Complete Works of Emile Zola (59 page)

He paid the purchase money of his practice in a few months, without anyone knowing how he had obtained the necessary capital. Then he displayed febrile activity. In a very short time his practice developed considerably. He became the first notary of Marseille, opening his doors wide and securing fresh clients every day. His mode of proceeding was extremely simple: he never denied himself to any client, and listened to every application; he always found money for those who wanted to borrow, and always had excellent investments for those who deposited their cash with him. A considerable turnover of capital thus took place through the intermediary of his office.

At first, people were surprised at his rapid success. They talked of imprudence, and considered that the young notary was going too quickly ahead, and was undertaking a burden too heavy for his shoulders. Besides this, no one could make out how he managed to meet the calls occasioned by the continual increase of his practice. But Douglas calmed public anxiety by the simplicity of his life. He was believed to be very wealthy, yet he dressed quietly, displayed not the slightest luxury, and denied himself all pleasures. Everyone knew that he led a sober existence, eating only plain food, living, in fact, like a petty shop-keeper. He was also very pious, gave a great deal in charity, went to church and remained kneeling during the whole length of the service. By these means he acquired the reputation of an honest man, and this went on increasing daily. He came to be cited at last as a model of piety and honour. His name was respected and beloved.

It had taken him barely six years to arrive at this position; and now, during six years he had been at the head of the Marseille notaries: his office was the most frequented, and the one that did the most business. Wealthy people made a point of employing this modest and pious man endowed with every virtue. The nobility and clergy supported him; the commercial world had ended by feeling unlimited confidence in his loyalty. The position was won, and Douglas was feverishly turning it to account.

He was then about forty-five years old, a strong, thickset man, inclined to stoutness. His face, always cleanshaven, was deathly pale; the flesh seemed inanimate, the eyes alone showing signs of life. He looked like a verger turned banker. Beneath his gentle exterior, one could hear a kind of muffled roar: no doubt the blood was coursing fiercely in this struggler’s body which seemed asleep. When he conversed in his drawling tones, his voice occasionally rose to a pitch which revealed the internal fever consuming him. He was always to be found in his private room, a cold apartment, poorly furnished. There was generally a priest or a nun in the ante-chamber. The door was left open and it was easy for anyone to find the chief. He displayed his charity, contempt for luxury, and austere good-nature even rather too complacently.

Marius felt a real sympathy for this man whose simple virtues quite won his heart. He delighted in calling upon him. On this particular day, after discussing with Douglas the business upon which M. Martelly had sent him, the young man added, hesitatingly:

“I wish now, sir, to speak to you on a private matter, only, I am afraid I may be trespassing on your time.”

“Not at all! my dear friend,” said the notary cordially, “I am quite at your service. I have already offered you my assistance, and my house is open to you.”

“I remember your kind offers, and I wish to remind you of what you said to me some months ago.”

“I told you that it only rested with yourself to earn some money with me. I should like to assist a young fellow like you by putting your willingness and courage to the proof. What I told you then I repeat today.”

“I thank you and accept,” replied Marius simply, much affected by Douglas’ frank and generous ways. The latter, on hearing the young man’s words, started with joy. He turned his chair round quickly and indicated another seat to his visitor.

“Sit down and let us talk,” he said. “I can only give you a few minutes. I like young men such as you; not afraid of work and speaking their minds freely. You do not know how happy you make me by placing me in the position to be useful to you.” He smiled, and every word he uttered was like a caress. “Well, this is the matter in question,” he continued. “As some of my clients do not reside at Marseille, I have had to find a means of facilitating their transactions. I have therefore obtained several agents acting under power of attorney to represent the absent parties and who look after these persons’ properties. Whenever one of my clients is, for some reason or other, unable to attend personally to his affairs, he leaves with me a blank power of attorney, depending on me to find some upright party who will faithfully fulfil his duties. I know that you are an active and honest fellow, and I offer you the position of representing two or three landlords whose powers of attorney I have by me. There is only your name to fill in, and you will receive five per cent, upon all the transactions you carry out.”

He spoke in a calm and simple tone of voice. Marius was frightened at the responsibility of such a position; but he felt so sure of his uprightness that he did not hesitate to accept.

“I am at your commands,” he said to Douglas. “You must guide and advise me. I know I shall have nothing to fear in obeying you in everything.”

“So as not to overwhelm you at the outset,” resumed the notary rising, “I will only entrust you with two powers of attorney to begin with.”

He took some papers and returned to his table, where he read out the two documents after having filled in Marius’ name. The powers conferred were practically unlimited: the right to sell and buy, mortgage, and bring or defend actions. When the notary had finished reading he added:

“I must now give you some information respecting the persons you are to represent.” He handed Marius one of the documents, and went on: “This, to begin with, is the authorization of my friend and client, M. Authier, of Lambesc. He is just now at Cherbourg, and will be shortly starting for New York, to take possession of a large fortune that has been left him. He purchased at Marseille, before his departure, a building in the Rue de Rome. You will administer the property during his absence. I am expecting to receive his instructions tomorrow, and I will inform you of them.”

He then took up the other document, and continued:

“And this is the authorization of M. Mouttet, a retired merchant at Toulon, who entrusted me with the capital necessary for taking a mortgage on a country house in the Saint Just district. He has just remitted a further sum which he wishes to have invested in the same way; but as he is a great sufferer from gout, he has asked me to find someone who, acting under his power of attorney, would give the necessary signatures in his stead. Come back tomorrow, and we can then arrange finally about the two matters.”

Douglas rose as a hint that the interview was at an end. At the door, he shook Marius’ hand with rough and cordial familiarity.

The young man withdrew, rather stunned by the rapidity of what had taken place. He was surprised at the facility with which the notary had entrusted him with such important matters, and felt ill at ease as he thought of the heavy responsibility about to weigh upon him.

CHAPTER VI

MARIUS SEEKS UNSUCCESSFULLY FOR A HOUSE AND A MAN

MARIUS called on Douglas the next day to receive his final instructions.

“Come, you’re punctual,” said the notary smiling. “You’ll see, we shall do plenty of business together. I intend to make you rich. Sit down, I’ll attend to you in a minute.”

Douglas was lunching at the corner of his table. He was eating stale bread with a few nuts, and drinking plain water. This frugality impressed Marius and removed the uneasiness he had hitherto felt. Such a sober man could not lead him into shady transactions; his was undoubtedly a heart in the right place, an upright soul, a sincere and pious mind devoted to its duty like a priest devotes himself to God.

“Now let’s talk,” said the notary, when he had finished his repast. “I have received a letter from M. Authier who wishes to raise money on his house, as he requires funds for his journey. Here’s his letter.”

Marius took the paper that Douglas held out to him. As he appeared to be looking for the post-office stamps, the notary said hastily:

“The letter was enclosed in a large envelope which contained several other documents.”

The young man coloured up, fearing he had wounded his new employer’s feelings. He read M. Authier’s letter which indeed asked to have money raised on the house in the Rue de Rome. He instructed Douglas to make use of the power of attorney and to remit him the money at the earliest possible moment. When Marius had finished reading the letter, the notary resumed:

“This request for a loan comes at the right moment, for M. Mouttet has again been asking me to find him a safe and advantageous investment. As you are now the authorized representative of both my clients, the lender, and the borrower, you will be able to satisfy them both at once. You have simply to give me your signature, and I will transmit to M. Authier the cash that M. Mouttet sent me for investment.”

Marius thought Douglas was settling matters rather quickly. He would have liked to have seen the building, and to have exchanged at least a letter or two with the persons he was to represent. He did not doubt the notary’s good faith, but he was unable to get rid of some vague and inexplicable fear. His uneasiness of the day before was returning; it seemed to him that he was descending into some black hole, and Douglas’ smiles and soft voice troubled him strangely. He could not define the peculiar sensation that was creeping over him, he felt a need of reaction. The notary was already sorting out the documents which he required Marius to sign.

