THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ in the courtyard a carriage was nearly always waiting for Madame Tellier and Jeanne, to take them to the Bois de Boulogne. The two ladies slowly descended the doorsteps with trailing skirts, but Daniel had eyes only for the young girl. He studied her least movements. She leant back on the cushions of the carriage with a careless ease that was most distasteful to him. Her toilettes, too, shocked him; he felt that it was all these ribbons and laces that intimidated him and kept him at a distance from her.

      The carriage started and Daniel was alone again at his window above the courtyard. The great gulf between him and her seemed blacker and more desolate than ever. He stared sorrowfully at the blank walls, and pondered bitterly over the beautiful dreams he formerly had whilst gazing at the elms in the impasse St. Dominique d’Enfer.

      He concluded that Jeanne had a bad disposition, and that the poor dead woman had reason to be afraid for her future. He argued in this way from vexation, angry because he could not understand what he saw going on about him. The transition he had undergone was too abrupt. He had lived himself as austerely as a Benedictine monk in his cell; he knew only the miseries and rough side of life. This big, simple scholar had a holy horror of luxury, and knew absolutely nothing of a woman’s heart. And all of a sudden he found himself face to face with this life of riches and selfish ease; he had to set himself the task of deciphering the mystery of a young girl’s heart. If Jeanne had merely come forward in a friendly way and held out her hand, as George had lately held out his, he would have thought such an action quite natural, for he had no experience of the ways of society. He could not get beyond those, to him, terrifying furbelows, and he imagined that her heart was spoiled.

      Kept in a convent till the age of eighteen, Jeanne had preserved all the infantile ways of early childhood. Her heart and mind had been wrapped up in the gossip of her little friends, and far off, at a distance, life seemed to her as a dazzling fairyland which she would enter later. Her days were filled by the thousand and one pretty follies of the education that is given to girls in France. So she had become an excitable child — a doll that was to be prepared for fashion and distinction. She had only a vague memory of her mother. No one spoke to her about her, and she herself only thought of her when she saw the mothers of other girls come into the parlour. She did then feel that there was something lacking in her heart, but she could not tell what it was. As she grew up she became accustomed to the solitude of her life. Her heart had recoiled into itself. She became reckless, almost wicked. Her spirit stirred in her a mocking, aggressive spirit, and she acquired the terrible reputation of being a scoffer. All the tenderness of her affectionate nature went to sleep, so to speak, in the depths of her heart. Even a kiss might perhaps have made a loving, self-sacrificing woman of this sarcastic girl. But then there was no one to give her this kiss.

      Then she left the convent and went under the deplorable influence of Madame Tellier. There were two distinct natures in her: the young maiden of mocking spirit, the disdainful rebellious child, and the goodhearted girl who ignored self, and showed, at times, by a mere look, a deeply affectionate disposition. Now she plunged headlong into luxury and gaiety; she satisfied all the feverish desires of her young days, which she had been unable to satisfy. It was a frenzy. At times she felt all the emptiness of the life she led with her aunt, but then she laughed and told herself that she had everything she wanted, and accused herself of longing for things which had no existence. And, truly, love had so far no existence for her. After that she gave herself up wholly to pleasure. She endeavoured to satisfy herself with vanity only; she extracted all the happiness she possibly could from the rustling of her beautiful silks, from the admiration of the crowd, from comfort and wealth; and she thought she was enjoying real life.

      The foolish Daniel in his blindness could not penetrate the recesses of that intricate heart. He saw clearly her contemptuous looks, but he did not perceive a tender light in the depths of her eyes. He heard well enough her sharp mocking words, but he did not discern the hidden tears under the bursts of laughter; so he made up his mind that Jeanne had an evil disposition, and he suffered terribly at this unpleasant discovery. Consequently he decided not to make himself known, at least at present. He wished to play the part of an invisible guardian, and not that of an irksome protector. Besides he foresaw that Jeanne’s haughty temperament would shake off the yoke, however light it was. Then how to tell the truth? He would never have found either the courage or necessary words to do so, if he had been compelled to confess to the young girl who he was, and with what mission Madame de Rionne had entrusted him.

      What astonished him was to feel his devotion and affection for Jeanne growing, instead of diminishing, since he had decided that she had a bad nature. He experienced for her a mixture of anger and adoration. When he saw her in a mocking humour, when he saw her putting her happiness in a dress or a trinket, he ran and shut himself up in his room; and there he found her again in his mind’s eye such as she had been before — stately, beautiful, and good. Then he vowed he would keep his love for her awake, to be able to worship her unrestrainedly.

      So far he could not clearly discover what position the young girl held at her aunt’s. He remembered that Madame de Rionne had spoken to him of impending ruin, and for the last twelve years the father must have been consummating his ruin pretty rapidly. He made some discreet inquiries, and learnt that this fast liver was getting down to his last louis.

      And Jeanne — she probably had no fortune at all. From that moment Daniel was astonished at the generous hospitality extended by Madame Tellier to her niece.

      The truth was that Madame Tellier had well understood from the first that, in a way, she was adopting her brother’s daughter; and it was for this reason that she left her as long as possible at the convent. Then, when she was getting near her fortieth year, a despondency settled on her from some secret disappointment. She recollected Jeanne at her convent and sent for her, with the idea of getting distraction in seeking a husband for her. Besides, the expenses she incurred for the young girl were mostly for her own pleasures at the same time. She was always the practical woman. In decking out Jeanne she was decking her out for her own sake; she was satisfying solely her own love of luxury and her own vanity. As her niece must be there in her drawingrooms, she would not have allowed her to be there unless she had been thoroughly, smartly dressed.

      There might perhaps have been also another feeling in her heart. She was probably delighted to spend the last years of her beauty in flirtations. She engaged in a species of rivalry with this young girl; she was quite delighted when her guests neglected Jeanne to come and pay their court to her. It was a new recreation to her to tell every one that her niece had no dowry, and when the men who were courting Jeanne grew cool, she laughed.

      Perhaps even she reckoned on the disastrous effect Jeanne’s rich toilettes produced on her suitors when they learned that this lovely young lady had not a sou. Her niece became to them as a rare but dangerous flower — one that would be too costly to keep. She thus placed Jeanne out of the reach of all, enjoying her own fun immensely. Moreover, she expected to find her a simpleton; but Jeanne’s sharp, reserved, and sarcastic character had given her an agreeable surprise. She had taken quite a fancy to this scoffer; she entertained her vastly, so she stirred her up and urged her on to mischievousness, without thinking that she was doing any harm. Not possessing that quality herself, which should have awakened the dormant goodness in her niece’s heart, the aunt really believed she was conferring on Jeanne a true benefit in giving her a worldly training.

      Both lived the same life — the aunt without a qualm, the niece with secret misgivings. In Paris they were received, one as the queen of fashion, the other as an aspirant who one day or other might be queen.

      When Daniel, from his bedroom window, saw them enter the same carriage he was seized with fits of anger. He recollected the words of the dying woman, who foresaw the evil influences her husband’s sister would have upon her daughter, and he wondered how he could counteract these evil lessons.

      One morning Monsieur Tellier, who had taken a great liking to his secretary, invited him to a soiree he was having that evening. Daniel’s СКАЧАТЬ