the house at la croix-de-maufras stands aslant, in a garden which the railway has cut in two, and is so near the metals that it feels the shock of every train passing by. a single journey suffices to bear it away in memory. the entire multitude, who have flown along the line, are aware of its existence at this spot, without knowing aught about it. always closed, it looks as if deserted in distress, with its grey shutters turning green through the effects of the rain beating against them from the west. standing in a wilderness, it seems to increase the solitude of this out-of-the-way corner, where scarcely a soul breathes for three or four miles around.
the only other house there, is that of the gatekeeper, at the angle where the road crosses the rails on its way to doinville, four miles off. low in build, the walls seamed with cracks, the tiles of the root devoured by moss, it lies crushed, with a neglectful aspect of poverty, in the middle of the garden surrounding it—a garden planted with vegetables, enclosed by a quickset hedge, and where a great well rises almost as high as the habitation itself.
the level crossing is just half-way between the two stations of malaunay and barentin, being three miles from each. it is but little used. the old decaying gate rarely rolls back, save for the stone-drays from the quarries at bécourt, half a league distant in the forest. it would be difficult to imagine a more out-of-the-way place, or one more[pg 33] completely separated from humanity, for the long tunnel in the direction of malaunay, cuts off every road, and the only way to communicate with barentin is by a neglected pathway beside the line. visitors therefore are scarce.
on this particular evening, as night was drawing in, a traveller who had just left a train from havre, at barentin, followed with long strides the pathway of la croix-de-maufras. the country thereabouts is but one uninterrupted set of hills and dales, a sort of waving of the soil, which the railway crosses on embankments and in cuttings, alternately. the continual unevenness of the ground, the ascents and descents on either side of the line, make walking difficult and add to the feeling of deep solitude. the impoverished, whitish land lies fallow, the hillocks are crowned with small woods, while brooks, shaded with willows, run at the bottom of the narrow ravines. certain chalky elevations are absolutely bare, and sterile hills succeed one another in the silence and abandonment of death. the young, lusty traveller hastened his steps, as if to escape from the sadness of the twilight, falling so gently over this desolate country.
in the garden of the gatekeeper, a girl was drawing water at the well: a tall lass of eighteen; fair, robust, with thick lips, greenish eyes, a low forehead, and a heavy head of hair. she was not pretty, and had the heavy hips and muscular arms of a young man. as soon as she perceived the traveller coming down the path, she let go the pail and ran to the garden gate, exclaiming:
"hullo! jacques!"
he raised his head. he had just completed his twenty-seventh year. he also was tall, and very dark. a handsome fellow, with his round face and regular features, which nevertheless were marred by too heavy a jaw. his thick hair curled, as did his moustache, which was so full, so black, that it seemed to add to the pallidness of his complexion. from his delicate skin, carefully shaved on the cheeks,[pg 34] anyone would have taken him for a gentleman, had it not been for the indelible imprint of the workman that he bore on his engine-driver hands, which were already turning yellow with grease, although remaining small and flexible.
"good evening, flore," he simply said.
but his large dark eyes, studded with golden sparks, had become troubled with a reddish cloud, which made them dim. the lids were blinking, the eyes turned away in sudden constraint, and he experienced a feeling of uneasiness that went so far as to cause him suffering. his whole frame instinctively made a movement as if to draw back.
she, standing motionless, her eyes looking straight at him, had perceived this involuntary shudder, that came on him, and which he endeavoured to master, each time that he approached a woman. it seemed to make her quite serious and sad. then, when he asked her, in view of concealing his embarrassment, if her mother was at home, although knowing she was unwell and unable to leave the house, the girl only answered with a nod, standing aside so that he might come in without touching her; and, erect and proud, she returned without a word to the well.
jacques crossed the small garden at his rapid stride, and entered the dwelling. there, in the centre of the first room, a sort of large kitchen where the family took their meals and lived, aunt phasie, as he had called her from infancy, was alone, seated near the table on a rush-bottomed chair, with her legs wrapped in an old shawl. she was a cousin of his father, a lantier, who had stood godmother to him; and who, when he was no more than six, had taken care of him, at the time when his father and mother had flown off to paris, and there disappeared. he had then remained at plassans, where, later on, he had followed the classes at the école des arts et métiers. he bore aunt phasie great gratitude, and was in the habit of saying that if he had made his way, it was entirely due to her.
[pg 35]
when he became a driver of the first class in the western railway company, after passing a couple of years on the orleans railway, he had found his godmother married again to a level crossing gatekeeper named misard, and exiled with the two daughters of her first marriage to this out-of-the-way place, called la croix-de-maufras. at the present time aunt phasie, although barely forty-five, and who formerly had been so tall and strong, looked sixty. moreover, she had grown thin and yellow, and was a prey to constant shivers.
she welcomed jacques with joy.
"what! is it you, jacques?" she exclaimed. "ah! my bonny lad, what a surprise!"
he kissed her cheeks, explaining that he had suddenly come into a couple of days' enforced holiday. la lison, his engine, on reaching havre in the morning, had broken its connecting-rod; and as the repairs would take four-and-twenty hours, he would not resume duty until the following evening for the 6.40 express. so he had come over to see her. he would sleep there, and catch the 7.26 train from barentin in the morning. and he kept her poor, withered hands in his own, telling her how anxious her last letter had made him.
"ah! yes, my lad, i am not well, i am not at all well. how nice of you to have guessed my desire to see you! but i know what little time you have of your own, and did not dare ask you to run over. anyhow, here you are, and i have so much, so much on my mind!"
she broke off to cast a timid glance out of the window. on the other side of the metals, in the twilight, her husband could be perceived in his box, one of those wooden huts erected every four or five miles along the line, and connected by telegraph to ensure the satisfactory running of the trains. while his wife, and, later on, flore, had been placed in charge of the gate at the level crossing, misard had been made a watchman of the line.
[pg 36]
in fear of him hearing her, she lowered her voice, and said with a shudder:
"i verily believe he is poisoning me!"
jacques started in surprise at this disclosure, and his eyes, also turning towards the window, were again deadened by the peculiar trouble to which he was accustomed, that little reddish haze which dimmed their brilliant black full of golden sparks.
