Complete Works of Emile Zola (69 page)

Hers was not precisely a religious mind, it was a gentle and contemplative one, which religion had consoled, and which was grateful on that account. Perhaps, one of these days, there might be an awakening and she would return to the joys of the world. In the meanwhile she lived a rather retired, calm life, and her tastes were simple. Her brother, who was a free-thinker and a Republican, of broad intellect and a kindly nature, allowed her to do as she pleased. He only took advantage of his position as head of the family, to protect her interests and assure her an independent position.

Marius found Mademoiselle Claire in a small drawing-room where she generally worked at baby-linen which she gave away to the poor. The young girl knew Marius and treated him affectionately, as a friend of the family. M. Martelly had often taken his clerk with him to an estate he owned near Estaque, and there Marius and Claire had become good friends. Brave hearts find each other out and are not long in coming to an understanding.

The beautiful devout on seeing the clerk enter, jumped up and held out her hand to him.

“Ah! It’s you, Marius,” she exclaimed gaily. “So you’re well again. So much the better. Heaven has granted my prayer.”

The young man felt very much touched at this friendly welcome. He gazed in the young girl’s eyes and found naught there but a pure flame and a look of calm virginity. That look appeared to him so tranquil and straightforward, that he felt as if relieved of a lump that had been choking him.

“I thank you,” he answered. “But I have not come to show you a ghost.”

And handing her the prayer-book, he added:

“Here is a mass-book which it appears you left behind you yesterday at Saint Victor.”

“Ah! yes,” said the young girl. “I was going to send and fetch it. How did it come into your hands?”

“A beadle just brought it.”

“A beadle!”

“Yes, from Abbé Donadéi.”

Claire took the book and placed it quietly on a piece of furniture without showing the least concern. Marius followed her anxiously with his eyes. If the slightest colour had risen to her cheeks, he would have thought all lost.

“By the way,” continued the young girl, sitting down, “I think you know M. Chastanier.”

“Yes,” answered Marius astonished.

“He is an excellent man, is he not?”

“Certainly, he has a good heart and a profoundly pious and upright mind.”

“My brother has sung his praises to me loudly; but in religious matters, you know, I do not place unlimited confidence in my brother.”

She smiled. Marius could not understand what she was coming to; only he found her so quiet and happy that he felt entirely reassured.

“I see Abbé Chastanier is a positive saint,” she continued, “and from tomorrow I shall entrust him with the care of directing my conscience.”

“Are you going to leave Abbé Donadéi?” exclaimed Marius, warmly.

The young girl again raised her head, surprised at the clerk’s tone of voice.

“Yes, I am leaving him,” she answered, very simply. “He is young and has the light mind of an Italian. Besides, I have learnt ugly things about him.”

She continued stitching quietly with her needle, there was not a tremor in her hands and her forehead remained white and pure. Then Marius withdrew, convinced that he could act without wounding this virgin conscience, and that while punishing Donadéi, he would punish him only. He did not know the real cause that had decided Claire to change her confessor; perhaps she had understood that she was no longer in safety in the hands of the gallant abbé; but, in any case, there had been no actor word at which she had cause to blush.

Marius had preserved the soft pink paper containing Donadéi’s declaration. He could have simply taken it to the Bishop of Marseille, but he preferred to punish and deride the abbé himself, in return for his having impudently made fun of him when he had sought to recommend Philippe to his kindness. His plan was formed. Only to put it into execution, he required the assistance of Sauvaire.

He did not return to his office after lunch, but went in search of the master-stevedore in all the cafés. Sauvaire was not to be found. He then made up his mind to go and ask Cadet Cougourdan if he knew where his principal was in hiding.

“Oh! He is not hiding himself, that’s not his habit,” answered Cadet laughing. “He must be in a restaurant at the Reserve, and I’ll bet he’s trying to show himself to all Marseille.”

Marius went down to the Port and was rowed to the Reserve in one of those small pleasure boats supplied with a spare red-and-yellow striped awning. The boat glided slowly over the dense water of the harbour, amidst refuse of all sorts, orange peel, vegetable remains, objects without a name which were gathered together in a sort of whitish froth. And it continued on its way in the middle of a passage preserved between the vessels, skimming along in proximity to their dark sides. It was as if lost in a forest which shot up, on all sides, its straight, slender stems, each surmounted by a shred of crimson bunting.

