Each one entered his particular room, pressed the hands of his colleagues who had already arrived, threw off his coat, put on his office jacket, and seated himself before the table, where a pile of papers awaited him. Then they went for news into the neighbouring offices. They asked whether their chief had arrived, if he was in an agreeable humour, and if the day's mail was a heavy one.
The clerk in charge of "general matter," M. César Cachelin, an old non-commissioned officer of the marine infantry9, who had become chief-clerk by priority of office, registered in a big book all the documents as they were brought in by the messenger. Opposite him the copying-clerk, old father Savon, a stupid old fellow, celebrated10 throughout the whole ministry for his conjugal11 misfortunes, copied in a slow hand a dispatch from the chief, sitting with his body held sidewise and his eyes askew12, in the stiff attitude of the careful copyist.
M. Cachelin, a big man, whose short, white hair stood up like a brush on his head, talked all the time while performing his daily work: "Thirty-two dispatches from Toulon. That port gives us as much as any four others put together."
Then he asked the old man Savon the question he put to him every morning:
"Well, father Savon, how is Madame?"
The old man, without stopping his work, replied: "You know very well. Monsieur Cachelin, that subject is a most painful one to me."
Then the chief clerk laughed as he laughed every day at hearing the same phrase.
The door opened and M. Maze13 entered. He was a handsome, dark young fellow dressed with an exaggerated elegance14, who thought his position beneath his dignity, and his person and manners above his position. He wore large rings, a heavy gold watch chain, a monocle (which he discarded while at work), and he made a frequent movement of his wrists in order to bring into view his cuffs15 ornamented16 with great shining buttons.
At the door he asked: "Much work to-day?" M. Cachelin replied: "It is always Toulon which keeps sending in. One can easily see that the first of the year is at hand, from the way they are hustling17 down there."
But another employee, a great joker, always in high spirits, appeared in his turn and said laughing:
"We are not hustling at all, are we?" Then taking out his watch he added: "Seven minutes to ten and every man at his post! By George, what do you think of that? and I'll wager18 anything that his Dignity M. Lesable arrived at nine o'clock—at the same hour as our illustrious chief."
The chief-clerk ceased writing, put his pen behind his ear, and leaning his elbow on the desk said: "Oh! there is a man for you! If he does not succeed, it will not be for want of trying."
M. Pitolet, seating himself on the corner of the table and swinging his leg, replied:
"But he will succeed, papa Cachelin; he will succeed, you may be sure. I will bet you twenty francs to a sou that he will be chief within ten years."
"Pshaw! for my part I would rather remain all my life on a salary of twenty-four hundred francs than wear myself to a skeleton the way he is doing."
Pitolet turned on his heels and said in a bantering20 tone: "But that does not prevent you, my dear fellow, from being here on this twentieth of December before ten o'clock."
The other shrugged21 his shoulders with an air of indifference22. "Hang it all! I do not want everybody to walk over my head, either! Since you come here to see the sun rise, I am going to do it, too, however much I may deplore23 your officiousness. From doing that to calling the chief 'dear master,' as Lesable does, and staying until half past six and then carrying work home with you is a long way. Besides, I am in society and I have other demands upon my time."
M. Cachelin had ceased his registering and begun to dream, his eyes fixed24 on vacancy25. At last he asked: "Do you believe that he will get an increase again this year?"
Pitolet cried: "I will bet you ten to one he gets it. He is not wearing himself out for nothing."
And so they talked of the eternal question of promotion5 which for a month had excited the whole hive of clerks from the ground floor to the roof.
They calculated chances, computed26 figures, compared their various claims to promotion, and waxed indignant over former injustices27. These discussions lasted from morning until evening, and the next day were begun all over again, with the same reasons, the same arguments, the same words.
A new clerk entered, a little, pale, sick-looking man, M. Boissel, who lived as in a romance of Alexandre Dumas, père. Everything with him was an extraordinary adventure, and he recounted every morning to his friend Pitolet his strange encounters of the previous evening, imaginary scenes enacted28 in his house, strange cries uttered in the street which caused him to open his window at half past three in the morning. Every day he had separated combatants, stopped runaway29 horses, rescued women from danger; and although of a deplorably weak constitution he talked unceasingly, in a slow and satisfied tone, of exploits accomplished31 by his strong arm.
As soon as he understood that they were talking of Lesable he declared: "Some day I will give that little pup his deserts; and if he ever walks over my head. I'll give him something that will prevent him from trying again."
Maze, continuing to smoke, sneered32: "You would do well, then, to begin at once, for I hear on good authority that you are to be set aside this year for Lesable."
Boissel raised his hand. "I swear that if—" The door opened once more, and a dapper little man wearing the side-whiskers of an officer of marine or lawyer, and a high, stiff collar, who spoke33 his words rapidly as though he could not take the time to finish what he had to say, entered quickly with a preoccupied34 manner. He shook hands all around with the air of a man who had no leisure for dallying35, and approaching the chief-clerk said: "My dear Cachelin, will you give me the Chapelou papers, rope yarn36, Toulon A. T. V., 1875?"
The clerk rose, reached for a portfolio37 above his head, took out a package of sealed documents wrapped in blue linen38, and presenting them said: "There, M. Lesable; you remember the chief took three dispatches from their package yesterday."
"Yes, I have them. Thanks," and the young man went out hurriedly.
Hardly had he gone when Maze ejaculated:
"Well! what an air! One would swear he was already chief."
And Pitolet replied: "Patience, patience; he will be before any of us."
M. Cachelin had not resumed his writing. A fixed thought seemed to have taken possession of him. At last he said: "He has a fine future, that boy!"
But Maze murmured in a disdainful tone: "For those who think the ministry is a career—yes. For the others it is a little—"
Pitolet interrupted him: "Perhaps you intend to become ambassador?"
The other made an impatient gesture. "It is not a question of me. I can take care of myself. That has nothing to do with the fact that the position of the head of a department will never be anything very much."
Father Savon, the copyist, had never ceased his work. But for some little time he had been dipping his pen in the inkstand, then wiping it vigorously on the sponge which stood in a little glass of water on his desk, without being able to trace a letter. The black liquid slipped along the point of the metal and fell in round spots on the paper. The good man, driven to despair as sheet after sheet of paper was thus spoiled, said in a deep and sorrowful voice:
"Here is more adulterated ink!"
A shout of laughter came from every mouth. Cachelin shook the table with his stomach. Maze bent39 double, as though he were going up the chimney backward. Pitolet stamped and roared and waved his hands in the air, and even Boissel was almost suffocated40, although he generally looked at these things on the tragic41 rather than the comic side.
But father Savon, wiping his pen on the tail of his overcoat, said: "There is nothing to laugh at. I have to go over my whole work two or three times."
He took from his box another sheet of paper, laid his wax sheet over it, and commenced again at the beginning: "Monsieur le Ministre and dear Colleague—" The pen now held the ink and traced the letters neatly42. The old man settled down into his oblique43 posture44 and continued his copy.
The others had not stopped laughing. They were fairly choking. For six months they had played the same game on the poor old fellow, who had never detected it. It consisted in pouring several drops of oil on the damp sponge used for wiping pens. The metal, thus becoming coated with liquid grease, would not take the ink, and the perplexed45 copying-clerk would pass hours in using boxes of pens and bottles of ink, and finally declare that the supplies of the department were becoming perfectly46 worthless.
Then the jokers would torment47 the old man in other ways. They put gunpowder48 in his tobacco, pour drugs into his drinking water, and made him believe that, since the Commune, the majority of articles for general use had been adulterated by the socialists49, to put the government in the wrong and bring about a revolution. He had conceived a terrible hatred50 against the anarchists51, whom he believed to be concealed52 everywhere, and had a mysterious fear of an unknown woman—veiled and formidable.
A sharp ring of the bell sounded in the corridor. They well knew the emphatic53 ring of their chief, M. Torchebeuf, and each one sprang toward the door that he might regain54 his own compartment55.
Cachelin returned to his work. Then he laid down his pen again, and took his head in his hands and began to think.
He turned over in his mind an idea which had tormented56 him for some time. An old non-commissioned officer of the marine infantry, retired57 after receiving three wounds, one at Senegal and two at Cochin China, who had been given a position in the ministry as an exceptional favour, he had had to endure many miseries58, many hardships, and many griefs in his long career as an insignificant59 subordinate. He considered authority, official authority, as the finest thing in the world. The head of a Department seemed to him an exceptional being, living in a higher sphere; and the employee of whom he heard it said: "He is a sharp one; he will get there yet," appeared to him of another race, another nature, than himself.
He had therefore for his colleague Lesable a high respect which approached veneration60, and he cherished the secret desire, which was never absent from his mind, to have him marry his daughter.
She would be rich one day, very rich. This was known throughout the entire ministry, for his sister. Mlle Cachelin, possessed61 a million, a clear, cool million, acquired through love, they said, but purified by belated piety62.
This ancient spinster, who had led a gay life in her youth, had retired with five hundred thousand francs, which she had more than doubled in eighteen years, thanks to her ferocious63 economy and more than frugal64 habits. She had lived for a long time with her brother, who was a widower65 with one daughter, Coralie; but she did not contribute in the slightest degree to the expenses of the house, guarding and accumulating her gold, and always repeating to Cachelin: "It makes no difference, since it is all for your daughter; but marry her quickly, for I want to see my little nephews around me. It is she who will give me the joy of embracing a child of our blood."
This was well understood at the office, and suitors were not lacking for Coralie's hand. It was said that Maze himself, the handsome Maze, the lion of the bureau, hovered66 around father Cachelin with a palpable intent. But the former sergeant67, who had roamed through all latitudes68, wanted a young man with a future, a young man who would be chief, and who would be able to make some return to him, the old clerk. Lesable suited him to a nicety, and he cast about in his mind for a means of attaching him to himself.
All of a sudden he sat upright, striking his hands together. He had found it. He well understood the weakness of each one of his colleagues. Lesable could be approached only through his vanity, his professional vanity. He would go to him and demand his protection as one goes to a senator or a deputy—as one goes to a high personage.
Not having had any promotion for five years, Cachelin considered himself as certain to obtain one this year. He would make it appear then that he owed it to Lesable, and would invite him to dinner as a means of thanking him.
As soon as his project was conceived he began to put it into execution. He took off his office jacket, put on his coat, and, gathering69 up all the registered papers which concerned the services of his colleague, he betook himself to the office which Lesable occupied all alone, by special favour, because of his zeal and the importance of his functions.
The young man was writing at a great table, covered with bundles of documents and loose papers numbered with red or blue figures.
As soon as he saw the chief-clerk enter, he said in a familiar tone, which also betokened70 consideration: "Well, my dear fellow, do you bring me a lot of business?"
"Yes, a good deal. And then I want to speak to you."
"Sit down, my friend; I am listening."
Cachelin seated himself, coughed, put on a troubled look, and finally said in a despondent71 tone:
"This is what brings me here, Monsieur Lesable. I will not beat about the bush. I will be frank like an old soldier. I have come to demand a service of you."
"What is it?"
"In few words, I wish very much to be promoted this year. I have nobody to help me, and I have thought of you."
Lesable reddened somewhat. He was surprised, flattered, and filled with a pleased confusion. However, he replied:
"But I am nobody here, my friend. I am much less than you, who are going to be principal clerk. I can do nothing. Believe me that if—"
Cachelin cut him short with respectful brusqueness: "Oh, nonsense. You have the ear of the chief, and if you speak a word for me I shall get it. Remember that in eighteen months I shall have the right to retire, and I shall be just five hundred francs to the bad if I obtain nothing on the first of January. I know very well that they say: 'Cachelin is all right; his sister has a million.' It is true enough that my sister has a million, but she doesn't give any of it away. It is also true that her fortune is for my daughter, but my daughter and I are two different persons. I shall be in a nice fix if, when my daughter and my son-in-law are rolling in their carriage, I have nothing to eat. You see my position, do you not?"
Lesable agreed. "It is true—what you say is very true. Your son-in-law may not be well disposed toward you. Besides, one is always more at ease when owing nothing to anybody. Well, I promise you I shall do my best; I shall speak to the chief, place the case before him, and shall insist if it be necessary. Count on me!"
Cachelin rose, took the hands of his colleague, and pressing them hard while he shook them in military fashion, stammered72: "Thank you, thank you; believe me, if ever I have the opportunity—if I can ever—" He stopped, not being able to finish what he had begun, and went away making the corridor resound73 with the rhythmical74 tread of an old trooper.
But he heard from afar the sharp ring of a bell and he began to run. He knew that ring. It was the chief, M. Torchebeuf, who wanted him.
Eight days later Cachelin found one morning on his desk a sealed letter, which contained the following:
"My dear Colleague: I am happy to announce to you that the minister, at the instance of our director and our chief, yesterday signed your nomination75 to the position of principal clerk. You will receive tomorrow your official notification. Until then you know nothing, you understand?
Yours ever,
LESABLE."
César ran at once to the office of his young colleague, thanked him, excused himself, offered his everlasting76 devotion, overwhelmed him with his gratitude77.
It was known on the morrow that MM. Lesable and Cachelin had each been promoted. The other employees must wait another year, receiving by way of compensation a gratuity78 which varied79 from one hundred and fifty to three hundred francs.
M. Boissel declared that he would lie in wait for Lesable at the corner of the street at midnight some night and give him a drubbing which would leave its mark. The other clerks kept silent.
The following Monday, on his arrival, Cachelin went to the office of his protector, entered with solemnity, and in a ceremonious tone said: "I hope that you will do me the honour to dine with us during the New Year holidays. You may choose the day yourself."
The young man, somewhat surprised, raised his head and looked his colleague full in the face. Then he replied without removing his eyes, that he might read the thoughts of the other: "But, my dear fellow you see—all my evenings are promised here for some time to come."
Cachelin insisted in a good-humoured tone: "Oh, but, I say, you will not disappoint us by refusing, after the service that you have rendered me. I beg you in the name of my family and in mine."
Lesable hesitated, perplexed. He had understood well enough, but he did not know what to reply, not having had time to reflect and to weigh the pros80 and the cons30. At last he thought: "I commit myself to nothing by going to dinner," and he accepted with a satisfied air, choosing the Saturday following. He added, smiling: "So that I shall not have to get up too soon the next morning."
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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promotions
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| 促进( promotion的名词复数 )； 提升； 推广； 宣传 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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wager
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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vacancy
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computed
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| adj.[医]计算的，使用计算机的v.计算，估算( compute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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enacted
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runaway
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cons
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accomplished
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sneered
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spoke
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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48
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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54
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resound
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| v.回响 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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gratuity
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| n.赏钱，小费 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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