Complete Works of Emile Zola (76 page)

Joseph was growing up, charming and refined, like a child of love. He could already walk alone, and lisp a few words in that delightful prating of the baby age. For the moment, Marius and Fine confined themselves to loving him fondly, later on they would see to making a man of him, they said, and to assuring him the position to which he was entitled. But the young household were not so wrapped up in their own enjoyment as to forget the fugitive, that poor Philippe who was living alone and disconsolate in Italy. His brother had been taking active steps to obtain his pardon so that he might return to Marseille and begin life again, a life of work. Unfortunately the obstacles were numerous, and he encountered a stubborn resistance that put his most energetic efforts to naught. However, he did not despair of success, and felt, even, sure, that one day or other, he would attain his end.

In the meantime he confined himself to exchanging a few letters with Philippe, urging him to be courageous, and above all not to give way to his craving to return to France. If he were guilty of that imprudence all might be lost. Philippe answered that he was at the end of his tether and was dying of weariness. This despair and impatience alarmed Marius who went so far as to invent untruths to keep the fugitive in exile. He promised him he would have his pardon in a month, then when the month was at an end, he assured him it would certainly be for the following month, and for more than a year he had in this way made him take patience.

One Sunday evening, just as Fine and Marius had returned from Saint Barnabé, their neighbours informed them that a man had called to see them several times in the course of the afternoon. As they were retiring for the night, after having vainly endeavoured to think who this strange visitor could be, they heard a slight knock at their door. Marius, who opened it, was stupefied.

“What, you!” he exclaimed in despair.

Fine hastened to join him, and recognised Philippe who, after having embraced them both, answered:

“Yes, it is I, I should have died over there. I was obliged to return at any price.”

“What folly!” continued Marius, quite upset. “I was certain of your pardon. But now I will not answer for anything.”

“Go along with you! I will keep in hiding until you have succeeded. I could not live away from you, from my child any longer. I was absolutely ill.”

“But why not have advised me? I would have taken some precautions!”

“Ah! But if I had told you of my intention, you would have persuaded me not to return to Marseille. I have done a headstrong thing, but you who are a sensible man, will repair everything;” and, turning to Fine, he said eagerly:

“How is my little Joseph?”

Then the danger the fugitive ran was forgotten. After the surprise and dissatisfaction of the first few moments came the unbosoming of their hearts, a long affectionate conversation which was prolonged until three o’clock in the morning. Philippe related his misfortunes and sufferings in exile. Here and there he had given French lessons for a livelihood, avoiding staying long in any one place, and living alone and unknown.

When he had related in detail all he had gone through, his brother, who was deeply moved, avoided reproaching him with his return; on the contrary, he racked his brain to find a means of hiding him at Marseille, so that he could await his pardon and be near his child.

Marius, first of all, insisted on Philippe being shaved, a performance that completely changed the young man’s appearance. Then he made him dress in a coarse suit of clothes, and found a place for him as stevedore with Cadet, his wife’s brother, who had succeeded Sauvaire.

It was understood that Cadet would allow Philippe to loiter about the port, without making him do any work. But after the second day the improvised stevedore begged for some employment to help him to pass his time, and he was placed at the head of a squad of workers.

Things remained thus for several months, Marius expecting, from day to day, to obtain his brother’s liberty. As to Philippe he was quite happy. Every evening, he went to Saint Barnabé and the pleasure he found there, playing with his son, helped him to forget his troubles.

He had already been a year at Marseille, when one evening on reaching the gardener’s cottage he fancied he saw a tall, thin man behind him who had been following him from the port, but little Joseph’s merry welcome soon made him forget the incident. Had he turned his head the next day, he would have found the same tall, thin man following and watching him again.

