THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
aid in their task. They considered that their honour demanded they should crush Philippe Cayol. They regarded him as a personal enemy who, having dared to attack the dignity of one of themselves, had by so doing insulted the whole body of them. To see these counts and marquises bestir themselves, give vent to their anger, and band themselves together, one might have fancied that some hostile army was at the gates of the town. Yet it was, after all, simply a question of securing the conviction of a poor wretch guilty of love and ambition.
Philippe, however, had some friends and defenders. All the lower classes declared themselves freely for him. They blamed his conduct and reproved the means he had employed, saying that he would have done better to have loved and married a young woman in his own class of life; but, whilst censuring his behaviour, they loudly took his part against the deputy’s pride and hatred.
It was known throughout the town that Blanche, when before the examining magistrate, had denied her love; and the daughters of the people, true Provençal women, enthusiastic and courageous, spoke of her with insulting contempt. They called her “renegade,” ascribed the most shameful motives to her conduct, and did not hesitate to cry their opinions from the housetops in the expressive language of the gutter.
All this clamour compromised Philippe’s cause considerably. The whole town was in the secret of the drama about to be performed. Those whose interest it was to secure the prisoner’s conviction, being certain of succeeding did not even take the trouble to hide their proceedings; those who would have liked to have saved him, conscious of their weakness and unarmed condition, relieved themselves by bawling, delighted to annoy those powerful persons whom they had no hope of mastering.
M. de Cazalis had shamelessly dragged his niece with him to Aix. During the first days he took a sort of proud delight in walking her up and down the Cours. It was his way of protesting against the idea of dishonour with which the crowd coupled the young girl’s flight; he seemed to be proclaiming to the world at large: “You see that a lout cannot damage the honour of a Cazalis. My niece still looks down upon you from the height of her rank and fortune.”
But he was unable to continue these walks long. His behaviour angered the mob, who insulted Blanche and was on the point of stoning her and her uncle. The women especially were furious; they did not perceive that it was not the niece’s fault and that she was simply submitting to an iron will. She trembled before the popular wrath, and lowered her eyes in order not to see those women gazing at her with such fiery glances. She could feel their contemptuous gesticulations behind her, hear horrible words she failed to understand, and her legs were giving way beneath her as she clung to her uncle’s arm in order not to fall. She returned home one day, pale and trembling, and declared she would not go out again. The poor child was going to become a mother.
At last the day of the trial arrived.
The doors of the courthouse were besieged from early morning, the Place des Prêcheurs was filled with a noisy gesticulating crowd, clamouring as to the probable result of the trial, and discussing Philippe’s guilt and M. de Cazalis’ and Blanche’s attitude.
The courtroom slowly filled. Extra rows of seats had been added for the persons provided with tickets; there were so many of them that the majority had to remain standing. There were the flower of the nobility, the leading barristers, the high functionaries, in fact all the notabilities of Aix. No prisoner had ever before had such an audience.
When the doors were opened for the admission of the general public, only a few persons were able to find room. The remainder were compelled to wait in the passages, and even on the steps of the building. And now and again the crowd indulged in groaning and hooting, and the noise penetrated and swelled in the courtroom, and disturbed its quiet majesty.
The ladies had taken possession of the gallery, and there formed a compact mass of smiling and anxious faces. Those in the front row fanned themselves, or leant forward with their gloved hands resting on the red velvet covering the rail of the balustrade. Further back, in the shadow, rose serried tiers of pink faces, their bodies scarcely discernible amid the mass of laces, ribbons, and studs. And silvery laughter, whispered words, shrill little cries, fell from this rosy, gossiping crowd. The ladies fancied themselves at a theatre.
When Philippe Cavol was brought in, there ensued a great silence. The ladies devoured him with their eyes; some even examined him from top to toe with their opera-glasses. The big fellow with his energetic features was quite a success. The women, having come to judge of Blanche’s taste, no doubt considered the young person less to blame, when they beheld her lover’s lofty stature and clear penetrating eyes.
Philippe’s attitude was calm and dignified. He was dressed entirely in black, and seemed to ignore the presence of the two gendarmes beside him, rising up and reseating himself with all the grace of a man of the world. Now and again, he calmly surveyed the crowd, without the least effrontery. He gazed several times up at the gallery; and on each occasion he smiled in spite of himself, so great was his wish to love and please even there.
The indictment was read and was overwhelming for the accused. In the depositions of M. de Cazalis and his niece the incidents were distorted in a skilful and terrible manner. It was stated that Philippe had perverted Blanche’s mind by the aid of bad books: the truth being that he had lent her two utterly puerile works by Madame de Genlis. The indictment further said on the strength of Blanche’s version of the story, that she had been carried away by force, that she had clung to an almond-tree, and that during the flight the abductor had resorted to violence to oblige his victim to follow him. The gravest allegation was founded on one of Blanche’s depositions: she pretended she had never written Philippe any letters and that the two produced by him were antedated ones which he had made her write at Lambesc, by way of precaution.
When the reading of the indictment was finished, the place became filled with the noisy murmur of innumerable private conversations. Each spectator, before coming to the courthouse, had his own version, and now was discussing in a low voice the official one. Outside, the mob was howling. The presiding judge threatened to have the hall cleared, and silence was gradually restored.
Philippe’s examination was then proceeded with. When the presiding judge had asked the usual preliminary questions and had repeated to him the particulars of the indictment drawn up against him, the young man, without refuting them, exclaimed in a clear voice:
“I am accused of having been carried off by a young girl!”
These words caused a general laugh. The ladies hid themselves behind their fans to give full vent to their feelings. Philippe’s words, foolish and absurd as they seemed, contained nevertheless a great deal of truth.
The presiding judge sensibly observed that no one had ever known a man of thirty to be carried off by a girl of sixteen, to which Philippe quietly replied:
“Neither has anyone ever seen a girl of sixteen wandering along the highways, passing through towns, meeting hundreds of people, without appealing to the first person she encountered to deliver her from her abductor, her gaoler.”
And he endeavoured to show the material impossibility of the acts of violence and intimidation of which he was accused. At every hour of the day, Blanche had been free to leave him, to procure aid and succour; if she had accompanied him, it was because she loved him and had consented to the flight. In addition to this, Philippe expressed the greatest affection for the young girl, and the greatest deference for M. de Cazalis. He admitted his errors, and merely asked not to be branded as an infamous abductor.
The trial was adjourned to the morrow for the hearing of the witnesses. That night the town was in an uproar; the ladies spoke of Philippe with affected indignation, serious men referred to him more or less severely, while the lower classes energetically took his part.
On the morrow, the crowd outside the courthouse was, if anything, larger and noisier than on the previous day. The witnesses were nearly all for the prosecution. M. de Girousse had not been summoned; his rough frankness was dreaded; and, moreover, he should rather have been arrested as an accomplice. Marius had begged him not to compromise himself in the affair; he also feared the old count’s violence, which might spoil everything.
There was scarcely more