Complete Works of Emile Zola (331 page)

Then, in a more serious tone, he added:

‘Yes, my wife and my son have made me feel a strong liking for Abbé Faujas; and we are very sorry that his dis­creet reserve keeps him from joining our circle.’

As Monsieur Bourdeu nodded his head approvingly, shouts of applause were heard in the alley. There was a perfect uproar of hand-clapping, laughter and shouts, as though some troop of schoolboys had just rushed out to play. Monsieur Rastoil rose from his rustic chair.

‘Good gracious!’ he said, with a smile; ‘let us go and see what they are up to. My legs are beginning to feel a little cramped.’

The others followed him, and they all three went and stood by the little door. It was the first time that the pre­siding judge and the ex-prefect had ventured so far. When they saw the group formed by the sub-prefect’s guests at the end of the lane, their faces assumed a serious expression.

Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, for his part, drew himself up and put on an official attitude. Madame de Condamin went flitting to and fro along the lane laughing and smiling and filling the place with the rustle of her pink and grey dress. The two sets of guests kept glancing at one another, neither being willing to retire, while Abbé Faujas still maintained his position between them at Mouret’s door, quietly enjoying himself without seeming in the least degree conscious of the delicacy of the situation.

All the spectators held their breath; for Abbé Surin, seeing that their number had increased, was desirous of winning their applause by a last exhibition of skill. He brought all his science into play, created difficulties for himself on purpose to overcome them, turned round and struck at the shuttlecock without looking at it, but seemingly divining its position, and thus sending it back over his head to Mademoiselle Aurélie with mathematical precision. He was very much flushed and was perspiring freely. He had thrown his hat off, and his bands were now hanging over his right shoulder. But he was the victor, and he looked as he always did, amiable and charming. The two groups of guests lingered there admiring him, and Madame de Condamin had to repress the applause, which burst out prematurely and inopportunely, by shaking her lace handkerchief. Then the young Abbé, introducing still further refinements into his play, began to skip about first to right and then to left, each time receiving the shuttlecock in a fresh position. This was the grand final flourish. He accelerated the rapidity of his play, and at last, just as he was jumping aside, his foot slipped and he nearly fell upon the bosom of Madame de Condamin, who had stretched out her arms with a little cry. The spectators, thinking he was hurt, rushed up, but the Abbé, who was pressing the ground with his hands and knees, sprang up again by a strong effort, and sent the shuttlecock, which had not yet fallen, spinning back to Mademoiselle Aurélie. Then, flourishing his battledore, he triumphed.

‘Bravo! bravo!’ cried Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, stepping up to him.

‘Bravo! it was a magnificent stroke!’ exclaimed Mon­sieur Rastoil, who also came up.

The game was interrupted, for the two sets of guests had now invaded the lane, and were mingled with each other, crowding around Abbé Surin, who leant, quite out of breath, against the wall by Abbé Faujas’s side. Everybody began talking at once.

‘I was afraid that he had split his skull,’ said Doctor Porquier to Monsieur Maffre, in a voice full of emotion.

‘Yes, these games generally have a bad ending,’ remarked Monsieur de Bourdeu, addressing himself to Monsieur De­langre and the Paloques, while he received a shake of the hand from Monsieur de Condamin, whom he always tried to avoid in the streets, so that he might not have to bow to him.

Madame de Condamin went from the sub-prefect to the presiding judge, bringing them face to face, and exclaiming:

‘But really, I am more upset than he is! I thought that we were going to fall together. There is a big stone there; did you notice it?’

‘Yes, I see it there,
’
said Monsieur Rastoil; ‘it must have caught against his heel.’

‘Was it this round stone, do you think?’ asked Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, picking up a pebble.

They had never spoken to each other before, except at official ceremonies. Now, however, they began to examine the stone, and passed it from one to the other, remarking that it was very sharp, and must have cut the Abbé’s shoe. Madame de Condamin stood smiling between them, and assured them that she was beginning to feel better.

‘Oh! the Abbé is feeling ill!’ suddenly cried Monsieur Rastoil’s daughters.

