Books: The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 3
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Emile Zola >> The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 3
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9 Produced by Dagny [dagnypg@yahoo.com]
and David Widger [widger@cecomet.net]
THE THREE CITIES
LOURDES
BY
EMILE ZOLA
Volume 3.
TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY
THE THIRD DAY
I
BED AND BOARD
AT seven o'clock on the morning of that fine, bright, warm August Sunday,
M. de Guersaint was already up and dressed in one of the two little rooms
which he had fortunately been able to secure on the third floor of the
Hotel of the Apparitions. He had gone to bed at eleven o'clock the night
before and had awoke feeling quite fresh and gay. As soon as he was
dressed he entered the adjoining room which Pierre occupied; but the
young priest, who had not returned to the hotel until past one in the
morning, with his blood heated by insomnia, had been unable to doze off
until daybreak and was now still slumbering. His cassock flung across a
chair, his other garments scattered here and there, testified to his
great weariness and agitation of mind.
"Come, come, you lazybones!" cried M. de Guersaint gaily; "can't you hear
the bells ringing?"
Pierre awoke with a start, quite surprised to find himself in that little
hotel room into which the sunlight was streaming. All the joyous peals of
the bells, the music of the chiming, happy town, moreover, came in
through the window which he had left open.
"We shall never have time to get to the hospital before eight o'clock to
fetch Marie," resumed M. de Guersaint, "for we must have some breakfast,
eh?"
"Of course, make haste and order two cups of chocolate. I will get up at
once, I sha'n't be long," replied Pierre.
In spite of the fatigue which had already stiffened his joints, he sprang
out of bed as soon as he was alone, and made all haste with his toilet.
However, he still had his head in the washing basin, ducking it in the
fresh, cool water, when M. de Guersaint, who was unable to remain alone,
came back again. "I've given the order," said he; "they will bring it up.
Ah! what a curious place this hotel is! You have of course seen the
landlord, Master Majeste, clad in white from head to foot and looking so
dignified in his office. The place is crammed, it appears; they have
never had so many people before. So it is no wonder that there should be
such a fearful noise. I was wakened up three times during the night.
People kept on talking in the room next to mine. And you, did you sleep
well?"
"No, indeed," answered Pierre; "I was tired to death, but I couldn't
close my eyes. No doubt it was the uproar you speak of that prevented
me."
In his turn he then began to talk of the thin partitions, and the manner
in which the house had been crammed with people until it seemed as though
the floors and the walls would collapse with the strain. The place had
been shaking all night long; every now and then people suddenly rushed
along the passages, heavy footfalls resounded, gruff voices ascended
nobody knew whence; without speaking of all the moaning and coughing, the
frightful coughing which seemed to re-echo from every wall. Throughout
the night people evidently came in and went out, got up and lay down
again, paying no attention to time in the disorder in which they lived,
amid shocks of passion which made them hurry to their devotional
exercises as to pleasure parties.
"And Marie, how was she when you left her last night?" M. de Guersaint
suddenly inquired.
"A great deal better," replied Pierre; "she had an attack of extreme
discouragement, but all her courage and faith returned to her at last."
A pause followed; and then the girl's father resumed with his tranquil
optimism: "Oh! I am not anxious. Things will go on all right, you'll see.
For my own part, I am delighted. I had asked the Virgin to grant me her
protection in my affairs--you know, my great invention of navigable
balloons. Well, suppose I told you that she has already shown me her
favour? Yes, indeed yesterday evening while I was talking with Abbe des
Hermoises, he told me that at Toulouse he would no doubt be able to find
a person to finance me--one of his friends, in fact, who is extremely
wealthy and takes great interest in mechanics! And in this I at once saw
the hand of God!" M. de Guersaint began laughing with his childish laugh,
and then he added: "That Abbe des Hermoises is a charming man. I shall
see this afternoon if there is any means of my accompanying him on an
excursion to the Cirque de Gavarnie at small cost."
Pierre, who wished to pay everything, the hotel bill and all the rest, at
once encouraged him in this idea. "Of course," said he, "you ought not to
miss this opportunity to visit the mountains, since you have so great a
wish to do so. Your daughter will be very happy to know that you are
pleased."
