Complete Works of Emile Zola (50 page)

When he entered the banking-house, he was seized with a pang of anguish. He saw the terrible reality. The offices were empty; and these spacious rooms, deserted and calm, with their closed wirework cages, appeared to him funeral-like.

It is difficult to conceive what mournful desolation a fortune that is breaking up leaves behind it. From the counting-house, ledgers, papers, escaped a vague odour of ruin. Seals were to be seen everywhere with their white bands and large blotches of red wax.

Marius crossed three rooms without meeting anyone. He at length discovered a clerk who had come to remove a few objects belonging to him from a desk, and who answered him sharply that M. Bérard was in his office.

The young man entered all of a tremble, forgetting to close the door. He perceived the banker quietly at work, writing letters, setting papers in order and balancing accounts. He was young, tall, had a handsome and intelligent face, was dressed with great care, wore rings on his fingers, and presented the appearance of a gallant and wealthy man. One would have said he had just had a brush-up to receive his customers and explain his disaster to them himself.

Moreover his attitude appeared courageous. This man was either a victim of circumstances, full of resignation, or else an arrant rascal brazening out his infamy.

On seeing Marius enter, he looked him in the face, and his countenance wore an expression of sad straightforwardness.

“I was awaiting you, dear sir,” he said, in an unsteady voice. “You see I am waiting for all those whose ruin I have brought about. I shall have courage to the end, I want each of them to assure himself that I have no cause to be ashamed.”

He took up a register from his writing-table and opened it with some affectation.

“Here are my accounts,” he continued. “My liabilities are a million, my assets one million five hundred thousand francs. The Court will adjudicate and I believe my creditors will lose nothing. I am the first to suffer, I have lost my fortune and credit, I have allowed insolvent debtors to rob me in a most bare-faced way.”

Marius had not yet uttered a word. In face of Bérard’s broken-down serenity, in presence of this display of austere grief he could not find a single reproach, not one word of indignation. He almost pitied this man who was heading the storm.

“Sir,” he said to him at last, “why did you not warn me when you saw your affairs getting into a mess and turning to the bad? My mother was a friend of your mother’s. In remembrance of our former intimacy, you should have made me withdraw this money, which you were about to compromise, from your control. Your present ruin strips me of everything, and plunges me in despair.”

Bérard ran forward and grasped Marius’ hands.

“Do not say that!” he exclaimed, in a voice broken by tears, “do not overwhelm me. Ah! you have no idea of the regret that is tormenting me. When I saw the abyss I sought to catch hold of the branches; I struggled till the last moment, hoping to be able to save the amounts deposited in my hands. You cannot imagine what terrible risks are run by those who deal in money.”

Marius had nothing to answer. What could he say to a man who found his excuse in self-accusation? He had no proofs, he did not dare call Bérard a scamp, it only remained to him to withdraw. The banker spoke in such an aggrieved tone of voice, in such a convinced and straightforward manner that he hastened to go away and leave him to himself. He felt oppressed at his misfortune.

As he was crossing the empty offices again, the clerk who had at last gathered his things together, took his bundle and hat and followed him. This clerk was muttering between his teeth. At each step he looked in a strange way at Marius and shrugged his shoulders. Below, on the pavement, he suddenly approached him.

“Well!” said he, “what think you of M. Bérard? He’s a splendid actor, isn’t he? The door of his office was open and it made me laugh to see his distressed manner. He almost wept, the honest fellow! Permit me to tell you that you have just allowed yourself to be duped in the most beautiful way.”

“I don’t understand you,” answered Marius.

“So much the better. That is because you are an honest man. For my part, I have just left this shop with profound satisfaction. I long since expected a stroke of business like this: I foresaw the issue of this high comedy of theft. I possess a peculiar knack for ferreting out jobbery in a firm.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Oh! the story is simple. I’ll relate it to you in a few words. Ten years ago Bérard started a banking business. At the present day I have no doubt that he prepared his bankruptcy from the first moment. This was his reasoning: ‘I wish to be rich because I have many desires, and to be so as rapidly as possible, because I am in a hurry to satisfy them. But the straight road is rough and long, I prefer to follow the paths of cheating and get my million together in ten years. I will make myself a banker, I shall have a counting-house where I will take the people’s money as a bird-catcher snares the feathered songsters. Each year I will pilfer a round sum. That will last as long as is necessary, I will stop when my pockets are full. Then I shall quietly suspend payment; on two millions that will have been entrusted to me, I will generously return two or three hundred thousand francs to my creditors. The remainder, hidden away in a little corner I know of, will assist me to live as I desire, as an idler and a voluptuary.’ Do you understand, dear sir?”

