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diff --git a/6626-h/6626-h.htm b/6626-h/6626-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df52e31 --- /dev/null +++ b/6626-h/6626-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10241 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thérèse Raquin, by Émile Zola</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thérèse Raquin, by Émile Zola</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Thérèse Raquin</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Émile Zola</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Edward Vizetelly</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 5, 2003 [eBook #6626]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 27, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Dagny, John Bickers and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THÉRÈSE RAQUIN ***</div> + +<h1>THÉRÈSE RAQUIN</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Émile Zola</h2> + +<h3>Translated and edited with a preface by Edward Vizetelly</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_PREF">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"><big><b>THÉRÈSE RAQUIN</b></big></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"></a> +PREFACE</h2> + +<p> +This volume, “Thérèse Raquin,” was Zola’s third book, but it +was the one that first gave him notoriety, and made him somebody, as the saying +goes. +</p> + +<p> +While still a clerk at Hachette’s at eight pounds a month, engaged in +checking and perusing advertisements and press notices, he had already in 1864 +published the first series of “Les Contes a Ninon”—a reprint +of short stories contributed to various publications; and, in the following +year, had brought out “La Confession de Claude.” Both these books +were issued by Lacroix, a famous go-ahead publisher and bookseller in those +days, whose place of business stood at one of the corners of the Rue Vivienne +and the Boulevard Montmartre, and who, as Lacroix, Verboeckhoven et Cie., ended +in bankruptcy in the early seventies. +</p> + +<p> +“La Confession de Claude” met with poor appreciation from the +general public, although it attracted the attention of the Public Prosecutor, +who sent down to Hachette’s to make a few inquiries about the author, but +went no further. When, however, M. Barbey d’Aurevilly, in a critical +weekly paper called the “Nain Jaune,” spitefully alluded to this +rather daring novel as “Hachette’s little book,” one of the +members of the firm sent for M. Zola, and addressed him thus: +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, M. Zola, you are earning eight pounds a month with us, which +is ridiculous for a man of your talent. Why don’t you go into literature +altogether? It will bring you wealth and glory.” +</p> + +<p> +Zola had no choice but to take this broad hint, and send in his resignation, +which was at once accepted. The Hachettes did not require the services of +writers of risky, or, for that matter, any other novels, as clerks; and, +besides, as Zola has told us himself, in an interview with my old friend and +employer,[*] the late M. Fernand Xau, Editor of the Paris +“Journal,” they thought “La Confession de Claude” a +trifle stiff, and objected to their clerks writing books in time which they +considered theirs, as they paid for it. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +[*] He sent me to Hamburg for ten days in 1892 to report on the appalling +outbreak of cholera in that city, with the emoluments of ten pounds a day, +besides printing several articles from my pen on Parisian topics.—E. V. +</p> + +<p> +Zola, cast, so to say, adrift, with “Les Contes a Ninon” and +“La Confession de Claude” as scant literary baggage, buckled to, +and set about “Les Mysteres de Marseille” and “Thérèse +Raquin,” while at the same time contributing art criticisms to the +“Événement”—a series of articles which raised such a storm +that painters and sculptors were in the habit of purchasing copies of the paper +and tearing it up in the faces of Zola and De Villemessant, the owner, whenever +they chanced to meet them. Nevertheless it was these articles that first drew +attention to Manet, who had hitherto been regarded as a painter of no account, +and many of whose pictures now hang in the Luxembourg Gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse Raquin” originally came out under the title of “A +Love Story” in a paper called the “Artiste,” edited by that +famous art critic and courtier of the Second Empire, Arsene Houssaye, author of +“Les Grandes Dames,” as well as of those charming volumes +“Hommes et Femmes du 18eme Siècle,” and many other works. +</p> + +<p> +Zola received no more than twenty-four pounds for the serial rights of the +novel, and he consented at the insistence of the Editor, who pointed out to him +that the periodical was read by the Empress Eugénie, to draw his pen through +certain passages, which were reinstated when the story was published in volume +form. I may say here that in this translation, I have adopted the views of the +late M. Arsene Houssaye; and, if I have allowed the appalling description of +the Paris Morgue to stand, it is, first of all, because it constitutes a very +important factor in the story; and moreover, it is so graphic, so true to life, +as I have seen the place myself, times out of number, that notwithstanding its +horror, it really would be a loss to pass it over. +</p> + +<p> +Well, “Thérèse Raquin” having appeared as “A Love +Story” in the “Artiste,” was then published as a book, in +1867, by that same Lacroix as had issued Zola’s preceding efforts in +novel writing. I was living in Paris at the time, and I well recall the yell of +disapprobation with which the volume was received by the reviewers. Louis +Ulbach, then a writer on the “Figaro,” to which Zola also +contributed, and who subsequently founded and edited a paper called “La +Cloche,” when Zola, curiously enough, became one of his critics, made a +particularly virulent attack on the novel and its author. Henri de +Villemessant, the Editor, authorised Zola to reply to him, with the result that +a vehement discussion ensued in print between author and critic, and +“Thérèse Raquin” promptly went into a second edition, to which Zola +appended a preface. +</p> + +<p> +I have not thought it necessary to translate this preface, which is a long and +rather tedious reply to the reviewers of the day. It will suffice to say, +briefly, that the author meets the strictures of his critics by pointing out +and insisting on the fact, that he has simply sought to make an analytic study +of temperament and not of character. +</p> + +<p> +“I have selected persons,” says he, “absolutely swayed by +their nerves and blood, deprived of free will, impelled in every action of +life, by the fatal lusts of the flesh. Thérèse and Laurent are human brutes, +nothing more. I have sought to follow these brutes, step by step, in the secret +labour of their passions, in the impulsion of their instincts, in the cerebral +disorder resulting from the excessive strain on their nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +EDWARD VIZETELLY SURBITON, 1 December, 1901. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></a> +THÉRÈSE RAQUIN</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p> +At the end of the Rue Guénégaud, coming from the quays, you find the Arcade of +the Pont Neuf, a sort of narrow, dark corridor running from the Rue Mazarine to +the Rue de Seine. This arcade, at the most, is thirty paces long by two in +breadth. It is paved with worn, loose, yellowish tiles which are never free +from acrid damp. The square panes of glass forming the roof, are black with +filth. +</p> + +<p> +On fine days in the summer, when the streets are burning with heavy sun, +whitish light falls from the dirty glazing overhead to drag miserably through +the arcade. On nasty days in winter, on foggy mornings, the glass throws +nothing but darkness on the sticky tiles—unclean and abominable gloom. +</p> + +<p> +To the left are obscure, low, dumpy shops whence issue puffs of air as cold as +if coming from a cellar. Here are dealers in toys, cardboard boxes, second-hand +books. The articles displayed in their windows are covered with dust, and owing +to the prevailing darkness, can only be perceived indistinctly. The shop +fronts, formed of small panes of glass, streak the goods with a peculiar +greenish reflex. Beyond, behind the display in the windows, the dim interiors +resemble a number of lugubrious cavities animated by fantastic forms. +</p> + +<p> +To the right, along the whole length of the arcade, extends a wall against +which the shopkeepers opposite have stuck some small cupboards. Objects without +a name, goods forgotten for twenty years, are spread out there on thin shelves +painted a horrible brown colour. A dealer in imitation jewelry has set up shop +in one of these cupboards, and there sells fifteen sous rings, delicately set +out on a cushion of blue velvet at the bottom of a mahogany box. +</p> + +<p> +Above the glazed cupboards, ascends the roughly plastered black wall, looking +as if covered with leprosy, and all seamed with defacements. +</p> + +<p> +The Arcade of the Pont Neuf is not a place for a stroll. You take it to make a +short cut, to gain a few minutes. It is traversed by busy people whose sole aim +is to go quick and straight before them. You see apprentices there in their +working-aprons, work-girls taking home their work, persons of both sexes with +parcels under their arms. There are also old men who drag themselves forward in +the sad gloaming that falls from the glazed roof, and bands of small children +who come to the arcade on leaving school, to make a noise by stamping their +feet on the tiles as they run along. Throughout the day a sharp hurried ring of +footsteps resounds on the stone with irritating irregularity. Nobody speaks, +nobody stays there, all hurry about their business with bent heads, stepping +out rapidly, without taking a single glance at the shops. The tradesmen observe +with an air of alarm, the passers-by who by a miracle stop before their +windows. +</p> + +<p> +The arcade is lit at night by three gas burners, enclosed in heavy square +lanterns. These jets of gas, hanging from the glazed roof whereon they cast +spots of fawn-coloured light, shed around them circles of pale glimmer that +seem at moments to disappear. The arcade now assumes the aspect of a regular +cut-throat alley. Great shadows stretch along the tiles, damp puffs of air +enter from the street. Anyone might take the place for a subterranean gallery +indistinctly lit-up by three funeral lamps. The tradespeople for all light are +contented with the faint rays which the gas burners throw upon their windows. +Inside their shops, they merely have a lamp with a shade, which they place at +the corner of their counter, and the passer-by can then distinguish what the +depths of these holes sheltering night in the daytime, contain. On this +blackish line of shop fronts, the windows of a cardboard-box maker are flaming: +two schist-lamps pierce the shadow with a couple of yellow flames. And, on the +other side of the arcade a candle, stuck in the middle of an argand lamp glass, +casts glistening stars into the box of imitation jewelry. The dealer is dozing +in her cupboard, with her hands hidden under her shawl. +</p> + +<p> +A few years back, opposite this dealer, stood a shop whose bottle-green +woodwork excreted damp by all its cracks. On the signboard, made of a long +narrow plank, figured, in black letters the word: MERCERY. And on one of the +panes of glass in the door was written, in red, the name of a woman: <i>Thérèse +Raquin</i>. To right and left were deep show cases, lined with blue paper. +</p> + +<p> +During the daytime the eye could only distinguish the display of goods, in a +soft, obscured light. +</p> + +<p> +On one side were a few linen articles: crimped tulle caps at two and three +francs apiece, muslin sleeves and collars: then undervests, stockings, socks, +braces. Each article had grown yellow and crumpled, and hung lamentably +suspended from a wire hook. The window, from top to bottom, was filled in this +manner with whitish bits of clothing, which took a lugubrious aspect in the +transparent obscurity. The new caps, of brighter whiteness, formed hollow spots +on the blue paper covering the shelves. And the coloured socks hanging on an +iron rod, contributed sombre notes to the livid and vague effacement of the +muslin. +</p> + +<p> +On the other side, in a narrower show case, were piled up large balls of green +wool, white cards of black buttons, boxes of all colours and sizes, hair nets +ornamented with steel beads, spread over rounds of bluish paper, fasces of +knitting needles, tapestry patterns, bobbins of ribbon, along with a heap of +soiled and faded articles, which doubtless had been lying in the same place for +five or six years. All the tints had turned dirty grey in this cupboard, +rotting with dust and damp. +</p> + +<p> +In summer, towards noon, when the sun scorched the squares and streets with its +tawny rays, you could distinguish, behind the caps in the other window, the +pale, grave profile of a young woman. This profile issued vaguely from the +darkness reigning in the shop. To a low parched forehead was attached a long, +narrow, pointed nose; the pale pink lips resembled two thin threads, and the +short, nervy chin was attached to the neck by a line that was supple and fat. +The body, lost in the shadow, could not be seen. The profile alone appeared in +its olive whiteness, perforated by a large, wide-open, black eye, and as though +crushed beneath thick dark hair. This profile remained there for hours, +motionless and peaceful, between a couple of caps for women, whereon the damp +iron rods had imprinted bands of rust. +</p> + +<p> +At night, when the lamp had been lit, you could see inside the shop which was +greater in length than depth. At one end stood a small counter; at the other, a +corkscrew staircase afforded communication with the rooms on the first floor. +Against the walls were show cases, cupboards, rows of green cardboard boxes. +Four chairs and a table completed the furniture. The shop looked bare and +frigid; the goods were done up in parcels and put away in corners instead of +lying hither and thither in a joyous display of colour. +</p> + +<p> +As a rule two women were seated behind the counter: the young woman with the +grave profile, and an old lady who sat dozing with a smile on her countenance. +The latter was about sixty; and her fat, placid face looked white in the +brightness of the lamp. A great tabby cat, crouching at a corner of the +counter, watched her as she slept. +</p> + +<p> +Lower down, on a chair, a man of thirty sat reading or chatting in a subdued +voice with the young woman. He was short, delicate, and in manner languid. With +his fair hair devoid of lustre, his sparse beard, his face covered with red +blotches, he resembled a sickly, spoilt child arrived at manhood. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly before ten o’clock, the old lady awoke. The shop was then closed, +and all the family went upstairs to bed. The tabby cat followed the party +purring, and rubbing its head against each bar of the banisters. +</p> + +<p> +The lodging above comprised three apartments. The staircase led to a +dining-room which also did duty as drawing-room. In a niche on the left stood a +porcelain stove; opposite, a sideboard; then chairs were arranged along the +walls, and a round table occupied the centre. At the further end a glazed +partition concealed a dark kitchen. On each side of the dining-room was a +sleeping apartment. +</p> + +<p> +The old lady after kissing her son and daughter-in-law withdrew. The cat went +to sleep on a chair in the kitchen. The married couple entered their room, +which had a second door opening on a staircase that communicated with the +arcade by an obscure narrow passage. +</p> + +<p> +The husband who was always trembling with fever went to bed, while the young +woman opened the window to close the shutter blinds. She remained there a few +minutes facing the great black wall, which ascends and stretches above the +arcade. She cast a vague wandering look upon this wall, and, without a word +she, in her turn, went to bed in disdainful indifference. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p> +Madame Raquin had formerly been a mercer at Vernon. For close upon +five-and-twenty years, she had kept a small shop in that town. A few years +after the death of her husband, becoming subject to fits of faintness, she sold +her business. Her savings added to the price of this sale placed a capital of +40,000 francs in her hand which she invested so that it brought her in an +income of 2,000 francs a year. This sum amply sufficed for her requirements. +She led the life of a recluse. Ignoring the poignant joys and cares of this +world, she arranged for herself a tranquil existence of peace and happiness. +</p> + +<p> +At an annual rental of 400 francs she took a small house with a garden +descending to the edge of the Seine. This enclosed, quiet residence vaguely +recalled the cloister. It stood in the centre of large fields, and was +approached by a narrow path. The windows of the dwelling opened to the river +and to the solitary hillocks on the opposite bank. The good lady, who had +passed the half century, shut herself up in this solitary retreat, where along +with her son Camille and her niece Thérèse, she partook of serene joy. +</p> + +<p> +Although Camille was then twenty, his mother continued to spoil him like a +little child. She adored him because she had shielded him from death, +throughout a tedious childhood of constant suffering. The boy contracted every +fever, every imaginable malady, one after the other. Madame Raquin struggled +for fifteen years against these terrible evils, which arrived in rapid +succession to tear her son away from her. She vanquished them all by patience, +care, and adoration. Camille having grown up, rescued from death, had +contracted a shiver from the torture of the repeated shocks he had undergone. +Arrested in his growth, he remained short and delicate. His long, thin limbs +moved slowly and wearily. But his mother loved him all the more on account of +this weakness that arched his back. She observed his thin, pale face with +triumphant tenderness when she thought of how she had brought him back to life +more than ten times over. +</p> + +<p> +During the brief spaces of repose that his sufferings allowed him, the child +attended a commercial school at Vernon. There he learned orthography and +arithmetic. His science was limited to the four rules, and a very superficial +knowledge of grammar. Later on, he took lessons in writing and bookkeeping. +Madame Raquin began to tremble when advised to send her son to college. She +knew he would die if separated from her, and she said the books would kill him. +So Camille remained ignorant, and this ignorance seemed to increase his +weakness. +</p> + +<p> +At eighteen, having nothing to do, bored to death at the delicate attention of +his mother, he took a situation as clerk with a linen merchant, where he earned +60 francs a month. Being of a restless nature idleness proved unbearable. He +found greater calm and better health in this labour of a brute which kept him +bent all day long over invoices, over enormous additions, each figure of which +he patiently added up. At night, broken down with fatigue, without an idea in +his head, he enjoyed infinite delight in the doltishness that settled on him. +He had to quarrel with his mother to go with the dealer in linen. She wanted to +keep him always with her, between a couple of blankets, far from the accidents +of life. +</p> + +<p> +But the young man spoke as master. He claimed work as children claim toys, not +from a feeling of duty, but by instinct, by a necessity of nature. The +tenderness, the devotedness of his mother had instilled into him an egotism +that was ferocious. He fancied he loved those who pitied and caressed him; but, +in reality, he lived apart, within himself, loving naught but his comfort, +seeking by all possible means to increase his enjoyment. When the tender +affection of Madame Raquin disgusted him, he plunged with delight into a stupid +occupation that saved him from infusions and potions. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, on his return from the office, he ran to the bank of the Seine +with his cousin Thérèse who was then close upon eighteen. One day, sixteen +years previously, while Madame Raquin was still a mercer, her brother Captain +Degans brought her a little girl in his arms. He had just arrived from Algeria. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a child,” said he with a smile, “and you are her +aunt. The mother is dead and I don’t know what to do with her. I’ll +give her to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The mercer took the child, smiled at her and kissed her rosy cheeks. Although +Degans remained a week at Vernon, his sister barely put a question to him +concerning the little girl he had brought her. She understood vaguely that the +dear little creature was born at Oran, and that her mother was a woman of the +country of great beauty. The Captain, an hour before his departure, handed his +sister a certificate of birth in which Thérèse, acknowledged by him to be his +child, bore his name. He rejoined his regiment, and was never seen again at +Vernon, being killed a few years later in Africa. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse grew up under the fostering care of her aunt, sleeping in the same bed +as Camille. She who had an iron constitution, received the treatment of a +delicate child, partaking of the same medicine as her cousin, and kept in the +warm air of the room occupied by the invalid. For hours she remained crouching +over the fire, in thought, watching the flames before her, without lowering her +eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +This obligatory life of a convalescent caused her to retire within herself. She +got into the habit of talking in a low voice, of moving about noiselessly, of +remaining mute and motionless on a chair with expressionless, open eyes. But, +when she raised an arm, when she advanced a foot, it was easy to perceive that +she possessed feline suppleness, short, potent muscles, and that unmistakable +energy and passion slumbered in her soporous frame. Her cousin having fallen +down one day in a fainting fit, she abruptly picked him up and carried +him—an effort of strength that turned her cheeks scarlet. The cloistered +life she led, the debilitating regimen to which she found herself subjected, +failed to weaken her thin, robust form. Only her face took a pale, and even a +slightly yellowish tint, making her look almost ugly in the shade. Ever and +anon she went to the window, and contemplated the opposite houses on which the +sun threw sheets of gold. +</p> + +<p> +When Madame Raquin sold her business, and withdrew to the little place beside +the river, Thérèse experienced secret thrills of joy. Her aunt had so +frequently repeated to her: “Don’t make a noise; be quiet,” +that she kept all the impetuosity of her nature carefully concealed within her. +She possessed supreme composure, and an apparent tranquillity that masked +terrible transports. She still fancied herself in the room of her cousin, +beside a dying child, and had the softened movements, the periods of silence, +the placidity, the faltering speech of an old woman. +</p> + +<p> +When she saw the garden, the clear river, the vast green hillocks ascending on +the horizon, she felt a savage desire to run and shout. She felt her heart +thumping fit to burst in her bosom; but not a muscle of her face moved, and she +merely smiled when her aunt inquired whether she was pleased with her new home. +</p> + +<p> +Life now became more pleasant for her. She maintained her supple gait, her +calm, indifferent countenance, she remained the child brought up in the bed of +an invalid; but inwardly she lived a burning, passionate existence. When alone +on the grass beside the water, she would lie down flat on her stomach like an +animal, her black eyes wide open, her body writhing, ready to spring. And she +stayed there for hours, without a thought, scorched by the sun, delighted at +being able to thrust her fingers in the earth. She had the most ridiculous +dreams; she looked at the roaring river in defiance, imagining that the water +was about to leap on her and attack her. Then she became rigid, preparing for +the defence, and angrily inquiring of herself how she could vanquish the +torrent. +</p> + +<p> +At night, Thérèse, appeased and silent, stitched beside her aunt, with a +countenance that seemed to be dozing in the gleam that softly glided from +beneath the lamp shade. Camille buried in an armchair thought of his additions. +A word uttered in a low voice, alone disturbed, at moments, the peacefulness of +this drowsy home. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin observed her children with serene benevolence. She had resolved +to make them husband and wife. She continued to treat her son as if he were at +death’s door; and she trembled when she happened to reflect that she +would one day die herself, and would leave him alone and suffering. In that +contingency, she relied on Thérèse, saying to herself that the young girl would +be a vigilant guardian beside Camille. Her niece with her tranquil manner, and +mute devotedness, inspired her with unlimited confidence. She had seen Thérèse +at work, and wished to give her to her son as a guardian angel. This marriage +was a solution to the matter, foreseen and settled in her mind. +</p> + +<p> +The children knew for a long time that they were one day to marry. They had +grown up with this idea, which had thus become familiar and natural to them. +The union was spoken of in the family as a necessary and positive thing. Madame +Raquin had said: +</p> + +<p> +“We will wait until Thérèse is one-and-twenty.” +</p> + +<p> +And they waited patiently, without excitement, and without a blush. +</p> + +<p> +Camille, whose blood had become impoverished by illness, had remained a little +boy in the eyes of his cousin. He kissed her as he kissed his mother, by habit, +without losing any of his egotistic tranquillity. He looked upon her as an +obliging comrade who helped him to amuse himself, and who, if occasion offered, +prepared him an infusion. When playing with her, when he held her in his arms, +it was as if he had a boy to deal with. He experienced no thrill, and at these +moments the idea had never occurred to him of planting a warm kiss on her lips +as she struggled with a nervous laugh to free herself. +</p> + +<p> +The girl also seemed to have remained cold and indifferent. At times her great +eyes rested on Camille and fixedly gazed at him with sovereign calm. On such +occasions her lips alone made almost imperceptible little motions. Nothing +could be read on her expressionless countenance, which an inexorable will +always maintained gentle and attentive. Thérèse became grave when the +conversation turned to her marriage, contenting herself with approving all that +Madame Raquin said by a sign of the head. Camille went to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +On summer evenings, the two young people ran to the edge of the water. Camille, +irritated at the incessant attentions of his mother, at times broke out in open +revolt. He wished to run about and make himself ill, to escape the fondling +that disgusted him. He would then drag Thérèse along with him, provoking her to +wrestle, to roll in the grass. One day, having pushed his cousin down, the +young girl bounded to her feet with all the savageness of a wild beast, and, +with flaming face and bloodshot eyes, fell upon him with clenched fists. +Camille in fear sank to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Months and years passed by, and at length the day fixed for the marriage +arrived. Madame Raquin took Thérèse apart, spoke to her of her father and +mother, and related to her the story of her birth. The young girl listened to +her aunt, and when she had finished speaking, kissed her, without answering a +word. +</p> + +<p> +At night, Thérèse, instead of going into her own room, which was on the left of +the staircase, entered that of her cousin which was on the right. This was all +the change that occurred in her mode of life. The following day, when the young +couple came downstairs, Camille had still his sickly languidness, his righteous +tranquillity of an egotist. Thérèse still maintained her gentle indifference, +and her restrained expression of frightful calmness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p> +A week after the marriage, Camille distinctly told his mother that he intended +quitting Vernon to reside in Paris. Madame Raquin protested: she had arranged +her mode of life, and would not modify it in any way. Thereupon her son had a +nervous attack, and threatened to fall ill, if she did not give way to his +whim. +</p> + +<p> +“Never have I opposed you in your plans,” said he; “I married +my cousin, I took all the drugs you gave me. It is only natural, now, when I +have a desire of my own, that you should be of the same mind. We will move at +the end of the month.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin was unable to sleep all night. The decision Camille had come to, +upset her way of living, and, in despair, she sought to arrange another +existence for herself and the married couple. Little by little, she recovered +calm. She reflected that the young people might have children, and that her +small fortune would not then suffice. It was necessary to earn money, to go +into business again, to find lucrative occupation for Thérèse. The next day she +had become accustomed to the idea of moving, and had arranged a plan for a new +life. +</p> + +<p> +At luncheon she was quite gay. +</p> + +<p> +“This is what we will do,” said she to her children. “I will +go to Paris to-morrow. There I will look out for a small mercery business for +sale, and Thérèse and myself will resume selling needles and cotton, which will +give us something to do. You, Camille, will act as you like. You can either +stroll about in the sun, or you can find some employment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall find employment,” answered the young man. +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that an idiotic ambition had alone impelled Camille to leave +Vernon. He wished to find a post in some important administration. He blushed +with delight when he fancied he saw himself in the middle of a large office, +with lustring elbow sleeves, and a pen behind his ear. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse was not consulted: she had always displayed such passive obedience that +her aunt and husband no longer took the trouble to ask her opinion. She went +where they went, she did what they did, without a complaint, without a +reproach, without appearing even to be aware that she changed her place of +residence. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin came to Paris, and went straight to the Arcade of the Pont Neuf. +An old maid at Vernon had sent her to one of her relatives who in this arcade +kept a mercery shop which she desired to get rid of. The former mercer found +the shop rather small, and rather dark; but, in passing through Paris, she had +been taken aback by the noise in the streets, by the luxuriously dressed +windows, and this narrow gallery, this modest shop front, recalled her former +place of business which was so peaceful. She could fancy herself again in the +provinces, and she drew a long breath thinking that her dear children would be +happy in this out-of-the-way corner. The low price asked for the business, +caused her to make up her mind. The owner sold it her for 2,000 francs, and the +rent of the shop and first floor was only 1,200 francs a year. Madame Raquin, +who had close upon 4,000 francs saved up, calculated that she could pay for the +business and settle the rent for the first year, without encroaching on her +fortune. The salary Camille would be receiving, and the profit on the mercery +business would suffice, she thought, to meet the daily expenses; so that she +need not touch the income of her funded money, which would capitalise, and go +towards providing marriage portions for her grandchildren. +</p> + +<p> +She returned to Vernon beaming with pleasure, relating that she had found a +gem, a delightful little place right in the centre of Paris. Little by little, +at the end of a few days, in her conversations of an evening, the damp, obscure +shop in the arcade became a palace; she pictured it to herself, so far as her +memory served her, as convenient, spacious, tranquil, and replete with a +thousand inestimable advantages. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my dear Thérèse,” said she, “you will see how happy we +shall be in that nook! There are three beautiful rooms upstairs. The arcade is +full of people. We will make charming displays. There is no fear of our feeling +dull.” +</p> + +<p> +But she did not stop there. All her instinct of a former shopkeeper was +awakened. She gave advice to Thérèse, beforehand, as to buying and selling, and +posted her up in all the tricks of small tradespeople. At length, the family +quitted the house beside the Seine, and on the evening of the same day, were +installed in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf. +</p> + +<p> +When Thérèse entered the shop, where in future she was to live, it seemed to +her that she was descending into the clammy soil of a grave. She felt quite +disheartened, and shivered with fear. She looked at the dirty, damp gallery, +visited the shop, and ascending to the first floor, walked round each room. +These bare apartments, without furniture, looked frightful in their solitude +and dilapidation. The young woman could not make a gesture, or utter a word. +She was as if frozen. Her aunt and husband having come downstairs, she seated +herself on a trunk, her hands rigid, her throat full of sobs, and yet she could +not cry. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin, face to face with reality, felt embarrassed, and ashamed of her +dreams. She sought to defend her acquisition. She found a remedy for every +fresh inconvenience that was discovered, explaining the obscurity by saying the +weather was overcast, and concluded by affirming that a sweep-up would suffice +to set everything right. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” answered Camille, “all this is quite suitable. +Besides, we shall only come up here at night. I shall not be home before five +or six o’clock. As to you two, you will be together, so you will not be +dull.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man would never have consented to inhabit such a den, had he not +relied on the comfort of his office. He said to himself that he would be warm +all day at his administration, and that, at night, he would go to bed early. +</p> + +<p> +For a whole week, the shop and lodging remained in disorder. Thérèse had seated +herself behind the counter from the first day, and she did not move from that +place. Madame Raquin was astonished at this depressed attitude. She had thought +that the young woman would try to adorn her habitation. That she would place +flowers at the windows, and ask for new papers, curtains and carpets. When she +suggested some repairs, some kind of embellishment, her niece quietly replied: +</p> + +<p> +“What need is there for it? We are very well as we are. There is no +necessity for luxury.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Madame Raquin who had to arrange the rooms and tidy up the shop. Thérèse +at last lost patience at seeing the good old lady incessantly turning round and +round before her eyes; she engaged a charwoman, and forced her aunt to be +seated beside her. +</p> + +<p> +Camille remained a month without finding employment. He lived as little as +possible in the shop, preferring to stroll about all day; and he found life so +dreadfully dull with nothing to do, that he spoke of returning to Vernon. But +he at length obtained a post in the administration of the Orleans Railway, +where he earned 100 francs a month. His dream had become realised. +</p> + +<p> +He set out in the morning at eight o’clock. Walking down the Rue +Guénégaud, he found himself on the quays. Then, taking short steps with his +hands in his pockets, he followed the Seine from the Institut to the Jardin des +Plantes. This long journey which he performed twice daily, never wearied him. +He watched the water running along, and he stopped to see the rafts of wood +descending the river, pass by. He thought of nothing. Frequently he planted +himself before Notre Dame, to contemplate the scaffolding surrounding the +cathedral which was then undergoing repair. These huge pieces of timber amused +him although he failed to understand why. Then he cast a glance into the Port +aux Vins as he went past, and after that counted the cabs coming from the +station. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, quite stupefied, with his head full of some silly story related +to his office, he crossed the Jardin des Plantes, and went to have a look at +the bears, if he was not in too great a hurry. There he remained half an hour, +leaning over the rails at the top of the pit, observing the animals clumsily +swaying to and fro. The behaviour of these huge beasts pleased him. He examined +them with gaping mouth and rounded eyes, partaking of the joy of an idiot when +he perceived them bestir themselves. At last he turned homewards, dragging his +feet along, busying himself with the passers-by, with the vehicles, and the +shops. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he arrived he dined, and then began reading. He had purchased the +works of Buffon, and, every evening, he set himself to peruse twenty to thirty +pages, notwithstanding the wearisome nature of the task. He also read in +serial, at 10 centimes the number, “The History of the Consulate and +Empire” by Thiers, and “The History of the Girondins” by +Lamartine, as well as some popular scientific works. He fancied he was +labouring at his education. At times, he forced his wife to listen to certain +pages, to particular anecdotes, and felt very much astonished that Thérèse +could remain pensive and silent the whole evening, without being tempted to +take up a book. And he thought to himself that his wife must be a woman of very +poor intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse thrust books away from her with impatience. She preferred to remain +idle, with her eyes fixed, and her thoughts wandering and lost. But she +maintained an even, easy temper, exercising all her will to render herself a +passive instrument, replete with supreme complaisance and abnegation. +</p> + +<p> +The shop did not do much business. The profit was the same regularly each +month. The customers consisted of female workpeople living in the +neighbourhood. Every five minutes a young girl came in to purchase a few sous +worth of goods. Thérèse served the people with words that were ever the same, +with a smile that appeared mechanically on her lips. Madame Raquin displayed a +more unbending, a more gossipy disposition, and, to tell the truth, it was she +who attracted and retained the customers. +</p> + +<p> +For three years, days followed days and resembled one another. Camille did not +once absent himself from his office. His mother and wife hardly ever left the +shop. Thérèse, residing in damp obscurity, in gloomy, crushing silence, saw +life expand before her in all its nakedness, each night bringing the same cold +couch, and each morn the same empty day. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p> +One day out of seven, on the Thursday evening, the Raquin family received their +friends. They lit a large lamp in the dining-room, and put water on the fire to +make tea. There was quite a set out. This particular evening emerged in bold +relief from the others. It had become one of the customs of the family, who +regarded it in the light of a middle-class orgie full of giddy gaiety. They did +not retire to rest until eleven o’clock at night. +</p> + +<p> +At Paris Madame Raquin had found one of her old friends, the commissary of +police Michaud, who had held a post at Vernon for twenty years, lodging in the +same house as the mercer. A narrow intimacy had thus been established between +them; then, when the widow had sold her business to go and reside in the house +beside the river, they had little by little lost sight of one another. Michaud +left the provinces a few months later, and came to live peacefully in Paris, +Rue de Seine, on his pension of 1,500 francs. One rainy day, he met his old +friend in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf, and the same evening dined with the +family. +</p> + +<p> +The Thursday receptions began in this way: the former commissary of police got +into the habit of calling on the Raquins regularly once a week. After a while +he came accompanied by his son Olivier, a great fellow of thirty, dry and thin, +who had married a very little woman, slow and sickly. This Olivier held the +post of head clerk in the section of order and security at the Préfecture of +Police, worth 3,000 francs a year, which made Camille feel particularly +jealous. From the first day he made his appearance, Thérèse detested this cold, +rigid individual, who imagined he honoured the shop in the arcade by making a +display of his great shrivelled-up frame, and the exhausted condition of his +poor little wife. +</p> + +<p> +Camille introduced another guest, an old clerk at the Orleans Railway, named +Grivet, who had been twenty years in the service of the company, where he now +held the position of head clerk, and earned 2,100 francs a year. It was he who +gave out the work in the office where Camille had found employment, and the +latter showed him certain respect. Camille, in his day dreams, had said to +himself that Grivet would one day die, and that he would perhaps take his place +at the end of a decade or so. Grivet was delighted at the welcome Madame Raquin +gave him, and he returned every week with perfect regularity. Six months later, +his Thursday visit had become, in his way of thinking, a duty: he went to the +Arcade of the Pont Neuf, just as he went every morning to his office, that is +to say mechanically, and with the instinct of a brute. +</p> + +<p> +From this moment, the gatherings became charming. At seven o’clock Madame +Raquin lit the fire, set the lamp in the centre of the table, placed a box of +dominoes beside it, and wiped the tea service which was in the sideboard. +Precisely at eight o’clock old Michaud and Grivet met before the shop, +one coming from the Rue de Seine, and the other from the Rue Mazarine. As soon +as they entered, all the family went up to the first floor. There, in the +dining-room, they seated themselves round the table waiting for Olivier Michaud +and his wife who always arrived late. When the party was complete, Madame +Raquin poured out the tea. Camille emptied the box of dominoes on the oilcloth +table cover, and everyone became deeply interested in their hands. Henceforth +nothing could be heard but the jingle of dominoes. At the end of each game, the +players quarrelled for two or three minutes, then mournful silence was resumed, +broken by the sharp clanks of the dominoes. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse played with an indifference that irritated Camille. She took François, +the great tabby cat that Madame Raquin had brought from Vernon, on her lap, +caressing it with one hand, whilst she placed her dominoes with the other. +These Thursday evenings were a torture to her. Frequently she complained of +being unwell, of a bad headache, so as not to play, and remain there doing +nothing, and half asleep. An elbow on the table, her cheek resting on the palm +of her hand, she watched the guests of her aunt and husband through a sort of +yellow, smoky mist coming from the lamp. All these faces exasperated her. She +looked from one to the other in profound disgust and secret irritation. +</p> + +<p> +Old Michaud exhibited a pasty countenance, spotted with red blotches, one of +those death-like faces of an old man fallen into second childhood; Grivet had +the narrow visage, the round eyes, the thin lips of an idiot. Olivier, whose +bones were piercing his cheeks, gravely carried a stiff, insignificant head on +a ridiculous body; as to Suzanne, the wife of Olivier, she was quite pale, with +expressionless eyes, white lips, and a soft face. And Thérèse could not find +one human being, not one living being among these grotesque and sinister +creatures, with whom she was shut up; sometimes she had hallucinations, she +imagined herself buried at the bottom of a tomb, in company with mechanical +corpses, who, when the strings were pulled, moved their heads, and agitated +their legs and arms. The thick atmosphere of the dining-room stifled her; the +shivering silence, the yellow gleams of the lamp penetrated her with vague +terror, and inexpressible anguish. +</p> + +<p> +Below, to the door of the shop, they had fixed a bell whose sharp tinkle +announced the entrance of customers. Thérèse had her ear on the alert; and when +the bell rang, she rapidly ran downstairs quite relieved, delighted at being +able to quit the dining-room. She slowly served the purchaser, and when she +found herself alone, she sat down behind the counter where she remained as long +as possible, dreading going upstairs again, and in the enjoyment of real +pleasure at no longer having Grivet and Olivier before her eyes. The damp air +of the shop calmed the burning fever of her hands, and she again fell into the +customary grave reverie. +</p> + +<p> +But she could not remain like this for long. Camille became angry at her +absence. He failed to comprehend how anyone could prefer the shop to the +dining-room on a Thursday evening, and he leant over the banister, to look for +his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” he would shout. “What are you +doing there? Why don’t you come up? Grivet has the devil’s own +luck. He has just won again.” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman rose painfully, and ascending to the dining-room resumed her +seat opposite old Michaud, whose pendent lips gave heartrending smiles. And, +until eleven o’clock, she remained oppressed in her chair, watching +François whom she held in her arms, so as to avoid seeing the cardboard dolls +grimacing around her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p> +One Thursday, Camille, on returning from his office, brought with him a great +fellow with square shoulders, whom he pushed in a familiar manner into the +shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” he said to Madame Raquin, pointing to the newcomer, +“do you recognise this gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +The old mercer looked at the strapping blade, seeking among her recollections +and finding nothing, while Thérèse placidly observed the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” resumed Camille, “you don’t recognise Laurent, +little Laurent, the son of daddy Laurent who owns those beautiful fields of +corn out Jeufosse way. Don’t you remember? I went to school with him; he +came to fetch me of a morning on leaving the house of his uncle, who was our +neighbour, and you used to give him slices of bread and jam.” +</p> + +<p> +All at once Madame Raquin recollected little Laurent, whom she found very much +grown. It was quite ten years since she had seen him. She now did her best to +make him forget her lapse of memory in greeting him, by recalling a thousand +little incidents of the past, and by adopting a wheedling manner towards him +that was quite maternal. Laurent had seated himself. With a peaceful smile on +his lips, he replied to the questions addressed to him in a clear voice, +casting calm and easy glances around him. +</p> + +<p> +“Just imagine,” said Camille, “this joker has been employed +at the Orleans-Railway-Station for eighteen months, and it was only to-night +that we met and recognised one another—the administration is so vast, so +important!” +</p> + +<p> +As the young man made this remark, he opened his eyes wider, and pinched his +lips, proud to be a humble wheel in such a large machine. Shaking his head, he +continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! but he is in a good position. He has studied. He already earns 1,500 +francs a year. His father sent him to college. He had read for the bar, and +learnt painting. That is so, is it not, Laurent? You’ll dine with +us?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am quite willing,” boldly replied the other. +</p> + +<p> +He got rid of his hat and made himself comfortable in the shop, while Madame +Raquin ran off to her stewpots. Thérèse, who had not yet pronounced a word, +looked at the new arrival. She had never seen such a man before. Laurent, who +was tall and robust, with a florid complexion, astonished her. It was with a +feeling akin to admiration, that she contemplated his low forehead planted with +coarse black hair, his full cheeks, his red lips, his regular features of +sanguineous beauty. For an instant her eyes rested on his neck, a neck that was +thick and short, fat and powerful. Then she became lost in the contemplation of +his great hands which he kept spread out on his knees: the fingers were square; +the clenched fist must be enormous and would fell an ox. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent was a real son of a peasant, rather heavy in gait, with an arched back, +with movements that were slow and precise, and an obstinate tranquil manner. +One felt that his apparel concealed round and well-developed muscles, and a +body of thick hard flesh. Thérèse examined him with curiosity, glancing from +his fists to his face, and experienced little shivers when her eyes fell on his +bull-like neck. +</p> + +<p> +Camille spread out his Buffon volumes, and his serials at 10 centimes the +number, to show his friend that he also studied. Then, as if answering an +inquiry he had been making of himself for some minutes, he said to Laurent: +</p> + +<p> +“But, surely you must know my wife? Don’t you remember that little +cousin who used to play with us at Vernon?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no difficulty in recognising Madame,” answered Laurent, +looking Thérèse full in the face. +</p> + +<p> +This penetrating glance troubled the young woman, who, nevertheless, gave a +forced smile, and after exchanging a few words with Laurent and her husband, +hurried away to join her aunt, feeling ill at ease. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as they had seated themselves at table, and commenced the soup, Camille +thought it right to be attentive to his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“How is your father?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t know,” answered Laurent. “We are not on +good terms; we ceased corresponding five years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” exclaimed the clerk, astonished at such a monstrosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” continued the other, “the dear man has ideas of his +own. As he is always at law with his neighbours, he sent me to college, in the +fond hope that later on, he would find in me an advocate who would win him all +his actions. Oh! daddy Laurent has naught but useful ambitions; he even wants +to get something out of his follies.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you wouldn’t be an advocate?” inquired Camille, more and +more astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, no,” answered his friend with a smile. “For a couple +of years I pretended to follow the classes, so as to draw the allowance of +1,200 francs which my father made me. I lived with one of my college chums, who +is a painter, and I set about painting also. It amused me. The calling is +droll, and not at all fatiguing. We smoked and joked all the livelong +day.” +</p> + +<p> +The Raquin family opened their eyes in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately,” continued Laurent, “this could not last. My +father found out that I was telling him falsehoods. He stopped my 100 francs a +month, and invited me to return and plough the land with him. I then tried to +paint pictures on religious subjects which proved bad business. As I could +plainly see that I was going to die of hunger, I sent art to the deuce and +sought employment. My father will die one of these days, and I am waiting for +that event to live and do nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent spoke in a tranquil tone. In a few words he had just related a +characteristic tale that depicted him at full length. In reality he was an idle +fellow, with the appetite of a full-blooded man for everything, and very +pronounced ideas as to easy and lasting employment. The only ambition of this +great powerful frame was to do nothing, to grovel in idleness and satiation +from hour to hour. He wanted to eat well, sleep well, to abundantly satisfy his +passions, without moving from his place, without running the risk of the +slightest fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +The profession of advocate had terrified him, and he shuddered at the idea of +tilling the soil. He had plunged into art, hoping to find therein a calling +suitable to an idle man. The paint-brush struck him as being an instrument +light to handle, and he fancied success easy. His dream was a life of cheap +sensuality, a beautiful existence full of houris, of repose on divans, of +victuals and intoxication. +</p> + +<p> +The dream lasted so long as daddy Laurent sent the crown pieces. But when the +young man, who was already thirty, perceived the wolf at the door, he began to +reflect. Face to face with privations, he felt himself a coward. He would not +have accepted a day without bread, for the utmost glory art could bestow. As he +had said himself, he sent art to the deuce, as soon as he recognised that it +would never suffice to satisfy his numerous requirements. His first efforts had +been below mediocrity; his peasant eyes caught a clumsy, slovenly view of +nature; his muddy, badly drawn, grimacing pictures, defied all criticism. +</p> + +<p> +But he did not seem to have an over-dose of vanity for an artist; he was not in +dire despair when he had to put aside his brushes. All he really regretted was +the vast studio of his college chum, where he had been voluptuously grovelling +for four or five years. He also regretted the women who came to pose there. +Nevertheless he found himself at ease in his position as clerk; he lived very +well in a brutish fashion, and he was fond of this daily task, which did not +fatigue him, and soothed his mind. Still one thing irritated him: the food at +the eighteen sous ordinaries failed to appease the gluttonous appetite of his +stomach. +</p> + +<p> +As Camille listened to his friend, he contemplated him with all the +astonishment of a simpleton. This feeble man was dreaming, in a childish +manner, of this studio life which his friend had been alluding to, and he +questioned Laurent on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” said he, “there were lady models who posed before you +in the nude?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! yes,” answered Laurent with a smile, and looking at Thérèse, +who had turned deadly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have thought that very funny,” continued Camille, +laughing like a child. “It would have made me feel most awkward. I expect +you were quite scandalised the first time it happened.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent had spread out one of his great hands and was attentively looking at +the palm. His fingers gave slight twitches, and his cheeks became flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“The first time,” he answered, as if speaking to himself, “I +fancy I thought it quite natural. This devilish art is exceedingly amusing, +only it does not bring in a sou. I had a red-haired girl as model who was +superb, firm white flesh, gorgeous bust, hips as wide as . . .” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, raising his head, saw Thérèse mute and motionless opposite, gazing at +him with ardent fixedness. Her dull black eyes seemed like two fathomless +holes, and through her parted lips could be perceived the rosy tint of the +inside of her mouth. She seemed as if overpowered by what she heard, and lost +in thought. She continued listening. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent looked from Thérèse to Camille, and the former painter restrained a +smile. He completed his phrase by a broad voluptuous gesture, which the young +woman followed with her eyes. They were at dessert, and Madame Raquin had just +run downstairs to serve a customer. +</p> + +<p> +When the cloth was removed Laurent, who for some minutes had been thoughtful, +turned to Camille. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he blurted out, “I must paint your +portrait.” +</p> + +<p> +This idea delighted Madame Raquin and her son, but Thérèse remained silent. +</p> + +<p> +“It is summer-time,” resumed Laurent, “and as we leave the +office at four o’clock, I can come here, and let you give me a sitting +for a couple of hours in the evening. The picture will be finished in a +week.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be fine,” answered Camille, flushed with joy. “You +shall dine with us. I will have my hair curled, and put on my black frock +coat.” +</p> + +<p> +Eight o’clock struck. Grivet and Michaud made their entry. Olivier and +Suzanne arrived behind them. +</p> + +<p> +When Camille introduced his friend to the company, Grivet pinched his lips. He +detested Laurent whose salary, according to his idea, had risen far too +rapidly. Besides, the introduction of a new-comer was quite an important +matter, and the guests of the Raquins could not receive an individual unknown +to them, without some display of coldness. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent behaved very amicably. He grasped the situation, and did his best to +please the company, so as to make himself acceptable to them at once. He +related anecdotes, enlivened the party by his merry laughter, and even won the +friendship of Grivet. +</p> + +<p> +That evening Thérèse made no attempt to go down to the shop. She remained +seated on her chair until eleven o’clock, playing and talking, avoiding +the eyes of Laurent, who for that matter did not trouble himself about her. The +sanguineous temperament of this strapping fellow, his full voice and jovial +laughter, troubled the young woman and threw her into a sort of nervous +anguish. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p> +Henceforth, Laurent called almost every evening on the Raquins. He lived in the +Rue Saint-Victor, opposite the Port aux Vins, where he rented a small furnished +room at 18 francs a month. This attic, pierced at the top by a lift-up window, +measured barely nine square yards, and Laurent was in the habit of going home +as late as possible at night. Previous to his meeting with Camille, the state +of his purse not permitting him to idle away his time in the cafes, he loitered +at the cheap eating-houses where he took his dinner, smoking his pipe and +sipping his coffee and brandy which cost him three sous. Then he slowly gained +the Rue Saint-Victor, sauntering along the quays, where he seated himself on +the benches, in mild weather. +</p> + +<p> +The shop in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf became a charming retreat, warm and +quiet, where he found amicable conversation and attention. He saved the three +sous his coffee and brandy cost him, and gluttonously swallowed the excellent +tea prepared by Madame Raquin. He remained there until ten o’clock, +dozing and digesting as if he were at home; and before taking his departure, +assisted Camille to put up the shutters and close the shop for the night. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, he came with his easel and box of colours. He was to commence the +portrait of Camille on the morrow. A canvas was purchased, minute preparations +made, and the artist at last took the work in hand in the room occupied by the +married couple, where Laurent said the light was the best. +</p> + +<p> +He took three evenings to draw the head. He carefully trailed the charcoal over +the canvas with short, sorry strokes, his rigid, cold drawing recalling in a +grotesque fashion that of the primitive masters. He copied the face of Camille +with a hesitating hand, as a pupil copies an academical figure, with a clumsy +exactitude that conveyed a scowl to the face. On the fourth day, he placed tiny +little dabs of colour on his palette, and commenced painting with the point of +the brush; he then dotted the canvas with small dirty spots, and made short +strokes altogether as if he had been using a pencil. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of each sitting, Madame Raquin and Camille were in ecstasies. But +Laurent said they must wait, that the resemblance would soon come. +</p> + +<p> +Since the portrait had been commenced, Thérèse no longer quitted the room, +which had been transformed into a studio. Leaving her aunt alone behind the +counter, she ran upstairs at the least pretext, and forgot herself watching +Laurent paint. +</p> + +<p> +Still grave and oppressed, paler and more silent, she sat down and observed the +labour of the brushes. But this sight did not seem to amuse her very much. She +came to the spot, as though attracted by some power, and she remained, as if +riveted there. Laurent at times turned round, with a smile, inquiring whether +the portrait pleased her. But she barely answered, a shiver ran through her +frame, and she resumed her meditative trance. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, returning at night to the Rue Saint-Victor, reasoned with himself at +length, discussing in his mind, whether he should become the lover of Thérèse, +or not. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is a little woman,” said he to himself, “who will be my +sweetheart whenever I choose. She is always there, behind my back, examining, +measuring me, summing me up. She trembles. She has a strange face that is mute +and yet impassioned. What a miserable creature that Camille is, to be +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +And Laurent inwardly laughed as he thought of his pale, thin friend. Then he +resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“She is bored to death in that shop. I go there, because I have nowhere +else to go to, otherwise they would not often catch me in the Arcade of the +Pont Neuf. It is damp and sad. A woman must be wearied to death there. I please +her, I am sure of it; then, why not me rather than another?” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped. Self-conceit was getting the better of him. Absorbed in thought, he +watched the Seine running by. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow, come what may,” he exclaimed, “I shall kiss her at +the first opportunity. I bet she falls at once into my arms.” +</p> + +<p> +As he resumed his walk, he was seized with indecision. +</p> + +<p> +“But she is ugly,” thought he. “She has a long nose, and a +big mouth. Besides, I have not the least love for her. I shall perhaps get +myself into trouble. The matter requires reflection.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, who was very prudent, turned these thoughts over in his head for a +whole week. He calculated all the possible inconveniences of an intrigue with +Thérèse, and only decided to attempt the adventure, when he felt convinced that +it could be attended by no evil consequences. Thérèse would have every interest +to conceal their intimacy, and he could get rid of her whenever he pleased. +Even admitting that Camille discovered everything, and got angry, he would +knock him down, if he became spiteful. From every point of view that matter +appeared to Laurent easy and engaging. +</p> + +<p> +Henceforth he enjoyed gentle quietude, waiting for the hour to strike. He had +made up his mind to act boldly at the first opportunity. In the future he saw +comfortable evenings, with all the Raquins contributing to his enjoyment: +Thérèse giving him her love, Madame Raquin wheedling him like a mother, and +Camille chatting with him so that he might not feel too dull, at night, in the +shop. +</p> + +<p> +The portrait was almost completed, but the opportunity he desired did not +occur. Thérèse, depressed and anxious, continued to remain in the room. But so +did Camille, and Laurent was in despair at being unable to get rid of him. +Nevertheless, the time came when he found himself obliged to mention that the +portrait would be finished on the morrow, and Madame Raquin thereupon announced +that they would celebrate the completion of the work of the artist by dining +together. +</p> + +<p> +The next day, when Laurent had given the canvas the last touch, all the family +assembled to go into raptures over the striking resemblance. The portrait was +vile, a dirty grey colour with large violescent patches. Laurent could not use +even the brightest colours, without making them dull and muddy. In spite of +himself he had exaggerated the wan complexion of his model, and the countenance +of Camille resembled the greenish visage of a person who had met death by +drowning. The grimacing drawing threw the features into convulsions, thus +rendering the sinister resemblance all the more striking. But Camille was +delighted; he declared that he had the appearance of a person of distinction on +the canvas. +</p> + +<p> +When he had thoroughly admired his own face, he declared he would go and fetch +a couple of bottles of champagne. Madame Raquin went down to the shop, and the +artist was alone with Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman had remained seated, gazing vaguely in front of her. Laurent +hesitated. He examined the portrait, and played with his brushes. There was not +much time to lose. Camille might come back, and the opportunity would perhaps +not occur again. The painter abruptly turned round, and found himself face to +face with Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +They contemplated one another for a few seconds. Then, with a violent movement, +Laurent bent down, and pressed the young woman to him. Throwing back her head +he crushed her mouth beneath his lips. She made a savage, angry effort at +revolt, and, then all at once gave in. They exchanged not a word. The act was +silent and brutal. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p> +The two sweethearts from the commencement found their intrigue necessary, +inevitable and quite natural. At their first interview they conversed +familiarly, kissing one another without embarrassment, and without a blush, as +if their intimacy had dated back several years. They lived quite at ease in +their new situation, with a tranquillity and an independence that were perfect. +</p> + +<p> +They made their appointments. Thérèse being unable to go out, it was arranged +that Laurent should come to see her. In a clear, firm voice the young woman +explained to him the plan she had conceived. The interview would take place in +the nuptial chamber. The sweetheart would pass by the passage which ran into +the arcade, and Thérèse would open the door on the staircase to him. During +this time, Camille would be at his office, and Madame Raquin below, in the +shop. This was a daring arrangement that ought to succeed. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent accepted. There was a sort of brutal temerity in his prudence, the +temerity of a man with big fists. Choosing a pretext, he obtained permission +from his chief to absent himself for a couple of hours, and hastened to the +Arcade of the Pont Neuf. +</p> + +<p> +The dealer in imitation jewelry was seated just opposite the door of the +passage, and he had to wait until she was busy, until some young work-girl came +to purchase a ring or a brooch made of brass. Then, rapidly entering the +passage, he ascended the narrow, dark staircase, leaning against the walls +which were clammy with damp. He stumbled against the stone steps, and each time +he did so, he felt a red-hot iron piercing his chest. A door opened, and on the +threshold, in the midst of a gleam of white light he perceived Thérèse, who +closing the door after him, threw her arms about his neck. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent was astonished to find his sweetheart handsome. He had never seen her +before as she appeared to him then. Thérèse, supple and strong, pressed him in +her arms, flinging her head backward, while on her visage coursed ardent rays +of light and passionate smiles. This face seemed as if transfigured, with its +moist lips and sparkling eyes. It now had a fond caressing look. It radiated. +She was beautiful with the strong beauty born of passionate abandon. +</p> + +<p> +When Laurent parted from her, after his initial visit, he staggered like a +drunken man, and the next day, on recovering his cunning prudent calm, he asked +himself whether he should return to this young woman whose kisses gave him the +fever. First of all he positively decided to keep to himself. Then he had a +cowardly feeling. He sought to forget, to avoid seeing Thérèse, and yet she +always seemed to be there, implacably extending her arms. The physical +suffering that this spectacle caused him became intolerable. +</p> + +<p> +He gave way. He arranged another meeting, and returned to the Arcade of the +Pont Neuf. +</p> + +<p> +From that day forth, Thérèse entered into his life. He did not yet accept her, +although he bore with her. He had his hours of terror, his moments of prudence, +and, altogether this intrigue caused him disagreeable agitation. But his +discomfort and his fears disappeared. The meetings continued and multiplied. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse experienced no hesitation. She went straight where her passion urged +her to go. This woman whom circumstances had bowed down, and who had at length +drawn herself up erect, now revealed all her being and explained her life. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! if you only knew,” said she, “how I have suffered. I was +brought up in the tepid damp room of an invalid. I slept in the same bed as +Camille. At night I got as far away from him as I could, to avoid the sickly +odour of his body. He was naughty and obstinate. He would not take his physic +unless I shared it with him. To please my aunt I was obliged to swallow a dose +of every drug. I don’t know how it is I have survived. They made me ugly. +They robbed me of the only thing I possessed, and it is impossible for you to +love me as I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off and wept, and after kissing Laurent, continued with bitter +hatred: +</p> + +<p> +“I do not wish them any harm. They brought me up, they received me, and +shielded me from misery. But I should have preferred abandonment to their +hospitality. I had a burning desire for the open air. When quite young, my +dream was to rove barefooted along the dusty roads, holding out my hand for +charity, living like a gipsy. I have been told that my mother was a daughter of +the chief of a tribe in Africa. I have often thought of her, and I understood +that I belonged to her by blood and instinct. I should have liked to have never +parted from her, and to have crossed the sand slung at her back. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! what a childhood! I still feel disgust and rebellion, when I recall +the long days I passed in the room where Camille was at death’s door. I +sat bent over the fire, stupidly watching the infusions simmer, and feeling my +limbs growing stiff. And I could not move. My aunt scolded me if I made a +noise. Later on, I tasted profound joy in the little house beside the river; +but I was already half feeble, I could barely walk, and when I tried to run I +fell down. Then they buried me alive in this vile shop.” +</p> + +<p> +After a pause, she resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“You will hardly credit how bad they have made me. They have turned me +into a liar and a hypocrite. They have stifled me with their middle-class +gentleness, and I can hardly understand how it is that there is still blood in +my veins. I have lowered my eyes, and given myself a mournful, idiotic face +like theirs. I have led their deathlike life. When you saw me I looked like a +blockhead, did I not? I was grave, overwhelmed, brutalised. I no longer had any +hope. I thought of flinging myself into the Seine. +</p> + +<p> +“But previous to this depression, what nights of anger I had. Down there +at Vernon, in my frigid room, I bit my pillow to stifle my cries. I beat +myself, taxed myself with cowardice. My blood was on the boil, and I would have +lacerated my body. On two occasions, I wanted to run away, to go straight +before me, towards the sun; but my courage failed. They had turned me into a +docile brute with their tame benevolence and sickly tenderness. Then I lied, I +always lied. I remained there quite gentle, quite silent, dreaming of striking +and biting.” +</p> + +<p> +After a silence, she continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know why I consented to marry Camille. I did not protest, from +a feeling of a sort of disdainful indifference. I pitied the child. When I +played with him, I felt my fingers sink into the flesh of his limbs as into +damp clay. I took him because my aunt offered him to me, and because I never +intended to place any restraint on my actions on his account. +</p> + +<p> +“I found my husband just the same little suffering boy whose bed I had +shared when I was six years old. He was just as frail, just as plaintive, and +he still had that insipid odour of a sick child that had been so repugnant to +me previously. I am relating all this so that you may not be jealous. I was +seized with a sort of disgust. I remembered the physic I had drank. I got as +far away from him as the bed would allow, and I passed terrible nights. But +you, you——” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse drew herself up, bending backward, her fingers imprisoned in the +massive hands of Laurent, gazing at his broad shoulders, and enormous neck. +</p> + +<p> +“You, I love you,” she continued. “I loved you from the day +Camille pushed you into the shop. You have perhaps no esteem for me, because I +gave way at once. Truly, I know not how it happened. I am proud. I am +passionate. I would have liked to have beaten you, the first day, when you +kissed me. I do not know how it was I loved you; I hated you rather. The sight +of you irritated me, and made me suffer. When you were there, my nerves were +strained fit to snap. My head became quite empty. I was ready to commit a +crime. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! how I suffered! And I sought this suffering. I waited for you to +arrive. I loitered round your chair, so as to move in your breath, to drag my +clothes over yours. It seemed as though your blood cast puffs of heat on me as +I passed, and it was this sort of burning cloud in which you were enveloped, +that attracted me, and detained me beside you in spite of my secret revolt. You +remember when you were painting here: a fatal power attracted me to your side, +and I breathed your air with cruel delight. I know I seemed to be begging for +kisses, I felt ashamed of my bondage, I felt I should fall, if you were to +touch me. But I gave way to my cowardice, I shivered with cold, waiting until +you chose to take me in your arms.” +</p> + +<p> +When Thérèse ceased speaking, she was quivering, as though proud at being +avenged. In this bare and chilly room were enacted scenes of burning lust, +sinister in their brutality. +</p> + +<p> +On her part Thérèse seemed to revel in daring. The only precaution she would +take when expecting her lover was to tell her aunt she was going upstairs to +rest. But then, when he was there she never bothered about avoiding noise, +walking about and talking. At first this terrified Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake,” he whispered, “don’t make so +much noise. Madame Raquin will hear.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse would laugh. “Who cares, you are always so worried. She is at her +counter and won’t leave. She is too afraid of being robbed. Besides, you +can hide.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent’s passion had not yet stifled his native peasant caution, but +soon he grew used to the risks of these meetings, only a few yards from the old +woman. +</p> + +<p> +One day, fearing her niece was ill, Madame Raquin climbed the stairs. Thérèse +never bothered to bolt the bedroom door. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of the woman’s heavy step on the wooden stairs, Laurent +became frantic. Thérèse laughed as she saw him searching for his waistcoat and +hat. She grabbed his arm and pushed him down at the foot of the bed. With +perfect self-possession she whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Stay there. Don’t move.” +</p> + +<p> +She threw all his clothes that were lying about over him and covered them with +a white petticoat she had taken off. Without losing her calm, she lay down, +half-naked, with her hair loose. +</p> + +<p> +When Madame Raquin quietly opened the door and tiptoed to the bed the younger +woman pretended to be asleep. Laurent, under all the clothes was in a panic. +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse,” asked the old lady with some concern, “are you all +right, my dear?” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, opening her eyes and yawning, answered that she had a terrible +migraine. She begged her aunt to let her sleep some more. The old lady left the +room as quietly as she had entered it. +</p> + +<p> +“So you see,” Thérèse said triumphantly, “there is no reason +to worry. These people are not in love. They are blind.” +</p> + +<p> +At other times Thérèse seemed quite mad, wandering in her mind. She would see +the cat, sitting motionless and dignified, looking at them. “Look at +François,” she said to Laurent. “You’d think he understands +and is planning to tell Camille everything to-night. He knows a thing or two +about us. Wouldn’t it be funny if one day, in the shop, he just started +talking.” +</p> + +<p> +This idea was delightful to Thérèse but Laurent felt a shudder run through him +as he looked at the cat’s big green eyes. Thérèse’s hold on him was +not total and he was scared. He got up and put the cat out of the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p> +Laurent was perfectly happy of an evening, in the shop. He generally returned +from the office with Camille. Madame Raquin had formed quite a motherly +affection for him. She knew he was short of cash, and indifferently nourished, +that he slept in a garret; and she had told him, once for all, that a seat +would always be kept for him at their table. She liked this young fellow with +that expansive feeling that old women display for people who come from their +own part of the country, bringing with them memories of the past. +</p> + +<p> +The young man took full advantage of this hospitality. Before going to dinner, +after leaving the office for the night, he and Camille went for a stroll on the +quays. Both found satisfaction in this intimacy. They dawdled along, chatting +with one another, which prevented them feeling dull, and after a time decided +to go and taste the soup prepared by Madame Raquin. Laurent opened the shop +door as if he were master of the house, seated himself astride a chair, smoking +and expectorating as though at home. +</p> + +<p> +The presence of Thérèse did not embarrass him in the least. He treated the +young woman with friendly familiarity, paying her commonplace compliments +without a line of his face becoming disturbed. Camille laughed, and, as his +wife confined herself to answering his friend in monosyllables, he firmly +believed they detested one another. One day he even reproached Thérèse with +what he termed her coldness for Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent had made a correct guess: he had become the sweetheart of the woman, +the friend of the husband, the spoilt child of the mother. Never had he enjoyed +such a capital time. His position in the family struck him as quite natural. He +was on the most friendly terms with Camille, in regard to whom he felt neither +anger nor remorse. He was so sure of being prudent and calm that he did not +even keep watch on his gestures and speech. The egotism he displayed in the +enjoyment of his good fortune, shielded him from any fault. All that kept him +from kissing Thérèse in the shop was the fear that he would not be allowed to +come any more. He would not have cared a bit about hurting Camille and his +mother. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, who was of a more nervous and quivering temperament, was compelled to +play a part, and she played it to perfection, thanks to the clever hypocrisy +she had acquired in her bringing up. For nearly fifteen years, she had been +lying, stifling her fever, exerting an implacable will to appear gloomy and +half asleep. It cost her nothing to keep this mask on her face, which gave her +an appearance of icy frigidity. +</p> + +<p> +When Laurent entered the shop, he found her glum, her nose longer, her lips +thinner. She was ugly, cross, unapproachable. Nevertheless, she did not +exaggerate her effects, but only played her former part, without awakening +attention by greater harshness. She experienced extraordinary pleasure in +deceiving Camille and Madame Raquin. She was aware she was doing wrong, and at +times she felt a ferocious desire to rise from table and smother Laurent with +kisses, just to show her husband and aunt that she was not a fool, and that she +had a sweetheart. +</p> + +<p> +At moments, she felt giddy with joy; good actress as she proved herself, she +could not on such occasions refrain from singing, when her sweetheart did not +happen to be there, and she had no fear of betraying herself. These sudden +outbursts of gaiety charmed Madame Raquin, who taxed her niece with being too +serious. The young woman, moreover, decked the window of her room with pots of +flowers, and then had new paper hung in the apartment. After this she wanted a +carpet, curtains and rosewood furniture. +</p> + +<p> +The nature of the circumstances seemed to have made this woman for this man, +and to have thrust one towards the other. The two together, the woman nervous +and hypocritical, the man sanguineous and leading the life of a brute, formed a +powerful couple allied. The one completed the other, and they mutually +protected themselves. At night, at table, in the pale light of the lamp, one +felt the strength of their union, at the sight of the heavy, smiling face of +Laurent, opposite the mute, impenetrable mask of Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +Those evenings were pleasant and calm. In the silence, in the transparent +shadow and cool atmosphere, arose friendly conversation. The family and their +guest sat close together round the table. After the dessert, they chatted about +a thousand trifles of the day, about incidents that had occurred the day +before, about their hopes for the morrow. +</p> + +<p> +Camille liked Laurent, as much as he was capable of liking anybody, after the +fashion of a contented egotist, and Laurent seemed to show him equal +attachment. Between them there was an exchange of kind sentences, of obliging +gestures, and thoughtful attentions. Madame Raquin, with placid countenance, +contributed her peacefulness to the tranquillity of the scene, which resembled +a gathering of old friends who knew one another to the heart, and who +confidently relied on the faith of their friendship. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, motionless, peaceful like the others, observed this joy, this smiling +depression of these people of the middle class, and in her heart there was +savage laughter; all her being jeered, but her face maintained its frigid +rigidity. Ah! how she deceived these worthy people, and how delighted she was +to deceive them with such triumphant impudence. Her sweetheart, at this moment, +was like a person unknown to her, a comrade of her husband, a sort of simpleton +and interloper concerning whom she had no need to concern herself. This +atrocious comedy, these duperies of life, this comparison between the burning +kisses in the daytime, and the indifference played at night, gave new warmth to +the blood of the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +When by chance Madame Raquin and Camille went downstairs, Thérèse bounded from +her chair, to silently, and with brutal energy, press her lips to those of her +sweetheart, remaining thus breathless and choking until she heard the stairs +creak. Then, she briskly seated herself again, and resumed her glum grimace, +while Laurent calmly continued the interrupted conversation with Camille. It +was like a rapid, blinding flash of lightning in a leaden sky. +</p> + +<p> +On Thursday, the evening became a little more animated. Laurent, although bored +to death, nevertheless made a point of not missing one of these gatherings. As +a measure of prudence he desired to be known and esteemed by the friends of +Camille. So he had to lend an ear to the idle talk of Grivet and old Michaud. +The latter always related the same tales of robbery and murder, while Grivet +spoke at the same time about his clerks, his chiefs, and his administration, +until the young man sought refuge beside Olivier and Suzanne, whose stupidity +seemed less wearisome. But he soon asked for the dominoes. +</p> + +<p> +It was on Thursday evening that Laurent and Thérèse arranged the day and hour +of their meeting. In the bustle attending the departure, when Madame Raquin and +Camille accompanied the guest to the door of the arcade, the young woman +approached Laurent, to whom she spoke in an undertone, as she pressed his hand. +At times, when all had turned their backs, she kissed him, out of a sort of +bravado. +</p> + +<p> +The life of shocks and appeasements, lasted eight months. The sweethearts lived +in complete beatitude; Thérèse no longer felt dull, and was perfectly +contented. Laurent satiated, pampered, fatter than before, had but one fear, +that of seeing this delightful existence come to an end. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p> +One afternoon, as Laurent was leaving his office to run and meet Thérèse who +was expecting him, his chief gave him to understand that in future he was +forbidden to absent himself. He had taken too many holidays already, and the +authorities had decided to dismiss him if he again went out in office hours. +</p> + +<p> +Riveted to his chair, he remained in despair until eventide. He had to earn his +living, and dared not lose his place. At night the wrathful countenance of +Thérèse was a torture to him, and he was unable to find an opportunity to +explain to her how it was he had broken his word. At length, as Camille was +putting up the shutters, he briskly approached the young woman, to murmur in an +undertone: +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be unable to see one another any more. My chief refuses to give +me permission to go out.” +</p> + +<p> +Camille came into the shop, and Laurent was obliged to withdraw without giving +any further information, leaving Thérèse under the disagreeable influence of +this abrupt and unpleasant announcement. Exasperated at anyone daring to +interfere with her delectation, she passed a sleepless night, arranging +extravagant plans for a meeting with her sweetheart. The following Thursday, +she spoke with Laurent for a minute at the most. Their anxiety was all the +keener as they did not know where to meet for the purpose of consulting and +coming to an understanding. The young woman, on this occasion, gave her +sweetheart another appointment which for the second time he failed to keep, and +she then had but one fixed idea—to see him at any cost. +</p> + +<p> +For a fortnight Laurent was unable to speak to Thérèse alone, and he then felt +how necessary this woman had become to his existence. Far from experiencing any +uneasiness, as formerly, at the kisses which his ladylove showered on him, he +now sought her embraces with the obstinacy of a famished animal. A sanguineous +passion had lurked in his muscles, and now that his sweetheart was taken from +him, this passion burst out in blind violence. He was madly in love. This +thriving brutish nature seemed unconscious in everything. He obeyed his +instincts, permitting the will of his organism to lead him. +</p> + +<p> +A year before, he would have burst into laughter, had he been told he would +become the slave of a woman, to the point of risking his tranquillity. The +hidden forces of lust that had brought about this result had been secretly +proceeding within him, to end by casting him, bound hand and foot, into the +arms of Thérèse. At this hour, he was in dread lest he should omit to be +prudent. He no longer dared go of an evening to the shop in the Arcade of the +Pont Neuf lest he should commit some folly. He no longer belonged to himself. +His ladylove, with her feline suppleness, her nervous flexibility, had glided, +little by little, into each fibre of his body. This woman was as necessary to +his life as eating and drinking. +</p> + +<p> +He would certainly have committed some folly, had he not received a letter from +Thérèse, asking him to remain at home the following evening. His sweetheart +promised him to call about eight o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +On quitting the office, he got rid of Camille by saying he was tired, and +should go to bed at once. Thérèse, after dinner, also played her part. She +mentioned a customer who had moved without paying her, and acting the indignant +creditor who would listen to nothing, declared that she intended calling on her +debtor with the view of asking for payment of the money that was due. The +customer now lived at Batignolles. Madame Raquin and Camille considered this a +long way to go, and thought it doubtful whether the journey would have a +satisfactory result; but they expressed no surprise, and allowed Thérèse to set +out on her errand in all tranquillity. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman ran to the Port aux Vins, gliding over the slippery pavement, +and knocking up against the passers-by, in her hurry to reach her destination. +Beads of perspiration covered her face, and her hands were burning. Anyone +might have taken her for a drunken woman. She rapidly ascended the staircase of +the hotel, and on reaching the sixth floor, out of breath, and with wandering +eyes, she perceived Laurent, who was leaning over the banister awaiting her. +</p> + +<p> +She entered the garret, which was so small that she could barely turn round in +it, and tearing off her hat with one hand leant against the bedstead in a +faint. Through the lift-up window in the roof, which was wide open, the +freshness of the evening fell upon the burning couch. +</p> + +<p> +The couple remained some time in this wretched little room, as though at the +bottom of a hole. All at once, Thérèse heard a clock in the neighbourhood +strike ten. She felt as if she would have liked to have been deaf. +Nevertheless, she looked for her hat which she fastened to her hair with a long +pin, and then seating herself, slowly murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“I must go.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent fell on his knees before her, and took her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, till we see each other again,” said she, without moving. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not till we see each other again!” he exclaimed, “that +is too indefinite. When will you come again?” +</p> + +<p> +She looked him full in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you wish me to be frank with you?” she inquired. “Well, +then, to tell you the truth, I think I shall come no more. I have no pretext, +and I cannot invent one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we must say farewell,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will not do that!” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +She pronounced these words in terrified anger. Then she added more gently, +without knowing what she was saying, and without moving from her chair: +</p> + +<p> +“I am going.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent reflected. He was thinking of Camille. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish him no harm,” said he at length, without pronouncing the +name: “but really he is too much in our way. Couldn’t you get rid +of him, send him on a journey somewhere, a long way off?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! yes, send him on a journey!” resumed the young woman, nodding +her head. “And do you imagine a man like that would consent to travel? +There is only one journey, that from which you never return. But he will bury +us all. People who are at their last breath, never die.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came a silence which was broken by Laurent who remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“I had a day dream. Camille met with an accident and died, and I became +your husband. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” answered Thérèse, shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +Then, abruptly bending over the face of Laurent, she smothered it with kisses, +and bursting into sobs, uttered these disjoined sentences amidst her tears: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk like that, for if you do, I shall lack the strength to +leave you. I shall remain here. Give me courage rather. Tell me we shall see +one another again. You have need of me, have you not? Well, one of these days +we shall find a way to live together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then come back, come back to-morrow,” said Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“But I cannot return,” she answered. “I have told you. I have +no pretext.” +</p> + +<p> +She wrung her hands and continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I do not fear the scandal. If you like, when I get back, I will tell +Camille you are my sweetheart, and return here. I am trembling for you. I do +not wish to disturb your life. I want to make you happy.” +</p> + +<p> +The prudent instincts of the young man were awakened. +</p> + +<p> +“You are right,” said he. “We must not behave like children. +Ah! if your husband were to die!” +</p> + +<p> +“If my husband were to die,” slowly repeated Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +“We would marry,” he continued, “and have nothing more to +fear. What a nice, gentle life it would be!” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman stood up erect. Her cheeks were pale, and she looked at her +sweetheart with a clouded brow, while her lips were twitching. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes people die,” she murmured at last. “Only it is +dangerous for those who survive.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent did not reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” she continued, “all the methods that are known are +bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“You misunderstood me,” said he quietly. “I am not a fool, I +wish to love you in peace. I was thinking that accidents happen daily, that a +foot may slip, a tile may fall. You understand. In the latter event, the wind +alone is guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in a strange voice. Then he smiled, and added in a caressing tone: +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, keep quiet. We will love one another fondly, and live +happily. As you are unable to come here, I will arrange matters. Should we +remain a few months without seeing one another, do not forget me, and bear in +mind that I am labouring for your felicity.” +</p> + +<p> +As Thérèse opened the door to leave, he seized her in his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“You are mine, are you not?” he continued. “You swear to +belong to me, at any hour, when I choose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” exclaimed the young woman. “I am yours, do as you +please with me.