"oh! aunt phasie, what an idea!" he murmured. "he looks such a gentle, weak creature."
a train had just passed, going in the direction of havre, and misard had left his box to block the line behind it. jacques looked at him as he pulled up the lever to show the red signal. he was a little puny man, with thin, discoloured hair and beard, and a lean, hollow-cheeked face. moreover, he was silent, retiring, never angry, and obsequiously polite in presence of his chiefs. but he had returned to his box to note down in his register the hour at which the train had passed, and press the two electric buttons, one opening the line at the preceding post, the other announcing the coming of the train at the box after his.
"ah! you don't know him," resumed aunt phasie; "i tell you that he must be giving me some filth. i, who was so strong, who would have eaten him up; and it is he, this bit of a man, this insignificant creature, who is devouring me!"
she was burning with concealed timorous spite, and unbosomed herself, delighted to have at last found someone who would listen to her. what could she have been thinking of to have married such a cunning fellow, without a sou and miserly, she who was more than five years his senior, with two daughters, one already eight, and the other six? it was now close on ten years since she had done this famous business, and not an hour had passed without her repenting it—a poverty-stricken existence, exiled to this icy[pg 37] quarter in the north, where she was shivering with cold, wearied to death at not having a soul to speak to, not a single neighbour. he, formerly a plate-layer, now earned 1,200 frcs. a year as watchman; she, from the commencement, had received 50 frcs. for the gate, which was now in charge of flore. such was the present and future, no other hope; the certainty of living and dying in this hole, far away from their fellow creatures.
"i tell you," she repeated to conclude, "that it is he who is tampering with me, and that he'll do for me, little as he is."
the sudden tinkling of an alarum made her cast the same anxious glance outside as before. this was the preceding post informing misard that a train was coming in the direction of paris, and the needle of the apparatus, standing in front of the window, pointed that way. stopping the ringing, he went out to signal the train by two blasts of the horn, while flore, at the same moment, came and closed the gate. then, planting herself before it, she held the flag up straight in its leather case. the train, an express, hidden by a curve, could be heard advancing with a roar that grew louder as it approached. it passed like a thunderbolt, shaking, threatening to carry away the low habitation in a tempestuous gust of wind.
flore returned to her vegetables; while misard, after blocking the up-line behind the train, went to open the down-line, by lowering the lever to efface the red signal, for another tinkling, accompanied by the rise of the other needle, had just warned him that the train which had gone by five minutes previously was clear of the next post. he returned to his box, communicated with the two watchmen, jotted down the passing of the train, and waited. it was always the same kind of work that he did, for twelve consecutive hours, living there, eating there, without reading half a dozen lines of a newspaper, without appearing even to have a single thought in his slanting skull.
[pg 38]
"perhaps he is jealous," suggested jacques.
but aunt phasie shrugged her shoulders in pity.
"ah! my lad, what is that you say? he jealous!"
then, with the old shiver upon her, she added:
"no, no, he never cared for me. all he cares for is money. why we quarrelled, you see, was because i would not give him the 1,000 frcs. i inherited from father last year. then, just as he threatened me that it would bring me bad luck, i fell ill. and the complaint has not left me since. yes, it is exactly from that time that i have been unwell."
the young man understood her idea; and, attributing it to the gloomy thoughts of a sick woman, he still endeavoured to dissuade her. but she obstinately shook her head, like a person who has made up her mind. so that he ended by saying:
"very well then, the remedy is as simple as can be. if you want to put an end to the thing, give him your 1,000 frcs."
by an extraordinary effort she rose to her feet; and, resuscitated, as it were, she violently answered:
"my 1,000 frcs.? never! i would sooner burst. ah! they are hidden, and well hidden, take my word! the house may be turned upside down, but i defy anyone to find them. and he has had a good try, the demon! i have heard him at night time, sounding all the walls. search, search! the mere pleasure of watching his nose grow longer, would suffice to give me patience. we shall see who will give up first, him or me. i am on my guard, and swallow nothing that he touches. and if i kick the bucket, well, he will not even then get my 1,000 frcs. i prefer leaving them to the earth."
she sank back into the chair exhausted, shaking at another sound of the horn. it came from misard, who, standing at the door of his box, this time signalled a train on its way to havre. in spite of her obstinate determination to withhold the legacy, she had a secret and increasing fear[pg 39] of him, the same kind of fear as that of a giant, for the insect he feels devouring him.
the train signalled, the slow train which had left paris at 12.45, was coming along in the distance with a dull rumble. it could be heard issuing from the tunnel and puffing louder in the open country. then it passed amidst the thunder of its wheels, and its mass of carriages, with the invincible might of a hurricane.
jacques, with his eyes raised towards the window, had watched the small squares of glass file past. wishing to turn aside the gloomy ideas of aunt phasie, he resumed in a joking vein:
"godmother, you complain that you never see a soul in this hole; but there are people for you!"
failing, at first, to catch his meaning, she looked astounded, and inquired:
"where are there any people?" then, understanding, she added: "ah! yes, those folk who go by. what good are they? one does not know them, one cannot chat with them."
he continued in a merry tone:
"but me, you know me well enough; you often see me pass."
"you, that's true. i know you, and i know the time of your train," she answered. "only, you fly, fly along! yesterday you did so with your hand. i can't even answer. no, no, that's no way of seeing people."
nevertheless, this idea of the multitude the up and down trains carried along daily before her, amidst the deep silence of her solitude, made her pensive, and she turned her eyes to the line where night was drawing in. when in good health, and she went and came, planting herself before the gate, her flag in her hand, she never thought of such things. but since she had been remaining for days on this chair, with naught to think of but her underhand[pg 40] struggle with this man, confused reveries, barely formulated, had set her head topsy-turvy.
it seemed to her so strange that she should be living here, lost in the depths of this desert, without a soul in whom she could confide, when so many men and women filed past in the tempestuous blast of the trains, shaking the house, tearing along full steam, day and night continually. certainly all the inhabitants of the earth went by there, not only frenchmen, foreigners also; persons come from the most distant lands, as no one could now remain at home, and as all people, according to what had been written, would soon be but one. this was progress: brothers all, rolling along together, yonder towards a land of plenty.
she endeavoured to count them, to arrive at an average, so many for each carriage; but there were too many, she could not manage it. frequently she fancied she recognised faces: that of a gentleman with a light beard, doubtless an englishman who travelled to paris every week; that of a little dark lady, who went by regularly on wednesday and saturday. but the flash bore them off, and she was not quite sure she had seen them. all the faces became confused, blended together, as if alike, disappearing one in the other. the torrent ran on, leaving nothing of itself behind. and what made her sad at the sight of this constant movement, amid so much well-being and so much money, was to feel that this panting multitude was ignorant of her being there, in danger of death, so that if her husband some night polished her off, the trains would continue passing one another, close to her corpse, without anyone even suspecting the crime within the solitary habitation.
aunt phasie had remained with her eyes on the window, and she summed up what she felt; but her feelings were too vague to be explained at length.
