Complete Works of Emile Zola (1778 page)

Sister-of-the-poor, in her early days, had had a fine lace cradle and enough playthings to fill a room. Then, one morning, her mother did not come to kiss her when it was time to get up. As she cried at not seeing her, they told her that one of God’s angels had borne her away to Paradise, and that dried her tears. A month previous, her father had gone in the same way. The dear little thing thought he had just called her mother from the sky, and that the two being united, unable to live without their daughter, would soon send an angel to carry her away in her turn.

She had forgotten how she had lost her playthings and cradle. From a rich young lady, she became a poor girl, without any one seeming astonished: no doubt wicked people had come, who had stripped her of everything, whilst presenting the appearance of honest folk. All she remembered was having one morning seen her uncle Guillaume and her aunt Guillaumette beside her bed. She felt very much afraid, because they did not kiss her. Guillaumette hurriedly dressed her in a frock of coarse material; Guillaume, holding her by the hand, led her away to the wretched hut where she was now living. Then, that was all. She felt very weary every night.

Guillaume and Guillaumette had also been very wealthy. But Guillaume was partial to the society of boon companions, and to nights passed in drinking, without giving a thought to the barrels that were being emptied; Guillaumette was fond of ribbons, silk gowns, and of wasting long hours in vain endeavours to make herself look young and beautiful; and so they continued, until at last there was no more wine in the cellar, and the mirror was sold to purchase bread. Up till then they had shown that good nature of certain wealthy people, which is often only an effect of their own well-being and satisfaction; they enjoyed happiness more thoroughly by sharing it with others, and thus mingled much egotism with their charity. And so they were incapable of suffering and remaining kind. Regretting the wealth they had lost, having tears only for their own misery, they became hard for the poor world.

They forgot that their poverty had been brought about by their own selves, they accused each other of their ruin, and felt at heart immense necessity for vengeance; they were exasperated at having to eat black bread, and sought to console themselves by the sight of greater suffering than their own.

And so the rags of Sister-of-the-poor, and her thin little cheeks all pale with tears, pleased them. They would not own, even to themselves, the wicked delight they took in the child’s weakness, when she tottered back from the spring, clutching the heavy pitcher in both hands. They beat her for a drop of spilt water, saying that bad temper must be punished; and they struck her so readily and spitefully, that it was easy to perceive the chastisement was undeserved.

Sister-of-the-poor bore all their misery. They gave her the most tiring work to do, sent her to glean in the mid-day sun, and to pick up dead wood in snowy weather. Then as soon as she returned, she had to sweep, wash, and put everything in order in the hut. The dear little creature had ceased complaining. Happy days were such a long way off, that she did not know one could live without weeping. She never dreamt of there being young ladies who were petted and gay; in the absence of playthings, and kisses of an evening, she accepted strokes and dry bread, as forming also part of her existence. And men of wisdom were surprised to see a child of ten display so much pity for all who suffered, without giving a thought to her own misfortune.

But, one night, I know not what anniversary Guillaume and Guillaumette were feasting, they gave her a beautiful new sou piece, and allowed her to go out and play for the remainder of the day. Sister-of-the-poor went slowly down to the town, very much troubled with her sou and not knowing what to do to play. In that frame of mind she reached the principal street There was there, on the left, near the church, a shop full of sweets and dolls, which were so beautifully lit up, that the children of the neighbourhood dreamed of them, as of a paradise. On that particular evening a lot of little creatures stood on the pavement with gaping mouths and dumb with admiration, whilst their hands were pressed against the window panes, as near as possible to the marvels displayed there. Sister-of-the-poor envied their audacity. She stopped in the middle of the street, allowing her little arms to fall beside her, and bringing together her rags which were blown apart by the wind. Feeling somewhat proud at being rich, she clutched her new sou very tight and selected with her eyes the plaything she meant to buy. At last she decided on a doll which had hair like a grown-up person; this doll, which was as tall as she was, wore a white silk gown similar to that of the Holy Virgin.

