and +surprise, without even thinking of helping her. As soon as she had alighted, +however, he took both her hands in his, and said: “How nimble you +are!—you climb better than I do.” +</p> + +<p> +It was thus that they met for the first time in that hidden corner where they +were destined to pass such happy hours. From that evening forward they saw each +other there nearly every night. They now only used the well to warn each other +of unforeseen obstacles to their meetings, of a change of time, and of all the +trifling little news that seemed important in their eyes, and allowed of no +delay. It sufficed for the one who had a communication to make to set the +pulley in motion, for its creaking noise could be heard a long way off. But +although, on certain days, they summoned one another two or three times in +succession to speak of trifles of immense importance, it was only in the +evening in that lonely little passage that they tasted real happiness. Miette +was exceptionally punctual. She fortunately slept over the kitchen, in a room +where the winter provisions had been kept before her arrival, and which was +reached by a little private staircase. She was thus able to go out at all +hours, without being seen by Rebufat or Justin. Moreover, if the latter should +ever see her returning she intended to tell him some tale or other, staring at +him the while with that stern look which always reduced him to silence. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! how happy those warm evenings were! The lovers had now reached the first +days of September, a month of bright sunshine in Provence. It was hardly +possible for them to join each other before nine o’clock. Miette arrived +from over the wall, in surmounting which she soon acquired such dexterity that +she was almost always on the old tombstone before Silvère had time to stretch +out his arms. She would laugh at her own strength and agility as, for a moment, +with her hair in disorder, she remained almost breathless, tapping her skirt to +make it fall. Her sweetheart laughingly called her an impudent urchin. In +reality he much admired her pluck. He watched her jump over the wall with the +complacency of an older brother supervising the exercises of a younger one. +Indeed, there was yet much that was childlike in their growing love. On several +occasions they spoke of going on some bird’s-nesting expedition on the +banks of the Viorne. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see how I can climb,” said Miette proudly. +“When I lived at Chavanoz, I used to go right up to the top of old +Andre’s walnut-trees. Have you ever taken a magpie’s nest? +It’s very difficult!” +</p> + +<p> +Then a discussion arose as to how one ought to climb a poplar. Miette stated +her opinions, with all a boy’s confidence. +</p> + +<p> +However, Silvère, clasping her round the knees, had by this time lifted her to +the ground, and then they would walk on, side by side, their arms encircling +each other’s waist. Though they were but children, fond of frolicsome +play and chatter, and knew not even how to speak of love, yet they already +partook of love’s delight. It sufficed them to press each other’s +hands. Ignorant whither their feelings and their hearts were drifting, they did +not seek to hide the blissful thrills which the slightest touch awoke. Smiling, +often wondering at the delight they experienced, they yielded unconsciously to +the sweetness of new feelings even while talking, like a couple of schoolboys, +of the magpies’ nests which are so difficult to reach. +</p> + +<p> +And as they talked they went down the silent path, between the piles of planks +and the wall of the Jas-Meiffren. They never went beyond the end of that narrow +blind alley, but invariably retraced their steps. They were quite at home +there. Miette, happy in the knowledge of their safe concealment, would often +pause and congratulate herself on her discovery. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t I lucky!” she would gleefully exclaim. “We +might walk a long way without finding such a good hiding-place.” +</p> + +<p> +The thick grass muffled the noise of their footsteps. They were steeped in +gloom, shut in between two black walls, and only a strip of dark sky, spangled +with stars, was visible above their heads. And as they stepped along, pacing +this path which resembled a dark stream flowing beneath the black star-sprent +sky, they were often thrilled with undefinable emotion, and lowered their +voices, although there was nobody to hear them. Surrendering themselves as it +were to the silent waves of night, over which they seemed to drift, they +recounted to one another, with lovers’ rapture, the thousand trifles of +the day. +</p> + +<p> +At other times, on bright nights, when the moonlight clearly outlined the wall +and the timber-stacks, Miette and Silvère would romp about with all the +carelessness of children. The path stretched out, alight with white rays, and +retaining no suggestion of secrecy, and the young people laughed and chased +each other like boys at play, at times venturing even to climb upon the piles +of timber. Silvère was occasionally obliged to frighten Miette by telling her +that Justin might be watching her from over the wall. Then, quite out of +breath, they would stroll side by side, and plan how they might some day go for +a scamper in the Sainte-Claire meadows, to see which of the two would catch the +other. +</p> + +<p> +Their growing love thus accommodated itself to dark and clear nights. Their +hearts were ever on the alert, and a little shade sufficed to sweeten the +pleasure of their embrace, and soften their laughter. This dearly-loved +retreat—so gay in the moonshine, so strangely thrilling in the +gloom—seemed an inexhaustible source of both gaiety and silent emotion. +They would remain there until midnight, while the town dropped off to sleep and +the lights in the windows of the Faubourg went out one by one. +</p> + +<p> +They were never disturbed in their solitude. At that late hour children were no +longer playing at hide-and-seek behind the piles of planks. Occasionally, when +the young couple heard sounds in the distance—the singing of some workmen +as they passed along the road, or conversation coming from the neighbouring +sidewalks—they would cast stealthy glances over the Aire Saint-Mittre. +The timber-yard stretched out, empty of all, save here and there some falling +shadows. On warm evenings they sometimes caught glimpses of loving couples +there, and of old men sitting on the big beams by the roadside. When the +evenings grew colder, all that they ever saw on the melancholy, deserted spot +was some gipsy fire, before which, perhaps, a few black shadows passed to and +fro. Through the still night air words and sundry faint sounds were wafted to +them, the “good-night” of a townsman shutting his door, the closing +of a window-shutter, the deep striking of a clock, all the parting sounds of a +provincial town retiring to rest. And when Plassans was slumbering, they might +still hear the quarrelling of the gipsies and the crackling of their fires, +amidst which suddenly rose the guttural voices of girls singing in a strange +tongue, full of rugged accents. +</p> + +<p> +But the lovers did not concern themselves much with what went on in the Aire +Saint-Mittre; they hastened back into their own little privacy, and again +walked along their favourite retired path. Little did they care for others, or +for the town itself! The few planks which separated them from the wicked world +seemed to them, after a while, an insurmountable rampart. They were so +secluded, so free in this nook, situated though it was in the very midst of the +Faubourg, at only fifty paces from the Rome Gate, that they sometimes fancied +themselves far away in some hollow of the Viorne, with the open country around +them. Of all the sounds which reached them, only one made them feel uneasy, +that of the clocks striking slowly in the darkness. At times, when the hour +sounded, they pretended not to hear, at other moments they stopped short as if +to protest. However, they could not go on for ever taking just another ten +minutes, and so the time came when they were at last obliged to say good-night. +Then Miette reluctantly climbed upon the wall again. But all was not ended yet, +they would linger over their leave-taking for a good quarter of an hour. When +the girl had climbed upon the wall, she remained there with her elbows on the +coping, and her feet supported by the branches of the mulberry-tree, which +served her as a ladder. Silvère, perched on the tombstone, was able to take her +hands again, and renew their whispered conversation. They repeated “till +to-morrow!” a dozen times, and still and ever found something more to +say. At last Silvère began to scold. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, you must get down, it is past midnight.” +</p> + +<p> +But Miette, with a girl’s waywardness, wished him to descend first; she +wanted to see him go away. And as he persisted in remaining, she ended by +saying abruptly, by way of punishment, perhaps: “Look! I am going to jump +down.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she sprang from the mulberry-tree, to the great consternation of Silvère. +He heard the dull thud of her fall, and the burst of laughter with which she +ran off, without choosing to reply to his last adieu. For some minutes he would +remain watching her vague figure as it disappeared in the darkness, then, +slowly descending, he regained the Impasse Saint-Mittre. +</p> + +<p> +During two years they came to the path every day. At the time of their first +meetings they enjoyed some beautiful warm nights. They might almost have +fancied themselves in the month of May, the month of seething sap, when a +pleasant odour of earth and fresh leaves pervades the warm air. This +<i>renouveau</i>, this second spring, was like a gift from heaven which allowed +them to run freely about the path and tighten their bonds of affection. +</p> + +<p> +At last came rain, and snow, and frost. But the disagreeableness of winter did +not keep them away. Miette put on her long brown pelisse, and they both made +light of the bad weather. When the nights were dry and clear, and puffs of wind +raised the hoar frost beneath their footsteps and fell on their faces like taps +from a switch, they refrained from sitting down. They walked quickly to and +fro, wrapped in the pelisse, their cheeks blue with cold, and their eyes +watering; and they laughed heartily, quite quivering with mirth, at the +rapidity of their march through the freezing atmosphere. One snowy evening they +amused themselves with making an enormous snowball, which they rolled into a +corner. It remained there fully a month, which caused them fresh astonishment +each time they met in the path. Nor did the rain frighten them. They came to +see each other through the heaviest downpours, though they got wet to the skin +in doing so. Silvère would hasten to the spot, saying to himself that Miette +would never be mad enough to come; and when Miette arrived, he could not find +it in his heart to scold her. In reality he had been expecting her. At last he +sought some shelter against the inclement weather, knowing quite well that they +would certainly come out, however much they might promise one another not to do +so when it rained. To find a shelter he only had to disturb one of the +timber-stacks; pulling out several pieces of wood and arranging them so that +they would move easily, in such wise that he could displace and replace them at +pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +From that time forward the lovers possessed a sort of low and narrow +sentry-box, a square hole, which was only big enough to hold them closely +squeezed together on a beam which they had left at the bottom of the little +cell. Whenever it rained, the first to arrive would take shelter here; and on +finding themselves together again they would listen with delight to the rain +beating on the piles of planks. Before and around them, through the inky +blackness of the night, came a rush of water which they could not see, but +which resounded continuously like the roar of a mob. They were nevertheless +quite alone, as though they had been at the end of the world or beneath the +sea. They never felt so happy, so isolated, as when they found themselves in +that timber-stack, in the midst of some such deluge which threatened to carry +them away at every moment. Their bent knees almost reached the opening, and +though they thrust themselves back as far as possible, the spray of the rain +bathed their cheeks and hands. The big drops, falling from the planks, splashed +at regular intervals at their feet. The brown pelisse kept them warm, and the +nook was so small that Miette was compelled to sit almost on Silvère’s +knees. And they would chatter and then lapse into silence, overcome with +languor, lulled by the warmth of their embrace and the monotonous beating of +the shower. For hours and hours they remained there, with that same enjoyment +of the rain which prompts little children to stroll along solemnly in stormy +weather with open umbrellas in their hands. After a while they came to prefer +the rainy evenings, though their parting became more painful on those +occasions. Miette was obliged to climb the wall in the driving rain, and cross +the puddles of the Jas-Meiffren in perfect darkness. As soon as she had left +his arms, she was lost to Silvère amidst the gloom and the noise of the falling +water. In vain he listened, he was deafened, blinded. However, the anxiety +caused by this brusque separation proved an additional charm, and, until the +morrow, each would be uneasy lest anything should have befallen the other in +such weather, when one would not even have turned a dog out of doors. Perchance +one of them had slipped, or lost the way; such were the mutual fears which +possessed them, and rendered their next interview yet more loving. +</p> + +<p> +At last the fine days returned, April brought mild nights, and the grass in the +green alley sprouted up wildly. Amidst the stream of life flowing from heaven +and rising from the earth, amidst all the intoxication of the budding +spring-time, the lovers sometimes regretted their winter solitude, the rainy +evenings and the freezing nights, during which they had been so isolated so far +from all human sounds. At present the days did not draw to a close soon enough, +and they grew impatient with the lagging twilights. When the night had fallen +sufficiently for Miette to climb upon the wall without danger of being seen, +and they could at last glide along their dear path, they no longer found there +the solitude congenial to their shy, childish love. People began to flock to +the Aire Saint-Mittre, the urchins of the Faubourg remained there, romping +about the beams, and shouting, till eleven o’clock at night. It even +happened occasionally that one of them would go and hide behind the piles of +timber, and assail Miette and Silvère with boyish jeers. The fear of being +surprised amidst that general awakening of life as the season gradually grew +warmer, tinged their meetings with anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +Then, too, they began to stifle in the narrow lane. Never had it throbbed with +so ardent a quiver; never had that soil, in which the last bones left of the +former cemetery lay mouldering, sent forth such oppressive and disturbing +odours. They were still too young to relish the voluptuous charm of that +secluded nook which the springtide filled with fever. The grass grew to their +knees, they moved to and fro with difficulty, and certain plants, when they +crushed their young shoots, sent forth a pungent odour which made them dizzy. +Then, seized with strange drowsiness and staggering with giddiness, their feet +as though entangled in the grass, they would lean against the wall, with +half-closed eyes, unable to move a step. All the soft languor from the skies +seemed to penetrate them. +</p> + +<p> +With the petulance of beginners, impatient and irritated at this sudden +faintness, they began to think their retreat too confined, and decided to +ramble through the open fields. Every evening came fresh frolics. Miette +arrived with her pelisse; they wrapped themselves in it, and then, gliding past +the walls, reached the high-road and the open country, the broad fields where +the wind rolled with full strength, like the waves at high tide. And here they +no longer felt stifled; they recovered all their youthfulness, free from the +giddy intoxication born of the tall rank weeds of the Aire Saint-Mittre. +</p> + +<p> +During two summers they rambled through the district. Every rock ledge, every +bed of turf soon knew them; there was not a cluster of trees, a hedge, or a +bush, which did not become their friend. They realized their dreams: they +chased each other wildly over the meadows of Sainte-Claire, and Miette ran so +well that Silvère had to put his best foot forward to catch her. Sometimes, +too, they went in search of magpies’ nests. Headstrong Miette, wishing to +show how she had climbed trees at Chavanoz, would tie up her skirts with a +piece of string, and ascend the highest poplars; while Silvère stood trembling +beneath, with his arms outstretched to catch her should she slip. These frolics +so turned them from thoughts of love that one evening they almost fought like a +couple of lads coming out of school. But there were nooks in the country side +which were not healthful for them. So long as they rambled on they were +continually shouting with laughter, pushing and teasing one another. They +covered miles and miles of ground; sometimes they went as far as the chain of +the Garrigues, following the narrowest paths and cutting across the fields. The +region belonged to them; they lived there as in a conquered territory, enjoying +all that the earth and the sky could give them. Miette, with a woman’s +lack of scruple, did not hesitate to pluck a bunch of grapes, or a cluster of +green almonds, from the vines and almond-trees whose boughs brushed her as she +passed; and at this Silvère, with his absolute ideas of honesty, felt vexed, +although he did not venture to find fault with the girl, whose occasional +sulking distressed him. “Oh! the bad girl!” thought he, childishly +exaggerating the matter, “she would make a thief of me.” But Miette +would thereupon force his share of the stolen fruit into his mouth. The +artifices he employed, such as holding her round the waist, avoiding the fruit +trees, and making her run after him when they were near the vines, so as to +keep her out of the way of temptation, quickly exhausted his imagination. At +last there was nothing to do but to make her sit down. And then they again +began to experience their former stifling sensations. The gloomy valley of the +Viorne particularly disturbed them. When weariness brought them to the banks of +the torrent, all their childish gaiety seemed to disappear. A grey shadow +floated under the willows, like the scented crape of a woman’s dress. The +children felt this crape descend warm and balmy from the voluptuous shoulders +of the night, kiss their temples and envelop them with irresistible languor. In +the distance the crickets chirped in the meadows of Sainte-Claire, and at their +feet the ripples of the Viorne sounded like lovers’ whispers—like +the soft cooing of humid lips. The stars cast a rain of sparkles from the +slumbering heavens. And, amidst the throbbing of the sky, the waters and the +darkness, the children reposing on the grass sought each other’s hands +and pressed them. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, who vaguely understood the danger of these ecstasies, would sometimes +jump up and propose to cross over to one of the islets left by the low water in +the middle of the stream. Both ventured forth, with bare feet. Miette made +light of the pebbles, refusing Silvère’s help, and it once happened that +she sat down in the very middle of the stream; however, there were only a few +inches of water, and she escaped with nothing worse than a wet petticoat. Then, +having reached the island, they threw themselves on the long neck of sand, +their eyes on a level with the surface of the river whose silvery scales they +saw quivering far away in the clear night. Then Miette would declare that they +were in a boat, that the island was certainly floating; she could feel it +carrying her along. The dizziness caused by the rippling of the water amused +them for a moment, and they lingered there, singing in an undertone, like +boatmen as they strike the water with their oars. At other times, when the +island had a low bank, they sat there as on a bed of verdure, and let their +bare feet dangle in the stream. And then for hours they chatted together, +swinging their legs, and splashing the water, delighted to set a tempest raging +in the peaceful pool whose freshness cooled their fever. +</p> + +<p> +These footbaths suggested a dangerous idea to Miette. Nothing would satisfy her +but a complete bath. A little above the bridge over the Viorne there was a very +convenient spot, she said, barely three or four feet deep and quite safe; the +weather was so warm, it would be so nice to have the water up to their necks; +besides which, she had been dying to learn to swim for such a long time, and +Silvère would be able to teach her. Silvère raised objections; it was not +prudent at night time; they might be seen; perhaps, too they might catch cold. +However, nothing could turn Miette from her purpose. One evening she came with +a bathing costume which she had made out of an old dress; and Silvère was then +obliged to go back to aunt Dide’s for his bathing drawers. Their +proceedings were characterised by great simplicity. Miette disrobed herself +beneath the shade of a stout willow; and when both were ready, enveloped in the +blackness which fell from the foliage around them, they gaily entered the cool +water, oblivious of all previous scruples, and knowing in their innocence no +sense of shame. They remained in the river quite an hour, splashing and +throwing water into each other’s faces; Miette now getting cross, now +breaking out into laughter, while Silvère gave her her first lesson, dipping +her head under every now and again so as to accustom her to the water. As long +as he held her up she threw her arms and legs about violently, thinking she was +swimming; but directly he let her go, she cried and struggled, striking the +water with her outstretched hands, clutching at anything she could get hold of, +the young man’s waist or one of his wrists. She leant against him for an +instant, resting, out of breath and dripping with water; and then she cried: +“Once more; but you do it on purpose, you don’t hold me.” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of a fortnight, the girl was able to swim. With her limbs moving +freely, rocked by the stream, playing with it, she yielded form and spirit +alike to its soft motion, to the silence of the heavens, and the dreaminess of +the melancholy banks. As she and Silvère swam noiselessly along, she seemed to +see the foliage of both banks thicken and hang over them, draping them round as +with a huge curtain. When the moon shone, its rays glided between the trunks of +the trees, and phantoms seemed to flit along the river-side in white robes. +Miette felt no nervousness, however, only an indefinable emotion as she +followed the play of the shadows. As she went onward with slower motion, the +calm water, which the moon converted into a bright mirror, rippled at her +approach like a silver-broidered cloth; eddies widened and lost themselves amid +the shadows of the banks, under the hanging willow branches, whence issued +weird, plashing sounds. At every stroke she perceived recesses full of sound; +dark cavities which she hastened to pass by; clusters and rows of trees, whose +sombre masses were continually changing form, stretching forward and apparently +following her from the summit of the bank. And when she threw herself on her +back, the depths of the heavens affected her still more. From the fields, from +the distant horizon, which she could no longer see, a solemn lingering strain, +composed of all the sighs of the night, was wafted to her. +</p> + +<p> +She was not of a dreamy nature; it was physically, through the medium of each +of her senses, that she derived enjoyment from the sky, the river, and the play +of light and shadow. The river, in particular, bore her along with endless +caresses. When she swam against the current she was delighted to feel the +stream flow rapidly against her bosom and limbs. She dipped herself in it yet +more deeply, with the water reaching to her lips, so that it might pass over +her shoulders, and envelop her, from chin to feet, with flying kisses. Then she +would float, languid and quiescent, on the surface, whilst the ripples glided +softly between her costume and her skin. And she would also roll over in the +still pools like a cat on a carpet; and swim from the luminous patches where +the moonbeams were bathing, to the dark water shaded by the foliage, shivering +the while, as though she had quitted a sunny plain and then felt the cold from +the boughs falling on her neck. +</p> + +<p> +She now remained quite silent in the water, and would not allow Silvère to +touch her. Gliding softly by his side, she swam on with the light rustling of a +bird flying across the copse, or else she would circle round him, a prey to +vague disquietude which she did not comprehend. He himself darted quickly away +if he happened to brush against her. The river was now but a source of +enervating intoxication, voluptuous languor, which disturbed them strangely. +When they emerged from their bath they felt dizzy, weary, and drowsy. +Fortunately, the girl declared one evening that she would bathe no more, as the +cold water made the blood run to her head. And it was in all truth and +innocence that she said this. +</p> + +<p> +Then their long conversations began anew. The dangers to which the innocence of +their love had lately been exposed had left no other trace in Silvère’s +mind than great admiration for Miette’s physical strength. She had +learned to swim in a fortnight, and often, when they raced together, he had +seen her stem the current with a stroke as rapid as his own. He, who delighted +in strength and bodily exercises, felt a thrill of pleasure at seeing her so +strong, so active and adroit. He entertained at heart a singular admiration for +her stout arms. One evening, after one of the first baths that had left them so +playful, they caught each other round the waist on a strip of sand, and +wrestled for several minutes without Silvère being able to throw Miette. At +last, indeed, it was the young man who lost his balance, while the girl +remained standing. Her sweetheart treated her like a boy, and it was those long +rambles of theirs, those wild races across the meadows, those birds’ +nests filched from the tree crests, those struggles and violent games of one +and another kind that so long shielded them and their love from all impurity. +</p> + +<p> +Then, too, apart from his youthful admiration for his sweetheart’s +dashing pluck, Silvère felt for her all the compassionate tenderness of a heart +that ever softened towards the unfortunate. He, who could never see any +forsaken creature, a poor man, or a child, walking barefooted along the dusty +roads, without a throb of pity, loved Miette because nobody else loved her, +because she virtually led an outcast’s hard life. When he saw her smile +he was deeply moved by the joy he brought her. Moreover, the child was a +wildling, like himself, and they were of the same mind in hating all the +gossips of the Faubourg. The dreams in which Silvère indulged in the daytime, +while he plied his heavy hammer round the cartwheels in his master’s +shop, were full of generous enthusiasm. He fancied himself Miette’s +redeemer. All his reading rushed to his head; he meant to marry his sweetheart +some day, in order to raise her in the eyes of the world. It was like a holy +mission that he imposed upon himself, that of redeeming and saving the +convict’s daughter. And his head was so full of certain theories and +arguments, that he did not tell himself these things in simple fashion, but +became lost in perfect social mysticism; imagining rehabilitation in the form +of an apotheosis in which he pictured Miette seated on a throne, at the end of +the Cours Sauvaire, while the whole town prostrated itself before her, +entreating her pardon and singing her praises. Happily he forgot all these fine +things as soon as Miette jumped over the wall, and said to him on the high +road: “Let us have a race! I’m sure you won’t catch +me.” +</p> + +<p> +However, if the young man dreamt like this of the glorification of his +sweetheart, he also showed such passion for justice that he often made her weep +on speaking to her about her father. In spite of the softening effect which +Silvère’s friendship had had upon her, she still at times gave way to +angry outbreaks of temper, when all the stubbornness and rebellion latent in +her nature stiffened her with scowling eyes and tightly-drawn lips. She would +then contend that her father had done quite right to kill the gendarme, that +the earth belongs to everybody, and that one has the right to fire a gun when +and where one likes. Thereupon Silvère, in a grave voice, explained the law to +her as he understood it, with strange commentaries which would have startled +the whole magistracy of Plassans. These discussions took place most often in +some remote corner of the Sainte-Claire meadows. The grassy carpet of a dusky +green hue stretched further than they could see, undotted even by a single +tree, and the sky seemed colossal, spangling the bare horizon with the stars. +It seemed to the young couple as if they were being rocked on a sea of verdure. +Miette argued the point obstinately; she asked Silvère if her father should +have let the gendarme kill him, and Silvère, after a momentary silence, replied +that, in such a case, it was better to be the victim than the murderer, and +that it was a great misfortune for anyone to kill a fellow man, even in +legitimate defence. The law was something holy to him, and the judges had done +right in sending Chantegreil to the galleys. At this the girl grew angry, and +almost struck her sweetheart, crying out that he was as heartless as the rest. +And as he still firmly defended his ideas of justice, she finished by bursting +into sobs, and stammering that he was doubtless ashamed of her, since he was +always reminding her of her father’s crime. These discussions ended in +tears, in mutual emotion. But although the child cried, and acknowledged that +she was perhaps wrong, she still retained deep within her a wild resentful +temper. She once related, with hearty laughter, that she had seen a gendarme +fall off his horse and break his leg. Apart from this, Miette only lived for +Silvère. When he asked her about her uncle and cousin, she replied that +“She did not know;” and if he pressed her, fearing that they were +making her too unhappy at the Jas-Meiffren, she simply answered that she worked +hard, and that nothing had changed. She believed, however, that Justin had at +last found out what made her sing in the morning, and filled her eyes with +delight. But she added: “What does it matter? If ever he comes to disturb +us we’ll receive him in such a way that he won’t be in a hurry to +meddle with our affairs any more.” +</p> + +<p> +Now and again the open country, their long rambles in the fresh air, wearied +them somewhat. They then invariably returned to the Aire Saint-Mittre, to the +narrow lane, whence they had been driven by the noisy summer evenings, the +pungent scent of the trodden grass, all the warm oppressive emanations. On +certain nights, however, the path proved cooler, and the winds freshened it so +that they could remain there without feeling faint. They then enjoyed a feeling +of delightful repose. Seated on the tombstone, deaf to the noise of the +children and gipsies, they felt at home again. Silvère had on various occasions +picked up fragments of bones, even pieces of skulls, and they were fond of +speaking of the ancient burial-ground. It seemed to them, in their lively +fancies, that their love had shot up like some vigorous plant in this nook of +soil which dead men’s bones had fertilised. It had grown, indeed, like +those wild weeds, it had blossomed as blossom the poppies which sway like bare +bleeding hearts at the slightest breeze. And they ended by fancying that the +warm breaths passing over them, the whisperings heard in the gloom, the long +quivering which thrilled the path, came from the dead folk sighing their +departed passions in their faces, telling them the stories of their bridals, as +they turned restlessly in their graves, full of a fierce longing to live and +love again. Those fragments of bone, they felt convinced of it, were full of +affection for them; the shattered skulls grew warm again by contact with their +own youthful fire, the smallest particles surrounded them with passionate +whispering, anxious solicitude, throbbing jealousy. And when they departed, the +old burial-ground seemed to groan. Those weeds, in which their entangled feet +often stumbled on sultry nights, were fingers, tapered by tomb life, that +sprang up from the earth to detain them and cast them into each other’s +arms. That pungent and penetrating odour exhaled by the broken stems was the +fertilising perfume, the mighty quintessence of life which is slowly elaborated +in the grave, and intoxicates the lovers who wander in the solitude of the +paths. The dead, the old departed dead, longed for the bridal of Miette and +Silvère. +</p> + +<p> +They were never afraid. The sympathy which seemed to hover around them thrilled +them and made them love the invisible beings whose soft touch they often +imagined they could feel, like a gentle flapping of wings. Sometimes they were +saddened by sweet melancholy, and could not understand what the dead desired of +them. They went on basking in their innocent love, amidst this flood of sap, +this abandoned cemetery, whose rich soil teemed with life, and imperiously +demanded their union. They still remained ignorant of the meaning of the +buzzing voices which they heard ringing in their ears, the sudden glow which +sent the blood flying to their faces. +</p> + +<p> +They often questioned each other about the remains which they discovered. +Miette, after a woman’s fashion, was partial to lugubrious subjects. At +each new discovery she launched into endless suppositions. If the bone were +small, she spoke of some beautiful girl a prey to consumption, or carried off +by fever on the eve of her marriage; if the bone were large, she pictured some +big old man, a soldier or a judge, some one who had inspired others with +terror. For a long time the tombstone particularly engaged their attention. One +fine moonlight night Miette distinguished some half-obliterated letters on one +side of it, and thereupon she made Silvère scrape the moss away with his knife. +Then they read the mutilated inscription: “Here lieth . . . Marie . . . +died . . .” And Miette, finding her own name on the stone, was quite +terror-stricken. Silvère called her a “big baby,” but she could not +restrain her tears. She had received a stab in the heart, she said; she would +soon die, and that stone was meant for her. The young man himself felt alarmed. +However, he succeeded in shaming the child out of these thoughts. What! she so +courageous, to dream about such trifles! They ended by laughing. Then they +avoided speaking of it again. But in melancholy moments, when the cloudy sky +saddened the pathway, Miette could not help thinking of that dead one, that +unknown Marie, whose tomb had so long facilitated their meetings. The poor +girl’s bones were perhaps still lying there. And at this thought Miette +one evening had a strange whim, and asked Silvère to turn the stone over to see +what might be under it. He refused, as though it were sacrilege, and his +refusal strengthened Miette’s fancies with regard to the dear phantom +which bore her name. She positively insisted that the girl had died young, as +she was, and in the very midst of her love. She even began to pity the stone, +that stone which she climbed so nimbly, and on which they had sat so often, a +stone which death had chilled, and which their love had warmed again. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll see, this tombstone will bring us misfortune,” she +added. “If you were to die, I should come and lie here, and then I should +like to have this stone set over my body.” +</p> + +<p> +At this, Silvère, choking with emotion, scolded her for thinking of such +mournful things. +</p> + +<p> +And so, for nearly two years, their love grew alike in the narrow pathway and +the open country. Their idyll passed through the chilling rains of December and +the burning solicitations of July, free from all touch of impurity, ever +retaining the sweet charm of some old Greek love-tale, all the naive hesitancy +of youth which desires but knows not. In vain did the long-departed dead +whisper in their ears. They carried nothing away from the old cemetery but +emotional melancholy and a vague presentiment of a short life. A voice seemed +to whisper to them that they would depart amidst their virginal love, long ere +the bridal day would give them wholly to each other. It was there, on the +tombstone and among the bones that lay hidden beneath the rank grass, that they +had first come to indulge in that longing for death, that eager desire to sleep +together in the earth, that now set them stammering and sighing beside the +Orcheres road, on that December night, while the two bells repeated their +mournful warnings to one another. +</p> + +<p> +Miette was sleeping calmly, with her head resting on Silvère’s chest +while he mused upon their past meeting, their lovely years of unbroken +happiness. At daybreak the girl awoke. The valley now spread out clearly under +the bright sky. The sun was still behind the hills, but a stream of crystal +light, limpid and cold as spring-water, flowed from the pale horizon. In the +distance, the Viorne, like a white satin ribbon, disappeared among an expanse +of red and yellow land. It was a boundless vista, with grey seas of +olive-trees, and vineyards that looked like huge pieces of striped cloth. The +whole country was magnified by the clearness of the atmosphere and the peaceful +cold. However, sharp gusts of wind chilled the young people’s faces. And +thereupon they sprang to their feet, cheered by the sight of the clear morning. +Their melancholy forebodings had vanished with the darkness, and they gazed +with delight at the immense expanse of the plain, and listened to the tolling +of the two bells that now seemed to be joyfully ringing in a holiday. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I’ve had a good sleep!” Miette cried. “I dreamt +you were kissing me. Tell me now, did you kiss me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very possible,” Silvère replied laughing. “I was +not very warm. It is bitterly cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only feel cold in the feet,” Miette rejoined. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! let us have a run,” said Silvère. “We have still two +good leagues to go. You will get warm.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon they descended the hill and ran until they reached the high road. +When they were below they raised their heads as if to say farewell to that rock +on which they had wept while their kisses burned their lips. But they did not +again speak of that ardent embrace which had thrilled them so strongly with +vague, unknown desire. Under the pretext of walking more quickly they did not +even take each other’s arm. They experienced some slight confusion when +they looked at one another, though why they could not tell. Meantime the dawn +was rising around them. The young man, who had sometimes been sent to Orcheres +by his master, knew all the shortest cuts. Thus they walked on for more than +two leagues, along dingle paths by the side of interminable ledges and walls. +Now and again Miette accused Silvère of having taken her the wrong way; for, at +times—for a quarter of an hour at a stretch—they lost all sight of +the surrounding country, seeing above the walls and hedges nothing but long +rows of almond-trees whose slender branches showed sharply against the pale +sky. +</p> + +<p> +All at once, however, they came out just in front of Orcheres. Loud cries of +joy, the shouting of a crowd, sounded clearly in the limpid air. The +insurrectionary forces were only now entering the town. Miette and Silvère went +in with the stragglers. Never had they seen such enthusiasm. To judge from the +streets, one would have thought it was a procession day, when the windows are +decked with the finest drapery to honour the passage of the Canopy. The +townsfolk welcomed the insurgents as though they were deliverers. The men +embraced them, while the women brought them food. Old men were to be seen +weeping at the doors. And the joyousness was of an essentially Southern +character, pouring forth in clamorous fashion, in singing, dancing, and +gesticulation. As Miette passed along she was carried away by a +<i>farandole</i>[*] which spread whirling all round the Grand’ Place. +Silvère followed her. His thoughts of death and his discouragement were now far +away. He wanted to fight, to sell his life dearly at least. The idea of a +struggle intoxicated him afresh. He dreamed of victory to be followed by a +happy life with Miette, amidst the peacefulness of the universal Republic. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] The <i>farandole</i> is the popular dance of Provence. +</p> + +<p> +The fraternal reception accorded them by the inhabitants of Orcheres proved to +be the insurgents’ last delight. They spent the day amidst radiant +confidence and boundless hope. The prisoners, Commander Sicardot, Messieurs +Garconnet, Peirotte and the others, who had been shut up in one of the rooms at +the mayor’s, the windows of which overlooked the Grand’ Place, +watched the <i>farandoles</i> and wild outbursts of enthusiasm with surprise +and dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“The villains!” muttered the Commander, leaning upon a window-bar, +as though bending over the velvet-covered hand-rest of a box at a theatre: +“To think that there isn’t a battery or two to make a clean sweep +of all that rabble!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he perceived Miette, and addressing himself to Monsieur Garconnet, he +added: “Do you see, sir, that big girl in red over yonder? How +disgraceful! They’ve even brought their mistresses with them. If this +continues much longer we shall see some fine goings-on.” +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur Garconnet shook his head, saying something about “unbridled +passions,” and “the most evil days of history.” Monsieur +Peirotte, as white as a sheet, remained silent; he only opened his lips once, +to say to Sicardot, who was still bitterly railing: “Not so loud, sir; +not so loud! You will get us all massacred.” +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, the insurgents treated the gentlemen with the greatest +kindness. They even provided them with an excellent dinner in the evening. Such +attentions, however, were terrifying to such a quaker as the receiver of taxes; +the insurgents he thought would not treat them so well unless they wished to +make them fat and tender for the day when they might wish to devour them. +</p> + +<p> +At dusk that day Silvère came face to face with his cousin, Doctor Pascal. The +latter had followed the band on foot, chatting with the workmen who held him in +the greatest respect. At first he had striven to dissuade them from the +struggle; and then, as if convinced by their arguments, he had said to them +with his kindly smile: “Well, perhaps you are right, my friends; fight if +you like, I shall be here to patch up your arms and legs.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, in the morning he began to gather pebbles and plants along the high road. +He regretted that he had not brought his geologist’s hammer and botanical +wallet with him. His pockets were now so full of stones that they were almost +bursting, while bundles of long herbs peered forth from the surgeon’s +case which he carried under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo! You here, my lad?” he cried, as he perceived Silvère. +“I thought I was the only member of the family here.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke these last words with a touch of irony, as if deriding the intrigues +of his father and his uncle Antoine. Silvère was very glad to meet his cousin; +the doctor was the only one of the Rougons who ever shook hands with him in the +street, and showed him any sincere friendship. Seeing him, therefore, still +covered with dust from the march, the young man thought him gained over to the +Republican cause, and was much delighted thereat. He talked to the doctor, with +youthful magniloquence, of the people’s rights, their holy cause, and +their certain triumph. Pascal smiled as he listened, and watched the +youth’s gestures and the ardent play of his features with curiosity, as +though he were studying a patient, or analysing an enthusiasm, to ascertain +what might be at the bottom of it. +</p> + +<p> +“How you run on! How you run on!” he finally exclaimed. “Ah! +you are your grandmother’s true grandson.” And, in a whisper, he +added, like some chemist taking notes: “Hysteria or enthusiasm, shameful +madness or sublime madness. It’s always those terrible nerves!” +Then, again speaking aloud, as if summing up the matter, he said: “The +family is complete now. It will count a hero among its members.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère did not hear him. He was still talking of his dear Republic. Miette had +dropped a few paces off; she was still wrapped in her large red pelisse. She +and Silvère had traversed the town arm-in-arm. The sight of this tall red girl +at last puzzled Pascal, and again interrupting his cousin, he asked him: +“Who is this child with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is my wife,” Silvère gravely answered. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor opened his eyes wide, for he did not understand. He was very shy +with women; however, he raised his hat to Miette as he went away. +</p> + +<p> +The night proved an anxious one. Forebodings of misfortune swept over the +insurgents. The enthusiasm and confidence of the previous evening seemed to die +away in the darkness. In the morning there were gloomy faces; sad looks were +exchanged, followed by discouraging silence. Terrifying rumours were now +circulating. Bad news, which the leaders had managed to conceal the previous +evening, had spread abroad, though nobody in particular was known to have +spoken. It was the work of that invisible voice, which, with a word, throws a +mob into a panic. According to some reports Paris was subdued, and the +provinces had offered their hands and feet, eager to be bound. And it was added +that a large party of troops, which had left Marseilles under the command of +Colonel Masson and Monsieur de Bleriot, the prefect of the department, was +advancing by forced marches to disperse the insurrectionary bands. This news +came like a thunderbolt, at once awakening rage and despair. These men, who on +the previous evening had been all aglow with patriotic fever, now shivered with +cold, chilled to their hearts by the shameful submissiveness of prostrate +France. They alone, then, had had the courage to do their duty! And now they +were to be left to perish amidst the general panic, the death-like silence of +the country; they had become mere rebels, who would be hunted down like wild +beasts; they, who had dreamed of a great war, of a whole nation in revolt, and +of the glorious conquest of the people’s rights! Miserably baffled and +betrayed, this handful of men could but weep for their dead faith and their +vanished dreams of justice. There were some who, while taunting France with her +cowardice, flung away their arms, and sat down by the roadside, declaring that +they would there await the bullets of the troops, and show how Republicans +could die. +</p> + +<p> +Although these men had nothing now but death or exile before them, there were +very few desertions from their ranks. A splendid feeling of solidarity kept +them together. Their indignation turned chiefly against their leaders, who had +really proved incapable. Irreparable mistakes had been committed; and now the +insurgents, without order or discipline, barely protected by a few sentries, +and under the command of irresolute men, found themselves at the mercy of the +first soldiers that might arrive. +</p> + +<p> +They spent two more days at Orcheres, Tuesday and Wednesday, thus losing time +and aggravating the situation. The general, the man with the sabre, whom +Silvère had pointed out to Miette on the Plassans road, vacillated and +hesitated under the terrible responsibility that weighed upon him. On Thursday +he came to the conclusion that the position of Orcheres was a decidedly +dangerous one; so towards one o’clock he gave orders to march, and led +his little army to the heights of Sainte-Roure. That was, indeed, an +impregnable position for any one who knew how to defend it. The houses of +Sainte-Roure rise in tiers along a hill-side; behind the town all approach is +shut off by enormous rocks, so that this kind of citadel can only be reached by +the Nores plain, which spreads out at the foot of the plateau. An esplanade, +converted into a public walk planted with magnificent elms, overlooks the +plain. It was on this esplanade that the insurgents encamped. The hostages were +imprisoned in the Hôtel de la Mule-Blanche, standing half-way along the +promenade. The night passed away heavy and black. The insurgents spoke of +treachery. As soon as it was morning, however, the man with the sabre, who had +neglected to take the simplest precautions, reviewed the troops. The +contingents were drawn up in line with their backs turned to the plain. They +presented a wonderful medley of costume, some wearing brown jackets, others +dark greatcoats, and others again blue blouses girded with red sashes. +Moreover, their arms were an equally odd collection: there were newly sharpened +scythes, large navvies’ spades, and fowling-pieces with burnished barrels +glittering in the sunshine. And at the very moment when the improvised general +was riding past the little army, a sentry, who had been forgotten in an +olive-plantation, ran up gesticulating and shouting: +</p> + +<p> +“The soldiers! The soldiers!” +</p> + +<p> +There was indescribable emotion. At first, they thought it a false alarm. +Forgetting all discipline, they rushed forward to the end of the esplanade in +order to see the soldiers. The ranks were broken, and as the dark line of +troops appeared, marching in perfect order with a long glitter of bayonets, on +the other side of the greyish curtain of olive trees, there came a hasty and +disorderly retreat, which sent a quiver of panic to the other end of the +plateau. Nevertheless, the contingents of La Palud and Saint-Martin-de-Vaulx +had again formed in line in the middle of the promenade, and stood there erect +and fierce. A wood-cutter, who was a head taller than any of his companions, +shouted, as he waved his red neckerchief: “To arms, Chavanoz, Graille, +Poujols, Saint-Eutrope! To arms, Les Tulettes! To arms, Plassans!” +</p> + +<p> +Crowds streamed across the esplanade. The man with the sabre, surrounded by the +folks from Faverolles, marched off with several of the country +contingents—Vernoux, Corbière, Marsanne, and Pruinas—to outflank +the enemy and then attack him. Other contingents, from Valqueyras, Nazere, +Castel-le-Vieux, Les Roches-Noires, and Murdaran, dashed to the left, +scattering themselves in skirmishing parties over the Nores plain. +</p> + +<p> +And meantime the men of the towns and villages that the wood-cutter had called +to his aid mustered together under the elms, there forming a dark irregular +mass, grouped without regard to any of the rules of strategy, simply placed +there like a rock, as it were, to bar the way or die. The men of Plassans stood +in the middle of this heroic battalion. Amid the grey hues of the blouses and +jackets, and the bluish glitter of the weapons, the pelisse worn by Miette, who +was holding the banner with both hands, looked like a large red splotch—a +fresh and bleeding wound. +</p> + +<p> +All at once perfect silence fell. Monsieur Peirotte’s pale face appeared +at a window of the Hôtel de la Mule-Blanche. And he began to speak, +gesticulating with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Go in, close the shutters,” the insurgents furiously shouted; +“you’ll get yourself killed.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon the shutters were quickly closed, and nothing was heard save the +regular, rhythmical tramp of the soldiers who were drawing near. +</p> + +<p> +A minute, that seemed an age, went by. The troops had disappeared, hidden by an +undulation of the ground; but over yonder, on the side of the Nores plain, the +insurgents soon perceived the bayonets shooting up, one after another, like a +field of steel-eared corn under the rising sun. At that moment Silvère, who was +glowing with feverish agitation, fancied he could see the gendarme whose blood +had stained his hands. He knew, from the accounts of his companions, that +Rengade was not dead, that he had only lost an eye; and he clearly +distinguished the unlucky man with his empty socket bleeding horribly. The keen +recollection of this gendarme, to whom he had not given a thought since his +departure from Plassans, proved unbearable. He was afraid that fear might get +the better of him, and he tightened his hold on his carbine, while a mist +gathered before his eyes. He felt a longing to discharge his gun and fire at +the phantom of that one-eyed man so as to drive it away. Meantime the bayonets +were still and ever slowly ascending. +</p> + +<p> +When the heads of the soldiers appeared on a level with the esplanade, Silvère +instinctively turned to Miette. She stood there with flushed face, looking +taller than ever amidst the folds of the red banner; she was indeed standing on +tiptoes in order to see the troops, and nervous expectation made her nostrils +quiver and her red lips part so as to show her white, eager, gleaming teeth. +Silvère smiled at her. But he had scarcely turned his head when a fusillade +burst out. The soldiers, who could only be seen from their shoulders upwards, +had just fired their first volley. It seemed to Silvère as though a great gust +of wind was passing over his head, while a shower of leaves, lopped off by the +bullets, fell from the elms. A sharp sound, like the snapping of a dead branch, +made him look to his right. Then, prone on the ground, he saw the big +wood-cutter, he who was a head taller than the others. There was a little black +hole in the middle of his forehead. And thereupon Silvère fired straight before +him, without taking aim, reloaded and fired again like a madman or an +unthinking wild beast, in haste only to kill. He could not even distinguish the +soldiers now; smoke, resembling strips of grey muslin, was floating under the +elms. The leaves still rained upon the insurgents, for the troops were firing +too high. Every now and then, athwart the fierce crackling of the fusillade, +the young man heard a sigh or a low rattle, and a rush was made among the band +as if to make room for some poor wretch clutching hold of his neighbours as he +fell. The firing lasted ten minutes. +</p> + +<p> +Then, between two volleys some one exclaimed in a voice of terror: “Every +man for himself! <i>Sauve qui peut!</i>” This roused shouts and murmurs +of rage, as if to say, “The cowards! Oh! the cowards!” sinister +rumours were spreading—the general had fled; cavalry were sabring the +skirmishers in the Nores plain. However, the irregular firing did not cease, +every now and again sudden bursts of flame sped through the clouds of smoke. A +gruff voice, the voice of terror, shouted yet louder: “Every man for +himself! <i>Sauve qui peut!</i>” Some men took to flight, throwing down +their weapons and leaping over the dead. The others closed their ranks. At last +there were only some ten insurgents left. Two more took to flight, and of the +remaining eight three were killed at one discharge. +</p> + +<p> +The two children had remained there mechanically without understanding +anything. As the battalion diminished in numbers, Miette raised the banner +still higher in the air; she held it in front of her with clenched fists as if +it were a huge taper. It was completely riddled by bullets. When Silvère had no +more cartridges left in his pocket, he ceased firing, and gazed at the carbine +with an air of stupor. It was then that a shadow passed over his face, as +though the flapping wings of some colossal bird had brushed against his +forehead. And raising his eyes he saw the banner fall from Miette’s +grasp. The child, her hands clasped to her breast, her head thrown back with an +expression of excruciating suffering, was staggering to the ground. She did not +utter a single cry, but sank at last upon the red banner. +</p> + +<p> +“Get up; come quickly,” Silvère said, in despair, as he held out +his hand to her. +</p> + +<p> +But she lay upon the ground without uttering a word, her eyes wide open. Then +he understood, and fell on his knees beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“You are wounded, eh? tell me? Where are you wounded?” +</p> + +<p> +She still spoke no word; she was stifling, and gazing at him out of her large +eyes, while short quivers shook her frame. Then he pulled away her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s there, isn’t it? it’s there.” +</p> + +<p> +And he tore open her bodice, and laid her bosom bare. He searched, but saw +nothing. His eyes were brimming with tears. At last under the left breast he +perceived a small pink hole; a single drop of blood stained the wound. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing,” he whispered; “I’ll go and find +Pascal, he’ll put you all right again. If you could only get up. +Can’t you move?” +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers were not firing now; they had dashed to the left in pursuit of the +contingents led away by the man with the sabre. And in the centre of the +esplanade there only remained Silvère kneeling beside Miette’s body. With +the stubbornness of despair, he had taken her in his arms. He wanted to set her +on her feet, but such a quiver of pain came upon the girl that he laid her down +again, and said to her entreatingly: “Speak to me, pray. Why don’t +you say something to me?” +</p> + +<p> +She could not; she slowly, gently shook her hand, as if to say that it was not +her fault. Her close-pressed lips were already contracting beneath the touch of +death. With her unbound hair streaming around her, and her head resting amid +the folds of the blood-red banner, all her life now centred in her eyes, those +black eyes glittering in her white face. Silvère sobbed. The glance of those +big sorrowful eyes filled him with distress. He read in them bitter, immense +regret for life. Miette was telling him that she was going away all alone, and +before their bridal day; that she was leaving him ere she had become his wife. +She was telling him, too, that it was he who had willed that it should be so, +that he should have loved her as other lovers love their sweethearts. In the +hour of her agony, amidst that stern conflict between death and her vigorous +nature, she bewailed her fate in going like that to the grave. Silvère, as he +bent over her, understood how bitter was the pang. He recalled their caresses, +how she had hung round his neck, and had yearned for his love, but he had not +understood, and now she was departing from him for evermore. Bitterly grieved +at the thought that throughout her eternal rest she would remember him solely +as a companion and playfellow, he kissed her on the bosom while his hot tears +fell upon her lips. Those passionate kisses brought a last gleam of joy to +Miette’s eyes. They loved one another, and their idyll ended in death. +</p> + +<p> +But Silvère could not believe she was dying. “No, you will see, it will +prove only a trifle,” he declared. “Don’t speak if it hurts +you. Wait, I will raise your head and then warm you; your hands are quite +frozen.” +</p> + +<p> +But the fusillade had begun afresh, this time on the left, in the olive +plantations. A dull sound of galloping cavalry rose from the plain. At times +there were loud cries, as of men being slaughtered. And thick clouds of smoke +were wafted along and hung about the elms on the esplanade. Silvère for his +part no longer heard or saw anything. Pascal, who came running down in the +direction of the plain, saw him stretched upon the ground, and hastened towards +him, thinking he was wounded. As soon as the young man saw him, he clutched +hold of him and pointed to Miette. +</p> + +<p> +“Look,” he said, “she’s wounded, there, under the +breast. Ah! how good of you to come! You will save her.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment, however, a slight convulsion shook the dying girl. A +pain-fraught shadow passed over her face, and as her contracted lips suddenly +parted, a faint sigh escaped from them. Her eyes, still wide open, gazed +fixedly at the young man. +</p> + +<p> +Then Pascal, who had stooped down, rose again, saying in a low voice: +“She is dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Dead! Silvère reeled at the sound of the word. He had been kneeling forward, +but now he sank back, as though thrown down by Miette’s last faint sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead! Dead!” he repeated; “it is not true, she is looking at +me. See how she is looking at me!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he caught the doctor by the coat, entreating him to remain there, assuring +him that he was mistaken, that she was not dead, and that he could save her if +he only would. Pascal resisted gently, saying, in his kindly voice: “I +can do nothing for her, others are waiting for me. Let go, my poor child; she +is quite dead.” +</p> + +<p> +At last Silvère released his hold and again fell back. Dead! Dead! Still that +word, which rang like a knell in his dazed brain! When he was alone he crept up +close to the corpse. Miette still seemed to be looking at him. He threw himself +upon her, laid his head upon her bosom, and watered it with his tears. He was +beside himself with grief. He pressed his lips wildly to her, and breathed out +all his passion, all his soul, in one long kiss, as though in the hope that it +might bring her to life again. But the girl was turning cold in spite of his +caresses. He felt her lifeless and nerveless beneath his touch. Then he was +seized with terror, and with haggard face and listless hanging arms he remained +crouching in a state of stupor, and repeating: “She is dead, yet she is +looking at me; she does not close her eyes, she sees me still.” +</p> + +<p> +This fancy was very sweet to him. He remained there perfectly still, exchanging +a long look with Miette, in whose glance, deepened by death, he still seemed to +read the girl’s lament for her sad fate. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the cavalry were still sabring the fugitives over the Nores +plain; the cries of the wounded and the galloping of the horses became more +distant, softening like music wafted from afar through the clear air. Silvère +was no longer conscious of the fighting. He did not even see his cousin, who +mounted the slope again and crossed the promenade. Pascal, as he passed along, +picked up Macquart’s carbine which Silvère had thrown down; he knew it, +as he had seen it hanging over aunt Dide’s chimney-piece, and he thought +he might as well save it from the hands of the victors. He had scarcely entered +the Hôtel de la Mule-Blanche, whither a large number of the wounded had been +taken, when a band of insurgents, chased by the soldiers like a herd of cattle, +once more rushed into the esplanade. The man with the sabre had fled; it was +the last contingents from the country who were being exterminated. There was a +terrible massacre. In vain did Colonel Masson and the prefect, Monsieur de +Bleriot, overcome by pity, order a retreat. The infuriated soldiers continued +firing upon the mass, and pinning isolated fugitives to the walls with their +bayonets. When they had no more enemies before them, they riddled the façade of +the Mule-Blanche with bullets. The shutters flew into splinters; one window +which had been left half-open was torn out, and there was a loud rattle of +broken glass. Pitiful voices were crying out from within; “The prisoners! +The prisoners!” But the troops did not hear; they continued firing. All +at once Commander Sicardot, growing exasperated, appeared at the door, waved +his arms, and endeavoured to speak. Monsieur Peirotte, the receiver of taxes, +with his slim figure and scared face, stood by his side. However, another +volley was fired, and Monsieur Peirotte fell face foremost, with a heavy thud, +to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère and Miette were still looking at each other. Silvère had remained by +the corpse, through all the fusillade and the howls of agony, without even +turning his head. He was only conscious of the presence of some men around him, +and, from a feeling of modesty, he drew the red banner over Miette’s +breast. Then their eyes still continued to gaze at one another. +</p> + +<p> +The conflict, however, was at an end. The death of the receiver of taxes had +satiated the soldiers. Some of these ran about, scouring every corner of the +esplanade, to prevent the escape of a single insurgent. A gendarme who +perceived Silvère under the trees, ran up to him, and seeing that it was a lad +he had to deal with, called: “What are you doing there, youngster?” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, whose eyes were still fixed on those of Miette, made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the bandit, his hands are black with powder,” the gendarme +exclaimed, as he stooped down. “Come, get up, you scoundrel! You know +what you’ve got to expect.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as Silvère only smiled vaguely and did not move, the other looked more +attentively, and saw that the corpse swathed in the banner was that of a girl. +</p> + +<p> +“A fine girl; what a pity!” he muttered. “Your mistress, eh? +you rascal!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he made a violent grab at Silvère, and setting him on his feet led him +away like a dog that is dragged by one leg. Silvère submitted in silence, as +quietly as a child. He just turned round to give another glance at Miette. He +felt distressed at thus leaving her alone under the trees. For the last time he +looked at her from afar. She was still lying there in all her purity, wrapped +in the red banner, her head slightly raised, and her big eyes turned upward +towards heaven. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p> +It was about five o’clock in the morning when Rougon at last ventured to +leave his mother’s house. The old woman had gone to sleep on a chair. He +crept stealthily to the end of the Impasse Saint-Mittre. There was not a sound, +not a shadow. He pushed on as far as the Porte de Rome. The gates stood wide +open in the darkness that enveloped the slumbering town. Plassans was sleeping +as sound as a top, quite unconscious, apparently, of the risk it was running in +allowing the gates to remain unsecured. It seemed like a city of the dead. +Rougon, taking courage, made his way into the Rue de Nice. He scanned from a +distance the corners of each successive lane; and trembled at every door, +fearing lest he should see a band of insurgents rush out upon him. However, he +reached the Cours Sauvaire without any mishap. The insurgents seemed to have +vanished in the darkness like a nightmare. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre then paused for a moment on the deserted pavement, heaving a deep sigh +of relief and triumph. So those rascals had really abandoned Plassans to him. +The town belonged to him now; it slept like the foolish thing it was; there it +lay, dark and tranquil, silent and confident, and he had only to stretch out +his hand to take possession of it. That brief halt, the supercilious glance +which he cast over the drowsy place, thrilled him with unspeakable delight. He +remained there, alone in the darkness, and crossed his arms, in the attitude of +a great general on the eve of a victory. He could hear nothing in the distance +but the murmur of the fountains of the Cours Sauvaire, whose jets of water fell +into the basins with a musical plashing. +</p> + +<p> +Then he began to feel a little uneasy. What if the Empire should unhappily have +been established without his aid? What if Sicardot, Garconnet, and Peirotte, +instead of being arrested and led away by the insurrectionary band, had shut +the rebels up in prison? A cold perspiration broke out over him, and he went on +his way again, hoping that Félicité would give him some accurate information. +He now pushed on more rapidly, and was skirting the houses of the Rue de la +Banne, when a strange spectacle, which caught his eyes as he raised his head, +riveted him to the ground. One of the windows of the yellow drawing-room was +brilliantly illuminated, and, in the glare, he saw a dark form, which he +recognized as that of his wife, bending forward, and shaking its arms in a +violent manner. He asked himself what this could mean, but, unable to think of +any explanation, was beginning to feel seriously alarmed, when some hard object +bounded over the pavement at his feet. Félicité had thrown him the key of the +cart-house, where he had concealed a supply of muskets. This key clearly +signified that he must take up arms. So he turned away again, unable to +comprehend why his wife had prevented him from going upstairs, and imagining +the most horrible things. +</p> + +<p> +He now went straight to Roudier, whom he found dressed and ready to march, but +completely ignorant of the events of the night. Roudier lived at the far end of +the new town, as in a desert, whither no tidings of the insurgents’ +movements had penetrated. Pierre, however, proposed to him that they should go +to Granoux, whose house stood on one of the corners of the Place des Récollets, +and under whose windows the insurgent contingents must have passed. The +municipal councillor’s servant remained for a long time parleying before +consenting to admit them, and they heard poor Granoux calling from the first +floor in a trembling voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t open the door, Catherine! The streets are full of +bandits.” +</p> + +<p> +He was in his bedroom, in the dark. When he recognised his two faithful friends +he felt relieved; but he would not let the maid bring a lamp, fearing lest the +light might attract a bullet. He seemed to think that the town was still full +of insurgents. Lying back on an arm-chair near the window, in his pants, and +with a silk handkerchief round his head, he moaned: “Ah! my friends, if +you only knew!—I tried to go to bed, but they were making such a +disturbance! At last I lay down in my arm-chair here. I’ve seen it all, +everything. Such awful-looking men; a band of escaped convicts! Then they +passed by again, dragging brave Commander Sicardot, worthy Monsieur Garconnet, +the postmaster, and others away with them, and howling the while like +cannibals!” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon felt a thrill of joy. He made Granoux repeat to him how he had seen the +mayor and the others surrounded by the “brigands.” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw it all!” the poor man wailed. “I was standing behind +the blind. They had just seized Monsieur Peirotte, and I heard him saying as he +passed under my window: ‘Gentlemen, don’t hurt me!’ They were +certainly maltreating him. It’s abominable, abominable.” +</p> + +<p> +However, Roudier calmed Granoux by assuring him that the town was free. And the +worthy gentleman began to feel quite a glow of martial ardour when Pierre +informed him that he had come to recruit his services for the purpose of saving +Plassans. These three saviours then took council together. They each resolved +to go and rouse their friends, and appoint a meeting at the cart-shed, the +secret arsenal of the reactionary party. Meantime Rougon constantly bethought +himself of Félicité’s wild gestures, which seemed to betoken danger +somewhere. Granoux, assuredly the most foolish of the three, was the first to +suggest that there must be some Republicans left in the town. This proved a +flash of light, and Rougon, with a feeling of conviction, reflected: +“There must be something of Macquart’s doing under all this.” +</p> + +<p> +An hour or so later the friends met again in the cart-shed, which was situated +in a very lonely spot. They had glided stealthily from door to door, knocking +and ringing as quietly as possible, and picking up all the men they could. +However, they had only succeeded in collecting some forty, who arrived one +after the other, creeping along in the dark, with the pale and drowsy +countenances of men who had been violently startled from their sleep. The +cart-shed, let to a cooper, was littered with old hoops and broken casks, of +which there were piles in every corner. The guns were stored in the middle, in +three long boxes. A taper, stuck on a piece of wood, illumined the strange +scene with a flickering glimmer. When Rougon had removed the covers of the +three boxes, the spectacle became weirdly grotesque. Above the fire-arms, whose +barrels shown with a bluish, phosphorescent glitter, were outstretched necks +and heads that bent with a sort of secret fear, while the yellow light of the +taper cast shadows of huge noses and locks of stiffened hair upon the walls. +</p> + +<p> +However, the reactionary forces counted their numbers, and the smallness of the +total filled them with hesitation. They were only thirty-nine all told, and +this adventure would mean certain death for them. A father of a family spoke of +his children; others, without troubling themselves about excuses, turned +towards the door. Then, however, two fresh conspirators arrived, who lived in +the neighbourhood of the Town Hall, and knew for certain that there were not +more than about twenty Republicans still at the mayor’s. The band +thereupon deliberated afresh. Forty-one against twenty—these seemed +practicable conditions. So the arms were distributed amid a little trembling. +It was Rougon who took them from the boxes, and each man present, as he +received his gun, the barrel of which on that December night was icy cold, felt +a sudden chill freeze him to his bones. The shadows on the walls assumed the +clumsy postures of bewildered conscripts stretching out their fingers. Pierre +closed the boxes regretfully; he left there a hundred and nine guns which he +would willingly have distributed; however, he now had to divide the cartridges. +Of these, there were two large barrels full in the furthest corner of the +cart-shed, sufficient to defend Plassans against an army. And as this corner +was dark, one of the gentlemen brought the taper near, whereupon another +conspirator—a burly pork-butcher, with immense fists—grew angry, +declaring that it was most imprudent to bring a light so close. They strongly +approved his words, so the cartridges were distributed in the dark. They +completely filled their pockets with them. Then, after they had loaded their +guns, with endless precautions, they lingered there for another moment, looking +at each other with suspicious eyes, or exchanging glances in which cowardly +ferocity was mingled with an expression of stupidity. +</p> + +<p> +In the streets they kept close to the houses, marching silently and in single +file, like savages on the war-path. Rougon had insisted upon having the honour +of marching at their head; the time had come when he must needs run some risk, +if he wanted to see his schemes successful. Drops of perspiration poured down +his forehead in spite of the cold. Nevertheless he preserved a very martial +bearing. Roudier and Granoux were immediately behind him. Upon two occasions +the column came to an abrupt halt. They fancied they had heard some distant +sound of fighting; but it was only the jingle of the little brass +shaving-dishes hanging from chains, which are used as signs by the barbers of +Southern France. These dishes were gently shaking to and fro in the breeze. +After each halt, the saviours of Plassans continued their stealthy march in the +dark, retaining the while the mien of terrified heroes. In this manner they +reached the square in front of the Town Hall. There they formed a group round +Rougon, and took counsel together once more. In the façade of the building in +front of them only one window was lighted. It was now nearly seven +o’clock and the dawn was approaching. +</p> + +<p> +After a good ten minutes’ discussion, it was decided to advance as far as +the door, so as to ascertain what might be the meaning of this disquieting +darkness and silence. The door proved to be half open. One of the conspirators +thereupon popped his head in, but quickly withdrew it, announcing that there +was a man under the porch, sitting against the wall fast asleep, with a gun +between his legs. Rougon, seeing a chance of commencing with a deed of valour, +thereupon entered first, and, seizing the man, held him down while Roudier +gagged him. This first triumph, gained in silence, singularly emboldened the +little troop, who had dreamed of a murderous fusillade. And Rougon had to make +imperious signs to restrain his soldiers from indulging in over-boisterous +delight. +</p> + +<p> +They continued their advance on tip-toes. Then, on the left, in the police +guard-room, which was situated there, they perceived some fifteen men lying on +camp-beds and snoring, amid the dim glimmer of a lantern hanging from the wall. +Rougon, who was decidedly becoming a great general, left half of his men in +front of the guard-room with orders not to rouse the sleepers, but to watch +them and make them prisoners if they stirred. He was personally uneasy about +the lighted window which they had seen from the square. He still scented +Macquart’s hand in the business, and, as he felt that he would first have +to make prisoners of those who were watching upstairs, he was not sorry to be +able to adopt surprise tactics before the noise of a conflict should impel them +to barricade themselves in the first-floor rooms. So he went up quietly, +followed by the twenty heroes whom he still had at his disposal. Roudier +commanded the detachment remaining in the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +As Rougon had surmised, it was Macquart who was comfortably installed upstairs +in the mayor’s office. He sat in the mayor’s arm-chair, with his +elbows on the mayor’s writing-table. With the characteristic confidence +of a man of coarse intellect, who is absorbed by a fixed idea and bent upon his +own triumph, he had imagined after the departure of the insurgents that +Plassans was now at his complete disposal, and that he would be able to act +there like a conqueror. In his opinion that body of three thousand men who had +just passed through the town was an invincible army, whose mere proximity would +suffice to keep the bourgeois humble and docile in his hands. The insurgents +had imprisoned the gendarmes in their barracks, the National Guard was already +dismembered, the nobility must be quaking with terror, and the retired citizens +of the new town had certainly never handled a gun in their lives. Moreover, +there were no arms any more than there were soldiers. Thus Macquart did not +even take the precaution to have the gates shut. His men carried their +confidence still further by falling asleep, while he calmly awaited the dawn +which he fancied would attract and rally all the Republicans of the district +round him. +</p> + +<p> +He was already meditating important revolutionary measures; the nomination of a +Commune of which he would be the chief, the imprisonment of all bad patriots, +and particularly of all such persons as had incurred his displeasure. The +thought of the baffled Rougons and their yellow drawing-room, of all that +clique entreating him for mercy, thrilled him with exquisite pleasure. In order +to while away the time he resolved to issue a proclamation to the inhabitants +of Plassans. Four of his party set to work to draw up this proclamation, and +when it was finished Macquart, assuming a dignified manner in the mayor’s +arm-chair, had it read to him before sending it to the printing office of the +“Indépendant,” on whose patriotism he reckoned. One of the writers +was commencing, in an emphatic voice, “Inhabitants of Plassans, the hour +of independence has struck, the reign of justice has begun——” +when a noise was heard at the door of the office, which was slowly pushed open. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it you, Cassoute?” Macquart asked, interrupting the perusal. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody answered; but the door opened wider. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, do!” he continued, impatiently. “Is my brigand of a +brother at home?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, all at once both leaves of the door were violently thrown back and +slammed against the walls, and a crowd of armed men, in the midst of whom +marched Rougon, with his face very red and his eyes starting out of their +sockets, swarmed into the office, brandishing their guns like cudgels. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! the blackguards, they’re armed!” shouted Macquart. +</p> + +<p> +He was about to seize a pair of pistols which were lying on the writing-table, +when five men caught hold of him by the throat and held him in check. The four +authors of the proclamation struggled for an instant. There was a good deal of +scuffling and stamping, and a noise of persons falling. The combatants were +greatly hampered by their guns, which they would not lay aside, although they +could not use them. In the struggle, Rougon’s weapon, which an insurgent +had tried to wrest from him, went off of itself with a frightful report, and +filled the room with smoke. The bullet shattered a magnificent mirror that +reached from the mantelpiece to the ceiling, and was reputed to be one of the +finest mirrors in the town. This shot, fired no one knew why, deafened +everybody, and put an end to the battle. +</p> + +<p> +Then, while the gentlemen were panting and puffing, three other reports were +heard in the courtyard. Granoux immediately rushed to one of the windows. And +as he and the others anxiously leaned out, their faces lengthened perceptibly, +for they were in nowise eager for a struggle with the men in the guard-room, +whom they had forgotten amidst their triumph. However, Roudier cried out from +below that all was right. And Granoux then shut the window again, beaming with +joy. The fact of the matter was, that Rougon’s shot had aroused the +sleepers, who had promptly surrendered, seeing that resistance was impossible. +Then, however, three of Roudier’s men, in their blind haste to get the +business over, had discharged their firearms in the air, as a sort of answer to +the report from above, without knowing quite why they did so. It frequently +happens that guns go off of their own accord when they are in the hands of +cowards. +</p> + +<p> +And now, in the room upstairs, Rougon ordered Macquart’s hands to be +bound with the bands of the large green curtains which hung at the windows. At +this, Macquart, wild with rage, broke into scornful jeers. “All right; go +on,” he muttered. “This evening or to-morrow, when the others +return, we’ll settle accounts!” +</p> + +<p> +This allusion to the insurrectionary forces sent a shudder to the +victors’ very marrow; Rougon for his part almost choked. His brother, who +was exasperated at having been surprised like a child by these terrified +bourgeois, who, old soldier that he was, he disdainfully looked upon as +good-for-nothing civilians, defied him with a glance of the bitterest hatred. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I can tell some pretty stories about you, very pretty ones!” +the rascal exclaimed, without removing his eyes from the retired oil merchant. +“Just send me before the Assize Court, so that I may tell the judge a few +tales that will make them laugh.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Rougon turned pale. He was terribly afraid lest Macquart should blab +then and there, and ruin him in the esteem of the gentlemen who had just been +assisting him to save Plassans. These gentlemen, astounded by the dramatic +encounter between the two brothers, and, foreseeing some stormy passages, had +retired to a corner of the room. Rougon, however, formed a heroic resolution. +He advanced towards the group, and in a very proud tone exclaimed: “We +will keep this man here. When he has reflected on his position he will be able +to give us some useful information.” Then, in a still more dignified +voice, he went on: “I will discharge my duty, gentlemen. I have sworn to +save the town from anarchy, and I will save it, even should I have to be the +executioner of my nearest relative.” +</p> + +<p> +One might have thought him some old Roman sacrificing his family on the altar +of his country. Granoux, who felt deeply moved, came to press his hand with a +tearful countenance, which seemed to say: “I understand you; you are +sublime!” And then he did him the kindness to take everybody away, under +the pretext of conducting the four other prisoners into the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +When Pierre was alone with his brother, he felt all his self-possession return +to him. “You hardly expected me, did you?” he resumed. “I +understand things now; you have been laying plots against me. You wretched +fellow; see what your vices and disorderly life have brought you to!” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart shrugged his shoulders. “Shut up,” he replied; “go +to the devil. You’re an old rogue. He laughs best who laughs last.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Rougon, who had formed no definite plan with regard to him, thrust +him into a dressing-room whither Monsieur Garconnet retired to rest sometimes. +This room lighted from above, had no other means of exit than the doorway by +which one entered. It was furnished with a few arm-chairs, a sofa, and a marble +wash-stand. Pierre double-locked the door, after partially unbinding his +brother’s hands. Macquart was then heard to throw himself on the sofa, +and start singing the “Ça Ira” in a loud voice, as though he were +trying to sing himself to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon, who at last found himself alone, now in his turn sat down in the +mayor’s arm-chair. He heaved a sigh as he wiped his brow. How hard, +indeed, it was to win fortune and honours! However, he was nearing the end at +last. He felt the soft seat of the arm-chair yield beneath him, while with a +mechanical movement he caressed the mahogany writing-table with his hands, +finding it apparently quite silky and delicate, like the skin of a beautiful +woman. Then he spread himself out, and assumed the dignified attitude which +Macquart had previously affected while listening to the proclamation. The +silence of the room seemed fraught with religious solemnity, which inspired +Rougon with exquisite delight. Everything, even the dust and the old documents +lying in the corners, seemed to exhale an odour of incense, which rose to his +dilated nostrils. This room, with its faded hangings redolent of petty +transactions, all the trivial concerns of a third-rate municipality, became a +temple of which he was the god. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, amidst his rapture, he started nervously at every shout from +Macquart. The words aristocrat and lamp-post, the threats of hanging that form +the refrain of the famous revolutionary song, the “Ca Ira,” reached +him in angry bursts, interrupting his triumphant dream in the most disagreeable +manner. Always that man! And his dream, in which he saw Plassans at his feet, +ended with a sudden vision of the Assize Court, of the judges, the jury, and +the public listening to Macquart’s disgraceful revelations; the story of +the fifty thousand francs, and many other unpleasant matters; or else, while +enjoying the softness of Monsieur Garconnet’s arm-chair, he suddenly +pictured himself suspended from a lamp-post in the Rue de la Banne. Who would +rid him of that wretched fellow? At last Antoine fell asleep, and then Pierre +enjoyed ten good minutes’ pure ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +Roudier and Granoux came to rouse him from this state of beatitude. They had +just returned from the prison, whither they had taken the insurgents. Daylight +was coming on apace, the town would soon be awake, and it was necessary to take +some decisive step. Roudier declared that, before anything else, it would be +advisable to issue a proclamation to the inhabitants. Pierre was, at that +moment, reading the one which the insurgents had left upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” cried he, “this will suit us admirably! There are only +a few words to be altered.” +</p> + +<p> +And, in fact, a quarter of an hour sufficed for the necessary changes, after +which Granoux read out, in an earnest voice: “Inhabitants of +Plassans—The hour of resistance has struck, the reign of order has +returned——” +</p> + +<p> +It was decided that the proclamation should be printed at the office of the +“Gazette,” and posted at all the street corners. +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen,” said Rougon; “we’ll go to my house; and +in the meantime Monsieur Granoux will assemble here the members of the +municipal council who had not been arrested and acquaint them with the terrible +events of the night.” Then he added, majestically: “I am quite +prepared to accept the responsibility of my actions. If what I have already +done appears a satisfactory pledge of my desire for order, I am willing to +place myself at the head of a municipal commission, until such time as the +regular authorities can be reinstated. But, in order, that nobody may accuse me +of ambitious designs, I shall not re-enter the Town Hall unless called upon to +do so by my fellow-citizens.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Granoux and Roudier protested that Plassans would not be ungrateful. +Their friend had indeed saved the town. And they recalled all that he had done +for the cause of order: the yellow drawing-room always open to the friends of +authority, his services as spokesman in the three quarters of the town, the +store of arms which had been his idea, and especially that memorable +night—that night of prudence and heroism—in which he had rendered +himself forever illustrious. Granoux added that he felt sure of the admiration +and gratitude of the municipal councillors. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t stir from your house,” he concluded; “I will +come and fetch you to lead you back in triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Roudier said that he quite understood the tact and modesty of their +friend, and approved it. Nobody would think of accusing him of ambition, but +all would appreciate the delicacy which prompted him to take no office save +with the consent of his fellow-citizens. That was very dignified, very noble, +altogether grand. +</p> + +<p> +Under this shower of eulogies, Rougon humbly bowed his head. “No, no; you +go too far,” he murmured, with voluptuous thrillings of exquisite +pleasure. Each sentence that fell from the retired hosier and the old +almond-merchant, who stood on his right and left respectively, fell sweetly on +his ears; and, leaning back in the mayor’s arm-chair, steeped in the +odour of officiality which pervaded the room, he bowed to the right and to the +left, like a royal pretender whom a <i>coup d’etat</i> is about to +convert into an emperor. +</p> + +<p> +When they were tired of belauding each other, they all three went downstairs. +Granoux started off to call the municipal council together, while Roudier told +Rougon to go on in front, saying that he would join him at his house, after +giving the necessary orders for guarding the Town Hall. The dawn was now fast +rising, and Pierre proceeded to the Rue de la Banne, tapping his heels in a +martial manner on the still deserted pavement. He carried his hat in his hand +in spite of the bitter cold; for puffs of pride sent all his blood to his head. +</p> + +<p> +On reaching his house he found Cassoute at the bottom of the stairs. The navvy +had not stirred, for he had seen nobody enter. He sat there, on the first step, +resting his big head in his hands, and gazing fixedly in front of him, with the +vacant stare and mute stubbornness of a faithful dog. +</p> + +<p> +“You were waiting for me, weren’t you?” Pierre said to him, +taking in the situation at a glance. “Well, go and tell Monsieur Macquart +that I’ve come home. Go and ask for him at the Town Hall.” +</p> + +<p> +Cassoute rose and took himself off, with an awkward bow. He was going to get +himself arrested like a lamb, to the great delight of Pierre, who laughed as he +went upstairs, asking himself, with a feeling of vague surprise: “I have +certainly plenty of courage; shall I turn out as good a diplomatist?” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité had not gone to bed last night. He found her dressed in her Sunday +clothes, wearing a cap with lemon-coloured ribbons, like a lady expecting +visitors. She had sat at the window in vain; she had heard nothing, and was +dying with curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she asked, rushing to meet her husband. +</p> + +<p> +The latter, quite out of breath, entered the yellow drawing-room, whither she +followed him, carefully closing the door behind her. He sank into an arm-chair, +and, in a gasping voice, faltered: “It’s done; we shall get the +receivership.” +</p> + +<p> +At this she fell on his neck and kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +“Really? Really?” she cried. “But I haven’t heard +anything. Oh, my darling husband, do tell me; tell me all!” +</p> + +<p> +She felt fifteen years old again, and began to coax him and whirl round him +like a grasshopper fascinated by the light and heat. And Pierre, in the +effusion of his triumph, poured out his heart to her. He did not omit a single +detail. He even explained his future projects, forgetting that, according to +his theories, wives were good for nothing, and that his must be kept in +complete ignorance of what went on if he wished to remain master. Félicité +leant over him and drank in his words. She made him repeat certain parts of his +story, declaring she had not heard; in fact, her delight bewildered her so much +that at times she seemed quite deaf. When Pierre related the events at the Town +Hall, she burst into a fit of laughter, changed her chair three times, and +moved the furniture about, quite unable to sit still. After forty years of +continuous struggle, fortune had at last yielded to them. Eventually she became +so mad over it that she forgot all prudence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s to me you owe all this!” she exclaimed, in an outburst +of triumph. “If I hadn’t looked after you, you would have been +nicely taken in by the insurgents. You booby, it was Garconnet, Sicardot, and +the others, that had got to be thrown to those wild beasts.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, showing her teeth, loosened by age, she added, with a girlish smile: +“Well, the Republic for ever! It has made our path clear.” +</p> + +<p> +But Pierre had turned cross. “That’s just like you!” he +muttered; “you always fancy that you’ve foreseen everything. It was +I who had the idea of hiding myself. As though women understood anything about +politics! Bah, my poor girl, if you were to steer the bark we should very soon +be shipwrecked.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité bit her lip. She had gone too far and forgotten her self-assigned part +of good, silent fairy. Then she was seized with one of those fits of covert +exasperation, which she generally experienced when her husband tried to crush +her with his superiority. And she again promised herself, when the right time +should arrive, some exquisite revenge, which would deliver this man into her +power, bound hand and foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I was forgetting!” resumed Rougon, “Monsieur Peirotte is +amongst them. Granoux saw him struggling in the hands of the insurgents.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité gave a start. She was just at that moment standing at the window, +gazing with longing eyes at the house where the receiver of taxes lived. She +had felt a desire to do so, for in her mind the idea of triumph was always +associated with envy of that fine house. +</p> + +<p> +“So Monsieur Peirotte is arrested!” she exclaimed in a strange tone +as she turned round. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant she smiled complacently; then a crimson blush rushed to her +face. A murderous wish had just ascended from the depths of her being. +“Ah! if the insurgents would only kill him!” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre no doubt read her thoughts in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if some ball were to hit him,” he muttered, “our +business would be settled. There would be no necessity to supercede him, eh? +and it would be no fault of ours.” +</p> + +<p> +But Félicité shuddered. She felt that she had just condemned a man to death. If +Monsieur Peirotte should now be killed, she would always see his ghost at night +time. He would come and haunt her. So she only ventured to cast furtive +glances, full of fearful delight, at the unhappy man’s windows. +Henceforward all her enjoyment would be fraught with a touch of guilty terror. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, Pierre, having now poured out his soul, began to perceive the other +side of the situation. He mentioned Macquart. How could they get rid of that +blackguard? But Félicité, again fired with enthusiasm, exclaimed: “Oh! +one can’t do everything at once. We’ll gag him, somehow. +We’ll soon find some means or other.” +</p> + +<p> +She was now walking to and fro, putting the arm-chairs in order, and dusting +their backs. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the room, and gave the +faded furniture a long glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heavens!” she said, “how ugly it is here! And we shall +have everybody coming to call upon us!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” replied Pierre, with supreme indifference, +“we’ll alter all that.” +</p> + +<p> +He who, the night before, had entertained almost religious veneration for the +arm-chairs and the sofa, would now have willingly stamped on them. Félicité, +who felt the same contempt, even went so far as to upset an arm-chair which was +short of a castor and did not yield to her quickly enough. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this moment that Roudier entered. It at once occurred to the old +woman that he had become much more polite. His “Monsieur” and +“Madame” rolled forth in delightfully musical fashion. But the +other <i>habitués</i> were now arriving one after the other; and the +drawing-room was fast getting full. Nobody yet knew the full particulars of the +events of the night, and all had come in haste, with wondering eyes and smiling +lips, urged on by the rumours which were beginning to circulate through the +town. These gentlemen who, on the previous evening, had left the drawing-room +with such precipitation at the news of the insurgents’ approach, came +back, inquisitive and importunate, like a swarm of buzzing flies which a puff +of wind would have dispersed. Some of them had not even taken time to put on +their braces. They were very impatient, but it was evident that Rougon was +waiting for some one else before speaking out. He constantly turned an anxious +look towards the door. For an hour there was only significant hand-shaking, +vague congratulation, admiring whispering, suppressed joy of uncertain origin, +which only awaited a word of enlightenment to turn to enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +At last Granoux appeared. He paused for a moment on the threshold, with his +right hand pressed to his breast between the buttons of his frock-coat; his +broad pale face was beaming; in vain he strove to conceal his emotion beneath +an expression of dignity. All the others became silent on perceiving him; they +felt that something extraordinary was about to take place. Granoux walked +straight up to Rougon, through two lines of visitors, and held out his hand to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” he said, “I bring you the homage of the +Municipal Council. They call you to their head, until our mayor shall be +restored to us. You have saved Plassans. In the terrible crisis through which +we are passing we want men who, like yourself, unite intelligence with courage. +Come—” +</p> + +<p> +At this point Granoux, who was reciting a little speech which he had taken +great trouble to prepare on his way from the Town Hall to the Rue de la Banne +felt his memory fail him. But Rougon, overwhelmed with emotion, broke in, +shaking his hand and repeating: “Thank you, my dear Granoux; I thank you +very much.” +</p> + +<p> +He could find nothing else to say. However, a loud burst of voices followed. +Every one rushed upon him, tried to shake hands, poured forth praises and +compliments, and eagerly questioned him. But he, already putting on official +dignity, begged for a few minutes’ delay in order that he might confer +with Messieurs Granoux and Roudier. Business before everything. The town was in +such a critical situation! Then the three accomplices retired to a corner of +the drawing-room, where, in an undertone, they divided power amongst +themselves; the rest of the visitors, who remained a few paces away, trying +meanwhile to look extremely wise and furtively glancing at them with mingled +admiration and curiosity. It was decided that Rougon should take the title of +president of the Municipal Commission; Granoux was to be secretary; whilst, as +for Roudier, he became commander-in-chief of the reorganised National Guard. +They also swore to support each other against all opposition. +</p> + +<p> +However, Félicité, who had drawn near, abruptly inquired: “And +Vuillet?” +</p> + +<p> +At this they looked at each other. Nobody had seen Vuillet. Rougon seemed +somewhat uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they’ve taken him away with the others,” he said, to +ease his mind. +</p> + +<p> +But Félicité shook her head. Vuillet was not the man to let himself be +arrested. Since nobody had seen or heard him, it was certain he had been doing +something wrong. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the door opened and Vuillet entered, bowing humbly, with blinking +glance and stiff sacristan’s smile. Then he held out his moist hand to +Rougon and the two others. +</p> + +<p> +Vuillet had settled his little affairs alone. He had cut his own slice out of +the cake, as Félicité would have said. While peeping through the ventilator of +his cellar he had seen the insurgents arrest the postmaster, whose offices were +near his bookshop. At daybreak, therefore, at the moment when Rougon was +comfortably seated in the mayor’s arm-chair, he had quietly installed +himself in the postmaster’s office. He knew the clerks; so he received +them on their arrival, told them that he would replace their chief until his +return, and that meantime they need be in nowise uneasy. Then he ransacked the +morning mail with ill-concealed curiosity. He examined the letters, and seemed +to be seeking a particular one. His new berth doubtless suited his secret +plans, for his satisfaction became so great that he actually gave one of the +clerks a copy of the “Oeuvres Badines de Piron.” Vuillet, it should +be mentioned, did business in objectionable literature, which he kept concealed +in a large drawer, under the stock of heads and religious images. It is +probable that he felt some slight qualms at the free-and-easy manner in which +he had taken possession of the post office, and recognised the desirability of +getting his usurpation confirmed as far as possible. At all events, he had +thought it well to call upon Rougon, who was fast becoming an important +personage. +</p> + +<p> +“Why! where have you been?” Félicité asked him in a distrustful +manner. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he related his story with sundry embellishments. According to his own +account he had saved the post-office from pillage. +</p> + +<p> +“All right then! That’s settled! Stay on there!” said Pierre, +after a moment’s reflection. “Make yourself useful.” +</p> + +<p> +This last sentence revealed the one great fear that possessed the Rougons. They +were afraid that some one might prove too useful, and do more than themselves +to save the town. Still, Pierre saw no serious danger in leaving Vuillet as +provisional postmaster; it was even a convenient means of getting rid of him. +Félicité, however, made a sharp gesture of annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +The consultation having ended, the three accomplices mingled with the various +groups that filled the drawing-room. They were at last obliged to satisfy the +general curiosity by giving detailed accounts of recent events. Rougon proved +magnificent. He exaggerated, embellished, and dramatised the story which he had +related to his wife. The distribution of the guns and cartridges made everybody +hold their breath. But it was the march through the deserted streets and the +seizure of the town-hall that most amazed these worthy bourgeois. At each fresh +detail there was an interruption. +</p> + +<p> +“And you were only forty-one; it’s marvellous!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed! it must have been frightfully dark!” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I confess I never should have dared it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you seized him, like that, by the throat? +</p> + +<p> +“And the insurgents, what did they say?” +</p> + +<p> +These remarks and questions only incited Rougon’s imagination the more. +He replied to everybody. He mimicked the action. This stout man, in his +admiration of his own achievements, became as nimble as a schoolboy; he began +afresh, repeated himself, amidst the exclamations of surprise and individual +discussions which suddenly arose about some trifling detail. And thus he +continued blowing his trumpet, making himself more and more important as if +some irresistible force impelled him to turn his narrative into a genuine epic. +Moreover Granoux and Roudier stood by his side prompting him, reminding him of +such trifling matters as he omitted. They also were burning to put in a word, +and occasionally they could not restrain themselves, so that all three went on +talking together. When, in order to keep the episode of the broken mirror for +the <i>dénouement</i>, like some crowning glory, Rougon began to describe what +had taken place downstairs in the courtyard, after the arrest of the guard, +Roudier accused him of spoiling the narrative by changing the sequence of +events. For a moment they wrangled about it somewhat sharply. Then Roudier, +seeing a good opportunity for himself, suddenly exclaimed: “Very well, +let it be so. But you weren’t there. So let me tell it.” +</p> + +<p> +He thereupon explained at great length how the insurgents had awoke, and how +the muskets of the town’s deliverers had been levelled at them to reduce +them to impotence. He added, however, that no blood, fortunately, had been +shed. This last sentence disappointed his audience, who had counted upon one +corpse at least. +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you fired,” interrupted Félicité, recognising that +the story was wretchedly deficient in dramatic interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, three shots,” resumed the old hosier. “The +pork-butcher Dubruel, Monsieur Lievin, and Monsieur Massicot discharged their +guns with really culpable alacrity.” And as there were some murmurs at +this remark; “Culpable, I repeat the word,” he continued. +“There are quite enough cruel necessities in warfare without any useless +shedding of blood. Besides, these gentlemen swore to me that it was not their +fault; they can’t understand how it was their guns went off. +Nevertheless, a spent ball after ricocheting grazed the cheek of one of the +insurgents and left a mark on it.” +</p> + +<p> +This graze, this unexpected wound, satisfied the audience. Which cheek, right +or left, had been grazed, and how was it that a bullet, a spent one, even, +could strike a cheek without piercing it? These points supplied material for +some long discussions. +</p> + +<p> +“Meantime,” continued Rougon at the top of his voice, without +giving time for the excitement to abate; “meantime we had plenty to do +upstairs. The struggle was quite desperate.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he described, at length, the arrival of his brother and the four other +insurgents, without naming Macquart, whom he simply called “the +leader.” The words, “the mayor’s office,” “the +mayor’s arm-chair,” “the mayor’s writing table,” +recurred to him every instant, and in the opinion of his audience imparted +marvellous grandeur to the terrible scene. It was not at the porter’s +lodge that the fight was now being waged, but in the private sanctum of the +chief magistrate of the town. Roudier was quite cast in to the background. Then +Rougon at last came to the episode which he had been keeping in reserve from +the commencement, and which would certainly exalt him to the dignity of a hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Thereupon,” said he, “an insurgent rushes upon me. I push +the mayor’s arm-chair away, and seize the man by the throat. I hold him +tightly, you may be sure of it! But my gun was in my way. I didn’t want +to let it drop; a man always sticks to his gun. I held it, like this, under the +left arm. All of a sudden, it went off—” +</p> + +<p> +The whole audience hung on Rougon’s lips. But Granoux, who was opening +his mouth wide with a violent itching to say something, shouted: “No, no, +that isn’t right. You were not in a position to see things, my friend; +you were fighting like a lion. But I saw everything, while I was helping to +bind one of the prisoners. The man tried to murder you; it was he who fired the +gun; I saw him distinctly slip his black fingers under your arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” said Rougon, turning quite pale. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know he had been in such danger, and the old almond merchant’s +account of the incident chilled him with fright. Granoux, as a rule, did not +lie; but, on a day of battle, it is surely allowable to view things +dramatically. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you the man tried to murder you,” he repeated, with +conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Rougon in a faint voice, “that’s how it is I +heard the bullet whiz past my ear!” +</p> + +<p> +At this, violent emotion came upon the audience. Everybody gazed at the hero +with respectful awe. He had heard a bullet whiz past his ear! Certainly, none +of the other bourgeois who were there could say as much. Félicité felt bound to +rush into her husband’s arms so as to work up the emotion to boiling +point. But Rougon immediately freed himself, and concluded his narrative with +this heroic sentence, which has become famous at Plassans: “The shot goes +off; I hear the bullet whiz past my ear; and whish! it smashes the +mayor’s mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +This caused complete consternation. Such a magnificent mirror, too! It was +scarcely credible! the damage done to that looking-glass almost out-balanced +Rougon’s heroism, in the estimation of the company. The glass became an +object of absorbing interest, and they talked about it for a quarter of an +hour, with many exclamations and expressions of regret, as though it had been +some dear friend that had been stricken to the heart. This was the culminating +point that Rougon had aimed at, the <i>dénouement</i> of his wonderful Odyssey. +A loud hubbub of voices filled the yellow drawing-room. The visitors were +repeating what they had just heard, and every now and then one of them would +leave a group to ask the three heroes the exact truth with regard to some +contested incident. The heroes set the matter right with scrupulous minuteness, +for they felt that they were speaking for history! +</p> + +<p> +At last Rougon and his two lieutenants announced that they were expected at the +town-hall. Respectful silence was then restored, and the company smiled at each +other discreetly. Granoux was swelling with importance. He was the only one who +had seen the insurgent pull the trigger and smash the mirror; this sufficed to +exalt him, and almost made him burst his skin. On leaving the drawing-room, he +took Roudier’s arm with the air of a great general who is broken down +with fatigue. “I’ve been up for thirty-six hours,” he +murmured, “and heaven alone knows when I shall get to bed!” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon, as he withdrew, took Vuillet aside and told him that the party of order +relied more than ever on him and the “Gazette.” He would have to +publish an effective article to reassure the inhabitants and treat the band of +villains who had passed through Plassans as it deserved. +</p> + +<p> +“Be easy!” replied Vuillet. “In the ordinary course the +‘Gazette’ ought not to appear till to-morrow morning, but +I’ll issue it this very evening.” +</p> + +<p> +When the leaders had left, the rest of the visitors remained in the yellow +drawing-room for another moment, chattering like so many old women, whom the +escape of a canary has gathered together on the pavement. These retired +tradesmen, oil dealers, and wholesale hatters, felt as if they were in a sort +of fairyland. Never had they experienced such thrilling excitement before. They +could not get over their surprise at discovering such heroes as Rougon, +Granoux, and Roudier in their midst. At last, half stifled by the stuffy +atmosphere, and tired of ever telling each other the same things, they decided +to go off and spread the momentous news abroad. They glided away one by one, +each anxious to have the glory of being the first to know and relate +everything, and Félicité, as she leaned out of the window, on being left alone, +saw them dispersing in the Rue de la Banne, waving their arms in an excited +manner, eager as they were to diffuse emotion to the four corners of the town. +</p> + +<p> +It was ten o’clock, and Plassans, now wide awake, was running about the +streets, wildly excited by the reports which were circulating. Those who had +seen or heard the insurrectionary forces, related the most foolish stories, +contradicting each other, and indulging in the wildest suppositions. The +majority, however, knew nothing at all about the matter; they lived at the +further end of the town, and listened with gaping mouths, like children to a +nursery tale, to the stories of how several thousand bandits had invaded the +streets during the night and vanished before daybreak like an army of phantoms. +A few of the most sceptical said: “Nonsense!” Yet some of the +details were very precise; and Plassans at last felt convinced that some +frightful danger had passed over it while it slept. The darkness which had +shrouded this danger, the various contradictory reports that spread, all +invested the matter with mystery and vague horror, which made the bravest +shudder. Whose hand had diverted the thunderbolt from them? There seemed to be +something quite miraculous about it. There were rumours of unknown deliverers, +of a handful of brave men who had cut off the hydra’s head; but no one +seemed acquainted with the exact particulars, and the whole story appeared +scarcely credible, until the company from the yellow drawing-room spread +through the streets, scattering tidings, ever repeating the same narrative at +each door they came to. +</p> + +<p> +It was like a train of powder. In a few minutes the story had spread from one +end of the town to the other. Rougon’s name flew from mouth to mouth, +with exclamations of surprise in the new town, and of praise in the old +quarter. The idea of being without a sub-prefect, a mayor, a postmaster, a +receiver of taxes, or authorities of any kind, at first threw the inhabitants +into consternation. They were stupefied at having been able to sleep through +the night and get up as usual, in the absence of any settled government. Their +first stupor over, they threw themselves recklessly into the arms of their +liberators. The few Republicans shrugged their shoulders, but the petty +shopkeepers, the small householders, the Conservatives of all shades, invoked +blessings on those modest heroes whose achievements had been shrouded by the +night. When it was known that Rougon had arrested his own brother, the popular +admiration knew no bounds. People talked of Brutus, and thus the indiscretion +which had made Pierre rather anxious, really redounded to his glory. At this +moment when terror still hovered over them, the townsfolk were virtually +unanimous in their gratitude. Rougon was accepted as their saviour without the +slightest show of opposition. +</p> + +<p> +“Just think of it!” the poltroons exclaimed, “there were only +forty-one of them!” +</p> + +<p> +That number of forty-one amazed the whole town, and this was the origin of the +Plassans legend of how forty-one bourgeois had made three thousand insurgents +bite the dust. There were only a few envious spirits of the new town, lawyers +without work and retired military men ashamed of having slept ingloriously +through that memorable night, who raised any doubts. The insurgents, these +sceptics hinted, had no doubt left the town of their own accord. There were no +indications of a combat, no corpses, no blood-stains. So the deliverers had +certainly had a very easy task. +</p> + +<p> +“But the mirror, the mirror!” repeated the enthusiasts. “You +can’t deny that the mayor’s mirror has been smashed; go and see it +for yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +And, in fact, until night-time, quite a stream of town’s-people flowed, +under one pretext or another, into the mayor’s private office, the door +of which Rougon left wide open. The visitors planted themselves in front of the +mirror, which the bullet had pierced and starred, and they all gave vent to the +same exclamation: “By Jove; that ball must have had terrible +force!” +</p> + +<p> +Then they departed quite convinced. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité, at her window, listened with delight to all the rumours and laudatory +and grateful remarks which arose from the town. At that moment all Plassans was +talking of her husband. She felt that the two districts below her were +quivering, wafting her the hope of approaching triumph. Ah! how she would crush +that town which she had been so long in getting beneath her feet! All her +grievances crowded back to her memory, and her past disappointments redoubled +her appetite for immediate enjoyment. +</p> + +<p> +At last she left the window, and walked slowly round the drawing-room. It was +there that, a little while previously, everybody had held out their hands to +her husband and herself. He and she had conquered; the citizens were at their +feet. The yellow drawing-room seemed to her a holy place. The dilapidated +furniture, the frayed velvet, the chandelier soiled with fly-marks, all those +poor wrecks now seemed to her like the glorious bullet-riddled debris of a +battle-field. The plain of Austerlitz would not have stirred her to deeper +emotion. +</p> + +<p> +When she returned to the window, she perceived Aristide wandering about the +place of the Sub-Prefecture, with his nose in the air. She beckoned to him to +come up, which he immediately did. It seemed as if he had only been waiting for +this invitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” his mother said to him on the landing, seeing that he +hesitated. “Your father is not here.” +</p> + +<p> +Aristide evinced all the shyness of a prodigal son returning home. He had not +been inside the yellow drawing-room for nearly four years. He still carried his +arm in a sling. +</p> + +<p> +“Does your hand still pain you?” his mother asked him, ironically. +</p> + +<p> +He blushed as he answered with some embarrassment: “Oh! it’s +getting better; it’s nearly well again now.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he lingered there, loitering about and not knowing what to say. Félicité +came to the rescue. “I suppose you’ve heard them talking about your +father’s noble conduct?” she resumed. +</p> + +<p> +He replied that the whole town was talking of it. And then, as he regained his +self-possession, he paid his mother back for her raillery in her own coin. +Looking her full in the face he added: “I came to see if father was +wounded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, don’t play the fool!” cried Félicité, petulantly. +“If I were you I would act boldly and decisively. Confess now that you +made a false move in joining those good-for-nothing Republicans. You would be +very glad, I’m sure, to be well rid of them, and to return to us, who are +the stronger party. Well, the house is open to you!” +</p> + +<p> +But Aristide protested. The Republic was a grand idea. Moreover, the insurgents +might still carry the day. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk nonsense to me!” retorted the old woman, with +some irritation. “You’re afraid that your father won’t have a +very warm welcome for you. But I’ll see to that. Listen to me: go back to +your newspaper, and, between now and to-morrow, prepare a number strongly +favouring the Coup d’État. To-morrow evening, when this number has +appeared, come back here and you will be received with open arms.” +</p> + +<p> +Then seeing that the young man remained silent: “Do you hear?” she +added, in a lower and more eager tone; “it is necessary for our sake, and +for your own, too, that it should be done. Don’t let us have any more +nonsense and folly. You’ve already compromised yourself enough in that +way.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man made a gesture—the gesture of a Caesar crossing the +Rubicon—and by doing so escaped entering into any verbal engagement. As +he was about to withdraw, his mother, looking for the knot in his sling, +remarked: “First of all, you must let me take off this rag. It’s +getting a little ridiculous, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +Aristide let her remove it. When the silk handkerchief was untied, he folded it +neatly and placed it in his pocket. And as he kissed his mother he exclaimed: +“Till to-morrow then!” +</p> + +<p> +In the meanwhile, Rougon was taking official possession of the mayor’s +offices. There were only eight municipal councillors left; the others were in +the hands of the insurgents, as well as the mayor and his two assessors. The +eight remaining gentlemen, who were all on a par with Granoux, perspired with +fright when the latter explained to them the critical situation of the town. It +requires an intimate knowledge of the kind of men who compose the municipal +councils of some of the smaller towns, in order to form an idea of the terror +with which these timid folk threw themselves into Rougon’s arms. At +Plassans, the mayor had the most incredible blockheads under him, men without +any ideas of their own, and accustomed to passive obedience. Consequently, as +Monsieur Garconnet was no longer there, the municipal machine was bound to get +out of order, and fall completely under the control of the man who might know +how to set it working. Moreover, as the sub-prefect had left the district, +Rougon naturally became sole and absolute master of the town; and thus, strange +to relate, the chief administrative authority fell into the hands of a man of +indifferent repute, to whom, on the previous evening, not one of his +fellow-citizens would have lent a hundred francs. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre’s first act was to declare the Provisional Commission “en +permanence.” Then he gave his attention to the organisation of the +national guard, and succeeded in raising three hundred men. The hundred and +nine muskets left in the cart-shed were also distributed to volunteers, thereby +bringing up the number of men armed by the reactionary party to one hundred and +fifty; the remaining one hundred and fifty guards consisted of well-affected +citizens and some of Sicardot’s soldiers. When Commander Roudier reviewed +the little army in front of the town-hall, he was annoyed to see the +market-people smiling in their sleeves. The fact is that several of his men had +no uniforms, and some of them looked very droll with their black hats, +frock-coats, and muskets. But, at any rate, they meant well. A guard was left +at the town-hall and the rest of the forces were sent in detachments to the +various town gates. Roudier reserved to himself the command of the guard +stationed at the Grand’-Porte, which seemed to be more liable to attack +than the others. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon, who now felt very conscious of his power, repaired to the Rue Canquoin +to beg the gendarmes to remain in their barracks and interfere with nothing. He +certainly had the doors of the gendarmerie opened—the keys having been +carried off by the insurgents—but he wanted to triumph alone, and had no +intention of letting the gendarmes rob him of any part of his glory. If he +should really have need of them he could always send for them. So he explained +to them that their presence might tend to irritate the working-men and thus +aggravate the situation. The sergeant in command thereupon complimented him on +his prudence. When Rougon was informed that there was a wounded man in the +barracks, he asked to see him, by way of rendering himself popular. He found +Rengade in bed, with his eye bandaged, and his big moustaches just peeping out +from under the linen. With some high-sounding words about duty, Rougon +endeavoured to comfort the unfortunate fellow who, having lost an eye, was +swearing with exasperation at the thought that his injury would compel him to +quit the service. At last Rougon promised to send the doctor to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m much obliged to you, sir,” Rengade replied; “but, +you know, what would do me more good than any quantity of doctor’s stuff +would be to wring the neck of the villain who put my eye out. Oh! I shall know +him again; he’s a little thin, palish fellow, quite young.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Pierre bethought himself of the blood he had seen on Silvère’s +hand. He stepped back a little, as though he was afraid that Rengade would fly +at his throat, and cry: “It was your nephew who blinded me; and you will +have to pay for it.” And whilst he was mentally cursing his disreputable +family, he solemnly declared that if the guilty person were found he should be +punished with all the rigour of the law. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, it isn’t worth all that trouble,” the one-eyed man +replied; “I’ll just wring his neck for him when I catch him.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon hastened back to the town-hall. The afternoon was employed in taking +various measures. The proclamation posted up about one o’clock produced +an excellent impression. It ended by an appeal to the good sense of the +citizens, and gave a firm assurance that order would not again be disturbed. +Until dusk, in fact, the streets presented a picture of general relief and +perfect confidence. On the pavements, the groups who were reading the +proclamation exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all finished now; we shall soon see the troops who have been +sent in pursuit of the insurgents.” +</p> + +<p> +This belief that some soldiers were approaching was so general that the idles +of the Cours Sauvaire repaired to the Nice road, in order to meet and hear the +regimental band. But they returned at nightfall disappointed, having seen +nothing; and then a feeling of vague alarm began to disturb the townspeople. +</p> + +<p> +At the town-hall, the Provisional Commission had talked so much, without coming +to any decision, that the members, whose stomachs were quite empty, began to +feel alarmed again. Rougon dismissed them to dine, saying that they would meet +afresh at nine o’clock in the evening. He was just about to leave the +room himself, when Macquart awoke and began to pommel the door of his prison. +He declared he was hungry, then asked what time it was, and when his brother +had told him it was five o’clock, he feigned great astonishment, and +muttered, with diabolical malice, that the insurgents had promised to return +much earlier, and that they were very slow in coming to deliver him. Rougon, +having ordered some food to be taken to him, went downstairs, quite worried by +the earnestness with which the rascal spoke of the return of the insurgents. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached the street, his disquietude increased. The town seemed to him +quite altered. It was assuming a strange aspect; shadows were gliding along the +footpaths, which were growing deserted and silent, while gloomy fear seemed, +like fine rain, to be slowly, persistently falling with the dusk over the +mournful-looking houses. The babbling confidence of the daytime was fatally +terminating in groundless panic, in growing alarm as the night drew nearer; the +inhabitants were so weary and so satiated with their triumph that they had no +strength left but to dream of some terrible retaliation on the part of the +insurgents. Rougon shuddered as he passed through this current of terror. He +hastened his steps, feeling as if he would choke. As he passed a cafe on the +Place des Récollets, where the lamps had just been lit, and where the petty +cits of the new town were assembled, he heard a few words of terrifying +conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! Monsieur Picou,” said one man in a thick voice, +“you’ve heard the news? The regiment that was expected has not +arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +“But nobody expected any regiment, Monsieur Touche,” a shrill voice +replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon. You haven’t read the proclamation, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, it’s true the placards declare that order will be +maintained by force, if necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, then, there’s force mentioned; that means armed forces, +of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do people say then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know, folks are beginning to feel rather frightened; they say +that this delay on the part of the soldiers isn’t natural, and that the +insurgents may well have slaughtered them.” +</p> + +<p> +A cry of horror resounded through the cafe. Rougon was inclined to go in and +tell those bourgeois that the proclamation had never announced the arrival of a +regiment, that they had no right to strain its meaning to such a degree, nor to +spread such foolish theories abroad. But he himself, amidst the disquietude +which was coming over him, was not quite sure he had not counted upon a +despatch of troops; and he did, in fact, consider it strange that not a single +soldier had made his appearance. So he reached home in a very uneasy state of +mind. Félicité, still petulant and full of courage, became quite angry at +seeing him upset by such silly trifles. Over the dessert she comforted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you great simpleton,” she said, “so much the better, +if the prefect does forget us! We shall save the town by ourselves. For my +part, I should like to see the insurgents return, so that we might receive them +with bullets and cover ourselves with glory. Listen to me, go and have the +gates closed, and don’t go to bed; bustle about all night; it will all be +taken into account later on.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre returned to the town-hall in rather more cheerful spirits. He required +some courage to remain firm amidst the woeful maunderings of his colleagues. +The members of the Provisional Commission seemed to reek with panic, just as +they might with damp in the rainy season. They all professed to have counted +upon the despatch of a regiment, and began to exclaim that brave citizens ought +not to be abandoned in such a manner to the fury of the rabble. Pierre, to +preserve peace, almost promised they should have a regiment on the morrow. Then +he announced, in a solemn manner, that he was going to have the gates closed. +This came as a relief. Detachments of the national guards had to repair +immediately to each gate and double-lock it. When they had returned, several +members confessed that they really felt more comfortable; and when Pierre +remarked that the critical situation of the town imposed upon them the duty of +remaining at their posts, some of them made arrangements with the view of +spending the night in an arm-chair. Granoux put on a black silk skull cap which +he had brought with him by way of precaution. Towards eleven o’clock, +half of the gentlemen were sleeping round Monsieur Garconnet’s writing +table. Those who still managed to keep their eyes open fancied, as they +listened to the measured tramp of the national guards in the courtyard, that +they were heroes and were receiving decorations. A large lamp, placed on the +writing-table, illumined this strange vigil. All at once, however, Rougon, who +had seemed to be slumbering, jumped up, and sent for Vuillet. He had just +remembered that he had not received the “Gazette.” +</p> + +<p> +The bookseller made his appearance in a very bad humour. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” Rougon asked him as he took him aside, “what about +the article you promised me? I haven’t seen the paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you disturbed me for?” Vuillet angrily retorted. +“The ‘Gazette’ has not been issued; I’ve no desire to +get myself murdered to-morrow, should the insurgents come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon tried to smile as he declared that, thank heaven, nobody would be +murdered at all. It was precisely because false and disquieting rumours were +running about that the article in question would have rendered great service to +the good cause. +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” Vuillet resumed; “but the best of causes at the +present time is to keep one’s head on one’s shoulders.” And +he added, with maliciousness, “And I was under the impression you had +killed all the insurgents! You’ve left too many of them for me to run any +risk.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon, when he was alone again, felt amazed at this mutiny on the part of a +man who was usually so meek and mild. Vuillet’s conduct seemed to him +suspicious. But he had no time to seek an explanation; he had scarcely +stretched himself out afresh in his arm-chair, when Roudier entered, with a big +sabre, which he had attached to his belt, clattering noisily against his legs. +The sleepers awoke in a fright. Granoux thought it was a call to arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? what! What’s the matter?” he asked, as he hastily put +his black silk cap into his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Roudier, breathlessly, without thinking of taking +any oratorical precautions, “I believe that a band of insurgents is +approaching the town.” +</p> + +<p> +These words were received with the silence of terror. Rougon alone had the +strength to ask, “Have you seen them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” the retired hosier replied; “but we hear strange noises +out in the country; one of my men assured me that he had seen fires along the +slope of the Garrigues.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as all the gentlemen stared at each other white and speechless, +“I’ll return to my post,” he continued. “I fear an +attack. You had better take precautions.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon would have followed him, to obtain further particulars, but he was +already too far away. After this the Commission was by no means inclined to go +to sleep again. Strange noises! Fires! An attack! And in the middle of the +night too! It was very easy to talk of taking precautions, but what were they +to do? Granoux was very near advising the course which had proved so successful +the previous evening: that is of hiding themselves, waiting till the insurgents +has passed through Plassans, and then triumphing in the deserted streets. +Pierre, however, fortunately remembering his wife’s advice, said that +Roudier might have made a mistake, and that the best thing would be to go and +see for themselves. Some of the members made a wry face at this suggestion; but +when it had been agreed that an armed escort should accompany the Commission, +they all descended very courageously. They only left a few men downstairs; they +surrounded themselves with about thirty of the national guards, and then they +ventured into the slumbering town, where the moon, creeping over the house +roofs, slowly cast lengthened shadows. They went along the ramparts, from one +gate to the other, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. The national guards at +the various posts certainly told them that peculiar sounds occasionally reached +them from the country through the closed gates. When they strained their ears, +however, they detected nothing but a distant murmur, which Granoux said was +merely the noise of the Viorne. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless they remained doubtful. And they were about to return to the +town-hall in a state of alarm, though they made a show of shrugging their +shoulders and of treating Roudier as a poltroon and a dreamer, when Rougon, +anxious to reassure them, thought of enabling them to view the plain over a +distance of several leagues. Thereupon he led the little company to the +Saint-Marc quarter and knocked at the door of the Valqueyras mansion. +</p> + +<p> +At the very outset of the disturbances Count de Valqueyras had left for his +chateau at Corbière. There was no one but the Marquis de Carnavant at the +Plassans house. He, since the previous evening, had prudently kept aloof; not +that he was afraid, but because he did not care to be seen plotting with the +Rougons at the critical moment. As a matter of fact, he was burning with +curiosity. He had been compelled to shut himself up in order to resist the +temptation of hastening to the yellow drawing-room. When the footman came to +tell him, in the middle of the night, that there were some gentlemen below +asking for him, he could not hold back any longer. He got up and went +downstairs in all haste. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Marquis,” said Rougon, as he introduced to him the members +of the Municipal Commission, “we want to ask a favour of you. Will you +allow us to go into the garden of the mansion?” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” replied the astonished marquis, “I will +conduct you there myself.” +</p> + +<p> +On the way thither he ascertained what their object was. At the end of the +garden rose a terrace which overlooked the plain. A large portion of the +ramparts had there tumbled in, leaving a boundless prospect to the view. It had +occurred to Rougon that this would serve as an excellent post of observation. +While conversing together the members of the Commission leaned over the +parapet. The strange spectacle that spread out before them soon made them +silent. In the distance, in the valley of the Viorne, across the vast hollow +which stretched westward between the chain of the Garrigues and the mountains +of the Seille, the rays of the moon were streaming like a river of pale light. +The clumps of trees, the gloomy rocks, looked, here and there, like islets and +tongues of land, emerging from a luminous sea; and, according to the bends of +the Viorne one could now and again distinguish detached portions of the river, +glittering like armour amidst the fine silvery dust falling from the firmament. +It all looked like an ocean, a world, magnified by the darkness, the cold, and +their own secret fears. At first the gentlemen could neither hear nor see +anything. The quiver of light and of distant sound blinded their eyes and +confused their ears. Granoux, though he was not naturally poetic, was struck by +the calm serenity of that winter night, and murmured: “What a beautiful +night, gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Roudier was certainly dreaming,” exclaimed Rougon, rather +disdainfully. +</p> + +<p> +But the marquis, whose ears were quick, had begun to listen. “Ah!” +he observed in his clear voice, “I hear the tocsin.” +</p> + +<p> +At this they all leant over the parapet, holding their breath. And light and +pure as crystal the distant tolling of a bell rose from the plain. The +gentlemen could not deny it. It was indeed the tocsin. Rougon pretended that he +recognised the bell of Beage, a village fully a league from Plassans. This he +said in order to reassure his colleagues. +</p> + +<p> +But the marquis interrupted him. “Listen, listen: this time it is the +bell of Saint-Maur.” And he indicated another point of the horizon to +them. There was, in fact, a second bell wailing through the clear night. And +very soon there were ten bells, twenty bells, whose despairing tollings were +detected by their ears, which had by this time grown accustomed to the +quivering of the darkness. Ominous calls rose from all sides, like the faint +rattles of dying men. Soon the whole plain seemed to be wailing. The gentlemen +no longer jeered at Roudier; particularly as the marquis, who took a malicious +delight in terrifying them, was kind enough to explain the cause of all this +bell-ringing. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the neighbouring villages,” he said to Rougon, +“banding together to attack Plassans at daybreak.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Granoux opened his eyes wide. “Didn’t you see something +just this moment over there?” he asked all of a sudden. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody had looked; the gentlemen had been keeping their eyes closed in order to +hear the better. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! look!” he resumed after a short pause. “There, beyond +the Viorne, near that black mass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see,” replied Rougon, in despair; “it’s a fire +they’re kindling.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment later another fire appeared almost immediately in front of the first +one, then a third, and a fourth. In this wise red splotches appeared at nearly +equal distances throughout the whole length of the valley, resembling the lamps +of some gigantic avenue. The moonlight, which dimmed their radiance, made them +look like pools of blood. This melancholy illumination gave a finishing touch +to the consternation of the Municipal Commission. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” the marquis muttered, with his bitterest sneer, +“those brigands are signalling to each other.” And he counted the +fires complacently, to get some idea, he said, as to how many men “the +brave national guard of Plassans” would have to deal with. Rougon +endeavoured to raise doubts by saying the villages were taking up arms in order +to join the army of the insurgents, and not for the purpose of attacking the +town. But the gentlemen, by their silent consternation, made it clear that they +had formed their own opinion, and were not to be consoled. +</p> + +<p> +“I can hear the ‘Marseillaise’ now,” remarked Granoux +in a hushed voice. +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed true. A detachment must have been following the course of the +Viorne, passing, at that moment, just under the town. The cry, “To arms, +citizens! Form your battalions!” reached the on-lookers in sudden bursts +with vibrating distinctness. Ah! what an awful night it was! The gentlemen +spent it leaning over the parapet of the terrace, numbed by the terrible cold, +and yet quite unable to tear themselves away from the sight of that plain which +resounded with the tocsin and the “Marseillaise,” and was all +ablaze with signal-fires. They feasted their eyes upon that sea of light, +flecked with blood-red flames; and they strained their ears in order to listen +to the confused clamour, till at last their senses began to deceive them, and +they saw and heard the most frightful things. Nothing in the world would have +induced them to leave the spot. If they had turned their backs, they would have +fancied that a whole army was at their heels. After the manner of a certain +class of cowards, they wished to witness the approach of the danger, in order +that they might take flight at the right moment. Towards morning, when the moon +had set and they could see nothing in front of them but a dark void, they fell +into a terrible fright. They fancied they were surrounded by invisible enemies, +who were crawling along in the darkness, ready to fly at their throats. At the +slightest noise they imagined there were enemies deliberating beneath the +terrace, prior to scaling it. Yet there was nothing, nothing but darkness upon +which they fixed their eyes distractedly. The marquis, as if to console them, +said in his ironical way: “Don’t be uneasy! They will certainly +wait till daybreak.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Rougon cursed and swore. He felt himself again giving way to fear. As +for Granoux, his hair turned completely white. At last the dawn appeared with +weary slowness. This again was a terribly anxious moment. The gentlemen, at the +first ray of light, expected to see an army drawn up in line before the town. +It so happened that day that the dawn was lazy and lingered awhile on the edge +of the horizon. With outstretched necks and fixed gaze, the party on the +terrace peered anxiously into the misty expanse. In the uncertain light they +fancied they caught glimpses of colossal profiles, the plain seemed to be +transformed into a lake of blood, the rocks looked like corpses floating on its +surface, and the clusters of trees took the forms of battalions drawn up and +threatening attack. When the growing light had at last dispersed these +phantoms, the morning broke so pale, so mournful, so melancholy, that even the +marquis’s spirits sank. Not a single insurgent was to be seen, and the +high roads were free; but the grey valley wore a gruesomely sad and deserted +aspect. The fires had now gone out, but the bells still rang on. Towards eight +o’clock, Rougon observed a small party of men who were moving off along +the Viorne. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the gentlemen were half dead with cold and fatigue. Seeing no +immediate danger, they determined to take a few hours’ rest. A national +guard was left on the terrace as a sentinel, with orders to run and inform +Roudier if he should perceive any band approaching in the distance. Then +Granoux and Rougon, quite worn out by the emotions of the night, repaired to +their homes, which were close together, and supported each other on the way. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité put her husband to bed with every care. She called him “poor +dear,” and repeatedly told him that he ought not to give way to evil +fancies, and that all would end well. But he shook his head; he felt grave +apprehensions. She let him sleep till eleven o’clock. Then, after he had +had something to eat, she gently turned him out of doors, making him understand +that he must go through with the matter to the end. At the town-hall, Rougon +found only four members of the Commission in attendance; the others had sent +excuses, they were really ill. Panic had been sweeping through the town with +growing violence all through the morning. The gentlemen had not been able to +keep quiet respecting the memorable night they had spent on the terrace of the +Valqueyras mansion. Their servants had hastened to spread the news, +embellishing it with various dramatic details. By this time it had already +become a matter of history that from the heights of Plassans troops of +cannibals had been seen dancing and devouring their prisoners. Yes, bands of +witches had circled hand in hand round their caldrons in which they were +boiling children, while on and on marched endless files of bandits, whose +weapons glittered in the moonlight. People spoke too of bells that of their own +accord, sent the tocsin ringing through the desolate air, and it was even +asserted that the insurgents had fired the neighbouring forests, so that the +whole country side was in flames. +</p> + +<p> +It was Tuesday, the market-day at Plassans, and Roudier had thought it +necessary to have the gates opened in order to admit the few peasants who had +brought vegetables, butter, and eggs. As soon as it had assembled, the +Municipal Commission, now composed of five members only, including its +president, declared that this was unpardonable imprudence. Although the +sentinel stationed at the Valqueyras mansion had seen nothing, the town ought +to have been kept closed. Then Rougon decided that the public crier, +accompanied by a drummer, should go through the streets, proclaim a state of +siege, and announce to the inhabitants that whoever might go out would not be +allowed to return. The gates were officially closed in broad daylight. This +measure, adopted in order to reassure the inhabitants, raised the scare to its +highest pitch. And there could scarcely have been a more curious sight than +that of this little city, thus padlocking and bolting itself up beneath the +bright sunshine, in the middle of the nineteenth century. +</p> + +<p> +When Plassans had buckled and tightened its belt of dilapidated ramparts, when +it had bolted itself in like a besieged fortress at the approach of an assault, +the most terrible anguish passed over the mournful houses. At every moment, in +the centre of the town, people fancied they could hear a discharge of musketry +in the Faubourgs. They no longer received any news; they were, so to say, at +the bottom of a cellar, in a walled hole, where they were anxiously awaiting +either deliverance or the finishing stroke. For the last two days the +insurgents, who were scouring the country, had cut off all communication. +Plassans found itself isolated from the rest of France. It felt that it was +surrounded by a region in open rebellion, where the tocsin was ever ringing and +the “Marseillaise” was ever roaring like a river that has +overflowed its banks. Abandoned to its fate and shuddering with alarm the town +lay there like some prey which would prove the reward of the victorious party. +The strollers on the Cours Sauvaire were ever swaying between fear and hope +according as they fancied that they could see the blouses of insurgents or the +uniforms of soldiers at the Grand’-Porte. Never had sub-prefecture, pent +within tumble-down walls, endured more agonising torture. +</p> + +<p> +Towards two o’clock it was rumoured that the Coup d’État had +failed, that the prince-president was imprisoned at Vincennes, and that Paris +was in the hands of the most advanced demagogues. It was reported also that +Marseilles, Toulon, Draguignan, the entire South, belonged to the victorious +insurrectionary army. The insurgents would arrive in the evening and put +Plassans to the sword. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon a deputation repaired to the town-hall to expostulate with the +Municipal Commission for closing the gates, whereby they would only irritate +the insurgents. Rougon, who was losing his head, defended his order with all +his remaining strength. This locking of the gates seemed to him one of the most +ingenious acts of his administration; he advanced the most convincing arguments +in its justification. But the others embarrassed him by their questions, asking +him where were the soldiers, the regiment that he had promised. Then he began +to lie, and told them flatly that he had promised nothing at all. The +non-appearance of this legendary regiment, which the inhabitants longed for +with such eagerness that they had actually dreamt of its arrival, was the chief +cause of the panic. Well-informed people even named the exact spot on the high +road where the soldiers had been butchered. +</p> + +<p> +At four o’clock Rougon, followed by Granoux, again repaired to the +Valqueyras mansion. Small bands, on their way to join the insurgents at +Orcheres, still passed along in the distance, through the valley of the Viorne. +Throughout the day urchins climbed the ramparts, and bourgeois came to peep +through the loopholes. These volunteer sentinels kept up the terror by counting +the various bands, which were taken for so many strong battalions. The timorous +population fancied it could see from the battlements the preparations for some +universal massacre. At dusk, as on the previous evening, the panic became yet +more chilling. +</p> + +<p> +On returning to the municipal offices Rougon and his inseparable companion, +Granoux, recognised that the situation was growing intolerable. During their +absence another member of the Commission had disappeared. They were only four +now, and they felt they were making themselves ridiculous by staying there for +hours, looking at each other’s pale countenances, and never saying a +word. Moreover, they were terribly afraid of having to spend a second night on +the terrace of the Valqueyras mansion. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon gravely declared that as the situation of affairs was unchanged, there +was no need for them to continue to remain there <i>en permanence</i>. If +anything serious should occur information would be sent to them. And, by a +decision duly taken in council, he deputed to Roudier the carrying on of the +administration. Poor Roudier, who remembered that he had served as a national +guard in Paris under Louis-Philippe, was meantime conscientiously keeping watch +at the Grand’-Porte. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon went home looking very downcast, and creeping along under the shadows of +the houses. He felt that Plassans was becoming hostile to him. He heard his +name bandied about amongst the groups, with expressions of anger and contempt. +He walked upstairs, reeling and perspiring. Félicité received him with +speechless consternation. She, also, was beginning to despair. Their dreams +were being completely shattered. They stood silent, face to face, in the yellow +drawing-room. The day was drawing to a close, a murky winter day which imparted +a muddy tint to the orange-coloured wall-paper with its large flower pattern; +never had the room looked more faded, more mean, more shabby. And at this hour +they were alone; they no longer had a crowd of courtiers congratulating them, +as on the previous evening. A single day had sufficed to topple them over, at +the very moment when they were singing victory. If the situation did not change +on the morrow their game would be lost. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité who, when gazing on the previous evening at the ruins of the yellow +drawing-room, had thought of the plains of Austerlitz, now recalled the +accursed field of Waterloo as she observed how mournful and deserted the place +was. Then, as her husband said nothing, she mechanically went to the +window—that window where she had inhaled with delight the incense of the +entire town. She perceived numerous groups below on the square, but she closed +the blinds upon seeing some heads turn towards their house, for she feared that +she might be hooted. She felt quite sure that those people were speaking about +them. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, voices rose through the twilight. A lawyer was clamouring in the tone +of a triumphant pleader. “That’s just what I said; the insurgents +left of their own accord, and they won’t ask the permission of the +forty-one to come back. The forty-one indeed! a fine farce! Why, I believe +there were at least two hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed,” said a burly trader, an oil-dealer and a great +politician, “there were probably not even ten. There was no fighting or +else we should have seen some blood in the morning. I went to the town-hall +myself to look; the courtyard was as clean as my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Then a workman, who stepped timidly up to the group, added: “There was no +need of any violence to seize the building; the door wasn’t even +shut.” +</p> + +<p> +This remark was received with laughter, and the workman, thus encouraged, +continued: “As for those Rougons, everybody knows that they are a bad +lot.” +</p> + +<p> +This insult pierced Félicité to the heart. The ingratitude of the people was +heartrending to her, for she herself was at last beginning to believe in the +mission of the Rougons. She called for her husband. She wanted him to learn how +fickle was the multitude. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all a piece with their mirror,” continued the lawyer. +“What a fuss they made about that broken glass! You know that Rougon is +quite capable of having fired his gun at it just to make believe there had been +a battle.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre restrained a cry of pain. What! they did not even believe in his mirror +now! They would soon assert that he had not heard a bullet whiz past his ear. +The legend of the Rougons would be blotted out; nothing would remain of their +glory. But his torture was not at an end yet. The groups manifested their +hostility as heartily as they had displayed their approval on the previous +evening. A retired hatter, an old man seventy years of age, whose factory had +formerly been in the Faubourg, ferreted out the Rougons’ past history. He +spoke vaguely, with the hesitation of a wandering memory, about the +Fouques’ property, and Adélaïde, and her amours with a smuggler. He said +just enough to give a fresh start to the gossip. The tattlers drew closer +together and such words as “rogues,” “thieves,” and +“shameless intriguers,” ascended to the shutter behind which Pierre +and Félicité were perspiring with fear and indignation. The people on the +square even went so far as to pity Macquart. This was the final blow. On the +previous day Rougon had been a Brutus, a stoic soul sacrificing his own +affections to his country; now he was nothing but an ambitious villain, who +felled his brother to the ground and made use of him as a stepping-stone to +fortune. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear, you hear them?” Pierre murmured in a stifled voice. +“Ah! the scoundrels, they are killing us; we shall never retrieve +ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité, enraged, was beating a tattoo on the shutter with her impatient +fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Let them talk,” she answered. “If we get the upper hand +again they shall see what stuff I’m made of. I know where the blow comes +from. The new town hates us.” +</p> + +<p> +She guessed rightly. The sudden unpopularity of the Rougons was the work of a +group of lawyers who were very much annoyed at the importance acquired by an +old illiterate oil-dealer, whose house had been on the verge of bankruptcy. The +Saint-Marc quarter had shown no sign of life for the last two days. The +inhabitants of the old quarter and the new town alone remained in presence, and +the latter had taken advantage of the panic to injure the yellow drawing-room +in the minds of the tradespeople and working-classes. Roudier and Granoux were +said to be excellent men, honourable citizens, who had been led away by the +Rougons’ intrigues. Their eyes ought to be opened to it. Ought not +Monsieur Isidore Granoux to be seated in the mayor’s arm-chair, in the +place of that big portly beggar who had not a copper to bless himself with? +Thus launched, the envious folks began to reproach Rougon for all the acts of +his administration, which only dated from the previous evening. He had no right +to retain the services of the former Municipal Council; he had been guilty of +grave folly in ordering the gates to be closed; it was through his stupidity +that five members of the Commission had contracted inflammation of the lungs on +the terrace of the Valqueyras mansion. There was no end to his faults. The +Republicans likewise raised their heads. They talked of the possibility of a +sudden attack upon the town-hall by the workmen of the Faubourg. The reaction +was at its last gasp. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre, at this overthrow of all his hopes, began to wonder what support he +might still rely on if occasion should require any. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t Aristide to come here this evening,” he asked, +“to make it up with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Félicité. “He promised me a good article. The +‘Indépendant’ has not appeared yet—” +</p> + +<p> +But her husband interrupted her, crying: “See! isn’t that he who is +just coming out of the Sub-Prefecture?” +</p> + +<p> +The old woman glanced in that direction. “He’s got his arm in a +sling again!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Aristide’s hand was indeed wrapped in the silk handkerchief once more. +The Empire was breaking up, but the Republic was not yet triumphant, and he had +judged it prudent to resume the part of a disabled man. He crossed the square +stealthily, without raising his head. Then doubtless hearing some dangerous and +compromising remarks among the groups of bystanders, he made all haste to turn +the corner of the Rue de la Banne. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! he won’t come here,” said Félicité bitterly. +“It’s all up with us. Even our children forsake us!” +</p> + +<p> +She shut the window violently, in order that she might not see or hear anything +more. When she had lit the lamp, she and her husband sat down to dinner, +disheartened and without appetite, leaving most of their food on their plates. +They only had a few hours left them to take a decisive step. It was absolutely +indispensable that before daybreak Plassans should be at their feet beseeching +forgiveness, or else they must entirely renounce the fortune which they had +dreamed of. The total absence of any reliable news was the sole cause of their +anxious indecision. Félicité, with her clear intellect, had quickly perceived +this. If they had been able to learn the result of the Coup d’État, they +would either have faced it out and have still pursued their role of deliverers, +or else have done what they could to efface all recollection of their unlucky +campaign. But they had no precise information; they were losing their heads; +the thought that they were thus risking their fortune on a throw, in complete +ignorance of what was happening, brought a cold perspiration to their brows. +</p> + +<p> +“And why the devil doesn’t Eugène write to me?” Rougon +suddenly cried, in an outburst of despair, forgetting that he was betraying the +secret of his correspondence to his wife. +</p> + +<p> +But Félicité pretended not to have heard. Her husband’s exclamation had +profoundly affected her. Why, indeed, did not Eugène write to his father? After +keeping him so accurately informed of the progress of the Bonapartist cause, he +ought at least to have announced the triumph or defeat of Prince Louis. Mere +prudence would have counselled the despatch of such information. If he remained +silent, it must be that the victorious Republic had sent him to join the +pretender in the dungeons of Vincennes. At this thought Félicité felt chilled +to the marrow; her son’s silence destroyed her last hopes. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment somebody brought up the “Gazette,” which had only +just appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Pierre, with surprise. “Vuillet has issued his +paper!” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon he tore off the wrapper, read the leading article, and finished it +looking as white as a sheet, and swaying on his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, read,” he resumed, handing the paper to Félicité. +</p> + +<p> +It was a magnificent article, attacking the insurgents with unheard of +violence. Never had so much stinging bitterness, so many falsehoods, such +bigoted abuse flowed from pen before. Vuillet commenced by narrating the entry +of the insurgents into Plassans. The description was a perfect masterpiece. He +spoke of “those bandits, those villainous-looking countenances, that scum +of the galleys,” invading the town, “intoxicated with brandy, lust, +and pillage.” Then he exhibited them “parading their cynicism in +the streets, terrifying the inhabitants with their savage cries and seeking +only violence and murder.” Further on, the scene at the town-hall and the +arrest of the authorities became a most horrible drama. “Then they seized +the most respectable people by the throat; and the mayor, the brave commander +of the national guard, the postmaster, that kindly functionary, were—even +like the Divinity—crowned with thorns by those wretches, who spat in +their faces.” The passage devoted to Miette and her red pelisse was quite +a flight of imagination. Vuillet had seen ten, twenty girls steeped in blood: +“and who,” he wrote, “did not behold among those monsters +some infamous creatures clothed in red, who must have bathed themselves in the +blood of the martyrs murdered by the brigands along the high roads? They were +brandishing banners, and openly receiving the vile caresses of the entire +horde.” And Vuillet added, with Biblical magniloquence, “The +Republic ever marches on amidst debauchery and murder.” +</p> + +<p> +That, however, was only the first part of the article; the narrative being +ended, the editor asked if the country would any longer tolerate “the +shamelessness of those wild beasts, who respected neither property nor +persons.” He made an appeal to all valorous citizens, declaring that to +tolerate such things any longer would be to encourage them, and that the +insurgents would then come and snatch “the daughter from her +mother’s arms, the wife from her husband’s embraces.” And at +last, after a pious sentence in which he declared that Heaven willed the +extermination of the wicked, he concluded with this trumpet blast: “It is +asserted that these wretches are once more at our gates; well then let each one +of us take a gun and shoot them down like dogs. I for my part shall be seen in +the front rank, happy to rid the earth of such vermin.” +</p> + +<p> +This article, in which periphrastic abuse was strung together with all the +heaviness of touch which characterises French provincial journalism, quite +terrified Rougon, who muttered, as Félicité replaced the “Gazette” +on the table: “Ah! the wretch! he is giving us the last blow; people will +believe that I inspired this diatribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” his wife remarked, pensively, “did you not this +morning tell me that he absolutely refused to write against the Republicans? +The news that circulated had terrified him, and he was as pale as death, you +said.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! yes! I can’t understand it at all. When I insisted, he went +so far as to reproach me for not having killed all the insurgents. It was +yesterday that he ought to have written that article; to-day he’ll get us +all butchered!” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité was lost in amazement. What could have prompted Vuillet’s change +of front? The idea of that wretched semi-sacristan carrying a musket and firing +on the ramparts of Plassans seemed to her one of the most ridiculous things +imaginable. There was certainly some determining cause underlying all this +which escaped her. Only one thing seemed certain. Vuillet was too impudent in +his abuse and too ready with his valour, for the insurrectionary band to be +really so near the town as some people asserted. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a spiteful fellow, I always said so,” Rougon resumed, +after reading the article again. “He has only been waiting for an +opportunity to do us this injury. What a fool I was to leave him in charge of +the post-office!” +</p> + +<p> +This last sentence proved a flash of light. Félicité started up quickly, as +though at some sudden thought. Then she put on a cap and threw a shawl over her +shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going, pray?” her husband asked her with surprise. +“It’s past nine o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“You go to bed,” she replied rather brusquely, “you’re +not well; go and rest yourself. Sleep on till I come back; I’ll wake you +if necessary, and then we can talk the matter over.” +</p> + +<p> +She went out with her usual nimble gait, ran to the post-office, and abruptly +entered the room where Vuillet was still at work. On seeing her he made a hasty +gesture of vexation. +</p> + +<p> +Never in his life had Vuillet felt so happy. Since he had been able to slip his +little fingers into the mail-bag he had enjoyed the most exquisite pleasure, +the pleasure of an inquisitive priest about to relish the confessions of his +penitents. All the sly blabbing, all the vague chatter of sacristies resounded +in his ears. He poked his long, pale nose into the letters, gazed amorously at +the superscriptions with his suspicious eyes, sounded the envelopes just like +little abbés sound the souls of maidens. He experienced endless enjoyment, was +titillated by the most enticing temptation. The thousand secrets of Plassans +lay there. He held in his hand the honour of women, the fortunes of men, and +had only to break a seal to know as much as the grand vicar at the cathedral +who was the confidant of all the better people of the town. Vuillet was one of +those terribly bitter, frigid gossips, who worm out everything, but never +repeat what they hear, except by way of dealing somebody a mortal blow. He had, +consequently, often longed to dip his arms into the public letter-box. Since +the previous evening the private room at the post-office had become a big +confessional full of darkness and mystery, in which he tasted exquisite rapture +while sniffing at the letters which exhaled veiled longings and quivering +avowals. Moreover, he carried on his work with consummate impudence. The crisis +through which the country was passing secured him perfect impunity. If some +letters should be delayed, or others should miscarry altogether, it would be +the fault of those villainous Republicans who were scouring the country and +interrupting all communication. The closing of the town gates had for a moment +vexed him, but he had come to an understanding with Roudier, whereby the +couriers were allowed to enter and bring the mails direct to him without +passing by the town-hall. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact he had only opened a few letters, the important ones, those +in which his keen scent divined some information which it would be useful for +him to know before anybody else. Then he contented himself by locking up in a +drawer, for delivery subsequently, such letters as might give information and +rob him of the merit of his valour at a time when the whole town was trembling +with fear. This pious personage, in selecting the management of the post-office +as his own share of the spoils, had given proof of singular insight into the +situation. +</p> + +<p> +When Madame Rougon entered, he was taking his choice of a heap of letters and +papers, under the pretext, no doubt, of classifying them. He rose, with his +humble smile, and offered her a seat; his reddened eyelids blinking rather +uneasily. But Félicité did not sit down; she roughly exclaimed: “I want +the letter.” +</p> + +<p> +At this Vuillet’s eyes opened widely, with an expression of perfect +innocence. +</p> + +<p> +“What letter, madame?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The letter you received this morning for my husband. Come, Monsieur +Vuillet, I’m in a hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +And as he stammered that he did not know, that he had not seen anything, that +it was very strange, Félicité continued in a covertly threatening voice: +“A letter from Paris, from my son, Eugène; you know what I mean, +don’t you? I’ll look for it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon she stepped forward as if intending to examine the various packets +which littered the writing table. But he at once bestirred himself, and said he +would go and see. The service was necessarily in great confusion! Perhaps, +indeed, there might be a letter. In that case they would find it. But, as far +as he was concerned, he swore he had not seen any. While he was speaking he +moved about the office turning over all the papers. Then he opened the drawers +and the portfolios. Félicité waited, quite calm and collected. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed, you’re right, here’s a letter for you,” +he cried at last, as he took a few papers from a portfolio. “Ah! those +confounded clerks, they take advantage of the situation to do nothing in the +proper way.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité took the letter and examined the seal attentively, apparently quite +regardless of the fact that such scrutiny might wound Vuillet’s +susceptibilities. She clearly perceived that the envelope must have been +opened; the bookseller, in his unskilful way, had used some sealing wax of a +darker colour to secure it again. She took care to open the envelope in such a +manner as to preserve the seal intact, so that it might serve as proof of this. +Then she read the note. Eugène briefly announced the complete success of the +Coup d’État. Paris was subdued, the provinces generally speaking remained +quiet, and he counselled his parents to maintain a very firm attitude in face +of the partial insurrection which was disturbing the South. In conclusion he +told them that the foundation of their fortune was laid, if they did not +weaken. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Rougon put the letter in her pocket, and sat down slowly, looking into +Vuillet’s face. The latter had resumed his sorting in a feverish manner, +as though he were very busy. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me, Monsieur Vuillet,” she said to him. And when he +raised his head: “let us play our cards openly; you do wrong to betray +us; some misfortune may befall you. If, instead of unsealing our +letters—” +</p> + +<p> +At this he protested, and feigned great indignation. But she calmly continued: +“I know, I know your school, you never confess. Come, don’t let us +waste any more words, what interest have you in favouring the Coup +d’État?” +</p> + +<p> +And, as he continued to assert his perfect honesty, she at last lost patience. +“You take me for a fool!” she cried. “I’ve read your +article. You would do much better to act in concert with us.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon, without avowing anything, he flatly submitted that he wished to have +the custom of the college. Formerly it was he who had supplied that +establishment with school books. But it had become known that he sold +objectionable literature clandestinely to the pupils; for which reason, indeed, +he had almost been prosecuted at the Correctional Police Court. Since then he +had jealously longed to be received back into the good graces of the directors. +</p> + +<p> +Félicité was surprised at the modesty of his ambition, and told him so. To open +letters and risk the galleys just for the sake of selling a few dictionaries +and grammars! +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he exclaimed in a shrill voice, “it’s an assured +sale of four or five thousand francs a year. I don’t aspire to +impossibilities like some people.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not take any notice of his last taunting words. No more was said about +his opening the letters. A treaty of alliance was concluded, by which Vuillet +engaged that he would not circulate any news or take any step in advance, on +condition that the Rougons should secure him the custom of the college. As she +was leaving, Félicité advised him not to compromise himself any further. It +would be sufficient for him to detain the letters and distribute them only on +the second day. +</p> + +<p> +“What a knave,” she muttered, when she reached the street, +forgetting that she herself had just laid an interdict upon the mail. +</p> + +<p> +She went home slowly, wrapped in thought. She even went out of her way, passing +along the Cours Sauvaire, as if to gain time and ease for reflection before +going in. Under the trees of the promenade she met Monsieur de Carnavant, who +was taking advantage of the darkness to ferret about the town without +compromising himself. The clergy of Plassans, to whom all energetic action was +distasteful, had, since the announcement of the Coup d’État, preserved +absolute neutrality. In the priests’ opinion the Empire was virtually +established, and they awaited an opportunity to resume in some new direction +their secular intrigues. The marquis, who had now become a useless agent, +remained only inquisitive on one point—he wished to know how the turmoil +would finish, and in what manner the Rougons would play their role to the end. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it’s you, little one!” he exclaimed, as soon as he +recognized Félicité. “I wanted to see you; your affairs are getting +muddled!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; everything is going on all right,” she replied, in an +absent-minded way. +</p> + +<p> +“So much the better. You’ll tell me all about it, won’t you? +Ah! I must confess that I gave your husband and his colleagues a terrible +fright the other night. You should have seen how comical they looked on the +terrace, while I was pointing out a band of insurgents in every cluster of +trees in the valley! You forgive me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m much obliged to you,” said Félicité quickly. “You +should have made them die of fright. My husband is a big sly-boots. Come and +see me some morning, when I am alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she turned away, as though this meeting with the marquis had determined +her. From head to foot the whole of her little person betokened implacable +resolution. At last she was going to revenge herself on Pierre for his petty +mysteries, have him under her heel, and secure, once for all, her omnipotence +at home. There would be a fine scene, quite a comedy, indeed, the points of +which she was already enjoying in anticipation, while she worked out her plan +with all the spitefulness of an injured woman. +</p> + +<p> +She found Pierre in bed, sleeping heavily; she brought the candle near him for +an instant, and gazed with an air of compassion, at his big face, across which +slight twitches occasionally passed; then she sat down at the head of the bed, +took off her cap, let her hair fall loose, assumed the appearance of one in +despair, and began to sob quite loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo! What’s the matter? What are you crying for?” asked +Pierre, suddenly awaking. +</p> + +<p> +She did not reply, but cried more bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, do answer,” continued her husband, frightened by this +mute despair. “Where have you been? Have you seen the insurgents?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head; then, in a faint voice, she said: “I’ve just +come from the Valqueyras mansion. I wanted to ask Monsieur de Carnavant’s +advice. Ah! my dear, all is lost.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre sat up in bed, very pale. His bull neck, which his unbuttoned +night-shirt exposed to view, all his soft, flabby flesh seemed to swell with +terror. At last he sank back, pale and tearful, looking like some grotesque +Chinese figure in the middle of the untidy bed. +</p> + +<p> +“The marquis,” continued Félicité, “thinks that Prince Louis +has succumbed. We are ruined; we shall never get a sou.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon, as often happens with cowards, Pierre flew into a passion. It was +the marquis’s fault, it was his wife’s fault, the fault of all his +family. Had he ever thought of politics at all, until Monsieur de Carnavant and +Félicité had driven him to that tomfoolery? +</p> + +<p> +“I wash my hands of it altogether,” he cried. “It’s you +two who are responsible for the blunder. Wasn’t it better to go on living +on our little savings in peace and quietness? But then, you were always +determined to have your own way! You see what it has brought us to.” +</p> + +<p> +He was losing his head completely, and forgot that he had shown himself as +eager as his wife. However, his only desire now was to vent his anger, by +laying the blame of his ruin upon others. +</p> + +<p> +“And, moreover,” he continued, “could we ever have succeeded +with children like ours? Eugène abandons us just at the critical moment; +Aristide has dragged us through the mire, and even that big simpleton Pascal is +compromising us by his philanthropic practising among the insurgents. And to +think that we brought ourselves to poverty simply to give them a university +education!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, as he drew breath, Félicité said to him softly: “You are forgetting +Macquart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! yes; I was forgetting him,” he resumed more violently than +ever; “there’s another whom I can’t think of without losing +all patience! But that’s not all; you know little Silvère. Well, I saw +him at my mother’s the other evening with his hands covered with blood. +He has put some gendarme’s eye out. I did not tell you of it, as I +didn’t want to frighten you. But you’ll see one of my nephews in +the Assize Court. Ah! what a family! As for Macquart, he has annoyed us to such +an extent that I felt inclined to break his head for him the other day when I +had a gun in my hand. Yes, I had a mind to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité let the storm pass over. She had received her husband’s +reproaches with angelic sweetness, bowing her head like a culprit, whereby she +was able to smile in her sleeve. Her demeanour provoked and maddened Pierre. +When speech failed the poor man, she heaved deep sighs, feigning repentance; +and then she repeated, in a disconsolate voice: “Whatever shall we do! +Whatever shall we do! We are over head and ears in debt.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your fault!” Pierre cried, with all his remaining +strength. +</p> + +<p> +The Rougons, in fact, owed money on every side. The hope of approaching success +had made them forget all prudence. Since the beginning of 1851 they had gone so +far as to entertain the frequenters of the yellow drawing-room every evening +with syrup and punch, and cakes—providing, in fact, complete collations, +at which they one and all drank to the death of the Republic. Besides this, +Pierre had placed a quarter of his capital at the disposal of the reactionary +party, as a contribution towards the purchase of guns and cartridges. +</p> + +<p> +“The pastry-cook’s bill amounts to at least a thousand +francs,” Félicité resumed, in her sweetest tone, “and we probably +owe twice as much to the liqueur-dealer. Then there’s the butcher, the +baker, the greengrocer——” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre was in agony. And Félicité struck him a final blow by adding: “I +say nothing of the ten thousand francs you gave for the guns.” +</p> + +<p> +“I, I!” he faltered, “but I was deceived, I was robbed! It +was that idiot Sicardot who let me in for that by swearing that the +Napoleonists would be triumphant. I thought I was only making an advance. But +the old dolt will have to repay me my money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! you won’t get anything back,” said his wife, shrugging +her shoulders. “We shall suffer the fate of war. When we have paid off +everything, we sha’n’t even have enough to buy dry bread with. Ah! +it’s been a fine campaign. We can now go and live in some hovel in the +old quarter.” +</p> + +<p> +This last phrase had a most lugubrious sound. It seemed like the knell of their +existence. Pierre pictured the hovel in the old quarter, which had just been +mentioned by Félicité. ‘Twas there, then, that he would die on a pallet, +after striving all his life for the enjoyment of ease and luxury. In vain had +he robbed his mother, steeped his hands in the foulest intrigues, and lied and +lied for many a long year. The Empire would not pay his debts—that Empire +which alone could save him. He jumped out of bed in his night-shirt, crying: +“No; I’ll take my gun; I would rather let the insurgents kill +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” Félicité rejoined, with great composure, “you can +have that done to-morrow or the day after; the Republicans are not far off. And +that way will do as well as another to make an end of matters.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre shuddered. It seemed as if some one had suddenly poured a large pail of +cold water over his shoulders. He slowly got into bed again, and when he was +warmly wrapped up in the sheets, he began to cry. This fat fellow easily burst +into tears—gently flowing, inexhaustible tears—which streamed from +his eyes without an effort. A terrible reaction was now going on within him. +After his wrath he became as weak as a child. Félicité, who had been waiting +for this crisis, was delighted to see him so spiritless, so resourceless, and +so humbled before her. She still preserved silence, and an appearance of +distressed humility. After a long pause, her seeming resignation, her mute +dejection, irritated Pierre’s nerves. +</p> + +<p> +“But do say something!” he implored; “let us think matters +over together. Is there really no hope left us?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, you know very well,” she replied; “you explained the +situation yourself just now; we have no help to expect from anyone; even our +children have betrayed us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us flee, then. Shall we leave Plassans +to-night—immediately?” +</p> + +<p> +“Flee! Why, my dear, to-morrow we should be the talk of the whole town. +Don’t you remember, too, that you have had the gates closed?” +</p> + +<p> +A violent struggle was going on in Pierre’s mind, which he exerted to the +utmost in seeking for some solution; at last, as though he felt vanquished, he +murmured, in supplicating tones: “I beseech you, do try to think of +something; you haven’t said anything yet.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité raised her head, feigning surprise; and with a gesture of complete +powerlessness she said: “I am a fool in these matters. I don’t +understand anything about politics, you’ve told me so a hundred +times.” +</p> + +<p> +And then, as her embarrassed husband held his tongue and lowered his eyes, she +continued slowly, but not reproachfully: “You have not kept me informed +of your affairs, have you? I know nothing at all about them, I can’t even +give you any advice. It was quite right of you, though; women chatter +sometimes, and it is a thousand times better for the men to steer the ship +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She said this with such refined irony that her husband did not detect that she +was deriding him. He simply felt profound remorse. And, all of a sudden, he +burst out into a confession. He spoke of Eugène’s letters, explained his +plans, his conduct, with all the loquacity of a man who is relieving his +conscience and imploring a saviour. At every moment he broke off to ask: +“What would you have done in my place?” or else he cried, +“Isn’t that so? I was right, I could not act otherwise.” But +Félicité did not even deign to make a sign. She listened with all the frigid +reserve of a judge. In reality she was tasting the most exquisite pleasure; she +had got that sly-boots fast at last; she played with him like a cat playing +with a ball of paper; and he virtually held out his hands to be manacled by +her. +</p> + +<p> +“But wait,” he said hastily, jumping out of bed. “I’ll +give you Eugène’s correspondence to read. You can judge the situation +better then.” +</p> + +<p> +She vainly tried to hold him back by his night-shirt. He spread out the letters +on the table by the bed-side, and then got into bed again, and read whole pages +of them, and compelled her to go through them herself. She suppressed a smile, +and began to feel some pity for the poor man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said anxiously, when he had finished, “now you +know everything. Do you see any means of saving us from ruin!” +</p> + +<p> +She still gave no answer. She appeared to be pondering deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“You are an intelligent woman,” he continued, in order to flatter +her, “I did wrong in keeping any secret from you; I see it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us say nothing more about that,” she replied. “In my +opinion, if you had enough courage——” And as he looked at her +eagerly, she broke off and said, with a smile: “But you promise not to +distrust me any more? You will tell me everything, eh? You will do nothing +without consulting me?” +</p> + +<p> +He swore, and accepted the most rigid conditions. Félicité then got into bed; +and in a whisper, as if she feared somebody might hear them, she explained at +length her plan of campaign. In her opinion the town must be allowed to fall +into still greater panic, while Pierre was to maintain an heroic demeanour in +the midst of the terrified inhabitants. A secret presentiment, she said, warned +her that the insurgents were still at a distance. Moreover, the party of order +would sooner or later carry the day, and the Rougons would be rewarded. After +the role of deliverer, that of martyr was not to be despised. And she argued so +well, and spoke with so much conviction, that her husband, surprised at first +by the simplicity of her plan, which consisted in facing it out, at last +detected in it a marvellous tactical scheme, and promised to conform to it with +the greatest possible courage. +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t forget that it is I who am saving you,” the old +woman murmured in a coaxing tone. “Will you be nice to me?” +</p> + +<p> +They kissed each other and said good-night. But neither of them slept; after a +quarter of an hour had gone by, Pierre, who had been gazing at the round +reflection of the night-lamp on the ceiling, turned, and in a faint whisper +told his wife of an idea that had just occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no, no,” Félicité murmured, with a shudder. “That would +be too cruel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he resumed, “but you want to spread consternation +among the inhabitants! They would take me seriously, if what I told you should +occur.” Then perfecting his scheme, he cried: “We might employ +Macquart. That would be a means of getting rid of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité seemed to be struck with the idea. She reflected, seemed to hesitate, +and then, in a distressful tone faltered: “Perhaps you are right. We must +see. After all we should be very stupid if we were over-scrupulous, for +it’s a matter of life and death to us. Let me do it. I’ll see +Macquart to-morrow, and ascertain if we can come to an understanding with him. +You would only wrangle and spoil all. Good-night; sleep well, my poor dear. Our +troubles will soon be ended, you’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +They again kissed each other and fell asleep. The patch of light on the ceiling +now seemed to be assuming the shape of a terrified eye, that stared wildly and +fixedly upon the pale, slumbering couple who reeked with crime beneath their +very sheets, and dreamt they could see a rain of blood falling in big drops +which turned into golden coins as they plashed upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow, before daylight, Félicité repaired to the town-hall, armed with +instructions from Pierre to seek an interview with Macquart. She took her +husband’s national guard uniform with her, wrapped in a cloth. There were +only a few men fast asleep in the guard-house. The doorkeeper, who was +entrusted with the duty of supplying Macquart with food, went upstairs with her +to open the door of the dressing-room, which had been turned into a cell. Then +quietly he came down again. +</p> + +<p> +Macquart had now been kept in the room for two days and two nights. He had had +time to indulge in lengthy reflections. After his sleep, his first hours had +been given up to outbursts of impotent rage. Goaded by the idea that his +brother was lording it in the adjoining room, he had felt a great longing to +break the door open. At all events he would strangle Rougon with his own hands, +as soon as the insurgents should return and release him. But, in the evening, +at twilight, he calmed down, and gave over striding furiously round the little +room. He inhaled a sweet odour there; a feeling of comfort relaxed his nerves. +Monsieur Garconnet, who was very rich, refined, and vain, had caused this +little room to be arranged in a very elegant fashion; the sofa was soft and +warm; scents, pomades, and soaps adorned the marble washstand, and the pale +light fell from the ceiling with a soft glow, like the gleams of a lamp +suspended in an alcove. Macquart, amidst this perfumed soporific atmosphere +fell asleep, thinking that those scoundrels, the rich, “were very +fortunate, all the same.” He had covered himself with a blanket which had +been given to him, and with his head and back and arms reposing on the +cushions, he stretched himself out on the couch until morning. When he opened +his eyes, a ray of sunshine was gliding through the opening above. Still he did +not leave the sofa. He felt warm, and lay thinking as he gazed around him. He +bethought himself that he would never again have such a place to wash in. The +washstand particularly interested him. It was by no means hard, he thought, to +keep oneself spruce when one had so many little pots and phials at one’s +disposal. This made him think bitterly of his own life of privation. The idea +occurred to him that perhaps he had been on the wrong track. There is nothing +to be gained by associating with beggars. He ought to have played the scamp; he +should have acted in concert with the Rougons. +</p> + +<p> +Then, however, he rejected this idea. The Rougons were villains who had robbed +him. But the warmth and softness of the sofa, continued to work upon his +feelings, and fill him with vague regrets. After all, the insurgents were +abandoning him, and allowing themselves to be beaten like idiots. Eventually he +came to the conclusion that the Republic was mere dupery. Those Rougons were +lucky! And he recalled his own bootless wickedness and underhand intrigues. Not +one member of the family had ever been on his side; neither Aristide, nor +Silvère’s brother, nor Silvère himself, who was a fool to grow so +enthusiastic about the Republic and would never do any good for himself. Then +Macquart reflected that his wife was dead, that his children had left him, and +that he would die alone, like a dog in some wretched corner, without a copper +to bless himself with. Decidedly, he ought to have sold himself to the +reactionary party. Pondering in this fashion, he eyed the washstand, feeling a +strong inclination to go and wash his hands with a certain powder soap which he +saw in a glass jar. Like all lazy fellows who live upon their wives or +children, he had foppish tastes. Although he wore patched trousers, he liked to +inundate himself with aromatic oil. He spent hours with his barber, who talked +politics, and brushed his hair for him between their discussions. So, at last, +the temptation became too strong, and Macquart installed himself before the +washstand. He washed his hands and face, dressed his hair, perfumed himself, in +fact went through a complete toilet. He made use in turn of all the bottles, +all the various soaps and powders; but his greatest pleasure was to dry his +hands with the mayor’s towels, which were so soft and thick. He buried +his wet face in them, and inhaled, with delight, all the odour of wealth. Then, +having pomaded himself, and smelling sweetly from head to foot, he once more +stretched himself on the sofa, feeling quite youthful again, and disposed to +the most conciliatory thoughts. He felt yet greater contempt for the Republic +since he had dipped his nose into Monsieur Garconnet’s phials. The idea +occurred to him that there was, perhaps, still time for him to make peace with +his brother. He wondered what he might well ask in return for playing the +traitor. His rancour against the Rougons still gnawed at his heart; but he was +in one of those moods when, lying on one’s back in silence, one is apt to +admit stern facts, and scold oneself for neglecting to feather a comfortable +nest in which one may wallow in slothful ease, even at the cost of +relinquishing one’s most cherished animosities. Towards evening Antoine +determined to send for his brother on the following day. But when, in the +morning, he saw Félicité enter the room he understood that his aid was wanted, +so he remained on his guard. +</p> + +<p> +The negotiations were long and full of pitfalls, being conducted on either side +with infinite skill. At first they both indulged in vague complaints, then +Félicité, who was surprised to find Macquart almost polite, after the violent +manner in which he had behaved at her house on the Sunday evening, assumed a +tone of gentle reproach. She deplored the hatred which severed their families. +But, in truth, he had so calumniated his brother, and manifested such bitter +animosity towards him, that he had made poor Rougon quite lose his head. +</p> + +<p> +“But, dash it, my brother has never behaved like a brother to me,” +Macquart replied, with restrained violence. “Has he ever given me any +assistance? He would have let me die in my hovel! When he behaved differently +towards me—you remember, at the time he gave me two hundred +francs—I am sure no one can reproach me with having said a single +unpleasant word about him. I said everywhere that he was a very good-hearted +fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +This clearly signified: “If you had continued to supply me with money, I +should have been very pleasant towards you, and would have helped you, instead +of fighting against you. It’s your own fault. You ought to have bought +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité understood this so well that she replied: “I know you have +accused us of being hard upon you, because you imagine we are in comfortable +circumstances; but you are mistaken, my dear brother; we are poor people; we +have never been able to act towards you as our hearts would have +desired.” She hesitated a moment, and then continued: “If it were +absolutely necessary in some serious contingency, we might perhaps be able to +make a sacrifice; but, truly, we are very poor, very poor!” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart pricked up his ears. “I have them!” he thought. Then, +without appearing to understand his sister-in-law’s indirect offer, he +detailed the wretchedness of his life in a doleful manner, and spoke of his +wife’s death and his children’s flight. Félicité, on her side, +referred to the crisis through which the country was passing, and declared that +the Republic had completely ruined them. Then from word to word she began to +bemoan the exigencies of a situation which compelled one brother to imprison +another. How their hearts would bleed if justice refused to release its prey! +And finally she let slip the word “galleys!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! I defy you,” said Macquart calmly. +</p> + +<p> +But she hastily exclaimed: “Oh! I would rather redeem the honour of the +family with my own blood. I tell you all this to show you that we shall not +abandon you. I have come to give you the means of effecting your escape, my +dear Antoine.” +</p> + +<p> +They gazed at each other for a moment, sounding each other with a look, before +engaging in the contest. +</p> + +<p> +“Unconditionally?” he asked, at length. +</p> + +<p> +“Without any condition,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +Then she sat down beside him on the sofa, and continued, in a determined voice: +“And even, before crossing the frontier, if you want to earn a +thousand-franc note, I can put you in the way of doing so.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another pause. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s all above board I shall have no objection,” Antoine +muttered, apparently reflecting. “You know I don’t want to mix +myself up with your underhand dealings.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there are no underhand dealings about it,” Félicité resumed, +smiling at the old rascal’s scruples. “Nothing can be more simple: +you will presently leave this room, and go and conceal yourself in your +mother’s house, and this evening you can assemble your friends and come +and seize the town-hall again.” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart did not conceal his extreme surprise. He did not understand it at all. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” he said, “that you were victorious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I haven’t got time now to tell you all about it,” the +old woman replied, somewhat impatiently. “Do you accept or not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, no; I don’t accept—I want to think it over. It would +be very stupid of me to risk a possible fortune for a thousand francs.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité rose. “Just as you like my dear fellow,” she said, coldly. +“You don’t seem to realise the position you are in. You came to my +house and treated me as though I were a mere outcast; and then, when I am kind +enough to hold out a hand to you in the hole into which you have stupidly let +yourself fall, you stand on ceremony, and refuse to be rescued. Well, then, +stay here, wait till the authorities come back. As for me, I wash my hands of +the whole business.” +</p> + +<p> +With these words she reached the door. +</p> + +<p> +“But give me some explanations,” he implored. “I can’t +strike a bargain with you in perfect ignorance of everything. For two days past +I have been quite in the dark as to what’s going on. How do I know that +you are not cheating me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! you’re a simpleton,” replied Félicité, who had retraced +her steps at Antoine’s doleful appeal. “You are very foolish not to +trust yourself implicitly to us. A thousand francs! That’s a fine sum, a +sum that one would only risk in a winning cause. I advise you to accept.” +</p> + +<p> +He still hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“But when we want to seize the place, shall we be allowed to enter +quietly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I don’t know,” she said, with a smile. “There will +perhaps be a shot or two fired.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her fixedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but I say, little woman,” he resumed in a hoarse voice, +“you don’t intend, do you, to have a bullet lodged in my +head?” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité blushed. She was, in fact, just thinking that they would be rendered a +great service, if, during the attack on the town-hall, a bullet should rid them +of Antoine. It would be a gain of a thousand francs, besides all the rest. So +she muttered with irritation: “What an idea! Really, it’s +abominable to think such things!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, suddenly calming down, she added: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you accept? You understand now, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart had understood perfectly. It was an ambush that they were proposing to +him. He did not perceive the reasons or the consequences of it, and this was +what induced him to haggle. After speaking of the Republic as though it were a +mistress whom, to his great grief, he could no longer love, he recapitulated +the risks which he would have to run, and finished by asking for two thousand +francs. But Félicité abided by her original offer. They debated the matter +until she promised to procure him, on his return to France, some post in which +he would have nothing to do, and which would pay him well. The bargain was then +concluded. She made him don the uniform she had brought with her. He was to +betake himself quietly to aunt Dide’s, and afterwards, towards midnight, +assemble all the Republicans he could in the neighbourhood of the town-hall, +telling them that the municipal offices were unguarded, and that they had only +to push open the door to take possession of them. Antoine then asked for +earnest money, and received two hundred francs. Félicité undertook to pay the +remaining eight hundred on the following day. The Rougons were risking the last +sum they had at their disposal. +</p> + +<p> +When Félicité had gone downstairs, she remained on the square for a moment to +watch Macquart go out. He passed the guard-house, quietly blowing his nose. He +had previously broken the skylight in the dressing-room, to make it appear that +he had escaped that way. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all arranged,” Félicité said to her husband, when she +returned home. “It will be at midnight. It doesn’t matter to me at +all now. I should like to see them all shot. How they slandered us yesterday in +the street!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was rather silly of you to hesitate,” replied Pierre, who was +shaving. “Every one would do the same in our place.” +</p> + +<p> +That morning—it was a Wednesday—he was particularly careful about +his toilet. His wife combed his hair and tied his cravat, turning him about +like a child going to a distribution of prizes. And when he was ready, she +examined him, declared that he looked very nice, and that he would make a very +good figure in the midst of the serious events that were preparing. His big +pale face wore an expression of grave dignity and heroic determination. She +accompanied him to the first landing, giving him her last advice: he was not to +depart in any way from his courageous demeanour, however great the panic might +be; he was to have the gates closed more hermetically than ever, and leave the +town in agonies of terror within its ramparts; it would be all the better if he +were to appear the only one willing to die for the cause of order. +</p> + +<p> +What a day it was! The Rougons still speak of it as of a glorious and decisive +battle. Pierre went straight to the town-hall, heedless of the looks or words +that greeted him on his way. He installed himself there in magisterial fashion, +like a man who did not intend to quit the place, whatever might happen. And he +simply sent a note to Roudier, to advise him that he was resuming authority. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep watch at the gates,” he added, knowing that these lines might +become public: “I myself will watch over the town and ensure the security +of life and property. It is at the moment when evil passions reappear and +threaten to prevail that good citizens should endeavour to stifle them, even at +the peril of their lives.” The style, and the very errors in spelling, +made this note—the brevity of which suggested the laconic style of the +ancients—appear all the more heroic. Not one of the gentlemen of the +Provisional Commission put in an appearance. The last two who had hitherto +remained faithful, and Granoux himself, even, prudently stopped at home. Thus +Rougon was the only member of the Commission who remained at his post, in his +presidential arm-chair, all the others having vanished as the panic increased. +He did not even deign to issue an order summoning them to attend. He was there, +and that sufficed, a sublime spectacle, which a local journal depicted later on +in a sentence: “Courage giving the hand to duty.” +</p> + +<p> +During the whole morning Pierre was seen animating the town-hall with his +goings and comings. He was absolutely alone in the large, empty building, whose +lofty halls reechoed with the noise of his heels. All the doors were left open. +He made an ostentatious show of his presidency over a non-existent council in +the midst of this desert, and appeared so deeply impressed with the +responsibility of his mission that the doorkeeper, meeting him two or three +times in the passages, bowed to him with an air of mingled surprise and +respect. He was seen, too, at every window, and, in spite of the bitter cold, +he appeared several times on the balcony with bundles of papers in his hand, +like a busy man attending to important despatches. +</p> + +<p> +Then, towards noon, he passed through the town and visited the guard-houses, +speaking of a possible attack, and letting it be understood, that the +insurgents were not far off; but he relied, he said, on the courage of the +brave national guards. If necessary they must be ready to die to the last man +for the defence of the good cause. When he returned from this round, slowly and +solemnly, after the manner of a hero who has set the affairs of his country in +order, and now only awaits death, he observed signs of perfect stupor along his +path; the people promenading in the Cours, the incorrigible little +householders, whom no catastrophe would have prevented from coming at certain +hours to bask in the sun, looked at him in amazement, as if they did not +recognize him, and could not believe that one of their own set, a former +oil-dealer, should have the boldness to face a whole army. +</p> + +<p> +In the town the anxiety was at its height. The insurrectionists were expected +every moment. The rumour of Macquart’s escape was commented upon in a +most alarming manner. It was asserted that he had been rescued by his friends, +the Reds, and that he was only waiting for nighttime in order to fall upon the +inhabitants and set fire to the four corners of the town. Plassans, closed in +and terror-stricken, gnawing at its own vitals within its prison-like walls, no +longer knew what to imagine in order to frighten itself. The Republicans, in +the face of Rougon’s bold demeanour, felt for a moment distrustful. As +for the new town—the lawyers and retired tradespeople who had denounced +the yellow drawing-room on the previous evening—they were so surprised +that they dared not again openly attack such a valiant man. They contented +themselves with saying “It was madness to brave victorious insurgents +like that, and such useless heroism would bring the greatest misfortunes upon +Plassans.” Then, at about three o’clock, they organised a +deputation. Pierre, though he was burning with desire to make a display of his +devotion before his fellow-citizens, had not ventured to reckon upon such a +fine opportunity. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke sublimely. It was in the mayor’s private room that the president +of the Provisional Commission received the deputation from the new town. The +gentlemen of the deputation, after paying homage to his patriotism, besought +him to forego all resistance. But he, in a loud voice, talked of duty, of his +country, of order, of liberty, and various other things. Moreover, he did not +wish to compel any one to imitate him; he was simply discharging a duty which +his conscience and his heart dictated to him. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, gentlemen, I am alone,” he said in conclusion. “I +will take all the responsibility, so that nobody but myself may be compromised. +And if a victim is required I willingly offer myself; I wish to sacrifice my +own life for the safety of the inhabitants.” +</p> + +<p> +A notary, the wiseacre of the party, remarked that he was running to certain +death. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” he resumed solemnly. “I am prepared!” +</p> + +<p> +The gentlemen looked at each other. Those words “I am prepared!” +filled them with admiration. Decidedly this man was a brave fellow. The notary +implored him to call in the aid of the gendarmes; but he replied that the blood +of those brave soldiers was precious, and he would not have it shed, except in +the last extremity. The deputation slowly withdrew, feeling deeply moved. An +hour afterwards, Plassans was speaking of Rougon as of a hero; the most +cowardly called him “an old fool.” +</p> + +<p> +Towards evening, Rougon was much surprised to see Granoux hasten to him. The +old almond-dealer threw himself in his arms, calling him “great +man,” and declaring that he would die with him. The words “I am +prepared!” which had just been reported to him by his maid-servant, who +had heard it at the greengrocer’s, had made him quite enthusiastic. There +was charming naivete in the nature of this grotesque, timorous old man. Pierre +kept him with him, thinking that he would not be of much consequence. He was +even touched by the poor fellow’s devotion, and resolved to have him +publicly complimented by the prefect, in order to rouse the envy of the other +citizens who had so cowardly abandoned him. And so both of them awaited the +night in the deserted building. +</p> + +<p> +At the same time Aristide was striding about at home in an uneasy manner. +Vuillet’s article had astonished him. His father’s demeanour +stupefied him. He had just caught sight of him at the window, in a white cravat +and black frock-coat, so calm at the approach of danger that all his ideas were +upset. Yet the insurgents were coming back triumphant, that was the belief of +the whole town. But Aristide felt some doubts on the point; he had suspicions +of some lugubrious farce. As he did not dare to present himself at his +parents’ house, he sent his wife thither. And when Angèle returned, she +said to him, in her drawling voice: “Your mother expects you; she is not +angry at all, she seems rather to be making fun of you. She told me several +times that you could just put your sling back in your pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +Aristide felt terribly vexed. However, he ran to the Rue de la Banne, prepared +to make the most humble submission. His mother was content to receive him with +scornful laughter. “Ah! my poor fellow,” said she, +“you’re certainly not very shrewd.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can one do in a hole like Plassans!” he angrily retorted. +“On my word of honour, I am becoming a fool here. No news, and everybody +shivering! That’s what it is to be shut up in these villainous ramparts. +Ah! If I had only been able to follow Eugène to Paris!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, seeing that his mother was still smiling, he added bitterly: “You +haven’t been very kind to me, mother. I know many things, I do. My +brother kept you informed of what was going on, and you have never given me the +faintest hint that might have been useful to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know that, do you?” exclaimed Félicité, becoming serious and +distrustful. “Well, you’re not so foolish as I thought, then. Do +you open letters like some one of my acquaintance?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; but I listen at doors,” Aristide replied, with great +assurance. +</p> + +<p> +This frankness did not displease the old woman. She began to smile again, and +asked more softly: “Well, then, you blockhead, how is it you didn’t +rally to us sooner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that’s where it is,” the young man said, with some +embarrassment. “I didn’t have much confidence in you. You received +such idiots: my father-in-law, Granoux, and the others!—And then, I +didn’t want to go too far. . . .” He hesitated, and then resumed, +with some uneasiness: “To-day you are at least quite sure of the success +of the Coup d’État, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” cried Félicité, wounded by her son’s doubts; “no, +I’m not sure of anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you sent word to say that I was to take off my sling!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; because all the gentlemen are laughing at you.” +</p> + +<p> +Aristide remained stock still, apparently contemplating one of the flowers of +the orange-coloured wall-paper. And his mother felt sudden impatience as she +saw him hesitating thus. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! well,” she said, “I’ve come back again to my +former opinion; you’re not very shrewd. And you think you ought to have +had Eugène’s letters to read? Why, my poor fellow you would have spoilt +everything, with your perpetual vacillation. You never can make up your mind. +You are hesitating now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hesitate?” he interrupted, giving his mother a cold, keen +glance. “Ah! well, you don’t know me. I would set the whole town on +fire if it were necessary, and I wanted to warm my feet. But, understand me, +I’ve no desire to take the wrong road! I’m tired of eating hard +bread, and I hope to play fortune a trick. But I only play for +certainties.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke these words so sharply, with such a keen longing for success, that his +mother recognised the cry of her own blood. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father is very brave,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve seen him,” he resumed with a sneer. +“He’s got a fine look on him! He reminded me of Leonidas at +Thermopylae. Is it you, mother, who have made him cut this figure?” +</p> + +<p> +And he added cheerfully, with a gesture of determination: “Well, so much +the worse! I’m a Bonapartist! Father is not the man to risk the chance of +being killed unless it pays him well.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right,” his mother replied; “I +mustn’t say anything; but to-morrow you’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not press her, but swore that she would soon have reason to be proud of +him; and then he took his departure, while Félicité, feeling her old preference +reviving, said to herself at the window, as she watched him going off, that he +had the devil’s own wit, that she would never have had sufficient courage +to let him leave without setting him in the right path. +</p> + +<p> +And now for the third time a night full of anguish fell upon Plassans. The +unhappy town was almost at its death-rattle. The citizens hastened home and +barricaded their doors with a great clattering of iron bolts and bars. The +general feeling seemed to be that, by the morrow, Plassans would no longer +exist, that it would either be swallowed up by the earth or would evaporate in +the atmosphere. When Rougon went home to dine, he found the streets completely +deserted. This desolation made him sad and melancholy. As a result of this, +when he had finished his meal, he felt some slight misgivings, and asked his +wife if it were necessary to follow up the insurrection that Macquart was +preparing. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody will run us down now,” said he. “You should have seen +those gentlemen of the new town, how they bowed to me! It seems to me quite +unnecessary now to kill anybody—eh? What do you think? We shall feather +our nest without that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! what a nerveless fellow you are!” Félicité cried angrily. +“It was your own idea to do it, and now you back out! I tell you that +you’ll never do anything without me! Go then, go your own way. Do you +think the Republicans would spare you if they got hold of you?” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon went back to the town-hall, and prepared for the ambush. Granoux was +very useful to him. He despatched him with orders to the different posts +guarding the ramparts. The national guards were to repair to the town-hall in +small detachments, as secretly as possible. Roudier, that bourgeois who was +quite out of his element in the provinces, and who would have spoilt the whole +affair with his humanitarian preaching, was not even informed of it. Towards +eleven o’clock, the court-yard of the town-hall was full of national +guards. Then Rougon frightened them; he told them that the Republicans still +remaining in Plassans were about to attempt a desperate <i>coup de main</i>, +and plumed himself on having been warned in time by his secret police. When he +had pictured the bloody massacre which would overtake the town, should these +wretches get the upper hand, he ordered his men to cease speaking, and +extinguish all lights. He took a gun himself. Ever since the morning he had +been living as in a dream; he no longer knew himself; he felt Félicité behind +him. The crisis of the previous night had thrown him into her hands, and he +would have allowed himself to be hanged, thinking: “It does not matter, +my wife will come and cut me down.” To augment the tumult, and prolong +the terror of the slumbering town, he begged Granoux to repair to the cathedral +and have the tocsin rung at the first shots he might hear. The marquis’s +name would open the beadle’s door. And then, in darkness and dismal +silence, the national guards waited in the yard, in a terrible state of +anxiety, their eyes fixed on the porch, eager to fire, as though they were +lying in wait for a pack of wolves. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Macquart had spent the day at aunt Dide’s house. +Stretching himself on the old coffer, and lamenting the loss of Monsieur +Garconnet’s sofa, he had several times felt a mad inclination to break +into his two hundred francs at some neighbouring cafe. This money was burning a +hole in his waistcoat pocket; however, he whiled away his time by spending it +in imagination. His mother moved about, in her stiff, automatic way, as if she +were not even aware of his presence. During the last few days her children had +been coming to her rather frequently, in a state of pallor and desperation, but +she departed neither from her taciturnity, nor her stiff, lifeless expression. +She knew nothing of the fears which were throwing the pent-up town topsy-turvy, +she was a thousand leagues away from Plassans, soaring into the one constant +fixed idea which imparted such a blank stare to her eyes. Now and again, +however, at this particular moment, some feeling of uneasiness, some human +anxiety, occasionally made her blink. Antoine, unable to resist the temptation +of having something nice to eat, sent her to get a roast chicken from an +eating-house in the Faubourg. When it was set on the table: “Hey!” +he said to her, “you don’t often eat fowl, do you? It’s only +for those who work, and know how to manage their affairs. As for you, you +always squandered everything. I bet you’re giving all your savings to +that little hypocrite, Silvère. He’s got a mistress, the sly fellow. If +you’ve a hoard of money hidden in some corner, he’ll ease you of it +nicely some day.” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart was in a jesting mood, glowing with wild exultation. The money he had +in his pocket, the treachery he was preparing, the conviction that he had sold +himself at a good price—all filled him with the self-satisfaction +characteristic of vicious people who naturally became merry and scornful amidst +their evil practices. Of all his talk, however, aunt Dide only heard +Silvère’s name. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen him?” she asked, opening her lips at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Who? Silvère?” Antoine replied. “He was walking about among +the insurgents with a tall red girl on his arm. It will serve him right if he +gets into trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +The grandmother looked at him fixedly, then, in a solemn voice, inquired: +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Why, he shouldn’t be so stupid,” resumed Macquart, +feeling somewhat embarrassed. “People don’t risk their necks for +the sake of ideas. I’ve settled my own little business. I’m no +fool.” +</p> + +<p> +But aunt Dide was no longer listening to him. She was murmuring: “He had +his hands covered with blood. They’ll kill him like the other one. His +uncles will send the gendarmes after him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you muttering there?” asked her son, as he finished +picking the bones of the chicken. “You know I like people to accuse me to +my face. If I have sometimes talked to the little fellow about the Republic, it +was only to bring him round to a more reasonable way of thinking. He was dotty. +I love liberty myself, but it mustn’t degenerate into license. And as for +Rougon, I esteem him. He’s a man of courage and common-sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had the gun, hadn’t he?” interrupted aunt Dide, whose +wandering mind seemed to be following Silvère far away along the high road. +</p> + +<p> +“The gun? Ah! yes; Macquart’s carbine,” continued Antoine, +after casting a glance at the mantel-shelf, where the fire-arm was usually +hung. “I fancy I saw it in his hands. A fine instrument to scour the +country with, when one has a girl on one’s arm. What a fool!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he thought he might as well indulge in a few coarse jokes. Aunt Dide had +begun to bustle about the room again. She did not say a word. Towards the +evening Antoine went out, after putting on a blouse, and pulling over his eyes +a big cap which his mother had bought for him. He returned into the town in the +same manner as he had quitted it, by relating some nonsensical story to the +national guards who were on duty at the Rome Gate. Then he made his way to the +old quarter, where he crept from house to house in a mysterious manner. All the +Republicans of advanced views, all the members of the brotherhood who had not +followed the insurrectionary army, met in an obscure inn, where Macquart had +made an appointment with them. When about fifty men were assembled, he made a +speech, in which he spoke of personal vengeance that must be wreaked, of a +victory that must be gained, and of a disgraceful yoke that must be thrown off. +And he ended by undertaking to deliver the town-hall over to them in ten +minutes. He had just left it, it was quite unguarded, he said, and the red flag +would wave over it that very night if they so desired. The workmen deliberated. +At that moment the reaction seemed to be in its death throes. The insurgents +were virtually at the gates of the town. It would therefore be more honourable +to make an effort to regain power without awaiting their return, so as to be +able to receive them as brothers, with the gates wide open, and the streets and +squares adorned with flags. Moreover, none of those present distrusted +Macquart. His hatred of the Rougons, the personal vengeance of which he spoke, +could be taken as guaranteeing his loyalty. It was arranged that each of them +who was a sportsman and had a gun at home should fetch it, and that the band +should assemble at midnight in the neighbourhood of the town-hall. A question +of detail very nearly put an end to their plans—they had no bullets; +however, they decided to load their weapons with small shot: and even that +seemed unnecessary, as they were told that they would meet with no resistance. +</p> + +<p> +Once more Plassans beheld a band of armed men filing along close to the houses, +in the quiet moonlight. When the band was assembled in front of the town-hall, +Macquart, while keeping a sharp look-out, boldly advanced to the building. He +knocked, and when the door-keeper, who had learnt his lesson, asked what was +wanted, he uttered such terrible threats, that the man, feigning fright, made +haste to open the door. Both leaves of it swung back slowly, and the porch then +lay open and empty before them, while Macquart shouted in a loud voice: +“Come on, my friends!” +</p> + +<p> +That was the signal. He himself quickly jumped aside, and as the Republicans +rushed in, there came, from the darkness of the yard, a stream of fire and a +hail of bullets, which swept through the gaping porch with a roar as of +thunder. The doorway vomited death. The national guards, exasperated by their +long wait, eager to shake off the discomfort weighing upon them in that dismal +court-yard, had fired a volley with feverish haste. The flash of the firing was +so bright, that, through the yellow gleams Macquart distinctly saw Rougon +taking aim. He fancied that his brother’s gun was deliberately levelled +at himself, and he recalled Félicité’s blush, and made his escape, +muttering: “No tricks! The rascal would kill me. He owes me eight hundred +francs.” +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime a loud howl had arisen amid the darkness. The surprised +Republicans shouted treachery, and fired in their turn. A national guard fell +under the porch. But the Republicans, on their side, had three dead. They took +to flight, stumbling over the corpses, stricken with panic, and shouting +through the quiet lanes: “Our brothers are being murdered!” in +despairing voices which found no echo. Thereupon the defenders of order, having +had time to reload their weapons, rushed into the empty square, firing at every +street corner, wherever the darkness of a door, the shadow of a lamp-post, or +the jutting of a stone made them fancy they saw an insurgent. In this wise they +remained there ten minutes, firing into space. +</p> + +<p> +The affray had burst over the slumbering town like a thunderclap. The +inhabitants in the neighbouring streets, roused from sleep by this terrible +fusillade, sat up in bed, their teeth chattering with fright. Nothing in the +world would have induced them to poke their noses out of the window. And +slowly, athwart the air, in which the shots had suddenly resounded, one of the +cathedral bells began to ring the tocsin with so irregular, so strange a +rhythm, that one might have thought the noise to be the hammering of an anvil +or the echoes of a colossal kettle struck by a child in a fit of passion. This +howling bell, whose sound the citizens did not recognise, terrified them yet +more than the reports of the fire-arms had done; and there were some who +thought they heard an endless train of artillery rumbling over the +paving-stones. They lay down again and buried themselves beneath their +blankets, as if they would have incurred some danger by still sitting up in bed +in their closely-fastened rooms. With their sheets drawn up to their chins, +they held their breath, and made themselves as small as possible, while their +wives, by their side, almost fainted with terror as they buried their heads +among the pillows. +</p> + +<p> +The national guards who had remained at the ramparts had also heard the shots, +and thinking that the insurgents had entered by means of some subterranean +passage, they ran up helter-skelter, in groups of five or six, disturbing the +silence of the streets with the tumult of their excited rush. Roudier was one +of the first to arrive. However, Rougon sent them all back to their posts, +after reprimanding them severely for abandoning the gates of the town. Thrown +into consternation by this reproach—for in their panic, they had, in +fact, left the gates absolutely defenceless—they again set off at a +gallop, hurrying through the streets with still more frightful uproar. Plassans +might well have thought that an infuriated army was crossing it in all +directions. The fusillade, the tocsin, the marches and countermarches of the +national guards, the weapons which were being dragged along like clubs, the +terrified cries in the darkness, all produced a deafening tumult, such as might +break forth in a town taken by assault and given over to plunder. It was the +final blow of the unfortunate inhabitants, who really believed that the +insurgents had arrived. They had, indeed, said that it would be their last +night—that Plassans would be swallowed up in the earth, or would +evaporate into smoke before daybreak; and now, lying in their beds, they +awaited the catastrophe in the most abject terror, fancying at times that their +houses were already tottering. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Granoux still rang the tocsin. When, in other respects, silence had +again fallen upon the town, the mournfulness of that ringing became +intolerable. Rougon, who was in a high fever, felt exasperated by its distant +wailing. He hastened to the cathedral, and found the door open. The beadle was +on the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! that’s quite enough!” he shouted to the man; +“anybody would think there was some one crying; it’s quite +unbearable.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it isn’t me, sir,” replied the beadle in a distressed +manner. “It’s Monsieur Granoux, he’s gone up into the +steeple. I must tell you that I removed the clapper of the bell, by his +Reverence’s order, precisely to prevent the tocsin from being sounded. +But Monsieur Granoux wouldn’t listen to reason. He climbed up, and +I’ve no idea what he can be making that noise with.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Rougon hastily ascended the staircase which led to the bells, +shouting: “That will do! That will do! For goodness’ sake leave +off!” +</p> + +<p> +When he had reached the top he caught sight of Granoux, by the light of the +moon which glided through an embrasure; the ex almond dealer was standing there +hatless, and dealing furious blows with a heavy hammer. He did so with a right +good will. He first threw himself back, then took a spring, and finally fell +upon the sonorous bronze as if he wanted to crack it. One might have thought he +was a blacksmith striking hot iron—but a frock-coated blacksmith, short +and bald, working in a wild and awkward way. +</p> + +<p> +Surprise kept Rougon motionless for a moment at the sight of this frantic +bourgeois thus belabouring the bell in the moonlight. Then he understood the +kettle-like clang which this strange ringer had disseminated over the town. He +shouted to him to stop, but Granoux did not hear. Rougon was obliged to take +hold of his frock-coat, and then the other recognising him, exclaimed in a +triumphant voice: “Ah! you’ve heard it. At first I tried to knock +the bell with my fists, but that hurt me. Fortunately I found this hammer. Just +a few more blows, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +However, Rougon dragged him away. Granoux was radiant. He wiped his forehead, +and made his companion promise to let everybody know in the morning that he had +produced all that noise with a mere hammer. What an achievement, and what a +position of importance that furious ringing would confer upon him! +</p> + +<p> +Towards morning, Rougon bethought himself of reassuring Félicité. In accordance +with his orders, the national guards had shut themselves up in the town-hall. +He had forbidden them to remove the corpses, under the pretext that it was +necessary to give the populace of the old quarter a lesson. And as, while +hastening to the Rue de la Banne, he passed over the square, on which the moon +was no longer shining, he inadvertently stepped on the clenched hand of a +corpse that lay beside the footpath. At this he almost fell. That soft hand, +which yielded beneath his heel, brought him an indefinable sensation of disgust +and horror. And thereupon he hastened at full speed along the deserted streets, +fancying that a bloody fist was pursuing him. +</p> + +<p> +“There are four of them on the ground,” he said, as he entered his +house. +</p> + +<p> +He and his wife looked at one another as though they were astonished at their +crime. +</p> + +<p> +The lamplight imparted the hue of yellow wax to their pale faces. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you left them there?” asked Félicité; “they must be +found there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course! I didn’t pick them up. They are lying on their backs. I +stepped on something soft——” +</p> + +<p> +Then he looked at his boot; its heel was covered with blood. While he was +putting on a pair of shoes, Félicité resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Well! so much the better! It’s over now. People won’t be +inclined to repeat that you only fire at mirrors.” +</p> + +<p> +The fusillade which the Rougons had planned in order that they might be finally +recognised as the saviours of Plassans, brought the whole terrified and +grateful town to their feet. The day broke mournfully with the grey melancholy +of a winter-morning. The inhabitants, hearing nothing further, ventured forth, +weary of trembling beneath their sheets. At first some ten or fifteen appeared. +Later on, when a rumour spread that the insurgents had taken flight, leaving +their dead in every gutter, Plassans rose in a body and descended upon the +town-hall. Throughout the morning people strolled inquisitively round the four +corpses. They were horribly mutilated, particularly one, which had three +bullets in the head. But the most horrible to look upon was the body of a +national guard, who had fallen under the porch; he had received a charge of the +small shot, used by the Republicans in lieu of bullets, full in the face; and +blood oozed from his torn and riddled countenance. The crowd feasted their eyes +upon this horror, with the avidity for revolting spectacles which is so +characteristic of cowards. The national guard was freely recognised; he was the +pork-butcher Dubruel, the man whom Roudier had accused on the Monday morning of +having fired with culpable eagerness. Of the three other corpses, two were +journeymen hatters; the third was not identified. For a long while gaping +groups remained shuddering in front of the red pools which stained the +pavement, often looking behind them with an air of mistrust, as though that +summary justice which had restored order during the night by force of arms, +were, even now, watching and listening to them, ready to shoot them down in +their turn, unless they kissed with enthusiasm the hand that had just rescued +them from the demagogy. +</p> + +<p> +The panic of the night further augmented the terrible effect produced in the +morning by the sight of the four corpses. The true history of the fusillade was +never known. The firing of the combatants, Granoux’s hammering, the +helter-skelter rush of the national guards through the streets, had filled +people’s ears with such terrifying sounds that most of them dreamed of a +gigantic battle waged against countless enemies. When the victors, magnifying +the number of their adversaries with instinctive braggardism, spoke of about +five hundred men, everybody protested against such a low estimate. Some +citizens asserted that they had looked out of their windows and seen an immense +stream of fugitives passing by for more than an hour. Moreover everybody had +heard the bandits running about. Five hundred men would never have been able to +rouse a whole town. It must have been an army, and a fine big army too, which +the brave militia of Plassans had “driven back into the ground.” +This phrase of their having been “driven back into the ground,” +first used by Rougon, struck people as being singularly appropriate, for the +guards who were charged with the defence of the ramparts swore by all that was +holy that not a single man had entered or quitted the town, a circumstance +which tinged what had happened with mystery, even suggesting the idea of horned +demons who had vanished amidst flames, and thus fairly upsetting the minds of +the multitude. It is true the guards avoided all mention of their mad gallops; +and so the more rational citizens were inclined to believe that a band of +insurgents had really entered the town either by a breach in the wall or some +other channel. Later on, rumours of treachery were spread abroad, and people +talked of an ambush. The cruel truth could no longer be concealed by the men +whom Macquart had led to slaughter, but so much terror still prevailed, and the +sight of blood had thrown so many cowards into the arms of the reactionary +party, that these rumours were attributed to the rage of the vanquished +Republicans. It was asserted, on the other hand, that Macquart had been made +prisoner by Rougon, who kept him in a damp cell, where he was letting him +slowly die of starvation. This horrible tale made people bow to the very ground +whenever they encountered Rougon. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was that this grotesque personage, this pale, flabby, tun-bellied +citizen became, in one night, a terrible captain, whom nobody dared to ridicule +any more. He had steeped his foot in blood. The inhabitants of the old quarter +stood dumb with fright before the corpses. But towards ten o’clock, when +the respectable people of the new town arrived, the whole square hummed with +subdued chatter. People spoke of the other attack, of the seizure of the +mayor’s office, in which a mirror only had been wounded; but this time +they no longer pooh-poohed Rougon, they spoke of him with respectful dismay; he +was indeed a hero, a deliverer. The corpses, with open eyes, stared at those +gentlemen, the lawyers and householders, who shuddered as they murmured that +civil war had many cruel necessities. The notary, the chief of the deputation +sent to the town-hall on the previous evening, went from group to group, +recalling the proud words “I am prepared!” then used by the +energetic man to whom the town owed its safety. There was a general feeling of +humiliation. Those who had railed most cruelly against the forty-one, those, +especially, who had referred to the Rougons as intriguers and cowards who +merely fired shots in the air, were the first to speak of granting a crown of +laurels “to the noble citizen of whom Plassans would be for ever +proud.” For the pools of blood were drying on the pavement, and the +corpses proclaimed to what a degree of audacity the party of disorder, pillage, +and murder had gone, and what an iron hand had been required to put down the +insurrection. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, the whole crowd was eager to congratulate Granoux, and shake hands +with him. The story of the hammer had become known. By an innocent falsehood, +however, of which he himself soon became unconscious, he asserted that, having +been the first to see the insurgents, he had set about striking the bell, in +order to sound the alarm, so that, but for him, the national guards would have +been massacred. This doubled his importance. His achievement was declared +prodigious. People spoke of him now as “Monsieur Isidore, don’t you +know? the gentleman who sounded the tocsin with a hammer!” Although the +sentence was somewhat lengthy, Granoux would willingly have accepted it as a +title of nobility; and from that day forward he never heard the word +“hammer” pronounced without imagining it to be some delicate +flattery. +</p> + +<p> +While the corpses were being removed, Aristide came to look at them. He +examined them on all sides, sniffing and looking inquisitively at their faces. +His eyes were bright, and he had a sharp expression of countenance. In order to +see some wound the better he even lifted up the blouse of one corpse with the +very hand which on the previous day had been suspended in a sling. This +examination seemed to convince him and remove all doubt from his mind. He bit +his lips, remained there for a moment in silence, and then went off for the +purpose of hastening the issue of the “Indépendant,” for which he +had written a most important article. And as he hurried along beside the houses +he recalled his mother’s words: “You will see to-morrow!” +Well, he had seen now; it was very clever; it even frightened him somewhat. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Rougon’s triumph was beginning to embarrass him. Alone +in Monsieur Garconnet’s office, hearing the buzzing of the crowd, he +became conscious of a strange feeling, which prevented him from showing himself +on the balcony. That blood, in which he had stepped, seemed to have numbed his +legs. He wondered what he should do until the evening. His poor empty brain, +upset by the events of the night, sought desperately for some occupation, some +order to give, or some measure to be taken, which might afford him some +distraction. But he could think about nothing clearly. Whither was Félicité +leading him? Was it really all finished now, or would he still have to kill +somebody else? Then fear again assailed him, terrible doubts arose in his mind, +and he already saw the ramparts broken down on all sides by an avenging army of +the Republicans, when a loud shout: “The insurgents! The +insurgents!” burst forth under the very windows of his room. At this he +jumped up, and raising a curtain, saw the crowd rushing about the square in a +state of terror. What a thunderbolt! In less than a second he pictured himself +ruined, plundered, and murdered; he cursed his wife, he cursed the whole town. +Then, as he looked behind him in a suspicious manner, seeking some means of +escape, he heard the mob break out into applause, uttering shouts of joy, +making the very glass rattle with their wild delight. Then he returned to the +window; the women were waving their handkerchiefs, and the men were embracing +each other. There were some among them who joined hands and began to dance. +Rougon stood there stupefied, unable to comprehend it all, and feeling his head +swimming. The big, deserted, silent building, in which he was alone, quite +frightened him. +</p> + +<p> +When he afterwards confessed his feelings to Félicité, he was unable to say how +long his torture had lasted. He only remembered that a noise of footsteps, +re-echoing through the vast halls, had roused him from his stupor. He expected +to be attacked by men in blouses, armed with scythes and clubs, whereas it was +the Municipal Commission which entered, quite orderly and in evening dress, +each member with a beaming countenance. Not one of them was absent. A piece of +good news had simultaneously cured all these gentlemen. Granoux rushed into the +arms of his dear president. +</p> + +<p> +“The soldiers!” he stammered, “the soldiers!” +</p> + +<p> +A regiment had, in fact, just arrived, under the command of Colonel Masson and +Monsieur de Bleriot, prefect of the department. The gunbarrels which had been +observed from the ramparts, far away in the plain, had at first suggested the +approach of the insurgents. Rougon was so deeply moved on learning the truth, +that two big tears rolled down his cheeks. He was weeping, the great citizen! +The Municipal Commission watched those big tears with most respectful +admiration. But Granoux again threw himself on his friend’s neck, crying: +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! how glad I am! You know I’m a straightforward man. Well, we +were all of us afraid; it is not so, gentlemen? You, alone, were great, brave, +sublime! What energy you must have had! I was just now saying to my wife: +‘Rougon is a great man; he deserves to be decorated.’” +</p> + +<p> +Then the gentlemen proposed to go and meet the prefect. For a moment Rougon +felt both stunned and suffocated; he was unable to believe in this sudden +triumph, and stammered like a child. However, he drew breath, and went +downstairs with the quiet dignity suited to the solemnity of the occasion. But +the enthusiasm which greeted the commission and its president outside the +town-hall almost upset his magisterial gravity afresh. His name sped through +the crowd, accompanied this time by the warmest eulogies. He heard everyone +repeat Granoux’s avowal, and treat him as a hero who had stood firm and +resolute amidst universal panic. And, as far as the Sub-Prefecture, where the +commission met the prefect, he drank his fill of popularity and glory. +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur de Bleriot and Colonel Masson had entered the town alone, leaving +their troops encamped on the Lyons road. They had lost considerable time +through a misunderstanding as to the direction taken by the insurgents. Now, +however, they knew the latter were at Orcheres; and it would only be necessary +to stop an hour at Plassans, just sufficient time to reassure the population +and publish the cruel ordinances which decreed the sequestration of the +insurgents’ property, and death to every individual who might be taken +with arms in his hands. Colonel Masson smiled when, in accordance with the +orders of the commander of the national guards, the bolts of the Rome Gate were +drawn back with a great rattling of rusty old iron. The detachment on duty +there accompanied the prefect and the colonel as a guard of honour. As they +traversed the Cours Sauvaire, Roudier related Rougon’s epic achievements +to the gentlemen—the three days of panic that had terminated with the +brilliant victory of the previous night. When the two processions came face to +face therefore, Monsieur de Bleriot quickly advanced towards the president of +the Commission, shook hands with him, congratulated him, and begged him to +continue to watch over the town until the return of the authorities. Rougon +bowed, while the prefect, having reached the door of the Sub-Prefecture, where +he wished to take a brief rest, proclaimed in a loud voice that he would not +forget to mention his brave and noble conduct in his report. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, in spite of the bitter cold, everybody had come to their +windows. Félicité, leaning forward at the risk of falling out, was quite pale +with joy. Aristide had just arrived with a number of the +“Indépendant,” in which he had openly declared himself in favour of +the Coup d’État, which he welcomed “as the aurora of liberty in +order and of order in liberty.” He had also made a delicate allusion to +the yellow drawing-room, acknowledging his errors, declaring that “youth +is presumptuous,” and that “great citizens say nothing, reflect in +silence, and let insults pass by, in order to rise heroically when the day of +struggle comes.” He was particularly pleased with this sentence. His +mother thought his article extremely well written. She kissed her dear child, +and placed him on her right hand. The Marquis de Carnavant, weary of +incarcerating himself, and full of eager curiosity, had likewise come to see +her, and stood on her left, leaning on the window rail. +</p> + +<p> +When Monsieur de Bleriot offered his hand to Rougon on the square below +Félicité began to weep. “Oh! see, see,” she said to Aristide. +“He has shaken hands with him. Look! he is doing it again!” And +casting a glance at the windows, where groups of people were congregated, she +added: “How wild they must be! Look at Monsieur Peirotte’s wife, +she’s biting her handkerchief. And over there, the notary’s +daughter, and Madame Massicot, and the Brunet family, what faces, eh? how angry +they look! Ah, indeed, it’s our turn now.” +</p> + +<p> +She followed the scene which was being acted outside the Sub-Prefecture with +thrills of delight, which shook her ardent, grasshopper-like figure from head +to foot. She interpreted the slightest gesture, invented words which she was +unable to catch, and declared that Pierre bowed very well indeed. She was a +little vexed when the prefect deigned to speak to poor Granoux, who was +hovering about him fishing for a word of praise. No doubt Monsieur de Bleriot +already knew the story of the hammer, for the retired almond-dealer turned as +red as a young girl, and seemed to be saying that he had only done his duty. +However, that which angered Félicité still more was her husband’s +excessive amiability in presenting Vuillet to the authorities. Vuillet, it is +true, pushed himself forward amongst them, and Rougon was compelled to mention +him. +</p> + +<p> +“What a schemer!” muttered Félicité. “He creeps in +everywhere. How confused my poor dear husband must be! See, there’s the +colonel speaking to him. What can he be saying to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! little one,” the marquis replied with a touch of irony, +“he is complimenting him for having closed the gates so carefully.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father has saved the town,” Aristide retorted curtly. +“Have you seen the corpses, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Monsieur de Carnavant did not answer. He withdrew from the window, and sat down +in an arm-chair, shaking his head with an air of some disgust. At that moment, +the prefect having taken his departure, Rougon came upstairs and threw himself +upon his wife’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my dear!” he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +He was unable to say more. Félicité made him kiss Aristide after telling him of +the superb article which the young man had inserted in the +“Indépendant.” Pierre would have kissed the marquis as well, he was +deeply affected. However, his wife took him aside, and gave him Eugène’s +letter which she had sealed up in an envelope again. She pretended that it had +just been delivered. Pierre read it and then triumphantly held it out to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a sorceress,” he said to her laughing. “You guessed +everything. What folly I should have committed without you! We’ll manage +our little affairs together now. Kiss me: you’re a good woman.” +</p> + +<p> +He clasped her in his arms, while she discreetly exchanged a knowing smile with +the marquis. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p> +It was not until Sunday, the day after the massacre at Sainte-Roure, that the +troops passed through Plassans again. The prefect and the colonel, whom +Monsieur Garconnet had invited to dinner, once more entered the town alone. The +soldiers went round the ramparts and encamped in the Faubourg, on the Nice +road. Night was falling; the sky, overcast since the morning, had a strange +yellow tint, and illumined the town with a murky light, similar to the +copper-coloured glimmer of stormy weather. The reception of the troops by the +inhabitants was timid; the bloodstained soldiers, who passed by weary and +silent, in the yellow twilight, horrified the cleanly citizens promenading on +the Cours. They stepped out of the way whispering terrible stories of +fusillades and revengeful reprisals which still live in the recollection of the +region. The Coup d’État terror was beginning to make itself felt, an +overwhelming terror which kept the South in a state of tremor for many a long +month. Plassans, in its fear and hatred of the insurgents, had welcomed the +troops on their first arrival with enthusiasm; but now, at the appearance of +that gloomy taciturn regiment, whose men were ready to fire at a word from +their officers, the retired merchants and even the notaries of the new town +anxiously examined their consciences, asking if they had not committed some +political peccadilloes which might be thought deserving of a bullet. +</p> + +<p> +The municipal authorities had returned on the previous evening in a couple of +carts hired at Sainte-Roure. Their unexpected entry was devoid of all triumphal +display. Rougon surrendered the mayor’s arm-chair without much regret. +The game was over; and with feverish longing he now awaited the recompense for +his devotion. On the Sunday—he had not hoped for it until the following +day—he received a letter from Eugène. Since the previous Thursday +Félicité had taken care to send her son the numbers of the +“Gazette” and “Indépendant” which, in special second +editions had narrated the battle of the night and the arrival of the prefect at +Plassans. Eugène now replied by return of post that the nomination of a +receivership would soon be signed; but added that he wished to give them some +good news immediately. He had obtained the ribbon of the Legion of Honour for +his father. Félicité wept with joy. Her husband decorated! Her proud dream had +never gone as far as that. Rougon, pale with delight, declared they must give a +grand dinner that very evening. He no longer thought of expense; he would have +thrown his last fifty francs out of the drawing-room windows in order to +celebrate that glorious day. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he said to his wife; “you must invite Sicardot: he +has annoyed me with that rosette of his for a long time! Then Granoux and +Roudier; I shouldn’t be at all sorry to make them feel that it +isn’t their purses that will ever win them the cross. Vuillet is a +skinflint, but the triumph ought to be complete: invite him as well as the +small fry. I was forgetting; you must go and call on the marquis in person; we +will seat him on your right; he’ll look very well at our table. You know +that Monsieur Garconnet is entertaining the colonel and the prefect. That is to +make me understand that I am nobody now. But I can afford to laugh at his +mayoralty; it doesn’t bring him in a sou! He has invited me, but I shall +tell him that I also have some people coming. The others will laugh on the +wrong side of their mouths to-morrow. And let everything be of the best. Have +everything sent from the Hôtel de Provence. We must outdo the mayor’s +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité set to work. Pierre still felt some vague uneasiness amidst his +rapture. The Coup d’État was going to pay his debts, his son Aristide had +repented of his faults, and he was at last freeing himself from Macquart; but +he feared some folly on Pascal’s part, and was especially anxious about +the lot reserved for Silvère. Not that he felt the least pity for the lad; he +was simply afraid the matter of the gendarme might come before the Assize +Court. Ah! if only some discriminating bullet had managed to rid him of that +young scoundrel! As his wife had pointed out to him in the morning, all +obstacles had fallen away before him; the family which had dishonoured him had, +at the last moment, worked for his elevation; his sons Eugène and Aristide, +those spend-thrifts, the cost of whose college life he had so bitterly +regretted, were at last paying interest on the capital expended for their +education. And yet the thought of that wretched Silvère must come to mar his +hour of triumph! +</p> + +<p> +While Félicité was running about to prepare the dinner for the evening, Pierre +heard of the arrival of the troops and determined to go and make inquiries. +Sicardot, whom he had questioned on his return, knew nothing; Pascal must have +remained to look after the wounded; as for Silvère, he had not even been seen +by the commander, who scarcely knew him. Rougon therefore repaired to the +Faubourg, intending to make inquiries there and at the same time pay Macquart +the eight hundred francs which he had just succeeded in raising with great +difficulty. However, when he found himself in the crowded encampment, and from +a distance saw the prisoners sitting in long files on the beams in the Aire +Saint-Mittre, guarded by soldiers gun in hand, he felt afraid of being +compromised, and so slunk off to his mother’s house, with the intention +of sending the old woman out to pick up some information. +</p> + +<p> +When he entered the hovel it was almost night. At first the only person he saw +there was Macquart smoking and drinking brandy. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you? I’m glad of it,” muttered Antoine. +“I’m growing deuced cold here. Have you got the money?” +</p> + +<p> +But Pierre did not reply. He had just perceived his son Pascal leaning over the +bed. And thereupon he questioned him eagerly. The doctor, surprised by his +uneasiness, which he attributed to paternal affection, told him that the +soldiers had taken him and would have shot him, had it not been for the +intervention of some honest fellow whom he did not know. Saved by his +profession of surgeon, he had returned to Plassans with the troops. This +greatly relieved Rougon. So there was yet another who would not compromise him. +He was evincing his delight by repeated hand-shakings, when Pascal concluded in +a sorrowful voice: “Oh! don’t make merry. I have just found my poor +grandmother in a very dangerous state. I brought her back this carbine, which +she values very much; I found her lying here, and she has not moved +since.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dimness. In the fast fading +light he saw aunt Dide stretched, rigid and seemingly lifeless, upon her bed. +Her wretched frame, attacked by neurosis from the hour of birth, was at length +laid prostrate by a supreme shock. Her nerves had so to say consumed her blood. +Moreover some cruel grief seemed to have suddenly accelerated her slow +wasting-away. Her pale nun-like face, drawn and pinched by a life of gloom and +cloister-like self-denial, was now stained with red blotches. With convulsed +features, eyes that glared terribly, and hands twisted and clenched, she lay at +full length in her skirts, which failed to hide the sharp outlines of her +scrawny limbs. Extended there with lips closely pressed she imparted to the dim +room all the horror of a mute death-agony. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon made a gesture of vexation. This heart-rending spectacle was very +distasteful to him. He had company coming to dinner in the evening, and it +would be extremely inconvenient for him to have to appear mournful. His mother +was always doing something to bother him. She might just as well have chosen +another day. However, he put on an appearance of perfect ease, as he said: +“Bah! it’s nothing. I’ve seen her like that a hundred times. +You must let her lie still; it’s the only thing that does her any +good.” +</p> + +<p> +Pascal shook his head. “No, this fit isn’t like the others,” +he whispered. “I have often studied her, and have never observed such +symptoms before. Just look at her eyes: there is a peculiar fluidity, a pale +brightness about them which causes me considerable uneasiness. And her face, +how frightfully every muscle of it is distorted!” +</p> + +<p> +Then bending over to observe her features more closely, he continued in a +whisper, as though speaking to himself: “I have never seen such a face, +excepting among people who have been murdered or have died from fright. She +must have experienced some terrible shock.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did the attack begin?” Rougon impatiently inquired, at a +loss for an excuse to leave the room. +</p> + +<p> +Pascal did not know. Macquart, as he poured himself out another glass of +brandy, explained that he had felt an inclination to drink a little Cognac, and +had sent her to fetch a bottle. She had not been long absent, and at the very +moment when she returned she had fallen rigid on the floor without uttering a +word. Macquart himself had carried her to the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“What surprises me,” he said, by way of conclusion, “is, that +she did not break the bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +The young doctor reflected. After a short pause he resumed: “I heard two +shots fired as I came here. Perhaps those ruffians have been shooting some more +prisoners. If she passed through the ranks of the soldiers at that moment, the +sight of blood may have thrown her into this fit. She must have had some +dreadful shock.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately he had with him the little medicine-case which he had been carrying +about ever since the departure of the insurgents. He tried to pour a few drops +of reddish liquid between aunt Dide’s closely-set teeth, while Macquart +again asked his brother: “Have you got the money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve brought it; we’ll settle now,” Rougon +replied, glad of this diversion. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Macquart, seeing that he was about to be paid, began to moan. He had +only learnt the consequence of his treachery when it was too late; otherwise he +would have demanded twice or thrice as much. And he complained bitterly. Really +now a thousand francs was not enough. His children had forsaken him, he was all +alone in the world, and obliged to quit France. He almost wept as he spoke of +his coming exile. +</p> + +<p> +“Come now, will you take the eight hundred francs?” said Rougon, +who was in haste to be off. +</p> + +<p> +“No, certainly not; double the sum. Your wife cheated me. If she had told +me distinctly what it was she expected of me, I would never have compromised +myself for such a trifle.” +</p> + +<p> +Rougon laid the eight hundred francs upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear I haven’t got any more,” he resumed. “I will +think of you later. But do, for mercy’s sake, get away this +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart, cursing and muttering protests, thereupon carried the table to the +window, and began to count the gold in the fading twilight. The coins tickled +the tips of his fingers very pleasantly as he let them fall, and jingled +musically in the darkness. At last he paused for a moment to say: “You +promised to get me a berth, remember. I want to return to France. The post of +rural guard in some pleasant neighbourhood which I could mention, would just +suit me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, I’ll see about it,” Rougon replied. “Have +you got the eight hundred francs?” +</p> + +<p> +Macquart resumed his counting. The last coins were just clinking when a burst +of laughter made them turn their heads. Aunt Dide was standing up in front of +the bed, with her bodice unfastened, her white hair hanging loose, and her face +stained with red blotches. Pascal had in vain endeavoured to hold her down. +Trembling all over, and with her arms outstretched, she shook her head +deliriously. +</p> + +<p> +“The blood-money! the blood-money!” she again and again repeated. +“I heard the gold. And it is they, they who sold him. Ah! the murderers! +They are a pack of wolves.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she pushed her hair aback, and passed her hand over her brow, as though +seeking to collect her thoughts. And she continued: “Ah! I have long seen +him with a bullet-hole in his forehead. There were always people lying in wait +for him with guns. They used to sign to me that they were going to fire. . . . +It’s terrible! I feel some one breaking my bones and battering out my +brains. Oh! Mercy! Mercy! I beseech you; he shall not see her any +more—never, never! I will shut him up. I will prevent him from walking +out with her. Mercy! Mercy! Don’t fire. It is not my fault. If you +knew——” +</p> + +<p> +She had almost fallen on her knees, and was weeping and entreating while she +stretched her poor trembling hands towards some horrible vision which she saw +in the darkness. Then she suddenly rose upright, and her eyes opened still more +widely as a terrible cry came from her convulsed throat, as though some awful +sight, visible to her alone, had filled her with mad terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the gendarme!” she said, choking and falling backwards on the +bed, where she rolled about, breaking into long bursts of furious, insane +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Pascal was studying the attack attentively. The two brothers, who felt very +frightened, and only detected snatches of what their mother said, had taken +refuge in a corner of the room. When Rougon heard the word gendarme, he thought +he understood her. Ever since the murder of her lover, the elder Macquart, on +the frontier, aunt Dide had cherished a bitter hatred against all gendarmes and +custom-house officers, whom she mingled together in one common longing for +vengeance. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s the story of the poacher that she’s telling +us,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +But Pascal made a sign to him to keep quiet. The stricken woman had raised +herself with difficulty, and was looking round her, with a stupefied air. She +remained silent for a moment, endeavouring to recognise the various objects in +the room, as though she were in some strange place. Then, with a sudden +expression of anxiety, she asked: “Where is the gun?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor put the carbine into her hands. At this she raised a light cry of +joy, and gazed at the weapon, saying in a soft, sing-song, girlish whisper: +“That is it. Oh! I recognise it! It is all stained with blood. The stains +are quite fresh to-day. His red hands have left marks of blood on the butt. Ah! +poor, poor aunt Dide!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she became dizzy once more, and lapsed into silent thought. +</p> + +<p> +“The gendarme was dead,” she murmured at last, “but I have +seen him again; he has come back. They never die, those blackguards!” +</p> + +<p> +Again did gloomy passion come over her, and, shaking the carbine, she advanced +towards her two sons who, speechless with fright, retreated to the very wall. +Her loosened skirts trailed along the ground, as she drew up her twisted frame, +which age had reduced to mere bones. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s you who fired!” she cried. “I heard the gold. . . +. Wretched woman that I am! . . . I brought nothing but wolves into the +world—a whole family—a whole litter of wolves! . . . There was only +one poor lad, and him they have devoured; each had a bite at him, and their +lips are covered with blood. . . . Ah! the accursed villains! They have robbed, +they have murdered. . . . And they live like gentlemen. Villains! Accursed +villains!” +</p> + +<p> +She sang, laughed, cried, and repeated “accursed villains!” in +strangely sonorous tones, which suggested a crackling of a fusillade. Pascal, +with tears in his eyes, took her in his arms and laid her on the bed again. She +submitted like a child, but persisted in her wailing cries, accelerating their +rhythm, and beating time on the sheet with her withered hands. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I was afraid of,” the doctor said; +“she is mad. The blow has been too heavy for a poor creature already +subject, as she is, to acute neurosis. She will die in a lunatic asylum like +her father.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what could she have seen?” asked Rougon, at last venturing to +quit the corner where he had hidden himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a terrible suspicion,” Pascal replied. “I was going +to speak to you about Silvère when you came in. He is a prisoner. You must +endeavour to obtain his release from the prefect, if there is still +time.” +</p> + +<p> +The old oil-dealer turned pale as he looked at his son. Then, rapidly, he +responded: “Listen to me; you stay here and watch her. I’m too busy +this evening. We will see to-morrow about conveying her to the lunatic asylum +at Les Tulettes. As for you, Macquart, you must leave this very night. Swear to +me that you will! I’m going to find Monsieur de Bleriot.” +</p> + +<p> +He stammered as he spoke, and felt more eager than ever to get out into the +fresh air of the streets. Pascal fixed a penetrating look on the madwoman, and +then on his father and uncle. His professional instinct was getting the better +of him, and he studied the mother and the sons, with all the keenness of a +naturalist observing the metamorphosis of some insect. He pondered over the +growth of that family to which he belonged, over the different branches growing +from one parent stock, whose sap carried identical germs to the farthest twigs, +which bent in divers ways according to the sunshine or shade in which they +lived. And for a moment, as by the glow of a lightning flash, he thought he +could espy the future of the Rougon-Macquart family, a pack of unbridled, +insatiate appetites amidst a blaze of gold and blood. +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Dide, however, had ceased her wailing chant at the mention of +Silvère’s name. For a moment she listened anxiously. Then she broke out +into terrible shrieks. Night had now completely fallen, and the black room +seemed void and horrible. The shrieks of the madwoman, who was no longer +visible, rang out from the darkness as from a grave. Rougon, losing his head, +took to flight, pursued by those taunting cries, whose bitterness seemed to +increase amidst the gloom. +</p> + +<p> +As he was emerging from the Impasse Saint-Mittre with hesitating steps, +wondering whether it would not be dangerous to solicit Silvère’s pardon +from the prefect, he saw Aristide prowling about the timber-yard. The latter, +recognising his father, ran up to him with an expression of anxiety and +whispered a few words in his ear. Pierre turned pale, and cast a look of alarm +towards the end of the yard, where the darkness was only relieved by the ruddy +glow of a little gipsy fire. Then they both disappeared down the Rue de Rome, +quickening their steps as though they had committed a murder, and turning up +their coat-collars in order that they might not be recognised. +</p> + +<p> +“That saves me an errand,” Rougon whispered. “Let us go to +dinner. They are waiting for us.” +</p> + +<p> +When they arrived, the yellow drawing-room was resplendent. Félicité was all +over the place. Everybody was there; Sicardot, Granoux, Roudier, Vuillet, the +oil-dealers, the almond-dealers, the whole set. The marquis, however, had +excused himself on the plea of rheumatism; and, besides, he was about to leave +Plassans on a short trip. Those bloodstained bourgeois offended his feelings of +delicacy, and moreover his relative, the Count de Valqueyras, had begged him to +withdraw from public notice for a little time. Monsieur de Carnavant’s +refusal vexed the Rougons; but Félicité consoled herself by resolving to make a +more profuse display. She hired a pair of candelabra and ordered several +additional dishes as a kind of substitute for the marquis. The table was laid +in the yellow drawing-room, in order to impart more solemnity to the occasion. +The Hôtel de Provence had supplied the silver, the china, and the glass. The +cloth had been laid ever since five o’clock in order that the guests on +arriving might feast their eyes upon it. At either end of the table, on the +white cloth, were bouquets of artificial roses, in porcelain vases gilded and +painted with flowers. +</p> + +<p> +When the habitual guests of the yellow drawing-room were assembled there they +could not conceal their admiration of the spectacle. Several gentlemen smiled +with an air of embarrassment while they exchanged furtive glances, which +clearly signified, “These Rougons are mad, they are throwing their money +out of the window.” The truth was that Félicité, on going round to invite +her guests, had been unable to hold her tongue. So everybody knew that Pierre +had been decorated, and that he was about to be nominated to some post; at +which, of course, they pulled wry faces. Roudier indeed observed that +“the little black woman was puffing herself out too much.” Now that +“prize-day” had come this band of bourgeois, who had rushed upon +the expiring Republic—each one keeping an eye on the other, and glorying +in giving a deeper bite than his neighbour—did not think it fair that +their hosts should have all the laurels of the battle. Even those who had +merely howled by instinct, asking no recompense of the rising Empire, were +greatly annoyed to see that, thanks to them, the poorest and least reputable of +them all should be decorated with the red ribbon. The whole yellow drawing-room +ought to have been decorated! +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I value the decoration,” Roudier said to Granoux, whom he +had dragged into the embrasure of a window. “I refused it in the time of +Louis-Philippe, when I was purveyor to the court. Ah! Louis-Philippe was a good +king. France will never find his equal!” +</p> + +<p> +Roudier was becoming an Orleanist once more. And he added, with the crafty +hypocrisy of an old hosier from the Rue Saint-Honoré: “But you, my dear +Granoux; don’t you think the ribbon would look well in your button-hole? +After all, you did as much to save the town as Rougon did. Yesterday, when I +was calling upon some very distinguished persons, they could scarcely believe +it possible that you had made so much noise with a mere hammer.” +</p> + +<p> +Granoux stammered his thanks, and, blushing like a maiden at her first +confession of love, whispered in Roudier’s ear: “Don’t say +anything about it, but I have reason to believe that Rougon will ask the ribbon +for me. He’s a good fellow at heart, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +The old hosier thereupon became grave, and assumed a very affable manner. When +Vuillet came and spoke to him of the well-deserved reward that their friend had +just received, he replied in a loud voice, so as to be heard by Félicité, who +was sitting a little way off, that “men like Rougon were an ornament to +the Legion of Honour.” The bookseller joined in the chorus; he had that +morning received a formal assurance that the custom of the college would be +restored to him. As for Sicardot, he at first felt somewhat annoyed to find +himself no longer the only one of the set who was decorated. According to him, +none but soldiers had a right to the ribbon. Pierre’s valour surprised +him. However, being in reality a good-natured fellow, he at last grew warmer, +and ended by saying that the Napoleons always knew how to distinguish men of +spirit and energy. +</p> + +<p> +Rougon and Aristide consequently had an enthusiastic reception; on their +arrival all hands were held out to them. Some of the guests went so far as to +embrace them. Angèle sat on the sofa, by the side of her mother-in-law, feeling +very happy, and gazing at the table with the astonishment of a gourmand who has +never seen so many dishes at once. When Aristide approached, Sicardot +complimented his son-in-law upon his superb article in the +“Indépendant.” He restored his friendship to him. The young man, in +answer to the fatherly questions which Sicardot addressed to him, replied that +he was anxious to take his little family with him to Paris, where his brother +Eugène would push him forward; but he was in want of five hundred francs. +Sicardot thereupon promised him the money, already foreseeing the day when his +daughter would be received at the Tuileries by Napoleon III. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Félicité had made a sign to her husband. Pierre, surrounded by +everybody and anxiously questioned about his pallor, could only escape for a +minute. He was just able to whisper in his wife’s ear that he had found +Pascal and that Macquart would leave that night. Then lowering his voice still +more he told her of his mother’s insanity, and placed his finger on his +lips, as if to say: “Not a word; that would spoil the whole +evening.” Félicité bit her lips. They exchanged a look in which they read +their common thoughts: so now the old woman would not trouble them any more: +the poacher’s hovel would be razed to the ground, as the walls of the +Fouques’ enclosure had been demolished; and they would for ever enjoy the +respect and esteem of Plassans. +</p> + +<p> +But the guests were looking at the table. Félicité showed the gentlemen their +seats. It was perfect bliss. As each one took his spoon, Sicardot made a +gesture to solicit a moment’s delay. Then he rose and gravely said: +“Gentlemen, on behalf of the company present, I wish to express to our +host how pleased we are at the rewards which his courage and patriotism have +procured for him. I now see that he must have acted upon a heaven-sent +inspiration in remaining here, while those beggars were dragging myself and +others along the high roads. Therefore, I heartily applaud the decision of the +government. . . . Let me finish, you can then congratulate our friend. . . . +Know, then, that our friend, besides being made a chevalier of the Legion of +Honour, is also to be appointed to a receiver of taxes.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a cry of surprise. They had expected a small post. Some of them tried +to force a smile; but, aided by the sight of the table, the compliments again +poured forth profusely. +</p> + +<p> +Sicardot once more begged for silence. “Wait one moment,” he +resumed; “I have not finished. Just one word. It is probable that our +friend will remain among us, owing to the death of Monsieur Peirotte.” +</p> + +<p> +Whilst the guests burst out into exclamations, Félicité felt a keen pain in her +heart. Sicardot had already told her that the receiver had been shot; but at +the mention of that sudden and shocking death, just as they were starting on +that triumphal dinner, it seemed as if a chilling gust swept past her face. She +remembered her wish; it was she who had killed that man. However, amidst the +tinkling music of the silver, the company began to do honour to the banquet. In +the provinces, people eat very much and very noisily. By the time the +<i>relevé</i> was served, the gentlemen were all talking together; they +showered kicks upon the vanquished, flattered one another, and made disparaging +remarks about the absence of the marquis. It was impossible, they said, to +maintain intercourse with the nobility. Roudier even gave out that the marquis +had begged to be excused because his fear of the insurgents had given him +jaundice. At the second course they all scrambled like hounds at the quarry. +The oil-dealers and almond-dealers were the men who saved France. They clinked +glasses to the glory of the Rougons. Granoux, who was very red, began to +stammer, while Vuillet, very pale, was quite drunk. Nevertheless Sicardot +continued filling his glass. For her part Angèle, who had already eaten too +much, prepared herself some sugar and water. The gentlemen were so delighted at +being freed from panic, and finding themselves together again in that yellow +drawing-room, round a good table, in the bright light radiating from the +candelabra and the chandelier—which they now saw for the first time +without its fly-specked cover—that they gave way to most exuberant folly +and indulged in the coarsest enjoyment. Their voices rose in the warm +atmosphere more huskily and eulogistically at each successive dish till they +could scarcely invent fresh compliments. However, one of them, an old retired +master-tanner, hit upon this fine phrase—that the dinner was a +“perfect feast worthy of Lucullus.” +</p> + +<p> +Pierre was radiant, and his big pale face perspired with triumph. Félicité, +already accustoming herself to her new station in life, said that they would +probably rent poor Monsieur Peirotte’s flat until they could purchase a +house of their own in the new town. She was already planning how she would +place her future furniture in the receiver’s rooms. She was entering into +possession of her Tuileries. At one moment, however, as the uproar of voices +became deafening, she seemed to recollect something, and quitting her seat she +whispered in Aristide’s ear: “And Silvère?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man started with surprise at the question. +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead,” he replied, likewise in a whisper. “I was there +when the gendarme blew his brains out with a pistol.” +</p> + +<p> +Félicité in her turn shuddered. She opened her mouth to ask her son why he had +not prevented this murder by claiming the lad; but abruptly hesitating she +remained there speechless. Then Aristide, who had read her question on her +quivering lips, whispered: “You understand, I said nothing—so much +the worse for him! I did quite right. It’s a good riddance.” +</p> + +<p> +This brutal frankness displeased Félicité. So Aristide had his skeleton, like +his father and mother. He would certainly not have confessed so openly that he +had been strolling about the Faubourg and had allowed his cousin to be shot, +had not the wine from the Hôtel de Provence and the dreams he was building upon +his approaching arrival in Paris, made him depart from his habitual cunning. +The words once spoken, he swung himself to and fro on his chair. Pierre, who +had watched the conversation between his wife and son from a distance, +understood what had passed and glanced at them like an accomplice imploring +silence. It was the last blast of terror, as it were, which blew over the +Rougons, amidst the splendour and enthusiastic merriment of the dinner. True, +Félicité, on returning to her seat, espied a taper burning behind a window on +the other side of the road. Some one sat watching Monsieur Peirotte’s +corpse, which had been brought back from Sainte-Roure that morning. She sat +down, feeling as if that taper were heating her back. But the gaiety was now +increasing, and exclamations of rapture rang through the yellow drawing-room +when the dessert appeared. +</p> + +<p> +At that same hour, the Faubourg was still shuddering at the tragedy which had +just stained the Aire Saint-Mittre with blood. The return of the troops, after +the carnage on the Nores plain, had been marked by the most cruel reprisals. +Men were beaten to death behind bits of wall, with the butt-ends of muskets, +others had their brains blown out in ravines by the pistols of gendarmes. In +order that terror might impose silence, the soldiers strewed their road with +corpses. One might have followed them by the red trail which they left +behind.[*] It was a long butchery. At every halting-place, a few insurgents +were massacred. Two were killed at Sainte-Roure, three at Ocheres, one at +Beage. When the troops were encamped at Plassans, on the Nice road, it was +decided that one more prisoner, the most guilty, should be shot. The victors +judged it wise to leave this fresh corpse behind them in order to inspire the +town with respect for the new-born Empire. But the soldiers were now weary of +killing; none offered himself for the fatal task. The prisoners, thrown on the +beams in the timber-yard as though on a camp bed, and bound together in pairs +by the hands, listened and waited in a state of weary, resigned stupor. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] Though M. Zola has changed his place in his account of the insurrection, +that account is strictly accurate in all its chief particulars. What he says of +the savagery both of the soldiers and of their officers is confirmed by all +impartial historical writers.—EDITOR. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment the gendarme Rengade roughly opened a way for himself through +the crowd of inquisitive idlers. As soon as he heard that the troops had +returned with several hundred insurgents, he had risen from bed, shivering with +fever, and risking his life in the cold, dark December air. Scarcely was he out +of doors when his wound reopened, the bandage which covered his eyeless socket +became stained with blood, and a red streamlet trickled over his cheek and +moustache. He looked frightful in his dumb fury with his pale face and +blood-stained bandage, as he ran along closely scrutinising each of the +prisoners. He followed the beams, bending down and going to and fro, making the +bravest shudder by his abrupt appearance. And, all of a sudden: “Ah! the +bandit, I’ve got him!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +He had just laid his hand on Silvère’s shoulder. Silvère, crouching down +on a beam, with lifeless and expressionless face, was looking straight before +him into the pale twilight, with a calm, stupefied air. Ever since his +departure from Sainte-Roure, he had retained that vacant stare. Along the high +road, for many a league, whenever the soldiers urged on the march of their +captives with the butt-ends of their rifles, he had shown himself as gentle as +a child. Covered with dust, thirsty and weary, he trudged onward without saying +a word, like one of those docile animals that herdsmen drive along. He was +thinking of Miette. He ever saw her lying on the banner, under the trees with +her eyes turned upwards. For three days he had seen none but her; and at this +very moment, amidst the growing darkness, he still saw her. +</p> + +<p> +Rengade turned towards the officer, who had failed to find among the soldiers +the requisite men for an execution. +</p> + +<p> +“This villain put my eye out,” he said, pointing to Silvère. +“Hand him over to me. It’s as good as done for you.” +</p> + +<p> +The officer did not reply in words, but withdrew with an air of indifference, +making a vague gesture. The gendarme understood that the man was surrendered to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, get up!” he resumed, as he shook him. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, like all the other prisoners, had a companion attached to him. He was +fastened by the arm to a peasant of Poujols named Mourgue, a man about fifty, +who had been brutified by the scorching sun and the hard labour of tilling the +ground. Crooked-backed already, his hands hardened, his face coarse and heavy, +he blinked his eyes in a stupid manner, with the stubborn, distrustful +expression of an animal subject to the lash. He had set out armed with a +pitchfork, because his fellow villagers had done so; but he could not have +explained what had thus set him adrift on the high roads. Since he had been +made a prisoner he understood it still less. He had some vague idea that he was +being conveyed home. His amazement at finding himself bound, the sight of all +the people staring at him, stupefied him still more. As he only spoke and +understood the dialect of the region, he could not imagine what the gendarme +wanted. He raised his coarse, heavy face towards him with an effort; then, +fancying he was being asked the name of his village, he said in his hoarse +voice: +</p> + +<p> +“I come from Poujols.” +</p> + +<p> +A burst of laughter ran through the crowd, and some voices cried: +“Release the peasant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” Rengade replied; “the more of this vermin that’s +crushed the better. As they’re together, they can both go.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a murmur. +</p> + +<p> +But the gendarme turned his terrible blood-stained face upon the onlookers, and +they slunk off. One cleanly little citizen went away declaring that if he +remained any longer it would spoil his appetite for dinner. However some boys +who recognised Silvère, began to speak of “the red girl.” Thereupon +the little citizen retraced his steps, in order to see the lover of the female +standard-bearer, that depraved creature who had been mentioned in the +“Gazette.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, for his part, neither saw nor heard anything; Rengade had to seize him +by the collar. Thereupon he got up, forcing Mourgue to rise also. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said the gendarme. “It won’t take long.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère then recognised the one-eyed man. He smiled. He must have understood. +But he turned his head away. The sight of the one-eyed man, of his moustaches +which congealed blood stiffened as with sinister rime, caused him profound +grief. He would have liked to die in perfect peace. So he avoided the gaze of +Rengade’s one eye, which glared from beneath the white bandage. And of +his own accord he proceeded to the end of the Aire Saint-Mittre, to the narrow +lane hidden by the timber stacks. Mourgue followed him thither. +</p> + +<p> +The Aire stretched out, with an aspect of desolation under the sallow sky. A +murky light fell here and there from the copper-coloured clouds. Never had a +sadder and more lingering twilight cast its melancholy over this bare +expanse—this wood-yard with its slumbering timber, so stiff and rigid in +the cold. The prisoners, the soldiers, and the mob along the high road +disappeared amid the darkness of the trees. The expanse, the beams, the piles +of planks alone grew pale under the fading light, assuming a muddy tint that +vaguely suggested the bed of a dried-up torrent. The sawyers’ trestles, +rearing their meagre framework in a corner, seemed to form gallows, or the +uprights of a guillotine. And there was no living soul there excepting three +gipsies who showed their frightened faces at the door of their van—an old +man and woman, and a big girl with woolly hair, whose eyes gleamed like those +of a wolf. +</p> + +<p> +Before reaching the secluded path, Silvère looked round him. He bethought +himself of a far away Sunday when he had crossed the wood-yard in the bright +moonlight. How calm and soft it had been!—how slowly had the pale rays +passed over the beams! Supreme silence had fallen from the frozen sky. And +amidst this silence, the woolly-haired gipsy girl had sung in a low key and an +unknown tongue. Then Silvère remembered that the seemingly far-off Sunday was +only a week old. But a week ago he had come to bid Miette farewell! How long +past it seemed! He felt as though he had not set foot in the wood-yard for +years. But when he reached the narrow path his heart failed him. He recognised +the odour of the grass, the shadows of the planks, the holes in the wall. A +woeful voice rose from all those things. The path stretched out sad and lonely; +it seemed longer to him than usual, and he felt a cold wind blowing down it. +The spot had aged cruelly. He saw that the wall was moss-eaten, that the +verdant carpet was dried up by frost, that the piles of timber had been rotted +by rain. It was perfect devastation. The yellow twilight fell like fine dust +upon the ruins of all that had been most dear to him. He was obliged to close +his eyes that he might again behold the lane green, and live his happy hours +afresh. It was warm weather; and he was racing with Miette in the balmy air. +Then the cruel December rains fell unceasingly, yet they still came there, +sheltering themselves beneath the planks and listening with rapture to the +heavy plashing of the shower. His whole life—all his +happiness—passed before him like a flash of lightning. Miette was +climbing over the wall, running to him, shaking with sonorous laughter. She was +there; he could see her, gleaming white through the darkness, with her living +helm of ink-black hair. She was talking about the magpies’ nests, which +are so difficult to steal, and she dragged him along with her. Then he heard +the gentle murmur of the Viorne in the distance, the chirping of the belated +grasshoppers, and the blowing of the breeze among the poplars in the meadows of +Sainte-Claire. Ah, how they used to run! How well he remembered it! She had +learnt to swim in a fortnight. She was a plucky girl. She had only had one +great fault: she was inclined to pilfering. But he would have cured her of +that. Then the thought of their first embraces brought him back to the narrow +path. They had always ended by returning to that nook. He fancied he could hear +the gipsy girl’s song dying away, the creaking of the last shutters, the +solemn striking of the clocks. Then the hour of separation came, and Miette +climbed the wall again and threw him a kiss. And he saw her no more. Emotion +choked him at the thought: he would never see her again—never! +</p> + +<p> +“When you’re ready,” jeered the one-eyed man; “come, +choose your place.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère took a few more steps. He was approaching the end of the path, and +could see nothing but a strip of sky in which the rust-coloured light was +fading away. Here had he spent his life for two years past. The slow approach +of death added an ineffable charm to this pathway which had so long served as a +lovers’ walk. He loitered, bidding a long and lingering farewell to all +he loved; the grass, the timber, the stone of the old wall, all those things +into which Miette had breathed life. And again his thoughts wandered. They were +waiting till they should be old enough to marry: Aunt Dide would remain with +them. Ah! if they had fled far away, very far away, to some unknown village, +where the scamps of the Faubourg would no longer have been able to come and +cast Chantegreil’s crime in his daughter’s face. What peaceful +bliss! They would have opened a wheelwright’s workshop beside some high +road. No doubt, he cared little for his ambitions now; he no longer thought of +coachmaking, of carriages with broad varnished panels as shiny as mirrors. In +the stupor of his despair he could not remember why his dream of bliss would +never come to pass. Why did he not go away with Miette and aunt Dide? Then as +he racked his memory, he heard the sharp crackling of a fusillade; he saw a +standard fall before him, its staff broken and its folds drooping like the +wings of a bird brought down by a shot. It was the Republic falling asleep with +Miette under the red flag. Ah, what wretchedness! They were both dead, both had +bleeding wounds in their breasts. And it was they—the corpses of his two +loves—that now barred his path of life. He had nothing left him and might +well die himself. These were the thoughts that had made him so gentle, so +listless, so childlike all the way from Sainte-Roure. The soldiers might have +struck him, he would not have felt it. His spirit no longer inhabited his body. +It was far away, prostrate beside the loved ones who were dead under the trees +amidst the pungent smoke of the gunpowder. +</p> + +<p> +But the one-eyed man was growing impatient; giving a push to Mourgue, who was +lagging behind, he growled: “Get along, do; I don’t want to be here +all night.” +</p> + +<p> +Silvère stumbled. He looked at his feet. A fragment of a skull lay whitening in +the grass. He thought he heard a murmur of voices filling the pathway. The dead +were calling him, those long departed ones, whose warm breath had so strangely +perturbed him and his sweetheart during the sultry July evenings. He recognised +their low whispers. They were rejoicing, they were telling him to come, and +promising to restore Miette to him beneath the earth, in some retreat which +would prove still more sequestered than this old trysting-place. The cemetery, +whose oppressive odours and dark vegetation had breathed eager desire into the +children’s hearts, while alluringly spreading out its couches of rank +grass, without succeeding however in throwing them into one another’s +arms, now longed to imbibe Silvère’s warm blood. For two summers past it +had been expecting the young lovers. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it here?” asked the one-eyed man. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère looked in front of him. He had reached the end of the path. His eyes +fell on the tombstone, and he started. Miette was right, that stone was for +her. <i>“Here lieth . . . Marie . . . died . . . “</i> She was +dead, that slab had fallen over her. His strength failing him, he leant against +the frozen stone. How warm it had been when they sat in that nook, chatting for +many a long evening! She had always come that way, and the pressure of her +foot, as she alighted from the wall, had worn away the stone’s surface in +one corner. The mark seemed instinct with something of her lissom figure. And +to Silvère it appeared as if some fatalism attached to all these +objects—as if the stone were there precisely in order that he might come +to die beside it, there where he had loved. +</p> + +<p> +The one-eyed man cocked his pistols. +</p> + +<p> +Death! death! the thought fascinated Silvère. It was to this spot, then, that +they had led him, by the long white road which descends from Sainte-Roure to +Plassans. If he had known it, he would have hastened on yet more quickly in +order to die on that stone, at the end of the narrow path, in the atmosphere +where he could still detect the scent of Miette’s breath! Never had he +hoped for such consolation in his grief. Heaven was merciful. He waited, a +vague smile playing on is face. +</p> + +<p> +Mourgue, meantime, had caught sight of the pistols. Hitherto he had allowed +himself to be dragged along stupidly. But fear now overcame him, and he +repeated, in a tone of despair: “I come from Poujols—I come from +Poujols!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he threw himself on the ground, rolling at the gendarme’s feet, +breaking out into prayers for mercy, and imagining that he was being mistaken +for some one else. +</p> + +<p> +“What does it matter to me that you come from Poujols?” Rengade +muttered. +</p> + +<p> +And as the wretched man, shivering and crying with terror, and quite unable to +understand why he was going to die, held out his trembling hands—his +deformed, hard, labourer’s hands—exclaiming in his patois that he +had done nothing and ought to be pardoned, the one-eyed man grew quite +exasperated at being unable to put the pistol to his temple, owing to his +constant movements. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you hold your tongue?” he shouted. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Mourgue, mad with fright and unwilling to die, began to howl like a +beast—like a pig that is being slaughtered. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, you scoundrel!” the gendarme repeated. +</p> + +<p> +And he blew his brains out. The peasant fell with a thud. His body rolled to +the foot of a timber-stack, where it remained doubled up. The violence of the +shock had severed the rope which fastened him to his companion. Silvère fell on +his knees before the tombstone. +</p> + +<p> +It was to make his vengeance the more terrible that Rengade had killed Mourgue +first. He played with his second pistol, raising it slowly in order to relish +Silvère’s agony. But the latter looked at him quietly. Then again the +sight of this man, with the one fierce, scorching eye, made him feel uneasy. He +averted his glance, fearing that he might die cowardly if he continued to look +at that feverishly quivering gendarme, with blood-stained bandage and bleeding +moustache. However, as he raised his eyes to avoid him, he perceived +Justin’s head just above the wall, at the very spot where Miette had been +wont to leap over. +</p> + +<p> +Justin had been at the Porte de Rome, among the crowd, when the gendarme had +led the prisoners away. He had set off as fast as he could by way of the +Jas-Meiffren, in his eagerness to witness the execution. The thought that he +alone, of all the Faubourg scamps, would view the tragedy at his ease, as from +a balcony, made him run so quickly that he twice fell down. And in spite of his +wild chase, he arrived too late to witness the first shot. He climbed the +mulberry tree in despair; but he smiled when he saw that Silvère still +remained. The soldiers had informed him of his cousin’s death, and now +the murder of the wheelwright brought his happiness to a climax. He awaited the +shot with that delight which the sufferings of others always afforded +him—a delight increased tenfold by the horror of the scene, and a feeling +of exquisite fear. +</p> + +<p> +Silvère, on recognising that vile scamp’s head all by itself above the +wall—that pale grinning face, with hair standing on end—experienced +a feeling of fierce rage, a sudden desire to live. It was the last revolt of +his blood—a momentary mutiny. He again sank down on his knees, gazing +straight before him. A last vision passed before his eyes in the melancholy +twilight. At the end of the path, at the entrance of the Impasse Saint-Mittre, +he fancied he could see aunt Dide standing erect, white and rigid like the +statue of a saint, while she witnessed his agony from a distance. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment he felt the cold pistol on his temple. There was a smile on +Justin’s pale face. Closing his eyes, Silvère heard the long-departed +dead wildly summoning him. In the darkness, he now saw nothing save Miette, +wrapped in the banner, under the trees, with her eyes turned towards heaven. +Then the one-eyed man fired, and all was over; the lad’s skull burst open +like a ripe pomegranate; his face fell upon the stone, with his lips pressed to +the spot which Miette’s feet had worn—that warm spot which still +retained a trace of his dead love. +</p> + +<p> +And in the evening at dessert, at the Rougons’ abode, bursts of laughter +arose with the fumes from the table, which was still warm with the remains of +the dinner. At last the Rougons were nibbling at the pleasures of the wealthy! +Their appetites, sharpened by thirty years of restrained desire, now fell to +with wolfish teeth. These fierce, insatiate wild beasts, scarcely entering upon +indulgence, exulted at the birth of the Empire—the dawn of the Rush for +the Spoils. The Coup d’État, which retrieved the fortune of the +Bonapartes, also laid the foundation for that of the Rougons. +</p> + +<p> +Pierre stood up, held out his glass, and exclaimed: “I drink to Prince +Louis—to the Emperor!” +</p> + +<p> +The gentlemen, who had drowned their jealousies in champagne, rose in a body +and clinked glasses with deafening shouts. It was a fine spectacle. The +bourgeois of Plassans, Roudier, Granoux, Vuillet, and all the others, wept and +embraced each other over the corpse of the Republic, which as yet was scarcely +cold. But a splendid idea occurred to Sicardot. He took from Félicité’s +hair a pink satin bow, which she had placed over her right ear in honour of the +occasion, cut off a strip of the satin with his dessert knife, and then +solemnly fastened it to Rougon’s button-hole. The latter feigned modesty, +and pretended to resist. But his face beamed with joy, as he murmured: +“No, I beg you, it is too soon. We must wait until the decree is +published.” +</p> + +<p> +“Zounds!” Sicardot exclaimed, “will you please keep that! +It’s an old soldier of Napoleon who decorates you!” +</p> + +<p> +The whole company burst into applause. Félicité almost swooned with delight. +Silent Granoux jumped up on a chair in his enthusiasm, waving his napkin and +making a speech which was lost amid the uproar. The yellow drawing-room was +wild with triumph. +</p> + +<p> +But the strip of pink satin fastened to Pierre’s button-hole was not the +only red spot in that triumph of the Rougons. A shoe, with a blood-stained +heel, still lay forgotten under the bedstead in the adjoining room. The taper +burning at Monsieur Peirotte’s bedside, over the way, gleamed too with +the lurid redness of a gaping wound amidst the dark night. And yonder, far +away, in the depths of the Aire Saint-Mittre, a pool of blood was congealing +upon a tombstone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 5135-h.htm or 5135-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/3/5135/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. +</div> + +<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> +<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person +or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the +Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when +you share it without charge with others. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work +on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: +</div> + +<blockquote> + <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most + other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions + whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms + of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online + at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you + are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws + of the country where you are located before using this eBook. + </div> +</blockquote> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg™ License. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format +other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain +Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +provided that: +</div> + +<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation.” + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ + works. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. + </div> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread +public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state +visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</div> + +</body> + +</html> + + |