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

Part 1 Pg 5

Claude Was Passing In Front Of The Hotel De Ville,  And The Clock Was

Striking Two O'clock In The Morning When The Storm Burst Forth. He Had

Been Roaming Forgetfully About The Central Markets,  During That

Burning July Night,  Like A Loitering Artist Enamoured Of Nocturnal

Paris. Suddenly The Raindrops Came Down,  So Large And Thick,  That He

Took To His Heels And Rushed,  Wildly Bewildered,  Along The Quai De La

Greve. But On Reaching The Pont Louis Philippe He Pulled Up,  Ragefully

Breathless; He Considered This Fear Of The Rain To Be Idiotic; And So

Amid The Pitch-Like Darkness,  Under The Lashing Shower Which Drowned

The Gas-Jets,  He Crossed The Bridge Slowly,  With His Hands Dangling By

His Side.

 

He Had Only A Few More Steps To Go. As He Was Turning On To The Quai

Bourbon,  On The Isle Of St. Louis,  A Sharp Flash Of Lightning

Illumined The Straight,  Monotonous Line Of Old Houses Bordering The

Narrow Road In Front Of The Seine. It Blazed Upon The Panes Of The

High,  Shutterless Windows,  Showing Up The Melancholy Frontages Of The

Old-Fashioned Dwellings In All Their Details; Here A Stone Balcony,

There The Railing Of A Terrace,  And There A Garland Sculptured On A

Frieze. The Painter Had His Studio Close By,  Under The Eaves Of The

Old Hotel Du Martoy,  Nearly At The Corner Of The Rue De La

Femme-Sans-Tete.* So He Went On While The Quay,  After Flashing Forth

For A Moment,  Relapsed Into Darkness,  And A Terrible Thunder-Clap

Shook The Drowsy Quarter.

 

  * The Street Of The Headless Woman.--Ed.

 

When Claude,  Blinded By The Rain,  Got To His Door--A Low,  Rounded

Door,  Studded With Iron--He Fumbled For The Bell Knob,  And He Was

Exceedingly Surprised--Indeed,  He Started--On Finding A Living,

Breathing Body Huddled Against The Woodwork. Then,  By The Light Of A

Second Flash,  He Perceived A Tall Young Girl,  Dressed In Black,  And

Drenched Already,  Who Was Shivering With Fear. When A Second

Thunder-Clap Had Shaken Both Of Them,  Claude Exclaimed:

 

'How You Frighten One! Who Are You,  And What Do You Want?'

 

He Could No Longer See Her; He Only Heard Her Sob,  And Stammer:

 

'Oh,  Monsieur,  Don't Hurt Me. It's The Fault Of The Driver,  Whom I

Hired At The Station,  And Who Left Me At This Door,  After Ill-Treating

Me. Yes,  A Train Ran Off The Rails,  Near Nevers. We Were Four Hours

Late,  And A Person Who Was To Wait For Me Had Gone. Oh,  Dear Me; I

Have Never Been In Paris Before,  And I Don't Know Where I Am. . . .'

 

Another Blinding Flash Cut Her Short,  And With Dilated Eyes She

Stared,  Terror-Stricken,  At That Part Of The Strange Capital,  That

Violet-Tinted Apparition Of A Fantastic City. The Rain Had Ceased

Falling. On The Opposite Bank Of The Seine Was The Quai Des Ormes,

With Its Small Grey Houses Variegated Below By The Woodwork Of Their

Shops And With Their Irregular Roofs Boldly Outlined Above,  While The

Horizon Suddenly Became Clear On The Left As Far As The Blue Slate

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Eaves Of The Hotel De Ville,  And On The Right As Far As The

Leaden-Hued Dome Of St. Paul. What Startled Her Most Of All,  However,

Was The Hollow Of The Stream,  The Deep Gap In Which The Seine Flowed,

Black And Turgid,  From The Heavy Piles Of The Pont Marie,  To The Light

Arches Of The New Pont Louis Philippe. Strange Masses Peopled The

River,  A Sleeping Flotilla Of Small Boats And Yawls,  A Floating

Washhouse,  And A Dredger Moored To The Quay. Then,  Farther Down,

Against The Other Bank,  Were Lighters,  Laden With Coals,  And Barges

Full Of Mill Stone,  Dominated As It Were By The Gigantic Arm Of A

Steam Crane. But,  Suddenly,  Everything Disappeared Again.

 

Claude Had An Instinctive Distrust Of Women--That Story Of An

Accident,  Of A Belated Train And A Brutal Cabman,  Seemed To Him A

Ridiculous Invention. At The Second Thunder-Clap The Girl Had Shrunk

Farther Still Into Her Corner,  Absolutely Terrified.

 

'But You Cannot Stop Here All Night,' He Said.

 

She Sobbed Still More And Stammered,  'I Beseech You,  Monsieur,  Take Me

To Passy. That's Where I Was Going.'

 

He Shrugged His Shoulders. Did She Take Him For A Fool? Mechanically,

However,  He Turned Towards The Quai Des Celestins,  Where There Was A

Cabstand. Not The Faintest Glimmer Of A Lamp To Be Seen.

 

'To Passy,  My Dear? Why Not To Versailles? Where Do You Think One Can

Pick Up A Cab At This Time Of Night,  And In Such Weather?'

