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By Root 1287 0

protected it and freed it from the cares of thinking and dealing with its own affairs. Its one abiding preoccupation was to decide which amusements it would choose to kill the time. In Eugène Rougon’s felicitous phrase, Paris sat down to dinner and dreamed bawdy dreams for dessert. Politics was terrifying, like a dangerous drug. Weary minds turned to business and pleasure. Those who had money dug it up, and those who had none searched high and low for forgotten treasures. The throngs quivered in rapt anticipation, straining to hear the first jingle of gold coins, the bright laughter of women, and the still-faint clatter of dishes and smack of kisses. In the deep ambient silence order reigned, and from the abject peace surrounding the new government arose a pleasant hum of gilded and voluptuous promises. It was as though one were passing by one of those little houses where carefully drawn curtains reveal only the silhouettes of women, and where the clink of gold coins can be heard as they drop onto marble mantelpieces. The Empire was soon to transform Paris into Europe’s den of iniquity. A handful of rogues had just stolen a throne, and what they needed now was a reign of adventures, of shady deals, of consciences sold and women bought, of mad and all-consuming revelry. In a city from which the blood of December had only just been washed away there grew—timidly at first—a rage for pleasure that would ultimately land the country in the padded cell reserved for debauched and dishonored nations.

From the very first days Aristide Saccard sensed the approach of this rising tide of speculation, whose spume would one day cover all of Paris. He followed its progress closely. He found himself smack in the middle of the torrential downpour of gold raining down on the city’s roofs. In his incessant turns around city hall, he had caught wind of the vast project to transform Paris, of the plans for demolition, of the new streets and hastily planned neighborhoods, and of the massive wheeling and dealing in land and buildings that had ignited a clash of interests across the capital and set off an unbridled pursuit of luxury. From then on his efforts had a goal. It was at this time that he developed his pleasant manner. He even put on a little weight and stopped prowling the streets like a scrawny cat in search of prey. At the office he was more talkative and obliging than ever. His brother, whom he visited for more or less official purposes, congratulated him on having put his advice to such good use. Early in 1854, the clerk confided to the deputy that he had several business ventures in mind but would require fairly substantial advances.

“You’ll need to look around,” Eugène said.

“You’re right, I’ll look around,” answered Aristide, without a trace of rancor, seeming not to notice that his brother was refusing to start him off with an initial contribution.

The thought of that initial investment now burned within him. His plan was set; with each passing day it grew more mature. But the first few thousand francs were still nowhere to be found. His tension increased. He looked at people now with a nervous and searching eye, as if scrutinizing every passerby for a potential lender. At home, Angèle continued to lead a happy if retiring life, but Aristide remained on the lookout for an opportunity, and his gregarious laughter grew increasingly shrill as time passed and no such opportunity presented itself.

Aristide had a sister in Paris. Sidonie Rougon had married a law clerk from Plassans, whom she had accompanied to the capital to set up a shop on the rue Saint-Honoré selling fruits from the south of France. By the time her brother caught up with her, the husband had vanished, and the shop had long since gone under. She was living in a small three-room apartment above another shop on the rue du Faubourg-Poissonière. She leased the shop as well, a cramped and mysterious boutique in which she pretended to sell lace. And the window did contain pieces of guipure and Valenciennes 6 suspended from gold-plated rods. The interior, however, resembled