Complete Works of Emile Zola (312 page)

‘What! my boy,’ said he, ‘have you really got priests lodging with you now? That man has very strange eyes. Take care! take care! cassocks bring ill luck with them!’

Then he took his seat in his trap and clucked his horse on, going down the Rue Balande at a gentle trot. His round back and fur cap disappeared at the corner of the Rue Taravelle. As Mouret turned round again, he heard his mother-in-law speaking to Marthe.

‘I would rather you do it,’ she was saying; ‘the invitation would seem less formal. I should be very glad if you could find some opportunity of speaking to him.’

She checked herself when she saw that she was overheard; and having kissed Désirée effusively, she went away, giving a last look round to make quite sure that Macquart was not likely to come back to gossip about her.

‘I forbid you to mix yourself up in your mother’s affairs, you know,’ Mouret said to his wife as they returned into the house. ‘She has always got some business or other on hand that no body can understand. What in the world can she want with the Abbé? She wouldn’t invite him for his own sake, I’m sure. She must have some secret reason for doing so. That priest hasn’t come from Besançon to Plassans for nothing. There is some mystery or other at the bottom of it all!’

Marthe had again set to work at the everlasting repairs of the family-linen which kept her busy for days together. But her husband went on chattering:

‘Old Macquart and your mother amuse me very much. How they hate each other! Did you notice how angry she was when she saw him come? She always seems to be in a state of fear lest he should make some unpleasant revela­tion — I dare say that he’d willingly do so. But they’ll never catch me in his house. I’ve sworn to keep clear of all that business. My father was quite right when he said that my mother’s family, those Rougons and Macquarts, were not worth a rope to hang them with — They are my relations as well as yours, so you needn’t feel hurt at what I am saying. I say it because it is true. They are wealthy people now, but their money hasn’t made them any better — rather the contrary.’

Then he set off to take a turn along the Cours Sauvaire, where he met his friends and talked to them about the weather and the crops and the events of the previous day. An extensive transaction in almonds, which he undertook on the morrow, kept him busy for more than a week and made him almost forget all about Abbé Faujas. He was beginning, besides, to feel a little weary of the Abbé, who did not talk enough and was far too secretive. On two separate occasions he purposely avoided him, imagining that the priest only wanted to see him in order to make him relate the stories of the remainder of the Sub-Prefecture circle and Monsieur Rastoil’s friends. Rose had informed him that Madame Faujas had tried to get her to talk, and this had made him vow that he would in future keep his mouth shut. This resolve furnished fresh amusement for his idle hours, and now, as he looked up at the closely drawn curtains of the second-floor windows, he would mutter:

‘All right, my good fellow! Hide yourself as much as you like! I know very well that you’re watching me from behind those curtains, but you won’t be much the wiser for your trouble, and you’ll find yourself much mistaken if you expect to get any more information out of me about our neighbours!’

He derived great pleasure from the thought that the Abbé Faujas was secretly watching, and he took every precaution to avoid falling into any trap that might be laid for him. One evening as he was coming home he saw Abbé Bourrette and Abbé Faujas standing before Monsieur Rastoil’s gate. So he concealed himself behind the corner of a house and spied on them. The two priests kept him waiting there for more than a quarter of an hour. They talked with great animation, parted for a moment, and then joined each other again, and resumed their conversation. Mouret thought he could detect that Abbé Bourrette was trying to persuade Abbé Faujas to accompany him to the judge’s; and that Faujas was making excuses for not going, and at last refusing to do so with some show of impatience. It was a Tuesday, the day of the weekly dinner. Finally Bourrette entered Monsieur Rastoil’s house, and Faujas went off in his quiet fashion to his own rooms. Mouret stood for awhile thinking. What could be Abbé Faujas’s reason for refusing to go to Monsieur Rastoil’s? All the clergy of Saint-Saturnin’s dined there, Abbé Fenil, Abbé Surin, and all the others. There was not a single priest in Plassans who had not enjoyed the fresh air by the fountain in the garden there. The new curate’s refusal to go seemed a very extraordinary thing.