Their talk, however, was now interrupted by a servant girl bringing the
two cups of chocolate with a couple of rolls on a metal tray covered with
a napkin. She left the door open as she entered the room, so that a
glimpse was obtained of some portion of the passage. "Ah! they are
already doing my neighbour's room!" exclaimed M. de Guersaint. "He is a
married man, isn't he? His wife is with him?"
The servant looked astonished. "Oh, no," she replied, "he is quite
alone!"
"Quite alone? Why, I heard people talking in his room this morning."
"You must be mistaken, monsieur," said the servant; "he has just gone out
after giving orders that his room was to be tidied up at once." And then,
while taking the cups of chocolate off the tray and placing them on the
table, she continued: "Oh! he is a very respectable gentleman. Last year
he was able to have one of the pavilions which Monsieur Majeste lets out
to visitors, in the lane by the side of the hotel; but this year he
applied too late and had to content himself with that room, which greatly
worried him, for it isn't a large one, though there is a big cupboard in
it. As he doesn't care to eat with everybody, he takes his meals there,
and he orders good wine and the best of everything, I can tell you."
"That explains it all!" replied M. de Guersaint gaily; "he dined too well
last night, and I must have heard him talking in his sleep."
Pierre had been listening somewhat inquisitively to all this chatter.
"And on this side, my side," said he, "isn't there a gentleman with two
ladies, and a little boy who walks about with a crutch?"
"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe, I know them. The aunt, Madame Chaise, took one of
the two rooms for herself; and Monsieur and Madame Vigneron with their
son Gustave have had to content themselves with the other one. This is
the second year they have come to Lourdes. They are very respectable
people too."
Pierre nodded. During the night he had fancied he could recognise the
voice of M. Vigneron, whom the heat doubtless had incommoded. However,
the servant was now thoroughly started, and she began to enumerate the
other persons whose rooms were reached by the same passage; on the left
hand there was a priest, then a mother with three daughters, and then an
old married couple; whilst on the right lodged another gentleman who was
all alone, a young lady, too, who was unaccompanied, and then a family
party which included five young children. The hotel was crowded to its
garrets. The servants had had to give up their rooms the previous evening
and lie in a heap in the washhouse. During the night, also, some camp
bedsteads had even been set up on the landings; and one honourable
ecclesiastic, for lack of other accommodation, had been obliged to sleep
on a billiard-table.
When the girl had retired and the two men had drunk their chocolate, M.
de Guersaint went back into his own room to wash his hands again, for he
was very careful of his person; and Pierre, who remained alone, felt
attracted by the gay sunlight, and stepped for a moment on to the narrow
balcony outside his window. Each of the third-floor rooms on this side of
the hotel was provided with a similar balcony, having a carved-wood
balustrade. However, the young priest's surprise was very great, for he
had scarcely stepped outside when he suddenly saw a woman protrude her
head over the balcony next to him--that of the room occupied by the
gentleman whom M. de Guersaint and the servant had been speaking of.
And this woman he had recognised: it was Madame Volmar. There was no
mistaking her long face with its delicate drawn features, its magnificent
large eyes, those brasiers over which a veil, a dimming /moire/, seemed
to pass at times. She gave a start of terror on perceiving him. And he,
extremely ill at ease, grieved that he should have frightened her, made
all haste to withdraw into his apartment. A sudden light had dawned upon
him, and he now understood and could picture everything. So this was why
she had not been seen at the hospital, where little Madame Desagneaux was
always asking for her. Standing motionless, his heart upset, Pierre fell
into a deep reverie, reflecting on the life led by this woman whom he
knew, that torturing conjugal life in Paris between a fierce
mother-in-law and an unworthy husband, and then those three days of
complete liberty spent at Lourdes, that brief bonfire of passion to which
she had hastened under the sacrilegious pretext of serving the divinity.
Tears whose cause he could not even explain, tears that ascended from the
very depths of his being, from his own voluntary chastity, welled into
his eyes amidst the feeling of intense sorrow which came over him.
"Well, are you ready?" joyously called M. de Guersaint as he came back,
with his grey jacket buttoned up and his hands gloved.
"Yes, yes, let us go," replied Pierre, turning aside and pretending to
look for his hat so that he might wipe his eyes.
