Complete Works of Emile Zola (409 page)

Delestang bent his head again. He was perpetually becoming the victim of some hazardous passion. In 1851 he had all but ruined his political prospects. At that time he had been madly infatuated with the wife of a socialist deputy, and to curry favour with her husband had more frequently than not voted with the opposition against the Elysée. The
coup d’état
of the second of December consequently filled him with terrible alarm, and he shut himself up for a couple of days in distraction, overwhelmed, good for nothing, trembling with fear lest he should be arrested. However, Rougon had helped him out of his awkward position, advising him not to stand at the ensuing elections and taking him down to the Elysée, where he succeeded in getting him a place in the Council of State. Delestang, whose father had been a wine-merchant at Bercy, was himself a retired attorney and the owner of a model farm near Sainte-Menehould. He was worth several millions of francs and lived in a very handsome house in the Rue du Colisée.

‘Yes, beware of women,’ Rougon repeated, pausing after each word so as to glance at his papers. ‘When a woman does not put a crown on your head she slips a halter round your neck. At our age a man’s heart wants as carefully looking after as his stomach.’

At this moment a loud noise was heard in the ante­chamber, and Merle’s voice could be recognised refusing admission to some visitor. However, a little man suddenly rushed into the room, exclaiming, ‘I really must shake hands with my dear friend!’

‘Hallo! is it you, Du Poizat?’ exclaimed Rougon without rising.

Merle was making sweeping gesticulations to excuse him­self, but his master bade him close the door. Then he quietly said to Du Poizat: ‘I thought you were at Bressuire. So you desert your sub-prefecture as easily as an old mis­tress, eh?’

Du Poizat, who was a slightly built man with a mean-looking face and very white irregular teeth, shrugged his shoulders as he replied: ‘I arrived in Paris this morning on business, and I did not intend to come and see you till the evening, when I should have called upon you in the Rue Marbeuf and have asked you to give me some dinner. But when I read the
Moniteur
—  — ‘ Then he broke off, pulled an easy-chair in front of the writing-table, and seated himself face to face with Rougon. ‘Well now, what’s been happen­ing, eh?’ he resumed. ‘I’ve come from the depths of the Deux-Sèvres. I had heard something down there, but I had no idea of this. Why didn’t you write to me?’

Rougon, in his turn, shrugged his shoulders. It was evident that tidings of his disgrace had reached Du Poizat in the country, and that he had hastened to Paris to see if he could find a means of securing stability for his own position. So Rougon gave him a keen glance as he rejoined: ‘I should have written to you this evening. Send in your resignation, my good fellow.’

‘That’s all that I wanted to know. Well, I will resign,’ replied Du Poizat quietly.

Then he rose from his seat and began to whistle. As he slowly paced the room he caught sight of Delestang kneeling on the carpet in the midst of a litter of pasteboard boxes. He approached and silently shook hands with him. Then he took a cigar out of his pocket and lighted it at the candle.

‘I may smoke here, I suppose, as you are moving?’ he said, again sitting down in the easy-chair. ‘It’s good fun is moving!’

Rougon, however, was absorbed in a bundle of papers which he read with deep attention, sorting them very care­fully, burning some and preserving others. Du Poizat, with his head lolling back, and puffing light clouds of smoke from between his lips, remained watching him. They had become acquainted with each other some months before the Revo­lution of February, 1848. At that time they were both boarding with Madame Correur at the Hôtel Vanneau in the Rue Vanneau. Du Poizat had found himself quite at home there, for he and Madame Correur had both been born at Coulonges, a little town in the district of Niort. His father, a process-server, had sent him to study law in Paris, where he allowed him only a hundred francs a month, although he had amassed large sums by lending money for short periods at extortionate interest. The old man’s wealth seemed, in­deed, so inexplicably great to his country neighbours that it was said he had discovered a large treasure in an old chest of drawers upon which he had distrained. From the outset of the Bonapartist propaganda Rougon had availed himself of the services of this scraggy youth, who, chafing and fuming, made such short work of his monthly hundred francs, and they dabbled together in the most risky undertakings. Later on, when Rougon was desirous of entering the Legislative Assembly, Du Poizat worked energetically to secure his elec­tion for Deux-Sèvres. Then, after the
coup d’état,
Rougon in his turn used all his influence on behalf of Du Poizat and got him appointed sub-prefect at Brossuire. The young man, then barely thirty years of age, had desired to return in triumph to his own neighbourhood, where he would be near his father, through whose avarice he had led a life of torture ever since leaving college.

‘And how is your father?’ asked Rougon, without raising his eyes.

‘Oh, much too well,’ answered Du Poizat bluntly. ‘He has sent his last remaining servant away because she ate three pounds of bread a week. Now he keeps a couple of loaded guns behind his door, and when I go to see him I have to parley with him over the wall of the yard.’

While talking, Du Poizat leaned forward and poked his fingers into the bronze vase, where some fragments of paper were lying only half-consumed. Rougon sharply raised his head as he noticed this. He had always felt somewhat dis­trustful of his old lieutenant, whose irregular white teeth resembled those of a young wolf. In the days when they had worked together he had always made a point of never allowing any compromising document to fall into his hands; and now, as he saw him trying to decipher some words that still re­mained legible on the charred fragments, he threw a handful of blazing letters into the vase. Du Poizat perfectly under­stood why he did so; however, he merely smiled and began to joke. ‘It’s a thorough cleaning you’re going in for,’ he said.

Then he took a large pair of scissors and began to use them as tongs. He raised the letters which were not con­sumed to the taper in order to relight them, held up those which had been too tightly crumpled to burn in the vase, and stirred all the flaming ashes as though he were mixing a blazing bowl of punch. The red-hot sparks danced about in the vase, and a cloud of bluish smoke arose and gently curled away towards the open window. At intervals the candle flickered and then burnt brightly again with a straight, tall flame.

‘That candle looks like a funeral-taper!’ said Du Poizat with a grin. ‘Ah! it’s really a burial, my poor friend. What a lot of skeletons that require to be reduced to ashes, eh!’

Rougon was about to reply, when a fresh commotion was heard in the ante-chamber. Merle was a second time refusing admission. As the voices grew louder, Rougon at last ex­claimed: ‘Will you kindly see what it is, Delestang? If I show myself we shall be quite invaded.’

Delestang cautiously opened the door and closed it behind him. But he popped his head into the room almost imme­diately afterwards, exclaiming: ‘It’s Kahn!’

‘Oh, well!’ replied Rougon; ‘let him come in; but no one else, mind!’ Then he called to Merle and reiterated his orders.

‘I beg your pardon, my dear friend,’ he said, turning to Kahn, as soon as the usher had left the room; ‘but I am so very busy. Sit down beside Du Poizat and keep quite still or I shall be obliged to turn you both out of the room.’

The deputy did not appear in the least offended by Rougon’s blunt reception. He was quite accustomed to those ways. He took an easy-chair and sat down beside Du Poizat, who was lighting a second cigar. ‘It is getting very warm,’ he said, after drawing breath. ‘I have just been to the Rue Marbeuf; I expected to find you at home.’

Rougon made no reply, and there was an interval of silence. The ex-President crumpled up some papers and threw them into a basket which he had placed by his side. ‘I want to talk to you,’ resumed M. Kahn. ‘Talk away!’ said Rougon; ‘I am listening.’ Then the deputy seemed to become suddenly aware of the disorder of the room. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked with admirably feigned surprise. ‘Are you changing your room?’ His tone seemed so sincere that Delestang actually paused in what he was doing in order to hand him the
Moniteur.

‘Oh dear! Oh dear!’ he cried, as soon as he had glanced at the paper. ‘I thought the matter was satisfactorily ar­ranged yesterday evening. This comes upon me like a thunderbolt. My dear friend — ‘

He rose and pressed Rougon’s hands. The latter looked at him in silence, while two deep scoffing creases appeared on his heavy face near his under lip. As Du Poizat seemed quite unmoved, he suspected that he and Kahn had already met earlier in the morning, and he was confirmed in this opinion as the deputy had shown no surprise at seeing the sub-prefect. He surmised that one of the pair had come straight to the Council of State while the other hastened to the Rue Marbeuf, so that they might be sure to find him at the one or the other place.

‘Well, there is something you want to say to me,’ quietly resumed Rougon. ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, I won’t trouble you about that now, my dear friend!’ exclaimed the deputy. ‘You have got sufficient to worry you as it is. I should be very sorry to bother you with my own troubles at a time like this.’

‘Oh, it will be no bother, I assure you. Speak away.’

