XVI.
A PUBLIC MAN.
The luminous warmth of a bright May afternoon made the lofty windows ofthe hotel de Mora as hot as the glass roof of a greenhouse; itstransparent hangings of blue silk could be seen from without between thebranches, and its broad terraces, where the exotic flowers, brought intothe air for the first time, ran like a border all the length of thequay. The great rakes scraping among the shrubs in the garden left onthe gravelled paths the light footprints of summer, while the softpattering of the water from the sprinklers on the green lawn seemed likeits revivifying song.
All the magnificence of the princely abode shone resplendent in thepleasant mildness of the temperature, borrowing a grandiose beauty fromthe silence, the repose of that noonday hour, the only hour in the daywhen one did not hear carriages rumbling under the arches, the greatdoors of the reception-room opening and closing, and the constantvibration in the ivy on the walls caused by the pulling of bells toannounce somebody's coming in or going out, like the feverish throbbingof life in the house of a leader of society. It was well known thatuntil three o'clock the duke received at the department; that theduchess, a Swede still benumbed by the snow of Stockholm, had hardlyemerged from behind her somnolent bed-curtains; so that no one came,neither callers nor petitioners, and the footmen, perched likeflamingoes on the steps of the deserted stoop, alone enlivened the scenewith the slim shadows of their long legs and the yawning ennui of theiridleness.
It happened however, on that day, that Jenkins' maroon-lined _coupe_ waswaiting in a corner of the courtyard. The duke, who had been feelingbadly the day before, felt still worse when he left the breakfast table,and lost no time in sending for the man of the pearls in order toquestion him concerning his singular condition. He had no pain anywhere,slept well and had his usual appetite; but there was a mostextraordinary sensation of weariness and of terrible cold, which nothingcould overcome. So it was that, at that moment, notwithstanding thelovely spring sunshine which flooded his room and put to shame the flameblazing on his hearth as in the depth of winter, the duke was shiveringin his blue firs, between his little screens, and as he wrote his nameon divers documents for a clerk from his office, on a low lacqueredtable that stood so near the fire that the lacquer came off in scales,he kept holding his benumbed fingers to the blaze, which might havescorched them on the surface without restoring circulation and life totheir bloodless rigidity.
Was it anxiety caused by the indisposition of his illustrious patient?At all events Jenkins seemed nervous, excited, strode up and down theroom, prying and sniffing to right and left, trying to find in the airsomething that he believed to be there, something subtle and intangible,like the faint trace of a perfume or the invisible mark left by apassing bird. He could hear the wood snapping on the hearth, the soundof papers hastily turned, the duke's indolent voice, indicating in aword or two, always concise and clear, the answer to a letter of fourpages, and the clerk's respectful monosyllables: "Yes, Monsieur leMinistre." "No, Monsieur le Ministre." Outside, the swallows whistledmerrily over the water, and some one was playing a clarinet in thedirection of the bridges.
"It is impossible," said the minister abruptly, rising from his chair."Take them away, Lartigues. You can come again, to-morrow. I can'twrite, I am too cold. Just feel my hands, doctor, and tell me if youwould not say they were just out of a pail of iced water. My whole bodyhas been like that for two days. It's absurd enough in such weather!"
"It doesn't surprise me," growled the Irishman in a surly, short tone,very unusual in that mellifluous voice.
The door had closed behind the young clerk, who carried away hisdocuments with a majestic stiffness of bearing, but was very happy, Ifancy, to feel that he was at liberty, and to have the opportunity,before returning to the department, to saunter for an hour or two inthe Tuileries, overflowing at that hour with spring dresses and prettygirls seated around the still unoccupied chairs of the musicians underthe flowering chestnut trees, which quivered from top to bottom with theglad thrill of the month of nests. He was not frozen, not he.
Jenkins examined his patient without speaking, ausculted him, percussedhim, then, in the same rough tone, which might possibly be ascribed toanxious affection, to the irritation of the physician who finds that hisinstructions have been disregarded, he said:
"In God's name, my dear Duke, what sort of a life have you been leadinglately?"
He knew from ante-room gossips--the doctor did not despise them in thehouseholds of those of his patients with whom he was on intimateterms--he knew that the duke had a _new one_, that this caprice ofrecent date had taken possession of him, excited him to an unusualdegree, and that information, added to other observations made in otherdirections, had sown in Jenkins' mind a suspicion, a mad desire to knowthe name of this _new one_. That is what he was trying to read on hispatient's pale brow, seeking the subject of his thoughts rather than thecause of his illness. But he had to do with one of those faces peculiarto men who are successful with women, faces as hermetically sealed asthe caskets with secret compartments which contain women's jewels andletters,--one of those reticent natures locked with a cold, limpidglance, a glance of steel against which the most perspicacious cunningis powerless.
