THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
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!
On the evening when M. de Cazalis and Mathéus went to Saint Barnabé accompanied by two gendarmes, Philippe had reached the cottage, as usual, at about six o’clock. The gardener and his wife were waiting to take a cartload of grapes to Marseille. As soon as he was alone he withdrew into the room on the ground floor and shut himself up. Little Joseph was not in a mood for play: he had been running all day among the vines, and had fallen asleep on a sort of old sofa with smiling lips, all stained with the purple juice of the grape. Philippe moved about on tip-toe, so as not to disturb his slumber, and ended by seating himself opposite to him and watching him sleep in the undefined glimmer of the falling twilight.
He remained in that position for nearly an hour, silent and motionless, listening to the child’s light breathing and finding immense delight in gazing on him. Two great tears which he did not feel, trickled down his cheeks.
As he sat there lost in tender ecstasy, he heard a sudden knock at the door, and it seemed to him as if hands had fallen on his shoulders to arrest him. The violent resounding blows drew him from his dream. He returned from his wanderings to his mother earth, and passed from his oblivious serenity, to the terror of every moment of his life. There, behind the door, were the gendarmes.
Half erect he listened, firmly determined not to open. He was in the habit of closing the door every evening to make believe the house was empty. Little Joseph continued to sleep, rosy and smiling. The blows redoubled, but the condemned man now observed that they were dealt by a weak and impatient hand. At the same moment he heard the suffocating voice of a woman, stammering out in terror:
“Open, open quickly, for the love of God!”
He seemed to recognise the voice and drew back the bolts.
Fine