Then they went out, and on crossing the threshold heard on their left
hand an unctuous voice which they recognised; it was that of M. Vigneron,
who was loudly repeating the morning prayers. A moment afterwards came a
meeting which interested them. They were walking down the passage when
they were passed by a middle-aged, thick-set, sturdy-looking gentleman,
wearing carefully trimmed whiskers. He bent his back and passed so
rapidly that they were unable to distinguish his features, but they
noticed that he was carrying a carefully made parcel. And immediately
afterwards he slipped a key into the lock of the room adjoining M. de
Guersaint's, and opening the door disappeared noiselessly, like a shadow.
M. de Guersaint had glanced round: "Ah! my neighbour," said he; "he has
been to market and has brought back some delicacies, no doubt!"
Pierre pretended not to hear, for his companion was so light-minded that
he did not care to trust him with a secret which was not his own.
Besides, a feeling of uneasiness was returning to him, a kind of chaste
terror at the thought that the world and the flesh were there taking
their revenge, amidst all the mystical enthusiasm which he could feel
around him.
They reached the hospital just as the patients were being brought out to
be carried to the Grotto; and they found that Marie had slept well and
was very gay. She kissed her father and scolded him when she learnt that
he had not yet decided on his trip to Gavarnie. She should really be
displeased with him, she said, if he did not go. Still with the same
restful, smiling expression, she added that she did not expect to be
cured that day; and then, assuming an air of mystery, she begged Pierre
to obtain permission for her to spend the following night before the
Grotto. This was a favour which all the sufferers ardently coveted, but
which only a few favoured ones with difficulty secured. After protesting,
anxious as he felt with regard to the effect which a night spent in the
open air might have upon her health, the young priest, seeing how unhappy
she had suddenly become, at last promised that he would make the
application. Doubtless she imagined that she would only obtain a hearing
from the Virgin when they were alone together in the slumbering
peacefulness of the night. That morning, indeed, she felt so lost among
the innumerable patients who were heaped together in front of the Grotto,
that already at ten o'clock she asked to be taken back to the hospital,
complaining that the bright light tired her eyes. And when her father and
the priest had again installed her in the Sainte-Honorine Ward, she gave
them their liberty for the remainder of the day. "No, don't come to fetch
me," she said, "I shall not go back to the Grotto this afternoon--it
would be useless. But you will come for me this evening at nine o'clock,
won't you, Pierre? It is agreed, you have given me your word."
He repeated that he would endeavour to secure the requisite permission,
and that, if necessary, he would apply to Father Fourcade in person.
"Then, till this evening, darling," said M. de Guersaint, kissing his
daughter. And he and Pierre went off together, leaving her lying on her
bed, with an absorbed expression on her features, as her large, smiling
eyes wandered away into space.
It was barely half-past ten when they got back to the Hotel of the
Apparitions; but M. de Guersaint, whom the fine weather delighted, talked
of having /dejeuner/ at once, so that he might the sooner start upon a
ramble through Lourdes. First of all, however, he wished to go up to his
room, and Pierre following him, they encountered quite a drama on their
way. The door of the room occupied by the Vignerons was wide open, and
little Gustave could be seen lying on the sofa which served as his bed.
He was livid; a moment previously he had suddenly fainted, and this had
made the father and mother imagine that the end had come. Madame Vigneron
was crouching on a chair, still stupefied by her fright, whilst M.
Vigneron rushed about the room, thrusting everything aside in order that
he might prepare a glass of sugared-water, to which he added a few drops
of some elixir. This draught, he exclaimed, would set the lad right
again. But all the same, it was incomprehensible. The boy was still
strong, and to think that he should have fainted like that, and have
turned as white as a chicken! Speaking in this wise, M. Vigneron glanced
at Madame Chaise, the aunt, who was standing in front of the sofa,
looking in good health that morning; and his hands shook yet more
violently at the covert idea that if that stupid attack had carried off
his son, they would no longer have inherited the aunt's fortune. He was
quite beside himself at this thought, and eagerly opening the boy's mouth
he compelled him to swallow the entire contents of the glass. Then,
however, when he heard Gustave sigh, and saw him open his eyes again, his
fatherly good-nature reappeared, and he shed tears, and called the lad
his dear little fellow. But on Madame Chaise drawing near to offer some
assistance, Gustave repulsed her with a sudden gesture of hatred, as
though he understood how this woman's money unconsciously perverted his
parents, who, after all, were worthy folks. Greatly offended, the old
lady turned on her heel, and seated herself in a corner, whilst the
father and mother, at last freed from their anxiety, returned thanks to
the Blessed Virgin for having preserved their darling, who smiled at them
with his intelligent and infinitely sorrowful smile, knowing and
understanding everything as he did, and no longer having any taste for
life, although he was not fifteen.
