Complete Works of Emile Zola (460 page)

A prolonged outburst of applause here interrupted him. He had gradually drawn to the edge of the tribune, and now, bending forward with his right arm outstretched, he raised his voice which rang out with wonderful power. Behind him, M. de Marsy sat back listening and smiling vaguely like a con­noisseur admiring some brilliant tour de force. And amidst the loud cheering of the Chamber, deputies kept bending forward, whispering or looking surprised with lips com­pressed. Clorinde’s arms rested listlessly on the crimson, velvet balustrade, but she seemed very serious.

Rougon continued. ‘To-day,’ he said, ‘the hour for which we were all so impatiently waiting has at length struck. There is no longer any danger in making prosperous France free France also. The anarchical passions are dead. The energy of the Sovereign and the solemn determination of the people have for ever annihilated all abominable epochs of public perversity. Liberty became possible on the day when the faction which had so obstinately ignored the fundamental bases of sound government was defeated; and for this reason the Emperor has deemed fit to lay aside the stern strong hand, to decline excessive prerogatives as a useless burden, rightly considering his rule to be so unassailable that discussion may be freely allowed. And he has not shunned promises for the future, he will carry out his task of enfranchisement to the end, giving back one liberty after another at such times as shall seem fitting to his wisdom. Henceforth it is a pro­gramme of continual progress that it will be our duty to support in this assembly.’

‘You, yourself, were the minister of the fiercest oppres­sion!’ interrupted one of the five deputies on the left, indignantly rising from his seat. And another passionately added: ‘The purveyors for Cayenne and Lambessa have no right to speak in the name of liberty!’

An outburst of murmurs followed. Several deputies, who did not quite catch what was said, bent forward and questioned their neighbours. M. de Marsy pretended not to have heard, and contented himself with threatening to call all interrupters to order.

‘I have just been reproached — ‘ Rougon resumed; but shouts now rose from the right and prevented him from con­tinuing.

‘No, no! Don’t reply!’

‘Such insults are unworthy of your notice!’

Rougon pacified the Chamber by a gesture, and with his big fists resting on the edge of the tribune, he turned to the left with the expression of a wild boar at bay. ‘I will not reply,’ he calmly said.

What had gone before was merely the exordium of his speech. Although he had stated that he did not intend to refute the assertions of the deputy of the left, he now entered upon a minute discussion. He began by clearly stating the whole of his opponent’s arguments, enumerating them with an air of fairness and candour which had an immense effect; for it was as though he disdained these arguments and could destroy them by a breath. However, as he went on, he appeared to forget them entirely, and, without replying to any of them, he attacked the weakest with indescribable violence and quite overwhelmed it beneath a flood of words. Applause burst forth, he triumphed. His huge body seemed to fill the tribune; his shoulders swayed in rhythm with his periods. His oratory was of a mediocre, inartistic order, bristling with legal points and trite commonplaces, which he bellowed forth in thundering tones. He shouted and brandished trivialities; and his only real oratorical gift was his immense, inexhaust­ible fund of breath, which enabled him to pour forth magni­loquent sentences for hours together, careless of what they might contain.

After he had spoken for an hour without a break, he gulped down a mouthful of water, and panted a little while rearrang­ing his notes in front of him.

‘Take a rest!’ cried several deputies.

But he did not feel at all tired, and wanted to finish. ‘What is it, gentlemen, that is asked of you?’ he re­sumed.

‘Hush! Hush!’

Every face was now again fixed on him with silent straining attention. At certain bursts of his oratory the Chamber quivered from one end to the other, as though a gale had swept through it.

‘What is asked of you, gentlemen, is that you should repeal the Public Safety Act. I will not now recall the ever-accursed hour which made that act a needful weapon. It was necessary to reassure the country, to save France from a fresh cataclysm. To-day the weapon is sheathed. The government, which invariably used it with the greatest prudence — I will even say with the greatest moderation — ‘

‘Quite true!’