"You are mistaken, Doctor," replied His Excellency calmly, "I have notchanged my habits in any respect."
"Very good! you have done wrong, Monsieur le Duc," said the Irishmanbluntly, furious at his inability to discover anything.
But the next moment, realizing that he had gone too far, he tempered hisill-humor and the brutality of his diagnosis with a bolus of trite,axiomatic observations.--He must be careful. Medicine was not magic. Thepower of the Jenkins Pearls was limited by human strength, thenecessities of advancing age, the resources of nature, which, unhappily,are not inexhaustible. The duke interrupted him nervously:
"Come, come, Jenkins, you know that I don't like fine phrases. Theydon't go with me. What is the matter with me? What is the cause of thiscoldness?"
"It's anaemia, exhaustion--a lowering of the oil in the lamp."
"What must I do?"
"Nothing. Absolute rest. Eat and sleep, nothing more. If you could goand pass a few weeks at Grandbois--"
Mora shrugged his shoulders.
"What about the Chamber, and the Council, and--Nonsense! as if it werepossible!"
"At all events, Monsieur le Duc, you must put on the drag, as someonesaid, you must absolutely give up--"
Jenkins was interrupted by the entrance of the usher, who glided softlyinto the room on tiptoe, like a dancing-master, and handed a letter anda card to the minister who was still shivering in front of the fire.When he saw that envelope, of a satiny shade of gray, and of peculiarshape, the Irishman involuntarily started, while the duke, having openedhis letter and glanced over it, rose to his feet full of animation, onhis cheeks the faint flush of factitious health which all the heat fromthe fire had failed to bring to them.
"My dear Doctor, you must at any cost--"
The usher was standing near, waiting.
"What is it?--Oh! yes, this card. Show him into the gallery, I will bethere in a moment."
The Duc de Mora's gallery, which was open to visitors twice a week, wasto him a sort of neutral territory, a public place where he could seeanybody on earth without binding himself to anything or compromisinghimself. Then, when the usher had left the room:
"Jenkins, my good friend, you have already performed miracles for me. Iask you to perform another. Double my dose of the pearls, think upsomething, whatever you choose. But I must be in condition Sunday. Youunderstand, in perfect condition."
And his hot, feverish fingers closed upon the little note he held with ashudder of longing.
"Beware, Monsieur le Duc," said Jenkins, very pale, his lips pressedtightly together, "I have no desire to alarm you beyond measureconcerning your weak state, but it is my duty--"
Mora smiled, a charming, mischievous smile.
"Your duty and my pleasure are two, my good fellow. Le
t me burn my lifeat both ends if it amuses me. I have never had such a fine opportunityas I have now."
He started.
"The duchess!"
A door under the hangings had opened, giving passage to a dishevelledlittle head of fair hair, like a mass of vapor amid the laces andfurbelows of a royal _deshabille_.
"What is this I hear? You haven't gone out? Pray scold him, Doctor.Isn't he foolish to listen to his own fears so much? Just look at him.He looks in superb health."
"There! You see," said the duke, with a laugh, to the Irishman. "Aren'tyou coming in, Duchess?"
"No, I am going to take you away, on the contrary. My uncle d'Estainghas sent me a cage filled with birds from the Indies. I want to showthem to you. Marvels of all colors, with little eyes like black pearls.And so cold, so cold, almost as sensitive to cold as you are."
"Let us go and see them," said the minister. "Wait for me, Jenkins; Iwill come back."
Then, realizing that he still had his letter in his hand, he tossed itcarelessly into the drawer of the little table on which he had beensigning documents, and went out behind the duchess, with the perfect_sang-froid_ of a husband accustomed to such manoeuvres. Whatmarvellously skilful workman, what incomparable maker of toys was ableto endow the human countenance with its flexibility, its wonderfulelasticity? Nothing could be prettier than that great nobleman's face,surprised with his adultery on his lips, the cheeks inflamed by thevision of promised delights, and suddenly assuming a serene expressionof conjugal affection; nothing could be finer than the hypocriticalhumility of Jenkins, his paternal smile in the duchess's presence,giving place instantly when he was left alone, to a savage expression ofwrath and hatred, a criminal pallor, the pallor of a Castaing or aLapommerais devising his sinister schemes.
