by Emile Zola
‘What’s this Martineau case about?’ he asked. ‘Has this lawyer fellow really got himself into trouble?’
Gilquin smirked, while Du Poizat provided a few details.
‘Heavens!’ he said, ‘I didn’t think there was anything serious. There have been denunciations — anonymous letters, you know… There’s no doubt that he dabbles in politics. But we’ve already made four arrests in the department. To make up the five you’ve allotted us, I would have preferred to put away a fourth-form schoolmaster who reads revolutionary literature to his pupils.’
‘Well, some very serious facts have come to my attention,’ said Rougon sternly. ‘I think this man Martineau really is dangerous. All his sister’s tears can’t save him. It’s a question of public safety.’
He turned to Gilquin.
‘What’s your view?’ he asked.
‘I’ll arrange for the arrest to be made tomorrow,’ replied Gilquin. ‘I know all about the case. I saw Madame Correur at the Hôtel de Paris, where I usually have dinner.’
Du Poizat made no objection. Taking a little notebook out of his pocket, he crossed out one name, and wrote another above it, though he also suggested that the Superintendent would do well to keep a close eye on the schoolmaster. Rougon accompanied Gilquin to the door.
‘This man Martineau is not in good health,’ he said. ‘Go to Coulonges yourself. Be very gentle with him.’
Gilquin was quite offended by this. Drawing himself up to his full height, and forgetting all considerations of respect, he said very bluntly:
‘What d’y’take me for? D’y’think I’m just some dirty informer? Ask Du Poizat about the pharmacist I arrested in bed the day before yesterday. Between the sheets, he was, with a certain bailiff ’s missus, but I didn’t breathe a word… Oh no, I always behave like a proper man of the world.’
Rougon slept soundly for nine hours. When he opened his eyes the following morning, at about half past eight, he sent for Du Poizat, who arrived looking very cheerful, a cigar between his lips. The two men chatted and joked as in the old days, when they lodged with Madame Mélanie Correur and would wake each other up with slaps on their bare backsides. While he washed and dressed, Rougon asked for all sorts of details about local affairs, potted biographies of officials, what this man wanted, what that man prided himself on. He wanted to be able to say the right thing to each one.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to say,’ said Du Poizat, with a laugh.
And in a few words he put him in the picture, so that he knew about the men he would meet. Every now and then Rougon made him repeat some detail, so that he might remember it better. At ten o’clock, Monsieur Kahn arrived, and the three of them lunched together, fixing the final details of the ceremony. The Prefect would make a speech, followed by Monsieur Kahn, and Rougon would speak last. But they thought there ought to be a fourth speech. For a moment, they considered the Mayor, but Du Poizat decided he was too stupid, and suggested they should ask the chief government engineer. That would be very appropriate; but Monsieur Kahn was afraid he might be hypercritical. Finally, when they rose from the table, Monsieur Kahn took Rougon aside and indicated the points he would like him to underline in his speech.
They were to assemble at half past ten, at the Prefecture. The Mayor and the first Deputy Mayor arrived together. The Mayor stammered his apologies, saying how upset he was at having been out of town the day before, while his Deputy was at pains to ask whether His Excellency had had a good night and felt thoroughly rested after the rigours of the reception. These were followed by the President of the Civil Court, the Public Prosecutor and his two assistants, the chief government engineer, and then the Tax Collector and the Mortgage Registrar. Some of these gentlemen were accompanied by their lady wives. The headmaster’s wife attracted a great deal of attention. Wearing an extremely striking sky-blue dress, she begged His Excellency to excuse her husband, who had been obliged to stay behind at the lycée because of an attack of gout which had come on the previous evening, after they had returned home. Meanwhile, other people were arriving: the Colonel of the 78th Line Regiment, quartered at Niort, the President of the Commercial Court, the two magistrates of the town, the Warden of Forests and Waters with his three daughters, some municipal councillors, delegates of the Chamber of Arts and Manufactures, the Statistical Society, and the Employment Tribunal.
The reception took place in the main hall of the Prefecture. Du Poizat made the introductions, while, smiling and bowing, the Minister greeted everyone as if they were old acquaintances. He amazed them all with his knowledge of little details about them. He had words of warm approval for the speech the Public Prosecutor had recently made in relation to a case of adultery; he asked the Tax Collector about his wife’s health, showing he was well aware that she had been bedridden for the past two months; he spoke for a little while with the Colonel of the 78th, making it clear that he knew of the brilliant studies of the Colonel’s son at Saint-Cyr; with the Municipal Councillor, who owned a big shoemaking establishment, he talked footwear; while with the Mortgage Registrar, who was an amateur archaeologist, he discussed the Druidic megalith discovered the previous week. Whenever he hesitated, unable to remember the right thing to say, Du Poizat was at hand to prompt him, though not once did Rougon lose his footing.
For instance, when the President of the Commercial Court entered and bowed, Rougon cried affably:
‘Are you on your own, Monsieur le Président? I do hope we will have the pleasure of seeing Madame at the banquet this evening…’
He stopped short, noticing embarrassed looks on people’s faces. Du Poizat nudged him gently, and then he remembered: the President of the Commercial Court was separated from his wife, after a minor scandal. He had thought he was addressing the President of the Civil Court. But that did not put him off his stride. Still smiling, he made no attempt to correct his mistake, but hastened to say:
‘I bring you good news, Monsieur. My colleague, the Minister of Justice, tells me he has put your name forward for a certain decoration. But I’m being very indiscreet. You mustn’t say anything yet.’
The President of the Commercial Court blushed to the roots of his hair. He was overjoyed. People flocked round him to offer their congratulations, while Rougon made a mental note of the decoration he had conferred in such a timely fashion. He would have to remember to tell the Minister of Justice. He felt, in any case, that the cuckolded husband rather deserved a decoration. Du Poizat, smiling, looked on in admiration.
By now there were some fifty people in the hall, all looking expectant.
‘Well, time’s getting on, perhaps we might start,’ said the Minister.
But the Prefect leaned over and explained that the deputy for the department — Monsieur Kahn’s old adversary — had not yet arrived. Then in he came, sweating profusely, and saying his watch must have stopped. Anxious to remind everybody within earshot that he had been at the reception the previous evening, he said:
‘As I was saying to Your Excellency last night…’
He walked along next to Rougon, and told him he was returning to Paris the following morning. The Easter recess had ended on the Tuesday, and the Chamber had already reassembled, but he had thought it only right to stay at Niort for a few more days, to show His Excellency round his department.
By now the guests were all down in the courtyard, where a dozen carriages were waiting on either side of the steps. Together with the deputy, the Prefect, and the Mayor, Rougon took his place in the leading calash. The other guests clambered in order of rank — at least, as far as they were able — into the remaining vehicles, two more calashes, three victorias, and some charabancs with six or eight seats each. These all lined up in the Rue de la Préfecture, and off they went, the horses trotting smartly, the ladies’ ribbons flying, petticoats spilling out of the doors, and the men’s top hats shining in the sun. They had to go through a good portion of Niort. The sharp cobbles made the carriages jolt about t
erribly, producing a tremendous grinding of iron on stone. The townsfolk waved from every door and window, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the great man, quite surprised to see his middle-class frock coat next to the gold-braided uniform of the Prefect.
Once outside the town, they bowled along a wide road bordered with fine trees. It was very mild, a lovely April day, the sky clear and very sunny. The smooth, straight road stretched out between gardens full of flowering lilac and apricot trees. Then there were fields, which widened out on either side, with big stretches of arable intersected here and there by clumps of trees. They chatted as they went.
‘That’s a spinning mill, isn’t it?’ Rougon asked the Prefect, who had been murmuring something in his ear. He turned to the Mayor and pointed to the red-brick building they could see on the riverbank. ‘That’s your mill, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about your new system of wool-carding. I must try to find time to go and see all these wonderful things.’
He then asked if they could tell him about the hydropower of the river, saying that, given the right conditions, water power could be enormously advantageous. He astonished the Mayor with his technical knowledge. The other carriages followed at irregular intervals. The dull thud of the horses’ hooves was intermingled with talk replete with facts and figures. Suddenly, a ripple of laughter made them all turn round. It was the headmaster’s wife, whose sunshade had just been blown away and had landed on a pile of stones.
‘You have a farm out here, I believe?’ Rougon said to the deputy, smiling. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that must be it, on that slope… What superb grazing! Of course, I know about your interest in stock-raising. Some of your cows won medals at the recent show, didn’t they?’
Livestock now became the topic of conversation. Drenched in sunlight, the meadows looked like soft green velvet. A dense carpet of flowers was springing up. Curtains of tall poplars framed sweeping views of the countryside. An old woman leading a donkey had to halt the animal by the roadside to let the procession go by, and the donkey was so alarmed by this cavalcade of shiny vehicles flashing in the light, that it began to bray. But the elegantly clad ladies and the begloved gentlemen continued to look very serious.
Bearing left, they went up a gentle incline, then descended. They had arrived. It was a hollow, the dead end of a narrow little valley, a sort of burrow sealed off between three hills. Looking up, all they could see of the surrounding countryside was the ruined frames of two old windmills silhouetted black on the skyline. In the middle of a level patch of greensward, a marquee had been erected, its grey canvas bordered by a broad strip of red braid, with flags on each of the four faces. About a thousand sightseers had come on foot, townsfolk and peasants from round about. These were all ranged on the shady side, round the natural amphitheatre formed by one of the hills. In front of the marquee was a detachment of the 78th Line Regiment, under arms, and opposite them the Niort Fire Brigade, whose orderliness was much remarked upon. At the edge of the greensward a team of workmen, wearing brand-new blue overalls, was standing in readiness, together with the engineers, all in tightly buttoned frock coats. As soon as the carriages came into sight, the Philharmonic Society of Niort, all amateurs, struck up the overture to La Dame blanche.
‘Long live His Excellency!’ cried a number of voices, but the din of the instruments drowned them out.
Rougon got down. He looked round at the hollow. The narrow horizon annoyed him, for it seemed to detract from the importance of the occasion. He stood where he was for a while, expecting some kind of welcome. At last, Monsieur Kahn rushed forward. He had slipped away from the Prefecture immediately after lunch, but he had thought it right, as a safeguard, to inspect the charge His Excellency was to ignite. He it was who led the Minister to the marquee, while the rest followed. For a few moments, there was confusion.
‘So, is this the cutting that will lead into the tunnel?’ Rougon asked.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ replied Monsieur Kahn. ‘The first charge has been inserted in that red-coloured rock over there, where Your Excellency can see a flag.’
The hillside had been excavated by hand, to expose the rock. Uprooted brushwood hung loose in the debris. The floor of the cutting was covered in leaves. Monsieur Kahn indicated the route the railway was to take, marked out by a double line of surveyors’ poles with scraps of white paper strung between them. It would cut through paths, patches of grass, and thickets — a peaceful corner of nature that would soon be ripped apart.
By now the dignitaries had succeeded in crowding into the marquee. The sightseers, at the back of the procession, pushed forward, trying to see through the openings in the canvas. The Philharmonic Society brought its overture to a close.
Suddenly a high-pitched voice resonated through the silence:
‘Monsieur le Ministre, may I be the first to thank Your Excellency for so graciously accepting our invitation. The Deux-Sèvres department will never forget…’
It was Du Poizat, leading off. He was only three paces from Rougon. There they both stood, and at certain pauses in the speech they bowed slightly to each other. Du Poizat went on in this vein for a quarter of an hour, reminding Rougon of the brilliant manner in which he had represented the department in the Legislative Assembly. The town of Niort had inscribed his name in its annals as one of its benefactors, and was longing to express its gratitude on every possible occasion. Du Poizat had taken responsibility for the political as well as the practical aspect of the ceremony. There were moments when his voice faded away altogether in the open air and all that remained were his gestures, mainly a regular pumping of his right arm. The eyes of the thousand-odd spectators gathered on the slope were caught by the gold braid on his coat-sleeve, which gleamed in the sun.
