THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ him at once to the hospital,” cried one of the sergeants to the coachman.

      The man whipped up his horse, and the cab entering the old town, which the procession had just left, was in a few minutes before the hospital where two attendants carried M. de Cazalis into the cholera ward. Only one empty bed remained, and he was placed beside Philippe.

      When the ex-deputy who was already turning black, was brought in, Marius and M. Martelly, who recognised him, had stepped back affrighted, but M. de Cazalis did not immediately notice what neighbours chance had given him. The disease was racking him most terribly. He was lost. In one of his convulsions he raised himself and at last perceived Philippe, who was extended on the adjoining bed still unconscious. Then he reflected that he was dying himself, and would not have enough life to enjoy his vengeance, and at that thought he fell back on his bed literally howling with rage.

      “Save me!” he shouted out, “I want to live. Oh! I am wealthy, I will reward you!”

      And he distorted himself in the most frightful suffering exclaiming that they were tearing out his entrails.

      Philippe in the meanwhile, had opened his eyes. The hoarse voice of his enemy had momentarily drawn him from the lethargy that was gaining possession of him, and raising his head, he stared at M. de Cazalis as if in a trance. When the latter saw the wounded man resuscitated and looking at him, dreamily, his rage and terror increased.

      “He is not dead!” he yelled. “Ah! the wretch will live, and I’m dying.”

      They contemplated each other. Hatred brought them together even in death. Suddenly, they heard a celestial voice exclaim amidst the silence:

      “Give each other the hand, I insist on it. One must not go into eternity in anger.”

      They raised their heads, and perceived Blanche beside them standing erect in her grey gown. She seemed taller. Philippe joined his hands, without speaking. He thought himself already on the other side, where he had often dreamed of finding his sweetheart. His dream continued.

      M. de Cazalis clenched his teeth, when he heard these words of peace. The sight of his niece exasperated him.

      “Who brought you here?” he cried. “You knew I was going to die, and came to enjoy the sight of my death.”

      “Listen,” continued Blanche, “the Almighty is going to judge you. Do not appear before Him with a soul black with hatred. For pity’s sake, give Philippe your hand.”

      “No, a thousand times no! I would sooner be damned than reconciled to him. When I held him at the end of my pistol barrel, I knew he would die. Don’t think you’ll save him, and take him back for a lover.”

      He blasphemed, shook his fist at Heaven, vomitted foul words upon his niece and Philippe, but the disease was gaining possession of him, he felt himself already turning cold, and the horror of his end made him like a mad animal, that was powerless to bite.

      Blanche had drawn back. She leant against the bed of the wounded man, who continued gazing at her with great tenderness; and bending towards him, she said in a gentle tone:

      “Will you offer that man your hand?”

      Philippe smiled. “Yes,” he said, “I forgive him and would like him to forgive me also. I want to live with you in Heaven. Tell me, will you not pray to your God to admit me to your Paradise?”

      Blanche, very much affected, took the dying man’s hand, which she felt trembling in hers.

      “Give me yours,” she said to M. de Cazalis.

      “No, never, never!” shouted the cholera patient amidst a convulsion. “I don’t want to live with you in your Heaven. I prefer all the flames of Hell. Go. Never, never!”

      He had clasped his hands together, and was wildly distorting his arms. As he bellowed: “Never, never!” he was seized with a spasm and expired. His body remained in its frightful position.

      Blanche had turned away her head in horror. When she looked down on Philippe again, she saw that he, also, was dying. He gently pressed her hand. His eyes had become clear, his lips wore a faint smile. He imagined he had been dead a long time and thought no more of his brother who was there, or of his son, whom he had been inquiring for.

      “Tell me,” he murmured, without making the least struggle against death, “you will take me with you, won’t you?”

      And he died.

      At that very moment Fine and Joseph entered the room. Marius closed his brother’s eyes. Fine, in despair, went and knelt down. The poor little child, standing alone at the foot of the bed, was unable to understand, and quietly sobbed.

      Since Joseph had entered the room, Blanche had been gazing at him in bewilderment. All at once she saw he was in danger. She kissed Philippe’s hand which she had retained in hers, and then abruptly caught the child up in her arms and ran off with him. M. de Martelly had to lead Marius and Fine away, but as Marius was about to retire, he heard one of the dying calling to him.

      “Don’t you remember me?” a woman asked. “Have you forgotten the wretched Armande? I had vowed not to see you until I had obtained my pardon. I made myself a servant in this hospital and am dying. Will you give me your hand?”

      Marius grasped the poor creature’s hand, and it was only then that he discovered where he was. Overcome by grief, he had not looked round about him before. The cholera ward now appeared to him in all its horror. M. Martelly pointed out the corpse of Abbé Chastanier and from that moment he seemed to see Death standing erect in the centre of the room, with his immense arms extended. Thrusting Fine before him, he went out staggering with giddiness.

      It was not until they were on the staircase that they perceived Joseph had disappeared. They called him, inquired for him, searched for him in every corner. At length he was discovered at the bottom of an inner courtyard. A Sister of Mercy, of the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, was holding him in her arms and passionately kissing him.

      The following day Marius, while returning from his brother’s funeral, learnt that Sister Blanche had been carried off by an attack of cholera during the night.

      CHAPTER XXIII

      EPILOGUE

      TEN years have passed.

      M. Martelly has retired to a villa he had built on the rocks of Endoume, and resides there with his sister. The only thing that makes him feel sad is to see that Liberty is a plant that does not thrive in France; he feels sure he will die before the advent of Democracy.

      Marius has succeeded him at the house of business, in the Rue de la Darse. Thanks to the fortune Joseph came into at the death of his mother and M. de Cazalis, he has been able to extend his operations considerably, and the shipowners Cayol are now one of the principal firms in Marseille.

      The family has grown older amidst the love and happiness it had waited for so long. Fine spreads her gay and tender serenity around her, and her brother Cadet is one of the most active partners in the house.

      Joseph is now a tall youth of nineteen, possessing the delicate beauty of Blanche with Philippe’s passionate energy. He has just completed his studies, and expects to work СКАЧАТЬ