When he came to perceive that things did not go on quite satisfactorily in the best of republics he was sorely grieved, and indulged in another dream, that of compelling men to be happy even by force.  Every act which seemed to him prejudicial to the interest of the people roused him to revengeful indignation.  Though he was as gentle as a child, he cherished the fiercest political animosity.  He would not have killed a fly, and yet he was for ever talking of a call to arms.  Liberty was his passion, an unreasoning, absolute passion, to which he gave all the feverish ardour of his blood.  Blinded by enthusiasm, he was both too ignorant and too learned to be tolerant, and would not allow for men’s weaknesses; he required an ideal government of perfect justice and perfect liberty.  It was at this period that Antoine Macquart thought of setting him against the Rougons.  He fancied that this young enthusiast would work terrible havoc if he were only exasperated to the proper pitch.  This calculation was not altogether devoid of shrewdness.

Such being Antoine’s scheme, he tried to induce Silvere to visit him, by professing inordinate admiration for the young man’s ideas.  But he very nearly compromised the whole matter at the outset.  He had a way of regarding the triumph of the Republic as a question of personal interest, as an era of happy idleness and endless junketing, which chilled his nephew’s purely moral aspirations.  However, he perceived that he was on the wrong track, and plunged into strange bathos, a string of empty but high-sounding words, which Silvere accepted as a satisfactory proof of his civism.  Before long the uncle and the nephew saw each other two or three times a week.  During their long discussions, in which the fate of the country was flatly settled, Antoine endeavoured to persuade the young man that the Rougons’ drawing-room was the chief obstacle to the welfare of France.  But he again made a false move by calling his mother “old jade” in Silvere’s presence.  He even repeated to him the early scandals about the poor woman.  The young man blushed for shame, but listened without interruption.  He had not asked his uncle for this information; he felt heart-broken by such confidences, which wounded his feeling of respectful affection for aunt Dide.  From that time forward he lavished yet more attention upon his grandmother, greeting her always with pleasant smiles and looks of forgiveness.  However, Macquart felt that he had acted foolishly, and strove to take advantage of Silvere’s affection for Adelaide by charging the Rougons with her forlornness and poverty.  According to him, he had always been the best of sons, whereas his brother had behaved disgracefully; Pierre had robbed his mother, and now, when she was penniless, he was ashamed of her.  He never ceased descanting on this subject.  Silvere thereupon became indignant with his uncle Pierre, much to the satisfaction of his uncle Antoine.

The scene was much the same every time the young man called.  He used to come in the evening, while the Macquarts were at dinner.  The father would be swallowing some potato stew with a growl, picking out the pieces of bacon, and watching the dish when it passed into the hands of Jean and Gervaise.