Complete Works of Emile Zola (52 page)

“So everything is agreed and arranged?” resumed Philippe. “I may go off without fear or regret? You have paid the promised amount? You don’t answer me, Marius.”

Fine hastened to intervene.

“Haven’t I told you to make haste?” she cried. “What are you troubling yourself about?”

She threw him his clothes, and added that she would wait in the passage. Marius stopped her.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I cannot leave my brother in ignorance of our misfortunes.”

And, in spite of Fine’s impatience, he related again the result of his journey to Marseille. He, however, gave his brother no advice but left him at full liberty to come to a decision himself.

“So then,” exclaimed Philippe, completely crushed, “you’ve not given the money to the gaoler, and we’re without a copper?”

“Don’t worry yourself about that,” replied Revertégat, drawing nearer. “You can help me later on.”

The prisoner said nothing. He was no longer thinking of his escape, his thoughts were centered on his poverty, on the sorry figure he would henceforth cut, once he was at liberty. No more smart clothes, no more strolls in fashionable haunts, no more love adventures. But besides all this he had some chivalrous feelings, some poetical ideas which forbade him accepting Revertégat’s sacrifice.

He lay back on his miserable bed, drew the clothes up to his chin, and said quietly:

“Very well, I shall stay where I am.”

Marius’s face beamed. Fine looked overwhelmed. She tried to prove the necessity for the escape, she spoke of the public exhibition, of the infamy of the pillory. She grew excited and looked superb in her passion, and Philippe gazed at her admiringly,

“My beautiful child,” he replied, “you might succeed in making me yield if I had not grown blind and obstinate in this cell. But really I have done enough mean things already without wishing to burden my conscience with any more. We are in the hands of Providence. Moreover, all is not yet lost. Marius will free me; he’ll find the money somehow, you see if he don’t. You shall come and fetch me when you’ve paid my ransom. And we’ll fly together, and I’ll give you a kiss — “

He spoke almost gaily. Marius took his hand.

“Thanks, brother,” he said. “Be of good cheer.”

Fine and Revertégat went out, whilst Philippe and Marius remained alone a few minutes. They had some serious and affecting conversation: they spoke of Blanche, and the child she was expecting. When the visitors were back in the gaoler’s room, the flower-girl in despair, asked Marius what he thought of doing.

“I shall make some further efforts,” he replied. “Unfortunately we have not much time, and I scarcely know where to seek assistance.”

“I am give you a piece of advice” observed Revertégat. “There’s a banker in this town, living close by here, named Rostand, who would perhaps consent to lend you a considerable sum. But I must warn you that this Rostand has the reputation of being an usurer.”

Marius had not the choice of means.

“Thanks,” he said. “I will call on the man tomorrow.”

CHAPTER XVI

THE USURERS

M. ROSTAND was a clever man. He pursued his shameful calling undisturbed. To give an honest appearance to his trade, he had opened a banking-house; and having paid for the license, he was legally established. At times, he could even be a trifle honest, and would lend money at the same rate of interest as the other bankers of the town. But there was, so to say, a back office in his establishment, wherein he took delight in elaborating his knavish schemes.

Six months after the opening of his bank, he became the managing director of a company of usurers, a black band which entrusted him with certain funds for investment. The combination was of a simplicity quite patriarchal. People endowed with the bump of usury, and who feared to indulge their propensity at their own risk and peril, brought him their money and requested him to turn it to good account. By these means he always had a considerable capital to turn over, and was enabled to take full advantage of needy borrowers.

Those who furnished the money remained in the background. He had solemnly undertaken to lend at a fabulous rate of interest, at fifty, sixty and even eighty per cent. The sleeping partners met at his office once a month, he produced his accounts, and they shared the spoil. But he so arranged matters as to keep the larger share for himself in fact, he robbed the robbers.

