The Eternal Adam and other stories (21 page)

It was certain that the town of Quiquendone
would, by this liberal contrivance, gain a splendid lighting; but Doctor Ox and
his assistant took little account of this, as will be seen in the sequel.

The day after that on which Commissary
Passauf had made his noisy entrance into the burgomaster’s parlour, Gédéon
Ygène and Doctor Ox were talking in the laboratory which both occupied in
common, on the ground floor of the principal building of the gas-works.

‘Well, Ygène, well,’ cried the doctor,
rubbing his hands. ‘You saw, at my reception yesterday, the cool-bloodedness of
these worthy Quiquendonians. For animation they are midway between sponges and
coral! You saw them disputing and irritating each other by voice and gesture?
They are already metamorphosed, morally and physically! And this is only the
beginning. Wait till we treat them to a big dose!’

‘Indeed, master,’ replied Ygène, scratching
his sharp nose with the end of his forefinger, ‘the experiment begins well, and
if I had not prudently closed the supply-tap, I know not what would have
happened.’

‘You heard Schut, the advocate, and Custos,
the doctor?’ resumed Doctor Ox. ‘The phrase was by no means ill-natured in
itself, but, in the mouth of a Quiquendonian, it is worth all the insults which
the Homeric heroes hurled at each other before drawing their swords. Ah, these
Flemings! You’ll see what we shall do some day!’

‘We shall make them ungrateful,’ replied
Ygène, in the tone of a man who esteems the human race at its just worth.

‘Bah!’ said the doctor; ‘what matters it
whether they think well or ill of us, so long as our experiment succeeds?’

‘Besides,’ returned the assistant, smiling
with a malicious expression, ‘is it not to be feared that, in producing such an
excitement in their respiratory organs, we shall somewhat injure the lungs of
these good people of Quiquendone?’

‘So much the worse for them! It is in the
interests of science. What would you say if the dogs or frogs refused to lend
themselves to the experiments of vivisection?’

It is probable that if the frogs and dogs
were consulted, they would offer some objection; but Doctor Ox imagined that he
had stated an unanswerable argument, for he heaved a great sigh of
satisfaction.

‘After all, master, you are right,’ replied
Ygène, as if quite convinced. ‘We could not have hit upon better subjects than
these people of Quiquendone for our experiment.’

‘We – could – not,’ said the doctor, slowly
articulating each word.

‘Have you felt the pulse of any of them?’

‘Some hundreds.’

‘And what is the average pulsation you
found?’

‘Not fifty per minute. See – this is a town
where there has not been the shadow of a discussion for a century, where the
carmen don’t swear, where the coachmen don’t insult each other, where horses
don’t run away, where the dogs don’t bite, where the cats don’t scratch, – a
town where the police-court has nothing to do from one year’s end to another; –
a town where people do not grow enthusiastic about anything, either about art
or business, – a town where the gendarmes are a sort of myth, and in which an
indictment has not been drawn up for a hundred years, – a town, in short, where
for three centuries nobody has struck a blow with his fist or so much as
exchanged a slap in the face! You see, Ygène, that this cannot last, and that
we must change it all.’

‘Perfectly! perfectly!’ cried the
enthusiastic assistant; ‘and have you analysed the air of this town, master?’

‘I have not failed to do so. Seventy-nine
parts of azote and twenty-one of oxygen, carbonic acid and steam in a variable
quantity. These are the ordinary proportions.’

‘Good, doctor, good!’ replied Ygène. ‘The
experiment will be made on a large scale, and will be decisive.’

‘And if it is decisive,’ added Doctor Ox
triumphantly, ‘we shall reform the world!’

In which the burgomaster and the counsellor pay a
visit to Doctor Ox, and what follows

The Counsellor Niklausse and the
Burgomaster Van Tricasse at last knew what it was to have an agitated night.
The grave event which had taken place at Doctor Ox’s house actually kept them
awake. What consequences was this affair destined to bring about? They could
not imagine. Would it be necessary for them to come to a decision? Would the
municipal authority, whom they represented, be compelled to interfere? Would
they be obliged to order arrests to be made, that so great a scandal should not
be repeated? All these doubts could not but trouble these soft natures; and on
that evening, before separating, the two notables had ‘decided’ to see each
other the next day.