CHAPTER VII

M. DE CAZALIS YEARNS FOR JOSEPH

DURING the three years that had elapsed since the birth of the son of Blanche and Philippe, important changes had taken place in the existence of M. de Cazalis. He had not been re-elected deputy at the last elections and had come to reside at Marseille. His defeat, due to the unpopularity he had earned among the people, owing to his quarrels with the Cayols, did not seem to affect him a great deal. The truth was that he preferred attending to his own affairs rather than to those of his country; he had enough cares at home, enough work to do to parry the blows with which he was threatened, without troubling himself with a mandate that would rivet him to Paris for several months in the year.

He took up his abode at his mansion on the Cours Bonaparte and acted in such a manner as to make himself forgotten by the whole city. He gave up going out in his carriage and splashing the peaceful tradesmen; he did his best to pass unperceived, and succeeded so well that in a short time he was quite unknown to most people. His dream was to secure his peace of mind as soon as possible, and then proceed to Paris and devour his niece’s fortune in grand style.

If he led the sad and retired life that he did, it was because his instinct of prudence urged him to study the position and secure immunity, before laying a finger on what did not belong to him. He had a mad desire to satisfy himself at once, but was afraid. He was willing enough to despoil Blanche, on condition he would never be branded as a thief.

When he had succeeded in being forgotten, when he was shut up in his mansion like a simple bourgeois, fond of retirement and silence, he planted his batteries. He found himself in the centre of the intrigue he meant to direct, and was in hopes that by his nonchalant attitude he had dispelled the distrust of his adversaries. At the bottom of his heart, his most ardent desire was to discover the whereabouts of his niece’s boy and obtain possession of him. Then only would he be able to grasp the fortune that was lying idle in his hands. But, by an effort of hypocrisy, he was able to restrain himself for nearly three years; he remained quiet, without appearing to take any steps to find out where his great nephew was hidden; and, in reality, he did not risk a single attempt, being faithful to his plan of feigned indifference.

The result of this comedy was to tranquillize Marius. The young man had imagined that the day after the babe had been carried off, M. de Cazalis would have flown into a rage, scoured Marseille and searched everywhere else to find him. He was first of all very much surprised at the indifference of Blanche’s uncle and suspected that it served to hide some trap. Then, little by little, his suspicions were dispelled and he dozed away in happy confidence, until at length he thought no more of this man who was hiding in obscurity, in order to watch his prey the better.

If M. de Cazalis was patient and made no researches, it was because he knew the Cayols could not make use of the child against him for some time. He permitted them to bring it up, counting on stealing it when it became dangerous to leave it in their hands. So long as Philippe did not return to France, so long as his son had not attained a certain age, Marius had his hands tied; it was impossible for him to create a scandal that might turn against his own brother.

To tell the truth M. de Cazalis placed great reliance on the upright and just mind of Marius, in order to bring his own affairs to a happy issue: he said to himself that the young man would never venture to compromise Blanche, and that he would sooner abandon the fortune than do so. In any case, he had at least five years tranquillity before him.

But if he relied on the virtues of Marius, he was in absolute terror when he thought of Philippe. He felt that if he ever fell into the latter’s hands he would meet with no mercy. He knew the violence, the energetic nature of the fugitive, and considered him a man who would stop at nothing when it was a question of satisfying a hatred or a vengeance. So he took certain precautions to shelter himself from that hatred in case Philippe returned to France. He earnestly desired to see him commit that imprudence; and, rather for the pleasure of having him arrested, than to escape his vindictiveness, he employed a certain Mathéus, a rascal who was devoted to him, to go to Italy and keep at the young man’s heels so as to return with him in case he took it into his head to embark.

The spy acquitted himself faithfully of his mandate. He found Philippe at Genoa and from that moment never left him. When the latter returned to Marseille, Mathéus was on the same steamer, but by chance lost sight of him during the confusion of landing, and he had to inform his employer of the presence of his enemy in the city, without being able to tell him where he was in hiding.

When M. de Cazalis learned that Philippe was at Marseille he felt extremely uneasy, not that he feared immediate and direct vengeance, but because he imagined the young man would obstinately pursue him and make him disgorge. He desired his return to France, but on condition that he might know his hiding-place, and hand him over to the police the day after his arrival. But as he had escaped his vigilance, he imagined he was hovering round him and preparing pitfalls beneath his feet.

