Complete Works of Emile Zola (1699 page)

And all at once he arrived at a decision: he would accept Salvan’s offer, he would come to Maillebois as elementary master, and he would contend against the Church, against that contamination of the people, of which he had witnessed one of the delirious fits at the ridiculous ceremony held that afternoon. He would work for the liberation of the humble, he would strive to make them free citizens. To win back those masses whom he saw weighed down by ignorance and falsehood, incapable of justice, he would go to the children and to the children’s children, instruct them, and, little by little, create a people of truth who, then alone, would become a people of justice. That was the loftiest duty, the most pressing good work, that on which depended the country’s very salvation, its strength and glory in its liberating and justice-bringing mission through the ages and through the other nations. And if, after three days’ hesitation and anguish at the idea of imperilling the happiness he enjoyed in Geneviève’s arms, a moment had sufficed for Marc to arrive at that weighty decision, was it not that he had also found himself confronted by the serious problem of the position of woman, whom the Church had turned into a mere stupefied serf, an instrument of falsity and destruction?

What would they become as wives and mothers, those little girls whom Mademoiselle Rouzaire now led to the Capuchins? When the Church had seized them and held them by their senses, their weakness, and their sufferings, it would never release them; it would employ them as terrible engines of warfare, to demolish men and pervert children. So long as woman, in her ancient contest with man, with respect to unjust laws and iniquitous moral customs, should thus remain the property and the weapon of the Church, social happiness would remain impossible, war would be perpetuated between the disunited sexes. And woman would only at last be a free creature, a free companion for man, disposing of herself and of her happiness for the happiness of her husband and her child, on the day when she should cease to belong to the priest, her present master — he who disorganised and corrupted her.

With respect to Marc himself, was it not an unacknowledged fear, the dread of some drama, which might ravage his own household, that had made him tremble and recoil from the prospect of doing his duty? The sudden decision he had taken might mean a struggle at his own hearth, the necessity of doing his duty to those of his own home, even though his heart might bleed cruelly the while. He knew that now; thus there was some heroism in the course he chose with all simplicity, with all enthusiasm for the good work which he hoped to prosecute. The highest
rôle
and the noblest in a nascent democracy is that of the poor and scorned elementary schoolmaster, appointed to teach the humble, to train them to be happy citizens, the builders of the future City of Justice and Peace. Marc felt it was so, and he suddenly realised the exact sense of his mission, his apostleship of Truth, that fervent passion to acquire Truth, certain and positive, then cry it aloud and teach it to all, which had ever possessed him.

Raising his eyes to the railway station, the young man suddenly perceived that it was past four o’clock. The train which he and his wife were to have taken had gone, and it would be necessary to wait till six, when the next one started. Almost immediately afterwards he saw Geneviève approaching, looking much distressed, and carrying little Louise in her arms in order to get over the ground more rapidly. ‘Ah! my friend, you must forgive me, I quite forgot the time,’ she exclaimed. ‘Grandmother detained me, and seemed so annoyed by my impatience to join you that ended by no longer noticing how time slipped by.’

She had seated herself on the bench beside him, with Louise on her lap. He smilingly inclined his head and kissed the child, who had raised her little hands to pull his beard. And he quietly answered: ‘Well, we will wait till six o’clock, my dear. There is nobody to interfere with us, we can remain here. Besides, I have something to tell you.’ But Louise wanted to play, and, stamping on her father’s thighs, she cast her arms about his neck.

‘Has she been good?’ he asked.

Oh! she always is at grandmother’s; she’s afraid of being scolded. But now, you see, she wants to have her revenge.’

When the young woman had managed to reseat the child on her lap again, she inquired of her husband: ‘What is it you want to tell me?’

‘Something which I did not previously speak to you about, as I had not made up my mind. I am offered the post of schoolmaster here, at Maillebois, and I am going to accept it. What do you think of it?’

She looked at him in amazement, at first unable to reply. And for a moment in her eyes he plainly detected a gleam of joyous surprise, followed, however, by increasing anxiety, ‘Yes, what do you think of it?’ he repeated.

