Claude's Confession and Other Early Novels of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ wild dream of his youth was about to be realised; the good fairy, the saint, his providence, was admitting him into the heaven where she dwelt, and so he started in all haste.

      He arrived and found Madame de Rionne in her bed, dying. Every evening, for eight days, he went down to the room she occupied; he gazed at her from a distance and wept. He thus awaited the terrible end, intoxicated with grief, unable to understand how it happened that saints could be mortal and die.

      Then at last he had knelt down at her bedside and solemnly promised the dying woman that her last wish should be carried out.

      He passed the night near the body, in the company of the watcher. Monsieur de Rionne had remained on his knees an hour, and afterwards discreetly retired.

      Whilst the priest prayed and the watcher rested in an easy chair, Daniel was in dreamland, with dry eyes, unable to weep. He felt crushed, but was in that quiet, tranquil state, without pain, similar to the light drowsiness that precedes sleep. He grasped nothing distinctly, and every now and then his thoughts wandered. For nearly ten hours one idea alone filled his brain: Blanche was dead, and henceforth little Jeanne would be the saint whom he would love, to whom he would give his devotion.

      But, unconsciously, during that long, mournful night his courage was rapidly maturing; he was becoming a man indeed.

      The terrible scene at which he had assisted, the despair which had so deeply shaken him, all this stern education in suffering had killed the timidity of childhood in him. In his oppression he dimly felt this working of sorrow; he yielded to the force which was transforming him, and ripening, in a few hours, his heart and mind.

      In the morning, when he went back to his room, he was like a drunken man who could not recognise the place he lived in. The long, narrow room had only a window which opened in the slanting roof, whence once could see the tops of the trees of the esplanade, as it were a lake of verdure; further on, to the left, could be seen the heights of Passy. The window had remained open, a bright light filled the room, and it felt almost cold.

      Daniel sat down on the edge of his bed. He was ready to drop with fatigue, but did not dream of going to rest. He remained thus a long time, forgetting himself, whilst staring at the furniture, asking himself now and then what he was doing there, and suddenly remembering all.

      At times he listened, astonished, wondering why he did not hear himself weeping. Then he went and stood at the window, and the air did him good. Not a sound came up from the house. Below, in the little garden, there were people silently hurrying about On the boulevard the carriages rolled along as if nothing sorrowful had taken place in the night Paris was slowly awakening, and now a pale sunlight whitened the topmost leaves of the trees. The joyful aspect of the sky, the heedlessness of the city, saddened Daniel profoundly, and gave him excuse to weep again. It was a salutary crisis, which made his head feel lighter. He remained at the window in the fresh air, trying to reflect as to what he should do.

      Then he understood that as yet nothing rational would come to his brain, and decided to occupy himself mechanically. He moved several objects from one place to another, ferreted in his trunk, took out some clothes, which he put back again directly afterwards.

      His head began to grow less painful. When night came once more he was quite surprised. He could have sworn the day had only just begun. He had remained shut up, pondering on one idea only, and that long day of suffering seemed quite short. He left his room and tried to eat; then he wished to see Madame de Rionne once more. He could not, however, gain admittance to the death chamber. So, going up again to his own room, he fell into a heavy sleep, which overpowered him till very late the next day.

      When he awoke he heard a suppressed murmur of voices. The funeral carriages were about to leave the house. He hastily dressed himself and went downstairs. On the way he met the coffin, which four men could just manage. It gave out a dull sound at every concussion.

      At the start there was some confusion on the boulevard. The followers were numerous, and the procession was only slowly organised.

      Monsieur de Rionne put himself at the head of it, accompanied by his brother-in-law. His sister, a young woman, whose eyes wandered freely over the crowd, entered another carriage. Immediately behind Monsieur de Rionne came the frequenters of the house, the servants, and Daniel took up his place amongst the latter. Then the remainder of the followers came in groups, in irregular file.

      Thus S. Clothilde — the church, surrounded by flowers and verdure — was reached. The nave filled up, and the choir began chanting.

      Daniel knelt down in a corner near a chapel. He was calm now and could pray. But he could not follow the priest’s prayers; his lips remained closed — his prayer was only a passionate cry of the heart At one moment he felt faint, and was obliged to go out. The odour of the wax, the plaintive melody of the chants, oppressed and suffocated him. Outside he slowly walked about on the sandy paths of the little plot of ground which surrounds the church. Every now and then he stopped and gazed at the verdure-clad masonry. His heart, however, still wept, and sent forth its ardent prayer. When the hearse and carriages started on the last journey he went and placed himself among the servants again.

      The procession reached the boulevards, and took the direction of the cemetery of Mont Parnasse.

      The morning air was soft, and the sun shining on the early leaves of the great elms painted them green. The freshness and limpidity of the atmosphere caused the horizon to be particularly and clearly defined. One might say that the winter rains had so washed the earth that now it radiated freshness and cleanliness.

      Those who followed the body of Madame de Rionne to the grave that bright morning had for the most part forgotten that they were assisting at a funeral. Smiles were seen on many of the faces. One would have said they were merely taking a stroll and basking in the sun, enjoying the sweetness of spring.

      The procession slowly advanced in groups, growing yet more irregular, and the uneven sounds of footsteps and the increasing hum of conversation was heard.

      Every one talked with his neighbour of his private affairs, and gradually all breathed more freely and grew cheerful.

      Daniel, his eyes fixed on the ground, bareheaded, stricken dumb with grief, was dreaming of the mother whom he had just lost; he was recalling memories of his childhood, conjuring up the most minute details of the night of her death; to him it was a sad, profound vision, in which he lost himself.

      And yet his ears, in spite of himself, heard what the servants were talking about.... His brain took in the brutally plain words... He did not want to listen, but not one word escaped him. Whilst his poor heart was bleeding, whilst he was giving himself over wholly to despair at the solemn farewell he had taken of one whom he adored, he was compelled to overhear the cynical conversation of the valets and coachmen. Just behind him there happened to be two servants carrying on an animated discussion. One sided with monsieur, one with madame.

      “Pooh!” said the latter; “the best thing the poor woman could do was to die. She ought to be happy in her coffin. She had a hard life with monsieur.”

      “What do you know about it?” asked the former. “She was always smiling. Her husband did not beat her. She was proud, and posed as a victim in order to make others suffer.”

      “I know what I know. I have seen her crying in a way that was painful to see. Her husband did not beat her, certainly, but he kept mistresses; and see here, she most assuredly died of grief, because he no longer loved her.”

      “If he left her it was because she wearied him. Madame was not amusing. I could not live with a woman like that She СКАЧАТЬ