Paris: The Novel

his father’s who was about to arrive in Paris. And Roland was still no wiser about where they were going.
    So he told his father about the old soldier he had met at Napoléon’s tomb. On the one hand, he had admired the man’s simple dignity. Yet he had dedicated his life to serving an evil master. What did his father think?
    The vicomte considered.
    “A soldier’s duty is simple,” he replied. “It is to obey orders and to serve his country. And that is what the old man did. As for Napoléon, I dare say his soldiers thought they fought for liberty and for France.”
    Roland was not very satisfied with this answer.
    “But people like us cannot be friends with the followers of the emperor, can we? The priests at the lycée say that Napoléon was a monster, and he didn’t really support the Church at all.”
    His father sighed.
    “We may have different views, but we don’t have to be enemies, you know. In any case, it’s not always so simple.” He paused. “Do you follow politics at all, my son?”
    “A little.”
    “What would you say of the present government of the Republic?”
    “It’s not very strong. It’s not popular.”
    “Correct. After the disaster of the Commune, most of the elected deputies, certainly most of rural France, wanted the monarchy restored. They wanted stability, really. And peace. They thought a constitutional monarch,something like the British monarchy, would provide it. And there would have been a restoration, I’ve little doubt, if the then head of the royal family hadn’t insisted that any monarch must have sweeping powers.” The vicomte shook his head. “Obstinate to the last. So a temporary constitution was made, with a president and legislature. And as time has passed without war or catastrophe, the monarchist cause has grown less popular.
    “But I can’t say the government has been impressive. And the present crowd are both mediocre and corrupt. There are many people who would still like a monarchy or a dictatorship. Whether that would be any better is open to doubt, perhaps, but that is what they want. And at present those parties have a hero. Who is it?”
    “General Boulanger, I suppose.”
    “Indeed. He was minister of war until recently. He was able to embarrass the Germans a couple of times. He was fired the other day, but he has a big political following. If there’s ever a crisis in the Republic, which is possible, he might be the man to rule France. What do they say in the lycée?”
    “That he is a bad man. He does not believe in God.”
    “Well, he may, or he may not. But because he said he didn’t believe in God, the Republican politicians of France thought he couldn’t be a monarchist, and so they trusted him, and made him a minister. Now they have discovered not only that he has a big public following, but he has the backing of both the monarchists, including important members of the royal family, and of the Bonapartists, including members of the emperor’s family. So the Catholic monarchists and the followers of Napoléon are all on the same side supporting a man who may or may not believe in God. What do you make of that?”
    “I don’t know.”
    His father smiled.
    “Well, nor do I, my boy. I wonder what Father Xavier thinks. We must ask him.” And this thought seemed to amuse the vicomte even more, for he burst out laughing.
    Roland wished his father wouldn’t mix things up in this way. He tried to get back to something with a simpler answer.
    “The old man said we should avenge the dishonor of 1870,” he said. “Do you agree with that?”
    “The War of 1870 was an act of stupidity,” his father answered. “It was we who started it. Napoléon III was a fool, and the Germans took advantage of it.”
    “But shouldn’t we avenge our dishonor?”
    “Who knows? Probably not.”
    Roland gave up. He would never get a simple answer out of his father. At least, not in his present mood. They had passed the Louvre now, and were approaching the old Châtelet. Yet there was something he still wanted to know. Something he’d often wondered, but never asked before.
    “Papa,” he said, “can I ask you a question?”
    “Certainly.”
    “Why did you leave the army?”
    And this time, he could see, his father was not so comfortable answering.
    “I’d served for years. And someone had to look after the estate. It needed my care.” He was silent again for a little while. “The War of 1870 was terrible, you know.”
    “You mean,