Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 68

THE USURERS

M. ROSTAND was a clever man. He pursued his shameful calling undisturbed. To give an honest appearance to his trade, he had opened a banking-house; and having paid for the license, he was legally established. At times, he could even be a trifle honest, and would lend money at the same rate of interest as the other bankers of the town. But there was, so to say, a back office in his establishment, wherein he took delight in elaborating his knavish schemes.

Six months after the opening of his bank, he became the managing director of a company of usurers, a black band which entrusted him with certain funds for investment. The combination was of a simplicity quite patriarchal. People endowed with the bump of usury, and who feared to indulge their propensity at their own risk and peril, brought him their money and requested him to turn it to good account. By these means he always had a considerable capital to turn over, and was enabled to take full advantage of needy borrowers.

Those who furnished the money remained in the background. He had solemnly undertaken to lend at a fabulous rate of interest, at fifty, sixty and even eighty per cent. The sleeping partners met at his office once a month, he produced his accounts, and they shared the spoil. But he so arranged matters as to keep the larger share for himself in fact, he robbed the robbers.

It was especially against the small traders that he directed his operations. When a shopkeeper came to see him the day before a payment fell due, he imposed most exorbitant terms. The tradesman invariably accepted them; and in this way he had brought about more than fifty failures in ten years. Moreover, all was fish that came to his net; he would as soon lend five francs to a market-woman as a thousand to a cattle-dealer; he kept a sharp lookout, and never lost an opportunity of investing ten francs one day to receive twelve the next. He was on the watch for noble youths, fast young men who fling their money out of window; he filled their hands with gold, so that they might throw the more, and he stood outside to pick up what they threw. He also took trips into the country and tempted the peasants; when the crops failed he dispossessed them piece by piece of their land and farms.

His house had thus become a veritable pitfall which swallowed up whole fortunes. The individuals, the entire families he had ruined were well-known. No one was ignorant of his underhand dealings. His sleeping partners were pointed at in the streets, wealthy men, ex-officials, merchants and even workmen. But proof was lacking. His banker’s license shielded him, and he was too clever to allow himself to be caught napping.

Since he had first started his nefarious speculations, Rostand had only once found himself in danger. The affair created a great sensation. A lady belonging to a wealthy family borrowed a rather large sum of him; she was very pious and had bereft herself of her fortune by giving money in charity on all sides. Knowing that she was completely without means, he insisted upon her signing bills with her brother’s name. Having these forgeries in his possession, he was certain of being paid by the brother, who would be anxious to avoid a scandal. The poor lady signed as required. Charity had ruined her, and the weak kindliness of her nature brought about her fall.

His calculations turned out correct, and the first bills were paid; but as more and more were presented, the brother grew tired of paying and determined to get to the bottom of the matter. He called on Rostand and threatened to expose him; he said that he would sooner see his sister disgraced than allow himself to be further robbed with impunity by such a scoundrel. The usurer, thoroughly cowed, gave up the bills he still possessed. He did not, however, lose a copper on the transaction, having advanced the loan at cent per cent.

Since then, Rostand had been extremely careful. He invested the capital of the black band with a skill which won him the admiration and confidence of the usurers.

Whilst his sleeping partners were airing themselves in the sunshine, like worthy people who would never rob a soul, he remained buried in a great dark office: it was there that the golden coins of the concern grew and multiplied.

Rostand had ended by acquiring quite an affection for his fraudulent and thievish trade. Some members of the band applied their profits to satisfying their passions, their appetites for luxurious and dissolute living. He took his sole delight in being a clever rascal; he felt as much interest in each of his operations as if it had been a drama or a comedy he was witnessing; he applauded himself when his plans succeeded, and he then felt the pride, the joy of a successful author; then he spread out on a table the money he had stolen and lost himself in all the voluptuous sensations of the miser.

It was to such a man that Revertégat had naively sent Marius.

The latter knocked at Rostand’s door on the following morning towards eight o’clock. It was a heavy square house, and the closed shutters gave it a bare cold appearance, an air of mystery and mistrust. A toothless old waiting-woman, attired in a dirty, ragged, cotton gown, opened the door a few inches.

“M. Rostand?” asked Marius.

“He is in, but engaged,” replied the servant, without opening the door any wider.

The young man, losing patience, pushed the door open and entered the hall.