It was especially against the small traders that he directed his operations. When a shopkeeper came to see him the day before a payment fell due, he imposed most exorbitant terms. The tradesman invariably accepted them; and in this way he had brought about more than fifty failures in ten years. Moreover, all was fish that came to his net; he would as soon lend five francs to a market-woman as a thousand to a cattle-dealer; he kept a sharp look-out, and never lost an opportunity of investing ten francs one day to receive twelve the next. He was on the watch for noble youths, fast young men who fling their money out of window; he filled their hands with gold, so that they might throw the more, and he stood outside to pick up what they threw. He also took trips into the country and tempted the peasants; when the crops failed he dispossessed them piece by piece of their land and farms.

His house had thus become a veritable pit-fall which swallowed up whole fortunes. The individuals, the entire families he had ruined were well-known. No one was ignorant of his underhand dealings. His sleeping partners were pointed at in the streets, wealthy men, ex-officials, merchants and even workmen. But proof was lacking. His banker’s license shielded him, and he was too clever to allow himself to be caught napping.

Since he had first started his nefarious speculations, Rostand had only once found himself in danger. The affair created a great sensation. A lady belonging to a wealthy family borrowed a rather large sum of him; she was very pious and had bereft herself of her fortune by giving money in charity on all sides. Knowing that she was completely without means, he insisted upon her signing bills with her brother’s name. Having these forgeries in his possession, he was certain of being paid by the brother, who would be anxious to avoid a scandal. The poor lady signed as required. Charity had ruined her, and the weak kindliness of her nature brought about her fall.

His calculations turned out correct, and the first bills were paid; but as more and more were presented, the brother grew tired of paying and determined to get to the bottom of the matter. He called on Rostand and threatened to expose him; he said that he would sooner see his sister disgraced than allow himself to be further robbed with impunity by such a scoundrel. The usurer, thoroughly cowed, gave up the bills he still possessed. He did not, however, lose a copper on the transaction, having advanced the loan at cent per cent.

Since then, Rostand had been extremely careful. He invested the capital of the black band with a skill which won him the admiration and confidence of the usurers.

Whilst his sleeping partners were airing themselves in the sunshine, like worthy people who would never rob a soul, he remained buried in a great dark office: it was there that the golden coins of the concern grew and multiplied.

Rostand had ended by acquiring quite an affection for his fraudulent and thievish trade. Some members of the band applied their profits to satisfying their passions, their appetites for luxurious and dissolute living. He took his sole delight in being a clever rascal; he felt as much interest in each of his operations as if it had been a drama or a comedy he was witnessing; he applauded himself when his plans succeeded, and he then felt the pride, the joy of a successful author; then he spread out on a table the money he had stolen and lost himself in all the voluptuous sensations of the miser.

It was to such a man that Revertégat had naively sent Marius.

The latter knocked at Rostand’s door on the following morning towards eight o’clock. It was a heavy square house, and the closed shutters gave it a bare cold appearance, an air of mystery and mistrust. A toothless old waiting-woman, attired in a dirty, ragged, cotton gown, opened the door a few inches.

“M. Rostand?” asked Marius.

“He is in, but engaged,” replied the servant, without opening the door any wider.

The young man, losing patience, pushed the door open and entered the hall.

“Very well,” he said, “I’ll wait.”

Surprised and scarcely knowing what to do, the servant, seeing she could not get rid of him, took him up to the first floor, and left him by himself in a kind of anteroom. It was a small dark apartment hung with greenish wall paper, discoloured by large damp stains. The only furniture consisted in a rush-bottomed chair, upon which Marius seated himself. Opposite him, an open door showed the interior of an office in which a clerk was writing with a quill pen, which made a grating noise as it travelled over the paper. There was another door on his left which probably led to the banker’s private room.

Marius waited a long time. The stale smell of old papers pervaded the atmosphere around him. The apartment was sickeningly dirty, and the nakedness of the walls gave it a lugubrious appearance. Dust was accumulated in all the corners, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The young man was suffocating and getting out of patience with the grating of the quill pen which kept on increasing. Suddenly he heard voices in the adjoining room and, as the words reached him clear and distinct, he was on the point of discreetly moving further off, when certain expressions rooted him to the spot.

