Complete Works of Emile Zola (214 page)

The guests were too many for the conversation easily to become general. Nevertheless, at the second course, when the game and side-dishes had replaced the removes and entrées, and the generous wines of Burgundy, Pomard and Chambertin, succeeded the Léoville and Chateau-Lafitte, the sound of voices increased, and bursts of laughter caused the light glass to ring again. Renée, seated at the middle of the table, had on her right the Baron Gouraud, and on her left M. Toutin-Laroche, a retired candle-manufacturer, and now a Municipal Councillor, a director of the Crédit Viticole, and a member of the committee of inspection of the Société Générale of the Ports of Morocco, a lean, important person, whom Saccard, sitting opposite between Mme. d’Espanet and Mme. Haffner, addressed at one moment, in unctuous tones, as “My dear colleague,” and at another as “Our great administrator.” Next came the politicians: M. Hupel de la Noue, a provincial préfet, who spent eight months of the year in Paris; three deputies, among whom M. Haffner displayed his broad Alsatian face; then M. de Saffré, a charming young man, secretary to one of the ministers; and M. Michelin, the First Commissioner of Roads. M. de Mareuil, a perpetual candidate for the Chamber of Deputies, sat square, facing the préfet, whom he ogled persistently. As to M. d’Espanet, he never accompanied his wife into society. The ladies of the family were placed between the most prominent of these personages. Saccard had, however, kept his sister Sidonie, whom he had placed further off, for the seat between the two contractors, the Sieur Charrier on her right, the Sieur Mignon on her left, as being a post of trust where it was a question of conquest. Mme. Michelin, the wife of the First Commissioner, a plump, pretty, dark woman, sat next to M. de Saffré, with whom she carried on an animated conversation in a low voice. And at either end of the table were the young people, auditors to the Council of State, sons of useful fathers, budding millionaires, M. de Mussy, casting despairing glances at Renée, and Maxime, apparently quite vanquished by Louise de Mareuil, who sat on his right. Little by little they had begun to laugh very loudly. It was from their corner that the first outbursts of gaiety proceeded.

Meanwhile M. Hupel de la Noue enquired courteously:

“Shall we have the pleasure of seeing his Excellency this evening?”

“I fear not,” answered Saccard with an air of importance that concealed a secret annoyance. “My brother is so busy…. He has sent us his secretary, M. de Saffré, to make his apologies to us.”

The young secretary, whom Mme. Michelin was decidedly monopolizing, raised his head on hearing his name mentioned, and cried at random, thinking that he had been spoken to:

“Yes, yes, there is to be a cabinet council this evening at nine o’clock at the office of the Keeper of the Seals.”

All this time, M. Toutin-Laroche, who had been interrupted, was continuing seriously, as though he were delivering a peroration amid the attentive silence of the Municipal Council:

“The results are superb. The city loan will be remembered as one of the finest financial operations of the period. Ah! messieurs….”

But at this point his voice was again drowned in the laughter that broke out suddenly at one end of the table. In the midst of this outburst of merriment could be heard Maxime’s voice, as he concluded an anecdote: “But wait, I have not finished. The fair equestrian was picked up by a road-labourer. They say she is having him brilliantly educated with a view to marrying him later on. No man but her husband, she says, shall boast of having seen a certain black mole just above her knee.” The laughter redoubled; Louise laughed unreservedly, louder than the men. And noiselessly amid this laughter, as though deaf, a footman at this moment thrust his pale serious face between each guest, offering in a low voice slices of wild duck.

Aristide was annoyed at the want of attention paid to M. Toutin-Laroche. He repeated, to show that he had been listening:

“The city loan….”

But M. Toutin-Laroche was not the man to lose the thread of an idea:

“Ah! messieurs,” he continued when the laughter had subsided, “yesterday was a great consolation to us whose administration is exposed to such base attacks. They accuse the council of leading the city to destruction, and you see, no sooner does the city issue a loan, than they all bring us their money, even those who complain.”

“You have performed wonders,” said Saccard. “Paris has become the capital of the world.”

“Yes, it is really astounding,” interposed M. Hupel de la Noue. “Can you imagine that I, old Parisian that I am, no longer know my Paris. I lost my way yesterday in going from the Hotel de Ville to the Luxembourg. It’s astounding, astounding!”

There was a pause. All the serious people were now listening.

“The transformation of Paris,” continued M. Toutin-Laroche, “will be the glory of the reign. The nation is ungrateful; it ought to kiss the Emperor’s feet. As I said this morning in the council, when they were talking of the great success of the loan: ‘Gentlemen, let those brawlers of the opposition say what they will; to plough up Paris is to make it productive.’“

Saccard smiled, and closed his eyes, as though the better to relish the subtlety of the epigram. He leant behind the back of Mme. d’Espanet, and said to M. Hupel de la Noue, loud enough to be heard:

“He is adorably witty.”