"ah! it's a fine invention, there's no doubt of it. people go along quick, and become more learned. but wild beasts[pg 41] remain wild beasts, and people may invent even finer machines still; but, nevertheless, there will be wild beasts in spite of all."
jacques tossed his head to say that he thought as she did. for a few moments he had been watching flore, who had opened the gate for a quarry dray loaded with two enormous blocks of stone. the road only served for the bécourt quarries, so that the gate was padlocked at night, and flore rarely had to get up to unlock it. observing her chatting familiarly with the quarryman, a dark young fellow, jacques exclaimed:
"hullo! cabuche must be ill, as his cousin louis is in charge of the horses. poor cabuche! do you often see him, godmother?"
she raised her hands without answering, heaving a great sigh. the previous autumn there had been a regular drama which had not contributed to improve her health. her younger daughter, louisette, in service as housemaid with madame bonnehon at doinville, had ran away at night, half crazy and black and blue, to go and die at the hut which her sweetheart, cabuche, occupied in the middle of the forest. all manner of tales had got about reflecting on president grandmorin; but no one dared repeat them aloud. even her mother, who knew what had happened, did not like returning to the subject. nevertheless, she ended by saying:
"no. he never looks in. he is becoming as shy as a wolf. poor louisette, who was such a pet, so white, so sweet! she really loved me, and would have nursed me, she would! whereas flore, well, i don't complain of her, but she has certainly something wrong with her head, always doing just as she likes, disappearing for hours together. and then proud and violent! it is all very sad, very sad."
jacques, while listening, continued following the stone-dray with his eyes. it was now crossing the line, but the[pg 42] wheels had got clogged by the metals, and the driver had to clack his whip, while flore shouted to excite the horses.
"the deuce!" exclaimed the young man, "it wouldn't do for a train to come along now. there would be a smash!"
"oh! there is no fear of that," replied aunt phasie. "flore is sometimes funny, but she knows her business. she keeps her eyes open. it is now five years since we had an accident, thank god. a long time back a man was cut to pieces. we have only had a cow, which almost upset a train. ah! the poor creature! we found its body here, and its head over there, near the tunnel. with flore one can sleep soundly."
the stone-dray had passed on. the loud shocks of the wheels in the ruts could be heard growing less distinct in the distance. then aunt phasie returned to the subject that constantly occupied her thoughts—the question of health, in regard to others as much as herself.
"and you," she inquired, "are you quite well now? you remember, when you were with us, that complaint you suffered from, and of which the doctor could make neither head nor tail?"
his eyes became restless.
"i am very well, godmother," said he.
"truly? it has all disappeared?" she inquired again. "that pain boring into your skull behind the ears, and the abrupt strokes of fever, and those periods of sadness, which made you hide yourself like an animal at the bottom of a hole?"
as she proceeded, he became more and more troubled, and got so dreadfully uneasy that, at last, he interrupted her, saying in a brief tone:
"i assure you i am very well. i feel nothing of all that. nothing at all."
"well, so much the better, my lad," said she. "the[pg 43] fact of you being ill would not cure me. and then, you're of an age to enjoy good health. ah! health! there is nothing like it. it is all the same very kind of you to have come to see me, when you could have been enjoying yourself somewhere else. you'll have dinner with us, won't you? and you'll sleep up there in the loft, next to the room flore occupies?"
but another blare of the horn interrupted her. night had closed in, and, turning towards the window, they could only confusedly distinguish misard talking with another man. six o'clock had just struck, and he was giving over his service to the night watchman. at length he was about to be free after twelve hours passed in this hut, furnished only with a small table under the shelf supporting the apparatus, a stool, and a stove which threw out so much heat, that he was obliged to almost constantly keep the door open.
"ah! here he is, he is returning home," murmured aunt phasie, in a fright again.
the train signalled was coming, very heavy, very long, roaring louder and louder as it approached, and the young man had to bend forward to hear what the invalid said, feeling pained at the wretched state she was putting herself in, and anxious to relieve her.
"listen, godmother, if he really has bad intentions, perhaps it would stop him if he was to know that i have taken up the matter. you would do well to entrust your 1,000 frcs. to me."
she gave a final outburst.
"my 1,000 frcs.!" she exclaimed. "not to you any more than to him! i tell you i'd sooner die!"
at this moment the train passed in its storm-like violence, as if it would sweep everything before it. the house shook, enveloped in a gust of wind. this particular train, on its way to havre, was very crowded, for there was to be a[pg 44] fête on the following day, a sunday, in connection with a launch. notwithstanding the speed, by the lit-up glass of the doors one caught sight of the full compartments, of the lines of heads side by side, close together, each with its particular profile. they followed one another and disappeared.
what a multitude! the crowd again, the crowd without end, amidst the rolling of the carriages, the whistling of the locomotives, the tinkling of the telegraph, the ringing of bells! it was like a huge body, a gigantic being stretched across the earth, the head at paris, the vertebr? all along the line, the limbs expanding with the embranchments, the feet and hands at havre and at the other termini. and it passed, passed, mechanically, triumphant, advancing to the future with mathematical precision, careless as to what remained of man on either side of it, who, although concealed, was still replete with life, the embodiment of eternal passion and eternal love.
flore came in first, and lit the lamp, a small petroleum lamp without a shade, and laid the table. not a word did they exchange. she barely threw a glance at jacques, who stood before the window with his back turned. a soupe-aux-choux was being kept warm on the stove. when misard made his appearance she was serving it. he showed no surprise to find the young man there. perhaps he had seen him arrive. he displayed no curiosity to know what had brought him there, and asked no questions. a pressure of the hand, three brief words, and nothing more. jacques had to take the initiative of repeating the tale about the broken connecting-rod, and how he had then thought of running over to kiss his aunt. misard was content to gently toss his head, as if to say he considered this quite proper, and they sat down, eating slowly, and, at first, in silence.