There are some conversations which it is permissible to overhear, scrupulousness not being intended as a safeguard of the privacy of certain people. A harsh voice, no doubt that of the master of the house, was saying with friendly bluntness:

“Gentlemen, we are all here, let’s talk business. The sitting is open. I will render you a faithful account of my operations of the month, and we will then proceed to the division of the profits.”

There was slight noise, a sound of private conversations dying away. Marius, who so far had not understood, felt nevertheless a lively curiosity: he guessed that some strange scene was taking place on the other side of the door. As a matter of fact, the usurer Rostand was closeted with his worthy associates of the black band.

The young man had called just at the time of their meeting, when the managing director was about to produce his accounts, explain his operations, and divide the spoil. The harsh voice continued:

“Before entering into details, I must inform you that this month’s results are not so good as last month’s. We then had an average of sixty per cent., today we have only fifty-five.”

Various exclamations arose, similar to the protesting murmurs of a dissatisfied crowd. There must have been about fifteen persons in the room.

“Gentlemen,” continued Rostand, with bitter raillery, “I have done what I could and you ought to thank me. The business becomes more difficult every day. However, here are my accounts and I will give you a rapid statement of some of the affairs I have transacted.”

Complete silence ensued for a few seconds. Then there was a rustling of paper and the sound of the leaves of a ledger being turned over. Marius, beginning to understand, listened more attentively than ever. Rostand commenced to go over his various operations, giving some explanations as to each one. He spoke in the sing-song voice of a court official.

“I lent,” he said, “ten thousand francs to young Count de Salvy, a youth of twenty, who will attain his majority in nine months’ time. He had lost at play, and his mistress, it seems, required a large amount from him. He signed bills at three months for eighteen thousand francs. These bills are post-dated the day of his majority, so as to make all secure. The family owns large estates. It’s an excellent affair.”

A flattering murmur greeted the usurer’s words.

“On the morrow,” he continued, “I received a visit from the count’s mistress, who was exasperated, her lover only having given her two or three thousand-franc notes. She swore that she would bring me the count bound hand and foot to negotiate a fresh loan. I shall then require the assignment of one of his estates. We have still nine months to shear the young fool, whom his mother leaves without money.”

Rostand turned over some leaves of the ledger, and resumed, after a short silence:

“Jourdier — a cloth merchant, who each month requires a few hundred francs to meet his bills. At the present time his business belongs almost entirely to us. I last lent him five hundred francs at sixty per cent. If he asks for anything next month, I’ll make him bankrupt and we shall take the whole of his stock.

“Marianne — a market-woman. Every morning she wants ten francs, and every evening she returns me fifteen. I fancy she drinks. It’s a small affair, but a certain profit, a fixed income of five francs a day.

“Laurent — a peasant of the Roquefavour district. He has made over to me, piece by piece, some land he owned near Arc. The ground is worth five thousand francs, and has only cost us two thousand. I had the man evicted from the place, and his wife and children came here and made quite a scene. You’ll take into account, I hope, these annoyances I have to put up with?

“André — a miller. He owed us eight hundred francs, and I threatened him with an execution. He hurried here and implored me not to ruin him by letting everyone know of his insolvency. I consented to effect the seizure myself, without employing a bailiff, and by that means I obtained over twelve hundred francs’ worth of furniture and linen. I made quite four hundred francs by being good-natured.”

A tremor of satisfaction passed through his colleagues. Marius could hear the smothered laughter of those men who were rejoicing at Rostand’s cleverness. The latter continued:

“Now for the simple cases: three thousand francs at forty per cent, to the merchant Simon; fifteen hundred francs at fifty per cent, to Charançon, the cattle-dealer; two thousand francs at eighty per cent, to the Marquis de Cantarel; one hundred francs at thirty-five per cent, to the son of Tingrey the notary — “

And Rostand went on thus for a quarter of an hour, reading out names and figures, mentioning loans varying from ten francs to ten thousand, and interest from twenty to one hundred per cent.