Before Marius had landed he could hear the noisy laughter of Sauvaire seated at a table on a terrace of a restaurant. He could not be seen, but he arranged matters so as to make known he was there.

The restaurants at the Reserve resemble those at Asnières and Saint Cloud: they are chalets, pavilions, all kinds of ugly architectural conceptions. As a matter of fact they are built of plaster and planks, and the blasts of wind threaten to blow them out to sea. Sauvaire delighted in frequenting these restaurants because the charges there are very high, and one can be seen a long way off.

Marius, guided by the master-stevedore’s elevated voice, found him at once. He was on a terrace with Clairon and Isnarde whom he no longer left: he was convinced he had the appearance of being more wealthy when dragging two women along with him, one on each arm. The terrace trembled beneath the storm of Sauvaire’s gaiety. Moreover, the worthy man was getting slightly tipsy.

“Bravo, bravo!” he shouted, perceiving Marius, “we will begin lunching again. We have been lunching since noon. We have eaten cockles, bouillabaisse, tunny — “

He continued and enumerated a dozen dishes with childlike pride. He felt quite flattered at having given himself indigestion.

“Heh!” he continued, “one is very comfortable here. It’s expensive, but everything is very correct. What will you have to eat?”

Marius excused himself, pointing out that it was three o’clock and that he had lunched long before.

“Go along with you! One can always eat,” exclaimed Sauvaire, delighted at being caught at such a rakish pleasure party. “We are going on eating like this until evening. It’ll cost money, but so much the worse! Clairon, my girl, you’ll get drunk if you take so much champagne.”

Clairon paid no attention to the remark and swallowed another large glass. Besides, she had nothing to fear as she was tipsy already.

“Good heavens! How amusing these women are!” continued Sauvaire rising and fanning himself with his napkin.

He went towards the balustrade on the terrace and shouted out very loud, so as to be heard by the passers-by:

“I’ve already spent a great deal of money with them, but I don’t regret it, they’re so comical!”

Marius leant over towards him.

“Do you want to have a good evening tomorrow?” he asked him.

“Of course, I do,” answered Sauvaire.

“It will cost you a few louis.”

“The deuce! Will it be very funny?”

“Very funny indeed. You shall have your money’s worth of laughter.”

“I accept then.”

“All Marseille will hear of the affair, and they’ll be talking of you for a week afterwards.

“I accept, I accept.”

“Very well, listen.”

Marius bent down to Sauvaire’s ear and spoke to him in a low voice. He explained his plan. An instant later the master-stevedore burst into a fit of laughter that almost choked him. He thought the thing funny, very funny.

“That’s agreed,” he said, when Marius had told him his secret. “I will be on the Boulevard de la Corderie with Clairon tomorrow evening at ten o’clock. Ah! What a good joke!”

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW ABBÉ DONADÉI ELOPED WITH THE SISTER SOUL TO HIS OWN

ABBÉ DONADÉI had allowed himself to be overcome by one of those violent desires which sometimes burst out in cunning, sneaking natures. He so clever, so prudent, had been guilty of a clumsy mistake. He was conscious of it when the beadle had left with the prayer-book and love-letter. From that moment he must be prepared to meet all the consequences of his audacious act. Claire had excited a yearning in him which he meant to satisfy in spite of all. He was beyond the sacred scruples of his calling. He looked on things human from too lofty a height, he had mixed in too many jobs of a more or less honourable nature, to hesitate at a seduction. That was the least thing that troubled him. It was the sequel to the seduction, at which he felt alarmed.

For two long months he had tried to attract the young girl to his house. Then, as she was about to accede to his wish in all simplicity, he had renounced that plan, convinced that an intrigue of this nature could not be carried on in the midst of Marseille. It was thus that he had little by little reached the point of wishing to play all for all, like a daring gambler; his passion was increasing and torturing him and he was ready to exchange his influential position for a woman’s free and entire love: he preferred to elope with Claire openly, and fly with her to Italy.