aunt phasie, who since the morning had not taken her eyes from the pot where the soupe-aux-choux was simmering, accepted a plateful. but her husband having risen to give[pg 45] her the iron-water forgotten by flore, a decanter in which a few nails were rusting, she did not touch it. he, humble, puny, coughing with a nasty little cough, did not seem to remark the anxious look with which she followed his slightest movement. when she asked for salt, there being none on the table, he told her she would repent of eating so much, that it was this that made her ill; and he rose to take some, bringing her a pinch in a spoon, which she accepted without distrust, salt purifying everything, as she said. then they spoke of the really mild weather that had prevailed for some days, and of a train that had run off the rails at maromme. jacques began to think that his godmother must suffer from nightmare while wide awake, for he could see nothing suspicious about this bit of a man, who was so civil, and had such expressionless eyes. they remained more than an hour at table. twice flore disappeared, for a few moments, at the signal of the horn. the trains went by, making the glasses ring on the table; but no one paid the least attention.
another blare of the horn, and flore, who had just cleared the cloth, withdrew and did not return. she left her mother and the two men seated at table before a bottle of cider brandy. all three remained thus another half hour. then misard, whose ferreting eyes had been resting for a minute or two on a corner of the room, took his cap and went out, with a simple good-night. he was in the habit of poaching in the little neighbouring brooks, which harboured superb eels, and never went to bed without examining his lines.
as soon as he had gone, aunt phasie looked fixedly at her godson, and exclaimed:
"eh! what do you think of that? did you see him searching over there with his eyes in that corner? he has got an idea that i have hidden my hoard behind the butter-jar. ah! i know him, i am certain he will move the jar to-night to have a look."
[pg 46]
but she began perspiring, and trembling from head to foot.
"you see, there it is again! he must have drugged me. my mouth is as bitter as if i had been swallowing old sous, though god knows i have taken nothing from his hand! it's enough to make one drown oneself. i can't sit up any longer to-night. it's better for me to go to bed. so good-bye, my lad, because if you leave at 7.26 it will be too early for me. and come again, won't you? and let's hope i shall still be here."
he had to assist her to her room, where she got into bed, and went off to sleep, exhausted. left by himself, he hesitated, thinking whether it would not be as well if he were to retire for the night also, and stretch himself out on the hay awaiting him upstairs in the loft. but it was only ten minutes to eight; he had plenty of time for sleep. and so, he too went out, leaving the little petroleum lamp alight in the empty, slumbering house, shaken ever and anon by the abrupt thunder of a train.
jacques was surprised at the mildness of the air outside. no doubt it would rain again. a uniform milky cloud had spread over the sky, and the full moon, concealed behind it, lit up the whole vault of heaven with a reddish reflex. he could clearly distinguish the country. the land around him, the hills, the trees stood out in black against this equal, deadened light, soft as that of a night lamp. he walked round the little kitchen garden. then he thought of going towards doinville, as the road in that direction was not so steep as the other way. but the sight of the solitary house planted aslant on the opposite side of the line having caught his attention, he crossed the metals, passing by the side gate, the big one being already closed for the night.
he knew this house very well. he gazed at it on each of his journeys, amid the roar and jolting of his engine. it haunted him, without him being able to understand why, save for a confused sensation that it had something to do[pg 47] with his existence. each time he went up and down the line, he first of all experienced a sort of dread lest he should find it no longer there, then he felt a kind of uneasiness when he perceived it still in the same place. he had never seen either the doors or windows open. all he had learnt about it was that it belonged to president grandmorin, and on this particular night he was beset by an irresistible desire to wander round about it, so as to ascertain something more.
jacques remained a long time on the road, facing the iron railings. he stepped back, raised himself on his toes, endeavouring to form some idea of the place. the railway, in cutting through the garden, had only left a small plot enclosed by walls in front of the house; while behind was a rather large piece of ground, simply surrounded by a quickset hedge. the dwelling, with its distressful-looking appearance, had an air of lugubrious sadness in the red reflex of this fumy night; and jacques was about to leave it, with a shiver running over his skin, when he noticed a hole in the hedge. the idea that it would be cowardly not to go in, made him push through. his heart was beating; but, immediately, as he passed beside a greenhouse in ruins, he stopped at the sight of something dark, in a heap at the door.
"what! is that you?" he exclaimed, astonished, recognising flore. "what are you doing here?"
she also started with surprise. then she answered tranquilly:
"you can see; i'm taking cords. they have left a heap there, that are rotting, without being used by anybody, and as i am always in need of them, i run over and take them."
and, indeed, seated on the ground, with a stout pair of scissors in her hand, she was undoing the bits of cord, cutting the knots, when she failed to get them apart.
"doesn't the owner come here any more, then?" inquired the young man.
[pg 48]
she began laughing.
"oh! since that affair of louisette," she replied, "there's no fear of the president risking the tip of his nose at la croix-de-maufras. i can pick up his cords without fear."
he remained silent for a moment, and seemed troubled by the thought of the tragic adventure she alluded to.
"and do you believe what louisette said?" he asked.
ceasing to laugh, she suddenly became violent, and exclaimed:
"louisette never lied, nor did cabuche. he is my friend."
"perhaps your sweetheart?" suggested jacques.
"he, indeed!" she replied. "no, no; he is my friend. i have no sweetheart, and i don't want one."
she raised her powerful head, with its thick yellow mane curling very low on the forehead, and from all her massive, supple body, burst a savage energy of will. already a legend was growing up about her in the neighbourhood. stories were related of heroic deeds of salvage: a cart torn with a mighty jerk from before a train; a railway carriage stopped while descending the declivity at barentin alone, like some furious beast bounding along to encounter an express. then there was the tale of her adventure with a pointsman at the dieppe embranchment, at the other end of the tunnel, a certain ozil, a man about thirty, whom she seemed to have encouraged for a short time, but who having been so ill-advised as to attempt to take a liberty, had almost met his death from a blow she dealt him with a club. virgin and warlike, she disdained the male, which finally convinced people that she certainly had something wrong with her head.
jacques, hearing her declare that she did not want a sweetheart, continued his fun:
"then your marriage with ozil can't be in a good way? yet i've heard it said that you run to meet him every day through the tunnel."
she shrugged her shoulders.
[pg 49]
"ah! to jericho, my marriage!" she retorted. "what you say about the tunnel makes me laugh. two miles to gallop over in the darkness, with the thought that you may get cut in two by a train if you don't keep your eyes open. you should hear them snorting in there! but ozil worried me. he's not the one i want."
