Books: The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 5
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Emile Zola >> The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 5
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Seven o'clock was striking, and Pierre did not go back to bed, but began
to wash himself, thoroughly enjoying the cool water, which ended by
calming his fever. As he finished dressing, the anxious thought of M. de
Guersaint recurred to him on hearing a sound of footsteps in the passage.
These steps stopped outside his room and someone knocked. With a feeling
of relief he went to open the door, but on doing so exclaimed in great
surprise "What, it's you! How is it that you're already up, running about
to see people?"
Marie stood on the threshold smiling, whilst behind her was Sister
Hyacinthe, who had come with her, and who also was smiling, with her
lovely, candid eyes.
"Ah! my friend," said the girl, "I could not remain in bed. I sprang out
directly I saw the sunshine. I had such a longing to walk, to run and
jump about like a child, and I begged and implored so much that Sister
was good enough to come with me. I think I should have got out through
the window if the door had been closed against me."
Pierre ushered them in, and an indescribable emotion oppressed him as he
heard her jest so gaily and saw her move about so freely with such grace
and liveliness. She, good heavens! she whom he had seen for years with
lifeless legs and colourless face! Since he had left her the day before
at the Basilica she had blossomed into full youth and beauty. One night
had sufficed for him to find again, developed it is true, the sweet
creature whom he had loved so tenderly, the superb, radiant child whom he
had embraced so wildly in the by-gone days behind the flowering hedge,
beneath the sun-flecked trees.
"How tall and lovely you are, Marie!" said he, in spite of himself.
Then Sister Hyacinthe interposed: "Hasn't the Blessed Virgin done things
well, Monsieur l'Abbe? When she takes us in hand, you see, she turns us
out as fresh as roses and smelling quite as sweet."
"Ah!" resumed Marie, "I'm so happy; I feel quite strong and well and
spotless, as though I had just been born!"
All this was very delicious to Pierre. It seemed to him that the
atmosphere was now truly purified of Madame Volmar's presence. Marie
filled the room with her candour, with the perfume and brightness of her
innocent youth. And yet the joy he felt at the sight of pure beauty and
life reflowering was not exempt from sadness. For, after all, the revolt
which he had felt in the crypt, the wound of his wrecked life, must
forever leave him a bleeding heart. As he gazed upon all that
resuscitated grace, as the woman he loved thus reappeared before him in
the flower of her youth, he could not but remember that she would never
be his, that he belonged no longer to the world, but to the grave.
However, he no longer lamented; he experienced a boundless melancholy--a
sensation of utter nothingness as he told himself that he was dead, that
this dawn of beauty was rising on the tomb in which his manhood slept. It
was renunciation, accepted, resolved upon amidst all the desolate
grandeur attaching to those lives which are led contrary to nature's law.
Then, like the other woman, the impassioned one, Marie took hold of
Pierre's hands. But hers were so soft, so fresh, so soothing! She looked
at him with so little confusion and a great longing which she dared not
express. After a while, however, she summoned up her courage and said:
"Will you kiss me, Pierre? It would please me so much."
He shuddered, his heart crushed by this last torture. Ah! the kisses of
other days--those kisses which had ever lingered on his lips! Never since
had he kissed her, and to-day she was like a sister flinging her arms
around his neck. She kissed him with a loud smack on both his cheeks, and
offering her own, insisted on his doing likewise to her. So twice, in his
turn, he embraced her.
"I, too, Marie," said he, "am pleased, very pleased, I assure you." And
then, overcome by emotion, his courage exhausted, whilst at the same time
filled with delight and bitterness, he burst into sobs, weeping with his
face buried in his hands, like a child seeking to hide its tears.
"Come, come, we must not give way," said Sister Hyacinthe, gaily.
"Monsieur l'Abbe would feel too proud if he fancied that we had merely
come on his account. M. de Guersaint is about, isn't he?"
Marie raised a cry of deep affection. "Ah! my dear father! After all,
it's he who'll be most pleased!"
Thereupon Pierre had to relate that M. de Guersaint had not returned from
his excursion to Gavarnie. His increasing anxiety showed itself while he
spoke, although he sought to explain his friend's absence, surmising all
sorts of obstacles and unforeseen complications. Marie, however, did not
seem afraid, but again laughed, saying that her father never could be
punctual. Still she was extremely eager for him to see her walking, to
find her on her legs again, resuscitated, in the fresh blossoming of her
youth.
