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At the ministry
to which Rabourdin belonged
there flourished, as
general-secretary, a certain
Monsieur Clement Chardin des
Lupeaulx, one of those men whom
the tide of political events
sends to the surface for a few
years, then engulfs on a stormy
night, but whom we find again
on a distant shore, tossed up
like the carcass of a wrecked
ship which still seems to have
life in her. We ask ourselves
if that derelict could ever have
held goodly merchandise or served
a high emprize, co-operated in
some defence, held up the trappings
of a throne, or borne away the
corpse of a monarchy. At this
particular time Clement des Lupeaulx
(the "Lupeaulx" absorbed the "Chardin")
had reached his culminating period.
In the most illustrious lives
as in the most obscure, in animals
as in secretary-generals, there
is a zenith and there is a nadir,
a period when the fur is magnificent,
the fortune dazzling. In the
nomenclature which we derive
from fabulists, des Lupeaulx
belonged to the species Bertrand,
and was always in search of Ratons.
As he is one of the principal
actors in this drama he deserves
a description, all the more precise
because the revolution of July
has suppressed his office, eminently
useful as it was, to a constitutional
ministry.
Moralists usually employ their
weapons against obstructive administrations.
In their eyes, crime belongs
to the assizes or the police-courts;
but the socially refined evils
escape their ken; the adroitness
that triumphs under shield of
the Code is above them or beneath
them; they have neither eye-glass
nor telescope; they want good
stout horrors easily visible.
With their eyes fixed on the
carnivora, they pay no attention
to the reptiles; happily, they
abandon to the writers of comedy
the shading and colorings of
a Chardin des Lupeaulx. Vain
and egotistical, supple and proud,
libertine and gourmand, grasping
from the pressure of debt, discreet
as a tomb out of which nought
issues to contradict the epitaph
intended for the passer's eye,
bold and fearless when soliciting,
good-natured and witty in all
acceptations of the word, a timely
jester, full of tact, knowing
how to compromise others by a
glance or a nudge, shrinking
from no mudhole, but gracefully
leaping it, intrepid Voltairean,
yet punctual at mass if a fashionable
company could be met in Saint
Thomas Aquinas,--such a man as
this secretary- general resembled,
in one way or another, all the
mediocrities who form the kernel
of the political world. Knowing
in the science of human nature,
he assumed the character of a
listener, and none was ever more
attentive. Not to awaken suspicion
he was flattering ad nauseum,
insinuating as a perfume, and
cajoling as a woman.
Des Lupeaulx was just forty
years old. His youth had long
been a vexation to him, for he
felt that the making of his career
depended on his becoming a deputy.
How had he reached his present
position? may be asked. By very
simple means. He began by taking
charge of certain delicate missions
which can be given neither to
a man who respects himself nor
to a man who does not respect
himself, but are confided to
grave and enigmatic individuals
who can be acknowledged or disavowed
at will. His business was that
of being always compromised;
but his fortunes were pushed
as much by defeat as by success.
He well understood that under
the Restoration, a period of
continual compromises between
men, between things, between
accomplished facts and other
facts looking on the horizon,
it was all-important for the
ruling powers to have a household
drudge. Observe in a family some
old charwoman who can make beds,
sweep the floors, carry away
the dirty linen, who knows where
the silver is kept, how the creditors
should be pacified, what persons
should be let in and who must
be kept out of the house, and
such a creature, even if she
has all the vices, and is dirty,
decrepit, and toothless, or puts
into the lottery and steals thirty
sous a day for her stake, and
you will find the masters like
her from habit, talk and consult
in her hearing upon even critical
matters; she comes and goes,
suggests resources, gets on the
scent of secrets, brings the
rouge or the shawl at the right
moment, lets herself be scolded
and pushed downstairs, and the
next morning reappears smiling
with an excellent bouillon. No
matter how high a statesman may
stand, he is certain to have
some household drudge, before
whom he is weak, undecided, disputations
with fate, self- questioning,
self-answering, and buckling
for the fight. Such a familiar
is like the soft wood of savages,
which, when rubbed against the
hard wood, strikes fire. Sometimes
great geniuses illumine themselves
in this way. Napoleon lived with
Berthier, Richelieu with Pere
Joseph; des Lupeaulx was the
familiar of everybody. He continued
friends with fallen ministers
and made himself their intermediary
with their successors, diffusing
thus the perfume of the last
flattery and the first compliment.
