Complete Works of Emile Zola (1779 page)

She was in a hurry to get before the church, near the stone-benches where the poor assembled in the morning; God’s house sheltered them from the north winds; the sun, when it rose, cast its rays right on the porch. She had to stop again. At the corner of an alley, she found a young woman who had no doubt passed the night there, she was so chilled and shivering with cold; with closed eyes, her arms pressed against her breast, she seemed asleep, hoping for nothing but death. Sister-of-the-poor stood before her with her hand full of sous, not knowing how to bestow her charity upon her. She wept, thinking she had come too late.

“Good woman,” she said, and she touched her softly on the shoulder, “look, take this money. You must go and breakfast at the inn and have a sleep before a big fire.”

At that sweet voice, the good woman opened her eyes and held out her hands. She, perhaps, thought she was still sleeping, and dreaming that an angel had descended beside her.

Sister-of-the-poor hurried to the great square. There was a crowd there under the porch awaiting the first ray of sunshine. The beggars, seated at the feet of the saints, were shivering with cold and huddled against one another without speaking. They were slowly rolling their heads as the dying do. They crowded in the corners, so as not to lose any of the sun, when it made its appearance.

Sister-of-the-poor began on the right, throwing handfuls of sous into the felt hats and the aprons, and with such good heart that many of the pieces rolled on the pavement. The dear child did not count. The little sack performed wonders; it would not become empty, it swelled out so at each fresh handful the young girl took from it, that it overflowed like a vase which is too full. The poor people stood dumbfounded at this delightful windfall: they picked up the sous that fell, forgetting the sun that was rising, and repeating hurriedly: “God will give it you back.” The charity was so bountiful that some good old fellows fancied the stone saints were throwing them this fortune; and they even still believe so.

The child laughed at their delight. She went three times round, so as to give the same sum to each; then she stopped; not because the little bag was empty, but because she had much to do before evening. As she was about to go away, she perceived a crippled old man in a corner, who, being unable to advance, extended his hands towards her. Feeling sorry at not having seen him, she advanced and tilted up the bag so as to give him more. The sous began to run from this miserable-looking purse like water from a spring without stopping, and so abundantly that Sister-of-the-poor soon closed the opening with her fist, for the heap would have risen in a few minutes as high as the church. The poor old man would not have known what to do with so much wealth, and perhaps the rich would have come and robbed him.

IV

Then, when those on the grand square had their pockets full, she set out towards the country. The beggars, forgetting to comfort themselves, began to follow her; they gazed at her in astonishment and respect, borne along by an outburst of brotherly feeling. She, standing alone, looking round about her, advanced the first. The crowd came afterwards.

The child, dressed in a ragged printed calico gown, was indeed a sister to the poor people who formed her suite, sister by her rags and sister by tender pity. She found herself there in a family gathering, giving to her brothers, forgetting herself; she walked along gravely with all the strength of her little feet, happy to act the big girl; and this little fair thing of ten, followed by her escort of old men, was beaming with naïve majesty.

With her narrow purse in her hand, she went from village to village distributing charity throughout the country. She advanced without picking her way, taking the roads of the plains and the paths of the hills. Sometimes she turned aside, crossing the fields to see if some vagabond were not sheltered beneath the hedges or in the hollow of the ditches. She stood on tip-toe, gazing at the horizon, regretful that she was unable to call all the poverty of the neighbourhood around her. She sighed when she reflected that she was perhaps leaving some one in suffering behind her; it was that thought that made her sometimes retrace her footsteps to examine a bush. And, whether she slackened her speed at bends in the roads, or ran forward to meet some person in want, her retinue followed her wherever she went.

And so it happened that as she was crossing a meadow, a flight of sparrows swooped down before her. The poor little creatures, lost in the snow, chirped in a lamentable way, asking for the food they had sought for in vain. Sister-of-the-poor stopped, taken aback at meeting unfortunates to whom her big sous could be of no assistance; she gazed at her bag in anger, execrating the money which could not be employed in charity of this kind. In the meanwhile the sparrows surrounded her; they said they belonged to the family, and asked for their share of her favours. Ready to burst out sobbing, not knowing what to do, she drew a handful of sous from the bag, for she could not make up her mind to dismiss them with nothing. The dear child had assuredly lost her head, imagining big sous were sparrows’ money, and that these children of God have millers to grind and bakers to knead their daily bread. I know not what she thought of doing, but the fact is that the charity which was given out in handfuls of sous, fell in handfuls of corn on the ground.

Sister-of-the-poor did not seem surprised. She gave the sparrows a regular feast, offering them all sorts of grain, and in such quantity that when spring came, the meadow was covered with grass as thick and high as a forest Since then, that corner of the earth has belonged to the birds of the air; they find abundance of food there in all seasons, notwithstanding that they come by thousands, from more than twenty leagues around.

Sister-of-the-poor resumed her walk, delighted at her new power. She no longer limited herself to distributing big sous. According to the people she met, she gave good smocks, which were very warm, thick woollen petticoats, or boots that were so light and tough that they barely weighed an ounce and yet wore down the stones. All this came from an unknown factory. The materials were wonderfully strong and flexible; the seams were so finely sewn, that in the hole which one of our own needles would have made, magic needles had easily found room for three of their stitches; and the most extraordinary thing was that each article of clothing fitted the poor person who put it on. No doubt a workshop of good fairies had been established at the bottom of the bag, and they had brought a pair of fine gold scissors, which cut ten cherubs’ gowns out of a roseleaf. It was, certainly, heavenly labour, for the work was so perfect and so quickly sewn.

The little bag showed no pride on that account. The opening was slightly worn, and the hand of Sister-of-the-poor had perhaps enlarged it a little; it might now have the dimensions of a couple of linnets’ nests. In order that you may not charge me with telling fibs, I must explain to you how the large articles of clothing came out of it, such as petticoats and cloaks five or six yards wide. The truth is, they were folded up like the flower of the poppy before it has burst from the calyx; and they were folded so cleverly that they were no bigger than the bud of that flower. Then Sister-of-the-poor took the packet between two fingers and slightly shook it. The material was unfolded, extended in length, and became a garment, no longer any good for angels, but suitable for broad shoulders. As to the shoes, I have never been able to ascertain up to this day in what form they left the sack. I have, however, heard say, although I affirm nothing, that each pair was enclosed in a bean, which burst open on touching the ground. And all that, of course, did not interfere with the handfuls of big sous which fell as thick as hail in March Sister-of-the-poor continued walking. She did not feel fatigued, although she had done more than twenty leagues since the morning, without eating or drinking. To observe her passing along the roads, leaving hardly a trace of her footsteps, one would have said she was borne along by invisible wings. She had been seen that day at the four corners of the neighbourhood. You would not have found an angle of land, plain or mountain, where the slight imprint of her little feet was not marked in the snow. In truth, if Guillaume and Guillaumette were pursuing her, they risked running a whole week before catching her. Not that there was any reason to hesitate about the road she took, for she left a crowd behind her, as kings do on their way; but because she walked so pluckily that she herself, in other times, would have been unable to make such a journey in less than six full weeks.

And her retinue continued increasing at each village. All those whom she assisted walked in her train, so that, towards evening, the crowd extended behind her for several hundred yards. It was her good actions that were thus following her. Never had a saint gone before God with such a royal escort. However, night set in. Sister-of-the-poor was still walking, and the little bag was still at work. At length the child was seen to stop on the summit of a hill; she remained motionless, gazing at the plains she had just been enriching, and her rags stood out black against the whiteness of the twilight. The beggars formed a circle round her; they swayed about in great dark masses with the hollow murmuring of crowds. Then there was silence. Sister-of-the-poor, high up in the air, with a people at her feet, smiled. Then, having grown a great deal taller since the morning, and standing upright on the hill, she pointed with her hand to heaven, saying to her people: “Thank Jesus; thank Mary.”

And all her people heard her sweet voice.

