انگلیسی: آموزش، زبانشناسی، ترجمه، ادبیات

Chapter 14

During August Doctor Deberle's garden was like a well of foliage. The
railings were hidden both by the twining branches of the lilac and
laburnum trees and by the climbing plants, ivy, honeysuckle, and
clematis, which sprouted everywhere in luxuriance, and glided and
intermingled in inextricable confusion, drooping down in leafy
canopies, and running along the walls till they reached the elms at
the far end, where the verdure was so profuse that you might have
thought a tent were stretched between the trees, the elms serving as
its giant props. The garden was so small that the least shadow seemed
to cover it. At noon the sun threw a disc of yellow light on the
centre, illumining the lawn and its two flower-beds. Against the
garden steps was a huge rose-bush, laden with hundreds of large
tea-roses. In the evening when the heat subsided their perfume became
more penetrating, and the air under the elms grew heavy with their warm
breath. Nothing could exceed the charm of this hidden, balmy nook,
into which no neighborly inquisition could peep, and which brought one
a dream of the forest primeval, albeit barrel-organs were playing
polkas in the Rue Vineuse, near by.

"Why, madame, doesn't mademoiselle go down to the garden?" Rosalie
daily asked. "I'm sure it would do her good to romp about under the
trees."

One of the elms had invaded Rosalie's kitchen with its branches. She
would pull some of the leaves off as she gazed with delight on the
clustering foliage, through which she could see nothing.

"She isn't strong enough yet," was Helene's reply. "The cold, shady
garden might be harmful to her."

Rosalie was in no wise convinced. A happy thought with her was not
easily abandoned. Madame must surely be mistaken in imagining that it
would be cold or harmful. Perhaps madame's objection sprang rather
from the fear that she would be in somebody's way; but that was
nonsense. Mademoiselle would of a truth be in nobody's way; not a
living soul made any appearance there. The doctor shunned the spot,
and as for madame, his wife, she would remain at the seaside till the
middle of September. This was so certain that the doorkeeper had asked
Zephyrin to give the garden a rake over, and Zephyrin and she herself
had spent two Sunday afternoons there already. Oh! it was lovely,
lovelier than one could imagine.

Helene, however, still declined to act on the suggestion. Jeanne
seemed to have a great longing to enjoy a walk in the garden, which
had been the ceaseless topic of her discourse during her illness; but
a vague feeling of embarrassment made her eyes droop and closed her
mouth on the subject in her mother's presence. At last when Sunday
came round again the maid hurried into the room exclaiming
breathlessly:

"Oh! madame, there's nobody there, I give you my word! Only myself and
Zephyrin, who is raking! Do let her come. You can't imagine how fine
it is outside. Come for a little, only a little while, just to see!"

Her conviction was such that Helene gave way. She cloaked Jeanne in a
shawl, and told Rosalie to take a heavy wrap with her. The child was
in an ecstasy, which spoke silently from the depths of her large
sparkling eyes; she even wished to descend the staircase without help
in order that her strength might be made plain. However, her mother's
arms were stretched out behind her, ready to lend support. When they
had reached the foot of the stairs and entered the garden, they both
gave vent to an exclamation. So little did this umbrageous,
thicket-girt spot resemble the trim nook they had seen in the
springtime that they failed to recognize it.

"Ah! you wouldn't believe me!" declared Rosalie, in triumphant tones.

The clumps of shrubbery had grown to great proportions, making the
paths much narrower, and, in walking, their skirts caught in some of
the interwoven branches. To the fancy it seemed some far-away recess
in a wood, arched over with foliage, from which fell a greeny light of
delightful charm and mystery. Helene directed her steps towards the
elm beneath which she had sat in April.

"But I don't wish her to stay here," said she. "It is shady and
coldish."

"Well, well, you will see in a minute," answered the maid.

Three steps farther on they emerged from the seeming forest, and, in
the midst of the leafy profusion they found the sun's golden rays
streaming on the lawn, warm and still as in a woodland clearing. As
they looked up they saw the branches standing out against the blue of
the sky with the delicacy of guipure. The tea-roses on the huge bush,
faint in the heat, dropped slumberously from their stems. The
flower-beds were full of red and white asters, looking with their
old-world air like blossoms woven in some ancient tapestry.