All at once Sister Hyacinthe, who had gone to lean over the balcony,
returned to the room, saying "Here he comes! He's down below, just
alighting from his carriage."
"Ah!" cried Marie, with the eager playfulness of a school-girl, "let's
give him a surprise. Yes, we must hide, and when he's here we'll show
ourselves all of a sudden."
With these words, she hastily dragged Sister Hyacinthe into the adjoining
room.
Almost immediately afterwards, M. de Guersaint entered like a whirlwind
from the passage, the door communicating with which had been quickly
opened by Pierre, and, shaking the young priest's hand, the belated
excursionist exclaimed: "Here I am at last! Ah! my friend, you can't have
known what to think since four o'clock yesterday, when you expected me
back, eh? But you have no idea of the adventures we have had. To begin
with, one of the wheels of our landau came off just as we reached
Gavarnie; then, yesterday evening--though we managed to start off
again--a frightful storm detained us all night long at Saint-Sauveur. I
wasn't able to sleep a wink." Then, breaking off, he inquired, "And you,
are you all right?"
"I wasn't able to sleep either," said the priest; "they made such a noise
in the hotel."
But M. de Guersaint had already started off again: "All the same, it was
delightful. I must tell you; you can't imagine it. I was with three
delightful churchmen. Abbe des Hermoises is certainly the most charming
man I know. Oh! we did laugh--we did laugh!"
Then he again stopped, to inquire, "And how's my daughter?"
Thereupon a clear laugh behind him caused him to turn round, and he
remained with his mouth wide open. Marie was there, and was walking, with
a look of rapturous delight upon her face, which was beaming with health.
He had never for a moment doubted the miracle, and was not in the least
surprised that it had taken place, for he had returned with the
conviction that everything would end well, and that he would surely find
her cured. But what so utterly astounded him was the prodigious spectacle
which he had not foreseen: his daughter, looking so beautiful, so divine,
in her little black gown!--his daughter, who had not even brought a hat
with her, and merely had a piece of lace tied over her lovely fair
hair!--his daughter, full of life, blooming, triumphant, similar to all
the daughters of all the fathers whom he had envied for so many years!
"O my child! O my child!" he exclaimed.
And, as she had flown into his arms, he pressed her to his heart, and
then they fell upon their knees together. Everything disappeared from
before them in a radiant effusion of faith and love. This heedless,
hare-brained man, who fell asleep instead of accompanying his daughter to
the Grotto, who went off to Gavarnie on the day the Blessed Virgin was to
cure her, overflowed with such paternal affection, with such Christian
faith so exalted by thankfulness, that for a moment he appeared sublime.
"O Jesus! O Mary! let me thank you for having restored my child to me! O
my child, we shall never have breath enough, soul enough, to render
thanks to Mary and Jesus for the great happiness they have vouchsafed us!
O my child, whom they have resuscitated, O my child, whom they have made
so beautiful again, take my heart to offer it to them with your own! I am
yours, I am theirs eternally, O my beloved child, my adored child!"
Kneeling before the open window they both, with uplifted eyes, gazed
ardently on heaven. The daughter had rested her head on her father's
shoulder; whilst he had passed an arm round her waist. They had become
one. Tears slowly trickled down their enraptured faces, which were
smiling with superhuman felicity, whilst they stammered together
disconnected expressions of gratitude.
"O Jesus, we give Thee thanks! O Holy Mother of Jesus, we give thee
thanks! We love you, we adore you both. You have rejuvenated the best
blood in our veins; it is yours, it circulates only for you. O
All-powerful Mother, O Divine and Well-beloved Son, behold a daughter and
a father who bless you, who prostrate themselves with joy at your feet."
So affecting was this mingling of two beings, happy at last after so many
dark days, this happiness, which could but stammer as though still tinged
with suffering, that Pierre was again moved to tears. But this time they
were soothing tears which relieved his heart. Ah! poor pitiable humanity!
how pleasant it was to see it somewhat consoled and enraptured! and what
did it matter, after all, if its great joys of a few seconds' duration
sprang from the eternal illusion! Was not the whole of humanity, pitiable
humanity, saved by love, personified by that poor childish man who
suddenly became sublime because he found his daughter resuscitated?