The little girl made a few steps forward. She was ashamed, and as she gazed around her before entering the shop, she perceived an ill-clad woman sitting on a stone bench, and nursing a child who was crying in her arms. She stopped again, turning her back to the doll. Her hands, at the child’s cries, became locked together in pity; and, this time without shame, she hurried toward the poor woman and gave her her beautiful new sou.

The latter had been observing Sister-of-the-poor for some time. She had seen her stop, then approach the playthings, so that when the child came to her, she understood her good heart. She took the sou with tearful eyes; then she retained the little hand that gave it her in her own.

“My child,” she said, “I accept your charity, because I see a refusal would grieve you. But are you beyond necessity yourself? Ill-clad though I be, I can satisfy one of your wishes.”

As the poor woman spoke, her eyes shone like stars, whilst around her head ran a halo, as if formed by a ray of the sun. The child, who was now asleep on her knees, smiled divinely in its slumber.

Sister-of-the-poor shook her fair head.

“No, madam,” she answered, “I have no wish. I wanted to buy that doll you see opposite, but my aunt Guillaumette would have broken it for me. As you will not take my sou for nothing, I would like you to give me a nice kiss in exchange for it.”

The beggar bent forward and kissed her on the forehead Sister-of-the-poor, at this kiss, felt herself raised from the earth; it seemed to her that her interminable fatigue had quitted her; at the same time her heart became better.

“My child,” added the unknown, “I will not let your charity go unrewarded. I have a sou which I, like you, did not know what to do with until I met you. Princes, highborn dames, have thrown me purses filled with gold, and I have not thought them worthy of it. Take it Whatever happens, act according to your heart.”

And she gave it her. It was an old brass sou, jagged at the edges, and with a hole in the centre of it as big as a great lentil. It was so worn that it was impossible to discover from what country it came, but one could still see a half-obliterated hallowed crown on one of its faces. Perhaps it was a piece of heavenly money.

Sister-of-the-poor, noticing it so thin, extended her hand, understanding that such a present could not deprive the beggar of anything, and looking upon it as a token of her friendship.

“Alas!” she thought, “the poor woman does not know what she says. Princes and fine ladies could do nothing with her sou. It is so ugly that it would not pay for an ounce of bread. I shall not even be able to give it to the poor.”

The woman, whose eyes shone brighter and brighter, smiled, as if the child had spoken aloud. Softly she said to her: “Take it all the same, and you will see.”

Then Sister-of-the-poor accepted it, so as not to disoblige her. She bent down in order to place it in the pocket of her skirt; when she raised her head again, the bench was vacant. She felt very much astonished, and returned home pondering over her recent meeting.

II

Sister-of-the-poor slept in the garret, a sort of loft strewn with pieces of old furniture. On moonlight nights, thanks to a narrow dormer-window, she had light to go to bed by. On others she was obliged to grope her way to reach her couch, a poor one, made of four badly joined planks, and a straw paillasse, which was so lumpy that in places the two sides of the tick touched each other.

On that particular night the moon was at its full. A luminous stream ran along the beams, filling the garret with light When Guillaume and Guillaumette were in bed, Sister-of-the-poor went upstairs. On dark nights she sometimes felt very much afraid at sudden moans, at the sound of footsteps she fancied she heard, and which were nothing more than the cracking of woodwork and the scampering of mice. And so she was very fond of the beautiful satellite whose friendly rays dispersed her fears. On nights when it shone, she opened the dormer-window, and thanked it in her prayers for having returned to see her.

She was very much pleased to find light in her room. ‘She was tired, and would sleep very tranquilly, feeling herself watched over by her good friend the moon. She had often felt it in her sleep wandering thus about the room, silent and gentle, driving away the bad dreams of winter nights.

She ran and knelt down on an old chest, in the midst of the white light There she prayed to God. Then, going towards the bed, she unhooked her skirt.