A swift glance at each of the doors, and in a twinkling he stood beforethe drawer filled with valuable papers, in which the little gold key wasallowed to remain with an insolent negligence that seemed to say:
"No one will dare."
But Jenkins dared.
The letter was there, on top of a pile of others. The texture of thepaper, the three words of the address dashed off in a plain, bold hand,and the perfume, that intoxicating, conjuring perfume, the very breathfrom her divine mouth. So it was true, his jealous love had not led himastray, nor her evident embarrassment in his presence for some timepast, nor Constance's mysterious, youthful airs, nor the superb bouquetsstrewn about the studio, as in the mysterious shadow of a sin. So thatindomitable pride had surrendered at last! But in that case why not tohim, Jenkins? He who had loved her so long, always in fact, who was tenyears younger than the other, and who certainly was no shiverer? Allthose thoughts rushed through his brain like arrows shot from a tirelessbow. And he stood there, riddled with wounds, torn with emotion, hiseyes blinded with blood, staring at the little cold, soft envelope whichhe dared not open for fear of removing one last doubt, when a rustlingof the hangings, which made him hastily toss the letter back and closethe smoothly-running drawer of the lacquer table, warned him thatsomebody had entered the room.
"Hallo! is it you, Jansoulet? How came you here?"
"His Excellency told me to come and wait for him in his bedroom,"replied the Nabob, very proud to be thus admitted to the sanctuary ofthe private apartments, especially at an hour when the minister did notreceive. The fact was that the duke was beginning to show a genuine,sympathetic feeling for that savage. For several reasons: in the firstplace he liked audacious, pushing fellows, lucky adventurers. Was he notone himself? And then the Nabob amused him; his accent, his unvarnishedmanners, his flattery, a trifle unblushing and impudent, gave him arespite from the everlasting conventionality of his surroundings, fromthat scourge of administrative and court ceremonial which he held inhorror,--the conventional phrase,--in so great horror that he neverfinished the period he had begun. The Nabob, for his part, finished hisin unforeseen ways that were sometimes full of surprises; he was afirst-rate gambler too, losing games of ecarte at five thousand francsthe turn, at the club on Rue Royale, without winking. And then he was soconvenient when one wanted to get rid of a picture, always ready to buy,no matter at what price. These motives of condescending amiability hadbeen reinforced latterly by a feeling of pity and indignation because ofthe persistent ferocity with which the poor fellow was being persecuted,because of the cowardly, merciless war upon him, which was carried on soskilfully that public opinion, always credulous, always putting out itsneck to see how the wind is blowing, was beginning to be seriouslyinfluenced. We must do Mora the justice to say that he was no followerof the crowd. When he saw the Nabob's face, always good-humored, butwearing a piteous, discomfited look, in a corner of the gallery, it hadoccurred to him that it was cowardly to receive him there, and he hadtold him to go up to his room.
Jenkins and Jansoulet, being decidedly embarrassed in each other'spresence, exchanged a few commonplace words. Their warm friendship hadgrown sensibly cooler of late, Jansoulet having flatly refused anyfurther subsidy to the Work of Bethlehem, thereby leaving the enterpriseon the Irishman's hands; he was furious at that defection, much morefurious just then because he had been unable to open Felicia's letterbefore the intruder's arrival. The Nabob, for his part, was wonderingwhether the doctor was to be present at the conversation he wished tohave with the duke on the subject of the infamous allusions with whichthe _Messager_ was hounding him; he was anxious also to know whetherthose calumnies had cooled the all-powerful goodwill, which would be sonecessary to him in the confirmation of his election. The welcome he hadreceived in the gallery had partly quieted his fears; they vanishedaltogether when the duke returned and came toward him with outstretchedhand.
"Well, well! my poor Jansoulet, I should say that Paris is making youpay dear for her welcome. What a tempest of scolding and hatred and badtemper!"
"Ah! Monsieur le Duc, if you knew--"
"I do know--I have read it all," said the minister, drawing near thefire.
"I trust that your Excellency doesn't believe those infamous stories. Atall events I have here--I have brought proofs."
With his strong hairy hands trembling with emotion, he fumbled among thepapers in an enormous portfolio that he had under his arm.
"Never mind--never mind. I know all about it. I know that, purposely ornot, they have confused you with another person whom family reasons--"
The duke could not restrain a smile in face of the utter bewilderment ofthe Nabob, who was astounded to find him so well informed.
