THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      CHAPTER VIII

      THE IRON POT AGAINST THE EARTHEN EWER

      WHEN Marius told M. Martelly, that evening, of the interview he had had with M. de Cazalis, the shipowner said, as he shook his head:

      “I do not know what advice to give you, my friend. I do not wish to drive you to despair; but you will be conquered, take my word for it. Your duty is to enter upon the struggle, and I will assist you to the best of my ability. Yet we had better admit to each other that we are weak and unarmed in the presence of an adversary who has the clergy and nobility behind him. Marseille and Aix have little love for the July monarchy, and these two towns are both wholly devoted to a deputy of the opposition which is waging such a war against M. Thiers. They will assist M. de Cazalis in his revenge; I am alluding to the bigwigs, the common people would help us if they were able to help anyone. The best thing would be to win over some influential member of the clergy to our cause. Do you know any priest who is in favour with our bishop?”

      Marius replied that he only knew Abbé Chastanier, a poor old man who certainly possessed no influence.

      “Never mind, go and see him,” said the shipowner. “The townspeople cannot be of any use to us, the nobility would show us the door if we asked their assistance, so there is only the Church left. That is where we must apply. Begin your campaign, I shall be busy on my side also.”

      On the following morning Marius went to Saint-Victor, where Abbé Chastanier received him with a sort of timid embarrassment.

      “Don’t ask me to do anything,” he exclaimed, at the first words the young man uttered. “It is known that I have already occupied myself with this affair, and I have had to endure some grave reproaches. I told you before, I am only a poor man, I can only pray for you.”

      Marius was affected by the old man’s humble attitude, and was about to withdraw, when the priest detained him and said in a low voice:

      “Listen, there is a man here, Abbé Donadéi, who might be useful to you. It is said that he is on the best of terms with his lordship. He is a foreign priest, an Italian, I think, who has won everybody’s goodwill in a few months.”

      He stopped speaking, hesitating, and seeming to be inquiring of himself. The worthy man was thinking that he was about to compromise himself terribly, but he could not resist the joy of doing a kindness.

      “Would you like me to take you to him?” he asked, suddenly.

      Marius, who had perceived his slight hesitation, sought to decline; but the old man insisted, forgetting entirely his personal tranquillity, listening only to the promptings of his heart.

      “Come,” he resumed, “Abbé Donadéi lives only a short distance off, on the Boulevard de la Corderie.”

      After a few minutes’ walk, Abbé Chastanier stopped at a little one-storeyed house, one of those close discreet dwellings which have a vague air of the confessional about them.

      “Here we are,” said he to Marius.

      An old woman-servant opened the door, and conducted them to a small apartment with dark hangings, resembling some austere boudoir.

      Abbé Donadéi received them with easy grace. His pale face, with delicate features, bore a slightly cunning expression, and did not show the least surprise. He drew some chairs forward in a coaxing manner, his body half bent, a slight smile about his lips, doing the honours of his study like a lady does those of her drawingroom.

      He wore a long black robe, loose at the waist. But this severe costume covered coquettish manners; his delicate white hands appeared quite small as they issued from the ample sleeves, and his cleanshaven face had a soft fresh complexion beneath the curly locks of his chestnut-coloured hair. He looked about thirty years of age.

      When he had seated himself in an armchair, he listened with smiling gravity to what Marius had to say. He made him repeat all the spicier details of Blanche’s elopement, and the story seemed to interest him immensely.

      Abbé Donadéi was born at Rome, and had an uncle who was cardinal. One fine day, his uncle suddenly packed him off to France, without anybody knowing exactly why. On his arrival, the handsome abbé found himself obliged to enter the Aix seminary as teacher of living languages. Such an humble position so humiliated him that he fell ill. The cardinal relented, and recommended his nephew to the bishop of Marseille. His ambition satisfied, Donadéi quickly recovered. He joined the clergy of Saint Victor, and, as Abbé Chastanier had naively said, he succeeded in winning everybody’s goodwill in a few months. His caressing Italian nature, his soft pink face, turned him into a cherub in the eyes of the demure lady devotees of the parish. He was especially successful in the pulpit: his slight foreign accent gave a strange charm to his sermons; and, when he spread out his arms, he knew how to cause his hands to tremble with an emotion which filled the eyes of СКАЧАТЬ