Abbé Surin had, indeed, turned very pale at hearing of the danger he had run. He was reeling with faintness, when Abbé Faujas, who had kept aloof, took him in his powerful arms, and carried him into Mouret’s garden, where he seated him upon a chair. The two sets of guests soon swarmed into the arbour, where the young Abbé completely fainted away.

‘Get some water and some vinegar, Rose!’ cried Abbé Faujas, running towards the steps.

Mouret, who was in the dining-room, came to the window, but, on seeing all those people in his garden, he recoiled as though he were struck with fear, and kept himself out of sight. Rose soon came up with a collection of drugs, mutter­ing, as she hastened along:

‘If only madame were here! But she has gone to the Seminary to see the lad. I am all alone, and I can’t do impossibilities, can I?
The master won’t stir an inch; any­body might die for all he cared. There he is in the dining-room, hiding himself! He would let you die, before he would get you even a glass of water.’

By the time she had got through this grumble, she had reached Abbé Surin, who was lying in a swoon. ‘Oh! the cherub!’ she exclaimed, overcome with womanly pity.

The young Abbé, with his closed eyes and his pale brow wreathed with long, fair hair, looked like one of the sweet-faced martyrs that one sees expiring in sacred pictures. The elder of the Rastoil girls was supporting his head, which lay back, allowing his delicate, white neck to be seen. They were all in great excitement over him. Madame de Condamin gently dabbed his brow with a rag soaked in vinegar and water, and the others stood anxiously looking at her. At last the young Abbé opened his eyes, but closed them again immediately. He had two more swoons before he recovered.

‘You have given me a terrible fright!’ at last said Doctor Porquier, who had kept his hand fast in his own.

Abbé Surin, still sitting on the chair, stammered out con­fused thanks, and assured them all that it was a mere nothing. Then he saw that his cassock had been unbuttoned, and he smiled as he buttoned it and readjusted his bands. To prove that he was all right again, when the company advised him to keep quiet, he went back to the lane with the Rastoil girls in order to finish the game.

‘You have a very nice place here,’ said Monsieur Rastoil to Abbé Faujas, whose side he had not quitted.

‘The air on this slope is delightful,’ added Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, in his charming manner.

Then both sets of guests began looking with curiosity at Mouret’s house.

‘Perhaps the ladies and gentlemen would like to stay in the garden a little while,’ exclaimed Rose; ‘I will go and get some chairs.’

She made three journeys in quest of them, in spite of the protestations of the company. Then, after glancing at each other for a moment, the two sets of guests felt constrained by courtesy to seat themselves. The sub-prefect installed himself on Abbé Faujas’s right band, while the presiding judge took a chair on his left, and a friendly conversation at once began.

‘You are a very quiet neighbour, Monsieur le Curé,’ said Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies very graciously; ‘you can’t imagine what pleasure it gives me to see you every day at the same hour in this little paradise. It seems to bring me a feeling of restfulness, after all the noise and worry I have.’

‘A pleasant neighbour is a very rare thing,’ observed Monsieur Rastoil.

‘Quite true,’ said Monsieur de Bourdeu. ‘But his reverence seems to have filled this spot with the peaceful tranquillity of a cloister.’

While the Abbé was smiling and acknowledging these complimentary remarks, Monsieur de Condamin, who had not yet seated himself, stooped and whispered in Monsieur Delangre’s ear:

‘There’s Rastoil, hoping to get that lout of a son of his made assessor to the public prosecutor.’

Monsieur Delangre, however, gave him an angry glance, trembling at the thought that this incorrigible chatterer might spoil everything. But this did not prevent the con­servator of rivers and forests from adding:

‘And Bourdeu, too, is flattering himself that he has already won back his prefecture.’

Meantime, Madame de Condamin had caused a great sensation by saying, in a meaning way:

‘What I like about this garden is the tender charm it seems to possess, which makes it a nook apart from all the cares and wretchedness of the world. It is a spot where even Cain and Abel might have become reconciled.’

She emphasized her last words and gave two glances, one to the right and the other to the left, towards the neighbour­ing gardens. Monsieur Maffre and Doctor Porquier nodded approvingly; while the Paloques looked at each other in­quisitively, feeling uneasy and fearing to compromise them­selves should they open their mouths.

At the end of a quarter of an hour Monsieur Rastoil rose from his seat.

‘My wife will be wondering where we have got to,’ said he.

