The Dream 5 Émile Zola

The quarterly laundry was a major undertaking. Hubertine also asked old Mother Gabet for help. For those four days, embroidery was completely forgotten. Angelique joined in the work as well. Rinsing the washed clothes in the clear water of La Chevrotte was a pleasant diversion. Once the laundry, boiled in detergent, was pulled out, it was carried through the garden gate in a handcart. Everyone spent the whole day in the Clos-Marie, bathed in sunlight.
“Mother, let me wash this time. It’s fun, after all.”
Angelique rolled up her sleeves to her elbows and struck the laundry vigorously with a wooden paddle. Foam splashed up, wetting her. Her appearance, enjoying this rough work with a smile, was the very picture of health.
“Look, Mother. This will build up my arms, won’t it? Besides, it’s interesting.”
La Chevrotte cut diagonally across the fields. At first, the flow was gentle, then it became rapid, flowing over pebbles while foaming white. It then emerged from a sluice gate beneath the bishop's palace wall, was sucked into a stone arch at the corner of the Voincourt mansion's garden, and disappeared underground. About two hundred meters later, it reappeared, flowed along Basses Street, and emptied into the Lignuelle River. Therefore, one had to be careful not to let the laundry be washed away.
“Wait, Mother, I’ll put this stone on top of the towel! There, how’s that? This should be fine!”
She secured the stone and ran to the water mill to get another. She was overjoyed to be moving her body. Even when she pinched her finger on a stone, she didn't mind. The poor family living in the water mill scattered along the roads during the day to beg for alms. The Clos-Marie was empty, and that emptiness was its charm. Soft willow branches, towering poplars, and grass growing up to one's shoulders. It was rich in rustic beauty. Silence drifted from the two adjacent gardens. And those large trees blocked the horizon. At three in the afternoon, incense drifted from the cathedral, which was casting long, amber shadows.
And she struck the laundry with all her might with those white, fresh arms.
“Ah, I’m getting hungry. I want to eat a strawberry tart.”
However, the next day, the day of rinsing, Angelique was alone. Old Mother Gabet could not come due to sciatica. Hubertine had other chores and could not leave the house. Angelique squatted on a box covered with a mat, picked up the clothes one by one, and shook them in the water until it was no longer cloudy. Her work was slow. That morning, she had seen an old craftsman in a gray shirt setting up scaffolding in front of the window of the Hautecoeur Chapel. She thought it was a repair of the stained glass and was indignant. In fact, it did need repair. There was a chip in the stained glass of Saint George. Over the centuries, some glass pieces had broken and been replaced with plain glass panes. Still, she was dissatisfied. She had become too accustomed to the missing parts of the saint piercing the dragon and the princess leading the dragon with a ribbon. Therefore, the repair felt like an intentional injury to it. She was already on the verge of tears. Changing old things was akin to blasphemy. However, when she returned from lunch, her anger had vanished. A second craftsman was on the scaffolding. This man was young and also wore a gray shirt. It was him.
Angelique returned to her post at the box covered with the mat, feeling delighted. Then, with her rolled-up sleeves, she began to rinse the laundry in the clear water. He was just as she had seen him in the moonlight. Tall, slender, blond, with a god-like curl in his thin beard, and white skin. With him, there was nothing to worry about regarding the stained glass. Surely, it would become even more beautiful. And even if he were a craftsman in a gray shirt, or perhaps a stained-glass painter, she felt no disillusionment. On the contrary, her belief in fate did not waver, and she was happy. There was no need to question superficial things. Because it was a temporary form ordained by fate. In her heart, golden rain flowed down from the roof of the cathedral, and the sound of the distant organ played glory. She did not even think about where he had come from. If he didn't live in the neighborhood, he must have come through the Guedache alley that ran along the wall of the Evêché to Magloire Street.
