THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      CHAPTER X

      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 СКАЧАТЬ