THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
existed.
The city was deserted. All who could run away did so. The country houses in the vicinity were crowded with refugees. There were even families who went and camped out as far as the hills of the Nerthe, preferring to live in the open air under a tent, to remaining in a place where they encountered death at the corner of every street. The wealthy, those who had residences outside or could rent them, were the first to leave; then the employed, the workmen, the bread-winners who compromised their everyday existence by abandoning the work shops, lost courage in the presence of the scourge, and a great number of them preferred to fly and run the risk of starving, so that Marseille, little by little, became dismal and empty.
There remained only men of courage who either resisted the epidemic or regarded it with contempt, and the poor wretches who were forced to remain at their posts in spite of their fright. If there were acts of cowardice, such as the sudden disappearance of doctors and functionaries, there were also examples of energy and self-sacrifice. Offices where assistance could be obtained, had been opened in the most severely visited quarters, from the commencement, and there men devoted themselves, day and night, to the relief of the crazy population who were dying of fright.
Marius was among the first to offer his services, but in presence of the tears of Fine and Joseph, he had to give way and consent to leave Marseille. He knew his wife, she would have remained at his side, and shared the danger, and the child would then have run the same risk. The thought that Fine and Joseph might die in his arms had struck Marius with terror, and he had ran away, trembling for the safety of those he loved.
The family found refuge at a house which they had rented in the Saint Just quarter close to the old country residence of the Cayols. It was then the end of August. Philippe had remained with M. de Girousse at Lambesc for twelve months, and during that time had not set foot in Marseille, waiting till the days of June were forgotten. Indeed, he was not disturbed. Inquiries were made about him at first, but powerful influence having been exerted on his behalf, further search was abandoned.
As soon as he learned that the young household was in the suburbs of Marseille, he bade goodbye to M. de Girousse and hurried off to see his son. He felt weary at Lambesc and soon convinced his brother that he would be able to lodge with him without being guilty of the least imprudence. The cholera had driven all recollection of the rioting out of peoples’ minds; and no one thought of going to arrest him at a long league from Marseille.
A delightful existence commenced. While the disease was ravaging and striking terror into the city, the inmates of the little country house in the Saint Just quarter were enjoying happy hours and charming tranquillity. They drifted into egotism in spite of themselves; after the terrible blows they had received, they bathed in happiness. It was their turn not to suffer. They went out but little, finding the little enclosure surrounding the house quite large enough for fresh air and exercise. A fortnight passed very peacefully, then one morning Philippe, who had been dreaming all night of the past, announced that he was going for a walk. He went out in the direction of the mill of Saint Joseph, following the road he had often passed along before to meet Blanche.
When he came to the little pine wood behind the country house, he thought of that day in May, that afternoon of folly, which had thrown Blanche into his arms and been the misfortune of his existence. That souvenir was both sweet and bitter. He recalled his youth, his mad, burning passion, and at the same time the tears and grief of the only woman he had ever loved. Two great tears rolled down his cheeks without his feeling them. As he wiped them away, and gazed around him, seeking for the spot where Blanche had sat by his side, he all of a sudden perceived M. de Cazalis, standing motionless in the centre of a path with his terrible eyes fixed upon him.
The ex-deputy had been among the first to leave Marseille. He had taken refuge at his country residence in the Saint Joseph quarter, where he was living alone, and was quite ferocious with suppressed irritation. Since his interview with M. de Girousse he had fallen into a state of despondency which was broken at distant intervals, by frightful outbursts of passion. Although a year had passed, he still heard the old Count’s words of indignation and contempt tinkling in his ears. These words were choking him and he would fain have relieved himself by wreaking vengeance on someone. Understanding that it would be impossible to pick a quarrel with M. de Girousse, he ardently desired to find himself face to face with Philippe, so to end the matter one way or another, either killing his enemy or being killed by him.
He thought no more about the money, he had lost his appetite for luxury and power. Since he had heard that the Cayols abandoned all claim to his niece’s fortune it became a matter of indifference to him. He now had but one great desire at heart: to wash away M. de Girousse’s expressions of contempt with the blood of an enemy. And lo! all at once, he met Philippe at a deserted spot, in the middle of this wood which belonged to him. He had gone out, his head bent down, seeking a means to attain his end, and chance placed him face to face with the very person he wished to meet to satisfy his vengeance.
The two men stared for a moment at each other in silence. They had both stooped, as if to be ready to spring at each other’s throats. Then each felt ashamed at finding himself in the attitude of a wild animal, when they wished to act toward one another as civilized animals.
“I have been seeking you for a year,” said M. de Cazalis at last. “You are in my way and I’m in yours. One of us must disappear.”
“I’m quite of your opinion,” answered Philippe.
“I have weapons in that house. Wait for me. In a few seconds I’ll be with you.”
“No. We cannot fight so. If I were to kill you they would accuse me of murdering you. We must have witnesses.”
“And where shall we find them?”
“In a couple of hours both of us can go to Marseille and be back again with two of our friends.”
“Good. The meeting is for noon at this same spot.”
“Yes, at this same spot.”
They had spoken in a stern voice and without the least insult. The provocation was natural, as if it were a matter agreed upon long before.
Philippe went immediately to Marseille, resolving to keep his brother in ignorance of what was about to occur, for he felt the encounter necessary, and would not run the risk of an obstacle being placed in the way of it.
As he was going down the Cours, he met Sauvaire tearing along.
“Don’t stop me,” said the ex-master-stevedore to him. “I’m returning to the Aygalades in great haste. The men are falling like flies here. There were eighty deaths yesterday.”
Philippe, without listening to him, told him he had a duel on hand and relied on him. When he had named his adversary Sauvaire exclaimed:
“I’m your man, and I would not be sorry to see that scoundrel’s brains blown out.”
They called together on M. Martelly, whose courageous behaviour was causing universal admiration in Marseille. The shipowner listened to Philippe gravely, and thought as he did, that the duel was necessary and inevitable.
“I am at your disposal,” he answered simply.
The three men took a cab, and at a little before noon entered the pine wood where they had to wait for M. de Cazalis. At length he arrived. After having ran through Marseille in search of a couple of friends in vain, he had made up his mind to go to a barracks where two obliging sergeants consented to act as witnesses. As soon as the cab that brought them had been sent to stand near that of Philippe, the paces were counted and the weapons loaded, rapidly and in silence, and without any attempt being made at reconciliation. Never before had preparations for a duel been more prompt or simple.
When the principals had been placed face to face, Philippe whom fortune had favoured, raised his arm ready to fire, but he all at once felt a presentiment and shuddered. Before M. de Cazalis had arrived, he had been looking in a melancholy way at the pines which surrounded him and beneath which he had courted in days gone by. Chance is at times cruel. The scenery was the same, the vast heavens expanded with the same limpidity, the country displayed an horizon