Complete Works of Emile Zola (138 page)

Then, with a vigorous effort, she got up, and tried to summon every bit of energy she had left, in order to run away and put off the terrible explanation.

“I am going to bed,” she said in a somewhat firmer tone. “Your friend would keep us up talking a long time and I really am worn out. My head is splitting — You shall introduce him to me to-morrow.”

William, who was looking forward to bringing together the only two beings he had loved in his life, was annoyed at his wife’s sudden indisposition. All the way from Mantes he had whipped his horse on without mercy, and the poor beast had even dislocated a leg by slipping in a rut. He had felt as eager as a child to be at La Noiraude; he had already wanted to push open the door of the dining-room, picturing to himself, with emotions of joy, the touching scene that would take place. One moment, he thought, with childish glee, of acting a little comedy; he would introduce James as a stranger, and enjoy Madeleine’s confusion, when she learnt the unknown man’s name. The fact is, he was really crazed with pleasure; his heart hereafter was going to be full, full of love and friendship which would make his existence one long series of happy events. He could see himself joining James and Madeleine’s hands saying to the one: “This is your sister,” and to the other: “This is your brother, love one another, let us all three love one another to the last breath.” This picture delighted his timid affection.

He tried to get his wife to stay, for it was hard for him to put off till next day the enjoyment that he had been promising himself all the way from Mantes. But Madeleine seemed so unwell, that he allowed her to retire. She was going to pass through the door that opened into the entrance-hall, when she thought she heard the noise of footsteps. She drew back, with a sudden terrified movement, as if she had wished to escape from somebody who was suddenly forcing his way in; then she hastily disappeared through a door that led into the drawing-room. She had hardly closed this door when James entered.

“Your horse is very badly hurt,” he said to William, “I am a bit of a veterinary surgeon and I think the beast is lamed for life.”

He said this simply for the sake of talking, as he looked enquiringly round the room with an inquisitive glance. As he knew a little about love after his scapegrace fashion, he was very curious to know what sort of a wife his friend, could have married, that friend with the tender, almost womanish heart whose enthusiastic love ideas had made him laugh so in the past. William understood the mute interrogation of his glance.

“My wife is not well,” he said, “you shall see her to-morrow.”

 Then, turning towards Geneviève, who had not yet left the room, he continued:

“You must be quick and have the blue room got ready. James must be worn out with fatigue.”

The protestant had noticed Madeleine’s heart-felt emotion, and an ardent curiosity alone had retained her in the room. For a long time her inquisitorial mind had scented the young woman’s sin. This strong handsome creature, with her red hair and rosy lips, had seemed to her reeking with a. carnal, hellish odour. In spite of the repugnance of her religion to pictures, the fanatic had in her room an engraving representing the temptation of Saint Antony, and its demoniacal medley delighted her visionary nature. Those imps who were tormenting the poor saint with their frightful grimaces, and that mouth leading to the infernal regions which was yawning to swallow up virtue the moment it made the least slip, were a faithful symbol of her religious beliefs. In one corner, there were women exposing their naked breasts before the virtuous hermit, and, as chance would have it, one of these women bore a faint resemblance to Madeleine. This resemblance struck Geneviève’s ardent imagination very forcibly, and she was seized with dread as she fancied she could see in William’s young wife, the bold smile and wanton hair of the courtesan, of the monster belched forth by the abyss. She would even, in her mind, often call her, with the feverish excitement of an exorcist, by the Latin epithet “Lubrica” which was written on the margin of the engraving below this she-devil. All the lower part of this picture, which was coarsely printed, was covered in like manner with figurative names personifying some vice in each demon. When, on the news of James’s coming to life again, Madeleine’s face had become suddenly agitated, Geneviève was convinced that it was the devil with which she was possessed who forced her in spite of herself to make these grimaces of pain. She thought she could perceive at last the unclean animal hidden beneath this pearly skin, in this flesh of perdition, and she would scarcely have been surprised to see the superb voluptuous body of this young creature change into a monstrous toad. If she did not understand the details of the drama which was racking the mind of the unfortunate woman, she felt certain that it was sin that was choking her. Thus she determined to watch her so as to give her no chance of doing any harm, in case she should try to introduce into La Noiraude that Satan who had left it with Monsieur de Viargue’s soul, by the laboratory chimney.