Meantime, while they were discussing the alterations being made in Paris, the Sieur Charrier had been stretching out his neck, as though to take part in the conversation. His partner Mignon was fully occupied with Mme. Sidonie, who was giving him plenty to do. Saccard had been watching the two contractors from the corner of his eye since the commencement of dinner.

“The administration,” he said, “has met with so much devotion. Everyone was eager to contribute to the great work. Without the wealthy companies that came to its assistance, the city would never have done so well nor so quickly.”

He turned round, and with a sort of fawning brutality:

“MM. Mignon and Charrier know something of that; they have had their share of the labour, and they will have their share of the glory.”

The bricklayers who had made their fortunes received this uncouth compliment with radiant faces. Mignon, to whom Mme. Sidonie was saying, in her mincing tones: “Ah, monsieur, you flatter me; no, pink would be too young for me….” left her in the middle of her sentence to reply to Saccard:

“You are too kind; we merely did our business.”

But Charrier was more polished. He drank off his glass of Pomard, and managed to deliver himself of a phrase:

“The alterations of Paris,” he said, “have given a living to the workman.”

“And we may add,” resumed M. Toutin-Laroche, “that they have given a magnificent impulse to industry and finance.”

“And do not forget the artistic side of the question: the new thoroughfares are majestic in their beauty,” added M. Hupel de la Noue, who prided himself on his taste.

“Yes, yes, it is a fine undertaking,” murmured M. de Mareuil, for the sake of saying something.

“As to the cost,” declared Haffner seriously, the deputy who never opened his mouth except on great occasions, “that will be for our children to bear, nothing could be fairer.”

And as, in speaking, he looked towards M. de Saffré, who appeared to have given a momentary offence to the pretty Mme. Michelin, the young secretary, to shew that he had been following the conversation, repeated:

“Nothing could be fairer indeed.”

Each member of the group of serious men at the middle of the table had had his say. M. Michelin, the Chief Commissioner, smiled and wagged his head: this was his ordinary method of taking part in a conversation: he had smiles of greeting, of response, of approval, of thanks, of leave-taking, quite a pretty collection of smiles which saved him almost any necessity for speech, an arrangement which he looked upon as doubtless more polite and more favourable to his advancement.

Yet one other personage had kept silence, the Baron Gouraud, who munched his food slowly like a drowsy ox. Up to that moment he had appeared absorbed in the contemplation of his plate. Renée, who paid him every attention, received nothing for it but little grunts of satisfaction. And consequently it was a surprise to see him lift his head and observe, as he wiped his greasy lips:

“As a landlord, whenever I have a flat done up and painted, I raise the rent.”

M. Haffner’s expression: “The cost will be for our children to bear” had had the effect of arousing the senator. All discreetly clapped their hands, and M. de Saffré exclaimed:

“Ah, charming, charming, I must send that to the papers tomorrow.”

“You are quite right, messieurs, these are good times we live in,” said Mignon, by way of summing up, in the midst of the smiles and admiration aroused by the baron’s epigram. “I know a few who have made a good thing out of them. You see, everything is fine so long as you make money by it.”

These last words seemed to freeze the serious men. The conversation dropped flat, and each appeared to avoid his neighbour’s eyes. The bricklayer’s aphorism struck home, deadly as the paving-stone of la Fontaine’s bear. Michelin, who happened to be beaming upon Saccard with a pleasant air, ceased smiling, very anxious lest he should seem for one instant to have applied the contractor’s words to the master of the house. The latter threw a glance to Mme. Sidonie, who tackled Mignon afresh, saying, “And so you like pink, monsieur…?” And Saccard paid an elaborate compliment to Mme. Espanet; his dark, sorry face almost touched her milky shoulders, as she threw herself back and tittered.

They were at the dessert. The lackeys moved round the table at a quicker pace. There was a pause while the cloth was being covered with the remainder of the fruit and sweets. At Maxime’s end of the table the laughter increased in brightness; Louise’s little shrill voice was heard saying: “I assure you, Sylvia wore blue satin as Dindonette;” and another childish voice added: “Yes, but her dress was trimmed with white lace.” Tepid fumes pervaded the air. The flushed faces seemed to be softened by a sense of inward felicity. Two lackeys went round the table serving Alicante and Tokay.