He well understood how to arrange
all the little matters which
a statesman has no leisure to
attend to. He saw necessities
as they arose; he obeyed well;
he could gloss a base act with
a jest and get the whole value
of it; and he chose for the services
he thus rendered those that the
recipients were not likely to
forget.
Thus, when it was necessary
to cross the ditch between the
Empire and the Restoration, at
a time when every one was looking
about for planks, and the curs
of the Empire were howling their
devotion right and left, des
Lupeaulx borrowed large sums
from the usurers and crossed
the frontier. Risking all to
win all, he bought up Louis XVIII.'s
most pressing debts, and was
the first to settle nearly three
million of them at twenty per
cent--for he was lucky enough
to be backed by Gobseck in 1814
and 1815. It is true that Messrs.
Gobseck, Werdet, and Gigonnet
swallowed the profits, but des
Lupeaulx had agreed that they
should have them; he was not
playing for a stake; he challenged
the bank, as it were, knowing
very well that the king was not
a man to forget this debt of
honor. Des Lupeaulx was not mistaken;
he was appointed Master of petitions,
Knight of the order of Saint
Louis, and officer of the Legion
of honor. Once on the ladder
of political success, his clever
mind looked about for the means
to maintain his foothold; for
in the fortified city into which
he had wormed himself, generals
do not long keep useless mouths.
So to his general trade of household
drudge and go-between he added
that of gratuitous consultation
on the secret maladies of power.
After discovering in the so-called
superior men of the Restoration
their utter inferiority in comparison
with the events which had brought
them to the front, he overcame
their political mediocrity by
putting into their mouths, at
a crisis, the word of command
for which men of real talent
were listening. It must not be
thought that this word was the
outcome of his own mind. Were
it so, des Lupeaulx would have
been a man of genius, whereas
he was only a man of talent.
He went everywhere, collected
opinions, sounded consciences,
and caught all the tones they
gave out. He gathered knowledge
like a true and indefatigable
political bee. This walking Bayle
dictionary did not act, however,
like that famous lexicon; he
did not report all opinions without
drawing his own conclusions;
he had the talent of a fly which
drops plumb upon the best bit
of meat in the middle of a kitchen.
In this way he came to be regarded
as an indispensable helper to
statesmen. A belief in his capacity
had taken such deep root in all
minds that the more ambitious
public men felt it was necessary
to compromise des Lupeaulx in
some way to prevent his rising
higher; they made up to him for
his subordinate public position
by their secret confidence.
Nevertheless, feeling that
such men were dependent on him,
this gleaner of ideas exacted
certain dues. He received a salary
on the staff of the National
Guard, where he held a sinecure
which was paid for by the city
of Paris; he was government commissioner
to a secret society; and filled
a position of superintendence
in the royal household. His two
official posts which appeared
on the budget were those of secretary-general
to his ministry and Master of
petitions. What he now wanted
was to be made commander of the
Legion of honor, gentleman of
the bed-chamber, count, and deputy.
To be elected deputy it was necessary
to pay taxes to the amount of
a thousand francs; and the miserable
homestead of the des Lupeaulx
was rated at only five hundred.
Where could he get money to build
a mansion and surround it with
sufficient domain to throw dust
in the eyes of a constituency?
Though he dined out every day,
and was lodged for the last nine
years at the cost of the State,
and driven about in the minister's
equipage, des Lupeaulx possessed
absolutely nothing, at the time
when our tale opens, but thirty
thousand francs of debt--undisputed
property. A marriage might float
him and pump the waters of debt
out of his bark; but a good marriage
depended on his advancement,
and his advancement required
that he should be a deputy. Searching
about him for the means of breaking
through this vicious circle,
he could think of nothing better
than some immense service to
render or some delicate intrigue
to carry through for persons
in power. Alas! conspiracies
were out of date; the Bourbons
were apparently on good terms
with all parties; and, unfortunately,
for the last few years the government
had been so thoroughly held up
to the light of day by the silly
discussions of the Left, whose
aim seemed to be to make government
of any kind impossible in France,
that no good strokes of business
could be made. The last were
tried in Spain, and what an outcry
that excited!