 

Her Only Answer Was A Shriek; For A Fresh Flash Of Lightning Had

Almost Blinded Her,  And This Time The Tragic City Had Seemed To Her To

Be Spattered With Blood. An Immense Chasm Had Been Revealed,  The Two

Arms Of The River Stretching Far Away Amidst The Lurid Flames Of A

Conflagration. The Smallest Details Had Appeared: The Little Closed

Shutters Of The Quai Des Ormes,  And The Two Openings Of The Rue De La

Masure,  And The Rue Du Paon-Blanc,  Which Made Breaks In The Line Of

Frontages; Then Near The Pont Marie One Could Have Counted The Leaves

On The Lofty Plane Trees,  Which There Form A Bouquet Of Magnificent

Verdure; While On The Other Side,  Beneath The Pont Louis Philippe,  At

The Mail,  The Barges,  Ranged In A Quadruple Line,  Had Flared With The

Piles Of Yellow Apples With Which They Were Heavily Laden. And There

Was Also The Ripple Of The Water,  The High Chimney Of The Floating

Washhouse,  The Tightened Chain Of The Dredger,  The Heaps Of Sand On

The Banks,  Indeed,  An Extraordinary Agglomeration Of Things,  Quite A

Little World Filling The Great Gap Which Seemed To Stretch From One

Horizon To The Other. But The Sky Became Dark Again,  And The River

Flowed On,  All Obscurity,  Amid The Crashing Of The Thunder.

 

'Thank Heaven It's Over. Oh,  Heaven! What's To Become Of Me?'

 

Just Then The Rain Began To Fall Again,  So Stiffly And Impelled By So

Strong A Wind That It Swept Along The Quay With The Violence Of Water

Escaping Through An Open Lock.

 

'Come,  Let Me Get In,' Said Claude; 'I Can Stand This No Longer.'

 

Both Were Getting Drenched. By The Flickering Light Of The Gas Lamp At

The Corner Of The Rue De La Femme-Sans-Tete The Young Man Could See

The Water Dripping From The Girl's Dress,  Which Was Clinging To Her

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Skin,  In The Deluge That Swept Against The Door. He Was Seized With

Compassion. Had He Not Once Picked Up A Cur On Such A Stormy Night As

This? Yet He Felt Angry With Himself For Softening. He Never Had

Anything To Do With Women; He Treated Them All As If Ignorant Of Their

Existence,  With A Painful Timidity Which He Disguised Under A Mask Of

Bravado. And That Girl Must Really Think Him A Downright Fool,  To

Bamboozle Him With That Story Of Adventure--Only Fit For A Farce.

Nevertheless,  He Ended By Saying,  'That's Enough. You Had Better Come

In Out Of The Wet. You Can Sleep In My Rooms.'

 

But At This The Girl Became Even More Frightened,  And Threw Up Her

Arms.

 

'In Your Rooms? Oh! Good Heavens. No,  No; It's Impossible. I Beseech

You,  Monsieur,  Take Me To Passy. Let Me Beg Of You.'

 

But Claude Became Angry. Why Did She Make All This Fuss,  When He Was

Willing To Give Her Shelter? He Had Already Rung The Bell Twice. At

Last The Door Opened And He Pushed The Girl Before Him.

 

'No,  No,  Monsieur; I Tell You,  No--'

 

But Another Flash Dazzled Her,  And When The Thunder Growled She

Bounded Inside,  Scarce Knowing What She Was About. The Heavy Door Had

Closed Upon Them,  She Was Standing Under A Large Archway In Complete

Darkness.

 

'It's I,  Madame Joseph,' Cried Claude To The Doorkeeper. Then He

Added,  In A Whisper,  'Give Me Your Hand,  We Have To Cross The

Courtyard.'

 

The Girl Did As She Was Told; She No Longer Resisted; She Was

Overwhelmed,  Worn Out. Once More They Encountered The Diluvian Rain,

As They Ran Side By Side As Hard As They Could Across The Yard. It Was

A Baronial Courtyard,  Huge,  And Surrounded With Stone Arcades,

Indistinct Amidst The Gloom. However,  They Came To A Narrow Passage

Without A Door,  And He Let Go Her Hand. She Could Hear Him Trying To

Strike Some Matches,  And Swearing. They Were All Damp. It Was

Necessary For Them To Grope Their Way Upstairs.

 

'Take Hold Of The Banisters,  And Be Careful,' Said Claude; 'The Steps

Are Very High.'

 

The Staircase,  A Very Narrow One,  A Former Servants' Staircase,  Was

Divided Into Three Lofty Flights,  Which She Climbed,  Stumbling,  With

Unskilful,  Weary Limbs. Then He Warned Her That They Had To Turn Down

A Long Passage. She Kept Behind Him,  Touching The Walls On Both Sides

With Her Outstretched Hands,  As She Advanced Along That Endless

Passage Which Bent And Came Back To The Front Of The Building On The

Quay. Then There Were Still Other Stairs Right Under The Roof

--Creaking,  Shaky Wooden Stairs,  Which Had No Banister,  And Suggested

The Unplaned Rungs Of A Miller's Ladder. The Landing At The Top Was So

Small That The Girl Knocked Against The Young Man,  As He Fumbled In

His Pocket For His Key. At Last,  However,  He Opened The Door.

 

'Don't Come In,  But Wait,  Else You'll Hurt Yourself Again.'

 

She Did Not Stir. She Was Panting For Breath,  Her Heart Was Beating

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Fast,  There Was A Buzzing In Her Ears,  And She Felt Indeed Exhausted

By That Ascent In The Dense Gloom. It Seemed To Her As If She Had Been

Climbing For Hours,  In Such A Maze,  Amidst Such A Turning And Twisting

Of Stairs That She Would