Next, Monsieur Kahn took his position in the centre of the marquee. His voice was positively stentorian. Certain words he bawled out with great emphasis. The dead end of the valley formed an echoing wall, sending back the final words of each sentence, which he delivered with enormous emphasis. He spoke of his sustained efforts, his research, and all the negotiations he had been obliged to undertake for nearly four years, to be able to endow the region with a new railway. Prosperity of every sort would now rain down on the department. The fields would be fertilized, the factories would double their production, commerce would begin to throb in the heart of the humblest hamlet. To listen to him, it seemed that in his wondrous hands the department would be transformed into a land of milk and honey, of enchanted woods sheltering tables that would groan with good things for all to share. Then, all at once, he became extremely modest. Nobody owed him their thanks. He could never have brought such a tremendous scheme to fruition without the patronage of which he was so proud. Turning to Rougon, he apostrophized him as ‘the illustrious Minister, defender of all noble and beneficent ideas’. To conclude, he spoke enthusiastically of the financial benefits of this enterprise. There had been a scramble for shares on the stock exchange. Happy the investor able to put his money into an undertaking to which His Excellency the Minister of the Interior was pleased to lend his name.
‘Hear, hear!’ murmured a number of the guests.
The Mayor and several representatives of the regime now shook Monsieur Kahn’s hand, and he pretended to be very moved. There was a burst of applause outside. The Philharmonic Society thought this the right moment for a quick march, but the first Deputy Mayor immediately instructed one of the firemen to tell the band to be quiet. Meanwhile, inside the tent, the chief government engineer hesitated, protesting that he had not prepared a speech, till the Prefect’s insistence persuaded him to speak. Monsieur Kahn, becoming quite alarmed, whispered in the Prefect’s ear:
‘That’s a mistake! He’s a nasty piece of work.’
The chief engineer was a tall, thin man, and he prided himself on his irony. He spoke slowly, with a sideways twist of his mouth whenever he was preparing to deliver one of his epigrams. He began by heaping praise on Monsieur Kahn. Then came the first little
barbs. With all the contempt of a government engineer for the work of civil engineers, he gave a brief assessment of Monsieur Kahn’s railway project. He recalled the counter-scheme of the Compagnie de l’Ouest. This would have run through Thouars, not Niort. Without being obviously malicious, he drew everybody’s attention to the bend in the route to be followed by Monsieur Kahn’s line, which would, he pointed out, incidentally serve the Bressuire iron foundry. These points were all made in a mild tone, one pinprick after another, which only those in the know could appreciate, and it was all interlarded with very pleasant remarks. But he ended on a harsher note. He intimated his misgivings that the ‘illustrious Minister’ had come down and compromised his good name by associating himself with a project whose financial aspect was very worrying to anyone with any experience of such matters. A huge capital outlay would be required, and this called for the greatest probity and disinterestedness. Then, with a sideways twist of his mouth, he uttered his final statement:
‘Such worries are, of course, illusory and everyone should feel reassured — to see the enterprise headed by a man whose sound financial position and complete probity are so well known in the department.’
A murmur of approval ran through the assembly. But a few of those present glanced at Monsieur Kahn, who was doing his best to smile but had turned very pale. Rougon had been listening with half-closed eyes, as if bothered by the light. When he opened them again there was a dark glint in them. His original intention was to make only a short speech. But now he had a member of his gang to defend. He took three steps forward, to the front of the tent, and then, with an expansive gesture which seemed to invite the entire country to attend to his words, he began:
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘allow me to take a broad view. I would like to consider briefly the Empire as a whole, and extend the significance of this occasion, which has brought us all together, and transform it into a celebration of all who are engaged in the work of commerce and industry. At this very moment, throughout France, from north to south, men are busy cutting canals, building railways, piercing mountain ranges, throwing bridges…’
