Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 73

M. SAUVAIRE, THE MASTER-STEVEDORE

CADET COUGOURDAN’S employer, the master-stevedore Sauvaire, was a short, lively, dark man with thickset powerful limbs. His great hooked nose, thin lips and elongated visage, were expressive of that vainglorious confidence and artful bragging which are the distinctive features of certain types in the south of France.

Brought up in the port, a simple labourer in his youth, he had saved up his earnings for ten years. He raised enormous weights and was possessed of vigorous strength that did wonders. He was in the habit of saying he did not fear big men.

The truth was that this dwarf could have thrashed a giant. But he displayed prudence and wisdom in the use he made of his power, avoiding quarrels, knowing that the tension of his muscles was worth money, and that a blow with the fist only brings trouble. He lived soberly, given up entirely to work and avarice, impatient to attain the end he dreamed of.

At last he had before him the few thousand francs he required to accomplish his object. He became a master from one day to another, took men into his employ, and with folded arms watched them toiling and perspiring. From time to time he gave them a little help with a grumble.

Sauvaire, at the bottom, was a downright lazy fellow; he had worked out of obstinacy, preferring to perform his indolence of a wealthy man. Now that he had poor wretches to win him a fortune, he walked about with his hands in his pockets, piling up money, waiting until he had amassed a large sum to satisfy his instincts of free and noisy life.

Little by little the avaricious workman became transformed into a wealthy prodigal. Sauvaire was possessed of a tremendous appetite for wealth and pleasure: he wished to have plenty of money in order to enjoy himself beyond measure, and he desired to do that, so as to show he had plenty of money. He was urged on by the vanity of a parvenu to make his pleasures fiendishly riotous. When he laughed he insisted on all Marseille hearing his peal of merriment.

He now wore clothes fashioned out of fine cloth, under which it was easy to distinguish the stiff limbs of the former workman. A heavy gold chain was spread out across his waistcoat, it was as thick as one’s finger and from it hung a bunch of massive charms which seemed almost sufficient to stun an ox. On the left hand he wore a gold ring without any stone. With patent leather shoes on his feet and a soft felt hat on his head he sauntered up and down the Cannebière and round about the Port all day, smoking a magnificent meerschaum pipe mounted in silver; and, as he walked along he made the charms dance on his stomach, while his eyes wandered over the crowd with a half-bantering, half-kindly expression. He was enjoying himself.

Sauvaire had, little by little, entrusted the management of his business to Cadet Cougourdan, whose smart manners pleased him: this youth of twenty summers was gifted with an upright and candid mind that gave him positive superiority over the other stevedores. The master was delighted at having such a workman at his elbow; he appointed him overseer of the men working for him, and from that moment was able to make a grand display in Marseille of his natural desires. He limited his work to making up his accounts in the morning and pocketing the money that had been earned.

The existence he had been dreaming of commenced.

Sauvaire became a member of a club. He gambled, but prudently, being of opinion that the pleasure derived from the card-table is not worth what it costs; he wanted his money’s worth of amusement and he therefore sought after substantial and lasting enjoyment. He dined at the best eating-houses, and associated with ladies whom he showed off in public. His vanity was deliciously tickled when he was able to lounge on the cushions of a carriage beside a huge silk skirt. The lady was nothing, the silk gown all. He dragged it into private dining-rooms and there threw the windows open, so that all the passersby might see that he was having a rare time with a well-dressed lady, and ordering expensive dishes. Others would have closed the shutters and bolted the door; his dream was to kiss his fair companions in a glass house, so that the multitude might know that he was wealthy enough to love such pretty creatures. He had his own idea of love.

For a month he had been living in rapture. He had met a young woman whose acquaintance tickled his self-esteem. This young person was protected by a Count and was looked upon as one of the Queens of the demimonde at Marseille. She called herself Thérèse-Armande but was better known by the familiar name of Armande.

When Armande placed her little gloved hand in Sauvaire’s huge paw for the first time, the master-stevedore almost fainted with delight. This pressure of the hand was exchanged in the Alices de Meilhan, opposite the door of the house where the lorette resided, and the passersby stopped and turned round, at the sight of this man and young woman, smiling and bowing to each other. Sauvaire went off bursting with pride, and in ecstasies about Armande’s dress and superior manners. He had but one thought: that of protecting this person himself, supplanting the Count and walking about with lace and velvet leaning on his arm.

He watched for Armande and placed himself in her path. He fell in love with the luxuriant finery she wore, and the perfumery that escaped from her clothes. He was proud at getting a bow from her, at appearing to be one of her friends, and it would certainly not have displeased him to have been thought one of her lovers.