"Now you'll see," said Rosalie. "I'm going to put her all right
myself."

She had folded and placed the wrap on the edge of a walk, where the
shadow came to an end. Here she made Jeanne sit down, covering her
shoulders with a shawl, and bidding her stretch out her little legs.
In this fashion the shade fell on the child's head, while her feet lay
in the sunshine.

"Are you all right, my darling?" Helene asked.

"Oh, yes," was her answer. "I don't feel cold a bit, you know. I
almost think I am sweltering before a big fire. Ah! how well one can
breathe! How pleasant it is!"

Thereupon Helene, whose eyes had turned uneasily towards the closed
window-shutters of the house, expressed her intention of returning
upstairs for a little while, and loaded Rosalie with a variety of
injunctions. She would have to watch the sun; she was not to leave
Jeanne there for more than half an hour; and she must not lose sight
of her for a moment.

"Don't be alarmed, mamma," exclaimed the child, with a laugh. "There
are no carriages to pass along here."

Left to amuse herself, she gathered a handful of gravel from the path
at her side, and took pleasure in letting it fall from her clasped
hands like a shower of rain. Zephyrin meantime was raking. On catching
sight of madame and her daughter he had slipped on his great-coat,
which he had previously hung from the branch of a tree; and in token
of respect had stood stock-still, with his rake idle in his hand.
Throughout Jeanne's illness he had come every Sunday as usual; but so
great had been the caution with which he had slipped into the kitchen,
that Helene would scarcely have dreamt of his presence had not Rosalie
on each occasion been deputed as his messenger to inquire about the
invalid's progress, and convey his condolences. Yes, so ran her
comments, he was now laying claim to good manners; Paris was giving
him some polish! And at present here he was, leaning on his rake, and
mutely addressing Jeanne with a sympathetic nod. As soon as she saw
him, her face broke into smiles.

"I have been very ill," she said.

"Yes, I know, mademoiselle," he replied as he placed his hand on his
heart. And inspired with the wish to say something pretty or comical,
which might serve to enliven the meeting, he added: "You see, your
health has been taking a rest. Now it will indulge in a snore."

Jeanne had again gathered up a handful of gravel, while he, perfectly
satisfied, and opening his mouth wide from ear to ear in a burst of
silent laughter, renewed his raking with all the strength of his arms.
As the rake travelled over the gravel a regular, strident sound arose.
When a few minutes had elapsed Rosalie, seeing her little charge
absorbed in her amusement, seemingly happy and at ease, drew gradually
farther away from her, as though lured by the grating of this rake.
Zephyrin was now working away in the full glare of the sun, on the
other side of the lawn.

"You are sweating like an ox," she whispered to him. "Take off your
great-coat. Be quick; mademoiselle won't be offended."

He relieved himself of the garment, and once more suspended it from a
branch. His red trousers, supported by a belt round the waist, reached
almost to his chest, while his shirt of stout, unbleached linen, held
at the neck by a narrow horsehair band, was so stiff that it stuck out
and made him look even rounder than he was. He tucked up his sleeves
with a certain amount of affectation, as though to show Rosalie a
couple of flaming hearts, which, with the inscription "For Ever," had
been tattooed on them at the barracks.

"Did you go to mass this morning?" asked Rosalie, who usually tackled
him with this question every Sunday.

"To mass! to mass!" he repeated, with a chuckle.

His red ears seemed to stand out from his head, shorn to the very
skin, and the whole of his diminutive barrel-like body expressed a
spirit of banter.

At last the confession came. "Of course I went to mass."

"You are lying," Rosalie burst out violently. "I know you are lying;
your nose is twitching. Oh, Zephyrin, you are going to the dogs--you
have left off going to church! Beware!"

His answer, lover-like, was an attempt to put his arm round her waist,
but to all appearance she was shocked, for she exclaimed:

"I'll make you put on your coat again if you don't behave yourself.
Aren't you ashamed? Why, there's mademoiselle looking at you!"

