THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
wait for death in order to love. I stood near the window, in the presence of the sky, in the presence of Marie’s corpse, and, little by little, a gentle coolness, a limitless hope, came to me from that dead young girl and the dreamy space.
The candies had burned out. The silence in the chamber grew heavier and heavier, and the darkness increased. Pâquerette still slept. Jacques had not moved.
Suddenly he arose, he stared around him in terror. I saw him lean over the corpse and kiss it on the forehead. The cold flesh sent a shiver through him.
Then, he noticed me. He came to me, hesitated, and then offered me his hand.
I looked at this man whom I could not comprehend, who seemed to me as obscure as Laurence. I did not know whether he had lied to me or whether he had wished to save me. This man had struck my heart a heavy blow. But I had recovered hope, I had pardoned. I took his hand and pressed it.
Then, he went away, thanking me with a look.
In the morning, I found myself beside Marie’s bed, on my knees, still weeping, but my tears were mild, softened. I wept over this poor girl whom death had carried off in her spring, ignorant of the kisses of love.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CONCLUSION.
BROTHERS, I am coming to you. I set out tomorrow for the country, for Provence. I wish to draw a new youth from our broad horizons, from our pure and glowing sunbeams.
My pride has led me to aim at too lofty a mark. I believed myself ripe for the struggle, while in reality I was but a weak and inexperienced child. Perhaps, I shall always remain a child.
I rely upon your friendship, on my remembrances. Near you, I will recall the days of the past, I will quiet myself, I will succeed in curing my heart. We will go into the plains, on the shady bank of the river; we will resume the life we led when we were sixteen, and I will then forget the terrible year through which I have just passed. I will return to those days of ignorance and hope, when I knew nothing of reality and when I dreamed of a better earth. I will become young again, believing; I will recommence life with new dreams.
Oh! I feel all the thoughts of my youth return to me in a body, filling me with strength and hope. Everything had disappeared amid the gloom into which I had entered — you and the world, my daily toil and my future glory. I lived only for a single idea: to love and to suffer. To-day, amid my tranquility, I feel awakening, one by one, those thoughts which I recognize and to which I extend a hearty welcome, with a softened soul. I was blind, but now I see clearly” within me; the evil is torn away, I find the world as I left it, broad for youthful courage, luminous, full of applause. I will resume my labor, recover my strength, struggle in the name of my faith, in the name of my tenderness.
Make a place for me beside you, brothers, let us live in the pure air, in the fields sparkling with sunbeams, in our pure love. Let us prepare ourselves for life by loving each other, by going hand in hand in freedom beneath the blue sky. Wait for me, and make Provence sweeter, more encouraging, to receive me and restore me my childhood.
Last night, when at the window, in the presence of Marie’s corpse, I purified myself with faith, I saw the sky, full of gloom, whiten at the horizon. All night long I had had before my eyes the black stretch of space, pricked by the yellow light of the stars; I had vainly sounded the infinity of the sombre gulf, growing terrified at the immense calmness, at the unfathomable depths. This calmness and these depths were lighted up; the darkness quivered and slowly rolled back, allowing its mysteries to be seen; the fear inspired by the gloom gave place to the hope inspired by the growing brightness. The whole sky grew inflamed, little by little; it acquired rosy tints as soft as smiles; it bathed in the pale light, sparkling with faint brilliancy. And, alone in the presence of this tearing away of the night, of this slow and majestic birth of the day, I felt in my heart a young, invincible strength, an immense hope.
Brothers, it was the dawn.
THE END
THE DEAD WOMAN’S WISH
Translated by Count C. de Soissons
PROLOGUE
TOWARDS the end of 1831, in the Semaphore of Marseilles, the following paragraph might have been read: —
“Last night a great fire destroyed several houses in the little village of St. Henri. The glare of the flames, whose reflection reddened the sea, was seen from this town, and all who happened to be on the Edoumè rocks were enabled to be present at a spectacle at once frightful and sublime.
“Exact details have not yet reached us. Several remarkable instances of bravery are, however, recorded. To-day we are only able to record one heart-stirring incident of this catastrophe.
“The flames spread so rapidly in the lower rooms of one house that it was impossible to give the least help to the inmates. These miserable people were heard uttering piercing cries of terror and distress. Suddenly a woman was seen at one of the windows, holding a young child in her arms. From below, it was noticed that her dress had caught fire. With terror-stricken face and dishevelled hair she stared wildly in front of her, as if smitten with madness.
“The flames ran rapidly along her skirts, and soon she was a blaze of light. Closing her eyes and pressing the child tightly to her breast, she hurled herself frantically through the window. When the people rushed to lift them up they found that the mother’s skull was crushed, but the child still lived. It stretched out its little hands and cried, as if it wished to escape from the fearful pressure of the dead woman’s arms.
“We are informed that this child, having no relations whatever in the world, has just been adopted by quite a young girl, whose name is unknown to us, but who belongs to the nobility of the neighbourhood. Such an action has no need of praise. It speaks for itself.”