"then you want someone else?"
"ah! i don't know. ah! faith, no!"
she had burst into a laugh again, while a slight embarrassment made her give her attention to a knot in the cords which she could not manage to undo. then, without raising her head, as if very much absorbed by her occupation, she said:
"and you, have you no sweetheart?"
jacques, in his turn, became serious. he avoided looking at her, his eyes moved restlessly from side to side, and were at last fixed on space in the night. abruptly he answered:
"no."
"just so," she continued; "they told me you held women in abomination. and, besides, i've known you for a very long time, and you have never said anything nice. why? tell me."
as he gave no answer, she made up her mind to leave the knot, and look at him.
"do you only love your engine?" she inquired. "people joke about it, you know. they pretend you are always polishing, and making it shine, as though you had caresses for nothing else. if i tell you this, it is because i am your friend."
he looked at her, now, in the pale light of the fumy sky. and he remembered her when she was a child. even then, she was violent and self-willed, but she sprang to his neck, as soon as he entered the house, with all the passionate impulse of a madcap. later on, having frequently lost sight of her, he had found her grown taller each time[pg 50] he saw her. she continued to put her arms round his neck, troubling him, more and more, by the flame of her great light eyes.
she was now a superb woman, and no doubt she had loved him a long time—from childhood. his heart began to beat. a sudden sensation told him that he was the one she awaited. he felt a swimming in the head, his first impulse, in the anguish he experienced, was to flee. love had always made him mad, and he felt bent on murder.
"what are you doing there, on your feet?" she resumed. "why don't you sit down?"
again he hesitated. then, his legs suddenly becoming very tired, and himself vanquished by the desire to try love once more, he sank down beside her on the heap of cords. but he said nothing; his throat was quite dry. it was she, now, the proud, the silent one, who chattered merrily until she lost breath, deafening herself with her own verbosity.
"you see, the mistake mamma made was to marry misard," she began. "he'll play her a nasty trick. i don't care a fig, because one has quite enough to do with one's own business. don't you think so? and, besides, mamma sends me off to bed as soon as i want to cut in. so she must do the best she can by herself! i pass my time outside the house, i do. i am thinking of things for later on. ah! you know, i saw you go by this morning, on your engine. look! over there, from those bushes, where i was seated. but you, you never look—i'll tell you the things i'm thinking of, but not now, later, when we have quite become good friends."
she had let the scissors slip away from her, and he, still silent, had caught hold of her two hands. delighted, she abandoned them to him. but when he carried them to his burning lips, she gave an affrighted start. the warrior woman awoke, prepared, and warlike.
"no, no! leave me alone!" she exclaimed. "i won't have it. keep quiet. let's talk."
[pg 51]
without heeding her, without hearing what she said, he grasped her brutally in his arms, crushing her lips beneath his own. she uttered a feeble cry, which was more like a moan, so deep, so sweet, that it revealed the tenderness she had so long concealed. then, as he, breathless, ceased his kisses and looked at her, he was all at once seized with frenzy, with such frightful ferocity, that he glanced round about him in search of a weapon, a stone, something, in fact, to kill her with. his eyes fell upon the scissors, shining among the bits of cord. at a bound, he secured them, and he would have buried them in her bosom had not an icy chill brought him suddenly to his senses. casting the scissors from him, he fled, distracted, while she imagined he had left her because she had resisted his caress.
jacques fled in the melancholy night. he ascended at full speed a path on the hillside, which brought him down to a little dale. the stones he scattered beneath his feet, alarmed him, and he tore off to the left among the bushes, there he bent round to the right, and came to a bare plateau. abruptly descending from the high ground, he fell into the hedge bordering the line; a train flew along, roaring and flaming. at first he failed to understand what it could be, and felt terrified. ah! yes, all this multitude that was passing, the continual flood, while he stood there in anguish!
he started off once more, climbing the hill and descending again. he now constantly encountered the railway line, either at the bottom of deep cuttings, resembling unfathomable depths, or else on embankments that shut out the horizon with gigantic barricades. this desert country, broken up into hillocks, was like a labyrinth without issue, where he, in his folly, wheeled round and round in the mournful desolation of the fallow land. and he had been beating up and down the inclines a long time, when before him he perceived the round opening, the black jaw of the tunnel. an up-train plunged into it, howling and whistling, leaving[pg 52] behind, when it had disappeared, absorbed by the earth, a prolonged concussion that made the ground quake.
then, jacques, with weary feet fell down beside the line; and, grovelling on the ground, his face buried in the long grass, he burst into convulsive sobs. great god! so this abominable complaint of which he fancied himself cured, had returned! he had wanted to murder that girl. kill a woman, kill a woman! this had been ringing in his ears from his earliest youth. he could not deny that he had taken the scissors to stab her. and it was not because she had resisted his embrace. no; it was for the pleasure of the thing, because he had a desire to do so, such a strong desire, that if he had not clutched the grass, he would have returned there, as fast as he could, to butcher her. her, great god! that flore whom he had seen grow up, that wild child by whom he had just felt himself so fondly loved! his twisted fingers tore the ground, his sobs rent his throat in a horrifying rattle of despair.
nevertheless, he did his utmost to become calm. he wanted to understand it all. when he compared himself with others, how did he differ from them? down there at plassans, in his youth, he had frequently asked himself the same question. it is true that his mother gervaise was very young at the time of his birth, barely fifteen and a half; but he was the second. she had only just entered her fourteenth year when his elder brother claude made his appearance; and neither claude nor etienne, who came later, seemed to suffer from having such a child for a mother, or a father as young as herself—that handsome lantier, whose heartlessness was to cost gervaise so many tears. perhaps his two brothers also had his complaint, and said nothing about it. particularly the elder one, who was dying with such incensement to become painter, that people said he had gone half crazy over his genius.
the family was not at all right, several of its members[pg 53] were wrong in the head. himself, at certain hours, felt this hereditary flaw. not that he had bad health, for it was only the apprehension and shame of his attacks that formerly had made him thin. but he was apt to suddenly lose his equilibrium, as if there existed broken places, holes in his being, by which his own self escaped from him amidst a sort of great cloud of smoke that disfigured everything. then, losing his self-control, he obeyed his muscles, listening to the mad animal within him. nevertheless, he did not drink, he even deprived himself of an occasional dram of brandy, having remarked that the least drop of alcohol drove him mad. and he began to think that he must be paying for others, the fathers, the grandfathers who had drunk, the generations of drunkards, whose vitiated blood he had inherited. it seemed like slow poison, which reduced him to savagery, taking him back to the depths of the woods, among the wolves, devourers of women.