“Very well,” he said, “I’ll wait.”

Surprised and scarcely knowing what to do, the servant, seeing she could not get rid of him, took him up to the first floor, and left him by himself in a kind of anteroom. It was a small dark apartment hung with greenish wall paper, discoloured by large damp stains. The only furniture consisted in a rush-bottomed chair, upon which Marius seated himself. Opposite him, an open door showed the interior of an office in which a clerk was writing with a quill pen, which made a grating noise as it travelled over the paper. There was another door on his left which probably led to the banker’s private room.

Marius waited a long time. The stale smell of old papers pervaded the atmosphere around him. The apartment was sickeningly dirty, and the nakedness of the walls gave it a lugubrious appearance. Dust was accumulated in all the corners, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. The young man was suffocating and getting out of patience with the grating of the quill pen which kept on increasing. Suddenly he heard voices in the adjoining room and, as the words reached him clear and distinct, he was on the point of discreetly moving further off, when certain expressions rooted him to the spot.

There are some conversations which it is permissible to overhear, scrupulousness not being intended as a safeguard of the privacy of certain people. A harsh voice, no doubt that of the master of the house, was saying with friendly bluntness:

“Gentlemen, we are all here, let’s talk business. The sitting is open. I will render you a faithful account of my operations of the month, and we will then proceed to the division of the profits.”

There was slight noise, a sound of private conversations dying away. Marius, who so far had not understood, felt nevertheless a lively curiosity: he guessed that some strange scene was taking place on the other side of the door. As a matter of fact, the usurer Rostand was closeted with his worthy associates of the black band.

The young man had called just at the time of their meeting, when the managing director was about to produce his accounts, explain his operations, and divide the spoil. The harsh voice continued:

“Before entering into details, I must inform you that this month’s results are not so good as last month’s. We then had an average of sixty per cent., today we have only fifty-five.”

Various exclamations arose, similar to the protesting murmurs of a dissatisfied crowd. There must have been about fifteen persons in the room.

“Gentlemen,” continued Rostand, with bitter raillery, “I have done what I could and you ought to thank me. The business becomes more difficult every day. However, here are my accounts and I will give you a rapid statement of some of the affairs I have transacted.”

Complete silence ensued for a few seconds. Then there was a rustling of paper and the sound of the leaves of a ledger being turned over. Marius, beginning to understand, listened more attentively than ever. Rostand commenced to go over his various operations, giving some explanations as to each one. He spoke in the singsong voice of a court official.

“I lent,” he said, “ten thousand francs to young Count de Salvy, a youth of twenty, who will attain his majority in nine months’ time. He had lost at play, and his mistress, it seems, required a large amount from him. He signed bills at three months for eighteen thousand francs. These bills are post-dated the day of his majority, so as to make all secure. The family owns large estates. It’s an excellent affair.”

A flattering murmur greeted the usurer’s words.

“On the morrow,” he continued, “I received a visit from the count’s mistress, who was exasperated, her lover only having given her two or three thousand-franc notes. She swore that she would bring me the count bound hand and foot to negotiate a fresh loan. I shall then require the assignment of one of his estates. We have still nine months to shear the young fool, whom his mother leaves without money.”

Rostand turned over some leaves of the ledger, and resumed, after a short silence:

“Jourdier — a cloth merchant, who each month requires a few hundred francs to meet his bills. At the present time his business belongs almost entirely to us. I last lent him five hundred francs at sixty per cent. If he asks for anything next month, I’ll make him bankrupt and we shall take the whole of his stock.

“Marianne — a market-woman. Every morning she wants ten francs, and every evening she returns me fifteen. I fancy she drinks. It’s a small affair, but a certain profit, a fixed income of five francs a day.

“Laurent — a peasant of the Roquefavour district. He has made over to me, piece by piece, some land he owned near Arc. The ground is worth five thousand francs, and has only cost us two thousand. I had the man evicted from the place, and his wife and children came here and made quite a scene. You’ll take into account, I hope, these annoyances I have to put up with?

“André — a miller. He owed us eight hundred francs, and I threatened him with an execution. He hurried here and implored me not to ruin him by letting everyone know of his insolvency. I consented to effect the seizure myself, without employing a bailiff, and by that means I obtained over twelve hundred francs’ worth of furniture and linen. I made quite four hundred francs by being goodnatured.”