On the next morning, then, before dinner,
the Burgomaster Van Tricasse proceeded in person to the Counsellor Niklausse’s
house. He found his friend more calm. He himself had recovered his equanimity.

‘Nothing new?’ asked Van Tricasse.

‘Nothing new since yesterday,’ replied
Niklausse.

‘And the doctor, Dominique Custos?’

‘I have not heard anything, either of him
or of the advocate, André Schut.’

After an hour’s conversation, which consisted of three remarks which it
is needless to repeat, the counsellor and the burgomaster had resolved to pay a
visit to Doctor Ox, so as to draw from him, without seeming to do so, some
details of the affair.

Contrary to all their habits, after coming
to this decision the two notables set about putting it into execution forthwith.
They left the house and directed their steps towards Doctor Ox’s laboratory,
which was situated outside the town, near the Oudenarde gate – the gate whose
tower threatened to fall in ruins.

They did not take each other’s arms, but
walked side by side, with a slow and solemn step, which took them forward but
thirteen inches per second. This was, indeed, the ordinary gait of the
Quiquendonians, who had never, within the memory of man, seen anyone run across
the streets of their town.

From time to time the two notables would
stop at some calm and tranquil crossway, or at the end of a quiet street, to
salute the passers-by.

‘Good morning, Monsieur the burgomaster,’
said one.

‘Good morning, my friend,’ responded Van
Tricasse.

‘Anything new, Monsieur the counsellor?’
asked another.

‘Nothing new,’ answered Niklausse.

But by certain agitated motions and
questioning looks, it was evident that the altercation of the evening before
was known throughout the town. Observing the direction taken by Van Tricasse,
the most obtuse Quiquendonians guessed that the burgomaster was on his way to
take some important step. The Custos and Schut affair was talked of everywhere,
but the people had not yet come to the point of taking the part of one or the
other. The Advocate Schut, having never had occasion to plead in a town where
attorneys and bailiffs only existed in tradition, had, consequently, never lost
a suit. As for the Doctor Custos, he was an honourable practitioner, who, after
the example of his fellow-doctors, cured all the illnesses of his patients,
except those of which they died – a habit unhappily acquired by all the members
of all the faculties in whatever country they may practise.

On reaching the Oudenarde gate, the
counsellor and the burgomaster prudently made a short detour, so as not to pass
within reach of the tower, in case it should fall; then they turned and looked
at it attentively.

‘I think that it will fall,’ said Van
Tricasse.

‘I think so too,’ replied Niklausse.

‘Unless it is propped up,’ added Van Tricasse.
‘But must it be propped up? That is the question.’

"That is – in fact – the question.’

Some moments after, they reached the door
of the gasworks.

‘Can we see Doctor Ox?’ they asked.

Doctor Ox could always be seen by the first
authorities of the town, and they were at once introduced into the celebrated
physiologist’s study.

Perhaps the two notables waited for the
doctor at least an hour: at least it is reasonable to suppose so, as the
burgomaster – a thing that had never before happened in his life – betrayed a
certain amount of impatience, from which his companion was not exempt.

Doctor Ox came in at last, and began to
excuse himself for having kept them waiting: but he had to approve a plan for
the gasometer, rectify some of the machinery – But everything was going on
well! The pipes intended for the oxygen were already laid. In a few months the
town would be splendidly lighted. The two notables might even now see the
orifices of the pipes which were laid on in the laboratory.

Then the doctor begged to know to what he
was indebted for the honour of this visit.

‘Only to see you, doctor; to see you,’
replied Van Tricasse. ‘It is long since we have had the pleasure. We go abroad
but little in our good town of Quiquendone. We count our steps and measure our
walks. We are happy when nothing disturbs the uniformity of our habits.’