‘I think, my friend, that it is advancement, such as you did not expect so soon — only, the position will not be an easy one here, amid such exasperated passions — your opinions, too, being known to everybody.’

‘No doubt. I thought of that, but it would be cowardly to refuse the fight.’

‘But to speak quite plainly, my friend, I very much fear that if you accept the post it will lead to a complete rupture with grandmother. With mother we might still get on. But, as you know, grandmother is intractable; she will imagine that you have come here to do the work of Antichrist. It means certain rupture.’

A pause, full of embarrassment, followed. Then Marc resumed: ‘So you advise me to refuse? You also would disapprove of it: you would not be pleased if I came here?’

She again raised her eyes to his, and with an impulse of great sincerity replied: ‘Disapprove of what you do? You grieve me, my friend: why do you say that? Act as your conscience bids, do your duty as’ you understand it. You are the only good judge, and whatever you do will be well done.’

But, though she spoke those words, he could detect that her voice was trembling, as if with fear of some unconfessed peril which she felt to be near at hand. There came a fresh pause, during which her husband took hold of her hands and caressed them lovingly in order to reassure her.

‘So you have quite made up your mind?’ she asked.

‘Yes, quite: I feel that I should be acting wrongly if I acted otherwise.’

‘Well, as we still have an hour and a half to wait for our train, I think we ought to return to grandmother’s at once, to acquaint her with your decision.... I want you to behave frankly with her, not as if you were hiding things.’

The young woman was still looking at her husband, and at that moment all that he read in her glance was a great deal of loyalty mingled with a little sadness.

‘You are right, my darling,’ he answered; ‘let us go to grandmother’s at once.’

They walked slowly towards the Place des Capucins, delayed somewhat by the little legs of Louise, whom her mother held by the hand. But the close of that fine April day was delightful, and they covered the short distance in a kind of reverie, without exchanging a word. The square had become deserted again, the ladies’ house seemed to be wrapped in its wonted somnolence. They found Madame Duparque seated in the little drawing-room, resting her ailing leg on a chair, while she knitted stockings for some charity. Madame Berthereau was embroidering near the window.

Greatly astonished by Geneviève’s return, and particularly by the presence of Marc, the grandmother dropped her knitting, and, without even telling them to sit down, waited for them to speak. When Marc had acquainted her with the position, the offer made to him, his decision to accept it, and his desire to inform her of it in a deferential way, she gave a sudden start, then shrugged her shoulders.

‘But it is madness, my boy,’ said she; ‘you won’t keep the appointment a month.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why? Because you are not the schoolmaster we require. You are well aware of the good spirit of the district, where religion is securing such splendid triumphs. And with your revolutionary ideas your position would be untenable, you would soon be at war with the whole population.’

‘Well, I should be at war. Unfortunately one has to fight in order to be victorious.’

Thereupon the old lady became angry: ‘Don’t speak foolishly!’ she exclaimed. ‘There seems to be no end to your pride and rebellion against religion! But you are only a grain of sand, my poor boy, and I really pity you when I see you imagining yourself strong enough to conquer in a battle in which both Heaven and man will annihilate you!’

‘It is not I who am strong, it is reason, it is truth.’

‘Yes, I know.... But it is of no consequence! Just listen to me! I will not have you here as schoolmaster. I am anxious for my tranquillity and honourability. It would be too much grief and shame for me to see our Geneviève here, in Maillebois, as the wife of a man denying both God and country, and scandalising all pious souls by his actions. It is madness, I tell you! You will immediately refuse.’

Madame Berthereau, sorely grieved by this sudden dispute, lowered her head over her embroidery in order that she might not have to intervene. Geneviève remained erect, but had become very pale, while little Louise, whose hand she still held, felt so frightened that she hid her face in the folds of her mother’s skirt. But Marc was determined to remain calm, and without even raising his voice he answered:

No, I cannot refuse. I have come to a decision, and I merely desired to inform you of it.’

