We are familiar with the discoveries of science with regard to the wonderful electric spark, which the network of wires covering the globe carries from one end of the earth to the other in an instant. The telegraph, as the savants tell us, is the same thing as the thunderbolt. On this occasion, Baron Massy was entirely of their opinion. The imperial despatch, falling suddenly upon them, stunned and bewildered him, as a sudden stroke of lightning would have done coming down upon his house. He could not believe in its reality. The more he thought of it, the more impossible it seemed for him to retrace his steps, to reverse his judgment, or to bear his retreat publicly. Nevertheless, he had to swallow this bitter draught, or hand in his resignation and put far away from his lips the sweet prefectoral cup. Fatal alternative! The heart of a public functionary is sometimes torn by fearful anguish.
When a sudden catastrophe comes upon us, we have at first some difficulty in accepting it as definitive, and we continue to struggle after all is lost. Baron Massy did not escape this illusion. He hoped vaguely that the Emperor would revoke his decision. In this hope, he undertook to keep the dispatch secret for some days, and not to obey. He wrote to the Emperor, and also secured the intervention of Minister Rouland, who was less publicly but as completely affected as himself by the unexpected order from Biarritz.
Napoleon III. was as insensible to the protests of the minister as to the representations and entreaties of the prefect. The judgment which he had made had been based upon evidence, and was irrevocable. All these steps had no other result than to show him that the prefect had dared to set aside his orders and to postpone their execution. A second despatch left Biarritz. It was couched in terms which permitted no comment or delay.
Baron Massy had to choose between his pride and his prefecture. He made the grievous choice, and was humble enough to remain in his office.
The head of the department resigned himself to obedience. Nevertheless, in spite of the imperative orders of his master, he still tried, not to resist, which was evidently impossible, but to hide his retreat and not surrender publicly.
In consequence of some official indiscretions, and perhaps also by the account of the gentlemen who had waited on the Emperor, the purport of the orders from Biarritz was already vaguely known by the public. It was the topic of general conversation. The prefect neither confirmed nor denied the prevailing rumors. He instructed Jacomet and his agents to draw up no more procès-verbaux, and to discontinue the watch. Such a course, coming in connection with the current reports as to the instructions of the Emperor, ought to have sufficed (at least such was his hope) to put things in their normal state, and make the prohibitory decree a dead letter. It was even probable that the people, restored to liberty, would hasten themselves to root up and throw into the Gave the posts bearing the caution against entering upon the common land and within the barriers which enclosed the grotto.
M. Massy was, however, mistaken in his calculations, plausible as they may have been. In spite of the absence of the police, in spite of the reports which were circulating without official contradiction, the people feared some snare. They continued to pray on the wrong side of the Gave. The trespasses were as before, generally speaking, few and far between. No one touched the posts or the barriers. The status quo, instead of disappearing of its own accord, as the prefect had hoped, obstinately remained.
Considering the character of Napoleon III., and the clearness of the orders from Biarritz, the situation was dangerous for the prefect, and Baron Massy was too intelligent not to perceive it. Every moment it was to be feared that the Emperor would hear of the way in which he was trying to beat around the bush. He may well have dreaded continually that some terrible message would arrive setting him aside for ever, and turning him out in the cold, out from the luminous realms of functionarism into the exterior darkness in which the miserable unofficial world is involved.
The end of September had come.
It happened that, during these perplexities, M. Fould had occasion to make another visit to Tarbes, and even to go to Lourdes. Did he increase the alarm of the prefect by speaking of the sovereign, or did the Baron receive some new telegram more crushing than the others? We do not know. But it is certain that, on the 3d of October, M. Massy, as if struck down by some unseen hand, became pliable as a broken reed, and that his arrogant stiffness was suddenly changed to a complete prostration.