The Complete Short Stories of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя
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a poor girl, without any one seeming astonished: no doubt wicked people had come, who had stripped her of everything, whilst presenting the appearance of honest folk. All she remembered was having one morning seen her uncle Guillaume and her aunt Guillaumette beside her bed. She felt very much afraid, because they did not kiss her. Guillaumette hurriedly dressed her in a frock of coarse material; Guillaume, holding her by the hand, led her away to the wretched hut where she was now living. Then, that was all. She felt very weary every night.
Guillaume and Guillaumette had also been very wealthy. But Guillaume was partial to the society of boon companions, and to nights passed in drinking, without giving a thought to the barrels that were being emptied; Guillaumette was fond of ribbons, silk gowns, and of wasting long hours in vain endeavours to make herself look young and beautiful; and so they continued, until at last there was no more wine in the cellar, and the mirror was sold to purchase bread. Up till then they had shown that good nature of certain wealthy people, which is often only an effect of their own well-being and satisfaction; they enjoyed happiness more thoroughly by sharing it with others, and thus mingled much egotism with their charity. And so they were incapable of suffering and remaining kind. Regretting the wealth they had lost, having tears only for their own misery, they became hard for the poor world.
They forgot that their poverty had been brought about by their own selves, they accused each other of their ruin, and felt at heart immense necessity for vengeance; they were exasperated at having to eat black bread, and sought to console themselves by the sight of greater suffering than their own.
And so the rags of Sister-of-the-poor, and her thin little cheeks all pale with tears, pleased them. They would not own, even to themselves, the wicked delight they took in the child’s weakness, when she tottered back from the spring, clutching the heavy pitcher in both hands. They beat her for a drop of spilt water, saying that bad temper must be punished; and they struck her so readily and spitefully, that it was easy to perceive the chastisement was undeserved.
Sister-of-the-poor bore all their misery. They gave her the most tiring work to do, sent her to glean in the mid-day sun, and to pick up dead wood in snowy weather. Then as soon as she returned, she had to sweep, wash, and put everything in order in the hut. The dear little creature had ceased complaining. Happy days were such a long way off, that she did not know one could live without weeping. She never dreamt of there being young ladies who were petted and gay; in the absence of playthings, and kisses of an evening, she accepted strokes and dry bread, as forming also part of her existence. And men of wisdom were surprised to see a child of ten display so much pity for all who suffered, without giving a thought to her own misfortune.
But, one night, I know not what anniversary Guillaume and Guillaumette were feasting, they gave her a beautiful new sou piece, and allowed her to go out and play for the remainder of the day. Sister-of-the-poor went slowly down to the town, very much troubled with her sou and not knowing what to do to play. In that frame of mind she reached the principal street There was there, on the left, near the church, a shop full of sweets and dolls, which were so beautifully lit up, that the children of the neighbourhood dreamed of them, as of a paradise. On that particular evening a lot of little creatures stood on the pavement with gaping mouths and dumb with admiration, whilst their hands were pressed against the window panes, as near as possible to the marvels displayed there. Sister-of-the-poor envied their audacity. She stopped in the middle of the street, allowing her little arms to fall beside her, and bringing together her rags which were blown apart by the wind. Feeling somewhat proud at being rich, she clutched her new sou very tight and selected with her eyes the plaything she meant to buy. At last she decided on a doll which had hair like a grown-up person; this doll, which was as tall as she was, wore a white silk gown similar to that of the Holy Virgin.
The little girl made a few steps forward. She was ashamed, and as she gazed around her before entering the shop, she perceived an ill-clad woman sitting on a stone bench, and nursing a child who was crying in her arms. She stopped again, turning her back to the doll. Her hands, at the child’s cries, became locked together in pity; and, this time without shame, she hurried toward the poor woman and gave her her beautiful new sou.
The latter had been observing Sister-of-the-poor for some time. She had seen her stop, then approach the playthings, so that when the child came to her, she understood her good heart. She took the sou with tearful eyes; then she retained the little hand that gave it her in her own.
“My child,” she said, “I accept your charity, because I see a refusal would grieve you. But are you beyond necessity yourself? Ill-clad though I be, I can satisfy one of your wishes.”
As the poor woman spoke, her eyes shone like stars, whilst around her head ran a halo, as if formed by a ray of the sun. The child, who was now asleep on her knees, smiled divinely in its slumber.
Sister-of-the-poor shook her fair head.
“No, madam,” she answered, “I have no wish. I wanted to buy that doll you see opposite, but my aunt Guillaumette would have broken it for me. As you will not take my sou for nothing, I would like you to give me a nice kiss in exchange for it.”
The beggar bent forward and kissed her on the forehead Sister-of-the-poor, at this kiss, felt herself raised from the earth; it seemed to her that her interminable fatigue had quitted her; at the same time her heart became better.
“My child,” added the unknown, “I will not let your charity go unrewarded. I have a sou which I, like you, did not know what to do with until I met you. Princes, highborn dames, have thrown me purses filled with gold, and I have not thought them worthy of it. Take it Whatever happens, act according to your heart.”
And she gave it her. It was an old brass sou, jagged at the edges, and with a hole in the centre of it as big as a great lentil. It was so worn that it was impossible to discover from what country it came, but one could still see a half-obliterated hallowed crown on one of its faces. Perhaps it was a piece of heavenly money.
Sister-of-the-poor, noticing it so thin, extended her hand, understanding that such a present could not deprive the beggar of anything, and looking upon it as a token of her friendship.
“Alas!” she thought, “the poor woman does not know what she says. Princes and fine ladies could do nothing with her sou. It is so ugly that it would not pay for an ounce of bread. I shall not even be able to give it to the poor.”
The woman, whose eyes shone brighter and brighter, smiled, as if the child had spoken aloud. Softly she said to her: “Take it all the same, and you will see.”
Then Sister-of-the-poor accepted it, so as not to disoblige her. She bent down in order to place it in the pocket of her skirt; when she raised her head again, the bench was vacant. She felt very much astonished, and returned home pondering over her recent meeting.
II
Sister-of-the-poor slept in the garret, a sort of loft strewn with pieces of old furniture. On moonlight nights, thanks to a narrow dormer-window, she had light to go to bed by. On others she was obliged to grope her way to reach her couch, a poor one, made of four badly joined planks, and a straw paillasse, which was so lumpy that in places the two sides of the tick touched each other.
On that particular night the moon was at its full. A luminous stream ran along the beams, filling the garret with light When Guillaume and Guillaumette were in bed, Sister-of-the-poor went upstairs. On dark nights she sometimes felt very much afraid at sudden moans, at the sound of footsteps she fancied she heard, and which were nothing more than the cracking of woodwork and the scampering of mice. And so she was very fond of the beautiful satellite whose friendly rays dispersed her fears. On nights when it shone, she opened the dormer-window, and thanked it in her prayers for having returned to see her.
She was very much pleased to find light in her room. ‘She was tired, and would sleep very tranquilly, feeling herself watched over by her good friend the moon. She had often felt it in her sleep wandering thus about the room, silent and gentle, driving away the bad dreams of winter nights.
She ran and knelt down on an old chest, in the midst of the white light There she prayed to God. Then,