In 1965

by Albert Robida

  Looking a little more closely, one can perceive that certain houses, excessively ostentations in style, with overweening splendors, denote the exotic origins of the conquistadors and their builders: Patagonia or the depths of Ménilmontant. The excuse is that they were in a hurry. The peevish, in the early days, called it the “profitist” style.

  From the height of the Montgrabel flight-pad, one can also see something like a large and wide green circle turning to the right and left of the Napoleonic triumphal arch, around old Paris. That is the park of the Bastions of ’70, the former ramparts, replaced by a continuous line of gardens, lawns and sports-fields, which, distributing oxygen and life everywhere, has constituted nests of verdure among the massive blocks of old houses, and given birth to new quarters of joyful aspect all around the perimeter of the business center of Paris.

  Monsieur Montgrabel has never had much time to admire the panorama that is displayed beneath the windows of his study; a distracted glance, cast in passing before each of the windows is almost all he can grant to the landscape—but that suffices to refresh his eyes and cause a reparative a vivifying beneath to pass into his soul. After that, he feels that his mind is more alert, ready to receive the quotidian assault of preoccupations valiantly.

  Today, before sitting down at his huge desk, as vast several billiard-tables set side by side, and covered with maps, drawings and files with cardboard covers of every color arranged in admirable order, Monsieur Montgrabel permitted himself a leisurely stroll past all the glazed bays, including those of the two annexes.

  He rubbed his hands, and his face took on an increasingly marked expression of satisfaction. As he came to take his place in his armchair, he clapped his two sons, Edouard and Maurice, on the shoulder, and kissed his daughters Laurence and Marcelle, who were all waiting for him.

  “Well,” he said, “here we are united in grand council to discuss our little business matter. I’ve told you about my plans.”

  “No, Father, you’ve only dropped hints.”

  “Retirement, quite simply. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. Today, it’s definitive, and you’re taking over.”

  “Yes, we know that. But Charles isn’t here. Is he up to date?”

  “Yes, yes, like you. He’s almost finished in Java and will be here in a week. Anyway we’ll see him, I’ve warned him and I’m expecting him on the tele any minute... So, for me, it’s retirement!”

  Monsieur Montgrabel extended himself in his armchair and stretched his arms.

  “I’m passing all the businesses over to you: all the work, the factories, enterprises, mines, blast furnaces, etc., etc. The entire organization, which was beginning to weigh upon my shoulders. A big deal—but I’ll remain as an adviser, of course. I’m stepping down, but I’ll always be here, if you need any advice, for, after all, you’re young. I congratulate you, fortunate fellows! You seem young, at least for such vast responsibilities, even though there are several of you: you three, plus my sons-in-law, my daughters and my daughters-in-law, yes, all serious women. There’s also Suzanne, still a little old-style, but I think that the social relations can be reserved for her. Don’t blush, Suzette, it’s not your fault, it’s some frivolous grandmother from the time of basket skirts and romances, reappearing in you. Carry on the tradition, then! Marcelle prefers the laboratory to the drawing room, Laurence is too busy. They won’t dispute those attributions with you...”

  In fact, Monsieur Montgrabel’s two sons scarcely seem to have passed thirty, like Charles, their elder. They are fathers: Edouard has three children, Maurice two. That is because people marry early nowadays, at an age when the men of old were still far from giving marriage a thought. Excessively prolonged bachelorhood is greatly frowned upon nowadays: a fortunate and salutary change, of considerable social range. Marriage is a departure, not an arrival.

  As soon as a young man glimpses the paths open before him, he thinks about marriage, without demanding, in advance and above all, a dowry and an establishment. The dowry is no longer the primordial and determining factor that causes his heart to beat faster, for he has accepted the modesty of his beginnings in advance.

  To embark thus, to venture together in the flush of youth, well equipped with courage and good will, on the river of life, without demanding a luxury cabin immediately, seems entirely natural now, after the great ruination and the great recommencement. People have faith in the future, and the future responds to that confidence

  “You’re taking over the direction, as we’ve said,” Monsieur Montgrabel went on, “and now I’m free to savor the repose to which I’ve aspired for such a long time, in tranquility. You know as well as I do that all the company business is progressing well; disengaged from all preoccupation, therefore. I can devote myself entirely to my new plan, the little personal project that I’ve allowed you to glimpse.”

  “A trifle vaguely,” said Edouard and Maurice, at the same time.

  “Right—that’s what I was afraid of,” said Madame Montgrabel. “There’s a little project...”

  “Don’t worry, my love—a little occupation for my old age. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, and waiting impatiently for the time to arrive... So, I’m retiring, and to distract myself a little—as you can imagine, I’m not going to spend my days playing dominoes—to give my life a little interest, I’m going into politics, becoming a statesman!”

  Madame Montgrabel and Suzanne could not repress exclamations of surprise. The two sons, Edouard and Maurice, did not manifest any astonishment. They were prepared, and had doubtless had some indications of their father’s intention. Charles Montgrabel had just appeared on the tele, after a discreet ring; he had heard too, and had not reacted any more than they had.

  “Yes, a statesman,” Monsieur Montgrabel affirmed.

