Complete Works of Emile Zola (70 page)

Sauvaire and Clairon joked in a low voice while awaiting the abbé.

“Pooh! He will not care for me,” said Clairon. “He will cast me off at the first change of horses.”

“Who knows?”

“He’s very nice. I was afraid he would be old.”

“But, I say, you seem in love with the abbé. Oh! I’m not jealous. Only if you’re going off so willingly with him, you might return me the thousand francs I gave you to persuade you to assist us.”

“The thousand francs! Oh! indeed, and if he suddenly leaves me, must not I pay for my journey back?”

“I was joking, my dear, I don’t take back what I have given. Besides, I’m having my money’s worth of laughter.”

Marius intervened, repeating his instructions to Clairon.

“Do exactly as I told you,” he said. “Try to arrange so that he does not discover the trick until he is some leagues from Marseille. Do not speak, play your part with art. When he has discovered everything, act firmly, tell him I have his note and am determined to take it to the bishop, if you suffer the least harm, or if he shows himself again here. Advise him to go and seek fortune elsewhere.”

“Can I return at once to Marseille?” inquired Clairon.

“Certainly. I only want to drive him from the city by making him ridiculous for ever. I could have had him expelled from the church by his superiors, but I prefer annihilating him by mockery.”

Sauvaire was splitting with laughter at the thought of the scene between Abbé Donadéi and Clairon.

“Eh! my dear,” he continued, “tell him you are married and that your husband will no doubt be seeking you everywhere to prosecute you for your misconduct. Shall I run after you, and put your ravisher in a horrible fright?”

The idea of this joke so amused Sauvaire that he very nearly choked with hilarity. In the meanwhile Marius had noticed a dark form advancing rapidly towards them.

“Silence!” he exclaimed. “Here, I think, is our man. Attend to your part, Clairon. Place yourself in front of the carriage door.”

Sauvaire and Marius secreted themselves more closely in their hiding-place, and Clairon, with her face thickly veiled and dressed all in black, stood in the shadow thrown by the post-chaise. It was Donadéi, quite out of breath. He had thrown off the cowl and looked very smart in ordinary mufti.

“Dear, dear Claire,” he murmured with emotion, kissing Clairon’s hand, “how good of you to have come!”

“Claire, Clairon,” muttered Sauvaire, “it’s all the same.”

“Ah! Providence must have advised you,” continued the priest, pushing the girl gently into the carriage and then following her. “We are off to Paradise,” he added.

The postillion cracked his whip and the post-chaise started away with a frightful rumbling noise. Sauvaire and Marius then showed themselves, laughing until they almost cried.

“Eh! the abbé is eloping with the sister soul to his own,” said Marius.

“A pleasant journey, abbé,” cried Sauvaire.

When the chaise had disappeared in the night, bearing away Donadéi and Clairon, the master-stevedore and young clerk sauntered down the Boulevard de la Corderie, chatting about the adventure and giving way to sudden displays of gaiety, at the thought of the priest travelling alone with this creature.

“Can you fancy the face he’ll make presently,” said Sauvaire, “when he raises Clairon’s veil? Between you and me and the lamp-post, you know, Clairon is ugly. She is at least forty.”

The master-stevedore willingly acknowledged Clairon’s age and ugliness, since the girl’s forty summers and faded countenance made the joke he was playing the more amusing.

He was splitting with laughter and anxious to reach the Cannebière to tell his friends the story. Marius, who was more serious, was thinking he had given the priest the company he deserved. He left the master-stevedore at about eleven o’clock at night and went home.

At midnight everyone at Marseille who had not then retired to rest, knew that Abbé Donadéi had just eloped in a post-chaise, with a girl who had been wallowing in all the debauchery of the city for the previous fifteen years. Sauvaire had been shouting out the news in the cafés, and had related the adventure with a wonderful profusion of detail. That precious phrase of the graceful abbé as he got into the chaise: “We’re off to Paradise!” was repeated from mouth to mouth. They knew he had kissed her hand; and they speculated as to the reason why the amorous couple had lied.

The best part of the business was that Sauvaire, not knowing why Marius had had Clairon carried off, displayed absolute naïvete. He understood that if Donadéi’s passion for her could be made to appear serious, the joke would be all the more funny, and he therefore lied with all the assurance of an inhabitant of the south of France; he made believe that the priest was really dying of love for this wrinkled, sallow-faced creature, worn-out with shame, who was known to everyone.

There was general astonishment, universal mockery; people could not believe that the gallant abbé, with whom the penitent ladies of Marseille were so charmed, had run away with such a woman, and they jeered to their heart’s content at the monstrous alliance.

Next day the scandal was known to the whole city. Sauvaire triumphed and became a personage. They knew he had been Clairon’s last protector, and that the abbé had stolen the girl away from him. All day he sauntered up and down the Cannebière in slippers, comically receiving the condolences of his intimate acquaintances. He shouted out very loud, answering some, calling to others, using and abusing of his popularity. He certainly did not regret his thousand francs: he had never put out money for his amusement at so high a rate of interest.

The scandal became awful when Clairon returned two days later. Sauvaire bought her a silk gown and drove about Marseille with her for a week, in an open carriage. People pointed them out, and ran to their doors as they passed by. The master-stevedore almost burst with delight.

Clairon had gone as far as Toulon. Abbé Donadéi had not been long in discovering the kind of person he was eloping with: he had then flown into a frightful rage, and wanted to throw her out on the highway at one o’clock in the morning, far from any dwelling. But Clairon was not to be so easily got rid of. She had talked big and threatened the abbé, making use of the arms Marius held in his hands. Donadéi trembling and compelled to give way, had been obliged to conduct his companion as far as Toulon, where they separated, Clairon returning to Marseille, and the priest hurrying across the frontier.

Sauvaire drove the young person so much about and raised such an outcry, that the authorities took the matter in hand, and at the Bishop’s request sent Clairon to exercise the power of her charms elsewhere. Since then the master-stevedore in his effusive moments, which occurred ten or twelve times a day, was in the habit of saying to all who liked to listen to him: “Ah! if you only knew what a pretty person I had under my protection! It was the priests who took her away from me!”

CHAPTER XIX

PHILIPPE’S RANSOM

MARIUS went to his office, on the day following the elopement, delighted with his expedition of the previous evening.

He had just saved an honourable family from despair, and had delivered the city of an intriguing man, against whom he had, moreover, a personal grievance. He was about to set to work with a light heart and tranquil conscience, when they came and told him that M. Martelly would be pleased to see him.

On his way to the drawing-room the young man suddenly made up his mind to ask his principal to lend him the money for Philippe’s ransom. This decision set him all of a tremble. He felt he would never dare make such a request if he did not do so by a sort of impulse. As he had to see M. Martelly it would be useless to wait any longer, it would be better to risk the application at once.

He found M. Martelly and Abbé Chastanier in the drawing-room. The ship-owner was pale and his eyes were sparkling with anger. He came straight to the clerk and speaking rapidly, said to him:

“You are a straightforward and courageous young man, and I thought I would not act in such a serious matter as this without asking your advice.”

Abbé Chastanier appeared sad and ashamed. He made himself quite small in an armchair, his poor hands trembling with age and grief.

“I have just had this gentleman’s visit,” continued M. Martelly to Marius, pointing out the old priest, “and have received information of a plot that has quite upset me.”

“Be calm for mercy’s sake,” interrupted the priest, “do not make me repent having done my duty as an upright man, in coming to set you on your guard. I may have been unnecessarily alarmed.”

“You would not be here, sir, if your suspicions were not based on certitude. I thank you for your visit; I understand the feelings of dignity that have brought you to my house, and I even understand the final effort you are making to protect the infamous — “

The ship-owner turned to Marius and continued in a bitter tone:

“Only fancy, a priest is trying, at this moment, to dishonour me. This gentleman has just told me to watch over Claire. He has informed me with many omissions that Abbé Donadéi exercises a dangerous influence over her and that he fears Ah! if that wretch has tarnished the child’s purity, I’ll kill him like a dog!”

Abbé Chastanier hung his head. He did not regret the steps he had taken, he had acted as an upright man; but he was quite overcome at M. Martelly’s explosion of anger. He suffered as much as if he had been guilty himself: he felt ashamed for the entire Church.