At this Madame Duparque, although she was scarcely able to move, by reason of her attack of gout, lost all self-control. As a rule nobody dared to resist her, and she was exasperated at now finding herself confronted by such quiet determination. A wave of terrible anger rose within her, and words she would rather have left unspoken rushed from her lips: ‘Come! say everything,’ she cried; ‘confess it, you are only coming here in order that you may busy yourself on the spot with that abominable Simon case! Yes! you are on the side of those ignoble Jews; you still think of stirring up all that filth, and pouncing upon some innocent to send him yonder, in the place of the vile assassin who was so justly condemned! And that innocent, you are still stubbornly seeking him among the worthiest of God’s servants! Is that not so? Confess it! Why don’t you confess it?’ Marc could not help smiling; for he fully understood that the real cause of all the anger with which he was assailed was indeed the Simon case, the dread lest he should take it in hand again, and at last discover the real culprit. He could divine that behind Madame Duparque there stood her confessor, Father Crabot, and that the Jesuits and their allies, in order to prevent him from carrying on a campaign at Maillebois, were determined to tolerate there no schoolmaster who was not virtually in their hands.

‘Why, certainly,’ he answered in his quiet way, ‘I am still convinced of my comrade Simon’s innocence, and I shall do everything I can to demonstrate it.’

Madame Duparque in her rage jerked herself first towards Madame Berthereau and then towards Geneviève. ‘You hear him, and you say nothing! Our name will be brought into that campaign of ignominy. Our daughter will be seen in the camp of the enemies of society and religion!... Come, come, you who are her mother ought to tell her that such a thing is out of question, that she must prevent such infamy for the honour of herself and that of all of us.’

The old lady’s last words were addressed to Madame Berthereau, who, utterly scared by the quarrel, had now let her embroidery fall from her hands. For a moment she remained silent, for it cost her an effort to emerge from the gloomy self-effacement in which she usually lived. At last, making up her mind, she said: ‘Your grandmother is right, my girl. Your duty requires that you should not tolerate actions in which you would have your share of responsibility before God. Your husband will listen to you if he loves you. Indeed, you are the only one who can speak to his heart Your father never went against my desires in matters of conscience.’

Geneviève turned towards Marc, at the same time pressing little Louise to her side. She was stirred to the depths of her being: all her girlhood at the Convent of the Visitation, all her pious training and education, seemed to revive, filling her with vertigo. And yet she repeated what she had already said to her husband: ‘Marc is the only good judge; he will do what he deems to be his duty.’

Despite her ailing leg, Madame Duparque had managed to struggle to her feet. ‘Is that your answer?’ she cried wrathfully. ‘You, whom we brought up in a Christian manner — you who were well beloved by God — you already deny Him, and live religionless, like some beast of the fields? And you choose Satan without making even an effort to overcome him? Ah, well, your husband is only the more guilty, and he shall be punished for that also; you will be punished both of you, and God’s curse shall extend even to your child!’

She stretched forth her arms, and stood there in such a threatening posture that little Louise, who was terror-stricken, began to sob. Marc quickly caught up the child and pressed her to his heart, while she, as if eager for his protection, flung her arms around his neck. And Geneviève likewise drew near and leant against the shoulder of the man to whom she had given her life.

‘Be gone! be gone! all three of you!’ cried Madame Duparque. ‘Go to your folly and your pride, they will work your ruin! You hear me, Geneviève: there shall be no more intercourse between us until you come back here in all humility. For you will come back some day; you belonged to God too long for it to be otherwise; besides, I shall pray to Him so well that He will know how to win you back entirely.... But now be gone, be gone, I will have nothing more to do with you!’

Torn by anguish, her eyes full of tears, Geneviève looked at her distracted mother, who was weeping silently. So heartrending was the scene that the young woman again seemed to hesitate; but Marc gently took her hand and led her away. Madame Duparque had already sunk into her arm-chair, and the little house relapsed into its frigid gloom and dismal silence.

On the following Thursday Marc repaired to Beaumont to inform Salvan that he accepted his offer. And early in May he received the appointment, quitted Jonville, and installed himself at Maillebois as head-master of the Boys’ Elementary School.