Thereupon Zephyrin turned to his raking once more. In truth, Jeanne
had raised her eyes towards them. Her amusement was palling on her
somewhat; the gravel thrown aside, she had been gathering leaves and
plucking grass; but a feeling of indolence crept over her, and now she
preferred to do nothing but gaze at the sunshine as it fell on her
more and more. A few moments previously only her legs, as far as the
knees, had been bathed in this warm cascade of sunshine, but now it
reached her waist, the heat increasing like an entrancing caress. What
particularly amused her were the round patches of light, of a
beautiful golden yellow, which danced over her shawl, for all the
world like living creatures. She tossed back her head to see if they
were perchance creeping towards her face, and meanwhile clasped her
little hands together in the glare of the sunshine. How thin and
transparent her hands seemed! The sun's rays passed through them, but
all the same they appeared to her very pretty, pinky like shells,
delicate and attenuated like the tiny hands of an infant Christ. Then
too the fresh air, the gigantic trees around her, and the warmth, had
lulled her somewhat into a trance. Sleep, she imagined, had come upon
her, and yet she could still see and hear. It all seemed to her very
nice and pleasant.

"Mademoiselle, please draw back a bit," said Rosalie, who had
approached her. "The sun's heat is too warm for you."

But with a wave of her hand Jeanne declined to stir. For the time her
attention was riveted on the maid and the little soldier. She
pretended to direct her glances towards the ground, with the intention
of making them believe that she did not see them; but in reality,
despite her apparent drowsiness, she kept watching them from beneath
her long eyelashes.

Rosalie stood near her for a minute or two longer, but was powerless
against the charms of the grating rake. Once more she slowly dragged
herself towards Zephyrin, as if in spite of her will. She resented the
change in manner which he was now displaying, and yet her heart was
bursting with mute admiration. The little soldier had used to good
purpose his long strolls with his comrades in the Jardin des Plantes
and round the Place du Chateau-d'Eau, where his barracks stood, and
the result was the acquisition of the swaying, expansive graces of the
Parisian fire-eater. He had learnt the flowery talk, gallant
readiness, and involved style of language so dear to the hearts of the
ladies. At times she was thrilled with intense pleasure as she
listened to the phrases which he repeated to her with a swagger of the
shoulders, phrases full of incomprehensible words that inflamed her
cheeks with a flush of pride. His uniform no longer sat awkwardly on
him; he swung his arms to and fro with a knowing air, and had an
especially noticeable style of wearing his shako on the back of his
head, with the result that his round face with its tip of a nose
became extremely prominent, while his headgear swayed gently with the
rolling of his body. Besides, he was growing quite free and easy,
quaffed his dram, and ogled the fair sex. With his sneering ways and
affectation of reticence, he now doubtless knew a great deal more than
she did. Paris was fast taking all the remaining rust off him; and
Rosalie stood before him, delighted yet angry, undecided whether to
scratch his face or let him give utterance to foolish prattle.

Zephyrin, meanwhile, raking away, had turned the corner of the path.
He was now hidden by a big spindle-tree, and was darting side-glances
at Rosalie, luring her on against her will with the strokes of his
rake. When she had got near him, he pinched her roughly.

"Don't cry out; that's only to show you how I love you!" he said in a
husky whisper. "And take that over and above."

So saying he kissed her where he could, his lips lighting somewhere on
her ear. Then, as Rosalie gave him a fierce nip in reply, he
retaliated by another kiss, this time on her nose. Though she was well
pleased, her face turned fiery-red; she was furious that Jeanne's
presence should prevent her from giving him a box on the ear.

"I have pricked my finger," she declared to Jeanne as she returned to
her, by way of explaining the exclamation that escaped her lips.

However, betwixt the spare branches of the spindle-tree the child had
seen the incident. Amid the surrounding greenery the soldier's red
trousers and greyish shirt were clearly discernible. She slowly raised
her eyes to Rosalie, and looked at her for a moment, while the maid
blushed the more. Then Jeanne's gaze fell to the ground again, and she
gathered another handful of pebbles, but lacked the will or strength
to play with them, and remained in a dreamy state, with her hands
resting on the warm ground, amidst the vibrations of the sunrays.
Within her a wave of health was swelling and stifling her. The trees
seemed to take Titanic shape, and the air was redolent of the perfume
of roses. In wonder and delight, she dreamt of all sorts of vague
things.

"What are you thinking of, mademoiselle?" asked Rosalie uneasily.

"I don't know--of nothing," was Jeanne's reply. "Yes, I do know. You
see, I should like to live to be very old."