Marius had listened to the clerk with stupefaction.

“But,” he exclaimed at last, “what you are telling me is impossible. Bérard has just confided to me that his liabilities amount to a million, and his assets to a million and a half. We shall all be paid in full.”

The clerk held his sides with laughter.

“Ah! Goodness, gracious! How simple you are!” he continued. “Do you really believe in these assets of a million and a half? First of all, they will deduct Madame Bérard’s marriage-portion from the amount. Now, Madame Bérard brought her husband fifty thousand francs, which he, in the marriage contract, transformed into the handsome sum of five hundred thousand francs. That, as you see, was a little robbery of four hundred and fifty thousand francs. There remains a million, and that million is almost entirely represented by suspicious book debts. Oh! the proceeding is simple enough. There are persons at Marseille who sell their signatures for a hundred sou piece; and they live very well at this easy and lucrative business. Bérard had got men of straw to sign him numbers of acceptances, and he pocketed the money which he now pretends he lent to insolvent debtors. If they give you ten per cent, on your claim, you may esteem yourself lucky; and you will only receive that in eighteen months or two years when the assignees of the bankruptcy have concluded their work.” Marius was completely upset. Thus the fifty thousand francs left him by his mother would be useless to him. He wanted money at once and they talked to him of waiting two years. And his ruin and despair were the work of a scoundrel who had just been laughing at him! He flew into a passion.

“This Bérard is a rascal,” he burst out. “He will be vigorously hunted down. Society must be freed of these crafty men who enrich themselves by the ruin of others. The galleys await them.”

The clerk again burst out laughing.

“Bérard,” he continued, “will perhaps get a fortnight’s imprisonment That is all. You don’t seem to understand again? Listen to me.”

The two young men had been standing on the pavement, elbowed by the passers-by. They returned into the hall of the banker’s house.

“You say the galleys await Bérard,” continued the clerk. “The galleys only await clumsy folk. During the ten years that our customer has been hatching and nursing his bankruptcy he has taken his precautions; infamy, such as this, is quite a work of art. His accounts are in order, and he has the law on his side. He knew beforehand how slight was the risk he ran. The most the court can do will be to reproach him with heavy personal expenses; they will tax him, besides, with having put a large number of bills of exchange in circulation, which is a ruinous way of procuring money. The penalties for such mistakes are ridiculous. Bérard, as I told you, will get a fortnight, or a month’s imprisonment at the most.”

“But,” exclaimed Marius, “cannot one go and proclaim this man’s crime on the public square, prove it, and have him sentenced?”

“No, indeed! one cannot do that. Proofs are wanting, I tell you. Besides Bérard has not lost his time, he has foreseen everything, he has made powerful friends at Marseille, imagining he would some day have need of their influence. He is now a sort of inviolable personage in this city of coteries: if they touched a single hair of his head all his friends would yell with grief and rage. The most they could do would be to imprison him for form’s sake. When he leaves gaol he will find his little million again, he will make a show of luxury and will easily conquer fresh esteem. You will then meet him driving out in his carriage, extended on his cushions, and the wheels of his vehicle will splash you with mud; you will find him indifferent and idle, with a large establishment, enjoying all the luxuries of life. And to worthily crown this success in the art of robbery, they will bow to him, like him, and open him a new credit of honour and consideration.”

Marius preserved ferocious silence. The clerk made him a slight bow, and was about to leave him.

“It is thus the farce is played,” he added. “I had all that on my heart, and am glad to have met you to ease myself. Now, a piece of advice: keep what I have told you to yourself, say good-bye to your money, and do not bother any more about the sorry business. Reflect and you will see I am right. Good-day.”

