THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
Marius, who understood that his presence would be painful to Mademoiselle de Cazalis, began strolling about the Cours like a soul in trouble, and followed the priest and two young girls at a distance. When the supplicants had gone upstairs, the flower-girl perceived the young man and signed to him to come and join her. They both waited, agitated and anxious, without exchanging a word.
The President received Blanche with great commiseration. He understood that she had received the cruellest of blows in this unfortunate business. The poor child could not speak; at the first words she began to sob, and all her supplicating being begged for pity, infinitely better than her prayers could have done.
It was Abbé Chastanier who had to explain their presence and present their petition.
“Sir,” said he to the President, “we come with joined hands. Mademoiselle de Cazalis is already broken down by the misfortunes that have overwhelmed her. She implores you for pity’s sake to spare her fresh humiliation.”
“What would you have me do?” inquired the President in an unsteady voice.
“We desire, if it be possible, that you will prevent a fresh scandal. M. Philippe Cayol has been sentenced to be publicly exhibited, and he is to undergo this punishment within the next few days. But the infamy will not attain him alone; it will not be a case of one culprit being fastened to the pillory, there will be a poor suffering child who now implores your pity. You understand, do you not? The yells and insults of the mob will recoil on Mademoiselle de Cazalis; she will be dragged in the mud by the people, and her name will be passed from mouth to mouth around the abominable post, with sneers of hatred and foul expressions.”
The President seemed deeply affected. He preserved silence for a moment. Then, as if struck with a sudden idea, he inquired,
“But, was it M. de Cazalis who sent you here? Is he aware of the steps you are taking?”
“No,” replied the priest with frank dignity, “M. de Cazalis does not know we are here. Men have interests, passions that bear them along, and which sometimes prevent them forming a clear judgment as to their position. Perhaps we are acting contrary to the wish of Mademoiselle de Cazalis’ uncle, in coming to solicit you. But above the passions and interests of men, are goodness and justice. And so I do not fear to place my sacred character in jeopardy, by taking upon myself to ask you to be good and just.”
“You are right, sir,” said the President. “I understand the motives that brought you here; and, as you see, I am deeply affected by your words. Unfortunately I cannot prevent the punishment, it is not within my power to modify a sentence of a Court of Assizes.”
Blanche joined her hands.
“Sir,” she stammered, “I know not what you can do for me; but, I implore you to be merciful; say to yourself that it is I whom you have sentenced, and endeavour to ease my sufferings.”
The President took her hands, and answered her with parental tenderness.
“My poor child, I understand everything. The part I have played in this affair has been a painful one. At this moment I am in despair at not being able to say to you: ‘Fear nothing, I have the power to overthrow the pillory, and you shall not be attached to the post with the condemned man.’”
“Then,” asked the dejected priest, “the exhibition will take place shortly? You are not even allowed to delay this deplorable scene?”
The President had risen.
“The Minister of Justice,” he said, “can put it off at the request of the crown advocate. Will you have this exhibition take place at the end of December? I shall be glad to give you a proof of my compassion and good will.”
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed Blanche, warmly. “Delay the terrible moment as long as possible. I shall perhaps feel stronger.”
Abbé Chastanier who knew what Marius’ projects were, thought that in presence of the President’s promise, he ought to retire without insisting further. So he joined Blanche in accepting the offer made them.
“Very well, that is understood,” said the President, accompanying them to the door, “I shall make the request, and I feel sure it will be granted, that justice shall not take its course before the expiration of four months. Until then rest in peace, Mademoiselle. Hope, heaven will perhaps send you some balm to your wounds.”
The two supplicants proceeded downstairs.
As soon as Fine perceived them she ran to meet them.
“Well?” she inquired, panting for breath.
“As I told you,” answered Abbé Chastanier, “the President cannot prevent the execution of the sentence.”
The flower-girl turned quite pale.
“But,” the old priest hastened to add, “he has promised to intercede and to have the date of the exhibition adjourned. You have four months before you to labour for the prisoner’s welfare.”
Marius had approached the little group formed by the two young girls and the abbé, in spite of his desire to stand aloof. The silent, solitary street appeared quite white in the intense heat of the noonday sun; grass had sprung up between the bright paving stones, and a dog, that was giving an airing to its lean spine in the narrow streak of shade which fell from the houses, was the only other living thing about. When the young man heard the words that fell from Abbé Chastanier, he rushed forward and grasped his hands effusively.
“Ah! my father,” he exclaimed in a trembling voice, “you have brought me back hope and faith. Since yesterday I had been doubting Providence. How can I thank you, how can I prove to you my gratitude? Now I feel possessed of invincible courage, I am certain of saving my brother.”
Blanche, at the sight of Marius, had hung her head. A warm blush had suffused her cheeks. She stood there confused and embarrassed, suffering horridly at the presence of this youth, who was aware of her perjury, and whom her uncle and she had plunged into despair. When the young man’s joy had somewhat subsided, he regretted he had approached. The despairing attitude of Mademoiselle de Cazalis aroused his pity.
“My brother has been very guilty,” he said to her at last. “Pardon him as I pardon you.”
These few words were all he could find. He would have liked to have spoken to her of her child, to have questioned her as to the lot reserved to this poor little creature, to have claimed it in the name of Philippe; but he saw her so bowed down, that he dared not torture her further.
Fine doubtless understood what was passing within him. While he walked a few steps with Abbé Chastanier, she said rapidly to Blanche:
“Remember that I offered you to be a mother to your child. Now, I love you, for I see you have a good heart. Make a sign and I’ll hasten to your assistance. But apart from that, I shall be on the watch, for the little creature must not suffer from the folly of its parents.”
Blanche’s only answer was to silently squeeze the flower-girl’s hand. Big tears were trickling down her cheeks.
Mademoiselle de Cazalis and Abbé Chastanier returned at once to Marseille. Fine and Marius hastened to the gaol. They told Revertégat that they had four months to prepare the escape, and the gaoler swore he would abide by his word, on whatever day and hour they might remind him of it.
The two young people desired to see Philippe before leaving Aix, so as to let him know what had taken place and tell him to have hope. At eleven o’clock in the evening Revertégat conducted them again to the cell.
Philippe, who was becoming accustomed to the prison regulations, did not seem particularly depressed.
“Provided I am spared the disgrace of the public exhibition,” he said to them, “I will consent to everything. I would rather break my head open against a wall, than be fastened to the post of infamy.”
And the following day the diligence brought Marius and Fine back to Marseille. They were about to continue the struggle to which their