His Masterpiece by Emile Zola (most inspirational books of all time txt) 📕

The Very Next Morning,  At Seven O'clock,  Christine Was At The Studio,

Her Face Still Flushed By The Falsehood Which She Had Told Madame

Vanzade About A Young Friend From Clermont Whom She Was To Meet At The

Station,  And With Whom She Should Spend The Day.

Claude,  Overjoyed By The Idea Of Spending A Whole Day With Her,  Wanted

To Take Her Into The Country,  Far Away Under The Glorious Sunlight,  So

As To Have Her Entirely To Himself. She Was Delighted; They Scampered

Off Like Lunatics,  And Reached The St. Lazare Station Just In Time To

Catch The Havre Train. He Knew,  Beyond Mantes,  A Little Village Called

Bennecourt,  Where There Was An Artists' Inn Which He Had At Times

Invaded With Some Comrades; And Careless As To The Two Hours' Rail,  He

Took Her To Lunch There,  Just As He Would Have Taken Her To Asnieres.

She Made Very Merry Over This Journey,  To Which There Seemed No End.

So Much The Better If It Were To Take Them To The End Of The World! It

Seemed To Them As If Evening Would Never Come.

At Ten O'clock They Alighted At Bonnieres; And There They Took The

Ferry--An Old Ferry-Boat That Creaked And Grated Against Its Chain

--For Bennecourt Is Situated On The Opposite Bank Of The Seine. It Was

A Splendid May Morning,  The Rippling Waters Were Spangled With Gold In

The Sunlight,  The Young Foliage Showed Delicately Green Against The

Cloudless Azure. And,  Beyond The Islets Situated At This Point Of The

River,  How Delightful It Was To Find The Country Inn,  With Its Little

Grocery Business Attached,  Its Large Common Room Smelling Of Soapsuds,

And Its Spacious Yard Full Of Manure,  On Which The Ducks Disported

Themselves.

'Hallo,  Faucheur! We Have Come To Lunch. An Omelette,  Some Sausages,

And Some Cheese,  Eh?'

'Are You Going To Stay The Night,  Monsieur Claude?'

'No,  No; Another Time. And Some White Wine; Eh? You Know That Pinky

Wine,  That Grates A Bit In The Throat.'

Christine Had Already Followed Mother Faucheur To The Barn-Yard,  And

When The Latter Came Back With Her Eggs,  She Asked Claude With Her

Artful Peasant's Laugh:

'And So Now You're Married?'

'Well,' Replied The Painter Without Hesitation,  'It Looks Like It

Since I'm With My Wife.'

The Lunch Was Exquisite: The Omelette Overdone,  The Sausages Too

Greasy,  And The Bread So Hard That He Had To Cut It Into Fingers For

Christine Lest She Should Hurt Her Wrist. They Emptied Two Bottles Of

Wine,  And Began A Third,  Becoming So Gay And Noisy That They Ended By

Feeling Bewildered In The Long Room,  Where They Partook Of The Meal

All Alone. She,  With Her Cheeks Aflame,  Declared That She Was Tipsy;

It Had Never Happened To Her Before,  And She Thought It Very Funny.

Oh! So Funny,  And She Burst Into Uncontrollable Laughter.

'Let Us Get A Breath Of Air,' She Said At Last.

'Yes,  Let's Take A Stroll. We Must Start Back At Four O'clock; So We

Have Three Hours Before Us.'

They Went Up The Village Of Bennecourt,  Whose Yellow Houses Straggle

Along The River Bank For About A Couple Of Thousand Yards. All The

Villagers Were In The Fields; They Only Met Three Cows,  Led By A

Little Girl. He,  With An Outstretched Arm,  Told Her All About The

Locality; Seemed To Know Whither He Was Going,  And When They Had

Reached The Last House--An Old Building,  Standing On The Bank Of The

Seine,  Just Opposite The Slopes Of Jeufosse--Turned Round It,  And

Entered A Wood Of Oak Trees. It Was Like The End Of The World,  Roofed

In With Foliage,  Through Which The Sun Alone Penetrated In Narrow

Tongues Of Flame. And There They Could Stroll And Talk And Kiss In

Freedom.

When At Last It Became Necessary For Them To Retrace Their Steps,

They Found A Peasant Standing At The Open Doorway Of The House By

The Wood-Side. Claude Recognised The Man And Called To Him:

'Hallo,  Porrette! Does That Shanty Belong To You?'

At This The Old Fellow,  With Tears In His Eyes,  Related That It Did,

And That His Tenants Had Gone Away Without Paying Him,  Leaving Their

Furniture Behind. And He Invited Them Inside.

'There's No Harm In Looking; You May Know Somebody Who Would Like To

Take The Place. There Are Many Parisians Who'd Be Glad Of It. Three

Hundred Francs A Year,  With The Furniture; It's For Nothing,  Eh?'

They Inquisitively Followed Him Inside. It Was A Rambling Old Place

That Seemed To Have Been Cut Out Of A Barn. Downstairs They Found An

Immense Kitchen And A Dining-Room,  In Which One Might Have Given A

Dance; Upstairs Were Two Rooms Also,  So Vast That One Seemed Lost In

Them. As For The Furniture,  It Consisted Of A Walnut Bedstead In One

Of The Rooms,  And Of A Table And Some Household Utensils In The

Kitchen. But In Front Of The House The Neglected Garden Was Planted

With Magnificent Apricot Trees,  And Overgrown With Large Rose-Bushes

In Full Bloom; While At The Back There Was A Potato Field Reaching As

Far As The Oak Wood,  And Surrounded By A Quick-Set Hedge.

