Complete Works of Emile Zola (1796 page)

Sparkling water, issuing from the grotto, expands in a broad sheet in the centre of the glade, and then escapes by a brook which is lost beneath the leaves. It is a natural pond, with a sandy bottom, on which the great trees cast their shadows; an aperture showing blue sky forms an azure spot in the centre of the pond. Rushes have grown, and water-lilies have unfurled their round leaves there. One hears naught in the emerald daylight of this globe of verdure, which seems to have issues above and below on the lake of open air, but the melody of the water, ever falling, with an appearance of sweet lassitude. Long water-flies are skating in a corner. A chaffinch comes to drink with dainty manners, fearing to wet its claws. A sudden rustling of the leaves produces an effect on the pond, comparable to a virgin beating her eyelids in a swoon. And, from the darkness of the grotto, the plaster Cupid ordains silence, repose, and absolute discretion on the part of woods and water, as regards this voluptuous corner of nature.

II

When Adeline grants her aunt a fortnight, this wild spot becomes civilised. The walks must be widened, so that Adeline’s skirts may be able to pass along them. She arrived, this season, with thirty-two trunks, which had to be carried on men’s shoulders, because the railway-van has never dared venture among the trees. It would have stayed there, I vow, if it had.

Besides, Adeline is a savage, as you know. Between you and me she is cracked — there. At the convent she was troubled with imaginations that were really very funny. I suspect her of coming to the Château-of-the-Sleeping-Beauty to satisfy her appetite for extravagance, far away from the inquisitive. The aunt remains seated in her arm-chair; the château belongs to the dear child, who must have the most extraordinary fantastical dreams there. They relieve her. When she quits this hole, she behaves herself for a year.

During a fortnight, she is the fairy, the soul of the verdure. She may be perceived in gala toilette, airing her white lace and silken bows amidst the bushes. I have even been assured that she has been seen attired as a Pompadour marchioness with powder and patches, seated on the grass in the most deserted corner of the park. At other times a little fair young man has been caught sight of walking along the alleys. I’m horribly afraid that that young man was naught else than this darling madcap.

I know she rummages about in the château from cellar to garret. She ferrets in all the most obscure corners, sounds the walls with her little fists, sniffs at all the dust of past ages with her pink nose. You may find her standing on steps, lost in the depths of huge cupboards, with her ear listening attentively at the windows, gazing dreamily in front of the chimneys, evidently actuated by the desire to climb up inside and have a look. Then, as she probably fails to find what she is in search of, she runs about the flower-garden where the tall poppies are, the paths dark with shade and the glades bright with sun. She is always seeking, carrying her head very high, catching the distant and vague perfume of a flower of tenderness which she cannot pluck.

Positively, I told you so, Ninon, the old château has an odour of love, amidst its wild-looking trees. A girl was shut up there, and the walls have preserved the perfume of that tenderness, like those old trunks in which bouquets of violets have been put away. I’d vow it is that scent that gets into Adeline’s head and acts upon her senses. Then, when she has inhaled this perfume of old love, when she is overcome by it, she would set out on a ray of the moon to visit the land of fairy-tales, and would let herself be kissed on the forehead by all the cavaliers who happened to pass that way and were good enough to awaken her from her dream of a hundred years.

She has fits of languidness, and carries little stools into the wood to sit down. But, on very hot days, she finds relief in bathing, at night, in the pond beneath the lofty foliage. That is her retreat. She is the maid of the spring. The rushes show her tenderness. When she lets her skirts fall to the ground and enters the water, with all the tranquillity of a Diana feeling confidence amidst the solitude, the plaster Cupid smiles at her. She has only water-lilies for a sash, but you must know that even the fish are discreetly slumbering. She swims softly, with her white shoulders protruding from the water, and any one might think it was a swan spreading out its wings and darting noiselessly along. The coolness calms her restlessness. She would be absolutely tranquil were it not for the one-armed Cupid smiling at her.

One night, she penetrated to the bottom of the grotto, in spite of the horrible fright the damp darkness gave her; and, standing on tip-toe, placed her ear to the Cupid’s lips to see if he wouldn’t tell her something.

