XXI.
THE SITTING.
That morning there was not, as usual, a grand breakfast-party at number32 Place Vendome. So that about one o'clock you might have seen M.Barreau's majestic paunch arrayed in white linen displaying itself atthe entrance to the porch, surrounded by four or five scullions in theirpaper caps and as many grooms in Scotch caps,--an imposing group, whichgave the sumptuous mansion the appearance of a hostelry, where the wholestaff was taking a breath of fresh air between two arrivals. Theresemblance was made complete by the cab stopping in front of the doorand the driver lifting down an old-fashioned leather trunk, while a tallold woman in a yellow cap, an erect figure with a little green shawlover her shoulders, leaped lightly to the sidewalk, a basket on her arm,and looked carefully at the number, then approached the group ofservants and asked if that was where M. Bernard Jansoulet lived.
"This is the place," was the reply. "But he isn't in."
"That's no matter," said the old woman, very naturally.
She returned to the driver, bade him put her trunk under the porch, andpaid him, at once replacing her purse in her pocket with a gesture thatsaid much for provincial distrust.
Since Jansoulet had been Deputy for Corsica, his servants had seen somany strange, foreign-looking creatures alight at his door that theywere not greatly surprised at sight of that sun-burned woman, with eyeslike glowing coals, bearing much resemblance in her simple head-dress toa genuine Corsican, some old psalm-singer straight from the underbrush,but distinguished from newly-arrived islanders by the ease andtranquillity of her manners.
"What do you say, the master isn't in?" she said with an intonationwhich is much more frequently heard by the hands on a farm, on a _mas_in her province, than by the impertinent lackeys of a great Parisianhousehold.
"No, the master isn't in."
"And the children?"
"They're taking their lesson. You can't see them."
"And Madame?"
"She's asleep. No one enters her room before three o'clock."
That seemed to surprise the good woman a little, that any one could stayin bed so late; but the sure instinct which, in default of education,acts as a guide to intelligent natures, prevented her from saying so tothe servants, and she at once asked to speak to Paul de Gery.
"He is travelling."
"Bompain Jean-Baptiste then?"
"He's at the Chamber with Monsieur."
Her great gray eyebrows contracted.
"No matter; take my trunk upstairs all the same."
And, with a malicious little twitching of the eye, a touch of pride, ofvengeance for the insolent glances turned upon her, she added:
"I am his mother."
Scullions and grooms stood aside respectfully. M. Barreau raised hiscap:
"I was saying to myself that I had seen Madame somewhere."
"That's just what I was saying to myself too, my boy," said MereJansoulet, shuddering at the memory of the ill-fated festivities inhonor of the bey.
"My boy!"--to M. Barreau, to a man of his importance! That instantlyplaced her very high in the esteem of that little circle.
Ah! grandeurs and splendors did not dazzle her, the brave-hearted oldwoman. She was no opera-comique Mere Boby going into ecstasies over thegildings and fine trinkets; the vases of flowers on every landing of thestaircase she ascended behind her trunk, the hall-lamps supported bybronze statues, did not prevent her noticing that there was a finger'sdepth of dust on the stair-rail and that the carpet was torn. Theyescorted her to the apartments on the second floor, reserved for theLevantine and the children, and there, in a room used as a linen closet,which was evidently near the school-room, for she could hear a murmur ofchildish voices, she waited, all alone, her basket on her knees, for herBernard to return, for her daughter-in-law to awake, or for the greatjoy of embracing her grandchildren. Nothing could be better adapted thanwhat she saw around her to give her an idea of the confusion of ahousehold given over to servants, where the oversight of the housewifeand her far-seeing activity are lacking. In huge wardrobes, all wideopen, linen was heaped up pell-mell in shapeless, bulging, totteringpiles,--fine sheets, Saxony table linen crumbled and torn, and the locksprevented from working by some stray piece of embroidery which nobodytook the trouble to remove. And yet many servants passed through thatlinen closet,--negresses in yellow madras, who hastily seized a napkinor a table-cloth, heedlessly trampled on those domestic treasuresscattered all about, dragged to the end of the room on their great flatfeet lace flounces cut from a long skirt which a maid had cast aside,thimble here, scissors there, as a piece of work to be taken up again.
The semi-rustic artisan, which Mere Jansoulet had not ceased to be, wassadly grieved at the sight, wounded in the respect, the affection, theinoffensive mania which is inspired in the provincial housewife by thewardrobe filled with linen, piece by piece, to the very top, full ofrelics of the poor past, its contents increasing gradually in quantityand in quality, the first visible symptom of comfortable circumstances,of wealth in a house. Again, that woman always had the distaff in herhand from morning till night, and if the house-keeper was indignant, thespinster could have wept as at a profanation. Finally, unable to endureit longer, she rose, abandoned her patient, watchful attitude, andstooping over, her little green shawl displaced by every movement, beganactively to pick up, smooth and fold with care that beautiful linen, asshe did on the lawns at Saint-Romans, when she indulged in the amusementof a grand washing, employing twenty women, the baskets overflowing withsnow-white folds, the sheets flapping in the morning breeze on the longdrying lines. She was deeply engrossed in that occupation, which madeher forget her journey, Paris, even the place where she was, when astout, thickset man, heavily bearded, in varnished boots, and a velvetjacket covering the chest and shoulders of a bull, entered the linencloset.
"Ah! Cabassu."
"You here, Madame Francoise! This is a surprise," said the _masseur_,opening wide his great Japanese idol's eyes.
"Why, yes, good Cabassu, it's me. I've just come. And I'm at workalready, as you see. It made my heart bleed to see all this mess."
"So you've come for the sitting, have you?"
"What sitting?"
"Why, the great sitting of the Corps Legislatif. This is the day."
"Faith, no. What difference do you suppose that can make to me? I don'tunderstand anything about such things. No, I came because I wanted toknow my little Jansoulets, and then, I was beginning to be uneasy. I'vewritten two or three times now without getting any answer. I was afraidthere might be a child sick, or that Bernard's business was in a badway--all sorts of uncomfortable ideas. I had an attack of great blackanxiety, and I started. Everybody's well here, so they tell me?"
"Why, yes, Madame Francoise. Everybody 's exceedingly well, thank God!"
"And Bernard? His business? Is it going along to suit him?"
"Oh! you know a man always has his little crosses in this life; however,I don't think he has any reason to complain. But now I think of it, youmust be hungry. I'll go and send you something to eat."
He was about to ring, much more self-assured and at home than the oldmother. But she checked him.
"No, no, I don't need anything. I still have some of my luncheon left."
She placed two figs and a crust of bread, taken from her basket, on thetable, and continued to talk as she ate:
"And what about your affairs, little one? It seems to me you've sprucedup mightily since the last time you came to the Bourg. What linen, whatclothes! What department are you in?"
"I am professor of massage," said Aristide gravely.
"You a professor!" she exclaimed, with respectful amazement; but shedared not ask him what he taught, and Cabassu, somewhat embarrassed byher questions, hastened to change the subject.
"Suppose I go and fetch the children? Hasn't any one told them theirgrandmother was here?"
"I didn't want to take them away from their work. But I believe thelesson is over now. Listen."
/> On the other side of the door they heard the impatient stamping ofschool children longing to be dismissed, eager for room and air; and theold woman listened with delight to the fascinating sounds that increasedher maternal longing ten-fold, but prevented her from doing anything tosatisfy it. At last the door opened. First the tutor appeared, an abbewith a pointed nose and prominent cheek-bones, whom we have seen at thestate breakfasts of an earlier day. Having fallen out with his bishop,the ambitious ecclesiastic had left the diocese where he formerlyexercised the priestly functions, and, in his precarious position as anirregular member of the clergy--for the clergy has its own Bohemia--wasglad of the opportunity to teach the little Jansoulets, recentlyexpelled from Bourdaloue. With the same solemn, arrogant mien, as of oneoverburdened with responsibility, which the great prelates intrustedwith the education of the Dauphins of France might assume, he stalkedin front of three little fellows, curled and gloved, with oblong hatsand short jackets, leather bags slung over their shoulders, and long redstockings reaching to the middle of the leg, the costume of the completevelocipedist about to mount his machine.
"Children," said Cabassu, the intimate friend of the family, "this isMadame Jansoulet, your grandmother, who has come to Paris on purpose tosee you."
They halted, very much astonished, arranged according to height, andexamined that withered old face between the yellow barbs of the cap,that strange costume, unfamiliar in its simplicity; and theirgrandmother's astonishment answered theirs, increased by heart-rendingdisappointment and by the embarrassment she felt in presence of thoselittle gentlemen, who were as stiff and disdainful as the marquises, thecounts and the prefects on circuit whom her son used to bring to her atSaint-Romans. In obedience to their tutor's injunction, "to salute theirvenerable grandmother," they came up one by one and gave her one of thesame little handshakes with arms close to their sides of which they haddistributed so many among the garrets; indeed, that good woman with theearth-colored face, and neat but very simple clothes, reminded them oftheir charitable visits from College Bourdaloue. They felt betweenherself and them the same strangeness, the same distance, which nomemory, no word from their parents had ever lessened. The abbe realizedher embarrassment, and, to banish it, launched forth upon a speechdelivered with the throaty voice, the violent gestures common to thosemen who always think that they have below them the ten steps leading toa pulpit:
"Lo, the day has come, Madame, the great day when Monsieur Jansoulet isto confound his enemies. _Confundantur hostes mei, quia injusteiniquitatem fecerunt in me_,--because they have persecuted me unjustly."
The old woman bowed devoutly to the Church Latin; but her face assumed avague expression of uneasiness at the idea of enemies and persecutions.
"Those enemies are numerous and powerful, noble lady, but let us not bealarmed beyond measure. Let us have confidence in the decrees of heavenand the justice of our cause. God is in the midst of it and it shall notbe shaken. _In medio ejus non commovebitur._"
A gigantic negro, resplendent in new gold lace, interrupted them toannounce that the velocipedes were ready for the daily lesson on theterrace of the Tuileries. Before leaving the room, the children solemnlyshook once more the wrinkled, calloused hand of their grandmother, whowas watching them walk away, utterly bewildered and with a sore heart,when, yielding to an adorable, spontaneous impulse, the youngest of thethree, having reached the door, suddenly turned, pushed the great negroaside, and plunged head foremost, like a little buffalo, into MereJansoulet's skirts, throwing his arms around her and holding up to herhis smooth brow splashed with brown curls, with the sweet grace of thechild who offers his caress like a flower. Perhaps the little fellow,being nearer the nest and its warmth, the nurse's cradling lap and_patois_ ballads, had felt the waves of maternal love of which theLevantine deprived him flowing toward his little heart. The old"Grandma" shuddered from head to foot in her surprise at thatinstinctive embrace.
"Oh my darling--my darling!" seizing the curly, silky little head whichreminded her of another, and kissing it frantically. Then the childreleased himself and ran away without a word, his hair wet with hottears.
Left alone with Cabassu, the mother, whom that kiss had consoled, askedfor an explanation of the priest's words.--Had her son many enemies,pray?
"Oh!" said Cabassu, "it is not at all surprising in his position."
"But what's all this about this being a great day, and this 'sitting'you all talk about?"
"Why, yes! This is the day when we're to know whether Bernard is to be adeputy or not."
"What? Isn't he one yet? Why, I have told it everywhere in theneighborhood, and I illuminated Saint-Romans a month ago. So I was madeto tell a lie!"
The _masseur_ had much difficulty in explaining to her the parliamentaryformality of testing the validity of elections. She listened with onlyone ear, feverishly pulling over the linen.
"And that's where my Bernard is at this moment?"
"Yes, Madame."
"Are women allowed to go into this Chamber?--Then why isn't his wifethere? For I can understand that it's a great affair for him. On such aday as to-day he will need to feel that all those he loves are besidehim. Look you, my boy, you must take me to this sitting. Is it veryfar?"
"No, very near. Only it must have begun before this. And then," addedthe Giaour, a little embarrassed, "this is the hour when Madame needsme."
"Ah! Do you teach her this thing that you're professor of? What do youcall it?"
"Massage. It comes down to us from the ancients. There, she's ringingher bell now. Some one will come to call me. Do you want me to tell herthat you are here?"
"No, no, I prefer to go to the Chamber at once."
"But you have no card of admission, have you?"
"Bah! I'll say that I am Jansoulet's mother and that I have come to hearmy son tried."
Poor mother! she did not know how truly she described his position.
"Wait a moment, Madame Francoise. Let me, at least, send some one toshow you the way."
"Oh! do you know, I've never been able to get used to these servantpeople. I've a tongue in my head. There are people in the streets; Ishall find my way well enough."
He made one last attempt, without disclosing the whole of his thought:
"Be careful. His enemies will speak against him in the Chamber. You willhear things that will hurt you."
Oh! the lovely smile of maternal faith and pride with which sheanswered:
"Don't I know better than all those people what my son is worth? Isthere anything that could make me unjust to him? If so, I must be amighty ungrateful woman. Nonsense!"
And, with a threatening shake of her cap, she departed.
Straight as a statue, with head erect, the old woman strode along underthe arches she had been told to follow, somewhat disturbed by theincessant rumbling of carriages and by her slow progress, unaccompaniedby the movement of her faithful distaff, which had not quitted her forfifty years. All these suggestions of enmity, of persecution, thepriest's mysterious words, Cabassu's dark hints, excited and terrifiedher. She found therein an explanation of the presentiments which hadtaken possession of her so firmly as to tear her away from her habitsand her duties, the superintendence of the Chateau and the care of herinvalid. Strangely enough, by the way, since fortune had cast upon herson and her that cloak of gold with its heavy folds, Mere Jansoulet hadnever become accustomed to it, and was always expecting the suddendisappearance of their splendor. Who could say that the final crash wasnot really beginning now? And suddenly, amid these gloomy thoughts, theremembrance of the childish scene of a moment before, of the little onerubbing against her drugget skirt, caused her wrinkled lips to swell ina loving smile, and, in her joy, she murmured in her _patois_:
"Oh! that little fellow!"
A vast, magnificent, dazzling square, two sheaves of water flying upwardin silver dust, then a great stone bridge, and at the further end asquare building with statues in front of it, and an iron gateway wherecarriages were standing, peo
ple passing through and a knot of policeofficers. That was the place. She made her way bravely through the crowdas far as a high glass door.
"Your card, my good woman?"
The good woman had no card, but she said simply to one of the usherswith red lapels who were acting as doorkeepers:
"I am Bernard Jansoulet's mother; I have come to attend my boy'ssitting."
It was in very truth her boy's sitting; for in that crowd besieging thedoors, in the crowd that filled the corridors, the hall, the galleries,the whole palace, the same name was whispered everywhere, accompanied bysmiles and muttered comments. A great scandal was expected, shockingrevelations by the spokesman of the committee which would doubtless leadto some violent outburst on the part of the savage thus brought to bay;and people crowded thither as to a first performance or the argument ofa famous cause. The old mother certainly could not have made herselfheard in the midst of that throng, if the train of gold left by theNabob wherever he passed, and marking his royal progress, had not madeeverything smooth for her. She followed an usher through that labyrinthof corridors, folding doors, empty, echoing rooms, filled with a buzzingnoise which circulated through the air in the building and passed outthrough its walls, as if the very stones were impregnated with thatverbosity and added the echoes of bygone days to those of all the voicesof to-day. Passing through a corridor, she spied a little dark manshouting and gesticulating to the attendants:
"Tell Moussiou Jansoulet zat I am ze deputy-mayor of Sarlazaccio, zat Ihave been sentenced to five month in prison for him. Zat deserves a cardfor ze sitting, _Corps de Dieu_!"
Five months in prison on her son's account. How could that be? Anxiousbeyond words, she arrived at last, with a ringing in her ears, at alanding where there were divers little doors like those of furnishedlodgings or theatre boxes, surmounted by different inscriptions:"Senators' Gallery," "Gallery of the Diplomatic Corps," "Members'Gallery." She entered, seeing nothing at first but four or five rows ofbenches crowded with people; then, on the opposite side of the hall, faraway, other galleries equally crowded, separated from her by a vast openspace; she leaned, still standing, against the wall, amazed to be there,bewildered, confused. A puff of hot air striking her in the face, thehum of voices ascending from below drew her down the sloping floor ofthe gallery, toward the edge of a yawning pit, so to speak, in thecentre of the great vessel, where her son must be. Oh, how she wouldhave liked to see him! Thereupon, making herself as small as possible,playing about her with her elbows, sharp and hard as her distaff, sheglided, wormed herself along between the wall and the benches, heedlessof the outbursts of wrath she aroused, of the contemptuous glances ofthe women in gorgeous array, whose laces and spring dresses she crushed.For it was a distinctly fashionable society gathering.
Indeed, Mere Jansoulet recognized by his inflexible shirtfront andaristocratic nose the dandified marquis who had visited at Saint-Romans,and who bore so felicitously the name of a gorgeous bird; but he did notlook at her. Having thus advanced a few rows, she was checked by theback of a man sitting, an enormous back which completely blocked herpath, prevented her from going farther. Luckily, however, by leaningforward a little, she could see almost the whole hall; and thosesemi-circular rows of desks where the deputies stood in groups, thegreen hangings on the walls, that pulpit at the rear occupied by a manwith a bald head and stern features, all in the quiet gray light fallingfrom above, made her think of a recitation about to commence, precededby the moving about and chattering of restless pupils.
One thing attracted her attention, the persistence with which all eyesseemed to be turned in the same direction, to be fixed upon the samepoint of attraction; and as she followed that current of curiositywhich magnetized the whole assemblage, the floor as well as thegalleries, she saw what everybody was staring at so earnestly; it washer son.
In the Jansoulets' province there still exists in some old churches, atthe back of the choir, half-way up from the crypt, a little stone box,to which lepers were admitted to listen to the services, exhibiting tothe curious and fearful throng their pitiable brute-like figurescowering against the holes cut in the wall. Francoise well rememberedhaving seen, in the village in which she was brought up, the leper, theterror of her childhood, listening to the mass in his stone cage, lostin the shadow and in reprobation. When she saw her son sitting alone,far back, with his face in his hands, that picture came to her mind."One would say he was a leper," muttered the peasant woman. And in verytruth the poor Nabob was a moral leper, upon whom his millions broughtfrom the Orient were at that moment imposing the torments of a terribleand mysterious exotic disease. As it happened, the bench upon which hehad chosen his seat showed several gaps due to leaves of absence orrecent deaths; and while the other deputies talked and laughed together,making signs to one another, he sat silent, apart, the object of theearnest scrutiny of the whole Chamber,--a scrutiny which Mere Jansouletfelt to be ironical, ill-disposed, and which burned her as it passed.How could she let him know that she was there, close at hand, that onefaithful heart was beating not far from his? for he avoided turningtoward that gallery. One would have said that he felt that it washostile, that he was afraid of seeing discouraging things there.Suddenly, at the ringing of a bell on the president's desk, a thrill ranthrough the assemblage, every head was bent forward in the attentiveattitude that immobilizes the features, and a thin man with spectacles,suddenly rising to his feet amid that multitude of seated men--aposition which gave him at once the authority of attitude--said, as heopened the pile of papers which he held in his hand:
"Messieurs, I rise in the name of your third committee, to recommend toyou that the election in the second district of the department ofCorsica be declared void."
In the profound silence following that sentence, which Mere Jansouletdid not understand, the stout creature sitting in front of her began towheeze violently, and suddenly a lovely woman's face, in the front rowof the gallery, turned to make him a rapid sign of intelligence andsatisfaction. Her pale brow, thin lips and eyebrows that seemed tooblack in the white frame of the hat, produced in the good old woman'seyes, although she could not tell why, the painful impression of thefirst lightning flash when the storm is beginning and the apprehensionof the thunderbolt follows the rapid meeting of the fluids.
Le Merquier read his report. The slow, lifeless, monotonous voice, theLyonnais accent, soft and drawling, with which the advocate kept timeby a movement of the head and shoulders almost like an animal, presenteda striking contrast to the savage conciseness of the conclusions. First,a rapid sketch of the electoral irregularities. Never had universalsuffrage been treated with such primitive, uncivilized disrespect. AtSarlazaccio, where Jansoulet's opponent seemed likely to carry the day,the ballot-box was destroyed during the night preceding the counting.The same thing, or almost the same, happened at Levie, at Saint-Andre,at Avabessa. And these offences were committed by the mayors themselves,who carried the boxes to their houses, broke the seals and tore up theballots, under cover of their municipal authority. On all sides fraud,intrigue, even violence. At Calcatoggio an armed man, blunderbuss inhand, stood at the window of an inn just opposite the mayor's officethroughout the election; and whenever a supporter of Sebastiani,Jansoulet's opponent, appeared on the square, the man pointed his weaponat him: "If you go in, I'll blow out your brains!" Moreover, when we seepolice commissioners, justices of the peace, sealers of weights andmeasures daring to transform themselves into electoral agents,intimidating and seducing a people notorious for their subjection to allthese tyrannical little local influences, have we not proof positive ofunbridled license? Why, even the priests, consecrated pastors, ledastray by their zealous interest in the poor-box and the maintenance oftheir impoverished churches, preached a veritable crusade in favor ofJansoulet's election. But an even more powerful, although lessrespectable, influence was set at work for the good cause,--theinfluence of bandits. "Yes, bandits, Messieurs, I am not jesting."--Andthereupon followed a sketch in bold colors of Corsican banditti inge
neral and the Piedigriggio family in particular.
The Chamber listened with close attention and with considerableuneasiness. The fact was that it was an official candidate whose actionswere being thus described, and those strange electoral morals wereindigenous in that privileged island, the cradle of the imperial family,and so intimately connected with the destiny of the dynasty that anattack on Corsica seemed to react upon the sovereign. But when it wasobserved that the new minister of State, Mora's successor and bitterenemy, sitting on the government benches, seemed overjoyed at the rebukeadministered to a creature of the defunct statesman, and smiledcomplacently at Le Merquier's stinging persiflage, all embarrassmentinstantly disappeared and the ministerial smile, repeated on threehundred mouths, soon increased to scarce-restrained laughter, thelaughter of crowds dominated by any rod, by whomsoever held, which theslightest sign of approbation from the master causes to burst forth. Inthe galleries, which were as a general rule but little indulged withpicturesque incidents, and were entertained by these stories of banditsas by a genuine novel, there was general gayety, a radiant animationenlivened the faces of all the women, overjoyed to be able to appearpretty without jarring upon the solemnity of the place. Little lighthats quivered in all their bright-hued plumes, round arms encircled withgold leaned on the rail in order to listen more at their ease. Thesolemn Le Merquier had imparted to the sitting the entertainment of aplay, had introduced the little comical note permitted at charitableconcerts as a lure to the profane.
Impassive and cold as ice, despite his triumph, he continued to read ina voice as dismal and penetrating as a Lyonnais shower.
"Now, Messieurs, we ask ourselves how it was that a stranger, aProvencal recently returned from the Orient, entirely ignorant of theinterests and needs of that island where he had never been seen beforethe elections, the true type of what the Corsicans contemptuously call'a continental'--how did this man succeed in arousing such enthusiasm,devotion so great as to lead to crime, to profanation? His wealth willanswer the question, his vile gold thrown into the faces of theelectors, stuffed by force into their pockets with a shameless cynicismof which we have innumerable proofs."--Then came the endless series ofaffidavits: "I, the undersigned, Croce (Antoine), do testify, in theinterest of truth, that Nardi, commissioner of police, came to our houseone evening and said to me, 'Hark ye, Croce (Antoine), I swear to you bythe flame of yonder lamp that, if you vote for Jansoulet, you shall havefifty francs to-morrow morning,'"--And this: "I, the undersigned,Lavezzi (Jacques-Alphonse), declare that I refused with scorn seventeenfrancs offered me by the mayor of Pozzo-Negro to vote against my cousinSebastiani."--It is probable that for three francs more Lavezzi(Jacques-Alphonse) would have devoured his scorn in silence. But theChamber did not go so deep as that.
It was moved to indignation, was that incorruptible Chamber. Itmuttered, it moved about restlessly on its soft benches of red velvet,it uttered noisy exclamations. There were "Ohs!" of stupefaction, eyeslike circumflex accents, sudden backward movements, or appalled,discouraged gestures, such as the spectacle of human degradationsometimes calls forth. And observe that the majority of those deputieshad used the identical electoral methods, that there were on thosebenches heroes of the famous "rastels," of those open-air banquets atwhich begarlanded and beribboned calves were borne aloft in triumph asat Gargantua's kermesses. They naturally cried out louder than theothers, turned in righteous wrath toward the high, solitary bench wherethe poor leper sat motionless, listening, his head in his hands. Butamid the general hue and cry, a single voice arose in his favor, a low,unpractised voice, rather a sympathetic buzzing than speech, in whichcould be vaguely distinguished the words: "Great services rendered toCorsica. Extensive enterprises. _Caisse Territoriale._"
The man who spoke thus falteringly was a little fellow in whitegaiters, with an albino's face and scanty hair that stood erect inbunches. But that tactless friend's interruption simply furnished LeMerquier with a pretext for an immediate and natural transition. Ahideous smile parted his flabby lips. "The honorable Monsieur Sariguerefers to the _Caisse Territoriale_; we proceed to answer him." ThePaganetti den of thieves seemed to be, in truth, very familiar to him.In a few concise, keen words he threw light into the inmost depths ofthat dark lair, pointed out all the snares, all the pitfalls, thewindings, the trap-doors, like a guide waving his torch above theunderground dungeons of some hideous _in pace_. He spoke of thepretended quarries, the railroads on paper, the imaginary steamboats,vanished in their own smoke. The ghastly desert of Taverna was notforgotten, nor the old Genoese tower that served as an office for theMaritime Agency. But the detail that rejoiced the heart of the Chamberabove all else was the description of a burlesque ceremonial organizedby the Governor for driving a tunnel through Monte-Rotondo,--a giganticundertaking still in the air, postponed from year to year, requiringmillions of money and thousands of arms, which had been inaugurated withgreat pomp a week before the election. The report described the affaircomically, the blow of the pick delivered by the candidate on the flankof the great mountain covered with primeval forests, the prefect'sspeech, the blessing of the standards amid shouts of "Vive BernardJansoulet!" and two hundred workmen going to work at once, working dayand night for a week, and then--as soon as the election wasover--abandoning the piles of broken rock heaped around an absurdexcavation, an additional place of refuge for the redoubtable prowlersin the thickets. The trick was played. After extorting money so longfrom the shareholders, the _Caisse Territoriale_ had been made to serveas a means of capturing the votes of the electors,--"And now, Messieurs,here is one last detail with which I might well have begun, in order tospare you the distressing story of this electoral burlesque. I learnthat a judicial inquiry into the Corsican concern has been opened thisvery day, and that a searching expert examination of its books will veryprobably lead to one of those financial scandals, too frequent, alas! inour day, in which you will not, for the honor of this Chamber, permitone of your members to be involved."
Upon that unexpected disclosure the reporter paused a moment to drawbreath, like an actor emphasizing the effect of his words; and in thedramatic silence which suddenly settled down upon the whole assemblage,the sound of a closing door was heard. It was Paganetti, the governor,who had hastily left his seat in one of the galleries, with pale face,round eyes, and mouth puckered for a whistle, like Mr. Punch when he hasdetected in the air the near approach of a violent blow. Monpavon,unmoved, puffed out his breastplate. The stout man wheezed violentlyinto the flowers on his wife's little white hat.
Mere Jansoulet gazed at her son.
"I spoke of the honor of the Chamber, Messieurs,--I have something moreto say on that subject."
Le Merquier was no longer reading. After the reporter, the orator cameupon the stage, the judge rather. His face was devoid of expression, hisglance averted, and nothing lived, nothing stirred in his long body, butthe right arm, that long, bony arm in its short sleeve, which movedmechanically up and down like a sword of justice, and punctuated the endof each sentence with the cruel and inexorable gesture of beheading. Andit was in truth a veritable execution at which that audience was lookingon. The orator would have been glad to omit from consideration thescandalous legends, the mystery that hovered over the amassing of thatcolossal fortune in distant lands, far from all supervision. But therewere in the candidate's life certain points difficult to explain,certain details--He hesitated, seemed to be selecting his words withgreat care, then, as if recognizing the impossibility of formulating thedirect charge, he continued: "Let us not degrade the discussion,Messieurs. You have understood me, you know to what infamousreports,--to what calumnies I would that I might say,--I allude; buttruth compels me to declare that when Monsieur Jansoulet, being summonedbefore our third committee, was called upon to controvert the chargesmade against him, his explanations were so vague that, while we werepersuaded of his innocence, our scrupulous regard for your honor led usto reject a candidate tainted with ordure of that sort. No, that manshould not be allowed to
sit among you. Indeed, what would he do here?Having resided so long in the Orient, he has forgotten the laws, themorals, the customs of his own country. He believes in the hastyadministration of justice, bastinadoes in the public streets; he reliesupon abuses of power, and, what is still worse, upon the venality, thecowering degradation of all mankind. He is the merchant who thinks thateverything can be bought if he offers enough for it,--even the votes ofelectors, even the consciences of his colleagues."
You should have seen the artless admiration with which those estimableportly deputies, torpid with good living, listened to that ascetic, thatman of another epoch, as if some Saint-Jerome had come forth from thedepths of his thebaid to overwhelm with his burning eloquence, in theSenate of the Empire of the East, the unblushing profligacy ofprevaricators and extortioners. How fully they understood the noblesobriquet of "My Conscience," which the Palais de Justice bestowed uponhim, and which suited him so well with his great height and his woodengestures! In the galleries the enthusiasm was even greater. Pretty facesleaned forward to see him, to drink in his words. Murmurs of approvalran along the benches, waving bouquets of all shades of color, like thewind blowing through a field of grain in flower. A woman's voiceexclaimed in a slight foreign accent: "Bravo! bravo!"
And the mother?
Standing motionless, absorbed by her eager desire to understandsomething of that courtroom phraseology, of those mysterious allusions,she was like the deaf-mutes who detect what is said in their presenceonly by the movement of the lips, by the expression of the face. Now,one had only to look at her son and Le Merquier to understand whatinjury one was inflicting upon the other, what treacherous poisonedmeaning fell from that long harangue upon the poor devil who might havebeen thought to be asleep, save for the quivering of his broad shouldersand the clenching of his hands in his hair, in which they rioted madly,while concealing his face. Oh! if she could have called to him fromwhere she stood: "Don't be afraid, my son! If they all despise you, yourmother loves you. Let us go away together. What do we care for them?"And for a moment she could almost believe that what she said to him thusin the depths of her heart reached him by virtue of some mysteriousintuition. He had risen, shaken his curly head, with its flushed cheeks,and its thick lips quivering nervously with a childish longing to burstinto tears. But, instead of leaving his bench, he clung to it, his greathands crushing the wooden rail. The other had finished; now it was histurn to reply.
"Messieurs--" he said.
He stopped instantly, dismayed by the hoarse, horribly dull and vulgarsound of his voice, which he heard for the first time in public. And inthat pause, tormented by twitchings of the face, by fruitless efforts tofind the intonation he sought, he must needs summon strength to make hisdefence. And if the poor man's agony was touching to behold, the oldmother up yonder, leaning forward, breathing hard, moving her lipsnervously as if to assist him to find his words, sent back to him afaithful imitation of his torture. Although he could not see her, havinghis face turned away from that gallery which he intentionally avoided,that maternal breath, the ardent magnetism of those black eyes gave himlife at last, and the fetters suddenly dropped from his speech and hisgestures.
"First of all, Messieurs, let me say that I do not come here to defendmy election. If you believe that electoral morals have not always beenthe same in Corsica, that all the irregularities committed must beattributed to the corrupting influence of my money and not to theuncivilized and passionate nature of a people, reject me; it will bejustice and I shall not murmur. But there is something else than myelection involved in this matter; accusations have been made whichattack my honor, which bring it directly in question, and to those aloneI propose to reply." His voice gradually became stronger, stilltrembling and indistinct, but with now and then a thrilling note such aswe sometimes hear in voices whose original harshness has undergone somechanges. He sketched his life very rapidly, his early days, hisdeparture for the Orient. You would have said that it was one of theeighteenth century tales of barbarian pirates scouring the Latin seas,of beys and fearless Provencaux, dark as crickets, who always end bymarrying some sultana and "taking the turban," according to the oldMarseillais expression. "For my part," said the Nabob, with hisingenuous smile, "I had no need to take the turban to enrich myself, Icontented myself with importing into that land of indolence and utterheedlessness the activity, the pliability of a Frenchman from the South,and I succeeded in a few years in making one of the fortunes that aremade nowhere else except in those infernally hot countries whereeverything is huge, hurried, out of proportion, where flowers grow in anight, where a single tree produces a whole forest. The excuse for suchfortunes lies in the use that is made of them, and I undertake to saythat no favorite of destiny ever tried harder than I did to earnforgiveness for his wealth. I did not succeed."--No, indeed, he had notsucceeded. From all the gold he had sown with such insane lavishness hehad reaped naught but hatred and contempt. Hatred! Who else could boastof having stirred up so much of that as he, as a vessel stirs up the mudwhen its keel touches bottom? He was too rich; that took the place inhim of all sorts of vices, of all sorts of crimes, and singled him outfor anonymous acts of vengeance, for cruel and persistent animosities.
"Ah! Messieurs," cried the poor Nabob, raising his clenched fists, "Ihave known poverty, I have struggled with it hand to hand, and it is aterrible struggle, I give you my word. But to struggle against wealth,to defend one's happiness, one's honor, one's peace of mind, feeblyprotected by piles of gold pieces which topple over and crush one, is afar more ghastly, more heart-sickening task. Never, in the gloomiest ofmy days of destitution, did I suffer the torture, the agony, thesleeplessness with which fortune has overwhelmed me, this horriblefortune which I abhor and which suffocates me! I am known as the Nabobin Paris. Nabob is not the proper name for me, but Pariah, a socialpariah stretching out his arms, wide open, to a society that will havenone of him."
Printed upon paper these words may seem cold; but there, before thewhole Chamber, that man's defence seemed to be instinct with an eloquentand imposing serenity, which aroused astonishment at first, coming fromthat clown, that upstart, unread, uneducated, with his Rhone boatman'svoice and his street porter's bearing, and afterward moved his auditorsstrangely by its unrefined, uncivilized character, utterly at variancewith all parliamentary traditions. Already tokens of approval hadmanifested themselves among the benches, accustomed to submit to thecolorless, monotonous downpour of administrative language. But at thatcry of frenzy and despair hurled at wealth by the unfortunate man whomit held in its toils, whom it drenched and drowned in its floods ofgold, and who struggled against it, calling for help from the depths ofhis Pactolus, the whole Chamber rose with fervent applause, with handsoutstretched as if to give the unhappy Nabob those tokens of esteemwhich he seemed to covet so earnestly, and at the same time to save himfrom shipwreck. Jansoulet was conscious of it, and, warmed by thatmanifestation of sympathy, he continued, with head erect and assuredglance:
"You have just been told, Messieurs, that I am not worthy to sit amongyou. And the man who told you that was the very last man from whom Ishould have expected it, for he alone knows the painful secret of mylife; he alone was able to speak for me, to justify me and convince you.He did not choose to do it. Very good! I will make the attempt, whateverit may cost me. Outrageously calumniated as I have been before the wholecountry, I owe to myself, I owe to my children this publicjustification, and I have decided to make it."
With that he turned abruptly toward the gallery where he knew that theenemy was watching him, and stopped suddenly, horror-stricken. Directlyin front of him, behind the baroness's pale, malicious little face, hismother, his mother whom he believed to be two hundred leagues away fromthe terrible storm, stood leaning against the wall, gazing at him,holding toward him her divine face streaming with tears, but proud andradiant none the less in her Bernard's great success. For it was agenuine success of sincere, eminently human emotion, which a few wordsmore would change into a triumph.--"Go
on! Go on!" men shouted from allsides of the Chamber, to reassure him, to encourage him. But Jansouletdid not speak. And yet he had very little to say to justify himself:"Calumny wilfully confused two names. My name is Bernard Jansoulet. Theother's name was Jansoulet Louis." Not another word.
But that was too much in his mother's presence, as she was stillignorant of her oldest son's dishonor. It was too much for the familyrespect and unity.
He fancied he could hear his old father's voice: "I am dying of shame,my son."--Would not she die of shame too, if he were to speak? He methis mother's smile with a sublime glance of renunciation; then hecontinued in a dull voice and with a gesture of discouragement:
"Excuse me, Messieurs, this explanation is decidedly beyond my strength.Order an investigation into my life, open to all and in the broad lightof day, for any one can understand my every act. I swear to you that youwill find nothing therein which should debar me from sitting among therepresentatives of my country."
The amazement, the disappointment at that surrender, which seemed to allthe sudden downfall of great effrontery when brought to bay, were beyondall bounds. There was a moment of excitement on the benches, theconfusion of a standing vote, which the Nabob watched listlessly in theuncertain light from the stained glass windows, as the condemned manwatches the surging crowd from the platform of the scaffold; then, afterthe suspense of a century which precedes a supreme moment, the presidentannounced amid profound silence, in the simplest manner imaginable:
"Monsieur Bernard Jansoulet's election is declared void."
Never was a man's life cut short with less solemnity or pother.
Mere Jansoulet, up yonder in her gallery, understood nothing except thatshe could see gaps on the benches all around,--that people were gettingup and going away. Soon no one remained with her save the fat man andthe lady in the white hat, who were leaning over the rail and gazingcuriously at Bernard, who seemed to be preparing to go, for he was verycalmly packing thick bundles of papers into a great portfolio. Hispapers arranged, he rose and left his seat.--Ah! the lives of those whosit in high places sometimes have very cruel moments. Gravely, heavily,under the eyes of the whole Chamber, he must redescend the steps he hadclimbed at the price of so much toil and money, only to be hurled backto their foot by an inexorable fatality.
It was that for which the Hemerlingues were waiting, following withtheir eyes to its last stage that heart-rending, humiliating exit whichpiles upon the back of the rejected one something of the shame andhorror of an expulsion; then, as soon as the Nabob had disappeared, theylooked at each other with a silent laugh and left the gallery, the oldwoman not daring to ask them to enlighten her, being warned by herinstinct of the bitter hostility of those two. Left alone, she gave allher attention to something else that was being read, convinced that herson's interests were still under discussion. There was talk ofelections, of counting ballots, and the poor mother, leaning forwardover the rail in her shabby cap, knitting her thick eyebrows, would havelistened religiously to the report on the Sarigue election to the veryend, had not the usher who had admitted her come to tell her that it wasall over and that she had better go.
"Really? It's all over?" she said, rising as if with regret.
And she added, timidly, in a low tone:
"Did he--did he win?"
It was so ingenuous, so touching, that the usher had not the slightestinclination to laugh.
"Unfortunately no, Madame. Monsieur Jansoulet did not win. But why didhe stop after he made such a good start? If it's true that he was neverin Paris before and that another Jansoulet did all they accuse him of,why didn't he say so?"
The old mother turned very pale and clung to the stair-rail.
She had understood.
Bernard's sudden pause when he caught sight of her, the sacrifice he hadoffered her so simply with the eloquent glance of a murdered beast cameto her mind; by the same blow the shame of the Elder, of the favoritechild, was confounded with the other's downfall, a two-edged maternalsorrow, which tore her heart whichever way she turned. Yes, yes, it wasfor her sake that he had forborne to speak. But she would not acceptsuch a sacrifice. He must return at once and explain himself to thedeputies.
"My son? where is my son?"
"Below, Madame, in his carriage. It was he who sent me to look for you."
She darted in front of the usher, walking rapidly, talking aloud,jostling against little black-faced, bearded men who were gesticulatingin the corridors. After the Salle des Pas-Perdus, she passed through agreat ante-chamber, circular in shape, where servants, drawn uprespectfully in line, formed a living, bedizened dado on the high barewall. From there she could see, through the glass doors, the irongateway outside, the crowd, and among other waiting carriages theNabob's. The peasant woman as she passed recognized her enormousneighbor of the gallery talking with the sallow man in spectacles whohad declaimed against her son and was receiving all sorts ofcongratulations and warm grasps of the hand for his speech. Hearing thename of Jansoulet pronounced with an accompaniment of mocking,well-satisfied laughter, she slackened her long stride.
"At all events," said a young dandy with the face of a dissolute woman,"he didn't prove wherein our charges are false."
At that the old woman made a jagged hole through the group andexclaimed, taking her stand in front of Moessard:
"What he didn't tell you I will tell you. I am his mother, and it's myduty to speak."
She interrupted herself to seize Le Merquier's sleeve as he was slinkingaway.
"You, above all, you bad man, you are going to listen to me. What haveyou against my child? Don't you know who he is? Wait a moment and let metell you."
She turned to the journalist:
"I had two sons, Monsieur--"
Moessard was no longer there. She returned to Le Merquier:
"Two sons, Monsieur--"
Le Merquier had disappeared.
"Oh! listen to me, some one, I entreat you," said the poor mother,throwing her hands and her words about, to recall, to detain herauditors; but they all fled, melted away, disappeared, deputies,reporters, strange and mocking faces to whom she insisted upon tellingher story by main force, heedless of the indifference which greeted hersorrows and her joys, her maternal pride and affection expressed in ajargon of her own. And while she rushed about and labored thus,intensely excited, her cap awry, at once grotesque and sublime like allchildren of nature in the drama of civilization, calling to witness toher son's uprightness and the injustice of men even the footmen whosecontemptuous impassiveness was more cruel than all the rest, Jansoulet,who had come to look for her, being anxious at her non-appearance,suddenly stood beside her.
"Take my arm, mother. You must not stay here."
He spoke very loud, with a manner so composed and calm that all laughterceased, and the old woman, suddenly quieted, supported by the firmpressure of that arm, clinging to which the last trembling of herindignation vanished, left the palace between two respectful lines ofpeople. A sublime though rustic couple, the son's millions illuminingthe mother's peasantry like the relics of a saint enclosed in a goldenshrine, they disappeared in the bright sunlight, in the splendor of thegorgeous carriage, brutal irony in presence of that sore distress, astriking example of the ghastly poverty of wealth.
They sat side by side on the back seat, for they dreaded to be seen, andat first they did not speak. But as soon as the carriage had started, assoon as they had left behind the sorrowful Calvary where his honorremained on the gibbet, Jansoulet, at the end of his strength, laid hishead against his mother's shoulder, hid his face in a fold of the oldgreen shawl, and there, shedding hot tears, his whole body shaken bysobs, the cry of his infancy came once more to his lips, his _patois_wail when he was a little child: "Mamma! mamma!"