A PUBLIC MAN
The bright warmth of a clear May afternoon heated the lofty casementwindows of the Mora mansion to the temperature of a greenhouse. Theblue silk curtains were visible from outside through the branches of thetrees, and the wide terraces, where exotic flowers were planted out ofdoors for the first time of the season, ran in borders along the wholelength of the quay. The raking of the garden paths traced the lightfootprints of summer in the sand, while the soft fall of the water fromthe hoses on the lawns was its refreshing song.
All the luxury of the princely residence lay sunning itself in the softwarmth of the temperature, borrowing a beauty from the silence, therepose of this noontide hour, the only hour when the roll of carriageswas not to be heard under the arches, nor the banging of the great doorsof the antechamber, and that perpetual vibration which the ringing ofbells upon arrivals or departures sent coursing through the very ivy onthe walls; the feverish pulse of the life of a fashionable house. It waswell known that up to three o'clock the duke held his reception at theMinistry, and that the duchess, a Swede still benumbed by the snowsof Stockholm, had hardly issued from her drowsy curtains; consequentlynobody came to call, neither visitors or petitioners, and only thefootmen, perched like flamingoes on the deserted flight of steps infront of the house, gave the place a touch of animation with the slimshadows of their long legs and their yawning weariness of idlers.
As an exception, however, that day Jenkins's brougham was standingwaiting in a corner of the court-yard. The duke, unwell since theprevious evening, had felt worse after leaving the breakfast-table, andin all haste had sent for the man of the pearls in order to question himon his singular condition. Pain nowhere, sleep and appetite as usual;only an inconceivable lassitude, and a sense of terrible chill whichnothing could dissipate. Thus at that moment, notwithstanding thebrilliant spring sunshine which flooded his chamber and almostextinguished the fire flaming in the grate, the duke was shiveringbeneath his furs, surrounded by screens; and while signing papers for an_attache_ of his cabinet on a low table of gold lacquer, placed so nearto the fire that it frizzled, he kept holding out his numb fingersevery moment toward the blaze, which might have burned the skin withoutrestoring circulation.
Was it anxiety caused by the indisposition of his illustrious client?Jenkins appeared nervous, disquieted, walked backward and forward withlong strides over the carpet, hunting about right and left, seekingin the air something which he believed to be present, a subtle andintangible something like the trace of a perfume or the invisible trackleft by a bird in its flight. You heard the crackling of the wood inthe fireplace, the rustle of papers hurriedly turned over, the indolentvoice of the duke indicating in a sentence, always precise and clear, areply to a letter of four pages, and the respectful monosyllables ofthe _attache_--"Yes, M. le Ministre," "No, M. le Ministre"; then thescraping of a rebellious and heavy pen. Out of doors the swallows weretwittering merrily over the water, the sound of a clarinet was waftedfrom somewhere near the bridges.
"It is impossible," suddenly said the Minister of State, rising. "Takethat away, Lartigues; you must return to-morrow. I cannot write. I amtoo cold. See, doctor; feel my hands--one would think that they had justcome out of a pail of iced water. For the last two days my whole bodyhas been the same. Isn't it too absurd, in this weather!"
"I am not surprised," muttered the Irishman, in a sullen, curt tone,rarely heard from that honeyed personage.
The door had closed upon the young _attache_, bearing off his paperswith majestic dignity, but very happy, I imagine, to feel himself freeand to be able to stroll for an hour or two, before returning to theMinistry, in the Tuileries gardens, full of spring frocks and prettygirls sitting near the still empty chairs round the band, under thechestnut-trees in flower, through which from root to summit there ranthe great thrill of the month when nests are built. The _attache_ wascertainly not frozen.
Jenkins, silently, examined his patient, sounded him, and tapped hischest; then, in the same rough tone which might be explained by hisanxious devotion, the annoyance of the doctor who sees his orderstransgressed:
"Ah, now, my dear duke, what sort of life have you been living lately?"
He knew from the gossip of the antechamber--in the case of his regularclients the doctor did not disdain this--he knew that the duke had a newfavourite, that this caprice of recent date possessed him, excited himin an extraordinary measure, and the fact, taken together withother observations made elsewhere, had implanted in Jenkins's mind asuspicion, a mad desire to know the name of this new mistress. Itwas this that he was trying to read on the pale face of his patient,attempting to fathom the depth of his thoughts rather than the originof his malady. But he had to deal with one of those faces which arehermetically sealed, like those little coffers with a secret springwhich hold jewels and women's letters, one of those discreet naturesclosed by a cold, blue eye, a glance of steel by which the most astuteperspicacity may be baffled.
