Complete Works of Emile Zola (1797 page)

“But I was not walking,” said the count “I slipped — I love you!”

“Hold your tongue, don’t move, we’ll talk of all that when it’s dark. Wait till the moon is behind the tree.”

VII

The moon hid behind the tree. The plaster Cupid burst out laughing.

THE STRAWBERRIES

I

One morning in June, on opening the window, I received a puff of fresh air in the face. There had been a violent storm during the night. The sky looked like new, as if the shower had scoured it in its remotest corners. The roofs and trees, the top branches of which I could perceive between the chimneys, were still dripping with rain, and this bit of horizon was smiling beneath the golden sun, whilst an odour of wet earth rose from the neighbouring gardens.

“Come, Ninette,” I cried gaily, “put on your hat, my girl — we’ll go out into the country.”

She clapped her hands. She was ready in ten minutes, which was very good for a coquette of twenty summers.

At nine o’clock we were in the Verrières woods.

II

How discreet those woods are, and what a number of sweethearts have aired their love in them! The copses are deserted during the week and you can stroll there side by side, with arms entwining each other’s waists and lips seeking lips, without fear of being seen by any save the songsters in the thickets. The broad, open walks stretch through the masses of lofty trees; the soil is carpeted with fine grass on which the sun, penetrating the foliage, casts circles of gold. And there are hollow footways, very shady, narrow paths, where you are compelled to keep close to one another. And there are also impenetrable thickets, where you may be lost, if the kisses are too sweet.

Ninon left my arm and ran like a puppy, delighted at the sensation of the plants grazing her ankles. Then she returned and hung on my shoulder weary and caressing. The wood still spread out before us like a boundless sea with leafy waves. The rustling silence, the life-like shadows that fell from the tall trees troubled, intoxicated us with all the glowing sap of spring. You become a child again amidst the mystery of the copses.

“Oh! strawberries, strawberries!” exclaimed Ninon, leaping across a ditch like a goat at liberty, and searching among the bushes.

III

Strawberries, alas! no, but strawberry plants, a whole bed of them spread out beneath the brambles.

Ninon did not give a thought to the insects of which she is so horribly afraid. She boldly moved her hands amongst the plants, raising each leaf, and was in despair at not meeting with the smallest bit of fruit.

“They have been before us,” she said, pouting with vexation. “Oh! come, let us make a good search; there are, no doubt, some left.”

And we set ourselves to search most conscientiously. We advanced prudently, step by step, with bent backs, strained necks, our eyes fixed on the ground, without risking a word, for fear we might make the strawberries fly away. We had forgotten the forest, the silence and the shadows, the broad walks and narrow paths. It was a question of strawberries, nothing but strawberries. At each clump we came to, we stooped, and our quivering hands met beneath the leaves.

We went along in this way for more than a league, bending down, straying to right and left. There was not the tiniest strawberry. There were superb strawberry plants, with fine dark-green leaves. I noticed Ninon pinch her lips and tears glisten in her eyes.

IV

We had come to a broad slope, on which the sun fell perpendicularly, with oppressive heat. Ninon advanced towards the incline determined not to search any further afterwards. All at once she uttered a shriek. I hastened forward, afraid, thinking she had hurt herself. I found her on the ground; the emotion had brought her to a sitting posture, and with her finger she pointed out a small strawberry to me, hardly as large as a pea, and ripe on one side only.

“You pick it,” she said to me, in a low, fondling tone.

I had seated myself beside her, at the bottom of the slope.

“No,” I answered. “You found it, and you must gather it.”

“No; do me the pleasure, pick it.”

I pleaded my own cause so long and so well that Ninon at last made up her mind to break the stalk with her finger. But it was quite another matter, when the question arose as to which of us two was to eat this poor little strawberry which it had taken us a good hour to find. Ninon wanted to force it into my mouth. I firmly resisted; then, I ended by making concessions, and it was decided that the strawberry should be divided into two parts.

She placed it between her teeth, saying to me with a smile:

“Come, take your share.”

