THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ and he’ll start tomorrow for Toulon.”

      “I should like to see what figure he cuts.”

      “They say he burst into sobs, when he saw the executioner bring the cords.”

      “No! no! he kept up well. Believe me he’s a plucky fellow, who doesn’t weep like a woman.”

      “Ah! the scoundrel! the people should stone him.”

      “I shall try and get nearer.”

      “Wait for me. They must be hooting him there. I want to join in.”

      These words, interspersed with jeers, and yelled out with angry gesticulations, sounded cruelly in Marius’ ears. A genuine terror seized him, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was frightened and incapable of reasoning. He asked himself in his anguish who the man could be whom the mob was hurrying to insult. The crowd was growing denser and more eager every moment; and he saw that he would never be able to pierce the formidable mass before him. So he decided to get round the Place Royale. He went slowly down the Rue Vacon, took the Rue Beauveau, and eventually reached the Cannebière. There, a strange sight awaited him.

      The whole extent of the Cannebière, from the harbour to the Cours Belzunce, was filled by an immense mob which was added to every minute. Throngs of people were streaming down every street. At times, a breath of anger rushed through the crowd, and then shouts arose, spread like vast billows, with the deep murmur of the sea. All the windows were filled with spectators; urchins had climbed up the shop-fronts along the houses. All Marseille was there, and each head was eagerly gazing in the same direction. There were more than sixty thousand persons on the Cannebière staring and hooting.

      When Marius had succeeded in drawing near, he then understood what kind of sight was attracting and detaining the crowd. In the centre of the Cannebière, opposite the Place Royale, stood a scaffold made of rough planks, on which was a man tied to a post. Two companies of infantry, a picket of mounted gendarmerie and chasseurs were drawn round the platform and protecting the culprit against the increasing fury of the mob.

      At first Marius only beheld the wretch fastened to the pillory and towering above the crowd. A horrible anxiety made him seek to see the man’s face. Perhaps it was Philippe! Perhaps M. de Cazalis had succeeded in having the date of the execution of the sentence advanced! At that thought Marius’ sight became confused, tears filled his eyes, and there was like a thick cloud hanging before his gaze which prevented him distinguishing anything. He leant against a shop, feeling faint, and stabbed to the heart by each shout of the crowd. In his feverish state, he ended by really believing that he recognised his brother on the scaffold, that it was indeed Philippe who was there and whom the multitude was insulting. The shame, pain, and pity which then took possession of him, filled him with atrocious anguish. During several minutes he remained like one annihilated; then he recovered sufficient courage to raise his head and look.

      The wretched man was firmly tied to the post. He wore a vest and trousers of grey canvas. His head was covered by a cap, and he had drawn the peak down over his eyes. He obstinately held his head bent, thus preventing the spectators seeing his features. His face was turned towards the port, and he never once raised his head to gaze at the broad sea which spread out before him, free and happy.

      When Marius had again looked at the prisoner, he felt a doubt and with it relief. The man seemed twice as stout as his brother. Moreover, he knew Philippe, and was confident that he would not have bowed his head thus, but would have considered it a duty to return the crowd scorn for scorn. Yet Marius still had a vague fear: the hidden face disquieted him, he would have liked to have had a clear view of the culprit’s features.

      All about the young man the mob continued to utter exclamations, yells of anger or irony.

      “Hold up your head, you rogue! show us your face, you scoundrel!”

      “Oh! he’ll never look up, he’s frightened.”

      “Well, he’s harmless now. He’s got his hands tied and will never again rob anybody.”

      “You think so, do you? He almost stole his pardon.”

      “Yes, yes, some rich, pious people tried to have him spared the ignominy of the pillory.”

      “A poor man wouldn’t have met with such sympathy.”

      “But the king didn’t give way; he said the punishment must be the same for all scoundrels, whether high or low.”

      “Oh! the king’s a good fellow.”

      “Hi! Douglas, rogue, rascal, thief, hypocrite, you won’t play any more of your pranks, my friend; you won’t go again to church to pray to have your forgeries concealed!”

      Marius breathed more freely. The cries he heard told him at last who was the sufferer. Then he recognised Douglas, he caught a distinct view of the ex-notary’s pale fat face. But, in the inmost recesses of his heart, he thought of his brother, and remembered that Philippe also might have to confront the jeers and howls of the mob.

      The multitude was still roaring.

      “He’s ruined more than fifty families. Penal servitude is too light a punishment for him.”

      “We should take the law into our own hands.”

      “Yes, that’s it, we’ll capture him and lynch him, when he passes by.”

      “Look how comfortable he seems up there.”

      “He doesn’t suffer half enough, he ought to be hung up by his feet.”

      “Ah! there’s the executioner about to untie him. Come along.”

      It was true, and Douglas left the scaffold. He was placed in a little open cart, drawn by a single horse, which was to take him back to the prison. At this moment, there was a great commotion amongst the people. Everybody rushed forward, to hoot and perhaps kill the wretch. But the foot soldiers surrounded the cart whilst those on horseback galloped about and broke up the mob.

      Marius looked a last time at the culprit with intense pity. The man was, no doubt, very guilty, but the calvary of shame he was ascending turned him rather into an object of commiseration than of anger. The young man had remained leaning against a shop. As he was watching the departure of the cart, he heard two workmen, who were passing by, say:

      “We’ll come back next month. You know, they’re going to exhibit that fellow who carried off the young lady. It’ll be more amusing.”

      “Ah! yes, Philippe Cayol. I knew him, he’s a big chap. We must find out the proper day so as not to miss it. There’ll be a fine to-do.”

      The workmen went off, and Marius remained with a pale face and an aching heart. The men were right: in a month’s time it would be his brother’s turn. And he reflected that chance had caused him to assist at all the horrors Philippe would have to go through. He knew now what sufferings awaited him, he could fancy him in Douglas’ place and pictured to himself the horrible scene that would be enacted. His anguish kept him a long time with closed eyes and ears full of a confused hum: he was seeing Philippe on the scaffold, and listening to the laughing crowd insulting him.

      CHAPTER XII

      MARIUS СКАЧАТЬ