For a blissful hour, she rinsed the laundry, leaning forward so much that her face almost touched the water. But every time she picked up a new piece of clothing, she would lift her head to look at him. A mischievous glint peeked through her excited expression. As for him on the scaffolding, he watched her out of the corner of his eye while pretending to examine the stained glass. And when he was noticed by her, he looked away, and his white skin turned red. Whether from anger or tenderness, at the slightest emotional stir, his face would immediately flush red. He had a challenging look, but when he was stared at by her, he suddenly became timid. He didn't know where to put his hands, and he stammered even when talking to his elderly colleague. Words were unnecessary. Invisible gazes and voiceless mouths carried them. When she lifted her head, he hurriedly turned his face away. It was a sweet time.
Suddenly, she saw him jump down from the scaffolding and back away into the grass. It looked as if he were trying to see the window from a distance. She couldn't help but laugh. His intention was all too clear. He just wanted to get closer to her. He jumped from the scaffolding as if staking everything on it. However, because he was so eager, he couldn't naturally continue after that. He stood a few steps away from her, back turned, unable to turn around. She thought he might return to the stained glass without looking back. However, he mustered his courage and turned around. She, who had just lifted her head, wore a mischievous smile. Their eyes met. Neither could find words, and they became terribly awkward. If an incident hadn't occurred then, they might never have escaped this awkwardness.
“Oh, no!” she screamed.
The batiste undergarment she had been rinsing unconsciously slipped from her hand and was swept away by the current. In a few minutes, it would be sucked under the stone arch of the Voincourt mansion.
She stood frozen. He understood in an instant and ran. However, the undergarment riding the current was, annoyingly, faster than him. Even when he leaned over to grab it, all he got in his hand was foam. He missed twice. And then, as if diving in at the risk of his life, he entered the water and rescued the undergarment just before it was sucked underground.
Angelique watched with bated breath, but laughter welled up from the bottom of her heart. Ah, this was the adventure she had dreamed of many times! A story where a beautiful young man met by the water saves her from terrible danger! The hero Saint George was now just a young craftsman in a gray shirt. When he returned, soaking wet and holding the dripping undergarment, he seemed to realize himself how comical this return of a hero was. Angelique was desperate to hold back her laughter.
He couldn't help but stare at her. She was innocent and lovely as she held back her laughter. Her arms, splashed with water and chilled by the flow, reminded him of a clear spring welling up in the forest. There was a healthiness that shone under the sun. And he could tell she was a diligent and serious girl. However, despite her plain clothing, her slender figure and oval face had something that reminded him of a princess from a legendary tale. She was as beautiful as the art he loved, and he didn't know how to return the undergarment. Moreover, seeing her desperately trying to hold back her laughter made him angry that he looked childish. He finally made up his mind and handed the undergarment to her.
Angelique felt as if her laughter would explode if she opened her mouth even a little. While she felt sorry for him, she couldn't suppress it. She was too happy and couldn't help but want to laugh.
Thinking it was okay now, she said,
“Thank you...”
However, laughter welled up again, and the rest of the words didn't come out. Her clear laughter rang out high, like splashes of water, along with the sound of the La Chevrotte. He was completely flustered and couldn't say a word. His white face flushed red. His eyes, like those of a shy child, burned. And he left. And he disappeared along with the old craftsman. As for her, she kept laughing. Then she leaned over the clear water again and began to rinse the laundry. It was a happy day.
The next day, as soon as it was six o'clock, she spread out the laundry that had been dripping since the day before to dry. The wind was strong, just right for drying the laundry. In fact, she had to hold down the four corners with stones so they wouldn't be blown away. The laundry spread out on the green grass was dazzlingly white. The grass smelled good, and the field suddenly looked as if white daisies had bloomed.
When she returned to check on things after lunch, Angelique panicked. The wind had grown even stronger, and the laundry looked like it would fly away into the clear blue sky. One sheet had already flown away, and several napkins were stuck to willow branches. She ran after the napkins. However, behind her, a handkerchief had started to fly again. She couldn't manage it alone. As she struggled with a violently flapping sheet, a voice came in the wind.
“Shall I help you?”