And thereupon the whole company rose, feeling somewhat embarrassed as to the manner of their leave-taking. But Abbé Faujas spread out his hands and said, with the pleasantest possible smile:

‘My paradise is always open to you.’

The presiding judge then promised to come and see the Curé every now and then, and the sub-prefect, with more effusiveness, declared that he would do the same. For another five minutes they all lingered there, exchanging compliments, while, out in the lane, the laughter of the Rastoil girls and Abbé Surin was again heard. A fresh game was going on with all the animation of the previous one, and the shuttle­cock could be seen passing backwards and forwards in its regular flight above the garden wall.

CHAPTER XV

One Friday, as Madame Paloque was entering Saint-Saturnin’s, she was greatly surprised to see Marthe kneeling in front of Saint Michael’s chapel. The Abbé Faujas was hearing confessions.

‘Ah!’ she muttered, ‘has she succeeded in touching the Abbé’s heart? I must wait a little while and watch. It would be very fine if Madame de Condamin were to come.’

She took a chair a little in the rear, and, half kneeling, covered her face with her hands as though she was absorbed in earnest prayer; but she held her fingers apart so that she might glance between them. The church was very gloomy. Marthe, with her head bent over her prayer-book, looked as though she were asleep. Her figure showed blackly against a white pillar. Only her shoulders, heaving with deep-drawn sighs, seemed to be alive. She was, indeed, so profoundly overcome with emotion that she was constantly allowing her turn to be taken by some other of Abbé Faujas’s penitents. The Abbé waited for a few moments, and then, seemingly a little impatient, he began tapping the woodwork of the con­fessional. Thereupon one of the women who were waiting, seeing that Marthe showed no sign of moving, decided to take her place. The chapel gradually grew empty, and Marthe still remained motionless as if in ecstasy.

‘She seems in a terrible state,’ thought Madame Paloque. ‘It is really quite indecent to make such an exhibition of one’s self in church. Ah! here comes Madame de Con­damin!’

Madame de Condamin was indeed just entering the church. She stopped for a moment before the holy-water basin, removed her glove, and crossed herself with a pretty gesture. Her silk dress made a murmuring sound as she passed along the narrow space between the chairs. As she knelt down, she filled the lofty vault with a rustling of skirts. She had her usual affable expression, and smiled through the gloom. Soon she and Marthe were the only two penitents left. The priest grew more and more impatient, and tapped yet more loudly upon the woodwork of the confessional.

‘It is your turn, madame; I am the last,’ Madame de Condamin whispered politely, bending towards Marthe, whom she had not recognised.

Marthe raised her face, pinched and pale from her extreme emotion, and did not appear to understand. It was as though she were awakening from some ecstatic trance, and her eye­lids trembled.

‘Come, ladies, come!’ exclaimed Abbé Faujas, who had now half-opened the door of the confessional.

Madame de Condamin smilingly rose to obey the priest’s summons; but Marthe, recognising her, hastened into the chapel, to fall again upon her knees, however, a few paces away from the confessional-box.

Madame Paloque felt much amused. She hoped that the two ladies would seize each other by the hair. Marthe could hear all that was said, for Madame de Condamin had a clear flute-like voice. She dallied over the recital of her sins, and quite animated the confessional with her pretty gossiping ways. Once she even vented a little muffled laugh, at the sound of which Marthe raised her pain-racked face. Soon afterwards Madame de Condamin finished her confession, and rose as if to retire, but she quickly stepped back and com­menced talking afresh, this time merely bending her head without kneeling down.

‘That she-devil is making sport of Madame Mouret and the Abbé,’ thought the judge’s wife to herself. ‘It’s all put on, is this.’

At last Madame de Condamin really withdrew. Marthe watched her as if waiting till she disappeared. Then she went forward, leant against the confessional-box, and fell heavily on her knees. Madame Paloque had slipped a little nearer and was craning out her head, but she could only see the penitent’s dark dress spread out around her. For nearly half an hour there was not the slightest movement. Now and then she thought she could detect some smothered sobs in the throbbing silence, which was also broken at times by a creak from the confessional-box. She began to feel a little weary of her watching, for all she would be able to do now would be to stare at Marthe as she left the chapel.