‘The government now only uses it in certain altogether exceptional cases. It inconveniences no one except those sectaries who still cherish the guilty madness of wishing for the return of the basest days of our history. Search through our towns, search through our villages, everywhere you will find peace and prosperity. Inquire of all orderly citizens, and you will not find one who feels in any way oppressed by those exceptional laws which are imputed to us as great crimes. I repeat that, in the paternal hands of the government, they simply continue to shield society against all hateful attempts, the success of which, moreover, is henceforth impossible. Honest, well-disposed men have no occasion to trouble them­selves about their existence. Leave them to their slumber, until our Sovereign shall feel justified in doing away with them himself. But what else is asked of you, gentlemen? Free­dom of elections, the liberty of the press, every kind of liberty that can be imagined. Ah! Let me pause for a moment to glance at the great things which the Empire has already accomplished. All around me, wherever I turn my eyes, I see public liberties increasing and bearing splendid fruits. I feel the profoundest emotion. France, once fallen so low, is now fast recovering, and giving to the world the example of a nation winning its own freedom by its good behaviour. The days of trial are now over. There is no longer any question of a dictatorship, or of despotism. We are all workers in the cause of liberty — ‘

‘Bravo! bravo!’

‘Freedom of elections is asked for; but is not universal suf­frage on the widest basis the primordial source of the Empire’s existence? Doubtless the government recommends its candi­dates. But does not the revolutionary party support its own with shameless audacity? We are attacked, and we defend ourselves. Nothing could be fairer. Our opponents would like to gag us, bind us hand and foot, reduce us to the con­dition of dead bodies. That is a thing which we can never allow. Our love for our country requires that we should advise it and tell it where its true interests lie. It still re­mains the absolute master of its destinies. It votes and we bow to its wishes. Those members of the Opposition who belong to this assembly, where they enjoy entire liberty of speech, are themselves a proof of our respect for the decrees of universal suffrage. The revolutionary party must settle the matter with the nation, for it is the nation that supports the Empire by overwhelming majorities... In parliament all obsta­cles to free control have now been swept aside. Our Sovereign has been pleased to accord the great bodies of the state a more direct participation in his policy, and a conspicuous proof of his confidence in them. Henceforth you will be able to dis­cuss the measures of the government, you will be able to exercise the right of amendment in the fullest degree, as well as to express all your desires. Every year the discussion on the address will form, as it were, an interview between the Emperor and the representatives of the nation, at which the latter will be able to say whatever they please with perfect freedom. It is by free and open discussion that powerful states are formed. The tribune is restored to you, the tribune which so many orators, whose names history has preserved, has made illustrious. A parliament which discusses is a parliament that works. And, to tell you the real truth, I am glad to see here a group of opposition deputies. There will always be amongst us opponents who will try to find us at fault, and who, by doing so, will make our good faith show conspicuously. We solicit the most generous treatment for them. We fear neither passion nor scandal, nor abuse of the freedom of speech, dangerous though these things be.

‘As for the press, gentlemen, under no government deter­mined upon making itself respected has it enjoyed greater freedom than it does at present. Every great question and every serious interest has its organs. The government only opposes the propagation of dangerous doctrines, the dissemi­nation of poisonous ideas. For the honourable portion of the press, which is the great voice of public opinion, I assure you that we entertain the most absolute respect. It assists us in our task; it is the tool of the age. If the government has taken it into its own hands, this is only to keep it from falling into those of its enemies.’

Approving laughter arose. Rougon was now drawing near to his peroration. He gripped the frame-work of the tribune with the stiffened fingers of his left hand, and throwing his whole body forward he swept the air with his right arm. His words flowed forth like a sonorous torrent. And suddenly, amidst his glowing praise of the new liberal policy, he seemed overcome by wild excitement. He shot his fist forward like a battering ram, as though aiming at something yonder in empty space. This invisible enemy was the spectre of the Red Revolution. In a few dramatic sentences he depicted that red spectre shaking its blood-stained banner and waving its incendiary torch as it rushed on, leaving streams of mud and gore behind it. His voice rang out like the alarm-bell of the days of revolution, while bullets whizzed by, and the Bank of France was sacked and the money of respectable citizens was stolen and shared. The deputies turned pale in their seats as they listened. But then Rougon calmed down, and concluded by speaking of the Emperor in warm bursts of laudation, which suggested the swaying of a censer. ‘God be thanked!’ said he. ‘We are under the protection of the Prince whom Providence in its infinite mercy selected to save us. We can safely rest beneath the shelter of his wisdom. He has taken us by the hand, and is leading us step by step through the breakers, to the safety of the harbour.’
1

Vociferous applause resounded. For nearly ten minutes the proceedings were interrupted. A crowd of deputies rushed to meet the minister as he returned to his seat, with perspira­tion streaming down his face and his figure still quivering from such an expenditure of breath. M. La Rouquette, M. de Combelot, and a hundred others poured forth their con­gratulations, and stretched out their arms to try and grasp his hand as he passed them. The whole Chamber was heaving with excitement. Even the occupants of the galleries shouted and gesticulated. Beneath the sun-lit ceiling-window, amidst the gilding and the marble, all the severe magnificence characteristic both of a temple and an office, there raged commotion such as one might find in a public square on some day of demonstration — bursts of doubting laughter, loud exclamations of astonishment and of wild admiration, all the clamour, in a word, of a passion-swayed multitude.

And as the eyes of M. de Marsy and Clorinde met, they both nodded their heads in confession of the great man’s triumph. The speech which Rougon had just delivered was his first step up that splendid ladder of fortune which was to carry him to so great a height.

However, a deputy had mounted the tribune. He had a clean-shaven face, a waxy complexion, and long yellow hair, with sparse curls which fell over his shoulders. Standing stiff and rigid, he consulted some big sheets of paper, the manuscript of a speech, which he finally commenced to read in an unctuous voice.

‘Silence, gentlemen, silence!’ cried the usher.

This deputy had certain explanations to ask from the government. He showed great irritation at the dilatory attitude of France in presence of the threats of Italy against the Holy See. The temporal power of the Pope, said he, was really the ark of God, and the address ought to contain a formally expressed hope, a command even, that this power should be maintained in all its integrity. The speaker launched out into historical references, and showed that the forces of Christianity had established political order in Europe many centuries before the treaties of 1815. Then, in periods that breathed fear and consternation, he said that he beheld with the greatest alarm the olden society of Europe vanishing in the midst of popular convulsions. Every now and then, as he indulged in too direct an allusion to the King of Italy, murmurs sped through a part of the Chamber; but the compact group of clerical deputies on the right, nearly a hundred strong, listened most attentively, accentuating his slightest references by an expression of approval, applauding, too, every time that he named the Pope with a slight reverent inclination of the head.

A chorus of bravos greeted his last words: ‘It distresses me,’ he said, ‘that proud Venice, the Queen of the Adriatic, should become the obscure vassal of Turin.’

Rougon, though his neck was still wet with perspiration, his voice hoarse and his big frame exhausted by his previous exertions, insisted upon replying at once. It was a remark­able sight. He made a parade of his fatigue, exhibited it ostentatiously, dragging himself to the tribune, where he began by stammering faint words. He bitterly complained that men of position, hitherto so loyal to the Imperial insti­tutions, should now be among the adversaries of the govern­ment. There must surely be some misunderstanding. They could not wish to swell the ranks of the revolutionists, and weaken a power which made constant efforts to ensure the triumph of religion. And, turning towards the deputies on the right, he addressed them with pathetic gestures, spoke to them with a humility full of craft, as though they were powerful foes, the only foes that he really feared.

Meantime his voice gradually recovered all its previous force, and once more he filled the Chamber with a bellowing roar, striking his breast the while with his closed fist.

‘We are accused of irreligion,’ he cried. ‘It is a false­hood! We are the reverent children of the Church, and it is our happiness to be faithful believers. Yes, gentlemen, faith is our guide and our support in this task of governing, which is often so heavy a burden. What, indeed, would become of us if we did not trustfully place ourselves in the hands of Providence? Our only pretension is to be the humble executants of its designs, the docile instruments of the will of God. It is this which enables us to speak out freely and to accomplish some little good. And, gentlemen, I am happy that this opportunity presents itself for me to bend the knee with all the fervour of a true Catholic heart before the sovereign Pontiff, before that august and venerable old man whose watchful and devoted daughter France will ever remain.’