It was him. She hadn't been thinking of anything other than the laundry.
“Please, hold down that end!”
When they stretched out the sheet dancing in the wind, it fluttered like a sail. Then the two of them placed the sheet on the grass and put larger stones on the four corners. The sheet became quiet, and the two of them were on their knees, separated by that dazzlingly white cloth.
She was smiling, but there was no more mischief. He gained courage.
“My name is Félicien.”
“I’m Angelique.”
“I’m a glass craftsman. I’ve been entrusted with the stained glass here.”
“I embroider vestments with my parents.”
While being blown by the wind that stole their words, the two were lively, filled with sunlight. They talked about obvious things just because they wanted to talk.
“Is the stained glass going to change?”
“No, you won't be able to tell the repair marks. I think that one is very good, too.”
“I like it, too. The colors are good. I’ve embroidered a Saint George, but I couldn't make it as beautiful as that.”
“Oh, that can't be true! The red velvet chasuble, right? I saw Father Cornille wearing it on Sunday.”
She blushed involuntarily. Then she shouted,
“The sheet is about to fly away! Put a stone on the left end!”
He hurriedly held down the cloth, which was flapping loudly like a bird's wings. And seeing that the cloth stopped moving, both of them stood up.
She began to walk along the grassy path to check each piece of laundry. He followed her, watching to see if aprons or dishcloths would fly away again. It was a very natural progression. She began to talk again, telling him about what she liked and her daily life.
“I like things to be orderly. I always wake up at six in the morning. Because the cuckoo clock in the workshop rings at six. I get dressed while it’s still dark. I have set places for things like socks and soap, it’s just a habit. It’s not natural; I used to be very messy. I was always being scolded by my mother. In the workshop, if I don't sit in my usual spot, I don't feel well because of the lighting. I can embroider using both my left and right hands. This is truly something to be grateful for, as it’s not something everyone can do. I love flowers, but I can't keep them in my room. They give me a headache. But strangely, only violets are okay. The scent of violets calms me down. Whenever I feel even a little unwell, I smell the scent of violets. Then I feel better.”
He was listening to her voice. It was a charming voice that sank deep into his heart and left a lingering resonance. Surely he must have been particularly sensitive to human voices. He was moved to tears by the sound of certain syllables.
“Oh,” she interrupted her story. “My shirt is already drying.”
Then, unconsciously wanting to be known, she told him everything to the end.
“I think white is the most beautiful. Blue, red, any color can make you tired sometimes. But I never get tired of white. I like the purity of white. I once had a white cat. But it had yellow spots, so I painted it white. It was very good, but it didn't last long. And also, it’s a secret from my mother, but I keep all the scraps of white silk thread and put them in a drawer. They aren't useful for anything, but I like to look at them and touch them sometimes. And this is a total secret, but every morning when I wake up, there is something by my bed, and something white flutters away!”
He didn't doubt her at all and seemed to believe what she said. No princess in a glamorous court could have captivated him so quickly. Standing on the green grass, among the white laundry, she was lovely, bright, and cheerful, and yet had the grace of a princess. That figure was capturing his heart like an embrace that gradually grew stronger. Fate was sealed. He would follow her to the end of his life. She walked lightly, looking back and smiling from time to time. He was following her with a happy feeling.
However, a gust of wind blew, and small pieces of laundry flew up like white birds. Collars, sleeves, muslin scarves, and guimpes (translator's note: a short blouse for women covering the neck and shoulders) fell far away.
Angelique started running.
“Oh, what should I do? Come, come quickly and help me!”
The two of them ran together. Angelique caught a collar at the edge of La Chevrotte. As for him, he was holding two guimpes he had found in the tall nettles. Sleeves were also picked up one by one. While they were running, the hem of her skirt was blown by the wind and brushed against him three times. And each time, he was flustered and blushed. As for him, he touched her when he jumped to catch the last scarf. She stood still, holding her breath. The smile disappeared from her face, and she could no longer joke or tease the clumsy, big boy. She, who had been so cheerful, had her strength completely drained by a sweet anxiety. When he handed her the scarf, their hands touched. They shivered and looked at each other. She backed away, not knowing what to do about the great event that had happened to her, and stood still for a while. Then suddenly, she ran away, holding a small armful of laundry and leaving the rest behind.