She was about to go upstairs to prepare the blue-room, when James cheerily took her shrivelled hand. He made excuses for not having noticed her on coming in, and renewed his acquaintance with her, He complimented her on looking so well, told her that she was growing young again, and actually brought a smile to her pale lips. He had the somewhat clumsy heartiness of a young fellow in capital health who has lived a free and happy life, and never felt a pang at his heart. When Geneviève had withdrawn, the two friends sat down by the fire which had half died out. A few red coals were burning on the ashes. The vast room seemed filled with an air of repose.

“You are half asleep already,” said William with a smile, “but I will not keep you long. Ah, my dear James, how pleasant it is to meet again. Let us have a little chat, will you? Let us talk as we used to do by this fire-place, where we warmed our frozen hands on returning from our famous fishing excursions. What craw-fish we did catch!”

James was smiling too. They talked of the days gone by, of the present, of the future; their memories and hopes were at their conversation’s beck.

Already, on the way from Mantes to Véteuil, William had overwhelmed his friend with questions, on how he had been rescued from the waves, on his long silence, on what he intended to do in the future. He knew James’s story, and made him repeat it to him with fresh additions and fresh wonders.

The paper that William had read had made a mistake. Two men had escaped alive from the wreck of the Prophet, the doctor and sailor, who had the good fortune to hang on to a boat which was floating on the waves. They would have died of hunger, if the wind had not driven them ashore. There they were dashed with such violence on the shingle, that the sailor was crushed to death, and James was found in a fainting condition, with his ribs half broken. He was carried into a neighbouring house, and stayed there, at the point of death, for nearly a year; the ignorant doctor who attended to him nearly killed him ten times over. When he was well, instead of returning to France, he continued his voyage, and calmly went on to Cochin China, where he resumed his duties. He wrote once to his uncle, enclosing another letter for William, which the Véteuil lawyer was to take to La Noiraude. But the worthy man had died, leaving his nephew an income of some ten thousand francs James’s correspondence had been lost, and he had never had sufficient courage to write again, for like all men of action, he had a horror of ink and paper. He did not exactly forget his friend, but he put off from day to day the few words ‘that he wanted to send him, and at last said to himself, in his charming, happy-go-lucky, careless way, that it would be time to tell him about himself when he got back to France. The news of his fortune produced very little impression on him, for he was then in love with a native woman, whose strange beauty held him enraptured. Later on, he grew tired of her, and feeling disgusted with his duties, he resolved to come back and enjoy his income in Paris, and had disembarked the previous day at Brest. However, he had only reckoned on staying one day at Véteuil; he was going on in all haste to Toulon where one of his comrades, who had just come back from Cochin China to this port, was dying. As this young fellow had once saved his life when he was in danger, he felt it his duty to go and watch by his bedside.

William, who could fancy he was listening to one of the stories of the Arabian Nights, was very much amazed at these details. He could never have imagined that so many events could take place in such little time, it seemed incredible to a man like himself, whose existence of late had been one long dream of tranquillity and affection. His gentle and indolent nature was even somewhat startled at this multiplicity of occurrences.

The two friends went on with their merry cordial chat.

“What!” exclaimed William, for the twentieth time perhaps, “you are only staying with me one day, you come and you are off again — Come, let me have you for a week.”

“It is impossible,” replied James; “I should look upon it as a sin to leave my poor comrade alone at Toulon.”

“But you will come back?”

“Most certainly, in a month, in a fortnight, perhaps.”

“And never to go away again?”

“Never to go away again, my dear William. I will be at your service, entirely at your service. If you wish it, I will spend next summer here — Meantime, however, I take the train to-morrow night. You have one day of my company, do what you like with me.’’

