Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 105

THE REPUBLIC AT MARSEILLE

THE Republic was at last solemnly proclaimed on the Cannebière, on the dull, wet morning of Tuesday, February 29th. At the very moment when the former authorities were divesting themselves of office, the temporary Commissary that Paris had sent to Marseille, was descending the Rue d’Aix in a post-chaise. Thus, by a singular chance, during the march past of the troops and the National Guard, the representatives of overthrown Royalty and of the young Republic were brought face to face.

That day was a grand and solemn one for Philippe. His fondest hopes were realised. For a moment he had feared that the Monarchy might be followed by a Regency. The length of time that the Prefect and Mayor of Marseille had taken to recognise the Revolution, had made him think that the struggle at Paris had perhaps not been decisive. They were gaining time, they were no doubt hoping for a reaction that was not forthcoming. When he heard the new government publicly proclaimed, it seemed to him that the people had just won a grand victory and he firmly believed that the hour of the great democratic cause had arrived.

But the hopes the young man had formed on hearing those big words, “liberty, equality, fraternity,” pronounced, were not long in being dispelled by facts. He fell down from the heights of his humanitarian dreams to the reality of human passions and interests. This terrible fall exasperated him and drove him to extreme resolutions.

He had had the simplicity, to imagine that the proclamation of the Republic would be followed by a great movement, which would carry all the city along with it into a Liberal channel. He was painfully surprised when he perceived that the superior authorities, urged on, no doubt, by the fatality of circumstances, were obliged to make concessions to the reaction. The Conservatives, the Legitimists, themselves, remained in a measure the masters at Marseille. Creatures of their own occupied official posts and secretly directed public affairs. In a word the city tolerated the new government rather than accepted it.

When the Republicans understood that they were not victorious, they wished at least to despatch representatives to Paris, who would be firmly resolved to defend the people’s interests, and so the ensuing elections absorbed all their power of action. They felt how precious a victory would be to them, and ardently hoped that the deputies would be chosen from their ranks alone.

These elections were to be held on April 23. During the three weeks preceding that date, Philippe took an active part in the work and manoeuvres of the different clubs. The democratic party had suffered a preliminary check on the occasion of the appointment of a Municipal Commission on which men hostile to the Republic had found seats, notwithstanding the desire openly expressed by the Republicans that they should be excluded. And so the clubs, in order not to be beaten a second time, displayed great activity and energy. They drew up preliminary lists, instructed the people in their political catechism and strained every nerve to make their cause triumph.

During these three feverish weeks, Philippe continued to throw dust into his own eyes. He forgot what was the real feeling in the city and would not see the formidable reaction that was surrounding the small group of Liberals. From morn to eve he ran about Marseille, encouraging some, thanking others and endeavouring to obtain the largest number of votes possible. He undertook, moreover, to sound certain people whom the Republicans wished to make their representatives, and who by reason of their modesty, or from some other cause, remained in the background. Among these was M. Martelly.

One morning, Philippe went to his office where he was now very rarely seen, and sent to ask the shipowner for a short interview. M. Martelly received him it once. He understood that it was not as one of his staff that the young man came to pay him a visit; he did not allude to his frequent absence, but treated him as a friend, guessing the nature of the errand that brought him to his presence.

After one or two commonplace sentences, Philippe entered frankly into his business.

“I have not seen you for some time at the Workers’ Club,” he said. “You are a member, are you not?”

“Yes,” replied the shipowner. “I go there very rarely, I think that such gatherings do but little to advance the affairs of liberalism.”

Philippe feigned not to hear.

“Your absence is often regretted,” he continued. “Men like you are precious. You were wrong, one of my colleagues said to me yesterday, to have kept in the background on the occasion of the appointment of the Municipal Commission, and now that the elections are drawing near you ought to show yourself and lend all the weight of your honourability to the cause we are defending.”

M. Martelly did not answer. He looked his interlocutor in the face, to compel him to make his proposals clear and precise.

Philippe understood him and conformed with good grace.

“We are quite disposed to push your candidature forward,” he continued. “Why do you not place yourself in the ranks?”

There was a moment’s silence during which the shipowner look grave and sad.

“Why?” he answered slowly, “because I am certain beforehand to fail. Allow me to speak to you as a friend, as a father. You are going to your ruin, my son. The Republic will kill you, and you will kill the Republic. You know what my convictions are, you do not doubt, I hope, that I am ready to spend my blood for the triumph of what is right and true. But, really, we do not find ourselves here in a centre where self-sacrifice can be of use. We are vanquished before having fought. I thought for a moment of repairing to Paris, of offering my services to the government, of assisting it both personally and with my fortune. At Marseille I have my hands tied. So I have decided to remain aside, for I will not mix in all the dirty business I foresee ahead.”

