THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
He would have liked to have seen Mademoiselle de Cazalis enter a convent, for he felt that there was no longer any happiness possible for her amid the pleasures of society. She would have to remain everlastingly a widow, and she did not possess the strength of mind necessary to make herself a peaceful existence in her widowhood. But the poor priest was very ignorant of matters relating to the heart. Blanche much preferred to weep with Fine whilst talking of Philippe, than to listen to Abbé Chastanier’s sermons. Yet the old man spoke to her at times in profound accents, and the girl looked at him with surprise, seized with a desire to penetrate into the peaceful world in which he lived. She wished to kneel down, to remain for ever in obeisance, absorbed in an ecstasy that would have delivered her from all her sufferings. It was thus that she became little by little that which she was destined to be, a servant of God, one of those holy women whom the world has wounded and who ascend to heaven before their death.
One day, Abbé Chastanier remained till evening, and left with Fine. He had to tell the flower-girl some bad news which he did not wish to mention before Blanche. He found Marius on the shore awaiting his sweetheart.
“My dear child,” he said, “there is more trouble in store for you. M. de Cazalis wrote to me yesterday. He is much surprised that the sentence pronounced against your brother has not yet been carried out, and informs me he is taking steps to hasten the date of the public exhibition in the pillory. How are you getting on? Do you hope soon to secure the prisoner’s release?”
“Well, no,” replied Marius sorrowfully, “I am no farther advanced than on the first day. I hoped to have still at least six weeks before me.”
“I do not think,” the abbé resumed, “that M. de Cazalis will be able to induce the president to break faith with us. Besides, our interview has remained secret, and that makes me believe that the exhibition will not take place till the end of December, as promised. But I advise you to make haste. One can never say what may happen, and I thought it right to let you know what I had been told.”
Fine and Marius were in dismay. They returned to Marseille with the priest, silently and again a prey to their anguish. Their love had in a sense blinded them during a week, and now they once more beheld the same abyss before them.
CHAPTER XI
DOUGLAS IN THE PILLORY AT MARSEILLE
SOME few mornings afterwards, towards nine o’clock, as Marius was on his way to his office, he found the Rue Paradis full of a noisy crowd which was going in the direction of the Cannebière. He stopped at the corner of the Rue de la Darse, and, standing on tip-toe, caught a glimpse of the Place Royale full of people. It was like a sea of human heads. The unceasing flow of the crowd about him continued on its way with a noisy hum.
The keen curiosity evinced by the mob gradually took hold of Marius also. Stray words which he caught from time to time filled him with vague anxiety; and he also wished to go and see: he allowed himself to be carried along by the crowd which was streaming down the street like a torrent. He easily reached the Place Royale, but there the throng which surged from the Rue Paradis broke itself against a compact immovable mass of people. All were standing on tip-toe, and looking in the direction of the Cannebière.
The young man obtained a vague view of some soldiers on horseback. He could distinguish nothing else, and did not yet guess what painful sight could thus attract the entire population of the city. The crowd about him was shouting. Voices gave utterance to sudden sharp words which rose above the discordant hum of the multitude, and reached him distinctly.
“He arrived from Aix during the night.”
“Yes, and he’ll start tomorrow for Toulon.”
“I should like to see what figure he cuts.”
“They say he burst into sobs, when he saw the executioner bring the cords.”
“No! no! he kept up well. Believe me he’s a plucky fellow, who doesn’t weep like a woman.”
“Ah! the scoundrel! the people should stone him.”
“I shall try and get nearer.”
“Wait for me. They must be hooting him there. I want to join in.”
These words, interspersed with jeers, and yelled out with angry gesticulations, sounded cruelly in Marius’ ears. A genuine terror seized him, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was frightened and incapable of reasoning. He asked himself in his anguish who the man could be whom the mob was hurrying to insult. The crowd was growing denser and more eager every moment; and he saw that he would never be able to pierce the formidable mass before him. So he decided to get round the Place Royale. He went slowly down the Rue Vacon, took the Rue Beauveau, and eventually reached the Cannebière. There, a strange sight awaited him.
The whole extent of the Cannebière, from the harbour to the Cours Belzunce, was filled by an immense mob which was added to every minute. Throngs of people were streaming down every street. At times, a breath of anger rushed through the crowd, and then shouts arose, spread like vast billows, with the deep murmur of the sea. All the windows were filled with spectators; urchins had climbed up the shop-fronts along the houses. All Marseille was there, and each head was eagerly gazing in the same direction. There were more than sixty thousand persons on the Cannebière staring and hooting.
When Marius had succeeded in drawing near, he then understood what kind of sight was attracting and detaining the crowd. In the centre of the Cannebière, opposite the Place Royale, stood a scaffold made of rough planks, on which was a man tied to a post. Two companies of infantry, a picket of mounted gendarmerie and chasseurs were drawn round the platform and protecting the culprit against the increasing fury of the mob.
At first Marius only beheld the wretch fastened to the pillory and towering above the crowd. A horrible anxiety made him seek to see the man’s face. Perhaps it was Philippe! Perhaps M. de Cazalis had succeeded in having the date of the execution of the sentence advanced! At that thought Marius’ sight became confused, tears filled his eyes, and there was like a thick cloud hanging before his gaze which prevented him distinguishing anything. He leant against a shop, feeling faint, and stabbed to the heart by each shout of the crowd. In his feverish state, he ended by really believing that he recognised his brother on the scaffold, that it was indeed Philippe who was there and whom the multitude was insulting. The shame, pain, and pity which then took possession of him, filled him with atrocious anguish. During several minutes he remained like one annihilated; then he recovered sufficient courage to raise his head and look.
The wretched man was firmly tied to the post. He wore a vest and trousers of grey canvas. His head was covered by a cap, and he had drawn the peak down over his eyes. He obstinately held his head bent, thus preventing the spectators seeing his features. His face was turned towards the port, and he never once raised his head to gaze at the broad sea which spread out before him, free and happy.
When Marius had again looked at the prisoner, he felt a doubt and with it relief. The man seemed twice as stout as his brother. Moreover, he knew Philippe, and was confident that he would not have bowed his head thus, but would have considered it a duty to return the crowd scorn for scorn. Yet Marius still had a vague fear: the hidden face disquieted him, he would have liked to have had a clear view of the culprit’s features.
All about the young man the mob continued to utter exclamations, yells of anger or irony.
“Hold up your head, you rogue! show us your face, you scoundrel!”
“Oh! he’ll never look up, he’s frightened.”
“Well, he’s harmless now. He’s got his hands tied and will never again rob anybody.”
“You think so, do you? He almost stole his pardon.”
“Yes, yes, some rich, pious people tried to have him spared the ignominy of the pillory.”
“A poor man wouldn’t have met with such sympathy.”
“But the king didn’t give way; he said the punishment