XXII

Before listening to Monsieur Boucher, who was about to deluge him with

a speech announcing the decision of the Boucher Committee, Albert

begged for silence, and, as he shook hands with Monsieur Boucher,

tried to warn him, by a sign, of an unexpected danger.

"My young friend, Alfred Boucher, has just announced to me the honor

you have done me. But before that decision is irrevocable," said the

lawyer, "I think that I ought to explain to you who and what your

candidate is, so as to leave you free to take back your word if my

declaration should disturb your conscience!"

This exordium was followed by profound silence. Some of the men

thought it showed a noble impulse.

Albert gave a sketch of his previous career, telling them his real

name, his action under the Restoration, and revealing himself as a new

man since his arrival at Besancon, while pledging himself for the

future. This address held his hearers breathless, it was said. These

men, all with different interests, were spellbound by the brilliant

eloquence that flowed at boiling heat from the heart and soul of this

ambitious spirit. Admiration silenced reflection. Only one thing was

clear--the thing which Albert wished to get into their heads:

Was it not far better for the town to have one of those men who are

born to govern society at large than a mere voting-machine? A

statesman carries power with him. A commonplace deputy, however

incorruptible, is but a conscience. What a glory for Provence to have

found a Mirabeau, to return the only statesman since 1830 that the

revolution of July had produced!

Under the pressure of this eloquence, all the audience believed it

great enough to become a splendid political instrument in the hands of

their representative. They all saw in Albert Savaron, Savarus the

great Minister. And, reading the secret calculations of his

constituents, the clever candidate gave them to understand that they

would be the first to enjoy the right of profiting by his influence.

This confession of faith, this ambitious programme, this retrospect of

his life and character was, according to the only man present who was

capable of judging of Savarus (he has since become one of the leading

men of Besancon), a masterpiece of skill and of feeling, of fervor,

interest, and fascination. This whirlwind carried away the electors.

Never had any man had such a triumph. But, unfortunately, speech, a

weapon only for close warfare, has only an immediate effect.

Reflection kills the word when the word ceases to overpower

reflection. If the votes had then been taken, Albert's name would

undoubtedly have come out of the ballot-box. At the moment, he was

conqueror. But he must conquer every day for two months.

Albert went home quivering. The townsfolk had applauded him, and he

had achieved the great point of silencing beforehand the malignant

talk to which his early career might give rise. The commercial

interest of Besancon had nominated the lawyer, Albert Savaron de

Savarus, as its candidate.

Alfred Boucher's enthusiasm, at first infectious, presently became

blundering.

The Prefet, alarmed by this success, set to work to count the

Ministerial votes, and contrived to have a secret interview with

Monsieur de Chavoncourt, so as to effect a coalition in their common

interests. Every day, without Albert's being able to discover how, the

voters in the Boucher committee diminished in number.

Nothing could resist the slow grinding of the Prefecture. Three of

four clever men would say to Albert's clients, "Will the deputy defend

you and win your lawsuits? Will he give you advice, draw up your

contracts, arrange your compromises?--He will be your slave for five

years longer, if, instead of returning him to the Chamber, you only

hold out the hope of his going there five years hence."

This calculation did Savarus all the more mischief, because the wives

of some of the merchants had already made it. The parties interested

in the matter of the bridge and that of the water from Arcier could

not hold out against a talking-to from a clever Ministerialist, who

proved to them that their safety lay at the Prefecture, and not in the

hands of an ambitious man. Each day was a check for Savarus, though

each day the battle was led by him and fought by his lieutenants--a

battle of words, speeches, and proceedings. He dared not go to the

Vicar-General, and the Vicar-General never showed himself. Albert rose

and went to bed in a fever, his brain on fire.

At last the day dawned of the first struggle, practically the show of

hands; the votes are counted, the candidates estimate their chances,

and clever men can prophesy their failure or success. It is a decent

hustings, without the mob, but formidable; agitation, though it is not

allowed any physical display, as it is in England, is not the less

profound. The English fight these battles with their fists, the French

with hard words. Our neighbors have a scrimmage, the French try their

fate by cold combinations calmly worked out. This particular political

business is carried out in opposition to the character of the two

nations.

