Читать книгу The Complete Early Novels - Emile Zola - Страница 44

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One could see glistening in the sun the Seine with its wooded banks, reflecting dark shadows in its waters. The vast, flat landscape was stretched out under the wide expanse of sky, dotted with little fleecy clouds.

One could have imagined that a flood of milk had passed over fruitful nature. The earth without upheavals, without rocks, yielded life in abundance to the trees which grew straight and strong, like vigorous children. And the rows of willows, in their sweet freshness, bathed their long gray branches in the limpid waters.

When the sun rose during the hot months of July the whole landscape was enveloped in a shining, white mist. Only the poplars were seen as dark streaks against the white sky. A sweet and peaceful country scene, in which the heart felt at peace and rest once more.

When Jeanne, the day after her arrival, opened her window and looked out on the vast plain before her the tears welled up to her eyes, and she hurried down to enjoy the fresh air, which caused her bosom to swell with an unknown joy. She became a child again. The feverish existence she had led during the last winter, the evening receptions in hot rooms, the life full of turmoil which had passed over her as a storm, agitating her body but not penetrating her soul, was past for the present at least. In the quiet freshness of spring she immediately recovered all the gaiety and tranquillity of her school-days. She seemed to be back once more at her convent where, as a little girl, she ran merrily about under the trees of the garden. And here the garden was the wide country, the lawn and the park, the islets and the lands which gradually disappeared in the haze of the horizon. It was a rugged fairyland to her.

She was so lighthearted that she longed to play hide-and-seek between the trunks of the gnarled old oaks. It was such a reawakening of youth. Her eighteen years, whose high spirits were suppressed in drawingrooms for fear of rumpling her laces, sang their happy song to her in this enchanting spot. She felt the life-blood coursing through her veins anew, and she was carried away by sudden impulses which drove her to the freedom of vagabondage, and made her laugh like a boy. This rush of youthful blood, however, was only physical, for her heart did not beat any faster in the peacefulness of the fields; she was simply giving herself up to the ardent life which burned within her.

Madame Tellier looked at her galloping about, and shrugged her shoulders. As far as she was concerned Mesuil Rouge was a place of exile, where fashion compelled her to remain during the summer months. She was aristocratically bored there, passing her days in yawning and counting the weeks which must elapse before the autumn and winter should come round again. When a pining for Paris seized her too violently, she made an effort to be interested in the trees, and she went down to the borders of the Seine to watch the river flow by. But she always came back deeply dejected; nothing seemed more stupid to her, or more dirty, than a river; and when she heard people eulogising the pleasures of the country, she was filled with the utmost astonishment.

In her drawingroom when the subject of green trees and running streams was mooted, not to be singular she certainly pretended to have the same love of these things as the others, but at heart she entertained a ferocious hatred against the grass, which soiled her dress, and against the sun, which burned her skin and freckled her face.

Her longest walks were round the lawns. She always went forward very cautiously, never letting her eyes wander from the path for fear of accidents. Withered leaves dropping terrified her, and one day she uttered piercing screams because a thorn had slightly scratched her hand.

When Jeanne ran about in all directions she gazed at her with an air of pity and grief. She had hoped for better things of this child, who had all the winter played her role of coquette so well.

“Good heavens! Jeanne,” she cried, “how vulgar you have grown. Really, one would think you were positively amusing yourself. Oh, heavens! here is a big hole full of water. Come quickly and give me a hand.”

And the young girl, wishing to simulate the distinguished airs of her aunt, also began to utter little cries of fright. She was not frightened at all, but was simply following Madame Tellier’s lead, whom she looked upon as a queen in a matter of taste. Then, little by little, her feet itched to run about again; she hurried her steps, walking right through the mud, and this made her laugh heartily; then she started off running again.

The only distraction the Telliers enjoyed was the arrival of a visitor. On those days Madame Tellier was radiant. She drew the curtains so as to shut out the view of the trees, and fancied herself in Paris, talking the old, vapid, worldly gossip, and intoxicating herself in imagination with the distant perfumes of the drawingrooms.

At times when she forgot to have the curtains drawn, and she happened in the midst of her gossip to cast her eyes on the wide horizon, a real terror seized her; she felt how little she was in all that immensity, and her woman’s pride suffered.

Jeanne herself was not insensible to these reminders of Paris; and she remained in the great reception-room at Mesuil Rouge, questioned the visitors, and resumed her role as a mocking beauty. On those days she forgot the sweetness of the air, the loveliness of the sky, and the refreshing coolness of the streams. She was no longer the tomboy who tore about the alleys, but became once more that beautiful, disdainful young lady who terrified Daniel so much. Daniel, on these occasions, shut himself up in the little room on the top storey, just above a kind of pigeon-house, where he could see miles away into space. In his disgust he toiled away at the deputy’s work, or else he crossed over all alone to an island, and there, lying among the tall grass, waited angrily for the visitors’ departure that he might have his dear daughter restored to him.

This simple, gentle spirit experienced a veritable delight in living thus in the open air, revelling amid the freedom of nature. He had found at Mesuil Rouge exactly the kind of life that suited him; for the first epoch in his existence he had a good time. His life thus far had been passed in prison cells, so to speak, and he knew nothing of a free life. This peace, therefore, now came to him, and an immense hope entered and pervaded his whole system. On dull days — that is to say, when Mesuil Rouge was empty of visitors — Jeanne belonged to him.

Little by little intimacy had sprung up between them. During the first days there the young girl looked at the islets with the longing of a child. Her imagination was at work; she wanted very much to know what was going on behind those impenetrable leaves.

But her uncle was far too pompous to go and risk his solemnity among the briars, and her aunt had an aversion to bushes planted in the water, for she declared that they must be full of serpents and horrid beasts.