"You are mistaken, doctor," replied his excellency tranquilly. "I havemade no changes in my habits."
"Very well, M. le Duc, you have done wrong," remarked the Irishmanabruptly, furious at having made no discovery.
And then, feeling that he was going too far, he gave vent to his badtemper and to the severity of his diagnosis in words which were a tissueof banalities and axioms. One ought to take care. Medicine was notmagic. The power of the Jenkins pearls was limited by human strength,by the necessities of age, by the resources of nature, which,unfortunately, are not inexhaustible. The duke interrupted him in anirritable tone:
"Come, Jenkins, you know very well that I don't like phrases. I am notall right, then? What is the matter with me? What is the reason of thischilliness?"
"It is anaemia, exhaustion--a sinking of the oil in the lamp."
"What must I do?"
"Nothing. An absolute rest. Eat, sleep, nothing besides. If you could goand spend a few weeks at Grandbois."
Mora shrugged his shoulders:
"And the Chamber--and the Council--and--? Nonsense! how is it possible?"
"In any case, M. le Duc, you must put the brake on; as somebody said,renounce absolutely--"
Jenkins was interrupted by the entry of the servant on duty, who,discreetly, on tiptoe, like a dancing-master, came in to deliver aletter and a card to the Minister of State, who was still shiveringbefore the fire. At the sight of that satin-gray envelope of a peculiarshape the Irishman started involuntarily, while the duke, having openedand glanced over his letter, rose with new vigor, his cheeks wearingthat light flush of artificial health which all the heat of the stovehad not been able to bring there.
"My dear doctor, I must at any price--"
The servant still stood waiting.
"What is it? Ah, yes; this card. Take the visitor to the gallery. Ishall be there directly."
The gallery of the Duke de Mora, open to visitors twice a week, was forhimself, as it were, a neutral ground, a public place where he could seeany one without binding or compromising himself in any way. Then, theservant having withdrawn:
"Jenkins, _mon bon_, you have already worked miracles for me. I ask youfor one more. Double the dose of my pearls; find something, whateveryou will. But I must be feeling young by Sunday. You understand me,altogether young."
And on the little letter in his hand, his fingers, warm once more andfeverish, clinched themselves with a thrill of eager desire.
"Take care, M. le Duc," said Jenkins, very pale and with compressedlips. "I have no wish to alarm you unnecessarily with regard to thefeeble state of your health, but it becomes my duty--"
Mora gave a smile of pretty arrogance:
"Your duty and my pleasure are two separate things, my worthy friend.Let me burn the candle at both ends, if it amuses me. I have never hadso fine an opportunity as this time."
He started:
"The duchess!"
A door concealed behind a curtain had just opened to give passage to amerry little head with fair curls in disorder, q
uite fairy-like amid thelaces and frills of a dressing-jacket worthy of a princess:
"What do I hear? You have not gone out? But do scold him, doctor. He iswrong, isn't he, to have so many fancies about himself? Look at him--apicture of health!"
"There--you see," said the duke, laughing, to the Irishman. "You willnot come in, duchess?"
"No, I am going to carry you off, on the contrary. My uncle d'Estainghas sent me a cage full of tropical birds. I want to show them to you.Wonderful creatures, of all colours, with little eyes like black pearls.And so sensitive to cold--nearly as much so as you are."
"Let us go and have a look at them," said the minister. "Wait for me,Jenkins. I shall be back in a moment."
Then, noticing that he still had his letter in his hand, he threw itcarelessly into the drawer of the little table at which he had beensigning papers, and left the room behind the duchess, with the finecoolness of a husband accustomed to these changes of situation.
What prodigious mechanic, what incomparable manufacturer of toys,must it have been who succeeded in endowing the human mask with itssuppleness, its marvellous elasticity! How interesting to observethe face of this great seigneur surprised in the very planning of hisadultery, with cheeks flushed in the anticipation of promised delights,calming down at a moment's notice into the serenity of conjugaltenderness; how fine the devout obsequiousness, the paternal smile,after the Franklin method, of Jenkins, in the presence of the duchess,giving place suddenly, when he found himself alone, to a savageexpression of anger and hatred, the pallor of a criminal, the pallor ofa Castaing or of a Lapommerais hatching his sinister treasons.