Renée had worn a look of vacancy ever since the beginning of dinner. She fulfilled her duties as hostess with a mechanical smile. At every outburst of merriment that came from the end of the table where Maxime and Louise sat side by side, jesting like boon companions, she threw a lurid glance in their direction. She felt bored. The serious men were too much for her. Mme. d’Espanet and Mme. Haffner looked towards her in despair.

“And what are the prospects of the forthcoming elections?” asked Saccard, suddenly, of M. Hupel de la Noue.

“Very promising,” answered the latter, smiling: “only I have had no candidates appointed as yet for my department. The minister has not made up his mind, it would seem.”

M. de Mareuil, who had thanked Saccard with a glance for broaching this subject, appeared to be on hot coals. He blushed, and bowed disconcertedly when the préfet turned to him and continued:

“I have heard much of you in the country, monsieur. Your extensive property there has won you many friends, and your devotion to the Emperor is well known. Your chances are excellent.”

“Papa, isn’t it true that little Sylvia used to sell cigarettes at Marseilles in 1849?” cried Maxime at this moment from the end of the table.

Aristide Saccard pretended not to hear, and his son continued in a lower tone:

“My father has known her intimately.”

This aroused some smothered laughter. Meantime, while M. de Mareuil kept up his bowing, M. Haffner had resumed in sententious tones:

“Devotion to the Emperor is the only virtue, the only patriotism, in these days of self-interested democracy. Who loves the Emperor loves France. It would give us unfeigned pleasure if monsieur were to become our colleague.”

“Monsieur will succeed,” said M. Toutin-Laroche in his turn. “All large fortunes should gather round the throne.”

Renée could bear it no longer. The marquise was stifling a yawn in front of her. And as Saccard was about to resume, she said to him, with her pretty smile:

“Take pity on us, dear, and spare us any more of your horrid politics.”

Then M. Hupel de la Noue, with a préfet’s gallantry, exclaimed that the ladies were right. And he began to tell an indecent story of something that had happened in his district. The marquise, Mme. Haffner, and the other ladies, laughed heartily at certain of the details. The préfet told his story in a very pungent style, with suggestions, reservations and inflections of voice that gave a very improper meaning to the most inoffensive expressions. Then they talked of the first of the duchesse’s Tuesdays, of a burlesque that had been produced the night before, of the death of a poet, and of the end of the autumn racing-season. M. Toutin-Laroche, who had his amiable moments, drew a comparison between women and roses, and M. de Mareuil, in the confusion in which he had been plunged by his electoral expectations, gave vent to profound observations on the new fashion in bonnets. Renée retained her vacant look.

Meanwhile the guests had ceased eating. A hot breath seemed to have passed over the table, clouding the glasses, crumbling the bread, blackening the fruit-peel on the plates, and destroying the fine symmetry of the cloth. The flowers drooped in the great cornucopia of chased silver. And the guests had a moment of self-oblivion, in the presence of the remains of the dessert, lacking the energy to rise from their seats. Leaning half forward, with one arm resting on the table, they had the listless aspect, the indefinite dejection, that accompanies the cautious, circumspect inebriation of men and women of fashion fuddling themselves by degrees. All laughter had subsided, and but few words were spoken. Much had been drunk and eaten, and the group of men with decorations were more solemn than ever. In the heavy atmosphere of the room, the ladies felt a dampness rising to their necks and temples. They awaited the signal to adjourn to the drawing-room, serious, a little pale, as though their heads were gently swimming. Mme. Espanet was pink all over, while Mme. Haffner’s shoulders had assumed a waxen whiteness. And M. Hupel de la Noue examined the handle of his knife; M. Toutin-Laroche continued to fling disconnected sentences towards M. Haffner, who wagged his head in reply; M. de Mareuil mused, with his eyes fixed on M. de Michelin, who smiled upon him archly. As for the pretty Mme. Michelin, she had long ceased talking; very red in the face, she let one of her hands hang under the table, where it was doubtless held by M. de Saffré, who leant awkwardly against the edge of the table, with knit eyebrows and the grimace of a man solving an algebraical problem. Madame Sidonie, too, had made her conquests; the Sieurs Mignon and Charrier, both leaning on their elbows with their faces turned towards her, seemed enraptured at receiving her confidences; she confessed that she loved everything that was made with milk, and that she was frightened of ghosts. And Aristide Saccard himself, his eyes half-closed, plunged in the beatitude of an amphitryon who realizes that he has conscientiously fuddled his guests, had no thought of leaving the table; with respectful tenderness he surveyed the Baron Gouraud laboriously digesting his dinner, his right hand spread over the white cloth, the hand of a sensual old man, short, thick, blotched with purple patches and covered with short red hairs.