THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ meeting the object of his affection, at every turn in the path. Today Madeleine was the kind and gentle fairy, the sweetheart that he had sought. She was his in the solitude that he had dreamt of, far from the crowd, in a retreat where not a soul could come to disturb his ecstasy. This, for him, was the highest bliss: to know that he was out of the world, to be no longer afraid of being hurt by anyone, to surrender himself to all the softened peace of his heart, to have by his side one being only, and to live on the beauty and love of this being. Such an existence consoled him for his youth of sorrow: a youth devoid of affection, with a proud ironical father, an old fanatic whose caresses frightened him, and a friend who was not enough to calm his feverish adoration. It consoled him for crushing persecutions, for a childhood of martyrdom and a youth of exile, and for a long series of sorrows which had made him ardently long for the shade and complete silence, for a total annihilation of his sorrowful existence in an endless happiness. Thus ho reposed, and took refuge in Madeleine’s arms, like a man weary and frightened. All his joys were joys of tranquillity. Such a peace seemed to him as never to end. He pictured to himself that the eternity of the last sleep was opening before him and that he was sleeping in the arms of his Madeleine.

      It was with both of them a feeling more of repose than of love. You might have said that chance had drawn them together that each might staunch the blood of the other’s wounds. They both felt a like need of repose, and their words of affection were a sort of thanks which they addressed to one another for the peaceful happy hours which they were enjoying together. They revelled in the present with the egoism of hungry souls. It seemed to them that they had only existed since their meeting; a memory of the past never entered their long lovers’ talks. William was no longer uneasy about the years of Madeleine’s life before she knew him, and the young woman never thought of questioning him, as women in love do, about his previous existence. It was enough for them to be by each other’s side, to laugh, to be happy, like children who have neither regret for the past nor anxiety for the future.

      Madeleine heard one day of Lobrichon’s death. She merely remarked:

      “He was a bad man.”

      She appeared quite unconcerned, and William seemed to take no interest in this news. When he received letters from Véteuil, be threw them into a drawer after reading them; his mistress never asked him what these letters contained. At the end of six months of this life, they knew as little of each other’s history as they did the first day; their love had been bestowed without inquiries.

      This dream came to a sudden end.

      One morning, when William had gone to his banker’s, Madeleine, not knowing what to do, began to turn over the leaves of an album which was lying in the room, and which had hitherto escaped her notice. Her lover had come across it the night before, at the bottom of a trunk. It only contained three portraits, one of his father, one of Genevieve, and one of his friend James.

      When the young woman saw the latter, she uttered a cry of pain. With her hands resting on the open leaves of the album, erect and trembling she gazed at James’s smiling face as if a phantom had risen before her. It was he, the lover of a night that had become the lover of a year, the man whose memory, long dormant in her breast, was awakening and hurting her cruelly, by this sudden apparition.

      It was a thunderbolt in her peaceful sky. She had forgotten this young fellow, she considered herself William’s faithful wife. Why was James coming between them? Why was he here, in the very room where but a minute before her lover was holding her in his arms? Who had brought him to her to disturb her peace for ever? These questions set her distracted head reeling.

      James was looking at her with a slightly mocking air. He seemed to be joking her on her softened heart; he was saying to her: “Good gracious! my poor girl, how you must be bored here! Come, let us go to Chatou, let us go to Robinson, let us go, quick! to where there is life and excitement — “ She could fancy that she heard the sound of his voice and his burst of laughter; she thought that he was going to stretch out his arms to her in the old familiar way. Like a flash, she saw the past, the room in the Rue Soufflot, all that life which she thought so far off, and from which a few months only separated her. She had been in a dream then; the bliss of yesterday was not hers by right, she was false and dishonest. All the disgrace she had passed through rose to her heart and stifled her.

      The photograph presented James in the careless attitude of his student’s life. He was sitting astride an overturned chair, in his shirt sleeves, his neck and arms hare, and a clay pipe in his mouth. Madeleine could distinguish a mark that he had on his left arm, and she remembered how often she had kissed that mark. Her recollections caused her a hot burning sensation; in her suffering she could detect, as it were, the hitter dregs of the cup of pleasure which he had given her to drink. He was in his own room, half-undressed, and perhaps going to take her to his heart. Then she seemed to feel, around her waist, the clasp, that she knew so well, of her first lover. Fainting, she sank back in her chair, believing that she was prostituting herself, and looking round her with the frightened shudder of an adulterous woman. The little room had an appearance of demure quiet, of soft shade; it was full of that voluptuous peace which six months of love impart to a secluded cot; on a panel, above the sofa, hung William’s portrait smiling tenderly on Madeleine. And Madeleine grew pale beneath this look of love, in the midst of that peaceful air, as she felt James take possession of her heart and fill her with pain.

      Then she bethought herself. Before going away, the young doctor had given her his portrait, one exactly like this which a cruel fate had just put under her eyes. But, the day before she came to this house, she had religiously burnt it, unwilling to introduce the likeness of her first lover into William’s home. And this portrait was coming to life again, and James was finding his way, in spite of herself, into her retreat! She got up, and took the album again. Then, behind the photograph, she read this inscription: “To my old comrade, to my brother William.” William, James’s comrade, James’s brother! Madeleine, pale as death, closed the album and sat down again. With stony eyes and drooping hands, she remained a long time absorbed in thought.

      She said to herself that she must be guilty of some great crime, to be punished so cruelly for her six months’ bliss. She had surrendered herself to two men, and these two men loved one another with brotherly love. She pictured a sort of incest in her double affection. Formerly, in the Latin quarter, she had known a girl who was shared by two friends, and who went quietly from one friend’s bed to the other’s. She suddenly thought of this poor wretch, telling herself with disgust that she was as shameless as she was. Now she felt for certain that she would be haunted by the phantom as she devoted herself to William. Perhaps she would enjoy a horrid pleasure in the embraces of these lovers whom she would confound with each other. The anguish of her future seemed to her then so clearly defined, that she had an idea of fleeing, of disappearing for ever.

      But her cowardice restrained her. The very night before, she had felt so happy in the genial, pleasant warmth of William’s adoration. Could she not grow calm beneath the young man’s caresses, forget again, and think herself worthy and faithful? Then she asked herself if it would not be better to tell her lover everything, to confide to him her past, and to get his absolution. The thought of such a disclosure terrified her. How could she dare to confess to William that she had been his comrade’s, his brother’s former mistress? He would drive her away, he would banish her from his bed, he would never put up with the shame of such a partnership. She reasoned as if she were still James’s mistress, so strong did she feel his influence over her even now.

      She would say nothing, she would keep all the shame to herself. But she could not yet make up her mind to this decision; her straightforward nature revolted at the idea of an eternal falsehood, she felt that she would not have strength for long to live in her shame and anguish. It were better to confess at once, or flee. These agitating thoughts passed through her reeling head with painful noisy shocks. She examined her feelings without being able to come to a decision. Suddenly she heard the street door open. A rapid step mounted the staircase and William entered.

СКАЧАТЬ