At length she succumbed. He thought it a victory due to the charms of his person. For a week his conceit was unbearable. He went about casting a look of mocking pity on the people he met in the street. When Armande was leaning on his arm the pavement seemed too small for him. The gentle swaying to and fro in the lady’s gait, the frou-frou of her skirts threw him into a delicious reverie. He was very fond of crinolines which take up a great deal of room and interfere with pedestrian traffic.

He related his good fortune to everyone. Cadet was one of his first confidents.

“Ah! If you only knew!” he said to him, “the charming person, and how she adores me! She has everything imaginable at her place, carpets, curtains, glasses. You would think yourself in high society, ‘pon my word! And with all that, not in the least proud, a goodnatured girl with her hand always open. Yesterday I lunched in her small drawingroom, and we then took an open carriage and drove to the Prado. Everyone was staring at us. It is enough to make you die of joy to be in such a woman’s society.”

Cadet smiled. His dream was to be loved by a robust girl, and in his eyes Armande had all the appearance of a mechanical doll, of a brittle toy, which he would have broken between his fingers. But he did not wish to annoy his employer, and so he went into ecstasies with him over the lorette’s charms. In the evening he gave Fine an account of Sauvaire’s follies.

The flower-girl had resumed her place in her little kiosk on the Cours St. Louis. While selling her flowers, she kept her eyes on the alert, in search of opportunities to come to Marius’ assistance. She had not lost sight of the loan of fifteen thousand francs and each day she built up a new plan dreaming of taxing those whom chance brought near her.

“Do you think,” she inquired one morning of her brother, “that M. Sauvaire is a man to lend money?”

“That’s according to circumstances,” answered Cadet. “He would willingly give a thousand francs to a poor devil on a public square, before a crowd of people, to make an exhibition of kind heartedness.”

The flower-girl laughed.

“Oh! It’s not charity that is wanted,” she answered. “The lender’s left hand must ignore what is done by his right.”

“The deuce!” said Cadet. “That is too disinterested. However, one can see.”

On the basis of these few words of conversation Fine elaborated quite a scheme. She believed Sauvaire was very wealthy, and she did not take him for an ill-natured man at heart. It would, perhaps, be possible to get something out of him by making use of Armande’s influence.

The flower-girl understood that she must first of all persuade Marius to call on the lorette. That was the difficult part of the business. The young man would firmly refuse, would say that there could be nothing in common between him and this woman.

One day she let Armande’s name escape her as if by accident, and was very much surprised to see Marius smile and appear to know all about her.

“Are you acquainted with the lady?” she inquired.

“I went to see her once,” he answered. “It was Philippe who took me there. This lady, as you term her, threw open her reception-rooms to her friends once a week, and my brother was one of the frequenters of the place. Faith, I was very well received and found a charming hostess there, who was exceedingly ladylike and very elegant.”

Fine seemed quite sad to hear Marius sing Armande’s praises.

“It appears,” he continued, “that things have somewhat changed at her place during the past year. They tell me her affairs are very much involved. However, they say she is extremely clever, and has a talent for intrigue; if she should happen to come across a simpleton she will easily get out of her difficulties.”

The young girl had recovered from the strange emotion that had got the better of her. She adroitly continued to put her plan into execution without undue haste.

“The simpleton is found,” she said, laughing. “Don’t you know M. Sauvaire, Cadet’s principal?”

“Slightly,” answered Marius, “I have sometimes met him walking about the old port in slippers.”

“Well, he has been Armande’s lover for the last few months, and they pretend he has already spent some money with her.”

Then Fine added in an indifferent tone of voice:

“Why don’t you go and see Armande again? You would meet wealthy people there who might assist you in the affair in question. M. Sauvaire would perhaps be disposed to help you.”

Marius became serious and for a moment was silent. He was thinking.

“Pooh!” he exclaimed at last, “I must not flinch at anything. I shall have to call and see that person tomorrow. I will explain my visit by speaking of my brother.”

The flower-girl looked the young man in the face with quivering eyelids.

“And above all,” she continued, with a forced laugh, “don’t go and remain at the feet of the enchantress. I have often heard tell of her costly and clever style of dress, of her wit, and the strange power she exercises over men.”

Marius, who was astonished at his friend’s unsteady voice, took her hand and examined her with his penetrating eyes.

“What is the matter with you?” he inquired. “Anyone would think I was going to see the devil, and that I am a sinner. Ah! my dear Fine, I am far from thinking of such nonsense. I have a solemn task to perform. Besides, look at me well. What woman would care for such a baboon?”

The young girl gazed at him, and was quite surprised to find him no longer ugly. Formerly he had seemed frightful; now she perceived something like light burst from his countenance and transform his features. The young man pressed her hand amicably and she remained quite troubled.

The following evening Marius called on Armande in accordance with his determination.