Niklausse looked at his friend. His friend
had never said so much at once – at least, without taking time, and giving long
intervals between his sentences. It seemed to him that Van Tricasse expressed
himself with a certain volubility, which was by no means common with him.
Niklausse himself experienced a kind of irresistible desire to talk.

As for Doctor Ox. he looked at the
burgomaster with sly attention.

Van Tricasse, who never argued until he had
snugly ensconced himself in a spacious armchair, had risen to his feet. I know
not what nervous excitement, quite foreign to his temperament, had taken
possession of him. He did not gesticulate as yet, but this could not be far
off. As for the counsellor, he rubbed his legs, and breathed with slow and long
gasps. His look became animated little by little, and he had ‘decided’ to
support at all hazards, if need be, his trusty friend the burgomaster.

Van Tricasse got up and took several steps;
then he came back, and stood facing the doctor.

‘And in how many months,’ he asked in a
somewhat emphatic tome, ‘do you say that your work will be finished?’

‘In three or four months, Monsieur the
burgomaster,’ replied Doctor Ox.

‘Three or four months, – it’s a very long
time!’ said Van Tricasse.

‘Altogether too long!’ added Niklausse,
who, not being able to keep his seat, rose also.

‘This lapse of time is necessary to
complete our work,’ returned Doctor Ox. ‘The workmen, whom we have had to
choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious.’

‘How not expeditious?’ cried the
burgomaster, who seemed to take the remark as personally offensive.

‘No, Monsieur Van Tricasse,’ replied Doctor
Ox obstinately. ‘A French workman would do in a day what it takes ten of your
workmen to do; you know, they are regular Flemings!’

‘Flemings!’ cried the counsellor, whose
fingers closed together. ‘In what sense, sir, do you use that word?’

‘Why, in the amiable sense in which
everybody uses it,’ replied Doctor Ox, smiling.

‘Ah, but doctor,’ said the burgomaster,
pacing up and down the room, ‘I don’t like these insinuations. The workmen of
Quiquendone are as efficient as those of any other town in the world, you must
know; and we shall go neither to Paris nor London for our models! As for your
project, I beg you to hasten its execution. Our streets have been unpaved for
the putting down of your conduit-pipes, and it is a hindrance to traffic. Our
trade will begin to suffer, and I, being the responsible authority, do not
propose to incur reproaches which will be but too just.’

Worthy burgomaster! He spoke of trade, of
traffic, and the wonder was that those words, to which he was quite
unaccustomed, did not scorch his lips. What could be passing in his mind?

‘Besides,’ added Niklausse, ‘the town
cannot be deprived of light much longer.’

‘But,’ urged Doctor Ox, ‘a town which has
been unlighted for 800 or 900 years -’

‘All the more necessary is it,’ replied the
burgomaster, emphasising his words. ‘Times alter, manners alter! The world advances,
and we do not wish to remain behind. We desire our streets to be lighted within
a month, or you must pay a large indemnity for each day of delay; and what
would happen if, amid the darkness, some affray should take place?’

‘No doubt,’ cried Niklausse. ‘It requires
but a spark to inflame a Fleming! Fleming! Flame!’

‘Apropos of this,‘ said the burgomaster,
interrupting his friend, ‘Commissary Passauf, our chief of police, reports to
us that a discussion took place in your drawing room last evening, Doctor Ox.
Was he wrong in declaring that it was a political discussion?’

‘By no means, Monsieur the burgomaster,‘
replied Doctor Ox, who with difficulty repressed a sigh of satisfaction.

‘So an altercation did take place between
Dominique Custos and André Schut?’

‘Yes, counsellor; but the words which
passed were not of grave import. ‘

‘Not of grave import!’ cried the
burgomaster. ‘Not of grave import, when one man tells another that he does not
measure the effect of his words! But of what stuff are you made, monsieur? Do
you not know that in Quiquendone nothing more is needed to bring about
extremely disastrous results? But monsieur, if you, or anyone else, presume to
speak thus to me -’