III

The frightful part of the business, this season, is that when poor Adeline reached the château, she found Count Octave de R — , that tall young man, her mortal enemy, in possession of the best bed-room. It seems he is in some degree a cousin of old Madame de M — . Adeline has vowed she will dislodge him. She bravely undid her boxes, and recommenced her excursions and the endless quest. Octave quietly watched her from his window, for a week, smoking cigarettes. In the evening bitter words and sullen warfare had ceased. He was so polite, that she ended by thinking him a bore and troubled no more about him. He continued to smoke; she knocked about the park and took her baths.

She usually went to the sheet of water about midnight, when every one was asleep, and was particularly careful to find out whether Count Octave had blown out his candle. Then she crept downstairs as if she were going to meet her sweetheart, with desires that were quite sensual for the cold water. She had had exquisite little shudders of fright since she knew there was a man at the château. Supposing he opened a window, supposing he were to catch sight of a corner of her shoulder through the leaves! The thought of it alone made her shiver when she emerged, sparkling all over, from the water, and a ray of the moon whitened her statue-like nudity.

One night she went downstairs at about eleven o’clock. The château had been buried in slumber for two long hours. That night she felt particularly bold. She had listened at the count’s door, and had fancied she heard him snoring. Fie! a man who snores! That had made her feel great contempt for men, and caused her to long for the honest caresses of the water, which sleeps so sweetly. She lingered beneath the trees, taking pleasure in unfastening her garments one by one. It was very dark, the moon was only just rising, and the dear child’s white form merely cast a vague whiteness on the bank like that of a young birch-tree. Puffs of hot wind came from the heavens, and passed across her shoulders in warm kisses. She was quite at ease, rather languid, somewhat stifled by the heat, but full of a feeling of careless happiness, which made her try the spring with her foot as she stood on the bank.

The moon, however, was turning, and already lighting up a corner of the sheet of water. Then Adeline, in terror, perceived a head upon the surface which was gazing at her from this illuminated corner. She slid down, and when the water reached her chin, crossed her arms as if to bring all the trembling veil of the pond across her breast; then in an unsteady voice she inquired:

“Who is there? — What are you doing here?”

“It is I, madame,” quietly answered Count Octave. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m taking a bath.”

IV

A formidable silence ensued. On the sheet of water there was naught but ripples, which spread out slowly around Adeline’s shoulders, and came to an end against the count’s chest with a slight flopping sound. The latter quietly raised his arms, as if about to seize hold of a branch of willow to enable him to get out of the water.

“Remain where you are; I command you to do so,” shouted Adeline in a terrified voice. “Get into the water again, get into the water at once!”

“But, madame,” he answered, advancing until the water was up to his neck, “I’ve been here over an hour.”

“That doesn’t matter, sir, I will not have you get out, you understand. We’ll wait.”

The poor baroness was going crazy. She spoke of waiting, but hardly knowing why, her mind being quite upset by the perspective of the terrible events threatening her. Octave smiled.

“But,” he ventured to remark, “it seems to me that by turning one’s back—”

“No, no, sir! Don’t you see the moon!”

As a matter of fact the moon had advanced, and was falling in full upon the pond. It was a superb moon. The pond was shining amidst the dark leaves like a silver mirror j the rushes and water-lilies at the edges formed cleverly designed shadows, as if washed-in with a brush and Indian ink A warm shower of stars fell upon the basin through the small opening in the leaves. The stream of water ran behind Adeline with a low, mocking sound. She ventured to glance into the grotto, and saw the plaster Cupid smiling at her with a knowing look.

“The moon, certainly,” murmured the count; “however, by turning one’s back—”

“No, no, a thousand times no. We’ll wait until the moon’s no longer there. You see, it is advancing. When it reaches that tree we shall be in the shade.”

“But, you see, it’ll take a good hour before it gets behind that tree!”

“Oh! three-quarters of an hour at the most That doesn’t matter. We’ll wait. When the moon is behind the tree you can retire.”