jacques had raised himself on an elbow, reflecting, watching the dark entrance to the tunnel. heaving another great sob, he sank down again, rolling his head on the ground, crying out with grief. that girl, that girl he had wanted to kill! the incident returned to him, acute and frightful, as if the scissors had penetrated his own flesh.
no reasoning appeased him. he had wanted to kill her, he would kill her now, if she happened to be there. he remembered the first time the complaint had shown itself. he was barely sixteen, and one evening, while playing with a young girl, a relative, his junior by a couple of years, she happened to fall, and he at once sprang at her. in the following year he recollected sharpening a knife to bury it in the neck of another girl, a little blonde, whom he noticed pass before his door every morning. this one had a very fat, rosy neck, and he had already selected the place, a beauty spot under one of the ears. then, there were others, and others still, quite a procession of nightmares,[pg 54] all those whom he had glanced at, with an abrupt desire to murder them. women he had brushed against in the street, women whom accident made his neighbours, one particularly, a newly married bride seated beside him at the theatre, who laughed very loud, and from whom he had to run away in the middle of an act, so as not to rip her open.
as he did not know them, why was he so furious against them? for, each occasion, it seemed like a sudden outburst of blind rage, an ever-recurring thirst to avenge some very ancient offences, the exact recollection of which escaped him. did it date from so far back, from the harm women had done to his race, from the rancour laid up from male to male since the first deceptions at the bottom of the caverns? and, in his access, he also felt the necessity to fight, in order to conquer and subjugate the female, the perverted necessity to throw her dead on his back, like a prey torn from others for ever. his head was bursting in the effort to understand. he could find no answer to his inquiry. too ignorant, the brain too sluggish, thought he, in this anguish of a man urged to acts wherein his will stood for nothing, and the reason whereof had disappeared from his mind.
a train again passed by with the flash of its lights, and plunged like a thunderbolt that roars and expires, into the mouth of the tunnel; and jacques, as if this anonymous, indifferent, and hasty crowd had been able to hear him, stood up, swallowing his sobs and taking an innocent attitude. how many times at the end of one of his attacks, had he started thus, like the guilty, at the least sound? he only lived tranquil and happy, when detached from the world on his locomotive. when the engine bore him along in the trepidation of its wheels at express speed, when he had his hand on the reversing-wheel, and was entirely engaged in watching the metals and looking out for the signals, he ceased thinking, and took deep draughts of the pure air, which[pg 55] always blew a gale. and this was why he was so fond of his engine.
on leaving the école des arts et métiers, he selected this occupation of engine-driver, notwithstanding his bright intelligence, for the solitude and distraction it gave him. without ambition, having in four years attained the position of driver of the first class, he already earned 2,800 frcs. a year, which, coupled with the gratuities he received for economy in fuel and grease, brought the annual amount of his wages up to more than 4,000 frcs., and that satisfied him. he saw his comrades of the second and third class, those instructed by the company, the engine-fitters they took as pupils, he saw almost all of them marry work-girls, women who kept in the background, whom one only occasionally caught sight of at the hour of departure, when they brought the little baskets of provisions; while the ambitious comrades, particularly those who came from a school, waited until they were heads of dep?ts to get married, in the hope of meeting with someone of the middle class, a lady who wore a hat. for his part, he avoided women. what did he care? he would never marry. his only future was to roll along alone, to roll along always, always, without stay.
his chiefs pointed him out as a model driver, who did not drink and who did not run after petticoats. his tipsy comrades made fun of his exaggeration of good conduct, and the others were secretly alarmed when they saw him fall into his silent, melancholy fits, with eyes dim and ashy countenance. how many hours did he recollect having passed, all those hours of freedom, shut up like a monk in his cell, in that little room in the rue cardinet, whence the dep?t at batignolles, to which his engine belonged, could be seen.
jacques made an effort to rise. what was he doing there in the grass, on this mild and hazy winter night? the country remained plunged in shadow. there was only light above, where the moon lit up the thin fog, the immense[pg 56] ground-glass-like cupola which concealed it from view, with a pale yellow reflex. below, the black earth slumbered in the immobility of death. come! it must be near nine o'clock. the best thing to do would be to return to the house, and go to bed. but, in his torpor, he saw himself back at the misards, ascending the staircase to the loft, stretching himself on the hay against the plank partition separating him from the room occupied by flore. she would be there, he would hear her breathing; and, as he was aware that she never locked her door, he would be able to join her. his shivering fit returned. he was racked again with such a violent sob at the image of this girl, that he once more sank to the ground.
he had wanted to kill her—wanted to kill her! great god! he was choking in anguish at the thought that he would go and kill her in her bed, presently, if he returned to the house. he might well be without a weapon; he might cover his head with his two arms to render himself powerless, but he felt that the male, independent of his own will, would thrust open the door and strangle the girl, urged to the crime by a thirst to avenge the ancient wrong. no, no! he had better pass the night beating about the neighbourhood, than return there. bounding to his feet he fled again.
then, once more, for half an hour, he tore across the dark country as if an unchained pack of devils followed howling at his heels. he ascended the hills, he plunged down into the narrow gorges. he went through two streams, one after the other, drenching himself to the hips. a bush, barring his progress, exasperated him. his only thought was to go straight on, further, still further, to flee, to flee from the other one, the mad animal he felt within him; but the beast accompanied him, it flew along as fast as he did. for months he had fancied he had driven it from him; he had pursued the same life as other people; and, now, he had to begin again, he would have to resume the struggle to prevent the brute[pg 57] leaping upon the first woman he chanced to brush against in the street.
nevertheless, the intense silence and vast solitude appeased him a little, and made him dream of a life as mute and lonely as this desolate land, where he would stroll about always, without ever meeting a soul. he must have turned round without noticing it, for he found himself kicking against the metals on the opposite side of the line, after describing a wide circle among the slopes, bristling with bushes, above the tunnel. he started back in the irritable uneasiness of once more falling upon the living. then, with the intention of taking a short cut behind a hillock, he lost his way, to find it again before the railway hedge, just at the exit from the tunnel on the down-line, opposite the field where he had been sobbing a short time previously; and, tired to death, he remained motionless, when the thunder of a train issuing from the bowels of the earth, at first slight, but becoming louder and louder every second, attracted his attention. it was the havre express which had left paris at 6.30 and passed by there at 9.25; the train he drove every two days.