I took it. I know not if the strawberry was divided in a brotherly and sisterly way. I do not know even if I tasted it, so sweet seemed the honey of Ninon’s kiss to me.

V

The slope was overspread with strawberry plants, and they were genuine ones. The harvest was plentiful and joyously gathered. We had spread a white handkerchief on the ground, both of us solemnly vowing we would place our booty there, without pocketing any part of it. It seemed to me, however, that I several times saw Ninon put her hand to her mouth.

When harvesting was over, we decided it was time to look for a shady nook where we could lunch at ease. I discovered a charming spot, a nest of leaves, a few steps away. The handkerchief was scrupulously placed beside us.

Ye gods! how delightful it was there, on the moss, in the voluptuous enjoyment of verdure and fresh air! Ninon gazed at me with moist eyes. The sun had brought a soft pinkness to her neck. Perceiving all the tenderness of my feeling in my look, she bent towards me, holding out her two hands, with a gesture of adorable confidence.

The sun which was blazing on the lofty foliage, cast golden circles, at our feet, on the fine grass. The feathered songsters became silent and refrained from looking. When we sought for the strawberries to eat them, we perceived with amazement that we were lying right on the hand kerchief.

BIG MICHU

I

ONE afternoon, at the four o’clock recreation, Big Michu took me aside in a comer of the playground. He had a serious look, which somewhat alarmed me; for Big Michu was a lusty fellow, with great fists, whom I would not have liked to have had for an enemy for anything in the world.

“Listen,” he said to me with his coarse peasant’s voice, which had hardly any polish to it, “listen, will you be one?”

I answered frankly, “Yes!” flattered at being something with Big Michu. Then he explained to me that it was a question of a conspiracy. The thing he confided to me gave me a delicious sensation that I have perhaps never experienced since. At last I was to take part in the mad adventures of life, I was to have a secret to keep, a battle to fight. And, truly, the inavowable terror I felt at the idea of compromising myself in this manner, counted for a good half in the intense delight that my new character of an accomplice gave me.

And so, while Big Michu spoke, I stood in admiration before him. He initiated me in rather a rough tone, such as one would employ towards a recruit in whose energy one has but scanty confidence. Nevertheless, the tremor of joy, the air of enthusiastic ecstasy that I must have shown in listening to him, ended in giving him a better opinion of me.

As the bell rang a second time, and as we both went to take our places in the ranks, to return to the school room, he said to me in an undertone:

“That’s understood, is it not? You’ll be one of us. Anyhow, you won’t be afraid: you won’t peach?”

“Oh no, you’ll see — honour bright.”

He looked at me with his grey eyes straight in the face, with the true dignity of ripe manhood, and added:

“Otherwise, you know, I’ll not lick you; but I’ll tell every one you’re a sneak, and you’ll be put in Coventry.”

I still remember the singular effect that threat produced on me. “Pooh!” I said to myself, “they may give me two thousand lines if they like; I’ll be blowed if I peach on Michu!” I awaited the dinner hour with febrile, impatience. The revolt was to break out in the dining-hall.

II

Big Michu came from the Var. His father, who was a peasant, with a few bits of land, had taken up arms in’51, at the time of the insurrection brought about by the
coup d’etat.
Left for dead on the plain of Uchâne, he had succeeded in hiding himself. When he reappeared he was left alone. Only the authorities in the neighbourhood, the notabilities, persons of independent means, both great and small, alluded to him as “that brigand of a Michu.”

This brigand, this worthy, illiterate man, sent his son to the college of A — . No doubt he desired him to be learned for the triumph of the cause which he had only been able to support by arms. We had some vague idea of this story at the college, and this made us regard our schoolfellow in the light of a very redoubtable personage.

Besides, Big Michu was much older than we were. He was over eighteen, although he was still only in the fourth form. But no one dared make fun of him. His was one of those straightforward minds that learn with difficulty and are incapable of conjecture; only, when he did know a thing he knew it thoroughly and for ever. Being as strong as a bull, he was the master during play-hours. For all that, he was extremely gentle. I never but once saw him angry; he wanted to strangle an usher who was teaching us that all republicans were thieves and murderers. Big Michu was very nearly expelled: It was only later on, when I recalled my former schoolfellow to mind, that I was able to understand his gentle, and, at the same time, vigorous attitude. His father must have made a man of him in tender years.