William was not listening; he was looking at his friend with tender affection, and seemed to be indulging in a happy reverie.

“Listen, James,” he said at last, “I have just been drawing a little picture which you can realise; come and live with us. This house is so big, that we sometimes feel quite lost in it; half the place is uninhabited, and these empty rooms, which used to terrify me formerly, still make me feel uncomfortable somehow. When you are here, I feel that La Noiraude will no longer seem lonely. You shall have a whole storey if you wish, and live there exactly as you like, as a bachelor. All I ask of you is your presence, your happy smiles, and your hearty greetings: and in return I offer you our calm happiness, and our uninterrupted peace. If you only knew how cozy and nice it is in the nooks where two lovers are biding! Don’t you feel tempted to come and repose in our secluded nest? Come and live in this house, I beg of you; tell me you will spend years here, far from the bustle and noise of the world: learn to enjoy our placid sleep, and you will see that you will never want to awake again. You will bring us your happy spirits, and we will share with you our blissful reverie. I will continue to be your brother, and my wife shall be your sister.”

James was listening smilingly to William’s impassioned words. His whole attitude was one of slight raillery. His only answer was: “Why, just look at me!”

He took the lamp and turned the light on to his face. His appearance had become, so to speak, cross and hard: the sea breezes and the bright sun had imparted to it a swarthy tan, and his features had lost their delicate outlines through the rough life he had led. He seemed to have grown and to have become stouter; his square shoulders, broad chest, and strong limbs almost gave him the appearance of a wrestler with enormous fists and an animal’s head. He had come back slightly coarse: his trade as limb-cutter had deadened the few finer feelings of his childhood; he had eaten so much, laughed so much, and lived such a jolly animal life, during the years he had spent in the army, that he now felt no need of tenderness, and was content to gratify his flesh. Yet at the bottom he was a good-natured fellow, but incapable of understanding friendship, after William’s passionate, arbitrary fashion. His idea of life was to have definite pleasures, an existence free from every tie, spent here and there, in the cosiest corners, and at the best tables. His friend, who had not yet examined him closely, was surprised to find him so matured, and so manly in his appearance; he felt like a feeble child by the side of him.

“Well! I am looking at you,” he replied with an uneasy air, foreseeing what he was driving at.

“And you don’t renew your offer, isn’t that it, my dear William?” answered James with a hearty laugh. “I should die in your calm surroundings, I should certainly have a fit before the end of the first year.”

“No, no, happiness keeps one alive.”

“But your happiness would never be mine, child that you are! This house would be a living tomb to me, and your friendship would not save me from the overpowering weariness of those big empty rooms you talk to me about —

I am speaking my mind frankly, for I know we cannot offend one another.”

And as he saw William quite distressed at his refusal, he continued: “I don’t say that I will never accept your hospitality. I will come and see you, and spend a month with you from time to time. I have already asked permission to come and stay with you next summer. But directly the cold comes, I shall be off to Paris for warmth. Bury me here under the snow! Oh! no, my good fellow.” His lusty voice and sanguine spirits hurt poor William, who was quite disconsolate at seeing his dream dispelled.

“And what do you intend to do in Paris?” he asked.

“I don’t know, nothing probably,” replied James. “I have had a good long spell of work. And since my uncle has been so good as to leave me an income, I am going to enjoy it in the sunshine. Oh! time will not hang heavy on my hands. I shall eat well, drink plenty of wine, and have more pretty girls to amuse me than I shall want. What more would you have, my dear boy?”

He burst into another merry laugh. William shook his head.

“You will not be happy,” he said. “If I were you, I should get married and come and live in this peaceful retreat, where happiness is certain. Listen to this stilly silence which surrounds us, and look at the peaceful light of that lamp; this is my idea of life. Just think what a pleasant life you would live in this perfect calm, if you felt your heart full of affection, and had before you to satisfy this affection, days, months, years, all alike and equally tranquil — Get married and come.”