In addition
to all this, des Lupeaulx complicated
matters
by believing in the friendship
of his minister, to whom he had
the imprudence to express the
wish to sit on the ministerial
benches. The minister guessed
at the real meaning of the desire,
which simply was that des Lupeaulx
wanted to strengthen a precarious
position, so that he might throw
off all dependence on his chief.
The harrier turned against the
huntsman; the minister gave him
cuts with the whip and caresses,
alternately, and set up rivals
to him. But des Lupeaulx behaved
like an adroit courtier with
all competitors; he laid traps
into which they fell, and then
he did prompt justice upon them.
The more he felt himself in danger
the more anxious he became for
an irremovable position; yet
he was compelled to play low;
one moment's indiscretion, and
he might lose everything. A pen-stroke
might demolish his civilian epaulets,
his place at court, his sinecure,
his two offices and their advantages;
in all, six salaries retained
under fire of the law against
pluralists. Sometimes he threatened
his minister as a mistress threatens
her lover; telling him he was
about to marry a rich widow.
At such times the minister petted
and cajoled des Lupeaulx. After
one of these reconciliations
he received the formal promise
of a place in the Academy of
Belles-lettres on the first vacancy. "It
would pay," he said, "the keep
of a horse." His position, so
far as it went, was a good one,
and Clement Chardin des Lupeaulx
flourished in it like a tree
planted in good soil. He could
satisfy his vices, his caprices,
his virtues and his defects.
The following
were the toils of his life.
He was obliged to
choose, among five or six daily
invitations, the house where
he could be sure of the best
dinner. Every morning he went
to his minister's morning reception
to amuse that official and his
wife, and to pet their children.
Then he worked an hour or two;
that is to say, he lay back in
a comfortable chair and read
the newspapers, dictated the
meaning of a letter, received
visitors when the minister was
not present, explained the work
in a general way, caught or shed
a few drops of the holy-water
of the court, looked over the
petitions with an eyeglass, or
wrote his name on the margin,--a
signature which meant "I think
it absurd; do what you like about
it." Every body knew that when
des Lupeaulx was interested in
any person or in any thing he
attended to the matter personally.
He allowed the head-clerks to
converse privately about affairs
of delicacy, but he listened
to their gossip. From time to
time he went to the Tuileries
to get his cue. And he always
waited for the minister's return
from the Chamber, if in session,
to hear from him what intrigue
or manoeuvre he was to set about.
This official sybarite dressed,
dined, and visited a dozen or
fifteen salons between eight
at night and three in the morning.
At the opera he talked with journalists,
for he stood high in their favor;
a perpetual exchange of little
services went on between them;
he poured into their ears his
misleading news and swallowed
theirs; he prevented them from
attacking this or that minister
on such or such a matter, on
the plea that it would cause
real pain to their wives or their
mistresses.
"Say that his
bill is worth nothing, and
prove it if you
can, but do not say that Mariette
danced badly. The devil! haven't
we all played our little plays;
and which of us knows what will
become of him in times like these?
You may be minister yourself
to-morrow, you who are spicing
the cakes of the 'Constitutionel'
to-day."
Sometimes, in return, he helped
editors, or got rid of obstacles
to the performances of some play;
gave gratuities and good dinners
at the right moment, or promised
his services to bring some affair
to a happy conclusion. Moreover,
he really liked literature and
the arts; he collected autographs,
obtained splendid albums gratis,
and possessed sketches, engravings,
and pictures. He did a great
deal of good to artists by simply
not injuring them and by furthering
their wishes on certain occasions
when their self-love wanted some
rather costly gratification.
Consequently, he was much liked
in the world of actors and actresses,
journalists and artists. For
one thing, they had the same
vices and the same indolence
as himself. Men who could all
say such witty things in their
cups or in company with a danseuse,
how could they help being friends?
If des Lupeaulx had not been
a general- secretary he would
certainly have been a journalist.
Thus, in that fifteen years'
struggle in which the harlequin
sabre of epigram opened a breach
by which insurrection entered
the citadel, des Lupeaulx never
received so much as a scratch.
As the young
fry of clerks looked at this
man playing bowls
in the gardens of the ministry
with the minister's children,
they cracked their brains to
guess the secret of his influence
and the nature of his services;
while, on the other hand, the
aristocrats in all the various
ministries looked upon him as
a dangerous Mephistopheles, courted
him, and gave him back with usury
the flatteries he bestowed in
the higher sphere. As difficult
to decipher as a hieroglyphic
inscription to the clerks, the
vocation of the secretary and
his usefulness were as plain
as the rule of three to the self-interested.