Then it was that Daniel seemed to Jeanne like a worthy young man who could do her a great service. Every morning she saw him take the little boat and disappear in the dark shade of the tiny rivulet, and one day she mustered up courage to ask him to take her with him. She did it in all innocence, to satisfy her curiosity, without even dreaming that Daniel was a man.

For his part he got confused, and he explained his confusion to himself by the joy he felt. And from that day Jeanne very often accompanied him on his excursions.

Madame Tellier, who looked on Daniel merely as a servant, did not see the slightest harm in her niece going on these exploring expeditions with him. She was only astonished at Jeanne’s bad taste in caring for such explorations, especially as she usually came back with her dress covered with mud. The deputy, it may be remarked, had come to have a true respect for his secretary, for, if he had few talents himself, he could recognise ability in others.

These trips became quite an infatuation with the young people. They started towards evening, an hour before twilight, and the moment the rowing boat reached one of the little branches of the river Daniel lifted out the oars, and they glided gently along with the current. They rarely spoke a word to each other. Jeanne, partly reclining in the boat, was lost in day-dreams, watching the ripples made by her fingers dragging through the water, while he was content to sit and watch her. Thus they went along in the green transparent twilight, in the midst of a stillness which would make many people shudder. Then they would land on one of the little islands, and there give themselves up to childlike laughter and mad scamperings.

When they had discovered a small opening among the bushes they stopped to take breath, chatting like old comrades. But she noticed that Daniel would never sit down. Whilst his companion rested a few minutes he kept standing. He had practised climbing the trees to look for birds’ nests. But if Jeanne took compassion on the poor little things’ fate, he climbed up again and replaced them in their nests in the high branches.

The return home was delightful. They lingered under the arches of the leaves where it was quite dark. The freshness of the air became penetrating; the leaves of the willows softly rustled as they brushed against their clothes. The calm water was like a mirror of brown steel. And Daniel, when he had prolonged the journey as long as possible, wanted at last to leave the island.

Then, as the Seine stretched out before them, white as silver, for there was generally some daylight still left — a pale light of a soft, melancholy kind — Jeanne, seated at the bottom of the boat, would gaze over the surface of the water. The river seemed to her like another sky, into which the trees plunged their shadows. As the country round lay sleeping in a deep peace there would come, one knew not whence, a sound as of soft chanting, and all was solemn and tranquilising.

In this calm life he was leading a supreme peace had come to Daniel, and he forgot himself. He felt convinced that he was not born for preaching, and that the role of tutor did not suit him in any way. He knew how to love, that was all. When he called to mind that horrible winter when he had played such a ridiculous part, he suffered terribly. How happy he was now, living in hope and the solace of his affection.

In this manner he occupied himself neither with the past nor the future. It sufficed him to see Jeanne running about among the grass, delighting in the solitude of the islets, showing him at all times an openhearted friendship. In his opinion all was going well: the present time was good; the young girl was forgetting the evil excitements of the past. The pure country air had made him feel younger again himself, for round about him he saw, as it were, a vast expanse of love.

All through the summer he lived in a glorious confidence. He had not a word of rebuke for Jeanne, not even a harsh look. In his eyes all she did was well done, and he discovered pretexts as excuses for her bad moments. The truth was that the mere presence of the young girl threw him into such ecstasies that the perception of the real state of things was taken away from him.

When she was there in the boat he felt a delicious feeling of happiness in the depths of his being. He longed ardently for the hour when they started out on their expeditions; and in order to keep her near him for long he discovered lengthy excursions that they ought to make. At that time he found her so lovely and good that he felt bitter remorse at having tormented her so. Never again would he scold her.

So the summer went by in hope. Not once had he given up his part of indefatigable and foreseeing protector and guide; and she had ended by accepting him merely as a playmate, whose good nature she could impose upon with the tyranny of a child.

The day before their departure for Paris Daniel and Jeanne wished to go and bid goodbye to the island. They started off together and wandered long in and out of the little arms of the river. The autumn had set in; yellow leaves gently glided down the stream, and the wind sighed in a melancholy way through the denuded branches. It was a sad excursion. It was beginning to get cold. The young girl drew a shawl she had thrown over her shoulders, more tightly about her; she did not talk but gazed at the poor reddened foliage and found it very ugly. Daniel, still confident, gave himself up freely to the charm of this last excursion, without even giving a thought to that terrible Paris, looming straight before him.

When they left the islets, they perceived in the distance three persons who were waiting for them on the banks. They recognised Monsieur Tellier by the enormous black shadow he cast on the green lawn. The other two persons were doubtless visitors, whose features they could not yet distinguish. Then as the boat drew near the shore, great uneasiness took possession of Daniel. He recognised the visitors and wondered what they could want at Mesuil Rouge. Jeanne, jumping lightly out on to the grass, exclaimed: “Why, if it is not Monsieur Lorin and my father!”

She went and embraced Monsieur de Rionne, and then directed her steps towards the chateau in the company of Lorin, who made her laugh boisterously with his Paris news.

Daniel remained alone on the banks, desolate, with tears in his eyes, clearly seeing that his happiness was dead.

In the evening, after dinner, Lorin accosted him, and with a mocking air of superiority, said to him: “How well you row, my dear fellow. I should never have thought, to look at you, that you had such strong arms. I am much obliged to you for having taken Jeanne out all the summer season.”

And as Daniel looked at him with surprise, on the point of rejecting his thanks: “You do not yet know,” added he in a whisper, “that I have quite decided to commit the folly I spoke to you of.”

“What folly?” asked Daniel, in a suffocating voice.

“Oh, a lovely and good folly.... She has not a sou, and she will dip terribly into my purse.... I am marrying Jeanne.”

Daniel looked at him, stupefied. Then he went up to his room without finding a word to say.