Standing a little aside, Sister Hyacinthe was also weeping, her heart
very full, full of human emotion which she had never before experienced,
she who had known no other parents than the Almighty and the Blessed
Virgin. Silence had now fallen in this room full of so much tearful
fraternity. And it was she who spoke the first, when the father and the
daughter, overcome with emotion, at length rose up.
"Now, mademoiselle," she said, "we must be quick and get back to the
hospital."
But they all protested. M. de Guersaint wished to keep his daughter with
him, and Marie's eyes expressed an eager desire, a longing to enjoy life,
to walk and ramble through the whole vast world.
"Oh! no, no!" said the father, "I won't give her back to you. We'll each
have a cup of milk, for I'm dying of thirst; then we'll go out and walk
about. Yes, yes, both of us! She shall take my arm, like a little woman!"
Sister Hyacinthe laughed again. "Very well!" said she, "I'll leave her
with you, and tell the ladies that you've stolen her from me. But for my
own part I must be off. You've no idea what an amount of work we have to
get through at the hospital if we are to be ready in time to leave: there
are all the patients and things to be seen to; and all is in the greatest
confusion!"
"So to-day's really Tuesday, and we leave this afternoon?" asked Monsieur
de Guersaint, already absent-minded again.
"Of course we do, and don't forget! The white train starts at 3.40. And
if you're sensible you'll bring your daughter back early so that she may
have a little rest."
Marie walked with the Sister to the door, saying "Be easy, I will be very
good. Besides, I want to go back to the Grotto, to thank the Blessed
Virgin once more."
When they found themselves all three alone in the little room full of
sunshine, it was delicious. Pierre called the servant and told her to
bring them some milk, some chocolate, and cakes, in fact the nicest
things he could think of. And although Marie had already broken her fast,
she ate again, so great an appetite had come upon her since the night
before. They drew the table to the window and made quite a feast amidst
the keen air from the mountains, whilst the hundred bells of Lourdes,
proclaimed with flying peals the glory of that radiant day. They
chattered and laughed, and the young woman told her father the story of
the miracle, with all the oft-repeated details. She related, too, how she
had left her box at the Basilica, and how she had slept twelve hours
without stirring. Then M. de Guersaint on his side wished to relate his
excursion, but got mixed and kept coming back to the miracle. Finally, it
appeared that the Cirque de Gavarnie was something colossal. Only, when
you looked at it from a distance it seemed small, for you lost all sense
of proportion. The gigantic snow-covered tiers of cliffs, the topmost
ridge standing out against the sky with the outlines of some cyclopean
fortress with razed keep and jagged ramparts, the great cascade, whose
ceaseless jet seemed so slow when in reality it must have rushed down
with a noise like thunder, the whole immensity, the forests on right and
left, the torrents and the landslips, looked as though they might have
been held in the palm of one's hand, when one gazed upon them from the
village market-place. And what had impressed him most, what he repeatedly
alluded to, were the strange figures described by the snow, which had
remained up there amongst the rocks. Amongst others was a huge crucifix,
a white cross, several thousand yards in length, which you might have
thought had been thrown across the amphitheatre from one end to the
other.
However, all at once M. de Guersaint broke off to inquire: "By the way,
what's happening at our neighbour's? As I came up-stairs a little while
ago I met Monsieur Vigneron running about like a madman; and, through the
open doorway of their room, I fancied I saw Madame Vigneron looking very
red. Has their son Gustave had another attack?"
Pierre had quite forgotten Madame Chaise lying dead on the other side of
the partition. He seemed to feel a cold breath pass over him. "No, no,"
he answered, "the child is all right." And he said no more, preferring to
remain silent. Why spoil this happy hour of new life and reconquered
youth by mingling with it the image of death? However, from that moment
he himself could not cease thinking of the proximity of nothingness. And
he thought, too, of that other room where Madame Volmar's friend was now
alone, stifling his sobs with his lips pressed upon a pair of gloves
which he had stolen from her. All the sounds of the hotel were now
becoming audible again--the coughs, the sighs, the indistinct voices, the
continual slamming of doors, the creaking of the floors beneath the great
accumulation of travellers, and all the stir in the passages, along which
flying skirts were sweeping, and families galloping distractedly amidst
the hurry-scurry of departure.
"On my word! you'll do yourself an injury," all at once cried Monsieur de
Guersaint, on seeing his daughter take up another cake.
Marie was quite merry too. But at a sudden thought tears came into her
eyes, and she exclaimed: "Ah! how glad I am! but also how sorry when I
think that everybody is not as pleased as myself."