This lesser Prince de Wagram
of the administration, to whom
the duty of gathering opinions
and ideas and making verbal reports
thereon was entrusted, knew all
the secrets of parliamentary
politics; dragged in the lukewarm,
fetched, carried, and buried
propositions, said the Yes and
the No that the ministers dared
not say for themselves. Compelled
to receive the first fire and
the first blows of despair and
wrath, he laughed or bemoaned
himself with the minister, as
the case might be. Mysterious
link by which many interests
were in some way connected with
the Tuileries, and safe as a
confessor, he sometimes knew
everything and sometimes nothing;
and, in addition to all these
functions came that of saying
for the minister those things
that a minister cannot say for
himself. In short, with his political
Hephaestion the minister might
dare to be himself; to take off
his wig and his false teeth,
lay aside his scruples, put on
his slippers, unbutton his conscience,
and give way to his trickery.
However, it was not all a bed
of roses for des Lupeaulx; he
flattered and advised his master,
forced to flatter in order to
advise, to advise while flattering,
and disguise the advice under
the flattery. All politicians
who follow this trade have bilious
faces; and their constant habit
of giving affirmative nods acquiescing
in what is said to them, or seeming
to do so, gives a certain peculiar
turn to their heads. They agree
indifferently with whatever is
said before them. Their talk
is full of "buts," "notwithstandings," "for
myself I should," "were I in
your place" (they often say "in
your place"),-- phrases, however,
which pave the way to opposition.
In person,
Clement des Lupeaulx had the
remains of a handsome
man; five feet six inches tall,
tolerably stout, complexion flushed
with good living, powdered head,
delicate spectacles, and a worn-out
air; the natural skin blond,
as shown by the hand, puffy like
that of an old woman, rather
too square, and with short nails--the
hand of a satrap. His foot was
elegant. After five o'clock in
the afternoon des Lupeaulx was
always to be seen in open-worked
silk stockings, low shoes, black
trousers, cashmere waistcoat,
cambric handkerchief (without
perfume), gold chain, blue coat
of the shade called "king's blue," with
brass buttons and a string of
orders. In the morning he wore
creaking boots and gray trousers,
and the short close surtout coat
of the politician. His general
appearance early in the day was
that of a sharp lawyer rather
than that of a ministerial officer.
Eyes glazed by the constant use
of spectacles made him plainer
than he really was, if by chance
he took those appendages off.
To real judges of character,
as well as to upright men who
are at ease only with honest
natures, des Lupeaulx was intolerable.
To them, his gracious manners
only draped his lies; his amiable
protestations and hackneyed courtesies,
new to the foolish and ignorant,
too plainly showed their texture
to an observing mind. Such minds
considered him a rotten plank,
on which no foot should trust
itself.
No sooner had the beautiful
Madame Rabourdin decided to interfere
in her husband's administrative
advancement than she fathomed
Clement des Lupeaulx's true character,
and studied him thoughtfully
to discover whether in this thin
strip of deal there were ligneous
fibres strong enough to let her
lightly trip across it from the
bureau to the department, from
a salary of eight thousand a
year to twelve thousand. The
clever woman believed she could
play her own game with this political
roue; and Monsieur des Lupeaulx
was partly the cause of the unusual
expenditures which now began
and were continued in the Rabourdin
household.
The rue Duphot, built up under
the Empire, is remarkable for
several houses with handsome
exteriors, the apartments of
which are skilfully laid out.
That of the Rabourdins was particularly
well arranged,--a domestic advantage
which has much to do with the
nobleness of private lives. A
pretty and rather wide antechamber,
lighted from the courtyard, led
to the grand salon, the windows
of which looked on the street.
To the right of the salon were
Rabourdin's study and bedroom,
and behind them the dining-room,
which was entered from the antechamber;
to the left was Madame's bedroom
and dressing-room, and behind
them her daughter's little bedroom.
On reception days the door of
Rabourdin's study and that of
his wife's bedroom were thrown
open. The rooms were thus spacious
enough to contain a select company,
without the absurdity which attends
many middle-class entertainments,
where unusual preparations are
made at the expense of the daily
comfort, and consequently give
the effect of exceptional effort.