The skirt slid to the ground, and in doing so a quantity of big sous fell out of the distended pocket. Sister-of-the-poor, motionless and in terror, watched them rolling about She stooped down and picked them up one by one, taking hold of them with the tips of her fingers. She piled them up on the old chest, without seeking to ascertain how many there were, for she could only count up to fifty, and she could see very well that there were several hundred of them. When she could find no more on the ground, she picked up her skirt, and understood by the weight that the pocket was again full. Then, for a good quarter of an hour, she pulled handfuls of sous out of it, thinking she would never reach the bottom. At last she could only feel one more. When she looked at it, she recognised it was the sou the beggar-woman had given her that same evening.

She then said to herself that the Almighty had just performed a miracle, and that this ugly-looking sou which she had disdained, was a sou such as the wealthy never had. She felt it vibrate between her fingers, ready to multiply again And she was all of a tremble lest it should take the fancy to fill the whole garret with wealth. Even now she knew not what to do with those piles of new money that were shining in the moonlight, and she gazed around her quite troubled Like a good work-girl she had always a needle and cotton in her apron pocket, and she looked about her for a piece of old sacking to make a bag. She made it so narrow that she could hardly get her little hand into it; material was wanting, and besides, Sister-of-the-poor was pressed for time. Then, having placed the poor woman’s sou right at the bottom, she began to slip the pieces covering the chest into the bag, pile by pile. As each lot fell, the bag became full, and was immediately empty again. The hundreds of big sous had plenty of room there, and it was easy to see that it could have held four times as many.

After that, Sister-of-the-poor, who was tired, hid the bag under the paillasse, and went to sleep. She laughed in her dreams, thinking of all the alms she would be able to distribute the next day.

III

When Sister-of-the-poor awoke the following morning, she fancied she had been dreaming. It was necessary to touch her treasure to believe in its existence. It was a little heavier than on the previous evening, and this made the child understand that the wonderful sou had been at work again during the night.

She dressed herself hurriedly, and went downstairs with her wooden shoes in her hand so as not to make a noise. She had hidden the bag under her fichu and pressed it to her bosom. Guillaume and Guillaumette, who were fast asleep, did not hear her. She had to pass in front of their bed, and she almost fell down with fright at the thought that they were so close to her; then she began to run, threw the door wide open, and rushed off forgetting to close it again.

It was in winter, and one of the coldest mornings in December. Day was just breaking. The sky with its pale glimmers of dawn, seemed the same colour as the earth which was covered with snow. This general whiteness, which extended to the horizon, made all the surroundings look very calm. Sister-of-the-poor walked quickly along, following the path leading to the town. All she heard was the cracking of the snow under her wooden shoes. Although very much absorbed in thought, she chose the deepest ruts by way of amusement As she approached the town, she remembered she had forgotten in her hurry to pray to God. She knelt down at the roadside. There, alone, lost in the immense and sad serenity of slumbering nature, she pronounced her orison in that childish voice which is so sweet, that God cannot distinguish it from that of angels. She soon arose again, and feeling a chill, hurried on her way.

There was great poverty in the surrounding country, especially that year, the winter being a hard one, and bread so dear, that only well-to-do folk could purchase it. Poor people, those who lived on sunshine and pity, went abroad in the early morning to see if spring were not coming, bringing more bountiful charity along with it. They walked along the roads, or seated themselves on the boundary stones at the gates of the towns, beseeching the passers-by to assist them; for it was so cold in their lofts, that they might just as well take up their lodging on the highway. And there were such numbers of them there, that one might have peopled a large village with them.

Sister-of-the-poor had opened the little bag. On entering the town, she saw a blind man coming towards her, led by a little girl who gazed sadly in her face, taking her for a sister in misfortune, she was so ill-clad.

“My father,” she said to the poor old man, “hold out your hands. Jesus has sent me to you.”

She spoke to the old man because the little girl’s fingers were too small, and could not have held more than a dozen big sous. And so, to fill the hands the blind man extended to her, she had to plunge into the sack seven times, they were so long and broad. Then, before passing on, she told the little one to help herself to a final handful of money.