THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
cities in the provinces are animated by the same ideas as Marseille, our Republic will last two or three years at the most, and we shall then soon have a dictator. Interrogate facts and they will answer.”
M. Martelly’s grave tone of voice and calm despair produced a most lively impression on Philippe, who was for a moment conscious of the terrible reality.
“You are, perhaps, right,” he answered sadly, “but if young people had your experience, they would cross their arms, and that would look cowardly. You see it is better to struggle. Then, you refuse to put yourself forward?”
“No, indeed. If the people think they have need of me, I will respond to their call, whatever happens. Although I feel certain of not succeeding, I do not think I have the right to avoid the requirements of circumstances. I will not retire in presence of a repulse, from the moment Republicans ask me to run the bad chance of that repulse, but I will not be mistaken for one of those ambitious creatures who are stirring up the population at present, who flatter the Republic as they flattered Royalty, so as to assure their fortune and position. I have kept in the dark up to now so as not to be confused with one of those men, and I wish it to be clearly understood that if I consent to be a candidate it is because people have asked me and I have solicited nothing.”
M. Martelly had raised his voice. Standing up, his eyes sparkling, he accented each word with vigorous action. Philippe had also left his seat.
“Come, you are yourself again,” he said, “you will see, all will go well. I am going to tell our friends at once that you accept their mandate. Your name will be placed on the preliminary lists today, and it must absolutely come victorious out of the urn.”
“You are young,” replied the shipowner shaking his head; “you dream with your eyes open. Ah! my poor child, liberty is very sick. I think we are present at its funeral.”
Philippe drew himself up violently.
“Well!’’ he exclaimed, “if they kill it, we’ll take our guns and kill its murderers. It will be civil war, barricades, blood, corpses. So much the worse!”
He trembled with exasperation. M. Martelly had taken his hands and sought to pacify him.
“If you make barricades,” he said to him, “I will go and place myself between your fire and that of the troops. Blood must not be spilt in the name of brotherhood. No, no; we must have no violence.”
Philippe withdrew. This interview had filled him with sullen uneasiness. The shipowner’s calm reason had thrown cold water, as it were, on his passion. Internally he was in despair, but he continued to busy himself actively with the elections, and when the grand day came he had almost recovered hope, so that the result of the first trial fell upon him like a thunderbolt. All M. Martelly’s predictions were accomplished. Not only was he not named, but the reactionary party had a complete victory. Out of ten deputies elected, there were barely three Radical republicans, the others belonged to the Conservative, and particularly to the Legitimist party.
From that moment Philippe was in a constant state of irritation. He saw clearly how useless his efforts were and yet he gave himself up to an illfated task that could only lead to misfortune. Each day the party he supported had to put up with a new defeat. The reaction increased in power, and one newspaper went so far as to openly preach political decentralisation to escape what it termed the Revolutionary dictatorship of Paris. The superior authorities were weak and powerless and constantly made concessions. If a king had landed on the Cannebière he would have been acclaimed by the entire city.
The Republicans protested in vain against the organization of the National Guard, the companies of which were composed solely of rich bourgeois, and consequently of Conservatives. This organization presented permanent danger of civil war. The day the people and the National Guard met there would necessarily be a shock.
Philippe, in his hours of anger and despair, foresaw this fatal meeting, and experienced ghastly delight in thinking of the hand-to-hand struggle. In the meanwhile he fraternized with the people, was at all the banquets and intoxicated himself with rhetoric. After the elections he had resigned his post with M. Martelly, so as to be able to live freely in the streets, amidst the events of each day. He knew not how all this would end, but he nursed the vague hope of a battle out of which the people would issue victorious. Then the Republic would triumph and the workingmen would command in their turn.
Two months passed by and they were in the middle of June.
Fine and Marius lived in constant alarm. The latter, not daring to lecture his brother any more, owing to his blunt manner, confined himself to watching him on the sly, so as to be always ready to save him from the follies he might be guilty of. One day as he arrived on the Cannebière, he found himself face to face with a captain of the National Guard, who was making the new gold braid on his uniform dazzle in the sun. After a moment he recognised Sauvaire.
The former master-stevedore was beaming. He struck his heel on the pavement in a victorious fashion. At times, when he glanced at his epaulettes out of the corner of his eye, a smile of satisfied vanity hovered round his lips. His sword troubled him somewhat by knocking against his calves; but he held it, leaning his hand on the hilt, with rounded arm. His uniform fitted him tightly in true military style, and if he were bursting in his tunic, he was happy to do so for the welfare of his country. By the way he walked, with his elbows stuck out, one could see he saved France at every ten paces. You could read on his intensely-delighted countenance, childlike joy at being dressed up as a soldier, and a burning desire to be taken seriously.
His meeting with Marius at first rather embarrassed him. He feared the latter might remember the past, the time when he frequented the gambling hells, and that he would make fun at finding him in uniform. He looked at him uneasily, dreading to see his dignity compromised. When he perceived the young man suppressed a slight smile, he thought it well to show himself off with all the grace of his rank of officer.
“Eh!” he exclaimed, in a military voice, brief and resounding. “Eh! it’s my young friend! How are you? It’s centuries since I saw you. Ah! How many events, good heavens! How many events!”
He spoke so loud that the passersby turned round. This attention bestowed on his personality flattered him enormously. He shook himself in delight, producing a clanking sound of steel, and cast the reflex of his stripes and epaulettes in the eyes of the crowd.
As Marius pressed his hand without answering, he imagined he was confounded by the magnificence of his costume. He took his arm with a protecting air and began to walk up the Cannebière, deigning to give him proofs of friendship.
“Hey! you stare at me?” he continued. “You are surprised to see me in the National Guard? What could I do? They so begged me, so implored me, that in the end I accepted. You understand, I would a thousand times sooner live quietly at home. But in these difficult times good citizens have duties to perform. They had need of me and I could not refuse.”
He lied with the most barefaced self-possession. It was he who had begged for the post of captain with joined hands. He wanted golden epaulettes: on that condition only did he consent to serve the country.
Marius sought for an answer and finding nothing, ended by murmuring:
“Yes, yes, we are in difficult times.”
“But we are here!” cried Sauvaire, placing his hand on his sword. “They will have to pass over our corpses before they can trouble the tranquillity of the land. Fear nothing, cheer-up your wives and children: the National Guard will not betray its mandate.”
He delivered this like a speech learnt by heart. Marius, to put him out of countenance, was tempted to ask him for news of Clairon.
“Observe all this population,” continued Sauvaire, “how peaceful, what faith it has in our vigilance and courage!”
He stopped, and continued in his old tone of naïvete and self-satisfaction:
“What do you think of my uniform? Haven’t I a martial air? The epaulettes, you know, cost me a tremendous lot of money.”
“You