When Mouret got home again, he hurried to the bottom of his own garden to reconnoitre the second-floor windows. And after a moment or two he saw the curtain of the second window move to the right. He felt quite sure that Abbé Faujas was behind, it, spying upon what might be going on at Monsieur Rastoil’s. Then Mouret thought that he could dis­cover by certain movements of the curtain that the Abbé was in turn inspecting the gardens of the Sub-Prefecture.

The next day, a Wednesday, Rose told him just as he was going out that Abbé Bourrette had been with the second-floor people for at least an hour. Upon this he came back into the house and began to rummage about in the dining-room. When Marthe asked him what he was looking for, he replied sharply that he was trying to find a paper without which he could not go out. He even went upstairs, as if to see whether he had left it there. After waiting for a long time behind his bedroom door, he thought he could hear some chairs moving on the second floor, and thereupon he slowly went downstairs, stopping for a moment or two in the hall to give Abbé Bourrette time to catch him up.

‘Ah! is that you, Monsieur l’Abbé? This is a fortunate meeting! You are going to Saint-Saturnin’s, I suppose, and I am going that way too. We will keep each other company, if you have no objection.’

Abbé Bourrette replied that he would be delighted, and they both walked slowly up the Rue Balande towards the Place of the Sub-Prefecture. The Abbé was a stout man, with an honest, open face, and big, child-like blue eyes. His wide silk girdle which was drawn tightly round him threw his well-rounded stomach into relief. His arms were unduly short and his legs heavy and clumsy, and he walked with his head thrown slightly back.

‘So you’ve just been to see our good Monsieur Faujas?’ said Mouret, going to the point at once. ‘I must really thank you for having procured me such a lodger as is rarely to be found.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said the priest, ‘he is a very good and worthy man.’

‘He never makes the slightest noise, and we can’t really tell that there is anyone in the house. And he is so polite and courteous, too. I’ve heard it said, do you know, that he is a man of unusual attainments, and that he has been sent here as a sort of compliment to the diocese.’

They had now reached the middle of the Place of the Sub-Prefecture. Mouret stopped short and looked at Abbé Bourrette keenly.

‘Ah, indeed!’ the priest merely replied, with an air of astonishment.

‘So I’ve been told. The Bishop, it is said, intends to do something for him later on. In the meantime, the new curate has to keep himself in the background for fear of exciting jealousy.’

Abbé Bourrette went on walking again, and turned the corner of the Rue de la Banne.

‘You surprise me very much,’ he quietly remarked. ‘Faujas is a very unassuming man; in fact, he is far too humble. For instance, at the church he has taken upon himself the petty duties which are generally left to the ordinary staff. He is a saint, but he is not very sharp. I scarcely ever see him at the Bishop’s, and from the first he has always been very cold with Abbé Fenil, though I strongly impressed upon him that it was necessary he should be on good terms with the Grand-Vicar if he wished to be well received at the Bishop’s. But he didn’t seem to see it, and I’m afraid that he’s deficient in judgment. He shows the same failing, too, by his continual visits to Abbé Compan, who has been confined to his bed for the last fortnight, and whom I’m afraid we are going to lose. Abbé Faujas’s visits are most ill-advised, and will do him a deal of harm. Compan has always been on bad terms with Fenil, and it’s only a stranger from Besançon who could be ignorant of a fact that is known to the whole diocese.’

Bourrette was growing animated, and in his turn he stopped short as they reached the Rue Canquoin and took his stand in front of Mou­ret.

‘No, no, my dear sir,’ he said, ‘you have been misinformed: Faujas is as simple as a new-born babe. I’m not an ambitious man myself, and God knows how fond I am of Compan, who has a heart of gold, but, all the same, I keep my visits to him private. He said to me himself: “Bourrette, my old friend, I am not much longer for this world. If you want to succeed me, don’t be seen too often knocking at my door. Come after dark and knock three times, and my sister will let you in.” So now, you understand, I wait till night before I go to see him. One has plenty of troubles as it is, without incurring unnecessary ones!’

His voice quavered, and he clasped his hands across his stomach as he resumed his walk, moved by a naive egotism which made him commiserate himself, while he murmured:

‘Poor Compan! poor Compan!’

Mouret was feeling quite perplexed. All his theories about Abbé Faujas were being upset.

‘I had such very precise details furnished to me,’ he ventured to say. ‘I was told that he was to be promoted to some important office.’

