The Complete Short Stories of Émile Zola. Эмиль Золя
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cuffs and kicks. A warm wave weighed upon this joy.
Above this wave and noise expanded a summer sky of pure melancholy depths. An angel had just lit up the azure blue for some divine fête, a supremely calm festival of the infinite.
Lost in the crowd, I felt how solitary was my heart. I advanced, following with my eyes the young girls who smiled at me as I passed along, saying to myself that I would never see those smiles again. That thought of so many amorous lips, perceived for a moment and lost for ever, caused me anguish.
In this manner I reached a cross way, in the middle of the avenue. On the left, against an elm was an isolated booth. In the front, a few ill-joined planks served as a platform, and a couple of lanterns lighted the door which was nothing more than a strip of canvas caught up like a curtain. As I stopped, a man wearing the costume of a magician, a long black gown and pointed hat scattered over with stars, was addressing the crowd from the height of the planks.
“Walk-up,” he shouted, “walk-up, my fine gentlemen, walk-up, my beautiful young ladies! I have come in all haste from the interior of India to make young hearts rejoice. It was there that I conquered, at the peril of my life, the mirror of love, which was guarded by a horrible dragon. My fine gentlemen, my beautiful young ladies, I have brought you the realisation of your dreams. Walk-up, walk-up and see ‘She who loves you!’ For two sous ‘She who loves you!’” An old woman, attired as a bayadere, raised the piece of canvas. Her eyes wandered over the crowd with an idiotic expression: then, she cried in a husky voice:
“For two sous, for two sous ‘She who loves you!’ Walk-up and see ‘She who loves you!’”
III
The magician beat a captivating fanciful rumble on the big drum. The bayadere hung on to a bell and accompanied him.
The public hesitated. A learned ass playing at cards offers lively interest; a strong man raising 100-lb. weights is a sight one would never tire of; it is impossible to deny, moreover, that a half-naked female giant is a fit subject to give pleasant amusement to people of all ages. But to see “She who loves us,” is what one cares about the least, and a thing that does not foreshadow the slightest emotion.
I had listened to the appeal of the man with the long gown with rapture. His promises responded to my heart’s desire; I saw the hand of Providence in the hazard that had directed my footsteps. This worthless fellow rose singularly in my estimation, by reason of the astonishment I experienced in hearing him read my secret thoughts. It seemed to me that I saw him fixing flaming eyes on me, beating the big drum with diabolical fury, shouting out to me to walk-up in a voice louder than the sound of the bell.
I was placing my foot on the first step, when I felt myself stopped. Having turned round, I saw a man at the foot of the platform holding me by my coat. This man was tall and thin; he had large hands covered with cotton gloves that were still larger, and wore a hat that had become russety, a black coat white at the elbows, and dreadful-looking kerseymere trousers, all yellow with grease and mud. He bent himself double in a long and exquisite reverence, then, in a fluty voice, addressed me in the following language:
“I am sorry, sir, that a young man who has been well brought up should set a bad example to the crowd. It is showing great levity to encourage the impudence of this rascal, who is speculating on our bad instincts; for I consider those words shouted out in the open air, which call boys and girls to a debauchery of sight and mind, profoundly immoral. Ah! the people are weak, sir. We men, rendered strong by education, we have, bear it in mind, grave and imperious duties to perform. Let us not give way to guilty curiosity, let us be worthy in all things. The morality of society depends on us, sir.”
I listened to what he said. He had not let go of my coat, and could not make up his mind to complete his reverence. He discoursed hat in hand, with such courteous calmness, that I never dreamt of getting angry. When he had concluded, I was content to look him in the face without answering. He took this silence for an inquiry.
“Sir,” he said, with another bow, “sir, I am the People’s Friend, and my mission is the happiness of humanity.”
He pronounced these words with modest pride, suddenly drawing himself up erect. I turned my back on him and ascended to the platform. As I raised the piece of canvas before entering, I looked at him for the last time. He had delicately taken the fingers of his left hand with those of his right, and sought to efface the wrinkles of his gloves which he was threatened with losing.
Then, the People’s Friend, crossing his arms, tenderly surveyed the bayadere.
IV
I let the curtain fall and found myself in the temple. It was a sort of long narrow place devoid of seats, with canvas walls and lighted by a single Argand lamp. A few people, inquisitive girls and youths making a noise, were already assembled there. The arrangements had been made with every regard to decency: a cord stretched down the centre of the booth, separated men from women.
The Mirror of Love, to tell the truth, was nothing more than a couple of pieces of glass without tinfoil, one in each compartment, little round windows, in fact, looking into the inner part of the booth. The promised miracle was accomplished with admirable simplicity: it sufficed to apply the right eye to the glass, and, without its being a question of thunder or sulphur, the well-beloved appeared on the other side. How would it be possible to disbelieve so natural a vision!
I did not feel the strength to attempt the trial at the outset The bayadere had cast a look on me as I passed her, that froze my heart. How could I tell what awaited me beyond that piece of glass? Perhaps a horrible countenance with sparkless eyes and violet lips; a centenarian thirsting for young blood, one of those deformed creatures whom I see at night in my bad dreams. I thought no more of those blond creatures with whom I charitably people the void in my heart. I remembered all the ugly ones who showed me some affection, and I asked myself in terror if it were not one of these whom I was about to see appear.
I retired into a corner. To regain courage I watched those who, bolder than myself, consulted destiny without so much ado. It was not long before I took peculiar pleasure at the sight of these different faces, the right eye wide open, the left closed with two fingers, each having his particular smile, in conformity with the vision pleasing him more or less. The glass was rather low, and it was necessary to bend slightly forward. To my mind nothing could be more grotesque than these men following one another to see the sister soul of their own soul through a hole a few centimetres round.
First of all two soldiers advanced: a sergeant bronzed beneath Afric’s sun and a young conscript, a lad still savouring of the plough, whose arms were ill at ease in a greatcoat three times too large for him. The sergeant gave a sceptic laugh. The conscript remained a long time stooping, particularly flattered at having a sweetheart.
Then came a fat man in a white jacket, with a red, puffy face, who gazed quietly without making a grimace of either joy or displeasure, as if it were quite natural that he should be loved by some one. — .
He was followed by three schoolboys, bold-faced youths of fifteen or sixteen summers, pushing one another to make believe that they enjoyed the honour of being tipsy. All three vowed they recognised their aunts.
Thus the inquisitive came one after the other to the piece of glass, and it would not be possible for me to remember now, the different expressions of features that struck me then. O vision of the well-beloved! what severe truths you made those expanded eyes say! They were the real Mirrors of Love, mirrors in which the gracefulness of woman was reflected in a surreptitious glimmer, where lust and stupidity were blended together.
V
The girls, at the other piece of glass, were amusing themselves in a much more respectable way. I read nothing but a great deal of curiosity on their faces; not the least look of naughty desire, not the smallest wicked thought. They came each in turn to cast an astonished glance through the small aperture, and withdrew, some a trifle thoughtful, others laughing like madcaps.
To tell the truth, I hardly know what they were doing there. If I were a woman and only a trifle pretty, I would never have the silly idea of troubling to go and see the man who loved me. On days when