The salon had lately been rehung
in gold-colored silk with carmelite
touches. Madame's bedroom was
draped in a fabric of true blue
and furnished in a rococo manner.
Rabourdin's study had inherited
the late hangings of the salon,
carefully cleaned, and was adorned
by the fine pictures once belonging
to Monsieur Leprince. The daughter
of the late auctioneer had utilized
in her dining-room certain exquisite
Turkish rugs which her father
had bought at a bargain; panelling
them on the walls in ebony, the
cost of which has since become
exorbitant. Elegant buffets made
by Boulle, also purchased by
the auctioneer, furnished the
sides of the room, at the end
of which sparkled the brass arabesques
inlaid in tortoise-shell of the
first tall clock that reappeared
in the nineteenth century to
claim honor for the masterpieces
of the seventeenth. Flowers perfumed
these rooms so full of good taste
and of exquisite things, where
each detail was a work of art
well placed and well surrounded,
and where Madame Rabourdin, dressed
with that natural simplicity
which artists alone attain, gave
the impression of a woman accustomed
to such elegancies, though she
never spoke of them, but allowed
the charms of her mind to complete
the effect produced upon her
guests by these delightful surroundings.
Thanks to her father, Celestine
was able to make society talk
of her as soon as the rococo
became fashionable.
Accustomed as des Lupeaulx
was to false as well as real
magnificence in all their stages,
he was, nevertheless, surprised
at Madame Rabourdin's home. The
charm it exercised over this
Parisian Asmodeus can be explained
by a comparison. A traveller
wearied with the rich aspects
of Italy, Brazil, or India, returns
to his own land and finds on
his way a delightful little lake,
like the Lac d'Orta at the foot
of Monte Rosa, with an island
resting on the calm waters, bewitchingly
simple; a scene of nature and
yet adorned; solitary, but well
surrounded with choice plantations
and foliage and statues of fine
effect. Beyond lies a vista of
shores both wild and cultivated;
tumultuous grandeur towers above,
but in itself all proportions
are human. The world that the
traveller has lately viewed is
here in miniature, modest and
pure; his soul, refreshed, bids
him remain where a charm of melody
and poesy surrounds him with
harmony and awakens ideas within
his mind. Such a scene represents
both life and a monastery.
A few days
earlier the beautiful Madame
Firmiani, one of the charming
women of the faubourg Saint-Germain
who visited and liked Madame
Rabourdin, had said to des Lupeaulx
(invited expressly to hear this
remark), "Why do you not call
on Madame --?" with a motion
towards Celestine; "she gives
delightful parties, and her dinners,
above all, are--better than mine."
Des Lupeaulx allowed himself
to be drawn into an engagement
by the handsome Madame Rabourdin,
who, for the first time, turned
her eyes on him as she spoke.
He had, accordingly, gone to
the rue Duphot, and that tells
the tale. Woman has but one trick,
cries Figaro, but that's infallible.
After dining once at the house
of this unimportant official,
des Lupeaulx made up his mind
to dine there often. Thanks to
the perfectly proper and becoming
advances of the beautiful woman,
whom her rival, Madame Colleville,
called the Celimene of the rue
Duphot, he had dined there every
Friday for the last month, and
returned of his own accord for
a cup of tea on Wednesdays.
Within a few days Madame Rabourdin,
having watched him narrowly and
knowingly, believed she had found
on the secretarial plank a spot
where she might safely set her
foot. She was no longer doubtful
of success. Her inward joy can
be realized only in the families
of government officials where
for three or four years prosperity
has been counted on through some
appointment, long expected and
long sought. How many troubles
are to be allayed! how many entreaties
and pledges given to the ministerial
divinities! how many visits of
self-interest paid! At last,
thanks to her boldness, Madame
Rabourdin heard the hour strike
when she was to have twenty thousand
francs a year instead of eight
thousand.
"And I shall have managed well," she
said to herself. "I have had
to make a little outlay; but
these are times when hidden merit
is overlooked, whereas if a man
keeps himself well in sight before
the world, cultivates social
relations and extends them, he
succeeds. After all, ministers
and their friends interest themselves
only in the people they see;
but Rabourdin knows nothing of
the world! If I had not cajoled
those three deputies they might
have wanted La Billardiere's
place themselves; whereas, now
that I have invited them here,
they will be ashamed to do so
and will become our supporters
instead of rivals. I have rather
played the coquette, but--it
is delightful that the first
nonsense with which one fools
a man sufficed."