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment they remained locked together and mute. Then Thérèse tore herself +roughly away, and, without turning her head, quitted the garret and went +downstairs. Laurent listened to the sound of her footsteps fading away. +</p> + +<p> +When he heard the last of them, he returned to his wretched room, and went to +bed. The sheets were still warm. Without closing the window, he lay on his +back, his arms bare, his hands open, exposed to the fresh air. And he +reflected, with his eyes on the dark blue square that the window framed in the +sky. +</p> + +<p> +He turned the same idea over in his head until daybreak. Previous to the visit +of Thérèse, the idea of murdering Camille had not occurred to him. He had +spoken of the death of this man, urged to do so by the facts, irritated at the +thought that he would be unable to meet his sweetheart any more. And it was +thus that a new corner of his unconscious nature came to be revealed. +</p> + +<p> +Now that he was more calm, alone in the middle of the peaceful night, he +studied the murder. The idea of death, blurted out in despair between a couple +of kisses, returned implacable and keen. Racked by insomnia, and unnerved by +the visit of Thérèse, he calculated the disadvantages and the advantages of his +becoming an assassin. +</p> + +<p> +All his interests urged him to commit the crime. He said to himself that as his +father, the Jeufosse peasant, could not make up his mind to die, he would +perhaps have to remain a clerk another ten years, eating in cheap restaurants, +and living in a garret. This idea exasperated him. On the other hand, if +Camille were dead, he would marry Thérèse, he would inherit from Madame Raquin, +resign his clerkship, and saunter about in the sun. Then, he took pleasure in +dreaming of this life of idleness; he saw himself with nothing to do, eating +and sleeping, patiently awaiting the death of his father. And when the reality +arose in the middle of his dream, he ran up against Camille, and clenched his +fists to knock him down. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent desired Thérèse; he wanted her for himself alone, to have her always +within reach. If he failed to make the husband disappear, the woman would +escape him. She had said so: she could not return. He would have eloped with +her, carried her off somewhere, but then both would die of hunger. He risked +less in killing the husband. There would be no scandal. He would simply push a +man away to take his place. In his brutal logic of a peasant, he found this +method excellent and natural. His innate prudence even advised this rapid +expedient. +</p> + +<p> +He grovelled on his bed, in perspiration, flat on his stomach, with his face +against the pillow, and he remained there breathless, stifling, seeing lines of +fire pass along his closed eyelids. He asked himself how he would kill Camille. +Then, unable to breathe any more, he turned round at a bound to resume his +position on his back, and with his eyes wide open, received full in the face, +the puffs of cold air from the window, seeking in the stars, in the bluish +square of sky, a piece of advice about murder, a plan of assassination. +</p> + +<p> +And he found nothing. As he had told his ladylove, he was neither a child nor a +fool. He wanted neither a dagger nor poison. What he sought was a subtle crime, +one that could be accomplished without danger; a sort of sinister suffocation, +without cries and without terror, a simple disappearance. Passion might well +stir him, and urge him forward; all his being imperiously insisted on prudence. +He was too cowardly, too voluptuous to risk his tranquillity. If he killed, it +would be for a calm and happy life. +</p> + +<p> +Little by little slumber overcame him. Fatigued and appeased, he sank into a +sort of gentle and uncertain torpor. As he fell asleep, he decided he would +await a favourable opportunity, and his thoughts, fleeting further and further +away, lulled him to rest with the murmur: +</p> + +<p> +“I will kill him, I will kill him.” +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later, he was at rest, breathing with serene regularity. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse returned home at eleven o’clock, with a burning head, and her +thoughts strained, reaching the Arcade of the Pont Neuf unconscious of the road +she had taken. It seemed to her that she had just come downstairs from her +visit to Laurent, so full were her ears of the words she had recently heard. +She found Madame Raquin and Camille anxious and attentive; but she answered +their questions sharply, saying she had been on a fools’ errand, and had +waited an hour on the pavement for an omnibus. +</p> + +<p> +When she got into bed, she found the sheets cold and damp. Her limbs, which +were still burning, shuddered with repugnance. Camille soon fell asleep, and +for a long time Thérèse watched his wan face reposing idiotically on the +pillow, with his mouth wide open. Thérèse drew away from her husband. She felt +a desire to drive her clenched fist into that mouth. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p> +More than three weeks passed. Laurent came to the shop every evening, looking +weary and unwell. A light bluish circle surrounded his eyes, and his lips were +becoming pale and chapped. Otherwise, he still maintained his obtuse +tranquillity, he looked Camille in the face, and showed him the same frank +friendship. Madame Raquin pampered the friend of the family the more, now that +she saw him giving way to a sort of low fever. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse had resumed her mute, glum countenance and manner. She was more +motionless, more impenetrable, more peaceful than ever. She did not seem to +trouble herself in the least about Laurent. She barely looked at him, rarely +exchanged a word with him, treating him with perfect indifference. Madame +Raquin, who in her goodness of heart, felt pained at this attitude, sometimes +said to the young man: +</p> + +<p> +“Do not pay attention to the manner of my niece, I know her; her face +appears cold, but her heart is warm with tenderness and devotedness.” +</p> + +<p> +The two sweethearts had no more meetings. Since the evening in the Rue +Saint-Victor they had not met alone. At night, when they found themselves face +to face, placid in appearance and like strangers to one another, storms of +passion and dismay passed beneath the calm flesh of their countenance. And +while with Thérèse, there were outbursts of fury, base ideas, and cruel jeers, +with Laurent there were sombre brutalities, and poignant indecisions. Neither +dared search to the bottom of their beings, to the bottom of that cloudy fever +that filled their brains with a sort of thick and acrid vapour. +</p> + +<p> +When they could press the hands of one another behind a door, without speaking, +they did so, fit to crush them, in a short rough clasp. They would have liked, +mutually, to have carried off strips of their flesh clinging to their fingers. +They had naught but this pressure of hands to appease their feelings. They put +all their souls into them, and asked for nothing more from one another. They +waited. +</p> + +<p> +One Thursday evening, before sitting down to the game of dominoes, the guests +of the Raquin family had a chat, as usual. A favourite subject of conversation +was afforded by the experiences of old Michaud who was plied with questions +respecting the strange and sinister adventures with which he must have been +connected in the discharge of his former functions. Then Grivet and Camille +listened to the stories of the commissary with the affrighted and gaping +countenances of small children listening to “Blue Beard” or +“Tom Thumb.” These tales terrified and amused them. +</p> + +<p> +On this particular Thursday, Michaud, who had just given an account of a +horrible murder, the details of which had made his audience shudder, added as +he wagged his head: +</p> + +<p> +“And a great deal never comes out at all. How many crimes remain +undiscovered! How many murderers escape the justice of man!” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Grivet astonished, “you think there are +foul creatures like that walking about the streets, people who have murdered +and are not arrested?” +</p> + +<p> +Olivier smiled with an air of disdain. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear sir,” he answered in his dictatorial tone, “if they +are not arrested it is because no one is aware that they have committed a +murder.” +</p> + +<p> +This reasoning did not appear to convince Grivet, and Camille came to his +assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“I am of the opinion of M. Grivet,” said he, with silly importance. +“I should like to believe that the police do their duty, and that I never +brush against a murderer on the pavement.” +</p> + +<p> +Olivier considered this remark a personal attack. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly the police do their duty,” he exclaimed in a vexed tone. +“Still we cannot do what is impossible. There are wretches who have +studied crime at Satan’s own school; they would escape the Divinity +Himself. Isn’t that so, father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” confirmed old Michaud. “Thus, while I was at +Vernon—you perhaps remember the incident, Madame Raquin—a wagoner +was murdered on the highway. The corpse was found cut in pieces, at the bottom +of a ditch. The authorities were never able to lay hands on the culprit. He is +perhaps still living at this hour. Maybe he is our neighbour, and perhaps M. +Grivet will meet him on his way home.” +</p> + +<p> +Grivet turned pale as a sheet. He dared not look round. He fancied the murderer +of the wagoner was behind him. But for that matter, he was delighted to feel +afraid. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, no,” he faltered, hardly knowing what he said, “well, +no, I cannot believe that. But I also have a story: once upon a time a servant +was put in prison for stealing a silver spoon and fork belonging to her master +and mistress. Two months afterwards, while a tree was being felled, the knife +and fork were discovered in the nest of a magpie. It was the magpie who was the +thief. The servant was released. You see that the guilty are always +punished.” +</p> + +<p> +Grivet triumphed. Olivier sneered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, they put the magpie in prison,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“That is not what M. Grivet meant to say,” answered Camille, +annoyed to see his chief turned into ridicule. “Mother, give us the +dominoes.” +</p> + +<p> +While Madame Raquin went to fetch the box, the young man, addressing Michaud, +continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Then you admit the police are powerless, that there are murderers +walking about in the sunshine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately, yes,” answered the commissary. +</p> + +<p> +“It is immoral,” concluded Grivet. +</p> + +<p> +During this conversation, Thérèse and Laurent had remained silent. They had not +even smiled at the folly of Grivet. Both leaning with their arms on the table, +looking slightly pale, and with a vague expression in their eyes, listened. At +one moment those dark, ardent orbs had met. And small drops of perspiration +pearled at the roots of the hair of Thérèse, while chilly puffs of breath gave +imperceptible shivers to the skin of Laurent. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p> +Sometimes on a Sunday, when the weather was fine, Camille forced Thérèse to go +out with him, for a walk in the Champs Elysees. The young woman would have +preferred to remain in the damp obscurity of the arcade, for the exercise +fatigued her, and it worried her to be on the arm of her husband, who dragged +her along the pavement, stopping before the shop windows, expressing his +astonishment, making reflections, and then falling into ridiculous spells of +silence. +</p> + +<p> +But Camille insisted on these Sunday outings, which gave him the satisfaction +of showing off his wife. When he met a colleague, particularly one of his +chiefs, he felt quite proud to exchange bows with him, in the company of +Madame. Besides, he walked for the sake of walking, and he did so almost in +silence, stiff and deformed in his Sunday clothes, dragging along his feet, and +looking silly and vain. It made Thérèse suffer to be seen arm in arm with such +a man. +</p> + +<p> +On these walking-out days, Madame Raquin accompanied her children to the end of +the arcade, where she embraced them as if they were leaving on a journey, +giving them endless advice, accompanied by fervent prayers. +</p> + +<p> +“Particularly, beware of accidents,” she would say. “There +are so many vehicles in the streets of Paris! Promise me not to get in a +crowd.” +</p> + +<p> +At last she allowed them to set out, but she followed them a considerable +distance with her eyes, before returning to the shop. Her lower limbs were +becoming unwieldy which prohibited her taking long walks. +</p> + +<p> +On other occasions, but more rarely, the married couple went out of Paris, as +far as Saint-Ouen or Asnières, where they treated themselves to a dish of fried +fish in one of the restaurants beside the river. These were regarded as days of +great revelry which were spoken of a month beforehand. Thérèse engaged more +willingly, almost with joy, in these excursions which kept her in the open air +until ten or eleven o’clock at night. Saint-Ouen, with its green isles, +reminded her of Vernon, and rekindled all the wild love she had felt for the +Seine when a little girl. +</p> + +<p> +She seated herself on the gravel, dipped her hands in the water, feeling full +of life in the burning heat of the sun, attenuated by the fresh puffs of breeze +in the shade. While she tore and soiled her frock on the stones and clammy +ground, Camille neatly spread out his pocket-handkerchief and sank down beside +her with endless precautions. Latterly the young couple almost invariably took +Laurent with them. He enlivened the excursion by his laughter and strength of a +peasant. +</p> + +<p> +One Sunday, Camille, Thérèse and Laurent left for Saint-Ouen after breakfast, +at about eleven o’clock. The outing had been projected a long time, and +was to be the last of the season. Autumn approached, and the cold breezes at +night, began to make the air chilly. +</p> + +<p> +On this particular morning, the sky maintained all its blue serenity. It proved +warm in the sun and tepid in the shade. The party decided that they must take +advantage of the last fine weather. +</p> + +<p> +Hailing a passing cab they set out, accompanied by the pitiful expressions of +uneasiness, and the anxious effusions of the old mercer. Crossing Paris, they +left the vehicle at the fortifications, and gained Saint-Ouen on foot. It was +noon. The dusty road, brightly lit up by the sun, had the blinding whiteness of +snow. The air was intensely warm, heavy and pungent. Thérèse, on the arm of +Camille, walked with short steps, concealing herself beneath her umbrella, +while her husband fanned his face with an immense handkerchief. Behind them +came Laurent, who had the sun streaming fiercely on the back of his neck, +without appearing to notice it. He whistled and kicked the stones before him as +he strolled along. Now and again there was a fierce glint in his eyes as he +watched Thérèse’s swinging hips. +</p> + +<p> +On reaching Saint-Ouen, they lost no time in looking for a cluster of trees, a +patch of green grass in the shade. Crossing the water to an island, they +plunged into a bit of underwood. The fallen leaves covered the ground with a +russety bed which cracked beneath their feet with sharp, quivering sounds. +Innumerable trunks of trees rose up erect, like clusters of small gothic +columns; the branches descended to the foreheads of the three holiday makers, +whose only view was the expiring copper-like foliage, and the black and white +stems of the aspens and oaks. They were in the wilderness, in a melancholy +corner, in a narrow clearing that was silent and fresh. All around them they +heard the murmur of the Seine. +</p> + +<p> +Camille having selected a dry spot, seated himself on the ground, after lifting +up the skirt of his frock coat; while Thérèse, amid a loud crumpling of +petticoats, had just flung herself among the leaves. Laurent lay on his stomach +with his chin resting on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +They remained three hours in this clearing, waiting until it became cooler, to +take a run in the country before dinner. Camille talked about his office, and +related silly stories; then, feeling fatigued, he let himself fall backward and +went to sleep with the rim of his hat over his eyes. Thérèse had closed her +eyelids some time previously, feigning slumber. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, who felt wide awake, and was tired of his recumbent position, crept up +behind her and kissed her shoe and ankle. For a month his life had been chaste +and this walk in the sun had set him on fire. Here he was, in a hidden retreat, +and unable to hold to his breast the woman who was really his. Her husband +might wake up and all his prudent calculations would be ruined by this obstacle +of a man. So he lay, flat on the ground, hidden by his lover’s skirts, +trembling with exasperation as he pressed kiss after kiss upon the shoe and +white stocking. Thérèse made no movement. Laurent thought she was asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He rose to his feet and stood with his back to a tree. Then he perceived that +the young woman was gazing into space with her great, sparkling eyes wide open. +Her face, lying between her arms, with her hands clasped above her head, was +deadly pale, and wore an expression of frigid rigidity. Thérèse was musing. Her +fixed eyes resembled dark, unfathomable depths, where naught was visible save +night. She did not move, she did not cast a glance at Laurent, who stood erect +behind her. +</p> + +<p> +Her sweetheart contemplated her, and was almost affrighted to see her so +motionless and mute. He would have liked to have bent forward, and closed those +great open eyes with a kiss. But Camille lay asleep close at hand. This poor +creature, with his body twisted out of shape, displaying his lean proportions, +was gently snoring. Under the hat, half concealing his face, could be seen his +mouth contorted into a silly grimace in his slumber. A few short reddish hairs +on a bony chin sullied his livid skin, and his head being thrown backward, his +thin wrinkled neck appeared, with Adam’s apple standing out prominently +in brick red in the centre, and rising at each snore. Camille, spread out on +the ground in this fashion, looked contemptible and vile. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent who looked at him, abruptly raised his heel. He was going to crush his +face at one blow. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse restrained a cry. She went a shade paler than before, closed her eyes +and turned her head away as if to avoid being bespattered with blood. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, for a few seconds, remained with his heel in the air, above the face +of the slumbering Camille. Then slowly, straightening his leg, he moved a few +paces away. He reflected that this would be a form of murder such as an idiot +would choose. This pounded head would have set all the police on him. If he +wanted to get rid of Camille, it was solely for the purpose of marrying +Thérèse. It was his intention to bask in the sun, after the crime, like the +murderer of the wagoner, in the story related by old Michaud. +</p> + +<p> +He went as far as the edge of the water, and watched the running river in a +stupid manner. Then, he abruptly turned into the underwood again. He had just +arranged a plan. He had thought of a mode of murder that would be convenient, +and without danger to himself. +</p> + +<p> +He awoke the sleeper by tickling his nose with a straw. Camille sneezed, got +up, and pronounced the joke a capital one. He liked Laurent on account of his +tomfoolery, which made him laugh. He now roused his wife, who kept her eyes +closed. When she had risen to her feet, and shaken her skirt, which was all +crumpled, and covered with dry leaves, the party quitted the clearing, breaking +the small branches they found in their way. +</p> + +<p> +They left the island, and walked along the roads, along the byways crowded with +groups in Sunday finery. Between the hedges ran girls in light frocks; a number +of boating men passed by singing; files of middle-class couples, of elderly +persons, of clerks and shopmen with their wives, walked the short steps, +besides the ditches. Each roadway seemed like a populous, noisy street. The sun +alone maintained its great tranquility. It was descending towards the horizon, +casting on the reddened trees and white thoroughfares immense sheets of pale +light. Penetrating freshness began to fall from the quivering sky. +</p> + +<p> +Camille had ceased giving his arm to Thérèse. He was chatting with Laurent, +laughing at the jests, at the feats of strength of his friend, who leapt the +ditches and raised huge stones above his head. The young woman, on the other +side of the road, advanced with her head bent forward, stooping down from time +to time to gather an herb. When she had fallen behind, she stopped and observed +her sweetheart and husband in the distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Heh! Aren’t you hungry?” shouted Camille at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, come on!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse was not hungry; but felt tired and uneasy. She was in ignorance as to +the designs of Laurent, and her lower limbs were trembling with anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +The three, returning to the riverside, found a restaurant, where they seated +themselves at table on a sort of terrace formed of planks in an indifferent +eating-house reeking with the odour of grease and wine. This place resounded +with cries, songs, and the clatter of plates and dishes. In each private room +and public saloon, were parties talking in loud voices, and the thin partitions +gave vibrating sonority to all this riot. The waiters, ascending to the upper +rooms, caused the staircase to shake. +</p> + +<p> +Above, on the terrace, the puffs of air from the river drove away the smell of +fat. Thérèse, leaning over the balustrade, observed the quay. To right and +left, extended two lines of wine-shops and shanties of showmen. Beneath the +arbours in the gardens of the former, amid the few remaining yellow leaves, one +perceived the white tablecloths, the dabs of black formed by men’s coats, +and the brilliant skirts of women. People passed to and fro, bareheaded, +running, and laughing; and with the bawling noise of the crowd was mingled the +lamentable strains of the barrel organs. An odour of dust and frying food hung +in the calm air. +</p> + +<p> +Below Thérèse, some tarts from the Latin Quarter were dancing in a ring on a +patch of worn turf singing an infantine roundelay. With hats fallen on their +shoulders, and hair unbound, they held one another by the hands, playing like +little children. They still managed to find a small thread of fresh voice, and +their pale countenances, ruffled by brutal caresses, became tenderly coloured +with virgin-like blushes, while their great impure eyes filled with moisture. A +few students, smoking clean clay pipes, who were watching them as they turned +round, greeted them with ribald jests. +</p> + +<p> +And beyond, on the Seine, on the hillocks, descended the serenity of night, a +sort of vague bluish mist, which bathed the trees in transparent vapour. +</p> + +<p> +“Heh! Waiter!” shouted Laurent, leaning over the banister, +“what about this dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +Then, changing his mind, he turned to Camille and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Camille, let us go for a pull on the river before sitting down to +table. It will give them time to roast the fowl. We shall be bored to death +waiting an hour here.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you like,” answered Camille carelessly. “But Thérèse is +hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I can wait,” hastened to say the young woman, at whom +Laurent was fixedly looking. +</p> + +<p> +All three went downstairs again. Passing before the rostrum where the lady +cashier was seated, they retained a table, and decided on a menu, saying they +would return in an hour. As the host let out pleasure boats, they asked him to +come and detach one. Laurent selected a skiff, which appeared so light that +Camille was terrified by its fragility. +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce,” said he, “we shall have to be careful not to +move about in this, otherwise we shall get a famous ducking.” +</p> + +<p> +The truth was that the clerk had a horrible dread of the water. At Vernon, his +sickly condition did not permit him, when a child, to go and dabble in the +Seine. Whilst his schoolfellows ran and threw themselves into the river, he lay +abed between a couple of warm blankets. Laurent had become an intrepid swimmer, +and an indefatigable oarsman. Camille had preserved that terror for deep water +which is inherent in women and children. He tapped the end of the boat with his +foot to make sure of its solidity. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, get in,” cried Laurent with a laugh, “you’re +always trembling.” +</p> + +<p> +Camille stepped over the side, and went staggering to seat himself at the +stern. When he felt the planks under him, he was at ease, and joked to show his +courage. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse had remained on the bank, standing grave and motionless beside her +sweetheart, who held the rope. He bent down, and rapidly murmured in an +undertone: +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful. I am going to pitch him in the river. Obey me. I answer for +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman turned horribly pale. She remained as if riveted to the ground. +She was rigid, and her eyes had opened wider. +</p> + +<p> +“Get into the boat,” Laurent murmured again. +</p> + +<p> +She did not move. A terrible struggle was passing within her. She strained her +will with all her might, to avoid bursting into sobs, and falling to the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! ah!” cried Camille. “Laurent, just look at Thérèse. +It’s she who is afraid. She’ll get in; no, she won’t get +in.” +</p> + +<p> +He had now spread himself out on the back seat, his two arms on the sides of +the boat, and was showing off with fanfaronade. The chuckles of this poor man +were like cuts from a whip to Thérèse, lashing and urging her on. She abruptly +sprang into the boat, remaining in the bows. Laurent grasped the skulls. The +skiff left the bank, advancing slowly towards the isles. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight came. Huge shadows fell from the trees, and the water ran black at the +edges. In the middle of the river were great, pale, silver trails. The boat was +soon in full steam. There, all the sounds of the quays softened; the singing, +and the cries came vague and melancholy, with sad languidness. The odour of +frying and dust had passed away. The air freshened. It turned cold. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, resting on his skulls, allowed the boat to drift along in the current. +</p> + +<p> +Opposite, rose the great reddish mass of trees on the islands. The two sombre +brown banks, patched with grey, were like a couple of broad bands stretching +towards the horizon. The water and sky seemed as if cut from the same whitish +piece of material. Nothing looks more painfully calm than an autumn twilight. +The sun rays pale in the quivering air, the old trees cast their leaves. The +country, scorched by the ardent beams of summer, feels death coming with the +first cold winds. And, in the sky, there are plaintive sighs of despair. Night +falls from above, bringing winding sheets in its shade. +</p> + +<p> +The party were silent. Seated at the bottom of the boat drifting with the +stream, they watched the final gleams of light quitting the tall branches. They +approached the islands. The great russety masses grew sombre; all the landscape +became simplified in the twilight; the Seine, the sky, the islands, the slopes +were naught but brown and grey patches which faded away amidst milky fog. +</p> + +<p> +Camille, who had ended by lying down on his stomach, with his head over the +water, dipped his hands in the river. +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce! How cold it is!” he exclaimed. “It would not be +pleasant to go in there head foremost.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent did not answer. For an instant he had been observing the two banks of +the river with uneasiness. He advanced his huge hands to his knees, tightly +compressing his lips. Thérèse, rigid and motionless, with her head thrown +slightly backward, waited. +</p> + +<p> +The skiff was about to enter a small arm of the river, that was sombre and +narrow, penetrating between two islands. Behind one of these islands could be +distinguished the softened melody of a boating party who seemed to be ascending +the Seine. Up the river in the distance, the water was free. +</p> + +<p> +Then Laurent rose and grasped Camille round the body. The clerk burst into +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, no, you tickle me,” said he, “none of those jokes. Look +here, stop; you’ll make me fall over.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent grasped him tighter, and gave a jerk. Camille turning round, perceived +the terrifying face of his friend, violently agitated. He failed to understand. +He was seized with vague terror. He wanted to shout, and felt a rough hand +seize him by the throat. With the instinct of an animal on the defensive, he +rose to his knees, clutching the side of the boat, and struggled for a few +seconds. +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse! Thérèse!” he called in a stifling, sibilant voice. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman looked at him, clinging with both hands to the seat. The skiff +creaked and danced upon the river. She could not close her eyes, a frightful +contraction kept them wide open riveted on the hideous struggle. She remained +rigid and mute. +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse! Thérèse!” again cried the unfortunate man who was in the +throes of death. +</p> + +<p> +At this final appeal, Thérèse burst into sobs. Her nerves had given way. The +attack she had been dreading, cast her to the bottom of the boat, where she +remained doubled up in a swoon, and as if dead. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent continued tugging at Camille, pressing with one hand on his throat. +With the other hand he ended by tearing his victim away from the side of the +skiff, and held him up in the air, in his powerful arms, like a child. As he +bent down his head, his victim, mad with rage and terror, twisted himself +round, and reaching forward with his teeth, buried them in the neck of his +aggressor. And when the murderer, restraining a yell of pain, abruptly flung +the clerk into the river, the latter carried a piece of his flesh away with +him. +</p> + +<p> +Camille fell into the water with a shriek. He returned to the surface two or +three times, uttering cries that were more and more hollow. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, without losing a second, raised the collar of his coat to hide his +wound. Then seizing the unconscious Thérèse in his arms, he capsized the skiff +with his foot, as he fell into the Seine with the young woman, whom he +supported on the surface, whilst calling in a lamentable voice for help. +</p> + +<p> +The boating party he had heard singing behind the point of the island, +understanding that an accident had happened, advanced with long, rapid strokes +of the oars, and rescued the immerged couple. While Thérèse was laid on a +bench, Laurent gave vent to his despair at the death of his friend. Plunging +into the water again, he searched for Camille in places where he knew he was +not to be found, and returned in tears, wringing his hands, and tearing his +hair, while the boating party did their best to calm and console him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is all my fault,” he exclaimed. “I ought never to have +allowed that poor fellow to dance and move about as he did. At a certain moment +we all three found ourselves on one side of the boat, and we capsized. As we +fell into the water, he shouted out to me to save his wife.” +</p> + +<p> +In accordance with what usually happens under similar circumstances, three or +four young fellows among the boating party, maintained that they had witnessed +the accident. +</p> + +<p> +“We saw you well enough,” said they. “And, then, hang it all, +a boat is not so firm as a dancing floor. Ah! the poor little woman, +it’ll be a nice awakening for her.” +</p> + +<p> +They took their oars, and towing the capsized skiff behind them, conducted +Thérèse and Laurent to the restaurant, where the dinner was ready to be served. +</p> + +<p> +The restaurant keeper and his wife were worthy people who placed their wardrobe +at the service of the drenched pair. When Thérèse recovered consciousness, she +had a nervous attack, and burst into heartrending sobs. It became necessary to +put her to bed. Nature assisted the sinister comedy that had just been +performed. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the young woman became calmer, Laurent entrusting her to the care of +the host and his wife, set out to return to Paris, where he wished to arrive +alone to break the frightful intelligence to Madame Raquin, with all possible +precautions. The truth was that he feared the nervous feverish excitement of +Thérèse, and preferred to give her time to reflect, and learn her part. +</p> + +<p> +It was the boating men who sat down to the dinner prepared for Camille. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p> +Laurent, in the dark corner of the omnibus that took him back to Paris, +continued perfecting his plan. He was almost certain of impunity, and he felt +heavy, anxious joy, the joy of having got over the crime. On reaching the gate +at Clichy, he hailed a cab, and drove to the residence of old Michaud in the +Rue de Seine. It was nine o’clock at night when he arrived. +</p> + +<p> +He found the former commissary of police at table, in the company of Olivier +and Suzanne. The motive of his visit was to seek protection, in case he should +be suspected, and also to escape breaking the frightful news to Madame Raquin +himself. Such an errand was strangely repugnant to him. He anticipated +encountering such terrible despair that he feared he would be unable to play +his part with sufficient tears. Then the grief of this mother weighed upon him, +although at the bottom of his heart, he cared but little about it. +</p> + +<p> +When Michaud saw him enter, clothed in coarse-looking garments that were too +tight for him, he questioned him with his eyes, and Laurent gave an account of +the accident in a broken voice, as if exhausted with grief and fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come to you,” said he in conclusion, “because I do +not know what to do about the two poor women so cruelly afflicted. I dare not +go to the bereaved mother alone, and want you to accompany me.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, Olivier looked at him fixedly, and with so straight a glance that +he terrified him. The murderer had flung himself head down among these people +belonging to the police, with an audacity calculated to save him. But he could +not repress a shudder as he felt their eyes examining him. He saw distrust +where there was naught but stupor and pity. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne weaker and paler than usual, seemed ready to faint. Olivier, who was +alarmed at the idea of death, but whose heart remained absolutely cold, made a +grimace expressing painful surprise, while by habit he scrutinised the +countenance of Laurent, without having the least suspicion of the sinister +truth. As to old Michaud, he uttered exclamations of fright, commiseration, and +astonishment; he fidgeted on his chair, joined his hands together, and cast up +his eyes to the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! good heavens,” said he in a broken voice, “ah! good +heavens, what a frightful thing! To leave one’s home, and die, like that, +all of a sudden. It’s horrible. And that poor Madame Raquin, his mother, +whatever shall we say to her? Certainly, you were quite right to come and find +us. We will go with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Rising from his seat, he walked hither and thither about the apartment, +stamping with his feet, in search of his hat and walking-stick; and, as he +bustled from corner to corner, he made Laurent repeat the details of the +catastrophe, giving utterance to fresh exclamations at the end of each +sentence. +</p> + +<p> +At last all four went downstairs. On reaching the entrance to the Arcade of the +Pont Neuf, Laurent was stopped by Michaud. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not accompany us any further,” said he; “your presence +would be a sort of brutal avowal which must be avoided. The wretched mother +would suspect a misfortune, and this would force us to confess the truth sooner +than we ought to tell it to her. Wait for us here.” +</p> + +<p> +This arrangement relieved the murderer, who shuddered at the thought of +entering the shop in the arcade. He recovered his calm, and began walking up +and down the pavement, going and coming, in perfect peace of mind. At moments, +he forgot the events that were passing. He looked at the shops, whistled +between his teeth, turned round to ogle the women who brushed past him. He +remained thus for a full half-hour in the street, recovering his composure more +and more. +</p> + +<p> +He had not eaten since the morning, and feeling hungry he entered a +pastrycook’s and stuffed himself with cakes. +</p> + +<p> +A heartrending scene was passing at the shop in the arcade. Notwithstanding +precautions, notwithstanding the soft, friendly sentences of old Michaud, there +came a moment when Madame Raquin understood that her son had met with +misfortune. From that moment, she insisted on knowing the truth with such a +passionate outburst of despair, with such a violent flow of tears and shrieks, +that her old friend could not avoid giving way to her. +</p> + +<p> +And when she learnt the truth, her grief was tragic. She gave hollow sobs, she +received shocks that threw her backward, in a distracting attack of terror and +anguish. She remained there choking, uttering from time to time a piercing +scream amidst the profound roar of her affliction. She would have dragged +herself along the ground, had not Suzanne taken her round the waist, weeping on +her knees, and raising her pale countenance towards her. Olivier and his father +on their feet, unnerved and mute, turned aside their heads, being disagreeably +affected at this painful sight which wounded them in their egotism. +</p> + +<p> +The poor mother saw her son rolling along in the thick waters of the Seine, a +rigid and horribly swollen corpse; while at the same time, she perceived him a +babe, in his cradle, when she drove away death bending over him. She had +brought him back into the world on more than ten occasions; she loved him for +all the love she had bestowed on him during thirty years. And now he had met +his death far away from her, all at once, in the cold and dirty water, like a +dog. +</p> + +<p> +Then she remembered the warm blankets in which she had enveloped him. What care +she had taken of her boy! What a tepid temperature he had been reared in! How +she had coaxed and fondled him! And all this to see him one day miserably drown +himself! At these thoughts Madame Raquin felt a tightening at the throat, and +she hoped she was going to die, strangled by despair. +</p> + +<p> +Old Michaud hastened to withdraw. Leaving Suzanne behind to look after the +mercer, he and Olivier went to find Laurent, so that they might hurry to +Saint-Ouen with all speed. +</p> + +<p> +During the journey, they barely exchanged a few words. Each of them buried +himself in a corner of the cab which jolted along over the stones. There they +remained motionless and mute in the obscurity that prevailed within the +vehicle. Ever and anon a rapid flash from a gas lamp, cast a bright gleam on +their faces. The sinister event that had brought them together, threw a sort of +dismal dejection upon them. +</p> + +<p> +When they at length arrived at the restaurant beside the river, they found +Thérèse in bed with burning head and hands. The landlord told them in an +undertone, that the young woman had a violent fever. The truth was that +Thérèse, feeling herself weak in character and wanting in courage, feared she +might confess the crime in one of her nervous attacks, and had decided to feign +illness. +</p> + +<p> +Maintaining sullen silence, she kept her lips and eyes closed, unwilling to see +anyone lest she should speak. With the bedclothes to her chin, her face half +concealed by the pillow, she made herself quite small, anxiously listening to +all that was said around her. And, amidst the reddish gleam that passed beneath +her closed lids, she could still see Camille and Laurent struggling at the side +of the boat. She perceived her husband, livid, horrible, increased in height, +rearing up straight above the turbid water, and this implacable vision +heightened the feverish heat of her blood. +</p> + +<p> +Old Michaud endeavoured to speak to her and console her. But she made a +movement of impatience, and turning round, broke out into a fresh fit of +sobbing. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave her alone, sir,” said the restaurant keeper, “she +shudders at the slightest sound. You see, she wants rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Below, in the general room, was a policeman drawing up a statement of the +accident. Michaud and his son went downstairs, followed by Laurent. When +Olivier had made himself known as an upper official at the Préfecture of +Police, everything was over in ten minutes. The boating men, who were still +there, gave an account of the drowning in its smallest details, describing how +the three holiday-makers had fallen into the water, as if they themselves had +witnessed the misfortune. Had Olivier and his father the least suspicion, it +would have been dispelled at once by this testimony. +</p> + +<p> +But they had not doubted the veracity of Laurent for an instant. On the +contrary, they introduced him to the policeman as the best friend of the +victim, and they were careful to see inserted in the report, that the young man +had plunged into the water to save Camille Raquin. The following day, the +newspapers related the accident with a great display of detail: the unfortunate +mother, the inconsolable widow, the noble and courageous friend, nothing was +missing from this event of the day, which went the round of the Parisian press, +and then found an echo in the provinces. +</p> + +<p> +When the report was completed, Laurent experienced lively joy, which penetrated +his being like new life. From the moment his victim had buried his teeth in his +neck, he had been as if stiffened, acting mechanically, according to a plan +arranged long in advance. The instinct of self-preservation alone impelled him, +dictating to him his words, affording him advice as to his gestures. +</p> + +<p> +At this hour, in the face of the certainty of impunity, the blood resumed +flowing in his veins with delicious gentleness. The police had passed beside +his crime, and had seen nothing. They had been duped, for they had just +acquitted him. He was saved. This thought caused him to experience a feeling of +delightful moisture all along his body, a warmth that restored flexibility to +his limbs and to his intelligence. He continued to act his part of a weeping +friend with incomparable science and assurance. At the bottom of his heart, he +felt brutal satisfaction; and he thought of Thérèse who was in bed in the room +above. +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot leave this unhappy woman here,” said he to Michaud. +“She is perhaps threatened with grave illness. We must positively take +her back to Paris. Come, let us persuade her to accompany us.” +</p> + +<p> +Upstairs, he begged and prayed of Thérèse to rise and dress, and allow herself +to be conducted to the Arcade of the Pont Neuf. When the young woman heard the +sound of his voice, she started, and stared at him with eyes wide open. She +seemed as if crazy, and was shuddering. Painfully she raised herself into a +sitting posture without answering. The men quitted the room, leaving her alone +with the wife of the restaurant keeper. When ready to start, she came +downstairs staggering, and was assisted into the cab by Olivier. +</p> + +<p> +The journey was a silent one. Laurent, with perfect audacity and impudence, +slipped his hand along the skirt of Thérèse and caught her fingers. He was +seated opposite her, in a floating shadow, and could not see her face which she +kept bowed down on her breast. As soon as he had grasped her hand, he pressed +it vigorously, retaining it until they reached the Rue Mazarine. He felt the +hand tremble; but it was not withdrawn. On the contrary it ever and anon gave a +sudden caress. +</p> + +<p> +These two hands, one in the other, were burning; the moist palms adhered, and +the fingers tightly held together, were hurt at each pressure. It seemed to +Laurent and Thérèse that the blood from one penetrated the chest of the other, +passing through their joined fists. These fists became a live fire whereon +their lives were boiling. Amidst the night, amidst the heartrending silence +that prevailed, the furious grips they exchanged, were like a crushing weight +cast on the head of Camille to keep him under water. +</p> + +<p> +When the cab stopped, Michaud and his son got out the first, and Laurent +bending towards his sweetheart gently murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“Be strong, Thérèse. We have a long time to wait. Recollect.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the young woman opened her lips for the first time since the death of her +husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I shall recollect,” said she with a shudder, and in a voice +light as a puff of breath. +</p> + +<p> +Olivier extended his hand, inviting her to get down. On this occasion, Laurent +went as far as the shop. Madame Raquin was abed, a prey to violent delirium. +Thérèse dragged herself to her room, where Suzanne had barely time to undress +her before she gave way. Tranquillised, perceiving that everything was +proceeding as well as he could wish, Laurent withdrew, and slowly gained his +wretched den in the rue Saint-Victor. +</p> + +<p> +It was past midnight. Fresh air circulated in the deserted, silent streets. The +young man could hear naught but his own footsteps resounding on the pavement. +The nocturnal coolness of the atmosphere cheered him up; the silence, the +darkness gave him sharp sensations of delight, and he loitered on his way. +</p> + +<p> +At last he was rid of his crime. He had killed Camille. It was a matter that +was settled, and would be spoken of no more. He was now going to lead a +tranquil existence, until he could take possession of Thérèse. The thought of +the murder had at times half choked him, but now that it was accomplished, he +felt a weight removed from his chest, and breathed at ease, cured of the +suffering that hesitation and fear had given him. +</p> + +<p> +At the bottom of his heart, he was a trifle hebetated. Fatigue had rendered his +limbs and thoughts heavy. He went in to bed and slept soundly. During his +slumber slight nervous crispations coursed over his face. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p> +The following morning, Laurent awoke fresh and fit. He had slept well. The cold +air entering by the open window, whipped his sluggish blood. He had no clear +recollection of the scenes of the previous day, and had it not been for the +burning sensation at his neck, he might have thought that he had retired to +rest after a calm evening. +</p> + +<p> +But the bite Camille had given him stung as if his skin had been branded with a +red-hot iron. When his thoughts settled on the pain this gash caused him, he +suffered cruelly. It seemed as though a dozen needles were penetrating little +by little into his flesh. +</p> + +<p> +He turned down the collar of his shirt, and examined the wound in a wretched +fifteen sous looking-glass hanging against the wall. It formed a red hole, as +big as a penny piece. The skin had been torn away, displaying the rosy flesh, +studded with dark specks. Streaks of blood had run as far as the shoulder in +thin threads that had dried up. The bite looked a deep, dull brown colour +against the white skin, and was situated under the right ear. Laurent +scrutinised it with curved back and craned neck, and the greenish mirror gave +his face an atrocious grimace. +</p> + +<p> +Satisfied with his examination, he had a thorough good wash, saying to himself +that the wound would be healed in a few days. Then he dressed, and quietly +repaired to his office, where he related the accident in an affected tone of +voice. When his colleagues had read the account in the newspapers, he became +quite a hero. During a whole week the clerks at the Orleans Railway had no +other subject of conversation: they were all proud that one of their staff +should have been drowned. Grivet never ceased his remarks on the imprudence of +adventuring into the middle of the Seine, when it was so easy to watch the +running water from the bridges. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent retained a feeling of intense uneasiness. The decease of Camille had +not been formally proved. The husband of Thérèse was indeed dead, but the +murderer would have liked to have found his body, so as to obtain a certificate +of death. The day following the accident, a fruitless search had been made for +the corpse of the drowned man. It was thought that it had probably gone to the +bottom of some hole near the banks of the islands, and men were actively +dragging the Seine to get the reward. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Laurent imposed on himself the task of passing each morning by +the Morgue, on the way to his office. He had made up his mind to attend to the +business himself. Notwithstanding that his heart rose with repugnance, +notwithstanding the shudders that sometimes ran through his frame, for over a +week he went and examined the countenance of all the drowned persons extended +on the slabs. +</p> + +<p> +When he entered the place an unsavoury odour, an odour of freshly washed flesh, +disgusted him and a chill ran over his skin: the dampness of the walls seemed +to add weight to his clothing, which hung more heavily on his shoulders. He +went straight to the glass separating the spectators from the corpses, and with +his pale face against it, looked. Facing him appeared rows of grey slabs, and +upon them, here and there, the naked bodies formed green and yellow, white and +red patches. While some retained their natural condition in the rigidity of +death, others seemed like lumps of bleeding and decaying meat. At the back, +against the wall, hung some lamentable rags, petticoats and trousers, puckered +against the bare plaster. Laurent at first only caught sight of the wan +ensemble of stones and walls, spotted with dabs of russet and black formed by +the clothes and corpses. A melodious sound of running water broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +Little by little he distinguished the bodies, and went from one to the other. +It was only the drowned that interested him. When several human forms were +there, swollen and blued by the water, he looked at them eagerly, seeking to +recognise Camille. Frequently, the flesh on the faces had gone away by strips, +the bones had burst through the mellow skins, the visages were like lumps of +boned, boiled beef. Laurent hesitated; he looked at the corpses, endeavouring +to discover the lean body of his victim. But all the drowned were stout. He saw +enormous stomachs, puffy thighs, and strong round arms. He did not know what to +do. He stood there shuddering before those greenish-looking rags, which seemed +like mocking him, with their horrible wrinkles. +</p> + +<p> +One morning, he was seized with real terror. For some moments, he had been +looking at a corpse, taken from the water, that was small in build and +atrociously disfigured. The flesh of this drowned person was so soft and +broken-up that the running water washing it, carried it away bit by bit. The +jet falling on the face, bored a hole to the left of the nose. And, abruptly, +the nose became flat, the lips were detached, showing the white teeth. The head +of the drowned man burst out laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Each time Laurent fancied he recognised Camille, he felt a burning sensation in +the heart. He ardently desired to find the body of his victim, and he was +seized with cowardice when he imagined it before him. His visits to the Morgue +filled him with nightmare, with shudders that set him panting for breath. But +he shook off his fear, taxing himself with being childish, when he wished to be +strong. Still, in spite of himself, his frame revolted, disgust and terror +gained possession of his being, as soon as ever he found himself in the +dampness, and unsavoury odour of the hall. +</p> + +<p> +When there were no drowned persons on the back row of slabs, he breathed at +ease; his repugnance was not so great. He then became a simple spectator, who +took strange pleasure in looking death by violence in the face, in its +lugubriously fantastic and grotesque attitudes. This sight amused him, +particularly when there were women there displaying their bare bosoms. These +nudities, brutally exposed, bloodstained, and in places bored with holes, +attracted and detained him. +</p> + +<p> +Once he saw a young woman of twenty there, a child of the people, broad and +strong, who seemed asleep on the stone. Her fresh, plump, white form displayed +the most delicate softness of tint. She was half smiling, with her head +slightly inclined on one side. Around her neck she had a black band, which gave +her a sort of necklet of shadow. She was a girl who had hanged herself in a fit +of love madness. +</p> + +<p> +Each morning, while Laurent was there, he heard behind him the coming and going +of the public who entered and left. +</p> + +<p> +The morgue is a sight within reach of everybody, and one to which passers-by, +rich and poor alike, treat themselves. The door stands open, and all are free +to enter. There are admirers of the scene who go out of their way so as not to +miss one of these performances of death. If the slabs have nothing on them, +visitors leave the building disappointed, feeling as if they had been cheated, +and murmuring between their teeth; but when they are fairly well occupied, +people crowd in front of them and treat themselves to cheap emotions; they +express horror, they joke, they applaud or whistle, as at the theatre, and +withdraw satisfied, declaring the Morgue a success on that particular day. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent soon got to know the public frequenting the place, that mixed and +dissimilar public who pity and sneer in common. Workmen looked in on their way +to their work, with a loaf of bread and tools under their arms. They considered +death droll. Among them were comical companions of the workshops who elicited a +smile from the onlookers by making witty remarks about the faces of each +corpse. They styled those who had been burnt to death, coalmen; the hanged, the +murdered, the drowned, the bodies that had been stabbed or crushed, excited +their jeering vivacity, and their voices, which slightly trembled, stammered +out comical sentences amid the shuddering silence of the hall. +</p> + +<p> +There came persons of small independent means, old men who were thin and +shrivelled-up, idlers who entered because they had nothing to do, and who +looked at the bodies in a silly manner with the pouts of peaceful, +delicate-minded men. Women were there in great numbers: young work-girls, all +rosy, with white linen, and clean petticoats, who tripped along briskly from +one end of the glazed partition to the other, opening great attentive eyes, as +if they were before the dressed shop window of a linendraper. There were also +women of the lower orders looking stupefied, and giving themselves lamentable +airs; and well-dressed ladies, carelessly dragging their silk gowns along the +floor. +</p> + +<p> +On a certain occasion Laurent noticed one of the latter standing at a few paces +from the glass, and pressing her cambric handkerchief to her nostrils. She wore +a delicious grey silk skirt with a large black lace mantle; her face was +covered by a veil, and her gloved hands seemed quite small and delicate. Around +her hung a gentle perfume of violet. +</p> + +<p> +She stood scrutinising a corpse. On a slab a few paces away, was stretched the +body of a great, big fellow, a mason who had recently killed himself on the +spot by falling from a scaffolding. He had a broad chest, large short muscles, +and a white, well-nourished body; death had made a marble statue of him. The +lady examined him, turned him round and weighed him, so to say, with her eyes. +For a time, she seemed quite absorbed in the contemplation of this man. She +raised a corner of her veil for one last look. Then she withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +At moments, bands of lads arrived—young people between twelve and +fifteen, who leant with their hands against the glass, nudging one another with +their elbows, and making brutal observations. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of a week, