The Complete Short Stories of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя
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of those horrid sous that had made such dreadful fun of them on the previous night. Sister-of-the-poor, hidden in a corner, was laughing at their bewildered looks; she did not want to take any other revenge for the slight friendship they had shown her in days of misfortune. The poor little girl had never laughed so much in her life. I assure you, you would have been as merry as she was, to have seen Guillaume in petticoats and Guillaumette in breeches, undecided as to whether they ought to laugh or cry, and pulling the most amusing faces in the world.
At last, as she saw they were on the point of going in and closing the door and window, she showed herself.
“My friends,” she said to the labourer and carters, “put all this into the cottage; don’t be afraid of cramming the rooms up to the ceilings. I never thought of the smallness of the place, I have purchased so much that we shall now require a country-house. But there lies the money for the masons.”
She spoke thus so as to be heard by her relatives, for she thought with reason, to set their minds at ease, by making them understand that she was the good fairy who brought them these presents. Now Guillaume and Guillaumette had resolved, since the previous night, to flog her, as a punishment for having left them a whole day; but, when they heard her speaking thus, when they saw the men putting down their furniture and stores at their door, they looked at her and burst out sobbing, without knowing why. It seemed to them that a hand was clutching them at their throats. They remained there, standing, ready to choke, not knowing what to do amidst this feeling of emotion which was so strange to them. And, all of a sudden, they discovered that they loved Sister-of-the-poor. Then, laughing amidst their tears, they ran and kissed her, and that relieved their feelings.
VII
A year afterwards, Guillaume and Guillaumette were the richest farmers in the district. They owned a large new farmhouse; their fields stretched so many leagues around, that they went beyond the horizon.
For a poor person to become rich, is not a rare occurrence; no one nowadays thinks of being surprised at it. But, when Guillaume and Guillaumette from unkind became good, there were people who refused to believe it. It was the truth notwithstanding. Sister-of-the-poor’s relations, having ceased to suffer from cold and hunger, recovered their former good nature. As they had shed many tears, they felt themselves akin to the unfortunate, and relieved them without egoism.
Tears, I know, are good advisers. However, if Guillaumette was not over fond of lace, if Guillaume gave up drinking and preferred work, it is my opinion that the big sous possessed some secret virtue which assisted the miracle; for they were not like ordinary sous which consent to be spent improperly; they would not allow evildoers to make use of them, but when in the possession of worthy souls, they caused them to be charitable by guiding their hands. Ah! the honest big sous, they had none of the gloomy stupidity of our ugly gold and silver coins!
Guillaume and Guillaumette kissed Sister-of-the-poor from morning till night. At first they spared her all fatigue, and got angry when she spoke of working. It was easy to see they hoped to make a fine young lady of her, with delicate white hands, suitable for tying ribbons. “Carry your head high,” they said to her every morning; “don’t bother yourself about the rest.” But the young girl was not of that mind; she would have died of sadness if she had remained all day long without any other occupation than that of watching the clouds sail by; her wealth gave her less distraction than polishing her oak furniture and carefully folding up her fine linen sheets. She therefore amused herself in her own way, saying to her relations: “Let me be, I am warmly clothed and have no use for lace j I prefer household cares to those of dress.”
And she spoke so seriously, that Guillaume and Guillaumette understood that she possessed great intelligence, and ceased interfering with her inclinations. That gave her great pleasure. She rose, as formerly, at five o’clock, and went about her household duties; not that she swept or washed as in the days of misfortune, for she was not strong enough to keep such a large house clean; but she looked after the servants, and was not prevented by any feeling of false pride from assisting them in the dairy and poultry yard. She was assuredly the wealthiest and most active young girl in the neighbourhood. Every one marvelled that she did not alter on becoming the owner of a large farm, apart from having more rosy cheeks, and working more merrily. “Dear poverty,” she often said, “you taught me how to behave when rich.”
She was very thoughtful for her age, and that sometimes made her sad. I do not know how it was she perceived her big sous had become of little use to her. The fields gave her bread, wine, oil, vegetables, fruit; the flocks supplied her with wool for clothing and meat for meals; she had everything within arms’ reach, and the produce of the farm was ample for her requirements, as well as for those of her people The share of the poor was also large, for she no longer distributed alms in money, but in meat, flour, wood for firing, lengths of linen and cloth, and she showed her wisdom in doing so, giving away what she knew the indigent stood in need of, and thus sparing them the temptation of turning the sous of charity to bad account.
And so, amidst this abundance of riches, several large heaps of big sous remained in the loft, where Sister-of-the-poor was grieved to see them occupying the place of twenty or thirty trusses of straw. She would have much preferred the straw, the reward of labour, to this money which she amassed without much merit. And so, little by little, she began to feel great disdain for this sort of wealth, which was good to remain idle in the chests of misers, or to be worn smooth in the hands of dealers in the towns.
She was so weary of this inconvenient fortune, that one morning she determined to make it disappear. She had kept the little bag that devoured the big sous so easily; it did its duty in a conscientious way, and soon cleaned out the loft. Sister-of-the-poor had had recourse to a cunning artifice, for she took care not to place the beggar-woman’s sou at the bottom of the bag and the money went away for good, without having the temptation to return.
Thus, she was careful not to become too rich, feeling there would be danger for her heart if she were so. Little by little she gave away a part of her property, which was too extensive for the support of only one family. She arranged her revenue according to her requirements. Then, as there was no need of more hands on the farm, when, in spite of all she did, the sous accumulated in the loft, she went up there, on the sly, and took pleasure in diminishing her wealth. To assure contentment she all her life retained possession of the enchanted purse, which gave so generously in times of distress, and in the hour of fortune knew only how to receive.
Sister-of-the-poor had another care. The poor woman’s present embarrassed her. She was alarmed at the power it gave her; for, even when one has no mistrust of oneself, there is more pleasure in feeling one is humble than powerful. She would willingly have cast it in the river; but then some wicked person might find it in the sand and make use of it to the disadvantage of all; and, in truth, if that party expended half the money in doing harm that she had laid out in doing good, there could be no doubt that he would be the ruin of the neighbourhood. And she then understood that the beggar-woman must have sought for a long time, before giving away her alms. It was a present that would cause people joy or despair, according to the hand that received it.
She kept the sou. As it had a hole in it, she hung it on a ribbon round her neck, so she could not lose it. But it grieved her to feel it on her bosom. She would have done anything in the world to have found the poor woman again. She would have begged her to take back the deposit, which was too heavy to be retained for long, and to let her live the life of a good girl, performing no miracles but those of work and merry humour.
But having sought for her in vain, she despaired of ever meeting her.
One evening as she passed by the church, she entered to say a short prayer. She went right to the end of it, into a little chapel that she loved on account of its obscurity and silence. The coloured-glass windows of a dull blue, lit up the flagstones on the ground like a reflection of the moon; the rather low vaulted roof was echoless. But, on that particular night, the little chapel was quite gay. A stray ray of light, after crossing the nave, fell in full on the humble altar, showing up the gilded frame of an old picture in the darkness.
Sister-of-the-poor, who had knelt down on the bare stones, had a short fit