jacques first of all saw the dark mouth of the tunnel lit up, like the opening to an oven ablaze with faggots. then the engine burst out with a tremendous crash amidst the dazzling splendour of its great round eye the lantern in front whose fire bored into the country, illuminating the metals for a long way ahead, with a double line of flame. it came like a thunderbolt; the carriages followed one another immediately afterwards, the small square windows of the doors, brilliant with luminosity, displayed compartments full of travellers, flying past at such a whirling speed, that there afterwards remained a doubt in the mind of the spectator, as to what the eye had seen.
and jacques, very distinctly, at that precise quarter of a second, perceived through the flaming glass of a coupé window, one man holding another down on the seat, and plunging a[pg 58] knife into his throat; while a dark heap, perhaps a third person, perhaps some articles of luggage fallen from the rack, weighed with all its weight on the convulsed legs of the victim. but the train had already dashed past, and was disappearing in the direction of la croix-de-maufras, displaying naught of itself in the dense obscurity, but the three lights at the back—the red triangle.
the young man, riveted to the spot, followed the train with his eyes as its thunder gradually died away, leaving the deathlike peacefulness of the surroundings undisturbed. was he sure he had seen what he thought? and now he hesitated. he no longer dared affirm the reality of this vision which came and went in a flash. not one single feature of the two actors in the drama remained vivid. the dark heap must have been a travelling-rug that had fallen across the body of the victim. nevertheless, he thought he had first of all caught sight of a pale profile beneath waves of thick hair. but all this became confused, and evaporated as in a dream. for an instant, the profile he had evoked reappeared, and then definitely vanished. doubtless it was nothing more than imagination; and all this gave him an icy chill. it seemed to him so extraordinary, that at last he admitted he must have been the victim of hallucination, due to the frightful crisis he had just passed through.
jacques walked about for nearly another hour, his head loaded with confused thoughts. he felt broken down, but relief came, and his fever left him. he ended by turning in the direction of la croix-de-maufras, but without having decided to do so. then when he found himself before the house of the gatekeeper, he was determined he would not go in, that he would sleep in the little shed built against one of the walls. but a ray of light passed under the door, and pushing it open, without giving a thought to what he was doing, a strange sight stopped him on the threshold.
misard had disturbed the butter-jar in the corner, and, on[pg 59] the ground on all fours, a lighted lantern beside him, he was sounding the wall with little taps of the knuckle, searching. the noise made by the door opening, made him stand up, but he did not show the least confusion. he merely remarked in the most natural tone of voice imaginable:
"some matches have fallen down."
and when he had put the butter-jar back in its place, he added:
"i came to fetch my lantern, because a little while ago, as i came along, i perceived a man stretched across the line, and i believe he's dead."
jacques, at first struck at the idea of surprising misard searching for the hoard of aunt phasie, which abruptly transformed his doubt respecting the accusations of the latter into certainty, was then so violently upset by this news of the discovery of a corpse, that he forgot the other drama—the one that was being performed there, in this little out-of-the-way dwelling. the scene in the coupé, the brief vision of one man slaughtering another, returned to him in a vivid flash.
"a man on the line!" he exclaimed, turning pale. "where?"
misard was about to relate that he was returning with a couple of eels which he had taken from his ground lines, and that he had first of all run home, as fast as he could, to hide them. but he reflected that there was no necessity to confide in this young man, and with a vague gesture he replied:
"over there, about half a mile away. it requires a light to find out more."
at this moment jacques heard a thud overhead. he was so nervous that he started.
"it's nothing," said misard. "it's only flore moving."
and, in fact, the young man recognised the pit-pat of two naked feet on the floor. she had come to listen at the half-open door.
[pg 60]
"i'll go with you," jacques resumed. "are you sure he's dead?"
"well, he looked like it," answered the other. "we shall soon see with the lantern."
"what's your opinion?" inquired jacques. "an accident?"
"maybe," replied misard. "some chap who's got cut in two, or perhaps a passenger who jumped out of a carriage."
jacques shuddered.
"come along quick, quick!" he exclaimed.
never had he been agitated with such a fever to see and know. outside the house, while his companion, without any concern, walked along the line swinging his lantern, he ran on ahead, irritated at the delay. it was like a physical desire, the fire within that precipitates the steps of lovers at the hour of meeting. he feared what awaited him yonder, and yet he flew there with all the muscles of his limbs. when he reached the spot, when he almost stumbled over a dark heap lying near the down-line, he remained planted where he stood with a shiver running from his heels to the nape of his neck. and, his anguish at being unable to see distinctly, turned to oaths against the other, who was loitering along, thirty paces behind.
"come on, come on!" he shouted. "if he's still alive, we may be able to do something for him."
misard waddled forward in his sluggish way. then, when he had swung the lantern to and fro, over the body, he muttered:
"ah! the devil take me! it's all up with him."
the man, no doubt tumbling out of a carriage, had fallen with his face downwards, a couple of feet at the most from the metals. nothing could be seen of his head but a crown of thick black hair. his legs were apart. his right arm lay as if dislocated, while his left was bent under his chest. he was very well attired in a big, blue cloth overcoat, neat[pg 61] boots, and fine linen. the body bore no trace of having been crushed, but a quantity of blood had run from the throat, and soiled the shirt collar.
"some gentleman whom they've done for," tranquilly resumed misard, after a few seconds' silent inspection. then, turning towards jacques, who stood motionless and thunderstruck, he continued:
"he must not be touched. it's forbidden. you will have to remain here, and watch over him, while i go to barentin to tell the station-master about it."
he raised his lantern, and looked at a mile-post.