However, she could not explain these words. It was an idea, she said,
that had come into her head. But in the evening, after dinner, as her
dreamy fit fell on her again, and her mother inquired the cause, she
suddenly put the question:

"Mamma, do cousins ever marry?"

"Yes, of course," said Helene. "Why do you ask me that?"

"Oh, nothing; only I wanted to know."

Helene had become accustomed to these extraordinary questions. The
hour spent in the garden had so beneficial an effect on the child that
every sunny day found her there. Helene's reluctance was gradually
dispelled; the house was still shut up. Henri never ventured to show
himself, and ere long she sat down on the edge of the rug beside
Jeanne. However, on the following Sunday morning she found the windows
thrown open, and felt troubled at heart.

"Oh! but of course the rooms must be aired," exclaimed Rosalie, as an
inducement for them to go down. "I declare to you nobody's there!"

That day the weather was still warmer. Through the leafy screen the
sun's rays darted like golden arrows. Jeanne, who was growing strong,
strolled about for ten minutes, leaning on her mother's arm. Then,
somewhat tired, she turned towards her rug, a corner of which she
assigned to Helene. They smiled at one another, amused at thus finding
themselves side by side on the ground. Zephyrin had given up his
raking, and was helping Rosalie to gather some parsley, clumps of
which were growing along the end wall.

All at once there was an uproar in the house, and Helene was
thinking of flight, when Madame Deberle made her appearance on the
garden-steps. She had just arrived, and was still in her travelling
dress, speaking very loudly, and seemingly very busy. But immediately
she caught sight of Madame Grandjean and her daughter, sitting on the
ground in the front of the lawn, she ran down, overwhelmed them with
embraces, and poured a deafening flood of words into their ears.

"What, is it you? How glad I am to see you! Kiss me, my little Jeanne!
Poor puss, you've been very ill, have you not? But you're getting
better; the roses are coming back to your cheeks! And you, my dear,
how often I've thought of you! I wrote to you: did my letters reach
you? You must have spent a terrible time: but it's all over now! Will
you let me kiss you?"

Helene was now on her feet, and was forced to submit to a kiss on each
cheek and return them. This display of affection, however, chilled her
to the heart.

"You'll excuse us for having invaded your garden," she said.

"You're joking," retorted Juliette impetuously. "Are you not at home
here?"

But she ran off for a moment, hastened up the stairs, and called
across the open rooms: "Pierre, don't forget anything; there are
seventeen packages!"

Then, at once coming back, she commenced chattering about her holiday
adventures. "Oh! such a splendid season! We went to Trouville, you
know. The beach was always thronged with people. It was quite a crush.
and people of the highest spheres, you know. I had visitors too. Papa
came for a fortnight with Pauline. All the same, I'm glad to get home
again. But I haven't given you all my news. Oh! I'll tell you later
on!"

She stooped down and kissed Jeanne again; then suddenly becoming
serious, she asked:

"Am I browned by the sun?"

"No; I don't see any signs of it," replied Helene as she gazed at her.

Juliette's eyes were clear and expressionless, her hands were plump,
her pretty face was full of amiability; age did not tell on her; the
sea air itself was powerless to affect her expression of serene
indifference. So far as appearances went, she might have just returned
from a shopping expedition in Paris. However, she was bubbling over
with affection, and the more loving her outbursts, the more weary,
constrained, and ill became Helene. Jeanne meantime never stirred from
the rug, but merely raised her delicate, sickly face, while clasping
her hands with a chilly air in the sunshine.

"Wait, you haven't seen Lucien yet," exclaimed Juliette. "You must see
him; he has got so fat."

When the lad was brought on the scene, after the dust of the journey
had been washed from his face by a servant girl, she pushed and turned
him about to exhibit him. Fat and chubby-cheeked, his skin tanned by
playing on the beach in the salt breeze, Lucien displayed exuberant
health, but he had a somewhat sulky look because he had just been
washed. He had not been properly dried, and one check was still wet
and fiery-red with the rubbing of the towel. When he caught sight of
Jeanne he stood stock-still with astonishment. She looked at him out
of her poor, sickly face, as colorless as linen against the background
of her streaming black hair, whose tresses fell in clusters to her
shoulders. Her beautiful, sad, dilated eyes seemed to fill up her
whole countenance; and, despite the excessive heat, she shivered
somewhat, and stretched out her hands as though chilled and seeking
warmth from a blazing fire.