V

It was very late when Sister-of-the-poor returned home. Guillaume and Guillaumette had fallen asleep, worn out by their anger and threats. She went in by the stable door, which was only closed by a latch, and quickly reached her loft, where she found her good friend the moon, looking so clear and joyful, that it seemed to know how she had been passing her day. Heaven often thanks us thus, by brighter beams of light.

The child felt in great need of rest; but before going to bed she wanted to see the miraculous sou again — the one that was at the bottom of her bag. It had worked so hard and well that really it deserved a kiss. She seated herself on the chest and began to empty the purse, placing the handfuls of money at her feet. For a quarter of an hour she tried to get to the bottom; the pile reached up to her knees, and then she was in despair. She could see very well that she would fill the loft without getting on any further with her work.

In her perplexity she could think of nothing better than to turn the little bag inside out. The result was a prodigious rush of big sous; the garret for the nonce was three-parts full of them. The bag was empty.

The noise, however, awoke Guillaume. Although the floor coming in would not have disturbed the poor fellow’s sleep, not the smallest piece of money could have fallen on the flags without him opening his eyes.

“Heh! wife,” he exclaimed; “do you hear?”

And as the old woman grumbled in a bad humour, he resumed:

“The child has returned home. I think she must have robbed some one, for I can hear the jingle of a full purse up there.”

Guillaumette sat up in bed wide awake, thinking no more of grumbling. She promptly lit the lamp, saying:

“I knew very well that child was full of vice.”

Then she added, “I will buy a cap with ribbons and a pair of cloth shoes. I shall be proud of myself on Sunday.”

Then both of them, half-dressed, ascended to the garret, Guillaume leading the way and Guillaumette following, holding up the lamp. Their thin, strange-looking shadows extended along the walls.

They stopped in amazement at the top of the ladder. On the floor was a mass of coins three feet deep, filling every corner, so that it was impossible to perceive a piece of board as large as the hand. In some places the money lay in heaps, which one might have taken for the waves of this sea of big sous. In the centre of it, between two of the heaps, Sister-of-the-poor was sleeping in a ray of the moon. The child, overcome by slumber, had been unable to reach her bed; she had let herself slip softly down, and was dreaming of heaven on this couch of doles. With her arms crossed over her breast she grasped the beggar’s magic present in her right hand. Her light, regular respiration could be heard amidst the silence, whilst the beloved planet reflecting around her on the new money enveloped her, as it were, in a circle of gold.

Guillaume and Guillaumette were not people to be long astonished. The miracle being to their advantage, they did not trouble much about seeking to fathom it, caring very little whether it was the work of the Almighty or Satan. When they had counted the treasure for an instant with their eyes, they wanted to make quite sure that it was not merely an effect of shadow and reflection of the moon. They eagerly stooped down with their hands wide open.

But what occurred then, is so little worthy of belief, that I hesitate to relate it. Guillaume had hardly taken up a handful of the pieces, when they were transformed into enormous bats. He parted his fingers in terror and the nasty creatures escaped, giving utterance to shrill cries and striking him in the face with their long, black wings. Guillaumette, on her side, caught hold of a litter of young rats, with sharp white teeth, which bit her dreadfully as they escaped down her legs. The old woman, who fainted at the sight of a mouse, was half dead when she felt these creatures running about her petticoats.

They had stood up, no longer daring to play with this money which looked so new in appearance, but was so unpleasant to the touch. They gazed at each other ill at ease, encouraging one another with those half laughing, half angry looks of a child that has just burnt itself with a piece of hot pudding. Guillaumette was the first to give way to the temptation the second time; she stretched out her skinny arms, and took two fresh handfuls of sous. As she closed her fists so that nothing could escape, she shrieked with pain, for in truth she had clutched hold of two handfuls of needles, which were so long and pointed that her fingers seemed as if sewn to the palms of her hands. Guillaume, seeing her stoop down, wanted his share of the treasure. He lost no time, but his booty consisted only of two shovelfuls of red-hot cinders, which burnt his skin like gunpowder.