THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
made him a report which was true or false; he kept him informed of the acts and attitude of his enemies, calming him, irritating him according to his requirements, and always promising him prompt victory.
Two months passed. M. de Cazalis was beginning to get impatient, saying the Cayols were too circumspect, and that such people would never make a mistake, when one evening Mathéus entered his drawingroom, rubbing his hands with the air of a conqueror.
“What’s the news?” inquired the ex-deputy impatiently of his accomplice.
Mathéus did not answer immediately. He had seated himself comfortably in an armchair, and, with his hands crossed over his stomach, sat blinking his eyes with a sanctimonious air. This lackey treated the illustrious descendant of the Cazalis as an equal.
“What do you think of the Republic?” he abruptly inquired of his master, in a bantering tone. “It’s a fine invention of the human mind, is it not?”
The master shrugged his shoulders. He tolerated this rascal’s impudence, and the latter took secret delight in wounding him.
“You are aware that the monarchy is dead and buried,” continued the tatterdemalion in the same bantering tone. “We have been citizens for the last twenty-four hours and I feel inclined to address you in the second person.”
M. de Cazalis had been following political events during the last few months with much indifference. He had learned on the previous evening of the overthrow of Louis Philippe, without even paying attention to the news. Formerly, when he was deputy in the opposition ranks, and sought to shake this throne which the people had just upset, he would have applauded at the event, free afterwards to discover the most rapid way of muzzling the rabble, which was the name he generally gave to the working classes, but at the present moment his only anxiety consisted in discovering a means by which he could retain possession of his niece’s fortune so as to be able to devour it with impunity.
When he heard Mathéus say he felt inclined to address him in the second person, he nevertheless made a movement of disgust.
“No joking,” he said drily. “Come, what news have you?”
Mathéus maintained his insolent attitude.
“Eh! Eh!” he answered, with a sneer, “how sharply you speak to your brothers; for you are aware that we are all brothers! it’s written on the flags. Oh! what a fine thing the Republic is!”
“Come to the point. What do you know? Where have you been?”
“I know that we shall perhaps be throwing up barricades one of these days, and I come from the Workers’ Club, of which I am one of the most popular members. It is matter for regret, sir, that your opinions debar you from listening to me. I delivered a speech this morning against the Legitimists which was approved by everyone present. But for the matter of that, I can give you proof of my eloquence.”
And Mathéus rising, stood upright, one hand on his heart and the other extended in front of him like a man about to speak.
M. de Cazalis understood that his worthy associate had some good news to tell him, and that he was making him pay for that news by amusing himself at his expense. He belonged to this man, and he saw he would be compelled to accept his sneers until it pleased him to say all. By cowardice and to flatter this rascal who played with him as with a prey, he lowered himself to the point of laughing at his clownish grimaces hoping by so doing to make him speak out sooner.
“You certainly must make a capital speaker,” he said to him, with a smile.
Mathéus had kept in the same position, trying to recall the sentences of his speech. Then, he let himself fall into the armchair, crossed his legs, threw himself back and continued, still sneering:
“I can’t remember it. It was very fine. I said the Legitimists were rascals. I even think I mentioned your name and suggested hanging you at the first opportunity. They applauded. I must, you understand, take care of my popularity.”
He laughed, displaying his wolfish teeth.
M. de Cazalis, who was becoming exasperated at the scoundrel’s familiarity, walked up and down the room making the greatest efforts not to burst out in anger. The other felt delicious delight at his rage, remained silent for a moment, and when he saw it would be imprudent to make fun any longer, he continued in a bantering tone:
“By the way, I forgot to tell you that M. Philippe Cayol is my colleague at the Workers’ Club.”
M. de Cazalis came to a standstill.
“At last!” he murmured.
“Yes,” continued Mathéus slowly, “M. Philippe Cayol is a very warm Republican and I pride myself on being his disciple. I humbly confess to you that his speeches are of a much more fervent, democratic character than mine. That young man will certainly save the country if it ever stands in need of being saved.”
“Ah! that simpleton has flung himself into the Liberal movement?”
“Body and soul. He is one of the leaders of the red party. The workingmen worship him because he shows no pride with them and because he has the simplicity to tell them in good faith that the people are King and that the poor are going to take the place of the nobility and wealthy.”
M. de Cazalis was beaming.
“He is compromising himself, we have him in our grip!” he exclaimed.
Mathéus feigned to be scandalized.
“What, he is compromising himself!” he answered. “Say he is a hero, a glorious child of the Republic! In ten years, the people, conquerors of kings, will erect altars to him. I experienced such enthusiasm at his speeches, that I suddenly felt the material of a Republican in me.”
He rose, and with clownish majesty continued:
“Citizens, you see in me a Republican. Look at me, observe how a Republican is made. We are only a few hundred at Marseille, but we are sufficient to bring about the salvation of humanity. As for myself I am full of zeal — “
In his turn he strode up and down the room.
“Here is what I have already accomplished in favour of the Republic,” he continued. “I have taken M. Philippe Cayol as a model, and in order to inspire my mind with his thoughts, I have followed him step by step. We were both members of a secret society; then I arranged to be admitted to the Workers’ Club at the same time as he was. Each time he speaks there, I applaud him, intoxicate him with enthusiasm. That is my own poor way of serving the country. I am sure that M. Philippe Cayol, encouraged by me, will accomplish great things.”
“I understand, I understand,” murmured M. de Cazalis.
Mathéus continued declaiming.
“We will raise barricades, it is I who insist on it, because barricades are necessary to M. Philippe Cayol’s glory. The people have laboured enough. Is it not so? The aristocrats must work in their turn. A few bullets will set everything in order. M. Philippe Cayol will march at the head of his friends, the workingmen: he will lead them on to fortune, unless a gendarme takes him by the collar and drags him before the judges at the assizes, who will certainly show the bad taste to sentence him to transportation.”
The ex-deputy was beside himself with delight. The grimaces with which Mathéus accompanied his speech, now amused him. He pressed his hands and repeated effusively:
“Thanks, thanks, I will reward you, you shall be rich.”
For a moment Mathéus continued standing in his triumphant attitude. Then he burst out into a peal of laughter.
“Eh! What think you?” he exclaimed, “the trick’s done?”
He had the manners of a mountebank about him, and was delighted at the scene with which he had accompanied the news he brought. At last master and valet seated themselves and talked in an undertone.
“You understand me,” said the latter. “We have got M. Philippe,