And that flock of disgruntled spirits who sat around
waiting for an election that would never come and
ran like old war-horses at the scent of gun-powder
to group themselves, as soon as a row started and the
bell began to ring for order, in two factions on either
side of the president’s chair, could never have
imagined that the young deputy, on many a night, broke
off his study with a temptation to throw the thick
tomes of records against the wall, yielding finally,
with thrills of intense voluptuousness, to the thought
of what might have become of him had he gone out into
life on his own in the trail of a pair of green eyes
whose golden lights he thought he could still see glittering
in front of him between the lines of clumsy parliamentary
prose, tempting him as they had tempted him of yore!
“Order of the day. Resumption of debate
on ecclesiastical appropriations!”
The Chamber suddenly came to life with a wild movement
of dispersion, something comparable to the stampede
of a herd or the panic of an army. The deputies
of quickest motory reactions were on their feet in
an instant, followed by dozens and dozens of others,
all making for the doors. Whole blocks of seats
were emptied.
The Chamber had been packed from the opening of the
Session. It was a day of intense excitement:
a debate between the leader of the Right and a former
comrade who was now in the Opposition. The jealousy
between the two old cronies was resulting in a small-sized
scandal. Mutual secrets of their ancient intimacy
as colleagues were coming to light—many
of the intrigues that had settled historic parliamentary
contests for the premiership. The galleries were
filled with spectators who had come to enjoy the fun.
The deputies and ministers occupied every seat on either
hand of the presidential chair. But now the incident
was closed. Two hours of veiled insult and pungent
gossip had passed all too soon. And the phrase
“Ecclesiastical Appropriations” had served
as a fire-alarm. Run—do not walk—to
the nearest exit!
However, the name of the orator who was now being
given the floor served to check the stampede somewhat,
much as routs have been stopped by some great historic
warcry. A few deputies hurried back to their
benches. All eyes turned toward the extreme Left
of the Chamber, where, a white head, rising above
the red seats over a pair of spectacles and a gently
ironical smile, was coming into view.
The old man was on his feet, at last. He was
small, so frail of person, that he hardly overtopped
the men still seated. All his vital energies
had been concentrated in that huge, nobly proportioned
head of his, pink at the top, with shocks of white
hair combed back over it. His pale countenance
had the warlike transparency of a sound, vigorous old
age. To it a shining, luminous silvery beard
added a majesty like that with which Sacred Art used
to picture the Almighty.
