THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      THE news of the arrest did not reach Marseille until the following day, and caused quite a sensation. M. de Cazalis was observed driving along the Cannebière in the afternoon, accompanied by his niece.

      The gossips had their fill; every one spoke of the deputy’s triumphant attitude, and of Blanche’s shame and embarrassment. M. de Cazalis was capable of dragging his niece throughout Marseille, to show the people she had returned to his protection, and that no woman of his race would marry beneath her.

      Marius, informed by Fine, was out and about all day. The common talk of the town confirmed the tidings, and he was able to pick up all the details of the arrest. In a few hours the event had become legendary, and the shopkeepers, the idlers and loafers related it as though it had been the marvellous tale of something that had happened a century before. The young man, tired of hearing these cock-and-bull stories, went to his office, his head aching and his brain incapable of deciding what course to pursue.

      Unfortunately, M. Martelly would be away until the following evening, and Marius felt the need of doing something at once. He would have liked to have immediately taken some steps that would have reassured him as to his brother’s fate. His first alarm had now, however, partly subsided. He reflected that after all his brother could not be accused of abduction, and that Blanche would be there to defend him. He ended by naively imagining that it was his duty to call upon M. de Cazalis and ask him for his niece’s hand in Philippe’s name. On the following morning he dressed himself in black, and was going out when Fine came as usual. The poor girl turned quite pale when Marius told her what he was about to do.

      “Will you permit me to accompany you?” she asked, in a beseeching tone of voice. “I will wait outside to learn the answer of the young lady and her uncle.”

      She followed Marius, and when they arrived at the Cours Bonaparte, the young man walked firmly to the deputy’s house and sent up his name.

      M. de Cazalis’ blind passion had now subsided. He held his vengeance. He would be able to prove his might by crushing one of those republicans, whom he detested. Now, his sole desire was to taste the joy of playing with his prey. So he ordered that M. Marius Cayol should be admitted. He expected tears, earnest supplications. The young man found him standing up haughtily in the centre of a vast saloon. He advanced towards him, and, without giving him time to speak, said, calmly and politely:

      ‘I have the honour to ask you, sir, in the name of my brother. M. Philippe Cayol, for the hand of your niece, Mademoiselle Blanche de Cazalis.”

      The deputy was thunderstruck. Harms’ request seemed to him so absurdly extravagant that it failed to anger him. He stepped back, looking the young man straight in the face, and answered with a disdainful laugh:

      “You must be mad, sir. I know that you are an industrious and honest fellow, and it is for that reason that I do not have you put out. Your brother is a scoundrel, a knave, who shall be punished as he deserves. What do you want with me?”

      On hearing his brother insulted, Marius felt a great desire to strike the noble personage, as one of the rabble would have done. He restrained himself, however, and continued, in a voice that was beginning to tremble with emotion:

      “I have already told you, sir. I am here to offer Mademoiselle de Cazalis the only reparation possible, that is to say, marriage. The wrong that has been done her can thus be effaced.”

      “We are above any wrong,” exclaimed the deputy, with contempt. “The shame for a Cazalis is not that she has had anything to do with a Philippe Cayol. Her shame would be to ally herself to such people as you.”

      “Such people as we, have other ideas as regards honour. However, I will not dwell upon it; my duty alone prompted me to offer you the reparation you refuse. Permit me merely to add, that your niece would no doubt accept this offer if I had the honour of making it to her in person.”

      “You think so?” said M. de Cazalis sarcastically.

      He rang the bell and requested the servant to ask his niece to come to him at once. Blanche entered, pale-faced and red-eyed, looking wornout by her too powerful emotions. She shuddered on beholding Marius.

      “Mademoiselle,” said her uncle coldly, “this gentleman has asked for your hand on behalf of the scoundrel whose name I will not pronounce in your presence. Tell the gentleman what you told me yesterday.”

      Blanche reeled. She dared not look at Marius. Her eyes fixed upon her uncle, her whole frame trembling, she murmured in a weak and hesitating voice:

      “I told you I had been carried off by force, and that I would do all in my power to secure the punishment of the odious attempt made upon me.”

      These words were uttered like a lesson learnt beforehand. Blanche denied her love. M. de Cazalis had not lost his time. As soon as his niece was in his power, he influenced her with all the weight of his obstinacy and pride. She alone could secure his ultimate success. It was necessary that she should lie and stifle her feelings, that she should become a compliant and passive instrument in his hands.

      During four hours he kept her under the spell of his sharp, cold words. He was not so foolish as to give vent to his rage. He spoke with crushing haughtiness, recalling the ancient origin of his race, displaying his wealth and power. He skilfully showed her on the one hand the picture of a vulgar and ridiculous marriage, and on the other the noble joys of a rich and great alliance. He attacked the young girl through her vanity, tired her out, broke her spirit, dulled her intellect, and rendered her such as he desired, tractable and inert.

      Blanche emerged from this long interview, this continuous martyrdom, utterly vanquished. Perhaps, beneath the sting of her uncle’s overpowering words, her patrician blood had at length revolted at the memory of Philippe’s vulgar love; perhaps her childhood’s dreams were called up as the deputy descanted on luxurious costumes, worldly elegance, and honours of all kinds. Moreover, her head was too bad, her heart too sore for her to resist that terrible will. Every sentence M. de Cazalis uttered struck her, crushed her, filled her with painful anxiety. She no longer felt the power of having a will of her own. She had loved and accompanied Philippe through weakness; now she was turning against him also through weakness: she was ever the same timid being. She accepted everything and promised everything. She longed to escape from the stilling weight with which her uncle’s words were crushing her.

      On hearing her make her strange declaration, Marius stood amazed and terrified. He remembered the young girl’s attitude when at Ayasse the gardener’s, he could recall her clinging to Philippe’s neck, loving and confiding.

      “Ah! mademoiselle,” he exclaimed bitterly, “the odious attempt you speak of did not seem to fill you with such abhorrence the day you beseeched me to implore your uncle’s pardon and consent! Have you reflected that your falsehood will cause the ruin of the man you perhaps still love, and who should be your husband?”

      Blanche, now erect, her lips tightly drawn together, was looking vaguely in front of her.

      “I do not know what you mean,” she stammered. “I have told no falsehood. I yielded to force. That man took advantage of me, and my uncle will avenge the honour of our family.”

      Marius drew himself up. Dignified anger increased his short stature, and his feeling of justice and truth made his thin face appear handsome. He looked around him contemptuously, and said, slowly:

      “And yet I am in the home of the Cazalis, of the descendants of that illustrious family which is the glory of Provence. I had no idea that falsehood dwelt in this abode, I never expected СКАЧАТЬ