EVERY one knows the theories of Science on which that marvelous electric spark, which travels the metal threads, with which the earth is covered, from one pole to the other with the rapidity of lightning. Telegraphic communication, say the Savants, is nothing more nor less than a thunder-bolt. On that day Baron Massy coincided in opinion with the Savants. The imperial telegram, bursting upon him all at once, struck him suddenly dumb, and bewildered him as completely as the sudden fall of a thunder-bolt on his house would have done. He could not believe in its reality. The more he thought of it the less possible did it appear to him to retrace his steps, condemn his previous measures, and retreat from his present position before the public gaze. He must, however, either swallow the bitter draught, or send in his resignation and bid a sad adieu to the sweets of office. Fatal alternative. The hearts of functionaries are sometimes a prey to bitter anguish.
When we are overtaken by a sudden catastrophe, we experience some difficulty in accepting it as final, and we struggle against it even when all is lost. Baron Massy did not escape an illusion of this nature. He had some vague hope that the Emperor would think better of his decision. Under this idea, he took upon himself the responsibility of keeping the despatch secret for some days and of not obeying its injunctions. He wrote to the Emperor, and in addition to this employed M. Rouland, the Minister―who was less publicly but as completely crushed as himself by the unexpected order from Biarritz―to influence the Sovereign.
Napoleon III paid as little attention to the objections of the Minister as he had done to the entreaties and supplications of the Prefect. The judgment he had pronounced was based on the evidence which had been laid before him, and was―irrevocable. The steps which had been taken only served to apprise his Majesty, that the Prefect had dared to neglect his orders and defer their execution. A second despatch was sent from Biarritz. It was so worded as to render further observations or delay out of the question.
Baron Massy had only to choose between his pride and his position as Prefect. He made this melancholy choice, and his humility induced him to retain office.
The Head of the Department therefore resigned himself to the virtue of obedience. However, notwithstanding the imperious dispatches of his Master, he still endeavored, not to protract the struggle―for that was no longer possible―but to mask his retreat and to avoid the public surrender of his arms.
Owing to some little indiscretions in the Bureau, perhaps also from something which dropped from those who had gone as ambassadors to the Emperor, the purport of the orders from Biarritz had transpired to a certain extent. They formed the topic of conversation everywhere. These rumors were neither confirmed nor contradicted by the Prefect. He ordered Jacomet and his subordinates to suspend all prosecutions and to discontinue all surveillance. Such moderation following immediately on the reports in circulation with regard to the Emperor’s instructions, would, in his opinion, be sufficient to cause things to go on in their usual course, and the Decree might fall into disuse without the necessity of its being publicly withdrawn. It was even probable that the people of the district, on recovering their full liberty of action, would hasten to tear up and throw into the Gave the posts bearing the notices forbidding any trespass on the lands of the commune, as well as the barriers which prevented all access to the Grotto.
M. Massy was deceived in his calculations, plausible as they were. In spite of the forbearance of the Police, and the reports in circulation which had not been officially contradicted―perhaps for these very reasons―the people feared some snare. They continued to go and pray on the opposite bank of the Gave. The infractions of the law were, as formerly, only isolated instances. No one touched the posts or the barriers. Instead of falling of its own accord, as the Prefect had fondly hoped, the status quo maintained itself obstinately unchanged.
The character of Napoleon III and the precise nature of the orders transmitted from Biarritz duly considered, a situation of this nature was perilous for the Prefect. Baron Massy was too intelligent not to appreciate this. Every moment he had cause to fear that the Emperor might be made aware of the present state of affairs. Every hour, doubtless, he dreaded to receive some terrible missive, which would crush him for ever and banish him into nothingness, that is to say, out of the luminous sphere of government, into that external darkness, where the unfortunate non-official world wears out its fretful existence.
The end of September had arrived.
It happened that, during these perplexities, M. Fould had occasion once more to visit Tarbes, and even to take in Lourdes on his way. Did he increase the Prefect’s terror when speaking to him of his Master? Did the Baron receive some new telegram couched in still more alarming language than the other two? We cannot tell. One thing is certain, that on the third of October, owing to some cause unknown, M. Massy became as supple as a reed trampled under the foot of a passer-by and his arrogant stiffness seemed to give way to a sudden and complete prostration.
The next day, in the name of the Emperor, he issued an order to the Mayor of Lourdes to rescind the Decree publicly, and to have the posts and barriers removed by Jacomet.
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