Marius remained alone. He had a tremendous desire to rush upstairs to Bérard and slap him in the face. All his instincts of probity and justice had risen up within him, urging him to drag the banker out into the street and proclaim his crime. Then his passion gave way to disgust, he remembered his poor mother shamelessly deceived by this man, and from that moment he felt nothing but crushing contempt for him. He followed the clerk’s advice and left the house, endeavouring to forget that he had had money and that a rascal had robbed him of it.

What the clerk had told him was confirmed in every point. Bérard was sentenced to a month’s imprisonment for simple bankruptcy.

A year afterwards, with florid complexion and easy, insolent bearing, he sauntered about Marseille displaying the jovial humour of a wealthy man. He rang his purse in the clubs, restaurants and theatres, everywhere in fact where pleasure could be purchased, and on his road he invariably met with complaisant persons, or dupes who bowed to him lowly.

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT IT IS POSSIBLE TO SPEND THIRTY THOUSAND FRANCS A YEAR WHEN ONLY EARNING EIGHTEEN HUNDRED

MARIUS went mechanically down to the port. He walked straight on without noticing whither he was going. He was, so to say, in a state of stupefaction. One sole thought occupied his otherwise empty brain, and kept repeating in a sing-song way that he needed fifteen thousand francs without a moment’s loss of time. He cast about him the vague glance of persons in despair, as though he were looking on the ground to see if he could not find the money he required in the interstices of the paving-stones. Down at the port he felt a longing to be rich. The merchandise piled up along the quays, the ships bringing fortunes in their holds, the noise, the motion of that money-making crowd, irritated him. Never before had he felt his poverty so strongly. For a moment he was filled with envy, revolt, and bitter jealousy. He asked himself why he was poor whilst others were rich.

And still that ever-recurring thought kept ringing in his head, fit to break it. Fifteen thousand francs! fifteen thousand francs! His brother was awaiting him, and he could not go back empty-handed. He had only a few hours in which to save him from infamy. But he could form no plan, his bewildered senses did not furnish him with a single practical idea. He turned about in his powerlessness, exerted every effort of his mind in vain, he struggled, almost choking with rage and anguish. He could never ask his employer, M. Martelly, to lend him fifteen thousand francs. His earnings were too small to warrant such a loan. Moreover, he knew the ship-owner’s upright principles, and dreaded his reproaches if he admitted to him that he wished to purchase another’s conscience. M. Martelly would at once have refused the money.

Marius suddenly had an idea. He would not stay to discuss it in his mind, but hurried off to his lodging in the Rue Sainte. On the same floor as himself there resided a young clerk, named Charles Blétry, who was employed as collector at the soap-works of Messrs. Date and Deans. A kind of intimacy had sprung up between these two young fellows living side by side. Marius had been won over by Charles’s gentleness; for the latter went regularly to church, led an exemplary life, and appeared to be of the strictest honesty. Yet during the past two years he had been spending money pretty freely. He had refurnished his lodging in a luxurious style, buying carpets, hangings, mirrors, and rich furniture. Besides this, he came home later, lived more expensively; but still remained gentle and honest, quiet and pious.

At first, his neighbour’s outlay rather astonished Marius, who could not understand how a clerk earning eighteen hundred francs a year could afford to purchase such expensive things. But Charles told him that he had inherited some money, and that he intended shortly to resign his position and live on his means. He even placed himself and his purse at his disposal; but Marius declined. Today, he recalled this offer, and was about to knock at the young man’s door and ask him for the means to save his brother. A loan of fifteen thousand francs would not perhaps inconvenience him, seeing how lavishly he was spending his money. He proposed to himself to repay the amount in instalments, persuaded that his neighbour would grant him all the time necessary.

The clerk, however, was not at home in the Rue Sainte, and as Marius was pressed for time he went off to Messrs. Date and Deans’ soap-works, situated on the Boulevard des Dames. When he arrived there and asked for Charles Blétry, it seemed to him that he was eyed in a strange manner. The workmen told him to address himself to M. Date, who was in his office. Surprised at this reception, Marius decided to do so, and found the manufacturer engaged in conversation with three gentlemen, who stopped talking directly he showed himself.