His Excellency [Son Exc. Eugène Rougon]Zola, Émile
History
His Excellency [Son Exc. Eugène Rougon]
Zola, Émile
France -- History -- Second Empire, 1852-1870 -- Fiction
However, his increasing lassitude at this juncture was really a source
of much uneasiness to her. He seemed to be falling fast asleep amidst
his boredom. She had made, at first, full allowance for all possible
pretence which there might be in his demeanour, but was at length
forced to believe that he really did feel discouraged. His movements
had grown sluggish, and his voice languid; and sometimes he seemed so
listless and indifferent that the young woman felt quite alarmed, and
seriously wondered if he were not going to abide by his relegation to
the Senate as a played-out politician.
Towards the end of September, however, Rougon seemed very thoughtful.
At last, in one of his customary conversations with Clorinde, he told
her that he was maturing a great scheme. He was growing weary of Paris,
and needed fresh air. Then all at once he spoke out. It was a great
scheme of an altogether fresh life: a voluntary exile to the Landes
of Gascony, the clearing of several square leagues of ground, and the
founding of a new town amidst the conquered territory. Clorinde turned
quite pale as she listened to him.
'But your position here!' she cried; 'your prospects!'
'Bah! castles in the air!' he said disdainfully. 'I have come to the
conclusion that I am not cut out for politics.'
Then he reverted to his pet idea of being a great landowner, with herds
of cattle which he would rule in all sovereignty. But his ambition was
now greater. In the Landes of Gascony he would be like the conquering
king of a new territory. He would have a people under him. He gave
Clorinde all kinds of particulars. For the last fortnight, without
saying a word to anyone, he had been reading technical treatises. And
in imagination he had been reclaiming marshes, clearing the soil of
stones with the aid of powerful machines, checking the advance of the
sandhills by plantations of pines, and dowering France with a tract of
wondrously fertile country. All his dormant activity, all his latent
giant's strength, awoke within him at the thought of this undertaking.
He clenched his fists as though he were already face to face with
rebellious rocks. In imagination he turned the whole soil over at a
single stroke; carried houses completely built on his shoulders, and
dropped them as his fancy listed on the banks of some river, whose bed
he had hollowed out by a single kick of his foot. It all seemed so
easy, and it would give him the work he so much desired. The Emperor,
no doubt, still retained sufficient good-will towards him to let him
reclaim those waste lands. And erect, bracing up his big form, and with
his cheeks aglow, he burst into a proud laugh: 'It is a magnificent
idea!' he cried. 'I shall give my name to the town, and I, too, shall
found a little Empire!'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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