Félicien tried to call out.
“Oh, I’m sorry...”
The wind was even stronger, drowning out his words. He watched her run away, helpless. It was as if the strong wind had carried her away. She ran among the white sheets and tablecloths catching the golden sunset. And she was absorbed into the shadow of the cathedral, about to enter the garden of her house through a small door without looking back. However, a sudden gentle feeling welled up, and she looked back. She didn't want him to think she was angry at him. While confused, she made a smile and raised her voice.
“Thank you! Thank you!”
Was she thanking him because he helped her pick up the laundry? Or was it for something else? Her figure disappeared beyond the door.
He stood alone in the middle of the field. Under the clear sky, a strong wind was blowing incessantly. The elm trees of the bishop's palace were waving greatly, and the terraces and buttresses of the cathedral were making high-pitched sounds. However, all he could hear was the sound of the bonnet, which looked like a white flower hanging on a lilac branch, fluttering.
Since that day, every time Angelique opened the window, she saw Félicien. He frequented the Clos-Marie with the excuse of the stained glass, and his work didn't progress at all. He lay in the bushes for hours, peeking at Angelique's window from between the grass. It was pleasant for the two of them to exchange smiles in the morning and evening. That was enough for her to be happy. The next laundry would be in three months. Until then, the garden gate would remain closed. However, if they saw each other every day, three months would pass quickly! Living for the evening gaze during the day, and for the morning gaze at night. Could there be any greater happiness than this?
From the moment they first met, Angelique had confided everything, her tastes, her habits, and even her small heart's secrets. On the other hand, he only introduced himself as Félicien and said nothing else. Perhaps that is what love is. A woman gives everything, and a man remains unknown. She didn't even feel the urge to rush to confirm things, just satisfied thinking about this and that which would surely come to pass. Not knowing wasn't a problem. Only being able to meet was important. Besides, she knew him well enough to read his thoughts from his gaze. The one she had been waiting for had come. She recognized him, and the two loved each other.
The two enjoyed their love while remaining apart. Every time they discovered something they didn't know about each other, there was a new joy. Her hands were scarred from needlework, but he came to love those hands. She was happy with everything about him. She was grateful that he was beautiful. One evening, she noticed that his beard was slightly thinner than his hair, which gave his smile a gentleness. She was very happy about that. One morning, he found a small mole on her neck when she leaned over. That enchanted him. There were new discoveries in their hearts as well. Indeed, her innocent yet graceful way of opening the window spoke of her having a princess's soul within her status as an embroiderer. Likewise, seeing his light footsteps on the grass, one could feel that he was a good person. From the very beginning of their meeting, the two shone with virtue and grace. And every time they met, a new charm was added. The happiness of meeting was endless.
However, Félicien soon began to get irritated. He could no longer be happy just by being quiet in the bushes. When Angelique appeared, he became restless. He tried to get closer and made her a little angry. Because she was afraid of being seen by others. One day, they finally had a fight. He came as close as the wall, so she left the balcony. That was a catastrophe for him. He was devastated. However, seeing his prayer-like expression, she forgave him, and the next day she appeared on the balcony at the usual time. However, he repeated the same thing again. Moreover, waiting was no longer enough for him. Unable to stay still, it was as if he were now everywhere in the Clos-Marie. He appeared from behind every tree trunk and showed himself above every thicket of grass. Like the wood pigeons living in the elm trees, he must have had his nest between the forked trunks. La Chevrotte was an excuse for him to keep staying there. He seemed to be leaning over the flow to observe the water and looking up at the sky to follow the clouds. One day, she saw him standing on top of the ruined water mill. Although he couldn't fly to her, he seemed satisfied that he had climbed as high as he could. On another day, she almost let out a small scream. He was standing on the terrace of the apse chapel, higher than her. The key should be held by the church guide, so how did he get in there? On yet another day, she saw him in the air. How could she see him between the flying buttresses of the nave and the turrets of the buttresses? From that height, he was looking down at her room like a swallow flying past the tip of a turret. She had never thought of hiding. But from this time on, a wall was built in her heart. Her anxiety was increasing at the feeling that someone was entering her inner self and she was not always alone. Although she was in no hurry, what was this pounding of her heart, like the swaying bells of a festival day?
