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.'[26]
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.'