“Ah! the deuce!” said he, stopping suddenly, “there’s one paper wanting. I must send a clerk to the mortgage office for it.” Douglas seemed very much put out.

Marius, as though urged on by some instinct, and obeying the feeling of uneasiness which had taken possession of him, rose hastily.

“I cannot wait,” he said, “I ought already to be at M. Martelly’s. Put off the signing of the documents, please, until Monday, the day after tomorrow.”

“Very well!” said the notary, after a moment’s hesitation. “I would rather have finished the matter today. You know in what a hurry M. Authier is. However, come on Monday.”

Marius breathed more freely when he found himself in the street. He thought he had been childish and felt ashamed of the vague suspicions he had entertained. He had almost run off under the spell of some indefinable feeling, and he shrugged his shoulders after the manner of a person who had been frightened of his shadow. He was glad, however, to have two days during which he could think matters over, and account for his repugnance and overcome it.

During the afternoon, he received a visit at M. Martelly’s office which delighted him. M. de Girousse, who was killing time by visiting all the towns of the department, called upon him. He had just reached Marseille, and was leaving the same evening.

“Ah! my dear friend,” said he to the clerk, “how lucky you are to be poor and to have to work for your living! You’ve no idea how bored I feel. If I could, I would change places with your brother: I think I should enjoy myself more in prison.”

Marius smiled at the old count’s strange ideas, whilst the latter continued:

“Philippe’s trial helped to keep me going for a month. I never before assisted at such a fine spectacle of human misery and folly. I had a violent desire when in court to get up and say all I thought. They would no doubt have put me into a strait-waistcoat. Lambesc is becoming uninhabitable.”

Ever since M. de Girousse had put in an appearance, Marius had been thinking of asking him to give him some information respecting M. Authier. He thought the count must surely know this man who belonged to the same little town as himself, according to what Douglas had said. He attempted to assume an indifferent air as he observed:

“But yet there are some rich people at Lambesc. You might cultivate their society and amuse yourself more. Do you know M. Authier, a landlord in your neighbourhood, I believe?”

“M. Authier,” repeated the old nobleman, trying to remember, “M. Authier, I can recall no one of that name at Lambesc. And you say the gentleman owns property there?”

“Yes. He has recently bought a house at Marseille, and he must have a pretty extensive estate close to your own.”

M. de Girousse was still thinking hard.

“You must be mistaken,” he said, at length. “I certainly know no M. Authier. I am certain there’s no landlord in Lambesc of that name, for I amused myself by learning the names of all the persons in the place. One has to do something.”

“Come, let’s understand each other,” resumed Marius, turning pale. “I mean a M. Authier who has just come into a large fortune; he is at the present time at Cherbourg and is about to leave for New York, where the relative, whose sole heir he is, died.”

The count burst out laughing.

“What yarn’s that you’re telling me?” he exclaimed. “If such a thing were to happen at Lambesc, if one of my neighbours were to inherit the fortune of a rich uncle in America, do you think I should know nothing about it, and that I should not amuse myself during a whole week with the gossip such a romance would produce in my little town? I assure you again that there has never been an Authier at Lambesc, and that nobody there has ever inherited the mythical fortune you talk of.”

Marius felt quite crushed. The count’s words carried conviction with them, and Douglas alone could be the liar in all this. The young man did not dare express all he was thinking.

“What interest have you in this M. Authier?” asked M. de Girousse whose curiosity was excited.

“None at all,” replied Marius stammering; “one of my friends told me about him, and I must have mistaken the name of the town he mentioned.”

He still hesitated to accuse Douglas, and there was a buzzing sensation in his head which prevented his judging the matter clearly. It was in an absent-minded way that he clasped the hand M. de Girousse held out to him, with the words: