Before raising the lid Lantier took his glass and clinked it with the others.
“Good health.”
“Same to you,” replied Boche and Poisson.
The laundress filled the glasses again.
The three men wiped their lips on the backs of their hands.
And at last the hatter opened the box.
It was full of a jumble of newspapers, books, old clothes and underlinen, in bundles.
He took out successively a saucepan, a pair of boots, a bust of Ledru-Rollin with the nose broken, an embroidered shirt and a pair of working trousers.
Gervaise could smell the odor of tobacco and that of a man whose linen wasn’t too clean, one who took care only of the outside, of what people could see.
The old hat was no longer in the left corner.
There was a pincushion she did not recognize, doubtless a present from some woman.
She became calmer, but felt a vague sadness as she continued to watch the objects that appeared, wondering if they were from her time or from the time of others.
“I say, Badingue, do you know this?” resumed Lantier.
He thrust under his nose a little book printed at Brussels. “The Amours of Napoleon III.” Illustrated with engravings.
It related, among other anecdotes, how the Emperor had seduced a girl of thirteen, the daughter of a cook; and the picture represented Napoleon III., bare-legged, and also wearing the grand ribbon of the Legion of Honor, pursuing a little girl who was trying to escape his lust.
“Ah! that’s it exactly!” exclaimed Boche, whose slyly ridiculous instincts felt flattered by the sight.
“It always happens like that!”
Poisson was seized with consternation, and he could not find a word to say in the Emperor’s defense.
It was in a book, so he could not deny it.
Then, Lantier, continuing to push the picture under his nose in a jeering way, he extended his arms and exclaimed:
“Well, so what?”
Lantier didn’t reply, He busied himself arranging his books and newspapers on a shelf in the wardrobe.
He seemed upset not to have a small bookshelf over his table, so Gervaise promised to get him one.
He had “The History of Ten Years” by Louis Blanc (except for the first volume), Lamartine’s
“The Girondins” in installments,
“The Mysteries of Paris” and
“The Wandering Jew” by Eugene Sue, and a quantity of booklets on philosophic and humanitarian subjects picked up from used book dealers.
His newspapers were his prized possessions, a collection made over a number of years.
Whenever he read an article in a cafe that seemed to him to agree with his own ideas, he would buy that newspaper and keep it.
He had an enormous bundle of them, papers of every date and every title, piled up in no discernable order.
He patted them and said to the other two:
“You see that?
No one else can boast of having anything to match it. You can’t imagine all that’s in there.
I mean, if they put into practice only half the ideas, it would clean up the social order overnight.
That would be good medicine for your Emperor and all his stool pigeons.”
The policeman’s red mustache and beard began to bristle on his pale face and he interrupted:
“And the army, tell me, what are you going to do about that?”
Lantier flew into a passion. He banged his fists down on the newspapers as he yelled:
“I require the suppression of militarism, the fraternity of peoples.
I require the abolition of privileges, of titles, and of monopolies.
I require the equality of salaries, the division of benefits, the glorification of the protectorate.
All liberties, do you hear?
All of them!
And divorce!”
“Yes, yes, divorce for morality!” insisted Boche.
Poisson had assumed a majestic air.
“Yet if I won’t have your liberties, I’m free to refuse them,” he answered.
Lantier was choking with passion. “If you don’t want them — if you don’t want them — “ he replied.
“No, you’re not free at all! If you don’t want them, I’ll send you off to Devil’s Island. Yes, Devil’s Island with your Emperor and all the rats of his crew.”
They always quarreled thus every time they met.