THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
visits to assuage her misery. She brought her bright smile to that little house by the sea, where Blanche was weeping as she thought of Philippe and her unborn babe. It was like a holy pilgrimage for the flower-girl and she accomplished it religiously. She started off about midday, after luncheon, and remained till dusk with Mademoiselle de Cazalis. In the evening, as night was falling, she found Marius waiting for her on the seashore, and they returned together to Marseille on foot, arm-in-arm like a young married couple.
Marius tasted pure joy during these walks. Sunday evening became for him the reward of all his efforts of the week. He waited for Fine by the sea, forgetful of his sorrows, feverishly watching for the young woman’s arrival; then, when she was there, they smiled at each other and returned slowly in the soft shadows of the gathering night, exchanging words of friendship and hope. Never did the young man think the road long enough.
One Sunday, Marius arrived early. As a feeling of delicacy prevented him calling at Blanche’s house and so adding to her grief, he sat down on the cliff which rises near the village, and took patience in watching the blue immensity spread out before him. He remained there nearly two hours, lost in a vague reverie, in thoughts of love and happiness which softly lulled him. The immense horizon moved him; unconsciously, his love for Fine rose from his heart to his lips; the sea and sky, the infinity of the waters and the air affected him, opened his soul; he beheld but Fine in the boundless sea, he heard but her name in the dull and regular murmur of the waves.
The flower-girl arrived and seated herself on the rock beside the young man, who took her hand without speaking. Before them was spread the sea and heavens, both of a soft pale blue. Twilight was falling. Profound serenity was alike enfeebling the last sounds and the last rays. Thin rosy gleams in the west were casting their delicate reflections on the rocks of the shore. There was a breath of tenderness in the air, a great quivering voice which grew softer and softer. Deeply moved, Marius kept his friend’s hand in his, as he continued his dream. His eyes fixed on the horizon, on that vague haze where heaven and sea mingle together, he was smiling sadly. And in a low voice, and quite unconsciously, his lips gave utterance to the thoughts of his heart.
“No, no,” he murmured, “I am too ugly.”
From the moment Marius took her hand, Fine had been smiling in her sly and tender way. At last her friend was going to make up his mind to speak; she guessed it from the deeper look in his eyes, his tighter grasp. When she heard the young man say he was too ugly, she seemed surprised and annoyed.
“Too ugly!” she exclaimed; “but you are quite handsome, Marius!”
Fine had put so much feeling into the cry which had escaped her, that Marius looked round and clasped his hands, as he gazed at her anxiously. She, feeling that she had abruptly delivered up the secret of her heart, lowered her face, which became covered with blushes. She remained thus, speechless and embarrassed, during some seconds. But she was not the girl to withdraw from the complete avowal of her love; she possessed too much frankness and sprightliness to indulge in the hypocritical comedy which most young persons in love go through on similar occasions. She courageously raised her face and looked straight at Marius, who was trembling.
“Listen, my friend,” she said to him. “I wish to speak frankly. Six months ago I hardly thought of you at all. I considered you to be ugly, no doubt I had never really looked at you. Today, I think you quite handsome. I don’t know how it has happened, I assure you — “
In spite of her resolution, she hesitated a little, and sudden blushes again covered her cheeks. She stopped short, unable to tell Marius plainly that she loved him. She knew the young man’s timidity and had spoken solely to encourage him.
Marius remained in his state of tender ecstasy; he required no more, and would have remained there on the cliff all night, without seeking to obtain from Fine a more complete avowal. She was growing impatient.
The story of her love was a simple one. At first she had admired Philippe’s tall frame and energetic countenance, with that blindness of young girls which prompts them to choose handsome lads, those who carry all their beauty on their faces and none in their souls. Then wounded to the heart by the indifference of Blanche’s lover, seeing at last clearly into his vain nature, she had begun to look more severely upon his conduct and had become little by little estranged from him. It was at this time that she found herself frequently with Marius, in an intimacy which brought them closer and closer together.
In this instance love had been born of kindliness.
Marius, ugly to the eyes became beautiful for the heart. At first, Fine had seen in him merely a disheartened friend who needed help; she had undertaken half his task in a sisterly way, prompted a little by love for Philippe and a great deal by a natural desire to be serviceable. She had therefore joined Marius, and their common thought of deliverance had united them more each day. It was thus that their affection grew, they loved each other through their self-devotion, whilst living on the same hope and working for the same object.
And it was in the accomplishment of this generous task that Marius became handsome. The comparison which Fine could not help drawing between Philippe and Marius, made the latter appear an exceptional being, the charming prince of young girls’ dreams. Marius’ countenance became forthwith transfigured in her eyes; it appeared to her quite handsome with all the beauty of his loyal and tender nature. She would have been immensely surprised had anyone told her her lover was ugly.
Marius could still hear the young woman’s cry, that cry of the heart which as good as told him: “You are handsome, and I love you!” He dared not speak, fearing to dispel the sweet dream which was so deliciously soothing his mind. Fine, in her embarrassment, continued to smile.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked, speaking merely for the sake of speaking, and scarcely knowing what she was saying.
“Yes, I believe you,” Marius replied in a low deep voice, “I need to believe you. When you were not there, the murmur of the waves told me a secret. I don’t know what is the matter with the sea and the sky this evening. They speak in so sweet a voice that they have moved my heart and disturbed my mind. At this close of day, amidst the sadness of the twilight, I have just discovered within myself a happiness I had never dreamed of. Would you like to know the secret the waves whispered in my ear?”
“Yes,” said the young woman, while her emotion caused her hand to tremble.
Marius leant towards her, and murmured in a faint and timid tone of voice:
“The waves told me that I loved you.”
The shadows were falling more grey and solemn. In the heavens, lights appeared amid a milky transparency. The dark blue motionless sea was slumbering as it wafted its sluggish heavy breath. Fresh and briny odours arose, borne by the evening breeze, and the serenity of space spread in the advancing night. The hour was a fit one for an avowal of love. A divine tenderness, a smiling calm came from the vast compassionate sea. At the foot of the cliff the waves were slowly breaking, lulling the sleeping coast; whilst, from the earth, still hot and feverish, rose a fierce breath of passion. It seemed as though the vast sea was adding its voice to Marius’s tender words.
“Well,” said the flower-girl gaily, “the waves are chatterboxes. But did they tell you the truth?”
“Yes, yes,” he exclaimed, “the waves spoke the truth. I feel it now, my friend, I’ve been loving you for months past. Ah! what a lot of good this avowal does me. For a long time past I have felt there was something wanting: when I was in your presence, I became penetrated by some pleasant sensation, I could hear some indistinct voices within me, and I could not make out what they were whispering. Now, the silence of this cliff has sufficed for me to hear them tell of my love.”
Fine listened to Marius’s words with a smile on her lips. The shadows were becoming more and more bluish and mysterious. Marius hesitated for a moment, then asked in soft and humble tone of voice:
“You are not angry at what I am telling you? I know very well that you cannot love me.’’
“You know nothing at all,” replied Fine, with abrupt tenderness. “Good heavens! what a time