A tremor of satisfaction passed through his colleagues. Marius could hear the smothered laughter of those men who were rejoicing at Rostand’s cleverness. The latter continued:

“Now for the simple cases: three thousand francs at forty per cent, to the merchant Simon; fifteen hundred francs at fifty per cent, to Charançon, the cattle-dealer; two thousand francs at eighty per cent, to the Marquis de Cantarel; one hundred francs at thirty-five per cent, to the son of Tingrey the notary — “

And Rostand went on thus for a quarter of an hour, reading out names and figures, mentioning loans varying from ten francs to ten thousand, and interest from twenty to one hundred per cent.

“But what were you telling us, my dear friend?” asked a thick husky voice, when he had finished. “You have worked wonderfully well this last month. All these assets are excellent. It is impossible for the profit not to average more than fifty-five per cent. You no doubt made a mistake when you mentioned that figure.”

“I never make a mistake,” the usurer curtly answered.

Marius, who had almost placed his ear against the door, thought he noticed some hesitation in the wretch’s voice.

“I have not yet told you everything,” Rostand continued with embarrassment. “We lost twelve thousand francs, a week ago.”

These words created quite an uproar, and Marius hoped, for a moment, that the scoundrels would set upon one another.

“Hang it all! listen to me,” cried the banker, amid the tumult. “I help you to make enough money for you to excuse me if you lose some once in a way. Besides, it wasn’t my fault. I was robbed.”

He uttered these words with all the indignation of an honest man. When quiet was restored, he added:

“Here’s the whole story — Monier, a corn-dealer and a solvent man, about whom I had obtained reliable information, came to borrow twelve thousand francs. I said I could not lend them myself, but that I knew an old skinflint who would perhaps advance the money at exorbitant interest. He called again the next day and told me that he was ready to agree to any conditions. I told him that five thousand francs interest for six months was required. He agreed.

“You see, it was as good as a gold mine. Whilst I went to fetch the cash, he sat down at my table and wrote out seventeen bills of a thousand francs each. I examined them and placed them on the corner of this desk. Then I conversed a few minutes with Monier who got up, and, after putting his money away, prepared to leave.

“When he was gone, I took the documents to put them in a place of safety. But just fancy, the rogue had changed the bills for a similar bundle of worthless ones, scribbled all over, payable to the deuce knows who, and unsigned. I was robbed, and nearly had a fit. I ran after the swindler whom I found strolling along the Cours in the sunshine. At the first word I uttered, he called me an usurer and threatened me with the police commissary. That Monier has the reputation of being a loyal and upright man, and so, upon reflection, I preferred to hold my tongue.”

This story had been several times interrupted by the angry remarks of the listeners.

“You must admit, Rostand, that you have been wanting in energy,” observed the husky voice. “Well, we’ve lost our money, and will only get fifty-five per cent. Another time, you must look after our interests better. Now we’ll divide the profits.”

In spite of his anguish and indignation, Marius could not help smiling. Monier’s robbery was like a grand piece of comedy, and in his heart he applauded the knave who had cheated a knave. He now knew the trade Rostand followed. He had not lost a word of what had been said in the adjoining room, and he easily pictured to himself the scene that had been passing there.

Leaning back on his chair, his ear close to the door, he could see in his mind’s eye the usurers quarrelling among themselves, with eager looks and faces contracted by the evil passions which were agitating them.

He felt a kind of bitter mirth when he thought of his reason for coming to that thieves’ den. What simplicity, good heavens! It was there he had thought to obtain the fifteen thousand francs which were to save Philippe, and he had been waiting an hour for the banker to turn him out like a beggar. Or else Rostand would demand fifty per cent interest and rob him impudently. At that thought, and with the knowledge that there was there, close to him, a meeting of rascals who throve on the shame and misfortunes of a town, he jumped up and laid his hand on the door-handle. One could hear the clink of gold within the room.

The usurers were dividing their spoil. Each one was pocketing his share of a month’s swindling. That money, which they were counting and whose music voluptuously titillated their flesh, seemed at times to sob aloud amidst the quivering silence, broken only by the banker’s voice uttering figures with metallic harshness. He calculated each one’s share, named an amount and let fall a pile of jingling coins.