'I'd Leave The Potatoes As They Are,' Said Old Porrette.

Claude And Christine Looked At Each Other With One Of Those Sudden

Cravings For Solitude And Forgetfulness Common To Lovers. Ah! How

Sweet It Would Be To Love One Another There In The Depths Of That

Nook,  So Far Away From Everybody Else! But They Smiled. Was Such A

Thing To Be Thought Of? They Had Barely Time To Catch The Train That

Was To Take Them Back To Paris. And The Old Peasant,  Who Was Madame

Faucheur's Father,  Accompanied Them Along The River Bank,  And As They

Were Stepping Into The Ferry-Boat,  Shouted To Them,  After Quite An

Inward Struggle:

'You Know,  I'll Make It Two Hundred And Fifty Francs--Send Me Some

People.'

On Reaching Paris,  Claude Accompanied Christine To Madame Vanzade's

Door. They Had Grown Very Sad. They Exchanged A Long Handshake,  Silent

And Despairing,  Not Daring To Kiss Each Other There.

A Life Of Torment Then Began. In The Course Of A Fortnight She Was

Only Able To Call On Three Occasions; And She Arrived Panting,  Having

But A Few Minutes At Her Disposal,  For It So Happened That The Old

Lady Had Just Then Become Very Exacting. Claude Questioned Her,

Feeling Uneasy At Seeing Her Look So Pale And Out Of Sorts,  With Her

Eyes Bright With Fever. Never Had That Pious House,  That Vault,

Without Air Or Light,  Where She Died Of Boredom,  Caused Her So Much

Suffering. Her Fits Of Giddiness Had Come Upon Her Again; The Want Of

Exercise Made The Blood Throb In Her Temples. She Owned To Him That

She Had Fainted One Evening In Her Room,  As If She Had Been Suddenly

Strangled By A Leaden Hand. Still She Did Not Say A Word Against Her

Employer; On The Contrary,  She Softened On Speaking Of Her: The Poor

Creature,  So Old And So Infirm,  And So Kind-Hearted,  Who Called Her

Daughter! She Felt As If She Were Committing A Wicked Act Each Time

That She Forsook Her To Hurry To Her Lover's.

Two More Weeks Went By,  And The Falsehoods With Which Christine Had To

Buy,  As It Were,  Each Hour Of Liberty Became Intolerable To Her. She

Loved,  She Would Have Liked To Proclaim It Aloud,  And Her Feelings

Revolted At Having To Hide Her Love Like A Crime,  At Having To Lie

Basely,  Like A Servant Afraid Of Being Sent Away.

At Last,  One Evening In The Studio,  At The Moment When She Was

Leaving,  She Threw Herself With A Distracted Gesture Into Claude's

Arms,  Sobbing With Suffering And Passion. 'Ah! I Cannot,  I Cannot

--Keep Me With You; Prevent Me From Going Back.'

He Had Caught Hold Of Her,  And Was Almost Smothering Her With Kisses.

'You Really Love Me,  Then! Oh,  My Darling! But I Am So Very Poor,  And

You Would Lose Everything. Can I Allow You To Forego Everything Like

This?'

She Sobbed More Violently Still; Her Halting Words Were Choked By Her

Tears.

'The Money,  Eh? Which She Might Leave Me? Do You Think I Calculate? I

Have Never Thought Of It,  I Swear It To You! Ah! Let Her Keep

Everything And Let Me Be Free! I Have No Ties,  No Relatives; Can't I

Be Allowed To Do As I Like?'

Then,  In A Last Sob Of Agony: 'Ah,  You Are Right; It's Wrong To Desert

The Poor Woman. Ah! I Despise Myself. I Wish I Had The Strength. But I

Love You Too Much,  I Suffer Too Much; Surely You Won't Let Me Die?'

'Oh!' He Cried In A Passionate Transport. 'Let Others Die,  There Are

But We Two On Earth.'

It Was All So Much Madness. Christine Left Madame Vanzade In The Most

Brutal Fashion. She Took Her Trunk Away The Very Next Morning. She And

Claude Had At Once Remembered The Deserted Old House At Bennecourt,

The Giant Rose-Bushes,  The Immense Rooms. Ah! To Go Away,  To Go Away

Without The Loss Of An Hour,  To Live At The World's End In All The

Bliss Of Their Passion! She Clapped Her Hands For Very Joy. He,  Still

Smarting From His Defeat,  At The Salon,  And Anxious To Recover From

It,  Longed For Complete Rest In The Country; Yonder He Would Find The

Real 'Open Air,' He Would Work Away With Grass Up To His Neck And

Bring Back Masterpieces. In A Couple Of Days Everything Was Ready,  The

Studio Relinquished,  The Few Household Chattels Conveyed To The

Railway Station. Besides,  They Met With A Slice Of Luck,  For Papa

Malgras Gave Some Five Hundred Francs For A Score Of Sketches,

Selected From Among The Waifs And Strays Of The Removal. Thus They

Would Be Able To Live Like Princes. Claude Still Had His Income Of A

Thousand Francs A Year; Christine,  Too,  Had Saved Some Money,  Besides

Having Her Outfit And Dresses. And Away They Went; It Was Perfect

Flight,  Friends Avoided And Not Even Warned