THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
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reviled her with brutal rage.
“You are not of my blood,” he exclaimed, “I disown you. I ought to have left you in the hands of that blackguard who carried you off. You are a worthy companion for him. What! You go in league with our enemies, you distrust me and prefer to confide your child to that family of tatterdemalions! Don’t deny it. I see it all. Look here! You are a vile creature. After having dishonoured our name, you do not flinch from placing us at the mercy of your lover. Oh! I was wrong. I ought to have seen that you had a filthy heart and should not have meddled with this dirty business. I hope they’ll make a rascal of your son, a scoundrel like themselves, a beggar who’ll come one of these days begging at our door and whom I’ll drive away.”
He spoke thus for a quarter of an hour, a prey to the fury that blinded him and which prevented him perceiving the stupidity of his behaviour. He showed no respect for anything, drenched his niece with foulness, wounded her so deeply that she rose up, trembling, powerful with courage in her indignation and grief. If he had contented himself with being imperious and cold, she would have shown weakness and have given him other arms against her; but as he was coarse, she became strong, and answered him firmly:
“You have guessed aright, sir, I have handed my son to those to whom he belongs. I am not obliged to give you the reasons that prompted me in my conduct, and I tell you that at this moment you are outstepping any rights you may have over me. However, you know I have come to a resolution: as soon as I have recovered I shall take the veil, we shall be strangers to each other. Cease, then, reviling me.”
“But why would you not leave me this child whom I would have loved as a son?” continued her uncle, who with difficulty restrained himself.
“I acted according to the dictates of my heart,” she continued. “Do not question me, I cannot answer you. I am willing to forget your abuse, and to thank you for having watched over my childhood. That is all I can do. You have nearly killed me, now leave me.”
M. de Cazalis understood that he had gone too far. He was afraid that his niece might guess the reason of his anger. This thought troubled him and suddenly calmed his irritation. He could not, however, resist speaking to her on a dangerous subject.
“There are accounts between us,” he stammered, “which must be settled.”
“Do not let us talk of that,” Blanche answered excitedly. “I have neither the strength nor the inclination to busy myself with such matters. As I have told you, I am dead to the world. I shall require nothing in the future. As to my son, he will apply to you later on, and set forth his claims if he chooses to do so. I have left his interests in honest hands. Only I must warn you that those of whom you spoke so brutally a little while ago, are decided on acting, in case you oppose my wishes. Now for mercy’s sake leave me.”
Blanche fell back on the pillow satisfied at having conquered, and went to sleep peacefully.
M. de Cazalis hesitated for a moment and then, finding nothing to add, withdrew. The misfortune that had just happened was irreparable, but he still preferred peril in the distance to an immediate explanation. Children do not grow up in a day, and he calmed his feelings of uneasiness, with the thought that he would have plenty of time to set his house in order. Later on, when the mother had taken the veil, he could institute a search for the son and obtain possession of him. He knew Philippe had fled to Italy, and he concluded from that that the newborn babe had been handed to the fugitive’s brother. It was, therefore, against Marius that he thought of directing his operations.
In the meanwhile he went to Paris to fulfil his duties as deputy. He thus avoided acting rashly and could consider, at leisure, the plan he proposed to pursue.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH BLANCHE BIDS FAREWELL TO THE WORLD
BLANCHE was three weeks in bed between life and death. The great strain her nerves had undergone on the evening her child was born, brought on a fever which nearly carried her off. During these three weeks of agony Abbé Chastanier and Fine were at her bedside.
M. de Cazalis on leaving, had dismissed Madame Lambert who was henceforth useless, and the cottage was once more open to the flower-girl. There was no guardian to watch the invalid, her uncle having been contented to place her in the hands of the old priest, in the sincere hope that on his return to Marseille, he would find her buried in some convent.
Blanche, little by little recovered. The tender and devoted care of which she was made the object, the bitter, healthy sea breeze that came in freely at her windows, obliged her to live in spite of her secret desire to die, and thus leave the world where she had already suffered so much pain. When the doctor told her she was saved, she turned her great, sad, invalid’s eyes towards Fine, and said to her with a feeble smile:
“I should have been so comfortable in the earth! But it was not to be. I must continue suffering.”
“Please not to go on like that!” exclaimed the young girl. “The dead feel cold in the earth, you may be sure! Love, do good, and you will have a long life of happiness before you!”
And she passionately kissed Mademoiselle de Cazalis, who answered in a softer tone:
“You are right, I forgot that I could work to lessen the misery of the unfortunate, and thus secure some comfort for myself.”
The period of convalescence was not long. Blanche was soon able to get up and drag herself to the window. There she passed her time in a consoling contemplation of the great sea which spread out in its apparent infinity before her. All invalids should go and get cured beside the blue waters of the Mediterranean, for its calm immensity has a tranquil majesty about it that appeases pain.
It was on a clear morning, beside the open window, with her eyes lost on the bluish horizon, that Blanche spoke out plainly to Abbé Chastanier of her firm intention to take the veil.
“My father,” she said, “I am gaining strength every day, and, as the life of this world is not suitable for me, I desire, as soon as I am well, that my first steps may take me to God.”
“My daughter,” answered the priest, “this decision is a grave one. Before binding yourself with everlasting bonds, I ought to remind you of the good things you are leaving — “
“It is useless,” interrupted the young woman, excitedly, “my resolution is irrevocable. You are familiar with all the reasons that urge me to affiance myself to Heaven. You, yourself, have pointed divine love out to me as the only refuge against the human love by which I have been crushed. Do not treat me as a child, I beg of you: look on me as a woman who has suffered a great deal and desires to atone for her cowardice. Confess it, my father, there are no earthly advantages comparable to the tranquillity of one’s spirit, and, if I succeed in tasting the joys of pardon, I shall not regret the mundane satisfaction to which I renounce so willingly. Do not prevent me going to God.”
Abbé Chastanier bowed his head. Blanche spoke in such a deep and troubled voice that he understood heavenly grace had touched this poor child, and that it would be wrong to deprive her of the sweets of abnegation.
“I did not wish to raise a discussion as to my resolution,” continued the convalescent, in a calmer voice. “I desired to consult you as to the religious order I ought to choose. As I told you, I feel strong, and in a week I must leave this beach, every rock on which, reminds me of my short life of grief and passion.”
“I have already reflected on the choice you might make,” answered the priest, “and I have thought of the Carmelite order.”
“Are not the Carmelites cloistered?”
“Yes, they lead a contemplative life, they kneel to God and implore him to pardon the world. They are the daughters of ecstasy. Your place is among them. You are weak, you need to forget, to place an impenetrable barrier between you and your youth. I advise you to shut yourself up in the innermost recesses of the cloister, far from mankind, and to live in earnest prayer full of forgiveness and celestial peace.”
Blanche