Marius turned the handle, and, with pale face and resolute gaze, stood a few seconds silent in the doorway.

The young man had a strange spectacle before him. Rostand was standing at his table; behind him was an open safe from which he took handful of gold. Around the table were seated the members of the black band, some awaiting their share, others pocketing the money they had just received. Every minute, the banker consulted his accounts, examining a ledger, and doled out the money with a careful hand. His confederates were watching his movements.

At the sound of the opening door, all the heads turned quickly round with fright. And, when they beheld Marius, grave and indignant, they instinctively closed their fingers on their heaps of gold.

For a moment all was confusion and apprehension. The young man recognised the wretches perfectly. He had met them in the streets with heads erect and dignified miens, and he had even bowed to some who might have saved his brother. They were all wealthy, esteemed, and influential; there were among them ex-government officials, landed proprietors, and persons who frequented the churches and drawingrooms of the town. To see them thus, cringing and paling beneath his gaze, he could not restrain a movement of disgust.

Rostand rushed forward, his eyes blinking feverishly, his thick discoloured lips trembling, all his miser’s red and wrinkled face expressing a sort of scared surprise.

“What do you want?” he asked Marius stammering. “You have no right to walk into a house in this manner.”

“I wanted fifteen thousand francs,” replied the young man, in a cold and scoffing tone of voice.

“I’ve no money,” the usurer hastened to say, retreating to the door of his safe.

“Oh! be easy, I no longer wish to be robbed. I must tell you that I’ve been waiting an hour on the other side of the door and have heard all you’ve been saying.”

This statement came like the blow of a club, and caused the members of the black band to bow their heads. These men had still some slight feeling of respectability left, and there were some who hid their faces in their hands. Rostand, having no reputation to lose, gradually recovered himself. He again went up to Marius, and raised his voice.

“Who are you?” he cried. “By what right do you come into my house listening at doors? Why do you come into my private office, if you have nothing to ask of me?”

“Who am I?” said the young man, in a calm, quiet tone, “I am an honest man and you are a rascal. By what right did I listen at this door? By the right that respectable people have of unmasking scoundrels. Why have I come in here? Simply to tell you that you are a villain.”

Rostand was trembling with rage. He could not account for the presence of this avenger who thus told him the truth to his face. He was about to shout out, to fall upon Marius, when the latter energetically motioned him back.

“Keep quiet,” he resumed. “I am going, I am stifling here. But I would not go without relieving my feelings a bit. Ah! gentlemen, you have a voracious appetite. You gluttonously share among you the tears and despair of entire families; you gorge yourselves with robbery and swindling. I am glad to be able to trouble your digestion a trifle and to make you shiver with anxiety.”

Rostand attempted to stop him, but he continued in a louder tone of voice:

“Highwaymen possess at least courage. They fight and risk their lives. But you, gentlemen, you rob shamelessly in secret. And to think that it was not necessary for you to become swindlers to live! You are every one of you well-to-do. You behave like scoundrels, heaven forgive me! for pleasure!”

Some of the usurers rose menacingly.

“You’ve never before seen the anger of an honest man, have you?” added Marius, scoffingly. “Truth both annoys and frightens you. You’re accustomed to be treated with the respect due to decent people, and, as you have arranged to hide your baseness and to live esteemed by all, you have ended by yourselves believing in the respect accorded to your hypocrisy. Well! I’ve chosen that for once in your lives you should be insulted as you deserve, and that’s why I entered here.”

The young men saw that they would fall upon him if he went on. He retreated step by step towards the door, keeping the usurers at bay by the firmness of his gaze. Once there, he stopped again.

“I know very well, gentlemen,” he said, “that I cannot bring you to the bar of human justice. Your wealth, your influence, and your skill render you inviolable. If I were foolish enough to fight against you, it is I, no doubt, who would be crushed. But, anyhow, I shall not have to reproach myself with having been in the company of such men as you without having shown them my contempt. I would that my words were red-hot irons that would brand you on your faces. The crowd would follow you with its howls, and perhaps the lesson would do you good. Share your gold: if there’s an atom of honesty left in you, it will burn your hands.”

Marius closed the door and went off. When he reached the street, he smiled sadly. He saw life spread out before him in all its shame and wretchedness, and perceived he was performing the noble and ridiculous part of a Don Quixote of justice and honour.