"A minister of State should know everything. But never fear. Yourelection shall be confirmed, all the same. And when it is onceconfirmed--"
Jansoulet drew a long breath of relief.
"Ah! Monsieur le Duc, how much good you do me by talking to me thus. Iwas beginning to lose all my confidence. My enemies are so powerful! Andon top of all the rest there's another piece of ill-luck. Le Merquier,of all people, is assigned to make the report concerning my election."
"Le Merquier?--the devil!"
"Yes, Le Merquier, Hemerlingue's confidential man, the vile hypocritewho converted the baroness, doubtless because his religion forbids himto have a Mohammedan for his mistress."
"Fie, fie, Jansoulet!"
"What can you expect, Monsieur le Duc? You lose your temper sometimes,too. Just think of the position those villains are putting me in. A weekago my election should have been confirmed, and they have postponed themeeting of the committee purposely, because they know the terribleplight I am in, with all my fortune paralyzed, and the bey waiting forthe decision of the Chamber to know whether he can strip me clean ornot. I have eighty millions over there, Monsieur le Duc, and here I ambeginning to be in need of money. If this lasts a little longer--"
He wiped away the great drops of perspiration that were rolling down hischeeks.
"Very well! I will make this matter of your confirmation my business,"said the minister with much animation. "I will write to What's-his-nameto hurry up his report; and even if I have to be carried to t
heChamber--"
"Is your Excellency ill?" queried Jansoulet in a tone of deep interest,in which there was no lack of sincerity, I promise you.
"No--a little weakness. We are a little short of blood; but Jenkins isgoing to give us a new supply. Eh, Jenkins?"
The Irishman, who was not listening, made a vague gesture.
"Thunder! And to think that I have too much blood!" And the Nabobloosened his cravat around his swollen neck, on the verge of apoplexywith excitement and the heat of the room. "If I could only let you havea little, Monsieur le Duc!"
"It would be fortunate for both of us," rejoined the minister with atouch of irony. "For you especially; you are such a violent fellow andat this moment need to be so calm. Look out for that, Jansoulet. Be onyour guard against the traps, the fits of passion they would like todrive you into. Say to yourself now that you are a public man, standingon an elevation, and that all your gestures can be seen from a distance.The newspapers insult you; don't read them if you cannot conceal theemotion they cause you. Don't do what I did with my blind man on Pont dela Concorde, that horrible clarinet player, who has made my life aburden for ten years, whistling at me every day: _De tes fils, Norma_. Itried everything to make him go away, money, threats. Nothing wouldinduce him to go. The police? Oh! yes. With our modern ideas, to turn apoor blind man off his bridge would become a momentous affair. Theopposition newspapers would speak of it, the Parisians would make afable of it. _The Cobbler and the Financier_; _The Duke and theClarinet._ I must resign myself to it. Indeed, it's my own fault. Ishould not have shown the fellow that he annoyed me. I am confident thatmy torture is half of his life now. Every morning he leaves his hovelwith his dog, his folding-stool and his horrible instrument, and says tohimself: 'Now I'll go and make life a burden to the Duc de Mora.' Not aday does he miss, the villain. Look you! if I should open the window acrack, you would hear that deluge of shrill little notes above the noiseof the water and the carriages. Very well! this _Messager_ man is yourclarinet; if you let him see that his music wearies you, he will neverstop. By the way, my dear deputy, let me remind you that you have acommittee meeting at three o'clock, and I shall see you very soon in theChamber."
Then, turning to Jenkins, he added: "You know what I asked you for,Doctor,--pearls for day after to-morrow. And well loaded!"
Jenkins started and shook himself, as if suddenly aroused from a dream.
"I understand, my dear Duke; I'll supply you with breath--oh! breathenough to win the Derby."
He bowed, and went away, laughing, a genuine wolf's laugh, showing hiswhite, parted teeth. The Nabob also took his leave, his heartoverflowing with gratitude, but not daring to allow that sceptic to seeanything of it, for any sort of demonstration aroused his distrust. Andthe Minister of State, left alone, crouching in front of the crackling,blazing fire, sheltered by the velvety warmth of his luxurious garments,lined on that day by the feverish caress of a lovely May sun, began toshiver anew, to shiver so violently that Felicia's letter, which he heldopen in his blue fingers and read with amorous zest, trembled with arustling noise as of silk.
* * * * *
A very peculiar situation is that of a deputy in the period whichfollows his election and precedes--as they say in Parliamentaryparlance--the verification of his credentials. It bears some resemblanceto the plight of a husband during the twenty-four hours between themarriage at the mayor's office and its consecration by the Church.Rights one cannot use, a semi-happiness, semi-privileges, the annoyanceof having to hold oneself in check in one direction or another, the lackof a definite standing. You are married without being married, a deputywithout being sure of it; but, in the case of the deputy, thatuncertainty is prolonged for days and weeks, and the longer it lasts themore problematical the result becomes; and it is downright torture forthe unfortunate representative on trial to be obliged to go to theChamber, to occupy a seat which he may not keep, to listen to debateswhose conclusion he is likely not to hear, to implant in his eyes andears the delightful memory of parliamentary sessions, with their oceanof bald or apoplectic heads, the endless noise of crumpled paper, theshouts of the pages, the drumming of paper knives on the tables, and thehum of private conversations, above which the orator's voice soars in atimid or vociferous solo with a continuous accompaniment.
That situation, disheartening enough at best, was made worse for theNabob by the calumnious stones, whispered at first, now printed and putin circulation by thousands of copies, which resulted in his beingtacitly quarantined by his colleagues. At first he went about in thecorridors, to the library, to the restaurant, to the Salle desConferences, like the others, overjoyed to leave his footprints in everycorner of that majestic labyrinth; but, being a stranger to themajority, cut by some members of the club on Rue Royale, who avoidedhim, detested by the whole clerical coterie, of which Le Merquier wasthe leader, and by the financial clique, naturally hostile to thatbillionaire, with his power to cause a rise or fall in stocks, like thevessels of large tonnage which divert the channel in a harbor, hisisolation was simply emphasized by change of locality, and the samehostility accompanied him everywhere.
His movements, his bearing were marked by a sort of constraint, ofhesitating distrust. He felt that he was watched. If he entered therestaurant for a moment, that great light room looking on the gardensof the presidency, which he liked because there, at the broad whitemarble counter laden with food and drink, the deputies laid aside theirimposing, high and mighty airs, the legislative haughtiness became moreaffable, recalled to naturalness by nature, he knew that a sneering,insulting item would appear in the _Messager_ the next morning, holdinghim up to his constituents as "a wine-bibber _emeritus_."
They were another source of vexation to him,--those terribleconstituents.
They came in flocks, invaded the Salle des Pas-Perdus, galloped about inall directions like excited little black kids, calling from one end tothe other of the echoing hall: "O Pe! O Tche!" inhaling with delight theodor of government, of administration that filled the air, making eyesat the ministers who passed, sniffing at their heels, as if some prebendwere about to fall from their venerable pockets, from their swollenportfolios; but crowding around "Moussiou" Jansoulet especially, with somany urgent petitions, demands, demonstrations, that, in order to ridhimself of that gesticulating mob at which everybody turned to look, andwhich made him seem like the delegate of a tribe of Touaregs in themidst of a civilized people, he was obliged to glance imploringly atsome usher who was skilled in the art of rescue under such circumstancesand would come to him in a great hurry and say, "that he was wantedimmediately in the eighth committee." So that the poor Nabob,persecuted everywhere, driven from the corridors, the Pas-Perdus, therestaurant, had adopted the course of never leaving his bench, where hesat motionless and mute throughout the sitting.
He had, however, one friend in the Chamber,--a deputy newly elected forDeux-Sevres, named M. Sarigue, a poor fellow not unlike the inoffensive,ignoble animal whose name he bore,[2] with his sparse, red hair, hisfrightened eyes, his hopping gait in his white gaiters. He was so shythat he could not say two words without stammering, almost tongue-tied,incessantly rolling balls of chewing-gum around in his mouth, which putthe finishing touch to the viscosity of his speech; and every onewondered why such an impotent creature had cared to become a member ofthe Assembly, what delirious female ambition had spurred on to publicoffice a man so unfitted for the least important private function.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] A _sarigue_ is an opossum.
By an amusing manifestation of the irony of fate, Jansoulet, who wasintensely agitated by the uncertainty concerning his own confirmation,was chosen by the eighth committee to make the report on the Deux-Sevreselection, and M. Sarigue, realizing his incapacity, full of a ghastlydread of being sent back in disgrace to his own fireside, prowled humblyand beseechingly around that tall, curly-haired worthy, whose broadshoulder-blades moved back and forth like the bellows of a forge underhis fine tightly fi
tting frock-coat, little suspecting that a poor,worried creature like himself was hidden beneath that solid envelope.