He lived for a year in perpetual anxiety. He watched Marius to no purpose, ordered Mathéus to follow him everywhere, but failed to find Philippe, for the two brothers had agreed that they would not meet until the pardon had been granted and they could shake hands without fear. Besides, Philippe appeared so different in his coarse garments of a stevedore, with his sunburnt hands and face that Mathéus passed several times close to him without recognising him.

M. de Cazalis, who did not wish to take the police into his confidence, without having prepared a certain capture, was in despair at his spy’s want of success. He sent him throughout Marseille daily, making him promises that were each time more tempting, spurred on by the dread of seeing the steps he knew Marius was taking to obtain his brother’s pardon, successful.

One day M. de Cazalis, who had gone down to the port, mingled with a crowd that had assembled round a wounded man. He ascertained that it was a stevedore whose foot had been crushed under an enormous case of goods. As he went nearer to him he caught sight of another stevedore who was beside the poor fellow, giving orders. This man’s quick movements and loud voice made him start. He had only heard Philippe’s voice once, at the time of the trial, and it had ever since been ringing in his ears.

He returned home in all haste and calling Mathéus, gave him detailed instructions. He was to make sure of this man’s identity, to follow him for two or three days so as to ascertain what his habits were and the places he frequented. The pursuit commenced next morning.

The plan M. de Cazalis had formed, was as simple as it was clever. He meant to bring down two birds at one shot. He wished to kiss his little great-nephew, he thought he had left him long enough with the Carols, and desired in his turn to have him. To find the child and steal him, he determined to make use of his father. Philippe, he felt convinced, paid frequent visits to his son: therefore he had only to follow him to discover where the little one was concealed. M. de Cazalis calculated that when he had found out this hiding-place, it would be easy to have his enemy arrested, and, at the same time, to take possession of Blanche’s heir.

Two days later Mathéus informed his employer that the stevedore was indeed Philippe Cayol, and that every night he went to the cottage of a gardener, named Ayasse, at Saint Barnabé who also had charge of a child. The ex-deputy understood all, and smiled in triumph.

“At what hour does this man go to Saint Barnabé?” he asked Mathéus.

“At six o’clock in the evening,” answered the latter, “and he remains there until nine o’clock.”

“Good. Return here tomorrow at six. I will give you your orders.”

The next day M. de Cazalis had a short interview with Mathéus. Then they set out for Saint Barnabé which they reached at seven o’clock. A couple of gendarmes accompanied them.

CHAPTER VIII

“OPEN, IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!”

PHILIPPE had been leading a monotonous sort of life since he had been in hiding at Marseille, and his only pleasure consisted in going to kiss his son every evening at Saint Barnabé.

Marius, out of prudence, had begged him to wait, to make these visits, until he was free, for he felt that it would have been better for father and son to be separated until the time came when they could see each other without danger to either. But he had had to give way to his brother’s urgent entreaties; and he tranquillized his mind by thinking M. de Cazalis must be unaware of the presence of Philippe and his son at Marseille.

The condemned man who visited no one, not even Marius, went every evening to the gardener’s cottage and there enjoyed the only happy hours of his existence. Generally as soon as he made his appearance, the gardener and his wife took advantage of his arrival, to set out with the fruit and vegetables they grew, for Marseille. As he was alone in the house he bolted the door and played with Joseph like a child. This relieved his mind, he forgot the past and present, to dream of a happy future. When he was there in that old house so quiet and pleasant, he forgot he was a condemned man, a wretched creature whom a gendarme could lead back handcuffed to the city; he fancied himself a peasant, a labourer who had cultivated the land all day and was resting at night. These serene hours gave him fresh strength and appeased the disagreeable fevers that sometimes racked his frame. No one would have recognised in this bowed-down and aged-looking man, watching over a child like a devoted wet-nurse, the gay and wild young dandy with whose amorous adventures all Marseille had been busy a few years before. Ah! misfortune is a hard school!