STORIES FOR NINON & NEW STORIES FOR NINON. Эмиль Золя
on his way. The whole wood protected the child.
He ran, and felt the moss become slippery beneath his feet. The branches of the coppice were interlaced more closely and presented themselves to him as rigid as brass rods. Dry leaves collected in the glens; trunks of fallen trees placed themselves across the paths; rocks rolled themselves before the prince. The insect stung him in the heel; the butterfly blinded him by beating its wings against his eyelids.
Flower-of-the-Waters, without seeing or hearing him, continued to fly on the ray of the moon. Simplice with agony felt the moment approaching when she would disappear.
And, breathless, in despair, he ran, ran.
VIII
He heard the old oaks shouting to him in anger:
“Why did you not say you were a man? We would have hidden from you, we would have refused you our lessons, so that your gloomy eye might not see Flower-of-the-Waters, the undine of the spring. You presented yourself to us with the innocence of animals, and now you display the mind of man. Look, you are crushing the beetles, tearing away our leaves, breaking our branches. The wind of egoism bears you along, you want to rob us of our soul.”
And the hawthorn added:
“Simplice, stop, for pity’s sake! When a capricious child wants to breathe the perfume of my starry nosegays, why does not he leave them to bloom in freedom on the branch! He plucks them and only enjoys them for an hour.”
And the moss said in its turn:
“Stop, Simplice; come and dream on my cool, velvety carpet Far away, between the trees, you will see Flower-of-the-Waters at play. You will see her bathing at the spring, casting collets of watery pearls about her neck. We will give you a half share in the joy of her look; you can live and gaze on her as we do.”
And all the forest resumed:
“Stop, Simplice, a kiss must kill her; give not that kiss. Are you not aware of it? Did not our messenger, the breeze of night, tell you? Flower-of-the-Waters is the celestial pearl whose perfume brings death. Alas! Pity for her, Simplice, drink not her soul on her lips.”
IX
Flower-of-the-Waters turned round and saw Simplice. She smiled, she made him a sign to approach, saying to the forest:
“Here comes the well-beloved.”
The prince had been pursuing the undine for three days, three hours, three minutes. The words of the oaks were thundering behind him; he was tempted to fly.
Flower-of-the-Waters was already pressing his hands. She raised herself tip-toe on her little feet, mirroring her smile in the young man’s eyes.
“You have delayed coming,” she said. “My heart knew you were in the forest. I mounted a ray of the moon and sought you for three days, three hours, three minutes.”
Simplice was silent, he withheld his breath. She made him sit down at the edge of the spring; she fondled him with her eyes; and he contemplated her for a long time.
“Do you not know me?” she continued. “I have often seen you in my dreams. I went to you, you took my hand, then we walked, silent and trembling. Did you not see me? Do you not remember your dreams?”
And as he at length opened his mouth:
“Do not say anything,” she resumed again. “I am Flower-of-the-Waters, and you are the well-beloved. We are going to die.”
X
The great trees bent forward to get a better view of the young couple. They shuddered with grief, they said to one another, from coppice to coppice, that their soul was about to fly away.
All the voices were silent. The blade of grass and the oak experienced immense pity. There was no longer any cry of anger among the foliage. Simplice, Flower-of-the-Water’s well-beloved, was the son of the old forest.
She had rested her head on his shoulder. Bending over the brook they smiled at one another. Sometimes, raising their foreheads, they followed with their eyes the gold dust fluttering in the last rays of the sun. They clasped each other slowly, slowly. They awaited the appearance of the first star to be blended together in one and fly off for ever.
Not a word troubled their ecstasy. Their spirits rising to their lips were exchanged in their breath.
Day was on the wane, the lips of the two lovers approached closer and closer. The silent, motionless forest experienced terrible agony. The huge rocks from which the springs burst forth, threw great shadows over the couple who shone in the coming night.
And the stars appeared, and the lips were united in the supreme kiss, and the oak trees gave a prolonged sob. The lips were united, the spirits flew away.
XI
A clever man was wandering in the forest. He was in the company of a learned man.
The clever man made profound remarks on the unhealthy dampness of woods, and spoke of the beautiful fields of lucerne that might be obtained by cutting down all the great ugly trees.
The learned man dreamed of making himself a name in the world of science by discovering some new plant. He searched about everywhere and came upon nettles and couch-grass.
On reaching the edge of the spring they found the corpse of Simplice. The prince was smiling in the slumber of death. His feet were in the water, his head resting on the grassy bank. He pressed to his lips, which were for ever closed, a small pink and white flower, exquisitely delicate in form, and with a strong perfume.
“The poor idiot!” said the clever man, “he must have been trying to pick a nosegay, and drowned himself.”
The learned man cared little about the corpse. He had taken the flower, and under pretence of examining it, tore away the corolla. Then, when he had pulled it to pieces, he exclaimed —
“Precious find! In memory of this simpleton, I will name this flower Anthapheleia limnaia.”
Ah, Ninette, Ninette, the barbarian named my ideal Flower-of-the-Waters Anthapheleia limnaia!
THE BALL-PROGRAM
I
Do you remember our long run in the woods, Ninon? Autumn had begun to sprinkle the trees with yellow purple leaves, which were still gilded by the rays of the setting sun. The grass beneath our feet was thinner than at the commencement of May, and the russety moss hardly afforded shelter for a few rare insects. Lost in the forest, which abounded in melancholy sounds, it seemed as though we heard the bitter lamentations of a woman who believes she has discovered the first wrinkle on her forehead. The foliage, which this pale, mild evening could not deceive, felt the winter coming in the breeze which had freshened, and submitted sadly to being rocked by the wind while weeping over its reddened verdure.
We wandered for a long time in the coppices, caring little for the direction of the paths, but choosing the most shady and secluded. Our frank peals of laughter frightened the thrushes and blackbirds that were whistling in the hedges; and sometimes we heard a green lizard, troubled in his ecstasy by the sound of our footsteps, slipping noiselessly beneath the brambles. Our ramble was without object: after a cloudy day, we had seen the sky, towards evening, wearing a brighter aspect; we had dashed out to enjoy this ray of sunshine. We advanced thus, raising a perfume of sage and thyme beneath our feet, at times running after one another, at others walking leisurely hand in hand. Then I plucked you the last flowers, or sought to reach the red berries of the hawthorns, which you coveted like a child. And you, Ninon, in the meanwhile, crowned with blossoms, you ran to the neighbouring spring under pretence of drinking, but rather to admire your headdress, O coquette and idle girl!
All at once distant peals of laughter became mingled with the vague murmurs of the forest; a fife and tabour were heard,