“Then you are certain the reaction will win the day?”

“Yes. If all the cities in the provinces are animated by the same ideas as Marseille, our Republic will last two or three years at the most, and we shall then soon have a dictator. Interrogate facts and they will answer.”

M. Martelly’s grave tone of voice and calm despair produced a most lively impression on Philippe, who was for a moment conscious of the terrible reality.

“You are, perhaps, right,” he answered sadly, “but if young people had your experience, they would cross their arms, and that would look cowardly. You see it is better to struggle. Then, you refuse to put yourself forward?”

“No, indeed. If the people think they have need of me, I will respond to their call, whatever happens. Although I feel certain of not succeeding, I do not think I have the right to avoid the requirements of circumstances. I will not retire in presence of a repulse, from the moment Republicans ask me to run the bad chance of that repulse, but I will not be mistaken for one of those ambitious creatures who are stirring up the population at present, who flatter the Republic as they flattered Royalty, so as to assure their fortune and position. I have kept in the dark up to now so as not to be confused with one of those men, and I wish it to be clearly understood that if I consent to be a candidate it is because people have asked me and I have solicited nothing.”

M. Martelly had raised his voice. Standing up, his eyes sparkling, he accented each word with vigorous action. Philippe had also left his seat.

“Come, you are yourself again,” he said, “you will see, all will go well. I am going to tell our friends at once that you accept their mandate. Your name will be placed on the preliminary lists today, and it must absolutely come victorious out of the urn.”

“You are young,” replied the shipowner shaking his head; “you dream with your eyes open. Ah! my poor child, liberty is very sick. I think we are present at its funeral.”

Philippe drew himself up violently.

“Well!’’ he exclaimed, “if they kill it, we’ll take our guns and kill its murderers. It will be civil war, barricades, blood, corpses. So much the worse!”

He trembled with exasperation. M. Martelly had taken his hands and sought to pacify him.

“If you make barricades,” he said to him, “I will go and place myself between your fire and that of the troops. Blood must not be spilt in the name of brotherhood. No, no; we must have no violence.”

Philippe withdrew. This interview had filled him with sullen uneasiness. The shipowner’s calm reason had thrown cold water, as it were, on his passion. Internally he was in despair, but he continued to busy himself actively with the elections, and when the grand day came he had almost recovered hope, so that the result of the first trial fell upon him like a thunderbolt. All M. Martelly’s predictions were accomplished. Not only was he not named, but the reactionary party had a complete victory. Out of ten deputies elected, there were barely three Radical republicans, the others belonged to the Conservative, and particularly to the Legitimist party.

From that moment Philippe was in a constant state of irritation. He saw clearly how useless his efforts were and yet he gave himself up to an illfated task that could only lead to misfortune. Each day the party he supported had to put up with a new defeat. The reaction increased in power, and one newspaper went so far as to openly preach political decentralisation to escape what it termed the Revolutionary dictatorship of Paris. The superior authorities were weak and powerless and constantly made concessions. If a king had landed on the Cannebière he would have been acclaimed by the entire city.

The Republicans protested in vain against the organization of the National Guard, the companies of which were composed solely of rich bourgeois, and consequently of Conservatives. This organization presented permanent danger of civil war. The day the people and the National Guard met there would necessarily be a shock.

Philippe, in his hours of anger and despair, foresaw this fatal meeting, and experienced ghastly delight in thinking of the hand-to-hand struggle. In the meanwhile he fraternized with the people, was at all the banquets and intoxicated himself with rhetoric. After the elections he had resigned his post with M. Martelly, so as to be able to live freely in the streets, amidst the events of each day. He knew not how all this would end, but he nursed the vague hope of a battle out of which the people would issue victorious. Then the Republic would triumph and the workingmen would command in their turn.

Two months passed by and they were in the middle of June.

Fine and Marius lived in constant alarm. The latter, not daring to lecture his brother any more, owing to his blunt manner, confined himself to watching him on the sly, so as to be always ready to save him from the follies he might be guilty of. One day as he arrived on the Cannebière, he found himself face to face with a captain of the National Guard, who was making the new gold braid on his uniform dazzle in the sun. After a moment he recognised Sauvaire.

The former master-stevedore was beaming. He struck his heel on the pavement in a victorious fashion. At times, when he glanced at his epaulettes out of the corner of his eye, a smile of satisfied vanity hovered round his lips. His sword troubled him somewhat by knocking against his calves; but he held it, leaning his hand on the hilt, with rounded arm. His uniform fitted him tightly in true military style, and if he were bursting in his tunic, he was happy to do so for the welfare of his country. By the way he walked, with his elbows stuck out, one could see he saved France at every ten paces. You could read on his intensely-delighted countenance, childlike joy at being dressed up as a soldier, and a burning desire to be taken seriously.