One rapid glance towards each of the two doors, and he stood before thedrawer full of precious papers, the little gold key still remaining inthe lock with an arrogant carelessness, which seemed to say, "No onewill dare."
Jenkins dared.
The letter lay there, the first on a pile of others. The grain ofthe paper, an address of three words dashed off in a simple, boldhandwriting, and then the perfume, that intoxicating, suggestiveperfume, the very breath of her divine lips--It was true, then, hisjealous love had not deceived him, nor the embarrassment she had shownin his presence for some time past, nor the secretive and rejuvenatedairs of Constance, nor those bouquets magnificently blooming in thestudio as in the shadow of an intrigue. That indomitable pride hadsurrendered, then, at last? But in that case, why not to him, Jenkins?To him who had loved her for so long--always; who was ten yearsyounger than the other man, and who certainly was troubled with no coldshiverings! All these thoughts passed through his head like arrows shotfrom a tireless bow. And, stabbed through and through, torn to pieces,his eyes blinded, he stood there looking at the little satiny and coldenvelope which he did not dare open for fear of dismissing a finaldoubt, when the rustling of a curtain warned him that some one had justcome in. He threw the letter back quickly, and closed the wonderfullyadjusted drawer of the lacquered table.
"Ah! it is you, Jansoulet. How is it you are here?"
"His excellency told me to come and wait for him in his room," repliedthe Nabob, very proud of being thus introduced into the privacy of theapartments, at an hour, especially, when visitors were not generallyreceived. As a fact, the duke was beginning to show a real liking forthis savage, for several reasons: to begin with, he liked audaciouspeople, adventurers who followed their lucky star. Was he not one ofthem himself? Then, the Nabob amused him; his accent, his frank manners,his rather coarse and impudent flattery, were a change for him fromthe eternal conventionality of his surroundings, from that scourgeof administrative and court life which he held in horror--the setspeech--in such great horror that he never finished a sentence which hehad begun. The Nabob had an unforeseen way of finishing his which wassometimes full of surprises. A fine gambler as well, losing games of_ecarte_ at five thousand francs the fish without flinching. And soconvenient when one wanted to get rid of a picture, always ready tobuy, no matter at what price. To these motives of condescending kindnessthere had come to be joined of late a sentiment of pity and indignationin the face of the tenacity with which the unfortunate man was beingpersecuted, the cowardly and merciless war so ably managed, that publicopinion, always credulous and with neck outstretched to see which waythe wind is blowing, was beginning to be seriously influenced. Onemust do to Mora the justice of admitting that he was no follower of thecrowd. When he had seen in a corner of the gallery the simple but ratherpiteous and discomfited face of the Nabob, he had thought it cowardly toreceive him there, and had sent him up to his private room.
Jenkins and Jansoulet, sufficiently embarrassed by each other'spresence, exchanged a few commonplace words. Their great friendshiphad recently cooled, Jansoulet having refused point-blank all furthersubsidies to the Bethlehem Society, leaving the business on theIrishman's hands, who was furious at this defection, and much morefurious still at this moment because he had not been able to openFelicia's letter before the arrival of the intruder. The Nabob, on hisside, was asking himself whether the doctor was going to be present atthe conversation which he wished to have with the duke on the subject ofthe infamous insinuations with which the _Messenger_ was pursuing him;anxious also to know whether these calumnies might not have produced acoolness in that sovereign good-will which was so necessary to him atthe moment of the verification of his election. The greeting which hehad received in the gallery had half reassured him on this point; hewas entirely satisfied when the duke entered and came towards him withoutstretched hand:
"Well, my poor Jansoulet, I hope Paris is making you pay dearly enoughfor your welcome. What brawling and hate and spite one finds!"
"Ah, M. le Duc, if you knew--"
"I know. I have read it," said the minister, moving closer to the fire.
"I sincerely hope that your excellency does not believe these infamies.Besides, I have here--I bring the proof."
With his strong hairy hands, trembling with emotion, he hunted among thepapers in an enormous shagreen portfolio which he had under his arm.
"Never mind that--never mind. I am acquainted with the whole affair. Iknow that, wilfully or not, they have mixed you up with another person,whom family considerations--"
The duke could not restrain a smile at the bewilderment of the Nabob,stupefied to find him so well informed.
"A Minister of State has to know everything. But don't worry. Yourelection will be declared valid all the same. And once declared valid--"
Jansoulet heaved a sigh of relief.
"Ah, M. le Duc, how it cheers me to hear you speak thus! I was beginningto lose all confidence. My enemies are so powerful. And a piece of badluck into the bargain. Do you know that it is Le Merquier himself who ischarged with the report on my election?"
"Le Merquier? The devil!"
"Yes, Le Merquier, Hemerlingue's agent, the dirty hypocrite whoconverted the baroness, no doubt because his religion forbade him tohave a Mohammedan for a mistress."
"Come, come, Jansoulet."
"Well, M. le Duc? One can't help being angry. Think of the situationin which these wretches are placing me. Here I ought to have had myelection made valid a week ago, and they arrange the postponement of thesitting expressly because they know the terrible position in which I amplaced--my whole fortune paralyzed, the Bey waiting for the decision ofthe Chamber to decide whether or not he can plunder me. I have eightymillions over there, M. le Duc, and here I begin to be short of money.If the thing goes on only a little longer--"
He wiped away the big drops of sweat that trickled down his cheeks.
"Ah, well, I will look after this validation myself," said the ministersharply. "I will write to what's-his-name to hurry up with his report;and even if I have to be carried to the Chamber--"
"Your excellency is unwell?" asked Jansoulet, in a tone of interestwhich, I swear to you, had no affectation about it.
"No--a little weakness. I am rather anaemic--wanting blood; but Jenkinsis going to put me right. Aren't you, Jenkins?"
The Irishman,
who had not been listening, made a vague gesture.
"_Tonnerre!_ And here am I with only too much of it."
And the Nabob loosened his cravat about his neck, swollen like anapoplexy by his emotion and the heat of the room. "If I could onlytransfer a little to you, M. le Duc!"
"It would be an excellent thing for both," said the Minister of Statewith pale irony. "For you, especially, who are a violent fellow, andwho at this moment need so much self-control. Take care on that point,Jansoulet. Beware of the hot retorts, the steps taken in a fit of temperto which they would like to drive you. Repeat to yourself now that youare a public man, on a platform, all of whose actions are observed fromfar. The newspapers are abusing you; don't read them, if you cannotconceal the emotion which they cause you. Don't do what I did, with myblind man of the Pont de la Concorde, that frightful clarinet-player,who for the last ten years has been blighting my life by playing allday 'De tes fils, Norma.' I have tried everything to get him away fromthere--money, threats. Nothing has succeeded in inducing him to go. Thepolice? Ah, yes, indeed. With modern ideas, it becomes quite a businessto clear off a blind man from a bridge. The Opposition newspapers wouldtalk of it, the Parisians would make a story out of it--'_The Cobblerand the Financier_.' 'The Duke and the Clarinet.' No, I must resignmyself. It is, besides, my own fault. I never ought to have let thisman see that he annoyed me. I am sure that my torture makes half thepleasure of his life now. Every morning he comes forth from his wretchedlodging with his dog, his folding-stool, his frightful music, and saysto himself, 'Come, let us go and worry the Duc de Mora.' Not a daydoes he miss, the wretch! Why, see, if I were but to open the window atrifle, you would hear his deluge of little sharp notes above the noiseof the water and the traffic. Well, this journalist of the _Messenger_,he is your clarinet; if you allow him to see that his music wearies you,he will never finish. And with this, my dear deputy, I will remind youthat you have a meeting at three o'clock at the office, and I must sendyou back to the Chamber."
Then turning to Jenkins:
"You know what I asked of you, doctor--pearls for the day afterto-morrow; and let them be extra strong!"
Jenkins started, shook himself as at the sudden awakening from a dream:
"Certainly, my dear duke. You shall be given some stamina--oh, yes;stamina, breath enough to win the great Derby stakes."
He bowed, and left the room laughing, the veritable laugh of a wolfshowing its gleaming white teeth. The Nabob took leave in his turn, hisheart filled with gratitude, but not daring to let anything of it appearin the presence of this sceptic in whom all demonstrativeness arouseddistrust. And the Minister of State, left alone, rolled up in his wrapsbefore the crackling and blazing fire, sheltered in the padded warmth ofhis luxury, doubled that day by the feverish caress of the May sunshine,began to shiver with cold again, to shiver so violently that Felicia'sletter which he had reopened and was reading rapturously shook in hishands.
A deputy is in a very singular situation during the period which followshis election and precedes--as they say in parliamentary jargon--theverification of its validity. It is a little like the position of thenewly married man during the twenty-four hours separating the civilmarriage from its consecration by the Church. Rights of which he cannotavail himself, a half-happiness, a semi-authority, the embarrassmentof keeping the balance a little on this side or on that, the lack of adefined footing. One is married and yet not married, a deputy and yetnot perfectly sure of being it; only, for the deputy, this uncertaintyis prolonged over days and weeks, and since the longer it lasts the moreproblematical does the validation become, it is like torture for theunfortunate representative on probation to be obliged to attend theChamber, to occupy a place which he will perhaps not keep, to listen todiscussions of which it is possible that he will never hear the end, tofix in his eyes and ears the delicious memory of parliamentary sittingswith their sea of bald or apoplectic foreheads, their confused noise ofrustling papers, the cries of attendants, wooden knives beating a tattooon the tables, private conversations from amid which the voice ofthe orator issues, a thundering or timid solo with a continuousaccompaniment.
This situation, at best so trying to the nerves, was complicated inthe Nabob's case by these calumnies, at first whispered, now printed,circulated in thousands of copies by the newspapers, with theconsequence that he found himself tacitly put in quarantine by hiscolleagues.
The first days he went and came in the corridors, the library, thedining-room, the lecture-hall, like the rest, delighted to roam throughall the corners of that majestic labyrinth; but he was unknown to mostof his associates, unacknowledged by a few members of the Rue RoyaleClub, who avoided him, detested by all the clerical party of whichLe Merquier was the head. The financial set was hostile to thismulti-millionaire, powerful in both "bull" and "bear" market, like thosevessels of heavy tonnage which displace the water of a harbour, andthus his isolation only became the more marked by the change in hiscircumstances and the same enmity followed him everywhere.
His gestures, his manner, showed trace of it in a certain constraint,a sort of hesitating distrust. He felt he was watched. If he went for aminute into the _buffet_, that large bright room opening on the gardensof the president's house, which he liked because there, at the broadcounter of white marble laden with bottles and provisions, the deputieslost their big, imposing airs, the legislative haughtiness alloweditself to become more familiar, even there he knew that the next daythere would appear in the _Messenger_ a mocking, offensive paragraphexhibiting him to his electors as a wine-bibber of the most notoriousorder.
Those terrible electors added to his embarrassments.
They arrived in crowds, invaded the Salle des Pas-Perdus, galloped allover the place like little fiery black kids, shouting to each other fromone end to the other of the echoing room, "O Pe! O Tche!" inhaling withdelight the odour of government, of administration, pervading the air,watching admiringly the ministers as they passed, following in theirtrail with keen nose, as though from their respected pockets, from theirswollen portfolios, there might fall some appointment; but especiallysurrounding "Moussiou" Jansoulet with so many exacting petitions,reclamations, demonstrations, that, in order to free himself from thegesticulating uproar which made everybody turn round, and turned himas it were into the delegate of a tribe of Tuaregs in the midst ofcivilized folk, he was obliged to implore with a look the help of someattendant on duty familiar with such acts of rescue, who would come tohim with an air of urgency to say "that he was wanted immediately inBureau No. 8." So at last, embarrassed everywhere, driven from thecorridors, from the Pas-Perdus, from the refreshment-room, the poorNabob had adopted the course of never leaving his seat, where heremained motionless and without speaking during the whole time of thesitting.
He had, however, one friend in the Chamber, a deputy newly elected forthe Deux-Sevres, called M. Sarigue, a poor man sufficiently resemblingthe inoffensive and ill-favoured animal whose name he bore, with his redand scanty hair, his timorous eyes, his hopping walk, his white gaiters;he was so timid that he could not utter two words without stuttering,almost voiceless, continually sucking jujubes, which completed theconfusion of his speech. One asked what such a weakling as he had cometo do in the Assembly, what feminine ambition run mad had urged intopublic life this being useless for no matter what private activity.
By an amusing irony of fate, Jansoulet, himself agitated by all theanxieties of his own validation, was chosen in Bureau no. 8 to draw upthe report on the election in the Deux-Sevres; and M. Sarigue, humbleand supplicating, conscious of his incapacity and filled by a horribledread of being sent back to his home in disgrace, used to follow aboutthis great jovial fellow with the curly hair and big shoulder bladesthat moved like the bellows of a forge beneath a light and tightlyfitting frock-coat, without any suspicion that a poor anxious being likehimself lay concealed within that solid envelope.
As he worked at the report on the Deux-Sevres election, as he examinedthe numerous protests, the accusation
s of electioneering trickery, mealsgiven, money spent, casks of wine broached at the doors of the mayors'houses, the usual accompaniments of an election in those days, Jansouletused to shudder on his own account. "Why, I did all that myself," hewould say to himself, terrified. Ah! M. Sarigue need not be afraid;never could he have put his hand on an examiner with kinder intentionsor more indulgent, for the Nabob, taking pity on the sufferer, knowingby experience how painful is the anguish of waiting, had made hastethrough his labour; and the enormous portfolio which he carried underhis arm, as he left the Mora mansion, contained his report ready to besent in to the bureau.
Whether it were this first essay in a public function, the kind wordsof the duke, or the magnificent weather out of doors, keenly enjoyed bythis southerner, with his susceptibility to wholly physical impressionsand accustomed to life under a blue sky and the warmth of thesunshine--however that may have been, certain it is that the attendantsof the legislative body beheld that day a proud and haughty Jansouletwhom they had not previously known. The fat Hemerlingue's carriage,caught sight of at the gate, recognisable by the unusual width of itsdoors, completed his reinstatement in the possession of his true natureof assurance and bold audacity. "The enemy is there. Attention!" Ashe crossed the Salle des Pas-Perdus, he caught sight of the financierchatting in a corner with Le Merquier, the examiner; he passed quitenear them, and looked at them with a triumphant air which made peoplewonder:
"What is the meaning of this?"
Then, highly pleased at his own coolness, he passed on towards thecommittee-rooms, big and lofty apartments opening right and left on along corridor, and having large tables covered with green baize, andheavy chairs all of a similar pattern and bearing the impress of a dullsolemnity. People were beginning to come in. Groups were taking up theirpositions, discussing matters, gesticulating, with bows, shakingsof hands, inclinations of the head, like Chinese shadows against theluminous background of the windows.
Men were there who walked about with bent back, solitary, as it werecrushed down beneath the weight of the thoughts which knitted theirbrow. Others whispering in their neighbour's ears, confiding to eachother exceedingly mysterious and terribly important pieces of news,finger on lip, eyes opened wide in silent recommendation to discretion.A provincial flavour characterized it all, varieties of intonation, theviolence of southern speech, drawling accents of the central districts,the sing-song of Brittany, fused into one and the same imbecileself-conceit, frock-coats as they cut them at Landerneau, mountainshoes, home-spun linen, and a self-assurance begotten in a village or inthe club of some insignificant town, local expressions, provincialismsabruptly introduced into the speech of the political and administrativeworld, that flabby and colourless phraseology which has invented suchexpressions as "burning questions that come again to the surface" and"individualities without mandate."
To see these excited or thoughtful people, you might have supposed themthe greatest apostles of ideas in the world; unfortunately, on the daysof the sittings they underwent a transformation, sat in hushed silencein their places, laughing in servile fashion at the jests of theclever man who presided over them, or only rising to make ridiculouspropositions, the kind of interruption which would tempt one to believethat it is not a type only, but a whole race, that Henri Monnier hassatirized in his immortal sketch. Two or three orators in all theChamber, the rest well qualified to plant themselves before thefireplace of a provincial drawing-room, after an excellent meal at thePrefect's, and to say in nasal voice, "The administration, gentlemen,"or "The Government of the Emperor," but incapable of anything further.
Ordinarily the good Nabob had been dazzled by these poses, that buzzingas of an empty spinning-wheel which is made by would-be importantpeople; but to-day he found his own place, and fell in with the generalnote. Seated at the centre of the green table, his portfolio open beforehim, his elbows planted well forward upon it, he read the reportdrawn up by de Gery, and the members of the committee looked at him inamazement.
It was a concise, clear, and rapid summary of their fortnight'sproceedings, in which they found their ideas so well expressed that theyhad great difficulty in recognising them. Then, as two or three amongthem considered the report too favourable, that it passed too lightlyover certain protests that had reached the committee, the examineraddressed the meeting with an astonishing assurance, with the prolixity,the verbosity of his own people, demonstrated that a deputy ought notto be held responsible beyond a certain point for the imprudence ofhis election agents, that no election, otherwise, would bear a minuteexamination, and since in reality it was his own cause that hewas pleading, he brought to the task a conviction, an irresistibleenthusiasm, taking care to let out now and then one of those long, dullsubstantives with a thousand feet, such as the committee loved.
The others listened to him thoughtfully, communicating their sentimentsto each other by nods of the head, making flourishes, in order thebetter to concentrate their attention, and drawing heads on theirblotting-pads--a proceeding which harmonized well with the schoolboyishnoises in the corridors, a murmur of lessons in course of repetition,and those droves of sparrows which you could hear chirping under thecasements in a flagged court-yard, just like the court-yard of a school.The report having been adopted, M. Sarigue was summoned in order thathe might offer some supplementary explanations. He arrived, pale,emaciated, stuttering like a criminal before conviction, and youwould have laughed to see with what an air of authority and protectionJansoulet encouraged and reassured him. "Calm yourself, my dearcolleague." But the members of Committee No. 8 did not laugh. They wereall, or nearly all, Sarigues in their way, two or three of thembeing absolutely broken down, stricken by partial paralysis. So muchassurance, such great eloquence, had moved them to enthusiasm.
When Jansoulet issued from the legislative assembly, reconducted tohis carriage by his grateful colleague, it was about six o'clock.The splendid weather--a beautiful sunset over the Seine, which laystretching away like molten gold on the Trocadero side--was a temptationto a walk for this robust plebeian, on whom it was imposed by theconventions that he should ride in a carriage and wear gloves, but whoescaped such encumbrances as often as he possibly could. He dismissedhis servants, and, with his portfolio under his arm, set forth acrossthe Pont de la Concorde.
Since the first of May he had not experienced such a sense ofwell-being. With rolling gait, hat a little to the back of his head,in the position in which he had seen it worn by overworked politiciansharassed by pressure of business, allowing all the laborious feverof their brain to evaporate in the coolness of the air, as a factorydischarges its steam into the gutter at the end of a day's work, hemoved forward among other figures like his own, evidently comingtoo from that colonnaded temple which faces the Madeleine above thefountains of the _Place_. As they passed, people turned to look afterthem, saying, "Those are deputies." And Jansoulet felt the delight of achild, a plebeian joy, compounded of ignorance and naive vanity.
"Ask for the _Messenger_, evening edition."
The words came from a newspaper kiosk at the corner of the bridge, fullat that hour of fresh printed sheets in heaps, which two women werequickly folding, and which smelt of the damp press--late news, thesuccess of the day or its scandal.
Nearly all the deputies bought a copy as they passed, and glanced overit quickly in the hope of finding their name. Jansoulet, for his part,feared to see his in it and did not stop. Then suddenly he reflected:"Must not a public man be above these weaknesses? I am strong enough nowto read everything." He retraced his steps and took a newspaper likehis colleagues. He opened it, very calmly, right at the place usuallyoccupied by Moessard's articles. As it happened, there was one. Stillthe same title: "_Chinoiseries_," and an _M._ for signature.
"Ah! ah!" said the public man, firm and cold as marble, with a finesmile of disdain. Mora's lesson still rung in his ears, and, had heforgotten it, the air from _Norma_ which was being slowly played inlittle ironical notes not far off would have sufficed to recall itto h
im. Only, after all calculations have been made amid the fleetinghappenings of our existence, there is always the unforeseen to bereckoned with; and that is how it came that the poor Nabob suddenly felta wave of blood blind him, a cry of rage strangle itself in the suddencontraction of his throat. This time his mother, his old Frances, hadbeen dragged into the infamous joke of the "Bateau de fleurs." How wellhe aimed his blows, this Moessard, how well he knew the really sensitivespots in that heart, so frankly exposed!
"Be quiet, Jansoulet; be quiet."
It was in vain that he repeated the words to himself again and again:anger, a wild anger, that intoxication of the blood that demands blood,took possession of him. His first impulse was to hail a cab, thathe might escape from the irritating street, free his body from thepreoccupation of walking and maintaining a physical composure--to hail acab as for a wounded man. But the carriages which thronged the squareat that hour of general home-going were victorias, landaus, privatebroughams, hundreds of them, passing down from the lurid splendourof the Arc de Triomphe towards the violet shadows of the Tuileries,rushing, it seemed, one over another, in the sloping perspective ofthe avenue, down to the great square where the motionless statues, withtheir circular crowns on their brows, watched them as they separatedtowards the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the Rue Royale and the Rue deRivoli.
Jansoulet, his newspaper in his hand, traversed this tumult withoutgiving it a thought, carried by force of habit towards the club where hewent every day for his game of cards from six to seven. A public man, hewas that still; but excited, speaking aloud, muttering oaths and threatsin a voice that had suddenly grown tender again at the memory of thedear old woman. To have dragged her into that--her also! Oh, if sheshould read it, if she should understand! What punishment could heinvent for such an infamy? He had reached the Rue Royale, up which weredisappearing with the speed of horses that knew they were going homeand with glancings of shining axles, visions of veiled women, heads offair-haired children, equipages of all kinds returning from the Bois,depositing a little genuine earth upon the Paris pavement, and bringingodours of spring mingled with the scent of _poudre de riz_.
Opposite the Ministry of Marine, a very high phaeton on light wheels,rather like a great spider, its body represented by the little groomhanging on to the box and the two persons occupying the front seat, justmissed a collision with the curb as it turned the corner.
The Nabob raised his head and stifled a cry.
Beside a painted woman, with red hair and wearing a tiny hat with widestrings, who, perched on her leathern cushion, sat leaning stifflyforward, hands, eyes, her whole factitious person intent on driving thehorse, there sat, pink and made-up also, grown fat with the same vices,Moessard, the handsome Moessard--the harlot and the journalist; and ofthe two, it was not the woman who had sold herself the most. High abovethose women reclining in their open carriages, those men opposite themhalf buried beneath the flounces of their gowns, all those poses offatigue and weariness which the overfed exhibit in public as in contemptof pleasure and riches, they lorded it insolently, she very proud to beseen driving with the lover of the Queen, and he without the least shamein sitting beside a creature who hooked men in the drives of the Boiswith the lash of her whip, removed on her high-perched seat from allfear of the salutary raids of the police. Perhaps, in order to whet theappetite of his royal mistress, he chose to parade beneath her windowsin company of Suzanne Bloch, known as Suze the Red.
"Hep! hep, then!"
The horse, a high trotter with slim legs, just such a horse as a_cocotte_ would care to own, recovered from its swerve and resumed itsproper place with dancing steps, graceful pawings executed on the samespot without advancing. Jansoulet let fall his portfolio, and as thoughhe had dropped with it all his gravity, his prestige as a public man,he made a terrible spring, and dashed to the bit of the animal, which heheld firm with his strong, hairy hands.
A carriage forcibly stopped in the Rue Royale, and in broaddaylight--only this Tartar would have dared such a stroke as that!
"Get down!" said he to Moessard, whose face had turned green and yellowwhen he saw him. "Get down immediately!"
"Will you let go my horse, you bloated idiot! Whip up Suzanne; it is theNabob."
She tried to gather up the reins, but the animal, held firmly, rearedso sharply that a little more and like a sling the fragile vehicle wouldhave sent everybody in it flying far away. At this, furious with one ofthose plebeian rages which in women of her kind shatter all the veneerof their luxury, she dealt the Nabob two stinging lashes with her whip,which left little trace on his tanned and hardened face, but whichbrought there a ferocious expression, accentuated by the short nosewhich had turned white and was slit at the end like that of a sportingterrier.
"Come down, or, by God, I will upset the whole thing!"
Amid an eddy of carriages arrested by the block in the traffic, or thatpassed slowly round the obstacle, with thousands of curious eyes, amidcries of coachmen and clinking of bits, two wrists of iron shook theentire vehicle.
"Jump--but jump, I tell you! Don't you see he will have us over? What agrip!"
And the woman looked at the Hercules with interest.
Hardly had Moessard set foot to the ground, and before he could takerefuge on the pavement, whither the black military caps of policemencould be seen hastening, Jansoulet threw himself upon him, lifted him bythe back of the neck like a rabbit, and, careless of his protestationsand his terrified stammerings:
"Yes, yes, I will give you satisfaction, you blackguard! But, first, Iintend to do to you what is done to dirty beasts to prevent them fromrepeating the same offence."
And roughly he set to work rubbing his nose and face all over with hisnewspaper, which he had rolled into a ball, stifling him, blinding himwith it, and making scratches from which the blood trickled over hisskin. The man was dragged from his hands, crimson, suffocated. A littlemore and he would have killed him.
The struggle over, pulling down his sleeves, adjusting his crumpledlinen, picking up his portfolio out of which the papers of the Sarigueelection were flying scattered even to the gutter, the Nabob answeredthe policemen who were asking him for his name in order to draw up asummons:
"Bernard Jansoulet, Deputy for Corsica."
A public man!
Only then did he remember that he was one. Who would have suspectedit, seeing him breathless and bare-headed, like a porter after a streetfight, under the eager, coldly mocking glances of the crowd?