Donadéi was too sharp and intelligent not to have thought of a retreat. If the young girl in the long run had been in his way, he would have shut her up in a convent and obtained the forgiveness of his uncle the Cardinal. When he had examined and calculated everything, an elopement seemed to him the most easy and prompt of all plans and the one which presented the least danger.

He only feared one thing: that Claire would not keep the appointment and would refuse to run away with him. Then, the love-letter would become a terrible arm. He would be without the girl and might lose his position. But he was blinded by desire, he did not notice the calm candour of his penitent, but took the acts of adoration addressed to the Almighty for so many mute avowals made to himself.

However, he had still fears, and regretted having advanced too far to be able to retreat. All his prudence and cowardice returned to him, and he impatiently awaited the beadle’s return. As soon as he caught sight of him he exclaimed:

“Well?”

“I gave the book,” answered the beadle.

“To the young lady herself?”

“Yes, to the young lady.”

The beadle made this answer with superb self-possession. On his way back he regretted having given Marius the prayer-book, and, as he saw that he had performed his errand very badly, he determined to lie in order to deserve the abbé’s good will.

Donadéi felt somewhat reassured. He judged that if the young girl felt offended at the note, she would burn it. Hazard, forgetting a prayer-book, had hastened a solution that he had been seeking so long. He had now only to wait.

The next morning, he received the visit of a veiled lady whose features he was unable to distinguish. This person handed him a letter and promptly withdrew. The missive only contained these words: “Yes, tonight!” Donadéi was beside himself with delight, and set about making his preparations for departure.

If anyone had followed the veiled lady, they would have seen her join the gallant Sauvaire who was awaiting her in the Rue du Petit Chantier. She raised her veil: it was Clairon.

“He’s a very nice fellow that abbé,” she said, on reaching the master-stevedore.

“Does he please you? So much the better!” answered Sauvaire. And they went off bursting with laughter.

At about half-past nine in the evening, Clairon and Sauvaire were again in the Rue du Petit Chantier. They walked slowly, stopping at each step as if waiting for someone. Clairon, who was dressed simply in a black woollen gown, had her face hidden beneath a thick veil. Sauvaire was disguised as a commissionaire.

“Here’s Marius,” the latter suddenly exclaimed.

“Are you ready?” inquired the young man in an undertone, as soon as he was close to them. “Do you know your parts well?”

“Of course!” answered the master-stevedore. “You’ll see how we can act. Ah! the good joke! I shall be laughing over it for the next six months.”

“Go on to the abbé’s, we will wait for you here. Be prudent.”

Sauvaire went and knocked at Donadéi’s door. It was opened by the abbé himself who was attired in a travelling suit and seemed very excited.

“What do you want?” he inquired roughly, disappointed at seeing a man before him.

“I have come with a young lady,” answered the sham commissionaire.

“Good, let her come in quickly.”

“She would not come up to the door.”

“Ah!”

“She said like this: ‘Tell the gentleman that I prefer going straight to the carriage.’”

“Wait a minute. I have something to take with me.”

“Yes, but you see the young lady is afraid, standing in the middle of the Boulevard.”

“Then run quick and tell her that the post-chaise is at the corner of the Rue des Tyrans. Let her get in. I shall be there in five minutes.”

Donadéi banged the door to, and Sauvaire held his sides and almost split with silent laughter. This adventure beat everything he had ever heard of.

He returned to the Rue du Petit Chantier, where Clairon and Marius were awaiting him.

“Everything is proceeding marvellously well,” he said to them in an undertone, “the abbé falls into the trap with angelic innocence. I know where the post-chaise is.”

“I noticed it coming along,” said Marius, “it is at the corner of the Rue des Tyrans.”

“That’s it, there is not a moment to spare, the abbé has promised to be there in five minutes.”

All three set off along the Boulevard de la Corderie, as far as the Rue des Tyrans, skirting the houses. There they perceived the post-chaise standing in the shade, all loaded and ready to start at the first crack of the whip. Marius and Sauvaire hid themselves under the archway of a great door. Clairon stood before them in the road.