Three days had passed since Angelique had appeared. She was afraid that Félicien's boldness was increasing day by day. She vowed never to see him again and tried to hate him. However, because of the heat she had received from him, she couldn't stay still. If she could stop embroidering and go outside, any excuse would do. So, when she learned that old Mother Gabet was bedridden and in poverty, Angelique began to visit her every morning. Mother Gabet's room was three doors down on the same Orfèvres Street. She would bring soup and sugar and go down to the main street to buy medicine. One day, when she returned holding a small medicine bottle in both hands, to her surprise, Félicien was there. He blushed terribly and left awkwardly. The next day, when she was about to go out, he appeared again. She became grumpy and gave in to him. Was he obstructing her? Just then, she was driven by a fit of charity, wanting to give everything she had to the poor. When she thought of people's suffering, she couldn't suppress her compassion and brotherly love. She ran to Basses Street and fed the soup she had brought to the blind old man Mascarin herself. She also ran to the Chautard couple's place. The ninety-year-old couple lived in a basement on Magloire Street. She had carried in old furniture she had brought from the attic of the Hubert house. She ran around to others, and to others still, to all the poor people in this district. She secretly took her own belongings for them. She was happy to see their shining expressions filled with joy. But Félicien was everywhere she went. She had never seen him so frequently. Even though she had avoided even approaching the window for fear of seeing him. Her confusion was intense, and she finally became angry.
The worst part was that Angelique had become desperate about charity. The young man was ruining her good intentions. Perhaps he had been taking care of the poor before. However, he had never visited these people at all until now. He followed her, investigated, and took those people away from her one by one. Now, every time she took a basket of food to the Chautard couple, a white coin was placed on the table. One day, when she ran to deliver ten sous, all of her week's savings, to old man Mascarin, he had a twenty-franc coin that shone like the sun. Furthermore, one evening, when she visited Mother Gabet, she was asked to exchange a banknote. Knowing her own powerlessness was heart-wrenching. Money she didn't have came out of his wallet easily. Certainly, the unexpected good fortune for the poor people made her happy. However, she had lost the happiness of giving. It was sad that while others were giving a lot, she could only give a little. He, clumsily, assumed it was for her sake and, with his gentle generosity, had nullified her alms. Furthermore, she had to endure praise for him wherever she went. “What a kind, what a gentle, what a well-bred young man!” Everyone talked only about him. It was as if they were showing off his alms to make a fool of her alms. Even though she had vowed to forget him, she couldn't help but ask the poor people. “What did he leave behind? What did he say? Besides, he’s a handsome man, isn't he? Gentle and shy. By any chance, did he talk about me?” “Oh, of course. He always talks about you.” When she heard that, she came to hate him. The things she held in her heart had become too heavy.
Finally, things could not go on like this. One evening in May, in the calm twilight, the disaster exploded. It happened at the Lombard house, where the poor women living in the ruined water mill were. There were only women there. The mother of the Lombard family—a wrinkled old woman. The eldest daughter, Thiennette—a large, coarse girl of twenty. And the young sisters, Rose and Jeanne—girls who already had defiant looks under their messy red hair. The four of them walked the roads to beg, and at night they returned, dragging worn-out shoes tied with strings. That evening, Thiennette returned after making her sisters walk on the stones. She was injured. Blood was flowing from her foot. Sitting in the grass of the Clos-Marie in front of the house, she was pulling out a thorn stuck in her foot. Around her, her mother and two sisters were crying. Just then, Angelique arrived. She had bread she gave them every week hidden under her apron. She had come through the small garden gate. She intended to run back immediately, so the gate was left open. However, seeing the whole family crying, she stopped involuntarily.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Oh! Miss,” Mother Lombard said as if groaning. “Look at the state of this stupid girl. She won't be able to walk tomorrow. Another day is ruined. We don't have shoes.”