As he worked at the report of the election at Deux-Sevres, going overthe numerous protests, the charges of electoral trickery, banquetsgiven, money squandered, casks of wine broached in front of the mayor'soffice, the usual manoeuvres of an election in those days, Jansouletshuddered on his own account. "Why, I did all that!" he said to himselfin dismay. Ah! M. Sarigue need have no fear, he could never have put hishand upon a more kindly-disposed judge or a more indulgent one, for theNabob, moved to pity for his patient, knowing by experience how painfulthe agony of suspense is, did his work with all possible haste, and thehuge portfolio that he had under his arm when he left the hotel de Mora,contained his report, all ready to be read to the Committee.
Whether it was the thought of that first essay as a public officer, orthe duke's kind words, or the magnificent weather, which was keenlyenjoyed by that Southerner whose impressions were wholly physical, andwho was accustomed to transact business in the warm sunlight and beneaththe blue sky,--certain it is that the ushers of the Corps Legislatifbeheld that day a superb and haughty Jansoulet whom they had not knownbefore. Old Hemerlingue's carriage, recognizable by the unusual width ofits doors, of which he caught a glimpse through the iron railing, wasall that was needed to put him in full possession of his naturalassurance and audacity.
"The enemy is at hand. Attention!" As he walked through the Salle desPas-Perdus, he saw the financier talking in a corner with Le Merquier,the judge of his election, passed close by them and stared at them witha triumphant air which made them wonder: "What in God's name hashappened to him?"
Then, enchanted by his own _sang-froid_, he walked toward thecommittee-rooms, vast, high apartments, opening from both sides of along corridor, furnished with huge tables covered with green cloths andheavy chairs of uniform pattern which bore the stamp of wearisomesolemnity. He reached his destination. Men were standing about ingroups, discussing, gesticulating, exchanging salutations and grasps ofthe hand, throwing back their heads, like Chinese shadows, against thebright background of the windows. There were some who walked alone, withbacks bent, as if crushed by the weight of thoughts that furrowed theirbrows. Others whispered in one another's ears, imparting excessivelymysterious information of the utmost importance, putting a finger totheir lips, screwing up their eyes to enjoin secrecy. A provincialflavor distinguished them all, with differences of inflection, Southernexcitability, the drawling accent of the Centre, Breton sing-song, allblended in the same idiotic, strutting self-sufficiency; frock-coatsafter the style of Landerneau, mountain shoes, and home-spun linen; themonumental assurance of village clubs, local expressions, provincialismsabruptly imported into political and administrative language, the limp,colorless phraseology which invented "the burning questions returning tothe surface," and "individualities without a commission."
To see those worthies, excited or pensive as the case might be, youwould have said that they were the greatest breeders of ideas on earth;unluckily, on the days when the Chamber was in session they weretransformed, they clung coyly to their benches, as frightened asschool-boys under the master's ferule, laughing obsequiously at thejests of the man of wit who presided over them, or taking the floor toput forward the most amazing propositions, or for interruptions of thesort that make one think that it was not a type simply, but a whole racethat Henri Monnier stigmatized in his immortal sketch. Two or threeorators in the whole Chamber, the rest well skilled in the art ofplanting themselves before the fire in a provincial salon, after anexcellent repast at the prefect's table, and saying in a nasal tone:"The administration, Messieurs," or "The Emperor's government,"--butincapable of going farther.
On ordinary occasions the good-natured Nabob allowed himself to bedazzled by those attitudes, that clattering noise as of an emptyspinning-wheel; but to-day he found himself on a level with the others.As he sat at the centre of the green table, his portfolio before him,his two elbows firmly planted upon it, reading the report drawn by deGery, the members of the committee stared at him in mute amazement.
It was a clear, concise, rapid summary of their labors of the pastfortnight, in which they found their ideas so well expressed that theyhad great difficulty in recognizing them. Then, when two or three amongthem suggested that the report was too favorable, that he glided toolightly over certain protests that had reached the committee, the makerof the report spoke with surprising assurance, with the prolixity andexuberance of men of his province, proved that a deputy should not beheld responsible beyond a certain point for the imprudence of hiselectoral agents, that otherwise no election would stand against aninvestigation that was at all minute; and as, in reality, he waspleading his own cause, he displayed an irresistible warmth andconviction, taking care to let fly from time to time one of the longmeaningless substantives with a thousand claws, of the sort that thecommittee liked.
The others listened, deep in thought, exchanging their impressions bynods of the head, drawing flourishes and faces on their blotting-padsthe better to fix their attention; a detail that harmonized with theschoolboy-like noise in the corridors, a muttering as of lessons beingrecited, and the flocks of sparrows chirping under the windows in aflagged courtyard surrounded by arches, a veritable school-yard. Thereport adopted, they sent for M. Sarigue to make some supplementaryexplanations. He appeared, pale-faced, abashed, stammering like acriminal before conviction, and you would have laughed to see thepatronizing, authoritative air with which Jansoulet encouraged andreassured him: "Be calm, my dear colleague." But the members of theeighth committee did not laugh. They were all, or almost all, of theSarigue species, two or three being absolutely nerveless, afflicted withpartial loss of the power of speech. Such self-assurance, such eloquencehad aroused their enthusiasm.
When Jansoulet left the Corps Legislatif, escorted to his carriage byhis grateful colleague, it was about six o'clock. The superb weather, agorgeous sunset over by the Trocadero, across the Seine, which shonelike burnished gold, tempted that robust plebeian, whom the conventionalproprieties of his position compelled to ride in a carriage and to weargloves, but who dispensed with them as often as possible, to return onfoot. He sent away his servants, and started across Pont de la Concorde,his leather satchel under his arm. He had known no such feeling ofcontentment since the first of May. Throwing back his shoulders, withhis hat tipped slightly back in the attitude he had noticed in men whowere worried, overdone with business, allowing all the toil-born feverof their brain to evaporate in the fresh air, as a factory dischargesits vapor into the gutter at the close of a day of labor, he walked onamong other figures like his own, evidently just from the pillaredtemple that faces the Madeleine beyond the monumental fountains of thesquare. As they passed, people turned and said: "They are deputies." AndJansoulet felt a childlike joy, a vulgar joy compounded of ignoranceand ingenuous vanity.
"Buy the _Messager_ evening edition."
The words came from the newspaper booth at the end of the bridge, filledat that hour with piles of freshly printed sheets which two women werehastily folding and which smelt of the damp press, of the latest news,the triumph of the day or its scandal. Almost all the deputies purchaseda copy as they passed, and ran through it rapidly, hoping to find theirnames. Jansoulet, for his part, dreaded to see his and did not stop. Butsuddenly he thought: "Ought not a public man to be above such weaknessesas this? I am strong enough to read anything now." He retraced his stepsand took a paper like his colleagues. He opened it very calmly at theplace usually occupied by Moessard's articles. There was one there.Still the same title: _Chinoiseries_, and an M. for signature.
"Aha!" said the public man, as unmoved and cold as marble, with a fine,scornful smile. Mora's lesson was still ringing in his ears, and even ifhe had forgotten it, the air from _Norma_ in jerky, ironical littlenotes not far away would have sufficed to remind him of it. But, howevercarefully we may make our calculations in the rush of events in ourlives, we must still reckon
with the unforeseen; and that is why theNabob suddenly found himself blinded by a rush of blood to his eyes,while a cry of rage was stifled by the sudden contraction of his throat.His mother, his old Francoise, was dragged into the infamous jest ofthe "flower boat" at last. How well that Moessard aimed, how well heknew the really sensitive spots in that heart, so innocently laid bare!
"Be calm, Jansoulet, be calm."
In vain did he repeat the injunction in every tone,--anger, furiousanger, the drunkenness of blood demanding blood enveloped him. His firstimpulse was to stop a cab and hurl himself into it, in order to escapethe irritating street, to rid his body of the necessity of walking andchoosing a path--to stop a cab as for a wounded man. But at that hour ofgeneral home-coming the square was crowded with hundreds of victorias,caleches, coupes, descending from the resplendent glory of theArc-de-Triomphe toward the purple freshness of the Tuileries, crowdingclosely upon one another down the inclined surface of the avenue to thegreat cross-roads where the motionless statues, standing firmly on theirpedestals with their wreath-encircled brows, watched them diverge towardFaubourg Saint-Germain, Rue Royale and Rue de Rivoli.
Jansoulet, newspaper in hand, made his way through the uproar, withoutthinking of it, bending his steps instinctively toward the club, wherehe went every day to play cards from six to seven. He was a public manstill; but intensely excited, talking aloud, stammering oaths andthreats in a voice that suddenly became soft once more as he thought ofthe dear old woman.--To think of rolling her in the mire too! Oh! if sheshould read it, if she could understand! What punishment could heinvent for such an infamous outrage? He reached Rue Royale, whereequipages of all sorts returning from the Bois bowled swiftly homeward,with whirling axles, visions of veiled women and children's curly heads,bringing a little vegetable mould to the pavements of Paris and whiffsof spring mingled with the perfume of rice-powder. In front of theMinistry of Marine, a phaeton perched very high upon slender wheels,bearing a strong resemblance to a huge field-spider, the little groomclinging behind and the two persons on the box-seat forming its body,came very near colliding with the sidewalk as it turned.
The Nabob raised his head, and restrained an exclamation.
Beside a painted hussy with red hair, wearing a tiny little hat withbroad ribbons, who, from her perch on her leather cushion, was drivingthe horse with her hands, her eyes, her whole made-up person, stifflyerect, yet leaning forward, sat Moessard, Moessard the dandy,pink-cheeked and painted like his companion, raised on the samedung-heap, fattened on the same vices. The strumpet and the journalist,and she was not the one of the two who sold herself most shamelessly!Towering above the women lolling in their caleches, the men who satopposite them buried under flounces, all the attitudes of fatigue andennui which they whose appetites are sated display in public as if inscorn of pleasure and wealth, they insolently exhibited themselves, shevery proud to drive the queen's lover, and he without the slightestshame beside that creature who flicked her whip at men in passage-ways,safe on her lofty perch from the salutary drag-nets of the police.Perhaps he found it necessary to quicken his royal mistress's pulses bythus parading under her windows with Suzanne Bloch, _alias_ Suze laRousse.
"Hi! hi there!"
The horse, a tall trotter with slender legs, a genuine cocotte's horse,was returning from his digression, toward the middle of the street, withdancing steps, prancing gracefully up and down without going forward.Jansoulet dropped his satchel, and as if he had cast aside at the sametime all his gravity, his prestige as a public man, he gave a mightyleap and grasped the animal's bit, holding him fast with his stronghairy hands.
An arrest on Rue Royale and in broad daylight; no one but that Tartarwould have dared do such a thing!
"Get down," he said to Moessard, whose face turned green and yellow inspots when he recognized him. "Get down at once."
"Will you let go my horse, you fat beast!--Lash him, Suzanne, it's theNabob."
She tried to gather up the reins, but the animal, held in a powerfulgrasp, reared so suddenly that in another second the fragile vehiclewould have shot out all that it contained, like a sling. Thereupon,carried away by one of the furious fits of rage peculiar to thefaubourg, which in such girls as she scale off the varnish of theirluxury and their false skin, she struck the Nabob two blows with herwhip, which glided off the hard, tanned face, but gave it a ferociousexpression, accentuated by the short nose, slit at the end like ahunting terrier's, which had turned white.
"Get down, or, by God, I will overturn the whole thing!"
In a confused mass of carriages, standing still because movement wasimpossible or slowly skirting the obstacle, with thousands of curiouseyes, amid the shouts of drivers and clashing of bits, two iron wristsshook the whole phaeton.
"Jump down--jump, I say--don't you see he's going to tip us over? What agrip!"
And the girl gazed at the Hercules with interest.
Moessard had hardly put his foot to the ground, when, before he couldtake refuge on the sidewalk, where black _kepis_ were hastening to thescene, Jansoulet threw himself upon him, lifted him by the nape of theneck like a rabbit, and exclaimed, heedless of his protestations, histerrified, stammering entreaties:
"Yes, yes, I'll give you satisfaction, you miserable scoundrel. Butfirst I propose to do to you what we do to dirty beasts so that theysha'n't come back again."
And he began to rub him, to scrub his face mercilessly with hisnewspaper, which he held like a _tampon_ and with which he choked andblinded him and made great raw spots where the paint bled. They draggedhim from his hands, purple and breathless. If he had worked himself up alittle more, he would have killed him.
The scuffle at an end, the Nabob pulled down his sleeves, which hadrisen to his elbows, smoothed his rumpled linen, picked up his satchelfrom which the papers relating to the Sarigue election had scattered asfar as the gutter, and replied to the police officers, who asked him hisname in order to prepare their report: "Bernard Jansoulet, Deputy forCorsica."
A public man!
Not until then did he remember that he was one. Who would have suspectedit, to see him thus, out of breath and bareheaded, like a porter after astreet fight, under the inquisitive, coldly contemptuous glances of theslowly dispersing crowd?