‘Well, then, I wanted to speak to you about that affair of mine, that confounded grant. I am very glad that Du Poizat is here, as he may be able to give us information upon certain points.’

Then he explained at great length the exact position which the matter had reached. It was a scheme for a railway from Niort to Angers, upon which he had been engaged for the last three years. The projected line would pass through Bressuire, where he possessed some blast-furnaces, the value of which it would largely increase. At the present time there were great difficulties in the way of transport, and the business was con­sequently languishing. M. Kahn had some hopes, too, that he would be able to get some very profitable pickings out of the affair, and so he had greatly exerted himself in order to obtain the grant. Rougon had supported him energetically, and the grant had almost been secured when M. de Marsy, the Minister of the Interior, vexed at having no share in the affair, which he guessed would afford a superb opportunity for jobbery, and being also very desirous of doing anything that might annoy Rougon, had used all his influence to oppose the scheme. With that audacity of his which made him such a terrible opponent, he had even just persuaded the Minister of Public Works to offer the grant to the Western Railway Company, besides circulating a statement that this company alone could successfully carry out the branch line, for the satisfactory working of which some substantial guarantee was required. Thus M. Kahn seemed in great danger of losing all the advantages he had hoped to gain, and Rougon’s fall appeared likely to involve him in ruin.

‘I heard yesterday,’ said he, ‘that one of the company’s engineers had been instructed to make a survey for the new line. Have you heard anything of it, Du Poizat?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ replied the sub-prefect. ‘The survey has already commenced. They are trying to avoid the detour which you were planning in order to make the line touch Bressuire, and propose to carry it straight along past Parthenay and Thouars.’

A gesture of discouragement escaped the deputy. ‘It is sheer persecution!’ he exclaimed. ‘What harm could it do them to let the line pass my place? But I will protest and write against their plan. I will go back with you to Bressuire.’

‘No, no; you had better not wait for me,’ said Du Poizat with a smile. ‘It seems that I have got to resign.’

M. Kahn fell back in his chair, as though overcome by a final catastrophe. He rubbed his beard with both hands and looked at Rougon with an air of entreaty. The latter had ceased to examine his papers, and was leaning on his elbows and listening.

‘I suppose,’ he said, somewhat roughly, ‘that you want my advice? Well, then, my good friends, just remain quiet and try to keep things as they are until we get the upper hand. Du Poizat is going to resign, because, if he didn’t, he would be dismissed within a fortnight. As for you, Kahn, you had better write to the Emperor and use all available means to prevent the grant being obtained by the Western Railway Company. You won’t get it for yourself at present, but as long as it is not given to any one else, there is a chance of your winning it later on.’ Then, as the two men nodded, he continued: ‘Well, that’s all I can do for you. I am down and you must give me time to pick myself up again. You don’t see me going about with a woe-begone face, do you? Well, I should be much obliged if you wouldn’t look as though you were attending my funeral. For my part, I am delighted at retiring into private life again. I shall at last be able to take a little rest.’

He heaved a deep sigh, crossed his arms, and rocked his huge frame backwards and forwards. M. Kahn said nothing more about his scheme, but tried to imitate Du Poizat and appear perfectly indifferent. Delestang had opened some more pasteboard boxes, and worked away so quietly behind the chairs that the slight rustling noise which he made every now and then might have been attributed to a troop of mice flitting across the papers. Meantime the sunlight was travel­ling over the crimson carpet and lighting up a corner of the writing-table, paling the flame of the candle which was still burning there.

A friendly conversation sprang up amongst the men. Rougon, who was tying up some more bundles of papers, declared that he was really not cut out for politics, and smiled good-naturedly as his heavy eyelids drooped, as though with weariness, over his glistening eyes. He would have liked, he said, to have a large estate to cultivate, fields which he could dig up at his pleasure, and flocks of animals, horses, cattle, sheep, and dogs, of which he would be the one absolute monarch. He told them that in former days, when only a country lawyer at Plassans, his great pleasure had consisted in setting off in a blouse on a shooting expedition of several days through the ravines of La Seille, where he shot eagles. He said that he was a peasant; his grandfather had dug the soil. Then he assumed the air of a man disgusted with the world. Power had grown wearisome to him, and he meant to spend the summer in the country. He declared that he had never felt so light-hearted as he did that morning, and he gave a mighty shrug of his strong shoulders as though he had just thrown off some heavy burden.