His meeting with Marius at first rather embarrassed him. He feared the latter might remember the past, the time when he frequented the gambling hells, and that he would make fun at finding him in uniform. He looked at him uneasily, dreading to see his dignity compromised. When he perceived the young man suppressed a slight smile, he thought it well to show himself off with all the grace of his rank of officer.

“Eh!” he exclaimed, in a military voice, brief and resounding. “Eh! it’s my young friend! How are you? It’s centuries since I saw you. Ah! How many events, good heavens! How many events!”

He spoke so loud that the passersby turned round. This attention bestowed on his personality flattered him enormously. He shook himself in delight, producing a clanking sound of steel, and cast the reflex of his stripes and epaulettes in the eyes of the crowd.

As Marius pressed his hand without answering, he imagined he was confounded by the magnificence of his costume. He took his arm with a protecting air and began to walk up the Cannebière, deigning to give him proofs of friendship.

“Hey! you stare at me?” he continued. “You are surprised to see me in the National Guard? What could I do? They so begged me, so implored me, that in the end I accepted. You understand, I would a thousand times sooner live quietly at home. But in these difficult times good citizens have duties to perform. They had need of me and I could not refuse.”

He lied with the most barefaced self-possession. It was he who had begged for the post of captain with joined hands. He wanted golden epaulettes: on that condition only did he consent to serve the country.

Marius sought for an answer and finding nothing, ended by murmuring:

“Yes, yes, we are in difficult times.”

“But we are here!” cried Sauvaire, placing his hand on his sword. “They will have to pass over our corpses before they can trouble the tranquillity of the land. Fear nothing, cheer-up your wives and children: the National Guard will not betray its mandate.”

He delivered this like a speech learnt by heart. Marius, to put him out of countenance, was tempted to ask him for news of Clairon.

“Observe all this population,” continued Sauvaire, “how peaceful, what faith it has in our vigilance and courage!”

He stopped, and continued in his old tone of naïvete and self-satisfaction:

“What do you think of my uniform? Haven’t I a martial air? The epaulettes, you know, cost me a tremendous lot of money.”

“You look capital,” answered Marius, “and I confess your unexpected appearance produced great impression on me. And what are your opinions?”

Sauvaire appeared full of importance.

“My opinions?” he repeated, thinking what that could mean. “Ah! yes, what I think of the Republic, that’s it, is it not? Well, I think the Republic is an excellent thing. Only, order, you understand. The National Guard was formed to preserve order. Order. I insist on that.”

He swung his body about, triumphant at having been able to find he had an opinion. At the bottom of his heart he felt esteem for the Republic, which had given him epaulettes; but he had been told that if the Republicans were victorious they would rob him of his money, and, therefore, he detested the Republicans. These contradictory sentiments had to get on together as best they could, but for the matter of that he never asked himself what his convictions were.

He went a little way further with Marius and then left him with the remark, uttered with much importance, that his duty called him elsewhere. But it was only a sham departure, he turned on his heels and came back to whisper to the young man in a confidential tone:

“Ah! I forgot. Just tell your brother that he compromises himself with that lot of tatterdemalions whom he drags along with him everywhere. Advise him to give up the rabble and obtain a captain’s commission like me. It’s more prudent.”

And, as Marius, without replying, pressed his hand to thank him, he added like the good fellow he was at heart:

“If I can be of use to you in any row, count on me. I feel just as much inclined to serve my friends as my country. I am at your service, you understand.”

He was no longer acting. Marius thanked him again and they parted the best friends in the world.

In the evening, the young man spoke to Fine and his brother of the meeting, and amused them by a descriptive account of the triumphant attitude of the former master-stevedore, but at last Philippe became irritated.

“And it’s to such men as this that the tranquillity of the city is entrusted!” he exclaimed. “These gentlemen are well dressed, these gentlemen play at soldiers. Ah! let them beware! they may, perhaps, be compelled to perform their part seriously. The people are tired of their tomfoolery and vanity.”

“Hold your tongue,” said Marius, severely. “These men may be ridiculous, but one doesn’t kill one’s fellow countrymen.”

Philippe rose and continued with greater violence:

“The country is not with them. It is the workmen, the workers who are the country. The bourgeois have guns, the people have none. The people are being guarded, musket to the shoulder, like wild beasts. Well! one of these days the beasts will show their teeth and devour their guardians. That’s all.”

And he abruptly went upstairs to his room.