STORIES FOR NINON & NEW STORIES FOR NINON. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ listened to what he said. He had not let go of my coat, and could not make up his mind to complete his reverence. He discoursed hat in hand, with such courteous calmness, that I never dreamt of getting angry. When he had concluded, I was content to look him in the face without answering. He took this silence for an inquiry.

      “Sir,” he said, with another bow, “sir, I am the People’s Friend, and my mission is the happiness of humanity.”

      He pronounced these words with modest pride, suddenly drawing himself up erect. I turned my back on him and ascended to the platform. As I raised the piece of canvas before entering, I looked at him for the last time. He had delicately taken the fingers of his left hand with those of his right, and sought to efface the wrinkles of his gloves which he was threatened with losing.

      Then, the People’s Friend, crossing his arms, tenderly surveyed the bayadere.

      IV

      I let the curtain fall and found myself in the temple. It was a sort of long narrow place devoid of seats, with canvas walls and lighted by a single Argand lamp. A few people, inquisitive girls and youths making a noise, were already assembled there. The arrangements had been made with every regard to decency: a cord stretched down the centre of the booth, separated men from women.

      The Mirror of Love, to tell the truth, was nothing more than a couple of pieces of glass without tinfoil, one in each compartment, little round windows, in fact, looking into the inner part of the booth. The promised miracle was accomplished with admirable simplicity: it sufficed to apply the right eye to the glass, and, without its being a question of thunder or sulphur, the well-beloved appeared on the other side. How would it be possible to disbelieve so natural a vision!

      I did not feel the strength to attempt the trial at the outset The bayadere had cast a look on me as I passed her, that froze my heart. How could I tell what awaited me beyond that piece of glass? Perhaps a horrible countenance with sparkless eyes and violet lips; a centenarian thirsting for young blood, one of those deformed creatures whom I see at night in my bad dreams. I thought no more of those blond creatures with whom I charitably people the void in my heart. I remembered all the ugly ones who showed me some affection, and I asked myself in terror if it were not one of these whom I was about to see appear.

      I retired into a corner. To regain courage I watched those who, bolder than myself, consulted destiny without so much ado. It was not long before I took peculiar pleasure at the sight of these different faces, the right eye wide open, the left closed with two fingers, each having his particular smile, in conformity with the vision pleasing him more or less. The glass was rather low, and it was necessary to bend slightly forward. To my mind nothing could be more grotesque than these men following one another to see the sister soul of their own soul through a hole a few centimetres round.

      First of all two soldiers advanced: a sergeant bronzed beneath Afric’s sun and a young conscript, a lad still savouring of the plough, whose arms were ill at ease in a greatcoat three times too large for him. The sergeant gave a sceptic laugh. The conscript remained a long time stooping, particularly flattered at having a sweetheart.

      Then came a fat man in a white jacket, with a red, puffy face, who gazed quietly without making a grimace of either joy or displeasure, as if it were quite natural that he should be loved by some one. — .

      He was followed by three schoolboys, bold-faced youths of fifteen or sixteen summers, pushing one another to make believe that they enjoyed the honour of being tipsy. All three vowed they recognised their aunts.

      Thus the inquisitive came one after the other to the piece of glass, and it would not be possible for me to remember now, the different expressions of features that struck me then. O vision of the well-beloved! what severe truths you made those expanded eyes say! They were the real Mirrors of Love, mirrors in which the gracefulness of woman was reflected in a surreptitious glimmer, where lust and stupidity were blended together.

      V

      The girls, at the other piece of glass, were amusing themselves in a much more respectable way. I read nothing but a great deal of curiosity on their faces; not the least look of naughty desire, not the smallest wicked thought. They came each in turn to cast an astonished glance through the small aperture, and withdrew, some a trifle thoughtful, others laughing like madcaps.

      To tell the truth, I hardly know what they were doing there. If I were a woman and only a trifle pretty, I would never have the silly idea of troubling to go and see the man who loved me. On days when my heart would be sad at being alone — those would be bright, sunny spring days — I would go off to a flowery lane and make all who passed adore me. In the evening, I would return with a wealth of love.

      Of course, these curious creatures were not all equally pretty. The handsome ones laughed at the magician’s science; they had long since ceased to have need of him. The ugly ones, on the contrary, had never enjoyed such a treat. Amongst them came one with thin hair and a large mouth, who could not tear herself away from the magic mirror. She preserved on her lips the joyous and heartrending smile of an indigent person satisfying hunger after a prolonged fast.

      I was wondering what were the beautiful ideas that had been awakened in those giddy heads. It was but a poor problem. All had assuredly dreamt of a prince casting himself at their feet; all wished to gain a better idea of the lover of whom they had but a confused recollection on awakening. There were, doubtless, many deceptions; princes are becoming rare, and the eyes of our souls which open at nighttime on a better world, are otherwise accommodating than those which we make use of in broad daylight. There was also great joy: the vision was realised, the lover had the silky moustache and the raven hair dreamt of.

      Thus each of them, in a few seconds, lived a life of love. Simple romances, as swift as hope, which could be guessed in their high-coloured cheeks and the more amorous heaving of their bosoms.

      After all, these girls were perhaps fools, and I am a fool myself for having seen so many things, when there was no doubt nothing to see. Anyhow, by studying them I recovered my pluck. I noticed that men and women in general appeared very satisfied with the apparition. The magician would assuredly never have had the unkindness to cause these honest folk, who gave him two sous, the least displeasure.

      I approached and applied my eye to the glass without too great excitement. I perceived a woman leaning over the back of an armchair, between red curtains. She was brilliantly lit up by Argand lamps, which were invisible, and stood out in relief against a piece of painted canvas, stretched in the background. This canvas, which was torn in places, must formerly have represented a lover’s grove of blue trees.

      “She who loves me” wore, as a well-bred vision should do, a long white gown, just caught in at the waist, and falling on the boards like a cloud. From her forehead hung a long veil, also white, fastened by a wreath of May blossoms. The dear angel, thus attired, was all white and all innocence.

      She leant coquettishly forward, turning her eyes towards me — great caressing blue eyes. She looked bewitching under the veil: flaxen tresses disappearing amidst the muslin, the candid forehead of a virgin, delicate lips, dimples that were nests for kisses. At the first glance I took her for a saint; at the second, I found she had the air of a goodnatured girl, in no way prudish and very accommodating.

      She carried her fingers to her lips and sent me a kiss, with a bow which had nothing of the abode of spirits about it. Noticing that she did not make up her mind to fly away, I fixed her features in my memory and withdrew.

      As I left, I saw the People’s Friend enter. This grave moralist, who seemed to avoid me, was hastening to set the bad example of guilty curiosity. His long backbone, curved in a half-circle, was СКАЧАТЬ