The count wanted to protest; but, as he moved about as he spoke, and uncovered himself to the waist, she uttered such sharp little cries of distress that, out of politeness, he had to advance into the pond until the water reached his chin. He had the delicacy not to move. Then they both remained there,
tête-à-tête
with a vengeance, one may say. The two heads, the baroness’ adorable fair head with those great eyes that you remember, and the count’s handsome head, set off with slightly ironical moustachios, stayed quietly, motionless on the smooth water, a yard or two from one another. The plaster Cupid grinned more broadly than ever from beneath his ivory drapery.

V

Adeline had thrown herself among the water-lilies. When the coolness of the bath had restored her, and she had made her preparations to pass an hour there, she perceived that the water was really shockingly limpid. She could see her naked feet on the sand at the bottom. It must be mentioned that the wicked moon was also bathing, rolling in the water, and filling it with its wriggling, eel-like rays. It was a bath of liquid, transparent gold. Perhaps the count was able to see the naked feet on the sand, and if he saw feet and head —

Adeline covered herself under the water with a sash of water-lilies. Then she quietly drew the large round leaves that were floating on the surface around her, and made a broad collar of them. When dressed in that style she felt more at ease.

The count, however, had ended by taking the thing stoically. Not having come across a root whereon to sit, he had resigned himself to kneeling. And so as not to appear absolutely ridiculous, with water up to his chin like a man lost in a huge barber’s dish, he had got into conversation with the countess, avoiding all that might remind her of the unpleasantness of their respective positions.

“It has been very warm to-day, madam.”

“Yes, sir, oppressively hot. Fortunately, it is cooler in these shady places.”

“Oh! certainly. This good aunt is a worthy person, is she not?”

“A worthy person, indeed.”

Then they spoke about the last races and the balls already announced for the forthcoming winter. Adeline, who was beginning to feel cold, reflected that the count must have seen her whilst she loitered on the bank. That was simply horrible. Only she had doubts as to the importance of the mishap. It was dark under the trees, and the moon had not yet risen. Then, she remembered now, that she had stood behind the trunk of a great oak tree; that trunk must have covered her. But, in truth, this count was an abominable man. She hated him; she would have liked to have seen him slip down and drown himself. It was not she, indeed, who would have extended her hand to help him. Why, when he saw her advancing, did he not shout out that he was there, that he was taking a bath? The question came so clearly to her mind that she could not withhold it from her lips. She interrupted the count, who was talking about the latest shape of bonnets.

“But I was not aware,” he answered. “I assure you I was very much afraid — you were all white. I thought it was the Sleeping-Beauty who was showing herself, you know, the girl who was shut up here. I was so frightened that I couldn’t call out.”

VI

Within half-an-hour they were good friends. Adeline said to herself that she made no difficulty about wearing low-neck dresses at evening parties, and that she could therefore certainly show her shoulders. She had come out of the water a little, and had torn open her high gown, which inconvenienced her at the throat. Then she had risked her arms. She resembled a nymph of the spring, with her bare throat, her naked arms, and clothed in all that mass of verdure, which expanded and extended behind her like a long train of satin.

The count grew tender. He had obtained permission to make a few steps in order to get near a root. His teeth were beginning to chatter, and he gazed at the moon with great interest.

“Hey! it advances slowly,” remarked Adeline.

“Eh! no, it has wings,” he responded with a sigh.

She laughed, adding:

“We shall have to wait at least a quarter of an hour.*’

Then he took a cowardly advantage of the situation. He made her a declaration. He explained how he had been in love with her for two years, and that if he had teased her, it was because he had found that more amusing than paying her insipid compliments. Adeline, who was beginning to feel very anxious, pulled her green gown up to her throat, and thrust her arms into the sleeves. Only the tip of her rosy nose could be seen outside the water-lilies; and as the light of the moon fell full in her eyes, she felt quite giddy and dazzled. She had lost sight of the count, when all at once she heard a loud dabbling sound, and felt the agitated element rise to her lips.

“Will you have the kindness not to move?” she exclaimed. “Will you be good enough not to walk about like that in the water?”