The day on which a serious
and unlooked-for struggle about
this appointment began, after
a ministerial dinner which preceded
one of those receptions which
ministers regard as public, des
Lupeaulx was standing beside
the fireplace near the minister's
wife. While taking his coffee
he once more included Madame
Rabourdin among the seven or
eight really superior women in
Paris. Several times already
he had staked Madame Rabourdin
very much as Corporal Trim staked
his cap.
"Don't say that too often,
my dear friend, or you will injure
her," said the minister's wife,
half-laughing.
Women never like to hear the
praise of other women; they keep
silence themselves to lessen
its effect.
"Poor La Billardiere is dying," remarked
his Excellency the minister; "that
place falls to Rabourdin, one
of our most able men, and to
whom our predecessors did not
behave well, though one of them
actually owed his position in
the prefecture of police under
the Empire to a certain great
personage who was interested
in Rabourdin. But, my dear friend,
you are still young enough to
be loved by a pretty woman for
yourself--"
"If La Billardiere's place
is given to Rabourdin I may be
believed when I praise the superiority
of his wife," replied des Lupeaulx,
piqued by the minister's sarcasm; "but
if Madame la Comtesse would be
willing to judge for herself--"
"You want me
to invite her to my next ball,
don't you? Your
clever woman will meet a knot
of other women who only come
here to laugh at us, and when
they hear 'Madame Rabourdin'
announced--"
"But Madame
Firmiani is announced at the
Foreign Office parties?"
"Ah, but she was born a Cadignan!" said
the newly created count, with
a savage look at his general-secretary,
for neither he nor his wife were
noble.
The persons
present thought important matters
were being
talked over, and the solicitors
for favors and appointments kept
at a little distance. When des
Lupeaulx left the room the countess
said to her husband, "I think
des Lupeaulx is in love."
"For the first time in his
life, then," he replied, shrugging
his shoulders, as much as to
inform his wife that des Lupeaulx
did not concern himself with
such nonsense.
Just then the minister saw
a deputy of the Right Centre
enter the room, and he left his
wife abruptly to cajole an undecided
vote. But the deputy, under the
blow of a sudden and unexpected
disaster, wanted to make sure
of a protector and he had come
to announce privately that in
a few days he should be compelled
to resign. Thus forewarned, the
minister would be able to open
his batteries for the new election
before those of the opposition.
The minister, or to speak correctly,
des Lupeaulx had invited to dinner
on this occasion one of those
irremovable officials who, as
we have said, are to be found
in every ministry; an individual
much embarrassed by his own person,
who, in his desire to maintain
a dignified appearance, was standing
erect and rigid on his two legs,
held well together like the Greek
hermae. This functionary waited
near the fireplace to thank the
secretary, whose abrupt and unexpected
departure from the room disconcerted
him at the moment when he was
about to turn a compliment. This
official was the cashier of the
ministry, the only clerk who
did not tremble when the government
changed hands.
At the time
of which we write, the Chamber
did not meddle shabbily
with the budget, as it does in
the deplorable days in which
we now live; it did not contemptibly
reduce ministerial emoluments,
nor save, as they say in the
kitchen, the candle-ends; on
the contrary, it granted to each
minister taking charge of a public
department an indemnity, called
an "outfit." It costs, alas,
as much to enter on the duties
of a minister as to retire from
them; indeed, the entrance involves
expenses of all kinds which it
is quite impossible to inventory.
This indemnity amounted to the
pretty little sum of twenty-
five thousand francs. When the
appointment of a new minister
was gazetted in the "Moniteur," and
the greater or lesser officials,
clustering round the stoves or
before the fireplaces and shaking
in their shoes, asked themselves: "What
will he do? will he increase
the number of clerks? will he
dismiss two to make room for
three?" the cashier tranquilly
took out twenty-five clean bank-bills
and pinned them together with
a satisfied expression on his
beadle face. The next day he
mounted the private staircase
and had himself ushered into
the minister's presence by the
lackeys, who considered the money
and the keeper of money, the
contents and the container, the
idea and the form, as one and
the same power. The cashier caught
the ministerial pair at the dawn
of official delight, when the
newly appointed statesman is
benign and affable. To the minister's
inquiry as to what brings him
there, he replies with the bank-notes,--informing
his Excellency that he hastens
to pay him the customary indemnity.