II
PLEASANT HOURS
IT was eight o'clock, and Marie was so impatient that she could not keep
still, but continued going to the window, as if she wished to inhale all
the air of the vast, expanse and the immense sky. Ah! what a pleasure to
be able to run about the streets, across the squares, to go everywhere as
far as she might wish. And to show how strong she was, to have the pride
of walking leagues in the presence of everyone, now that the Blessed
Virgin had cured her! It was an irresistible impulsion, a flight of her
entire being, her blood, and her heart.
However, just as she was setting out she made up her mind that her first
visit with her father ought to be to the Grotto, where both of them had
to thank Our Lady of Lourdes. Then they would be free; they would have
two long hours before them, and might walk wherever they chose, before
she returned to lunch and pack up her few things at the hospital.
"Well, is everyone ready?" repeated M. de Guersaint. "Shall we make a
move?"
Pierre took his hat, and all three went down-stairs, talking very loud
and laughing on the staircase, like boisterous school-boys going for
their holidays. They had almost reached the street, when at the doorway
Madame Majeste rushed forward. She had evidently been waiting for them to
go out.
"Ah! mademoiselle; ah! gentlemen, allow me to congratulate you," she
said. "We have heard of the extraordinary favour that has been granted
you; we are so happy, so much flattered, when the Blessed Virgin is
pleased to select one of our customers!"
Her dry, harsh face was melting with amiability, and she observed the
miraculously healed girl with the fondest of eyes. Then she impulsively
called her husband, who was passing: "Look, my dear! It's mademoiselle;
it's mademoiselle."
Majeste's clean-shaven face, puffed out with yellow fat, assumed a happy
and grateful expression. "Really, mademoiselle, I cannot tell you how
honoured we feel," said he. "We shall never forget that your papa put up
at our place. It has already excited the envy of many people."
While he spoke Madame Majeste stopped the other travellers who were going
out, and with a sign summoned the families already seated in the
dining-room; indeed, she would have called in the whole street if they
had given her time, to show that she had in her house the miracle at
which all Lourdes had been marvelling since the previous day. People
ended by collecting there, a crowd gathered little by little, while she
whispered in the ear of each "Look! that's she; the young party, you
know, the young party who--"
But all at once she exclaimed: "I'll go and fetch Apolline from the shop;
I must show mademoiselle to Apolline."
Thereupon, however, Majeste, in a very dignified way, restrained her.
"No," he said, "leave Apolline; she has three ladies to serve already.
Mademoiselle and these gentlemen will certainly not leave Lourdes without
making a few purchases. The little souvenirs that one carries away with
one are so pleasant to look at later on! And our customers make a point
of never buying elsewhere than here, in the shop which we have annexed to
the hotel."
"I have already offered my services," added Madame Majeste, "and I renew
them. Apolline will be so happy to show mademoiselle all our prettiest
articles, at prices, too, which are incredibly low! Oh! there are some
delightful things, delightful!"
Marie was becoming impatient at being detained in this manner, and Pierre
was suffering from the increasing curiosity which they were arousing. As
for M. de Guersaint, he enjoyed this popularity and triumph of his
daughter immensely, and promised to return.
"Certainly," said he, "we will purchase a few little knick-knacks. Some
souvenirs for ourselves, and some presents that we shall have to make,
but later on, when we come back."
At last they escaped and descended the Avenue de la Grotte. The weather
was again superb after the storms of the two preceding nights. Cooled by
the rain, the morning air was delicious amidst the gaiety which the
bright sun shed around. A busy crowd, well pleased with life, was already
hurrying along the pavements. And what pleasure it all was for Marie, to
whom everything seemed new, charming, inappreciable! In the morning she
had had to allow Raymonde to lend her a pair of boots, for she had taken
good care not to put any in her portmanteau, superstitiously fearing that
they might bring her bad luck. However, Raymonde's boots fitted her
admirably, and she listened with childish delight to the little heels
tapping merrily on the flagstones. And she did not remember having ever
seen houses so white, trees so green, and passers-by so happy. All her
senses seemed holiday-making, endowed with a marvellously delicate
sensibility; she heard music, smelt distant perfumes, savoured the air
greedily, as though it were some delicious fruit. But what she
considered, above all, so nice, so charming, was to walk along in this
wise on her father's arm. She had never done so before, although she had
felt the desire for years, as for one of those impossible pleasures with
which people occupy their minds when invalided. And now her dream was
realised and her heart beat with joy. She pressed against her father, and
strove to walk very upright and look very handsome, so as to do him
honour. And he was quite proud, as happy as she was, showing, exhibiting
her, overcome with joy at the thought that she belonged to him, that she
was his blood, his flesh, his daughter, henceforth beaming with youth and
health.
As they were all three crossing the Plateau de la Merlasse, already
obstructed by a band of candle and bouquet sellers running after the
pilgrims, M. de Guersaint exclaimed, "We are surely not going to the
Grotto empty-handed!"
Pierre, who was walking on the other side of Marie, himself brightened by
her merry humour, thereupon stopped, and they were at once surrounded by
a crowd of female hawkers, who with eager fingers thrust their goods into
their faces. "My beautiful young lady! My good gentleman! Buy of me, of
me, of me!" Such was the onslaught that it became necessary to struggle
in order to extricate oneself. M. de Guersaint ended by purchasing the
largest nosegay he could see--a bouquet of white marguerites, as round
and hard as a cabbage--from a handsome, fair-haired, well developed girl
of twenty, who was extremely bold both in look and manner. It only cost
twenty sons, and he insisted on paying for it out of his own little
purse, somewhat abashed meantime by the girl's unblushing effrontery.
Then Pierre in his turn settled for the three candles which Marie had
taken from an old woman, candles at two francs each, a very reasonable
price, as she repeatedly said. And on being paid, the old creature, who
had an angular face, covetous eyes, and a nose like the beak of a bird of
prey, returned profuse and mellifluous thanks: "May Our Lady of Lourdes
bless you, my beautiful young lady! May she cure you of your complaints,
you and yours!" This enlivened them again, and they set out once more,
all three laughing, amused like children at the idea that the good
woman's wish had already been accomplished.
At the Grotto Marie wished to file off at once, in order to offer the
bouquet and candles herself before even kneeling down. There were not
many people there as yet, and having gone to the end of the line their
turn came after waiting some three or four minutes. And with what
enraptured glances did she then examine everything--the altar of engraved
silver, the harmonium-organ, the votive offerings, the candle-holders,
streaming with wax blazing in broad daylight. She was now inside that
Grotto which she had hitherto only seen from her box of misery; she
breathed there as in Paradise itself, steeped rapturously in a pleasant
warmth and odour, which slightly oppressed her. When she had placed the
tapers at the bottom of the large basket, and had raised herself on
tiptoe to fix the bouquet on one of the spears of the iron railing, she
imprinted a long kiss upon the rock, below the statue of the Blessed
Virgin, at the very spot, indeed, which millions of lips had already
polished. And the stone received a kiss of love in which she put forth
all the strength of her gratitude, a kiss with which her heart melted.
When she was once more outside, Marie prostrated and humbled herself in
an almost endless act of thanksgiving. Her father also had knelt down
near her, and mingled the fervour of his gratitude with hers. But he
could not remain doing the same thing for long. Little by little he
became uneasy, and ended by bending down to his daughter's ear to tell
her that he had a call to make which he had previously forgotten.
Assuredly the best course would be for her to remain where she was,
praying, and waiting for him. While she completed her devotions he would
hurry along and get his troublesome errand over; and then they might walk
about at ease wheresoever they liked. She did not understand him, did not
even hear him, but simply nodded her head, promising that she would not
move, and then such tender faith again took possession of her that her
eyes, fixed on the white statue of the Virgin, filled with tears.
When M. de Guersaint had joined Pierre, who had remained a short distance
off, he gave him the following explanation. "My dear fellow," he said,
"it's a matter of conscience; I formally promised the coachman who drove
us to Gavarnie that I would see his master and tell him the real cause of
our delay. You know whom I mean--the hairdresser on the Place du
Marcadal. And, besides, I want to get shaved."
Pierre, who felt uneasy at this proposal, had to give way in face of the
promise that they would be back within a quarter of an hour. Only, as the
distance seemed long, he on his side insisted on taking a trap which was
standing at the bottom of the Plateau de la Merlasse. It was a sort of
greenish cabriolet, and its driver, a fat fellow of about thirty, with
the usual Basque cap on his head, was smoking a cigarette whilst waiting
to be hired. Perched sideways on the seat with his knees wide apart, he
drove them on with the tranquil indifference of a well-fed man who
considers himself the master of the street.
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