The eyes of Rose and Jeanne were like flames. And they cried even more intensely, shouting in high-pitched voices.
“No shoes! No shoes!”
Thiennette lifted her thin, dark face halfway but said nothing. And she began to pull out a longer thorn, making her foot bloody by herself using a pin.
Angelique was moved and gave alms.
“For now, I have bread.”
“Oh, bread,” the mother said. “Bread is also necessary. But you can't walk with bread. Tomorrow is the regular market in Brinay. This girl earns over forty sous there every year. Oh, what a thing. What on earth will become of us?”
Angelique fell silent due to pity and confusion. In her pocket, there were exactly five sous. However, you can't buy shoes with five sous, not even second-hand ones. She was always unable to move because she didn't have money. And the moment she looked away, a few steps ahead, in the deepening shadows, she saw Félicien standing there. Her heart was violently disturbed. He must have heard. Perhaps he had been there for a long time. He always appeared like that. Where he came from, why he was there, she had no idea at all.
“He will give them shoes,” she thought.
She felt true despair at that fact. He gives everything. She can never win even once. Her heart felt like it was going to burst. If she were wealthier, she could show him that she too could make people happy.
However, the Lombards had found a kind gentleman. The mother ran as if flying, the two sisters reached out their hands and cried out, and the eldest daughter threw out her bloody foot and stared at him askance.
“Please listen, Mother,” Félicien said. “Go to the Grand Street, and at the corner of Basses Street...”
Angelique understood. There was a shoe store there. She quickly interrupted his words. She was so distraught that what came out of her mouth were meaningless words.
“That’s useless! What on earth for? There’s an easier way!”
However, she couldn't find that easier way. How could she, what could she think of to get ahead of him? She never thought she would come to hate him this much.
“You can just say my name,” Félicien continued. “And...”
She interrupted his words again and repeated the same words anxiously.
“There’s an easier way! An easier one.”
However, she suddenly became quiet, sat down on a stone, and began to untie her shoelaces with quick movements. She took off her shoes, and even her socks.
“Look, this is the easiest way! There’s no need to go out of your way.”
“Oh! Miss. May God’s blessings be upon you!” Mother Lombard said, raising her voice and looking closely at the shoes that were like new. “If you cut the top part and widen it, you can wear them. Thiennette, thank her properly.”
However, at that moment, Angelique realized that she was barefoot and that Félicien was watching her. She became confused. If she stood up, her bare feet would be seen even more. She didn't know what to do. And she became afraid and ran away. Her small white feet ran over the grass. Night was falling. Between the large trees and the black mass of the cathedral, the Clos-Marie was like an amber lake. Only her white feet running away looked like a white dove. Angelique ran along La Chevrotte toward the wooden bridge. However, Félicien cut through the bushes and got ahead of her. He, who had been shy until now, was blushing even more than her at the sight of her white feet. But now, pushed by passion, he wanted to shout the love he had kept in his heart since the day they first met. And when her skirt brushed against him, he could only leak a stammering, burning confession.
“I... I like you.”
She stopped in surprise. She looked straight at him. The feelings she thought were anger and hatred melted into a sweet anxiety. What had he said? What were these words that stirred her heart so much? She knew he loved her. However, the moment those words were whispered in her ear, she was overwhelmed. He had been emboldened by the act of charity he shared with her. So he gathered his courage and said again.
“I like you.”
She felt an indescribable fear and ran away again. La Chevrotte no longer stopped her. Like a doe being chased, she entered the river, and her small white feet ran over the pebbles in the cold water. The garden gate was closed, and both of them were gone.