‘Oh dear, no!’ cried the priest. ‘I can assure you that there is no truth in anything of the kind. Faujas has no expectations of any sort. I’ll tell you something that proves it. You know that I dine at the Presiding Judge’s every Tuesday. Well, last week he particularly asked me to bring Faujas with me. He wanted to see him, and find out what sort of a person he was, I suppose. Now, you would scarcely guess what Faujas did. He refused the invitation, my dear sir, bluntly refused it. It was all to no purpose that I told him he would make his life at Plassans quite intolerable, and would certainly embroil himself with Fenil by acting so rudely to Monsieur Rastoil. He persisted in having his own way, and wouldn’t be persuaded by anything that I said. I believe that he even exclaimed, in a moment of anger, that he wasn’t reduced to accepting dinners of that kind.’

Abbé Bourrette began to smile. They had now reached Saint-Saturnin’s, and he detained Mouret for a moment near the little side door of the church.

‘He is a child, a big child,’ he continued. ‘I ask you, now, could a dinner at Monsieur Rastoil’s possibly compromise him in any way? When your mother-in-law, that good Madame Rougon, entrusted me yesterday with an invitation for Faujas, I did not conceal from her my fear that it would be badly received.’

Mouret pricked up his ears.

‘Ah! my mother-in-law gave you an invitation for him, did she?’

‘Yes, she came to the sacristy yesterday. As I make a point of doing what I can to oblige her, I promised her that I would go and see the obstinate man this morning. I felt quite certain, however, that he would refuse.’

‘And did he?’

‘No, indeed; much to my surprise, he accepted.’

Mouret opened his lips and then closed them again with­out speaking. The priest winked with an appearance of extreme satisfaction.

‘I had to manage the matter very skillfully, you know. For more than an hour I went on explaining your mother-in-law’s position to him. He kept shaking his head, however; he could not make up his mind to go, and he was ever dwelling upon his desire for privacy. I had exhausted my stock of arguments when I recalled one point of the instruc­tions which the dear lady gave me. She had told me to tell him that her drawing-room was entirely neutral ground, and that this was a fact well known to the whole town. When I pressed this upon his notice he seemed to waver, and at last he consented to accept the invitation, and even promised to go to-morrow. I shall send a few lines to that excellent Madame Rougon to inform her of my success.’

He lingered for a moment longer, rolling his big blue eyes, and saying — more to himself than to Mouret:

‘Monsieur Rastoil will be very much vexed, but it’s no fault of mine.’

Then he added: ‘Good-morning, dear Monsieur Mouret; remember me very kindly to all your family.’

He entered the church, letting the padded doors close softly behind him. Mouret gazed at the doors and lightly shrugged his shoulders.

‘There’s a fine old chatterbox!’ he muttered; ‘one of those men who never give one a chance of getting in a word, but go on chattering away for hours without ever telling one anything worth listening to. So Faujas is going to Félicité’s to-morrow! It’s really very provoking that I am not on good terms with that fool Rougon!’

All the afternoon he was occupied with business matters, but at night, just as he and his wife were going to bed, he said to Marthe carelessly:

‘Are you going to your mother’s to-morrow evening?’

‘No, not to-morrow,’ Marthe replied, ‘I have too many things to do. But I dare say I shall go next week.’

He made no immediate reply, but just before he blew out the candle, he resumed:

‘It is wrong not to go out oftener than you do. Go to your mother’s to-morrow evening; it will enliven you a little. I will stay at home and look after the children.’

Marthe looked at him in astonishment. He generally kept her at home with him, requiring all kinds of little services from her, and grumbling if she went out even for an hour.

‘Very well,’ she replied,’ I will go if you wish me to.’

Then he blew out the candle, laid his head upon the pillow, and muttered:

‘That’s right; and you can tell us all about it when you come back. It will amuse the children.’

CHAPTER VI

About nine o’clock on the following evening, Abbé Bourrette called for Abbé Faujas. He had promised to go with him to the Rougons’ and introduce him there. He found him ready, standing in the middle of his big bare room, and putting on a pair of black gloves that were sadly whitened at the finger-tips. Bourrette could not restrain a slight grimace as he looked at him.

‘Haven’t you got another cassock?’ he asked.

‘No,’ quietly replied Abbé Faujas. ‘This one is still very decent, I think.’