  “Good! Very good!” said the two sons.

  “Perfect,” added Charles, in the tele.

  Suzanne turned round abruptly. Between Monsieur Montgrabel’s study in Paris and out there, in an unknown location beneath the banana trees of Java that scarcely possessed a name, the signs of handshakes and kisses were exchanged.

  “Ah, you’re there!” said Monsieur Montgrabel, turning to Charles. “Yes, everything’s settled. I’m going into politics...”

  “But there are no more politics today—you said as much the other day,” objected Madame Montgrabel.

  “There are almost none, but certain signs, like the exaggeration of feminist pretension…don’t protest, Suzanne!”

  “But I’m not protesting, Father.”

  “As I was saying, the exaggerations of feminism, which need to be combated. You’ve read that book, The Household of the Nation? Absurd utopias of which it’s necessary to demonstrate the error and the danger. Women are electors and eligible—what more do they want? The direction of the ‘household,’ as the author, this Camille Boissy, puts it... And then, other exaggerations as well: ‘Statism,’ the tendency, no less utopian and unhealthy, to put everything in the hands of the State, to deliver all monopolies to it, and the direction of businesses. You can see perfectly well that there are still politics!”

  “People thought that murky, troublesome and divisive party politics had been reduced to a tolerable minimum, “Edouard said, “with the new electoral regime, corporate representation and a large reduction in the number of legislative seats. And in fact, that had seemed to bring together...”

  “The electoral rights conferred on women,” said Maurice, “which was only just, and which no one has any reason to regret, has changed the spirit of deliberative Assemblies. Of the two hundred seats in the Chamber, women have conquered fifty-four, and it’s almost the same proportion in the Senate. Affairs aren’t progressing any worse—on the contrary—and a few good laws have come out of the collaboration of female députés and senators.”

  “Very good!” said Laurence, laughing. She was qualified in law and gone to court several time on the company’s behalf.

  “But the femin
ist party, represented in the Chamber by eminent women, I admit, is becoming more demanding and more ambitious from day to day—it’s the atmosphere of the Palais Bourbon that’s responsible. It has acquired a taste for power since two or three ministerial portfolios have been conceded to it, and it’s making demands. That’s the politics that is reappearing. Everything indicates it, damn it! Politics, with its struggles, its compromises, the bad politics of trouble and agitation, empty and harmful. Well, we’ll struggle against it for a politics of reason, a politics of economic development. I shall struggle, I shall distract myself, I shall be a député...”

  “A député!” cried Madame Montgrabel. “But you’ve always said that you didn’t like palaver. A man of action before all, you were scornful of speech-makers and speeches. You even said that simple prudence required restricting the tongue of children who seem to hang too much on it, at any early stage, in order to prevent them doing any harm.”

  “I still think so! But have I said that I’m going to try my eloquence at the tribune? Another fortunate reform of our representative system has permitted men of action, businesslike députés who don’t feel any oratory itch, to intervene. To put their word in, to give weight to their arguments in debates…”

  “Oh, yes! The secretarial spokesman,” said Charles, in the tele.

  “Certainly! It’s admitted, since the last elections, by the regulations on the Chamber: députés who mistrust their eloquence have a right to a secretarial spokesman. Thanks to that new institution, former parliamentarians, political men eliminated by universal suffrage, have returned to the Chamber as secretaries...”

  “Of their successors!” said Edouard, laughing.

  “Sometimes, exactly! It’s all arranged; in six months I’ll be in the Chamber. I’ve been making quiet preparations for some time, while occupying myself with my business affairs; I’ve anticipated everything. As for the reforms about which I ought to have thought, and which don’t come to mind for the moment, to the various more or less important affairs to which I intend to devote my legislative activity, with the great experience of men and things that I’ve been able to acquire, and of which I shall allow my country to take advantage, well, we shall see. I’ll think about that in the course of my leisure. Of course, not having a taste for palaver, I’ve already assured myself of a secretarial spokesman who will debate for me on themes I’ve prepared…”

  “Who’s that?”

  “An advocate a former politician, former député, very talented…but you know him, he dined here the other day...”

  “Monsieur Larose?”

  “The same; he’s accepted, in principle. We only have a few last details to sort out, and we’ll sign the contract. He’ll be here shortly—I don’t like to let things drag on...”

  Suzanne and her husband were no longer listening; they were chatting and arranging to meet at Bourges when the dirigible from India arrived.

  Madame Montgrabel had calmed down. Since there was no big business deal lurking under the rock, as she had feared, they were finally going to be tranquil and able to savior weeks of true repose together.

  VII. Feminism and Statism.

  M. Montgrabel and M. Larose, former député,

  prepare to clash

  Monsieur Montgrabel did not linger over the development of his plans, and his sons asked no more of him than that. They knew that from the moment that their father had made a decision, it was definitive and that it was vain to seek objections. Montgrabel and his sons had resumed discussing important affairs in progress—the last works on the adaptation of the Puy de Dome, superphosphates, synthetic factories, the production of sheep in Australia—when Monsieur Larose the former député, was announced.

  The visit was expected; Edouard and Maurice withdrew.