The Radical party named their candidate; Monsieur de Chavoncourt came

forward; then Albert appeared, and was accused by the Chavoncourt

committee and the Radicals of being an uncompromising man of the

Right, a second Berryer. The Ministry had their candidate, a stalking-

horse, useful only to receive the purely Ministerial votes. The votes,

thus divided, gave no result. The Republican candidate had twenty, the

Ministry got fifty, Albert had seventy, Monsieur de Chavoncourt

obtained sixty-seven. But the Prefet's party had perfidiously made

thirty of its most devoted adherents vote for Albert, so as to deceive

the enemy. The votes for Monsieur de Chavoncourt, added to the eighty

votes--the real number--at the disposal of the Prefecture, would carry

the election, if only the Prefet could succeed in gaining over a few

of the Radicals. A hundred and sixty votes were not recorded: those of

Monsieur de Grancey's following and the Legitimists.

The show of hands at an election, like a dress rehearsal at a theatre,

is the most deceptive thing in the world. Albert Savarus came home,

putting a brave face on the matter, but half dead. He had had the wit,

the genius, or the good luck to gain, within the last fortnight, two

staunch supporters--Girardet's father-in-law and a very shrewd old

merchant to whom Monsieur de Grancey had sent him. These two worthy

men, his self-appointed spies, affected to be Albert's most ardent

opponents in the hostile camp. Towards the end of the show of hands

they informed Savarus, through the medium of Monsieur Boucher, that

thirty voters, unknown, were working against him in his party, playing

the same trick that they were playing for his benefit on the other

side.

A criminal marching to execution could not suffer as Albert suffered

as he went home from the hall where his fate was at stake. The

despairing lover could endure no companionship. He walked through the

streets alone, between eleven o'clock and midnight. At one in the

morning, Albert, to whom sleep had been unknown for the past three

days, was sitting in his library in a deep armchair, his face as pale

as if he were dying, his hands hanging limp, in a forlorn attitude

worthy of the Magdalen. Tears hung on his long lashes, tears that dim

the eyes, but do not fall; fierce thought drinks them up, the fire of

the soul consumes them. Alone, he might weep. And then, under the

kiosk, he saw a white figure, which reminded him of Francesca.

"And for three months I have had no letter from her! What has become

of her? I have not written for two months, but I warned her. Is she

ill? Oh, my love! My life! Will you ever know what I have gone

through? What a wretched constitution is mine! Have I an aneurism?" he

asked himself, feeling his heart beat so violently that its pulses

seemed audible in the silence like little grains of sand dropping on a

big drum.

At this moment three distinct taps sounded on his door; Albert

hastened to open it, and almost fainted with joy at seeing the Vicar-

General's cheerful and triumphant mien. Without a word, he threw his

arms round the Abbe de Grancey, held him fast, and clasped him

closely, letting his head fall on the old man's shoulder. He was a

child again; he cried as he had cried on hearing that Francesca

Soderini was a married woman. He betrayed his weakness to no one but

to this priest, on whose face shone the light of hope. The priest had

been sublime, and as shrewd as he was sublime.

"Forgive me, dear Abbe, but you come at one of those moments when the

man vanishes, for you are not to think me vulgarly ambitious."

"Oh! I know," replied the Abbe. "You wrote '/Ambition for love's

sake/!'--Ah! my son, it was love in despair that made me a priest in

1786, at the age of two-and-twenty. In 1788 I was in charge of a

parish. I know life.--I have refused three bishoprics already; I mean

to die at Besancon."

"Come and see her!" cried Savarus, seizing a candle, and leading the

Abbe into the handsome room where hung the portrait of the Duchesse

d'Argaiolo, which he lighted up.

"She is one of those women who are born to reign!" said the Vicar-

General, understanding how great an affection Albert showed him by

this mark of confidence. "But there is pride on that brow; it is

implacable; she would never forgive an insult! It is the Archangel

Michael, the angel of Execution, the inexorable angel--'All or

nothing' is the motto of this type of angel. There is something

divinely pitiless in that head."

"You have guessed well," cried Savarus. "But, my dear Abbe, for more

than twelve years now she had reigned over my life, and I have not a

thought for which to blame myself--"

"Ah! if you could only say the same of God!" said the priest with

simplicity. "Now, to talk of your affairs. For ten days I have been at

work for you. If you are a real politician, this time you will follow

my advice. You would not be where you are now if you would have gone

to the Wattevilles when I first told you. But you must go there

to-morrow; I will take you in the evening. The Rouxey estates are in

danger; the case must be defended within three days. The election will

not be over in three days. They will take good care not to appoint

examiners the first day. There will be several voting days, and you

will be elected by ballot--"