Moreover, he explains the matter
to the minister's wife, who never
fails to draw freely upon the
fund, and sometimes takes all,
for the "outfit" is looked upon
as a household affair. The cashier
then proceeds to turn a compliment,
and to slip in a few politic
phrases: "If his Excellency would
deign to retain him; if, satisfied
with his purely mechanical services,
he would," etc. As a man who
brings twenty-five thousand francs
is always a worthy official,
the cashier is sure not to leave
without his confirmation to the
post from which he has seen a
succession of ministers come
and go during a period of, perhaps,
twenty-five years. His next step
is to place himself at the orders
of Madame; he brings the monthly
thirteen thousand francs whenever
wanted; he advances or delays
the payment as requested, and
thus manages to obtain, as they
said in the monasteries, a voice
in the chapter.
Formerly book-keeper
at the Treasury, when that
establishment
kept its books by double entry,
the Sieur Saillard was compensated
for the loss of that position
by his appointment as cashier
of a ministry. He was a bulky,
fat man, very strong in the matter
of book-keeping, and very weak
in everything else; round as
a round O, simple as how-do-you-do,
--a man who came to his office
with measured steps, like those
of an elephant, and returned
with the same measured tread
to the place Royale, where he
lived on the ground-floor of
an old mansion belonging to him.
He usually had a companion on
the way in the person of Monsieur
Isidore Baudoyer, head of a bureau
in Monsieur de la Billardiere's
division, consequently one of
Rabourdin's colleagues. Baudoyer
was married to Elisabeth Saillard,
the cashier's only daughter,
and had hired, very naturally,
the apartments above those of
his father-in-law. No one at
the ministry had the slightest
doubt that Saillard was a blockhead,
but neither had any one ever
found out how far his stupidity
could go; it was too compact
to be examined; it did not ring
hollow; it absorbed everything
and gave nothing out. Bixiou
(a clerk of whom more anon) caricatured
the cashier by drawing a head
in a wig at the top of an egg,
and two little legs at the other
end, with this inscription: "Born
to pay out and take in without
blundering. A little less luck,
and he might have been lackey
to the bank of France; a little
more ambition, and he could have
been honorably discharged."
At the moment of which we are
now writing, the minister was
looking at his cashier very much
as we gaze at a window or a cornice,
without supposing that either
can hear us, or fathom our secret
thoughts.
"I am all the more anxious
that we should settle everything
with the prefect in the quietest
way, because des Lupeaulx has
designs upon the place for himself," said
the minister, continuing his
talk with the deputy; "his paltry
little estate is in your arrondissement;
we won't want him as deputy."
"He has neither years nor rentals
enough to be eligible," said
the deputy.
"That may be;
but you know how it was decided
for Casimir
Perier as to age; and as to worldly
possessions, des Lupeaulx does
possess something,--not much,
it is true, but the law does
not take into account increase,
which he may very well obtain;
commissions have wide margins
for the deputies of the Centre,
you know, and we cannot openly
oppose the good-will that is
shown to this dear friend."
"But where
would he get the money?"
"How did Manuel manage to become
the owner of a house in Paris?" cried
the minister.
The cashier
listened and heard, but reluctantly
and against his
will. These rapid remarks, murmured
as they were, struck his ear
by one of those acoustic rebounds
which are very little studied.
As he heard these political confidences,
however, a keen alarm took possession
of his soul. He was one of those
simple-minded beings, who are
shocked at listening to anything
they are not intended to hear,
or entering where they are not
invited, and seeming bold when
they are really timid, inquisitive
where they are truly discreet.
The cashier accordingly began
to glide along the carpet and
edge himself away, so that the
minister saw him at a distance
when he first took notice of
him. Saillard was a ministerial
henchman absolutely incapable
of indiscretion; even if the
minister had known that he had
overheard a secret he had only
to whisper "motus" in his ear
to be sure it was perfectly safe.
The cashier, however, took advantage
of an influx of office-seekers,
to slip out and get into his
hackney-coach (hired by the hour
for these costly entertainments),
and to return to his home in
the place Royale.
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