The Complete Short Stories of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя
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her narrow purse in her hand, she went from village to village distributing charity throughout the country. She advanced without picking her way, taking the roads of the plains and the paths of the hills. Sometimes she turned aside, crossing the fields to see if some vagabond were not sheltered beneath the hedges or in the hollow of the ditches. She stood on tip-toe, gazing at the horizon, regretful that she was unable to call all the poverty of the neighbourhood around her. She sighed when she reflected that she was perhaps leaving some one in suffering behind her; it was that thought that made her sometimes retrace her footsteps to examine a bush. And, whether she slackened her speed at bends in the roads, or ran forward to meet some person in want, her retinue followed her wherever she went.
And so it happened that as she was crossing a meadow, a flight of sparrows swooped down before her. The poor little creatures, lost in the snow, chirped in a lamentable way, asking for the food they had sought for in vain. Sister-of-the-poor stopped, taken aback at meeting unfortunates to whom her big sous could be of no assistance; she gazed at her bag in anger, execrating the money which could not be employed in charity of this kind. In the meanwhile the sparrows surrounded her; they said they belonged to the family, and asked for their share of her favours. Ready to burst out sobbing, not knowing what to do, she drew a handful of sous from the bag, for she could not make up her mind to dismiss them with nothing. The dear child had assuredly lost her head, imagining big sous were sparrows’ money, and that these children of God have millers to grind and bakers to knead their daily bread. I know not what she thought of doing, but the fact is that the charity which was given out in handfuls of sous, fell in handfuls of corn on the ground.
Sister-of-the-poor did not seem surprised. She gave the sparrows a regular feast, offering them all sorts of grain, and in such quantity that when spring came, the meadow was covered with grass as thick and high as a forest Since then, that corner of the earth has belonged to the birds of the air; they find abundance of food there in all seasons, notwithstanding that they come by thousands, from more than twenty leagues around.
Sister-of-the-poor resumed her walk, delighted at her new power. She no longer limited herself to distributing big sous. According to the people she met, she gave good smocks, which were very warm, thick woollen petticoats, or boots that were so light and tough that they barely weighed an ounce and yet wore down the stones. All this came from an unknown factory. The materials were wonderfully strong and flexible; the seams were so finely sewn, that in the hole which one of our own needles would have made, magic needles had easily found room for three of their stitches; and the most extraordinary thing was that each article of clothing fitted the poor person who put it on. No doubt a workshop of good fairies had been established at the bottom of the bag, and they had brought a pair of fine gold scissors, which cut ten cherubs’ gowns out of a roseleaf. It was, certainly, heavenly labour, for the work was so perfect and so quickly sewn.
The little bag showed no pride on that account. The opening was slightly worn, and the hand of Sister-of-the-poor had perhaps enlarged it a little; it might now have the dimensions of a couple of linnets’ nests. In order that you may not charge me with telling fibs, I must explain to you how the large articles of clothing came out of it, such as petticoats and cloaks five or six yards wide. The truth is, they were folded up like the flower of the poppy before it has burst from the calyx; and they were folded so cleverly that they were no bigger than the bud of that flower. Then Sister-of-the-poor took the packet between two fingers and slightly shook it. The material was unfolded, extended in length, and became a garment, no longer any good for angels, but suitable for broad shoulders. As to the shoes, I have never been able to ascertain up to this day in what form they left the sack. I have, however, heard say, although I affirm nothing, that each pair was enclosed in a bean, which burst open on touching the ground. And all that, of course, did not interfere with the handfuls of big sous which fell as thick as hail in March Sister-of-the-poor continued walking. She did not feel fatigued, although she had done more than twenty leagues since the morning, without eating or drinking. To observe her passing along the roads, leaving hardly a trace of her footsteps, one would have said she was borne along by invisible wings. She had been seen that day at the four corners of the neighbourhood. You would not have found an angle of land, plain or mountain, where the slight imprint of her little feet was not marked in the snow. In truth, if Guillaume and Guillaumette were pursuing her, they risked running a whole week before catching her. Not that there was any reason to hesitate about the road she took, for she left a crowd behind her, as kings do on their way; but because she walked so pluckily that she herself, in other times, would have been unable to make such a journey in less than six full weeks.
And her retinue continued increasing at each village. All those whom she assisted walked in her train, so that, towards evening, the crowd extended behind her for several hundred yards. It was her good actions that were thus following her. Never had a saint gone before God with such a royal escort. However, night set in. Sister-of-the-poor was still walking, and the little bag was still at work. At length the child was seen to stop on the summit of a hill; she remained motionless, gazing at the plains she had just been enriching, and her rags stood out black against the whiteness of the twilight. The beggars formed a circle round her; they swayed about in great dark masses with the hollow murmuring of crowds. Then there was silence. Sister-of-the-poor, high up in the air, with a people at her feet, smiled. Then, having grown a great deal taller since the morning, and standing upright on the hill, she pointed with her hand to heaven, saying to her people: “Thank Jesus; thank Mary.”
And all her people heard her sweet voice.
V
It was very late when Sister-of-the-poor returned home. Guillaume and Guillaumette had fallen asleep, worn out by their anger and threats. She went in by the stable door, which was only closed by a latch, and quickly reached her loft, where she found her good friend the moon, looking so clear and joyful, that it seemed to know how she had been passing her day. Heaven often thanks us thus, by brighter beams of light.
The child felt in great need of rest; but before going to bed she wanted to see the miraculous sou again — the one that was at the bottom of her bag. It had worked so hard and well that really it deserved a kiss. She seated herself on the chest and began to empty the purse, placing the handfuls of money at her feet. For a quarter of an hour she tried to get to the bottom; the pile reached up to her knees, and then she was in despair. She could see very well that she would fill the loft without getting on any further with her work.
In her perplexity she could think of nothing better than to turn the little bag inside out. The result was a prodigious rush of big sous; the garret for the nonce was three-parts full of them. The bag was empty.
The noise, however, awoke Guillaume. Although the floor coming in would not have disturbed the poor fellow’s sleep, not the smallest piece of money could have fallen on the flags without him opening his eyes.
“Heh! wife,” he exclaimed; “do you hear?”
And as the old woman grumbled in a bad humour, he resumed:
“The child has returned home. I think she must have robbed some one, for I can hear the jingle of a full purse up there.”
Guillaumette sat up in bed wide awake, thinking no more of grumbling. She promptly lit the lamp, saying:
“I knew very well that child was full of vice.”
Then she added, “I will buy a cap with ribbons and a pair of cloth shoes. I shall be proud of myself on Sunday.”
Then both of them, half-dressed, ascended to the garret, Guillaume leading the way and Guillaumette following, holding up the lamp. Their thin, strange-looking shadows extended along the walls.
They stopped in amazement at the top of the ladder. On the floor was a mass of coins three feet deep, filling every corner, so that it was impossible to perceive a piece of board as large as the hand. In some places the money lay in heaps, which one might have taken for the waves of this sea of big sous. In the centre of it, between two of the heaps, Sister-of-the-poor was sleeping in a ray of the moon. The child, overcome by slumber, had been unable to reach her bed; she had let herself slip softly down, and was dreaming of heaven on this couch