"Can we be of any help to you?" asked Pierre in an obliging way.
"No, no, I thank you, gentlemen," replied M. Vigneron, coming for a
moment into the passage. "But oh! we did have a fright! Think of it, an
only son, who is so dear to us too."
All around them the approach of the /dejeuner/ hour was now throwing the
house into commotion. Every door was banging, and the passages and the
staircase resounded with the constant pitter-patter of feet. Three big
girls passed by, raising a current of air with the sweep of their skirts.
Some little children were crying in a neighbouring room. Then there were
old people who seemed quite scared, and distracted priests who,
forgetting their calling, caught up their cassocks with both hands, so
that they might run the faster to the dining-room. From the top to the
bottom of the house one could feel the floors shaking under the excessive
weight of all the people who were packed inside the hotel.
"Oh, I hope that it is all over now, and that the Blessed Virgin will
cure him," repeated M. Vigneron, before allowing his neighbours to
retire. "We are going down-stairs, for I must confess that all this has
made me feel faint. I need something to eat, I am terribly hungry."
When Pierre and M. de Guersaint at last left their rooms, and went
down-stairs, they found to their annoyance that there was not the
smallest table-corner vacant in the large dining-room. A most
extraordinary mob had assembled there, and the few seats that were still
unoccupied were reserved. A waiter informed them that the room never
emptied between ten and one o'clock, such was the rush of appetite,
sharpened by the keen mountain air. So they had to resign themselves to
wait, requesting the waiter to warn them as soon as there should be a
couple of vacant places. Then, scarcely knowing what to do with
themselves, they went to walk about the hotel porch, whence there was a
view of the street, along which the townsfolk, in their Sunday best,
streamed without a pause.
All at once, however, the landlord of the Hotel of the Apparitions,
Master Majeste in person, appeared before them, clad in white from head
to foot; and with a great show of politeness he inquired if the gentlemen
would like to wait in the drawing-room. He was a stout man of
five-and-forty, and strove to bear the burden of his name in a right
royal fashion. Bald and clean-shaven, with round blue eyes in a waxy
face, displaying three superposed chins, he always deported himself with
much dignity. He had come from Nevers with the Sisters who managed the
orphan asylum, and was married to a dusky little woman, a native of
Lourdes. In less than fifteen years they had made their hotel one of the
most substantial and best patronised establishments in the town. Of
recent times, moreover, they had started a business in religious
articles, installed in a large shop on the left of the hotel porch and
managed by a young niece under Madame Majeste's Supervision.
"You can wait in the drawing-room, gentlemen," again suggested the
hotel-keeper whom Pierre's cassock rendered very attentive.
They replied, however, that they preferred to walk about and wait in the
open air. And thereupon Majeste would not leave them, but deigned to chat
with them for a moment as he was wont to do with those of his customers
whom he desired to honour. The conversation turned at first on the
procession which would take place that night and which promised to be a
superb spectacle as the weather was so fine. There were more than fifty
thousand strangers gathered together in Lourdes that day, for visitors
had come in from all the neighbouring bathing stations. This explained
the crush at the /table d'hote/. Possibly the town would run short of
bread as had been the case the previous year.
"You saw what a scramble there is," concluded Majeste, "we really don't
know how to manage. It isn't my fault, I assure you, if you are kept
waiting for a short time."
At this moment, however, a postman arrived with a large batch of
newspapers and letters which he deposited on a table in the office. He
had kept one letter in his hand and inquired of the landlord, "Have you a
Madame Maze here?"
"Madame Maze, Madame Maze," repeated the hotel-keeper. "No, no, certainly
not."
Pierre had heard both question and answer, and drawing near he exclaimed,
"I know of a Madame Maze who must be lodging with the Sisters of the
Immaculate Conception, the Blue Sisters as people call them here, I
think."
The postman thanked him for the information and went off, but a somewhat
bitter smile had risen to Majeste's lips. "The Blue Sisters," he
muttered, "ah! the Blue Sisters." Then, darting a side glance at Pierre's
cassock, he stopped short, as though he feared that he might say too
much. Yet his heart was overflowing; he would have greatly liked to ease
his feelings, and this young priest from Paris, who looked so
liberal-minded, could not be one of the "band" as he called all those who
discharged functions at the Grotto and coined money out of Our Lady of
Lourdes. Accordingly, little by little, he ventured to speak out.
"I am a good Christian, I assure you, Monsieur l'Abbe," said he. "In fact
we are all good Christians here. And I am a regular worshipper and take
the sacrament every Easter. But, really, I must say that members of a
religious community ought not to keep hotels. No, no, it isn't right!"
And thereupon he vented all the spite of a tradesman in presence of what
he considered to be disloyal competition. Ought not those Blue Sisters,
those Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, to have confined themselves
to their real functions, the manufacture of wafers for sacramental
purposes, and the repairing and washing of church linen? Instead of that,
however, they had transformed their convent into a vast hostelry, where
ladies who came to Lourdes unaccompanied found separate rooms, and were
able to take their meals either in privacy or in a general dining-room.
Everything was certainly very clean, very well organised and very
inexpensive, thanks to the thousand advantages which the Sisters enjoyed;
in fact, no hotel at Lourdes did so much business. "But all the same,"
continued Majeste, "I ask you if it is proper. To think of nuns selling
victuals! Besides, I must tell you that the lady superior is really a
clever woman, and as soon as she saw the stream of fortune rolling in,
she wanted to keep it all for her own community and resolutely parted
with the Fathers of the Grotto who wanted to lay their hands on it. Yes,
Monsieur l'Abbe, she even went to Rome and gained her cause there, so
that now she pockets all the money that her bills bring in. Think of it,
nuns, yes nuns, /mon Dieu/! letting furnished rooms and keeping a /table
d'hote/!"
He raised his arms to heaven, he was stifling with envy and vexation.
"But as your house is crammed," Pierre gently objected, "as you no longer
have either a bed or a plate at anybody's disposal, where would you put
any additional visitors who might arrive here?"
Majeste at once began protesting. "Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe!" said he, "one
can see very well that you don't know the place. It's quite true that
there is work for all of us, and that nobody has reason to complain
during the national pilgrimage. But that only lasts four or five days,
and in ordinary times the custom we secure isn't nearly so great. For
myself, thank Heaven, I am always satisfied. My house is well known, it
occupies the same rank as the Hotel of the Grotto, where two landlords
have already made their fortunes. But no matter, it is vexing to see
those Blue Sisters taking all the cream of the custom, for instance the
ladies of the /bourgeoisie/ who spend a fortnight and three weeks here at
a stretch; and that, too, just in the quiet season, when there are not
many people here. You understand, don't you? There are people of position
who dislike uproar; they go by themselves to the Grotto, and pray there
all day long, for days together, and pay good prices for their
accommodation without any higgling."
Madame Majeste, whom Pierre and M. de Guersaint had not noticed leaning
over an account-book in which she was adding up some figures, thereupon
intervened in a shrill voice: "We had a customer like that, gentlemen,
who stayed here for two months last year. She went to the Grotto, came
back, went there again, took her meals, and went to bed. And never did we
have a word of complaint from her; she was always smiling, as though to
say that she found everything very nice. She paid her bill, too, without
even looking at it. Ah! one regrets people of that kind."
Short, thin, very dark, and dressed in black, with a little white collar,
Madame Majeste had risen to her feet; and she now began to solicit
custom: "If you would like to buy a few little souvenirs of Lourdes
before you leave, gentlemen, I hope that you will not forget us. We have
a shop close by, where you will find an assortment of all the articles
that are most in request. As a rule, the persons who stay here are kind
enough not to deal elsewhere."
However, Majeste was again wagging his head, with the air of a good
Christian saddened by the scandals of the time. "Certainly," said he, "I
don't want to show any disrespect to the reverend Fathers, but it must in
all truth be admitted that they are too greedy. You must have seen the
shop which they have set up near the Grotto, that shop which is always
crowded, and where tapers and articles of piety are sold. A bishop
declared that it was shameful, and that the buyers and sellers ought to
be driven out of the temple afresh. It is said, too, that the Fathers run
that big shop yonder, just across the street, which supplies all the
petty dealers in the town. And, according to the reports which circulate,
they have a finger in all the trade in religious articles, and levy a
percentage on the millions of chaplets, statuettes, and medals which are
sold every year at Lourdes."
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