Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 79

THE COWL DOES NOT MAKE THE FRIAR

ON arriving at Douglas’, Marius was surprised at the religious calm reigning in the large cold rooms which he knew to be the abode of crime. He could not accustom himself to such hypocrisy, and would have liked the very walls to have proclaimed aloud the notary’s infamy. The quiet activity of the clerks, the respectable appearance of the house exasperated him and filled his mind with painful doubts. Pale and agitated, he had seated himself in the anteroom, when Douglas caught sight of him from his office, the door of which was open.

“Come in, come in,” he cried; “you won’t be in my way, and I’ll attend to you in a minute.”

Marius walked in, and found five or six priests there, among them Abbé Donadéi. This abbé, ever graceful and smiling, was cajoling the notary both by word and look. He had come to ask for alms.

“You are one of our friends,” he was saying, “and we come to you every time the poor-boxes of our parishes are empty.”

“You do well, sir,” replied Douglas, rising, and taking some gold from a drawer. “How much do you want?” he asked the priest.

“Well,” resumed Donadéi, in a soft tone of voice, “I think that five hundred francs will suffice. We are much in need of the assistance of pious and honourable persons — “

“Here are five hundred francs,” said Douglas, interrupting him. And he added in a slightly trembling voice: “Pray for me, my father.”

Then all the priests rose and surrounded the notary, thanking him and calling upon heaven to bless him. Douglas listened to them, erect and very pale, and Marius fancied he could see a slight nervous trembling of his lips and eyelids. Donadéi, with easy elegance, was inexhaustible in praise and flattering professions.

“The Almighty will repay you what you give us,” he said. “He is already doing so by making your business prosper, and by bestowing on you the peace of mind that is only awarded to the righteous. Ah! sir, you are a grand example in this city which is being corrupted by the materialism of the century. I would that the whole of our commercial population imitated your simple life and possessed your piety and kindliness of heart. One would not then see the horrible spectacle which Marseille is presenting to us — “

Douglas seemed uneasy, and wearied by the priest’s praise. He interrupted him a second time, and said as he showed him to the door:

“No, no, I am no saint. Every one is in need of divine mercy. If you think you owe me any thanks, be so good as to pray for me.”

The priests made him a final bow, and at last withdrew.

Marius, seated in a corner of the room, had assisted at this scene in silence. He felt indignant at the comedy that was being played before his eyes. Perhaps Douglas felt that he was purchasing heaven’s forgiveness, and paying well for it, with the money he had stolen. So this godly man, this kindhearted soul who relieved those in distress, this Christian, who devoted so much of his time to the churches, was but a hypocrite and a scoundrel!

And as Marius thought thus, whilst watching the priests and notary, he fancied he was dreaming with his eyes open: he had come to overwhelm a forger, and he found himself confronted by a charitable man for whom the very Church was offering up prayers.

When the first moment of surprise was over, he felt a still more eager desire to do his duty. As the notary advanced towards him, smiling and with open and extended hand, he drew back slowly, gazing at him intently. Then, he said suddenly:

“Shut the door!”

Douglas, surprised, and as though incapable of resistance, went and closed it.

“Bolt it,” resumed Marius, as harshly as before. “We have to talk together.”

Douglas shot the bolt and came back, looking astonished and displeased.

“What is the matter with you, my dear friend?” he asked.

And as Marius, influenced perhaps by a last feeling of pity, did not answer, he continued:

“But after all, you’re right. It’s best to be alone when talking business. Well! are you ready? I have procured the document that was wanting, and now I only require your signature to complete Mouttet’s mortgage on Authier’s house. You know that we are pressed for time; I received another letter this morning from my client Authier who begs me to send him some money as quickly as possible.”

The notary rose from his table, spread out some papers, and, dipping a pen in the ink, offered it to Marius, saying simply: “Sign.”

Marius had not said a word, but had quietly watched each of the notary’s movements. Instead of taking the pen, he looked him straight in the face and said in a calm tone of voice:

“I went yesterday to see the house in the Rue de Rome. I saw the tenants and the former landlord, and they all tell me that they do not know M. Authier.”

Douglas turned pale, and his lips had again that trembling motion Marius had already observed. He gathered the papers together, laid the pen down, and reseated himself as he stammered:

“Ah! You surprise me very much.”

“The day before yesterday,” continued Marius, “I received a visit from M. de Girousse, a rich landed proprietor of Lambesc, and he assured me that none of his neighbours was named Authier and that that person certainly did not exist. Today, I know that he was not mistaken. What am I to think?”

The notary did not answer. He was gazing vaguely before him, changing colour and shaking, feeling himself lost, seeking no doubt in his despair, a means of explaining matters satisfactorily.

“I then went to the Saint Just district,” resumed Marius pitilessly. “The property upon which you told me you had taken a mortgage on your client Mouttet’s behalf, happens to belong to one of my mother’s old friends, M. Giraud, who assured me that his property was quite free. I ask you again, what am I to think?”

And, as Douglas still remained silent, the young man went on in a louder tone of voice:

“Well! since you refuse to answer, I will tell you myself what I believe and what is indeed true. Your M. Authier never existed; he’s a puppet, whom you invented in order to accomplish some nefarious scheme more easily. In addition to this, you never took any mortgage, and you put Mouttet’s money into your own pocket. To arrive at this fine result you have committed several forgeries, and today you are quite prepared to commit others in order to procure a further supply of cash for your needs.”

It was as though Marius was speaking to an insensible and motionless statue. The notary’s calm increased the young man’s anger.

“I have not to judge your crimes,” he continued, louder still; “but I have to ask you for an explanation of your unworthy conduct towards myself. What! you intended lightheartedly to mix me up in your dirty business; you would have compromised me, while professing to be my friend and knowing my position as a humble worker. I have the right, have I not? to tell you that you are a scoundrel!”

The notary did not wince.

“And just now,” resumed Marius, “there were priests here blessing you. Ah! you played your part admirably. I alone in Marseille know what you are, and were I to state in public the enormity of your crime, I should very likely be stoned, you have so skilfully duped everyone. Who would believe that the notary Douglas, that man esteemed by all, that frugal, religious individual, is shamelessly working in the dark the ruin of his numerous clients! I, myself, would still doubt, if doubt were possible, at seeing you seated so calm before me, in your humble and pious attitude of a monk at prayer. But say something, defend yourself, if you can!”

Douglas had taken up a paper knife, and was playing with it, as though indifferent to all Marius was saying to him.

“What would you have me tell you?” he replied at last. “You judge me as a child. I’ve let you have your say. Perhaps now you’ll listen to me without interrupting.”