"good!" said he. "just at post 153." and, placing his lantern on the ground beside the corpse, he took himself off at his usual loitering gait.
jacques, left by himself, did not move, but continued gazing at this inert mass that had fallen there, and which the uncertain light, just above the ground, only revealed indistinctly. the agitation that had made him rush forward, the horrible attraction that held him there, ended in this keen thought which burst from all his being: the other one, the man he had caught sight of with the knife in his hand had dared! he had gratified his desire! he had killed. ah! what would he give not to be a coward, to be able to satisfy himself at last, to plunge in the knife! he, who had been tortured by this thirst for ten years!
in his fever, he felt contempt for himself, and admiration for the other; and, above all, he felt the necessity to gaze on the victim, the quenchless thirst to feast his eyes on this human remnant, this broken dancing-jack, this limp rag, which the stab of a knife had made of a creature. what he dreamed of, the other had realised, and it was that. if he killed, he would have that on the ground. his heart beat fit to break. his prurience for murder became violent as concupiscence, at the sight of this tragic corpse. he took[pg 62] a step, approached nearer, after the manner of a child making himself familiar with an object he fears. yes, he would dare, he would dare in his turn!
but a roar behind his back, made him spring aside. a train arrived which he had not heard, being so taken up with the contemplation of the body. he would have been crushed to pieces had not the warm steam and the formidable puffing of the engine warned him in time. the train flew past in its hurricane of noise, smoke, and flame. this one also carried a great many people. the flood of travellers continued streaming towards havre, for the fête on the morrow. a child was flattening his nose against a window, looking out at the black country; profiles of men appeared, while a young woman, lowering one of the glasses, threw out a paper stained with butter and sugar. already the joyous train was flying away in the distance, listless of the corpse its wheels had almost grazed. and the body continued lying there on its face, indistinctly lit up by the lantern, amidst the melancholy peacefulness of night.
then jacques had a desire to see the wound, while he was alone. but he hesitated, in the anxiety that if he touched the head, it would, perhaps, be noticed. he reckoned that misard could not be back with the station-master before three-quarters of an hour; and as the minutes passed, he thought of this misard, of this puny fellow, so slow, so calm, who also dared, who was killing as tranquilly as possible, with doses of poison. then it was easy enough to kill? everybody killed. he drew nearer the corpse, and the idea of looking at the wound stung him so sharply that he was burning all over. he wanted to see how it had been done, and what had run from it, to see the red hole! by carefully putting the head back into its position, nobody would know anything about it. but at the bottom of his hesitation was another fear which he had not owned, the dread of blood. he had still a quarter of an hour to himself, and he was on the point[pg 63] of making up his mind to look, when a slight sound beside him, made him start.
it was flore, standing gazing at the corpse like himself. she was keen on accidents; as soon as ever the news arrived that an animal had been pounded to atoms, or a man cut in two by a train, she hurried to the scene of disaster. she had just dressed again, and wanted to see the corpse. unlike jacques, she did not hesitate. after a first glance, she stooped down, raising the lantern with one hand, while with the other she took the head, and threw it back.
"mind what you're doing," murmured jacques; "it's forbidden."
but she shrugged her shoulders. the face appeared in the yellow light, the face of an old man, with a large nose and the blue, wide-open eyes of one formerly fair. a frightful wound was gaping beneath the chin. the throat had been cut with a deep, jagged gash, as if the knife had been twisted round probing it. the right side of the chest was drenched in blood. on the left, in the button-hole of the great coat, the rosette of commander of the legion of honour looked like a clot of blood that had spurted there.
flore uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"hullo! the old man!" said she.
jacques advanced, bending forward as she was doing, mingling his hair with her hair, to see better. he was choking, gorging himself with the sight. unconsciously he repeated:
"the old man? the old man?"
"yes, old grandmorin, the president."
for another moment she examined this livid face, with the distorted mouth and the great, terrifying eyes. then she let go the head, which was beginning to turn icy cold in cadaverous rigidity, and the wound closed.
"he's done larking with the girls!" she resumed in a lower tone. "it's got something to do with one of them,[pg 64] for sure. ah! my poor louisette! ah! the pig! serve him right!"
a long silence ensued. flore, who had set down the lantern, waited, slowly casting glances at jacques, while he, separated from her by the corpse, did not move. he seemed as if lost, completely prostrated by what he had just seen. it must have been eleven o'clock. the embarrassment due to the scene in the evening prevented him speaking the first. but a sound of voices was heard. it was her stepfather returning with the station-master, and, not wishing to be seen, she made up her mind to break the ice.
"aren't you going back to bed?" she inquired.
he started, and seemed agitated by an inner struggle. then, with an effort, with a recoil full of despair, he answered:
"no, no!"
she made no movement, but her look, with her robust arms hanging down beside her, expressed great sorrow. as if to ask pardon for her resistance of a short time before she became very humble, and added:
"then if you are not going back to the house, i shall not see you again?"
"no, no!" he replied.
the voices approached, and without seeking to press his hand, as he seemed to purposely place this corpse between them, without even giving him the familiar good-bye of their comradeship of childhood, she withdrew, disappearing in the darkness, and breathing hard, as if to stifle her sobs.
the station-master appeared on the scene almost at once, along with misard and a couple of porters. he also proved the identity: it was president grandmorin sure enough. he knew him by seeing him get down at his station each time he went to madame bonnehon, at doinville. the body could remain where it had fallen, but he would have it covered with the cloak a man had brought with him. one of the staff had taken the eleven o'clock train at barentin to[pg 65] inform the imperial procurator at rouen. but they could not count on the latter before five or six o'clock in the morning, for he would have to bring the examining-magistrate, the registrar of the court, and a doctor with him. and so the station-master arranged for the body to be guarded. the men would take turns throughout the night, one man being constantly there on the watch, with the lantern.
and jacques, before making up his mind to go and stretch himself under some shed at the barentin station, whence he would not set out for havre before 7.20, remained for a long time where he stood, motionless, and worried. then he became troubled at the idea of the examining-magistrate who was expected, as if he felt himself an accomplice. should he say what he had seen as the train went by? at first he resolved to speak, as, after all, he had nothing to fear. moreover, there could be no doubt as to his duty. but, then, he asked himself, what was the good of it? he could not bring one single, decisive fact to bear on the matter, he would not dare affirm any detail respecting the murderer. it would be idiotic to mix himself up in the business, to lose his time, and worry himself, without profit to anyone.
no, no, he would say nothing! at last, he took himself off, but he turned round twice, to see the black heap the body made on the ground, in the circle of yellow light shed by the lantern. sharper cold fell from the fumy sky, on the desolation of this desert with arid hills. more trains had passed. another, a very long one, arrived for paris. all crossed in their inexorable mechanic might, flying to their distant goal, to the future, almost grazing, without taking heed of it, the half-severed head of this man whom another man had slaughtered.
