THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
Читать онлайн книгу.
that Blanche was accompanying her lover of her own free will.
This evidence was, however, effaced, so to say, by the depositions of the other witnesses. Marguerite, the milkwoman, stammered and said she no longer remembered having brought the accused any letters from Mademoiselle de Cazalis. It was thus that each witness served the deputy’s interest, either through fear, or stupidity and loss of memory.
The pleadings commenced and went into the third day.
Philippe’s counsel defended him with dignified simplicity. He did not seek to excuse what was reprehensible in his conduct; he described him as being an ardent, ambitious man led astray by dreams of love and wealth. But at the same time, he showed that the accused could not be convicted of abduction, and that the affair itself negative all idea of violence and intimidation.
The crown attorney’s speech was most vindictive. It was expected that it would have been milder, and his energetic accusations produced a disastrous effect.
The jury brought in a verdict of guilty, and Philippe Cayol was condemned to five years’ imprisonment and to be exhibited in the pillory on one of the public squares of Marseille.
The gardener Ayasse was only condemned to a few months’ imprisonment.
The sentences were received with murmurs in the courtroom, whilst outside the crowd howled with rage.
CHAPTER XI
HOW BLANCHE AND FINE FIND THEMSELVES FACE TO FACE
WHEN sentence was passed on Philippe, Blanche was present, hidden at the back of the gallery.
She was there by order of her uncle, who had wished to completely stamp out her affection, by showing her her lover standing between two gendarmes, like a thief. An elderly lady relative had consented to accompany her to this edifying scene.
As the two ladies were awaiting their carriage on the steps of the courthouse, the crowd, pushing forward, suddenly separated them. Blanche, who was dragged to the centre of the Place des Prêcheurs, was recognised by the market-women, who began hooting and insulting her.
“That’s her, that’s her!” shouted the women, “the Renegade, the Renegade!”
The poor bewildered child, not knowing where to fly to, was half dead with shame and fright, when a young girl energetically divided the howling mob that surrounded her and placed herself at her side.
It was Fine.
The flower-girl had also been to hear sentence passed on Philippe. For the space of nearly three hours she had passed through all the anguish of hope and fear; the crown attorney’s speech had been crushing, and on hearing the judgment she had begun to weep.
She had just quitted the courthouse, irritated and in a terrible state of excitement, when the hooting of the market-women reached her. She understood that Blanche was there and that she would be able to avenge herself by abusing her; she dashed forward with clenched fists, and an insult ready on her lip. According to her, the young girl was the great culprit: she had lied, she had been guilty of perjury and cowardice. At this thought all Fine’s plebeian blood rushed to her face and urged her on to shout and strike.
She rushed forward and separated the crowd to take her share of vengeance.
But, when she was face to face with Blanche, when she saw her doubled in two by fright, she had pity for the weak and trembling child. She found her so small, so captivating, so delicately fragile, that a generous thought of pardon came from her heart. She violently pushed back the women who were shaking their fists at the young lady, and, stretching herself to her full height, exclaimed in a loud voice:
“And what now? Aren’t you ashamed? She is alone and you are a hundred against her. The Almighty doesn’t require your shouts to punish her. Let us pass.”
She had taken Blanche’s hand, and stood erect before the murmuring people, who drew closer together so as not to allow the two young girls to get through them. Fine awaited with pale and trembling lips. And, as she encouraged the little lady with a glance, she perceived that she would soon be a mother. She turned quite pale and advanced towards the women.
“Let me pass,” she continued, with greater violence. “Do you not see the poor girl’s condition, and that you will kill her child?”
She thrust back an old hag who was protesting, and all the others gave way.
Fine’s words had suddenly made them silent and compassionate. Both girls were then able to retire.
Blanche, crimson with shame, nestled in fear against her companion and feverishly hastened her footsteps.
In order to avoid the Rue du Pont Moreau, which was then swarming with people and full of noise, the flower-girl took the little Rue St. John. On reaching the Cours, she conducted Mademoiselle de Cazalis to her residence, the door of which was open. She had not uttered a single word all the way.
Blanche obliged her to enter the hall, and there, half closing the door, she said to her in an affected tone of voice:
“Oh! Mademoiselle, how grateful I am to you for your assistance. Those wicked women would have killed me.”
“Don’t thank me,” answered Fine sharply, “I went there, like the others, to insult and beat you.”
“You!”
“Yes, I hate you, I wish you had died in your cradle.”
Blanche looked at the flower-girl with astonishment. She had drawn herself up, her aristocratic instincts were getting the better of her, and her lips were curling slightly with disdain.
The two young girls were facing each other, one in all her slim gracefulness, the other in all her energetic beauty. They contemplated each other in silence, feeling the rivalry of their race and heart thundering within them.
“You are beautiful and wealthy,” continued Fine bitterly. “Why did you come and rob me of my sweetheart, when later on you could only feel contempt and anger for him? You should have sought out someone in your own sphere; you would have found a youth as pale and cowardly as yourself who would have satisfied your little girlish feeling of love. Look here, do not take our men, or if you do we will tear your pink faces.”
“I do not understand,” stammered Blanche, who was becoming afraid again.
“You don’t understand? Listen: I was in love with Philippe. He came and bought roses of me of a morning and my heart used to beat fit to break, when I handed him my nosegays. I now know where those flowers went to. One day they told me he had run away with you. I wept, then I thought that you would love him fondly and he would be happy. And now you have had him put in prison. Look here, do not let us speak of that, or I shall get angry and beat you.”
She stopped palpitating, then continued, approaching nearer to Blanche and burning her icy cold cheeks with her hot breath:
“You don’t know then how we love, we poor girls? We love with all our body, with all our courage. When we run away with a man, we don’t say afterwards that he took advantage of our weakness. We clasp him in our arms with all our might to defend him. Ah! if Philippe had loved me! But I am an unhappy girl, a poor creature, an ugly — “
And Fine began to sob and show herself as weak as Mademoiselle de Cazalis. The latter took her hand, and in a voice broken with tears answered:
“For pity’s sake do not accuse me. Will you be my friend? Shall I lay my heart bare to you? I suffer so much, if you only knew! I can do nothing. I obey my uncle, who subdues me in his grip of iron. I am a coward, I know it; but I have not the strength to be otherwise. And I love Philippe, the memory of him is always within me. He told me it would be: that my punishment, if ever I betrayed him, would be to love him eternally, to keep him without end in my breast. He is there, he is burning me, he will kill me. A short time ago, when they sentenced him, I felt something within me that made me start, and which tore my inside. I weep, look, I ask your