THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      CHAPTER XV

      PHILIPPE REFUSES TO SAVE HIMSELF

      MARIUS had to admit to himself how powerless he was. He knew not at what door to knock.

      It is not easy for a simple clerk to borrow fifteen thousand francs in the course of an hour. He walked slowly down the Rue d’Aix, straining his mind but finding nothing in his wearied brain. Money troubles are terrible; one would sooner battle with an assassin than fight against the imperceptible and crushing phantom of poverty. Nobody has ever yet been able to conjure up a five-franc piece.

      When the young man, hopeless and at his wits’ end, reached the Cours Belzunce, he decided to return to Aix empty-handed. The coach was about to start, and there was only one vacant seat left, an outside one. He took it with delight, preferring to remain in the open air, for anxiety was stifling him, and he hoped that the vast horizon of the open country would calm his fever. It was a sad journey. In the morning, he had passed the same trees, the same hills, and hope, which brought a smile to his lips, then shed a joyous brightness over the fields and slopes. Now, as he again beheld the same countryside, he enveloped it in all the gloom that was weighing on his mind.

      The heavy vehicle lumbered on; the cultivated land, the pinewoods, the little hamlets succeeded each other at either side of the road; and Marius found in each change of landscape a deeper air of mourning, a more poignant grief. Night fell, and it seemed to him that the entire country was covered by an immense pall.

      On reaching Aix, he walked slowly towards the prison. He felt that he would always arrive too soon with his evil news. When he entered the gaol, it was nine o’clock. Revertégat and Fine were killing time by having a game at cards on a corner of the table. The flower-girl jumped up gleefully and ran to meet the young man.

      “Well?” she asked him, with a bright smile, and throwing back her head coquettishly.

      Marius had not the courage to reply. He sat down exhausted.

      “Speak up!” cried Fine. “You’ve got the money?”

      “No,” the young man answered, simply.

      After a moment he told them of Bérard’s failure. Blétry’s arrest, all the misfortunes he had encountered at Marseille. He wound up by saying:

      “I am now no more than a poverty-stricken wretch. My brother will remain a prisoner.”

      The flower-girl remained painfully surprised. Her hands clasped, in that attitude of pity peculiar to Provençal women, she repeated in a rueful tone of voice:

      “How sad, how sad!”

      She looked at her uncle and seemed to be urging him to speak. Revertégat eyed the two young people compassionately. It was evident that a struggle was taking place within him. At length he seemed to make up his mind, and said to Marius:

      “Listen to me, sir. My duties have not hardened me to such an extent as to render me insensible to the sufferings of worthy people. I have already said why I was willing to sell you your brother’s freedom. But I do not wish you to think that the love of money alone is prompting me. If unfortunate circumstances prevent your placing me at once out of the reach of poverty, I will nevertheless open the door to M. Philippe. You can come to my assistance later on, and pay me the fifteen thousand francs little by little when you are able to do so.”

      Fine clapped her hands on hearing these words. She flung her arms round her uncle’s neck and embraced him heartily. Marius looked very grave as he replied:

      “I cannot accept your sacrifice. I am already reproaching myself with having tempted you to disregard your duty, and I refuse to increase my responsibility by also casting you adrift without a crust of bread.”

      The flower-girl turned to the young man almost angrily.

      “Hold your tongue!” she cried. “M. Philippe must be saved. I intend that he shall be. Besides, we don’t need you to open the prison doors. Come, uncle. If M. Philippe is willing, his brother can have nothing to say.”

      Marius followed the young woman and the gaoler who were going in the direction of the prisoner’s cell. They had taken a dark lantern, and were gliding softly along the passages in order not to excite remark. All three entered the cell and closed the door behind them. Philippe was asleep.

      Revertégat, moved by his niece’s tears, had softened the prison regulations as much as possible for the young man: he brought him lunch and dinner which Fine herself prepared; he lent him books, and had even given him an additional rug. The cell had been made habitable, and Philippe was not too uncomfortable there. He knew, moreover, that they were working for his escape. He woke up and held out his hands effusively to his brother and the flower-girl.

      “You have come for me?” he asked smiling.

      “Yes,” answered Fine. “Dress yourself at once.”

      Marius remained silent. His heart was beating quickly. He feared that a strong desire for liberty might lead his brother to accept the means of flight which he himself had thought right to decline.

      “So everything is agreed and arranged?” resumed Philippe. “I may go off without fear or regret? You have paid the promised amount? You don’t answer me, Marius.”

      Fine hastened to intervene.

      “Haven’t I told you to make haste?” she cried. “What are you troubling yourself about?”

      She threw him his clothes, and added that she would wait in the passage. Marius stopped her.

      “Excuse me,” he said, “I cannot leave my brother in ignorance of our misfortunes.”

      And, in spite of Fine’s impatience, he related again the result of his journey to Marseille. He, however, gave his brother no advice but left him at full liberty to come to a decision himself.

      “So then,” exclaimed Philippe, completely crushed, “you’ve not given the money to the gaoler, and we’re without a copper?”

      “Don’t worry yourself about that,” replied Revertégat, drawing nearer. “You can help me later on.”

      The prisoner said nothing. He was no longer thinking of his escape, his thoughts were centered on his poverty, on the sorry figure he would henceforth cut, once he was at liberty. No more smart clothes, no more strolls in fashionable haunts, no more love adventures. But besides all this he had some chivalrous feelings, some poetical ideas which forbade him accepting Revertégat’s sacrifice.

      He lay back on his miserable bed, drew the clothes up to his chin, and said quietly:

      “Very well, I shall stay where I am.”

      Marius’s face beamed. Fine looked overwhelmed. She tried to prove the necessity for the escape, she spoke of the public exhibition, of the infamy of the pillory. She grew excited and looked superb in her passion, and Philippe gazed at her admiringly,

      “My beautiful child,” he replied, “you might succeed in making me yield if I had not grown blind and obstinate in this cell. But really I have done enough mean things already without wishing to burden my conscience with СКАЧАТЬ