"Well! aren't you going to kiss her?" asked Juliette.

But Lucien looked rather afraid. At length he made up his mind, and
very cautiously protruded his lips so that he might not come too near
the invalid. This done, he started back expeditiously. Helene's eyes
were brimming over with tears. What health that child enjoyed! whereas
her Jeanne was breathless after a walk round the lawn! Some mothers
were very fortunate! Juliette all at once understood how cruel
Lucien's conduct was, and she rated him soundly.

"Good gracious! what a fool you are! Is that the way to kiss young
ladies? You've no idea, my dear, what a nuisance he was at Trouville."

She was getting somewhat mixed. But fortunately for her the doctor now
made his appearance, and she extricated herself from her difficulty by
exclaiming: "Oh, here's Henri."

He had not been expecting their return until the evening, but she had
travelled by an earlier train. She plunged into a discursive
explanation, without in the least making her reasons clear. The doctor
listened with a smiling face. "At all events, here you are," he said.
"That's all that's necessary."

A minute previously he had bowed to Helene without speaking. His
glance for a moment fell on Jeanne, but feeling embarrassed he turned
away his head. Jeanne bore his look with a serious face, and
unclasping her hands instinctively grasped her mother's gown and drew
closer to her side.

"Ah! the rascal," said the doctor, as he raised Lucien and kissed him
on each cheek. "Why, he's growing like magic."

"Yes; and am I to be forgotten?" asked Juliette, as she held up her
head. Then, without putting Lucien down, holding him, indeed, on one
arm, the doctor leaned over to kiss his wife. Their three faces were
lit up with smiles.

Helene grew pale, and declared she must now go up. Jeanne, however,
was unwilling; she wished to see what might happen, and her glances
lingered for a while on the Deberles and then travelled back to her
mother. When Juliette had bent her face upwards to receive her
husband's kiss, a bright gleam had come into the child's eyes.

"He's too heavy," resumed the doctor as he set Lucien down again.
"Well, was the season a good one? I saw Malignon yesterday, and he was
telling me about his stay there. So you let him leave before you, eh?"

"Oh! he's quite a nuisance!" exclaimed Juliette, over whose face a
serious, embarrassed expression had now crept. "He tormented us to
death the whole time."

"Your father was hoping for Pauline's sake--He hasn't declared his
intentions then?"

"What! Malignon!" said she, as though astonished and offended. And
then with a gesture of annoyance she added, "Oh! leave him alone; he's
cracked! How happy I am to be home again!"

Without any apparent transition, she thereupon broke into an amazing
outburst of tenderness, characteristic of her bird-like nature. She
threw herself on her husband's breast and raised her face towards him.
To all seeming they had forgotten that they were not alone.

Jeanne's eyes, however, never quitted them. Her lips were livid and
trembled with anger; her face was that of a jealous and revengeful
woman. The pain she suffered was so great that she was forced to turn
away her head, and in doing so she caught sight of Rosalie and
Zephyrin at the bottom of the garden, still gathering parsley.
Doubtless with the intent of being in no one's way, they had crept in
among the thickest of the bushes, where both were squatting on the
ground. Zephyrin, with a sly movement, had caught hold of one of
Rosalie's feet, while she, without uttering a syllable, was heartily
slapping him. Between two branches Jeanne could see the little
soldier's face, chubby and round as a moon and deeply flushed, while
his mouth gaped with an amorous grin. Meantime the sun's rays were
beating down vertically, and the trees were peacefully sleeping, not a
leaf stirring among them all. From beneath the elms came the heavy
odor of soil untouched by the spade. And elsewhere floated the perfume
of the last tea-roses, which were casting their petals one by one on
the garden steps. Then Jeanne, with swelling heart, turned her gaze on
her mother, and seeing her motionless and dumb in presence of the
Deberles, gave her a look of intense anguish--a child's look of
infinite meaning, such as you dare not question.

But Madame Deberle stepped closer to them, and said: "I hope we shall
see each other frequently now. As Jeanne is feeling better, she must
come down every afternoon."