III

Big Michu liked the college, and that was one of the many things that astonished us. He experienced but one torment, of which he did not dare to speak — hunger. Big Michu was always hungry.

I do not remember ever having witnessed such an appetite. He, who was very proud, sometimes went so far as to play the most humiliating comedies to cheat us out of a piece of bread, a lunch, or our morsel in the afternoon. Brought up in the open air, at the foot of the Maures chain of mountains, he suffered more than we from the paucity of the college table.

That was one of our great subjects of conversation in the playground, standing up against the wall which sheltered us with its streak of shade. We others were dainty. I particularly remember a certain dish of codfish with a brown sauce, and another of haricot beans with a white sauce, which had become the subject of general malediction. On days when these dishes appeared, we did not finish them. Big Michu, out of human respect, protested with us, although he would willingly have swallowed all the six allowances at his table.

Big Michu only complained of the quantity of provisions. Chance, as if to exasperate him, had placed him at the end of the table, beside the usher, a puny young man who allowed us to smoke when out walking. According to the regulations, the ushers had a right to double allowances. So, when sausages were served, you should have seen Big Michu eyeing the ends of the two bags of mystery which lay side by side on the little usher’s plate.

“I’m twice as big as he is,” he said to me one day, “and he has twice as much to eat as I have. No fear of him leaving anything j he doesn’t get too much himself!”

IV

Now, the leaders had decided that we were at length to rebel against the codfish with brown sauce, and the haricot beans with white sauce.

The conspirators naturally proposed to Big Michu to be their chief. The plan these gentlemen had formed was of heroic simplicity. They thought it would suffice to put their appetites on strike, to refuse all food until the headmaster formally announced that the daily fare would be improved. Big Michu’s approval of this idea is one of the finest specimens of courage and self-sacrifice I know of. He accepted the post of leader of the movement with the quiet heroism of those ancient Romans who sacrificed themselves for the public weal.

Just reflect a bit! He did not care a fig about seeing the codfish and the haricot beans disappear; he only wanted one thing, to have more, as much as he liked! and to crown all, they asked him to fast! He has owned to me since, that never had that republican virtue which his father had instilled into him, solidarity, the self-sacrifice of the individual in the interest of the community, been put to so severe a test, in so far as he was concerned.

The strike commenced that evening in the dining-hall — it was the day for codfish with brown sauce — with a spirit of unanimity that was really grand. Bread only was allowed The dishes came, but we did not touch them; we ate our dry bread. And we did so solemnly, without talking in an undertone as was our custom. It was only the youngsters who laughed.

Big Michu was superb. He went so far this first night as not touch his bread. He had placed his two elbows on the table, and gazed disdainfully at the little usher who was devouring his own allowance.

The usher in charge, however, had been to fetch the headmaster, who entered the dining-hall like a tempest. He rebuked us roughly, asked us what we could complain about in the dinner, which he tasted and pronounced exquisite.

Then Big Michu stood up.

“Sir,” he said, “it is the codfish which is rotten, and we are unable to digest it.”

“Ah! well,” exclaimed that puny creature of an usher, without giving the headmaster time to answer, “on other evenings you have nevertheless eaten almost the whole dish yourself.”

Big Michu crimsoned to the roots of his hair. That evening they simply sent us off to bed, with the remark that we would perhaps think better of it on the morrow.

V

The next day and the day following, Big Michu was terrible. The usher’s observation had wounded him to the heart. He encouraged us. He told us we should be cowards if we gave in. He now put all his pride in showing that when he chose not to eat, he did not do so.

He was a real martyr. We others, we hid chocolate, pots of jam, even pork butcher’s dainties, in our desks, and so avoided eating the bread, with which we filled our pockets, dry. He who had no relative in the town, and who, for that matter, abstained from such delicacies, limited himself to the few crusts he was able to find.