The Complete Short Stories of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя
over her breast she grasped the beggar’s magic present in her right hand. Her light, regular respiration could be heard amidst the silence, whilst the beloved planet reflecting around her on the new money enveloped her, as it were, in a circle of gold.
Guillaume and Guillaumette were not people to be long astonished. The miracle being to their advantage, they did not trouble much about seeking to fathom it, caring very little whether it was the work of the Almighty or Satan. When they had counted the treasure for an instant with their eyes, they wanted to make quite sure that it was not merely an effect of shadow and reflection of the moon. They eagerly stooped down with their hands wide open.
But what occurred then, is so little worthy of belief, that I hesitate to relate it. Guillaume had hardly taken up a handful of the pieces, when they were transformed into enormous bats. He parted his fingers in terror and the nasty creatures escaped, giving utterance to shrill cries and striking him in the face with their long, black wings. Guillaumette, on her side, caught hold of a litter of young rats, with sharp white teeth, which bit her dreadfully as they escaped down her legs. The old woman, who fainted at the sight of a mouse, was half dead when she felt these creatures running about her petticoats.
They had stood up, no longer daring to play with this money which looked so new in appearance, but was so unpleasant to the touch. They gazed at each other ill at ease, encouraging one another with those half laughing, half angry looks of a child that has just burnt itself with a piece of hot pudding. Guillaumette was the first to give way to the temptation the second time; she stretched out her skinny arms, and took two fresh handfuls of sous. As she closed her fists so that nothing could escape, she shrieked with pain, for in truth she had clutched hold of two handfuls of needles, which were so long and pointed that her fingers seemed as if sewn to the palms of her hands. Guillaume, seeing her stoop down, wanted his share of the treasure. He lost no time, but his booty consisted only of two shovelfuls of red-hot cinders, which burnt his skin like gunpowder.
Then, mad with pain, they fell upon the big sous, plunging right into them, endeavouring to get the best of the miracle by the rapidity of their movements. But the big sous were not to be taken by surprise. Hardly were they touched than they flew away in the form of locusts, wriggled as serpents, ran along as boiling water, were dispersed in smoke; any form seemed suitable to them, and they did not leave without having slightly burnt or bitten the thieves.
The fecundity was frightful, so rapid, giving birth to so many different kinds of creatures that unutterable terror reigned there. Flying-toads, owls, vampires, night-moths, rushed to the dormer-window, flapping their wings, and escaping in great flights. Scorpions, spiders, all the hideous denizens of damp places reached the corners in long affrighted columns. Although the loft was full of chinks and crevices, there were not sufficient holes for them, and they were there, hustling one another, and crushing themselves in the cracks.
Guillaume and Guillaumette, mad with fright, began to run, borne along in the giddy movement of this strange creation. To the right and left, everywhere, they hastened the bursting into existence of new creatures. Life streamed from their fingers. The living flood rose. This treasure, on which the moon a moment before had been casting its rays, was nothing more than a blackish mass which swayed heavily to and fro, rising, sinking upon itself, as wine in the vat.
There was soon not a big sou left The entire heap had become alive. Then Guillaume and Guillaumette, unable to take anything but reptiles, fled, casting two handfuls of snakes in their own faces.
And, as they had removed all the monsters in these two last handfuls, the loft was empty. Sister-of-the-poor had heard nothing, and was slumbering, calm and smiling.
VI
When Sister-of-the-poor awoke, she was troubled with a feeling of remorse. She said to herself that she had been searching out the poverty of the neighbourhood far and wide, without thinking of relieving that of her uncle and aunt The dear child had compassion for all suffering. With her, the fact that the poor were poor, came before the question as to whether they were good or bad. She made no distinction among those who wept. She did not consider she had the task of meting out punishments and rewards, but the mission to dry tears. No grand idea of justice found a place in her small mind of ten summers; she was all charity, all alms. When she thought of the damned in hell, a feeling of pity gained her heart, which she never experienced in so great a measure for souls in purgatory.
When somebody, one day, told her that a certain poor person did not deserve the bread she gave him, she failed to understand. She refused to believe that it was not sufficient to be hungry, to eat.
So, Sister-of-the-poor, to make amends for her forgetfulness, took her little bag again, and ran and bought, in beautiful new money, a piece of land adjoining her relatives’ hut She also purchased a pair of white and brown oxen, with coats as glossy as silk. She took care not to forget the plough. Then she hired a farm-labourer, who drove the yoke of cattle to the edge of the field, at the door of the cottage. While this was being done, she purchased in the town a quantity of stores of all sorts; old vine roots, which make a bright fire, the best flour, salt provisions, dry vegetables. She made three large carts follow her, and went from shop to shop, loading them with what she thought necessary for a home. And it was marvellous to see how she spent God’s money like a grown-up girl, not purchasing any useless things, as might have been expected of a child so young, but strong furniture, pieces of linen, copper cooking pots, all that a housewife of thirty could dream of.
When the three carts were full, she came and stood them beside the bullocks and plough. Then it struck her that the cottage was very wretched, very small, to hold all this wealth, and she was grieved that she could not buy a farm, not because she had not the money, but because there was no farm in that part of the country. She resolved to send for the masons and make them build a large house on the same site as the humble dwelling. But, in the meanwhile, as she was in a great hurry, she merely poured a few heaps of big sous on the ground, in front of the carts, to meet the expense of building.
She set about her work so briskly that it took her less than an hour to arrange everything. Guillaume and Guillaumette were still asleep, having heard neither the sound of the wheels nor the labourer’s whip.
Then Sister-of-the-poor went to the door, with an artful smile on her lips, for she sometimes had a roguish way of doing good. She had hurried a little, out of archness, and was pleased that she had everything ready before her relatives awoke.
She cast a last look at her purchases, and then began to cry out, as she clapped her hands with all her might:
“Uncle Guillaume! Aunt Guillaumette!”
And as the two old people did not move, she struck the badly-adjusted planks of the shutters with her fist, repeating several times in a louder tone:
“Uncle Guillaume, Aunt Guillaumette, open quickly, fortune wants to come in!”
Now, Guillaume and Guillaumette heard this as they slept, and they jumped out of bed, without troubling to wake up. Sister-of-the-poor was still shouting, when they appeared on the threshold, pushing against each other, rubbing their eyes, to see better; and they had been in such a hurry, that Guillaume had on the petticoats and Guillaumette the breeches. They had no idea of this, having so many other subjects for amazement. The heaps of big sous rose as high as hayricks in front of the three carts which had a magnificent aspect, the caldron and oak furniture standing out against the snow. The bullocks were breathing loudly in the morning breeze. The ploughshare looked so white, in the rays of the early sun, that it seemed as if made of silver. The labourer advanced and said to Guillaume:
“Master, where shall I take the yoke of oxen? This is not the time of year for ploughing. Have no anxiety: your fields are sown and you will have an ample harvest.”
And, during this time, the carters had gone up to Guillaumette.
“Good lady,” they said to her, “here is your furniture and winter stores. Be quick and tell us where we are to unload our carts. One day is hardly enough to get all these things into the house.” — , The two old people, with gaping mouths, knew not what to answer. They looked timidly at these goods which