The ship-owner became a little more calm, and after a few moments’ silence continued:

“I did not want to come to a decision before consulting a quiet and intelligent man, and I sent for you, Marius. My first impulse was to run to this priest and smack him in the face. There is perhaps another course to pursue that would be better.”

Marius had listened quietly to his principal and this somewhat tranquillized Abbé Chastanier. The young man who had his answer all ready, was not thinking of Donadéi; he was wondering how he could solicit a loan. At that moment he heard M. Martelly say to him in a loud voice:

“Come, in my place, what would you do?”

The young man smiled:

“I would do what I have already done,” he answered simply, and he gave an account of Clairon’s elopement. From the first words, as soon as the young man had spoken of the interview he had had with Claire about the prayer-book, M. Martelly pressed his hands effusively. The certitude that his sister had not dreamt of the peril through which she had passed gave him great joy. He became quite gay when he had heard the whole account of the adventure, and even Abbé Chastanier could not restrain a sad smile.

“I should not have confessed to you,” concluded Marius, “the part I had taken in this mystification if you had remained in ignorance of the danger threatening you. I merely wished to reassure you.”

“Do not try to escape my gratitude,” exclaimed the ship-owner. “I already looked on you as an adopted son, and you have just rendered me so great a service that I really do not know how to recompense you.”

Speaking thus he took Marius aside and then gave him a kind and encouraging look in the face.

“Have you no secret to tell me?” he inquired in an undertone.

Marius became troubled.

“You are a great child,” continued M. Martelly. “Fortunately I saw Mademoiselle Fine during your illness; otherwise I should still be in ignorance. Wait, I’ll sign you a draft for fifteen thousand francs which you can encash, at once, in the counting-house if you wish.”

Marius on hearing the ship-owner’s generous offer was spell-bound to the spot. He turned pale and inexpressible emotion filled his eyes with great tears. He felt like choking and was afraid of bursting out into sobs.

Eh! What! He was suddenly offered this money which he had been seeking for in despair for so many months! He had asked for nothing and his dearest wishes were satisfied! He thought he must be dreaming.

M. Martelly had gone towards a table. He sat down and was preparing to write out an order on his firm. But before doing so he raised his head and simply said to Marius:

“It’s fifteen thousand francs that you require, is it not?”

This question drew the young man from his stupor. He joined his hands and said in a trembling voice:

“How is it you know my secret thoughts? What have I done that you should be so good and generous?”

The ship-owner smiled:

“I will not say to you, as they do to children, that my little finger has told me all, but, in truth I received the visit of a fairy. Have I not already confessed it to you? Mademoiselle Fine came to see me.”

The young man at last understood. He thanked warmly, from the bottom of his heart, the good angel who, while saving him from death, had worked to bring him tranquillity and hope. He now understood the flower-girl’s placid, smiling countenance, when he had spoken to her of Philippe. She was certain of the prisoner’s safety, she had accomplished all alone, the whole of the hard work connected with raising a loan. Marius hardly knew if he ought to throw himself at M. Martelly’s feet or at Fine’s. He was overcome with gratitude.

The ship-owner was delighted to see his clerk’s countenance lit up with joy. His eyes met those of Abbé Chastanier who had remained seated and the two men understood each other: the free-thinker, the republican, as well as the priest, experienced the joy of doing good, the delicious sensation of making another happy, and of being present to see that happiness.

“But,” exclaimed Marius, amidst his delight, “I do not know when I shall be able to refund you so large a sum.”

“Do not let that trouble you,” answered the ship-owner. “You have rendered me great services, you have, perhaps, just saved me from dishonour. Allow me to oblige you without it being a question of refunding between us.”

And as a sort of gloom passed across Marius’ forehead, he took his hand and added:

“I do not mean to pay you for your devotedness, my friend. I know there are some debts that cannot be settled with money. I beg you to look at the matter in a different light: you have been with me for the last ten years, and I trust you will remain much longer; well! the fifteen thousand francs I am about to give you are a gratuity, a small share in the profits I have made with your help. You cannot refuse.”