  Without wasting any time, the two politicians got down to business. It was a matter of ascertained whether they were in accord on matters of principle before concluding the proposed arrangement. Among the social problems on which it was necessary to reach agreement, Statism and Feminism were in the first rank.

  Monsieur Montgrabel got carried away. He perceived that he was not lacking in eloquence on occasion, and he was doubtless not sorry to demonstrate that to his future spokesman.

  “So, this is what they want in the Statist party, still a small minority, but whose growth it would be imprudent to allow; this is what threatens us: everything to the State, monopolies of all sorts that they’re trying to create every day, the most various and the least justified; the Industrial State, the State the great boss of everyone, taking charge of everything, and it will end up, won’t it, manufacturing everything, selling everything, abolishing the most incontestable rights of the citizen, suppressing all initiative! Statism—which is to say, the worst form of socialism, insinuating itself slyly and transforming the governmental machine created with such difficulty by the experience of centuries…a monstrous aberration, a gross folly...”

  Monsieur Montgrabel started pacing back and forth in his study.

  A remarkable, open-minded man, that Monsieur Larose; he was lucky to be able to recruit him.

  “My dear Larose,” said Monsieur Montgrabel, clapping the former député on the shoulder, “I have an idea that we’ll do great things together.”

  And they started to chat while walking, Larose taking notes.

  “Ah!”” said Montgrabel, after a few minutes, “There’s only the question of Feminism left.”

  “Oh,” as to that,” said Larose, “it’s quite simple. It seems that you’ve taken a position a long time ago, and were one of the first, within the feminist movement. In all your enterprises, access to all positions, including the most senior, is open to women as to men.”

  “Yes, of course, I’ve gone as far as common sense permitted me to go…but today...”

  “Today, you’ve changed…like me?”

  “I haven’t changed, I’ve stayed where I am: an apostle of reasonable feminism; but as I told you the other day, I refuse to follow it as far as crazy theories, the absurd utopias about which we were talking...”

  “However, let’s not forget that it’s necessary henceforth to take account of the female electorate. Oh, it’s necessary to recognize that we’ve been very imprudent. From one concession to another, this is where we’ve arrived: soon, perhaps, male and female electors in open conflict.”

  “It’s necessary to react.”

  “Let’s react!”

  Monsieur Montgrabel, rummaged through the papers on his desk. He ended up finding a book in the file of the social endeavors in his factories, which he brandished with an expression of great indignation.

  “The pretentions of Feminism are very clear: they clearly intend to dispossess men of the superior direction, to take the helm away from them. Look, I have it here, this book, this dangerous manifesto that is causing so much noise: The Household of the Nation. A fine title, modest in appearance, but a modesty that covers, in reality, the most insupportable demands. This book is a fireship, a veritable fireship!”

  “I’ve read it, and I’m in perfect agreement with you. A seductive, adroit argument, which infiltrates into the mind of the reader and leads him gently not to revolt too much against the ambitious conclusions...”

  “Panfeminism, quite simply! To men, external affairs, the care of producing by means of labor in all its forms, and then of making fructify in the country, etc. etc. To women, as in every well-organized household, the housekeeping—which is to say, the internal politics of the household, the care of maintaining the prosperity acquired by labor, good order and economy—which is to say, the diction of finances, or the household account-books, etc., etc.”

  “Everything, in sum—for Monsieur Camille Boissy doesn’t want to demand more!”

  “Has anyone managed to discover who this Camille Boissy might be?”

  “Almost,” said the former député, mysteriously. “I have a few tips. It’s not a man, it’s a woman. That mystery also has a great deal
to do with the success of the book, with the noise that it continues to make in all milieux...”

  “Say the scandal!”

  “A movement is taking form. Camille Boissy’s idea is attracting adherents almost everywhere, not only among feminist but among male electors. I have it from a reliable source that the advanced party of the intellectual section of the electoral body—universities, liberal professions—of the Parisian region is offering her a candidature in the elections. Same advanced intellectual section in the Marseille region, similarly...”

  “Pooh! These intellectuals are so advanced they’re derailed. That’s not serious.”

  “It’s very serious! With a little skill, they’ll drag along the bulk of the electorate. You’ll see—the election is certain...”

  “And people claim that there’s no longer any politics, nothing but business, nothing but the government of interests!” cried Montgrabel. “On the contrary, we’re entering a new political phase. It’s a crisis, a veritable crisis!”

  Montgrabel had resumed pacing back and forth in his study, agitatedly, when someone knocked lightly on the door.

  “Come in!” he shouted.

  It was Suzanne, who put her head round the door without daring to come in. “Pardon me, Father, but I’ve just come from the Lost Property Office, and I was told...”

  “What! You’ve lost something else?”

  “No, it’s still the same thing, the handbag from the other day. I was told at the Office that it was returned to you more than a week ago...”

  “Not at all! Never! Mo handbag. I regret...”

  “However...”

  “Wait, it’s coming back to me…it was a week ago, yes, not a handbag but papers…a little roll of papers. I’d forgotten. Let’s see—where could I have put it?”

  Still holding Camille Boissy’s book, Monsieur Montgrabel began searching amid the clutter on his desk..