Helene was already casting about for an excuse, pleading that she did
not wish to weary her too much. But Jeanne abruptly broke in: "No, no;
the sun does me a great deal of good. We will come down, madame. You
will keep my place for me, won't you?"

And as the doctor still remained in the background, she smiled towards
him.

"Doctor, please tell mamma that the fresh air won't do me any harm."

He came forward, and this man, inured to human suffering, felt on his
cheeks a slight flush at being thus gently addressed by the child.

"Certainly not," he exclaimed; "the fresh air will only bring you
nearer to good health."

"So you see, mother darling, we must come down," said Jeanne, with a
look of ineffable tenderness, whilst a sob died away in her throat.

But Pierre had reappeared on the steps and announced the safe arrival
of madame's seventeen packages. Then, followed by her husband and
Lucien, Juliette retired, declaring that she was frightfully dirty,
and intended to take a bath. When they were alone, Helene knelt down
on the rug, as though about to tie the shawl round Jeanne's neck, and
whispered in the child's ear:

"You're not angry any longer with the doctor, then?"

With a prolonged shake of the head the child replied "No, mamma."

There was a silence. Helene's hands were seized with an awkward
trembling, and she was seemingly unable to tie the shawl. Then Jeanne
murmured: "But why does he love other people so? I won't have him love
them like that."

And as she spoke, her black eyes became harsh and gloomy, while her
little hands fondled her mother's shoulders. Helene would have
replied, but the words springing to her lips frightened her. The sun
was now low, and mother and daughter took their departure. Zephyrin
meanwhile had reappeared to view, with a bunch of parsley in his hand,
the stalks of which he continued pulling off while darting murderous
glances at Rosalie. The maid followed at some distance, inspired with
distrust now that there was no one present. Just as she stooped to
roll up the rug he tried to pinch her, but she retaliated with a blow
from her fist which made his back re-echo like an empty cask. Still it
seemed to delight him, and he was yet laughing silently when he
re-entered the kitchen busily arranging his parsley.

Thenceforth Jeanne was stubbornly bent on going down to the garden as
soon as ever she heard Madame Deberle's voice there. All Rosalie's
tittle-tattle regarding the next-door house she drank in greedily,
ever restless and inquisitive concerning its inmates and their doings;
and she would even slip out of the bedroom to keep watch from the
kitchen window. In the garden, ensconced in a small arm-chair which
was brought for her use from the drawing-room by Juliette's direction,
her eyes never quitted the family. Lucien she now treated with great
reserve, annoyed it seemed by his questions and antics, especially
when the doctor was present. On those occasions she would stretch
herself out as if wearied, gazing before her with her eyes wide open.
For Helene the afternoons were pregnant with anguish. She always
returned, however, returned in spite of the feeling of revolt which
wrung her whole being. Every day when, on his arrival home, Henri
printed a kiss on Juliette's hair, her heart leaped in its agony. And
at those moments, if to hide the agitation of her face she pretended
to busy herself with Jeanne, she would notice that the child was even
paler than herself, with her black eyes glaring and her chin twitching
with repressed fury. Jeanne shared in her suffering. When the mother
turned away her head, heartbroken, the child became so sad and so
exhausted that she had to be carried upstairs and put to bed. She
could no longer see the doctor approach his wife without changing
countenance; she would tremble, and turn on him a glance full of all
the jealous fire of a deserted mistress.

"I cough in the morning," she said to him one day. "You must come and
see for yourself."

Rainy weather ensued, and Jeanne became quite anxious that the doctor
should commence his visits once more. Yet her health had much
improved. To humor her, Helene had been constrained to accept two or
three invitations to dine with the Deberles.

At last the child's heart, so long torn by hidden sorrow, seemingly
regained quietude with the complete re-establishment of her health.
She would again ask Helene the old question--"Are you happy, mother
darling?"

"Yes, very happy, my pet," was the reply.

And this made her radiant. She must be pardoned her bad temper in the
past, she said. She referred to it as a fit which no effort of her own
will could prevent, the result of a headache that came on her
suddenly. Something would spring up within her--she wholly failed to
understand what it was. She was tempest-tossed by a multitude of vague
imaginings--nightmares that she could not even have recalled to
memory. However, it was past now; she was well again, and those
worries would nevermore return.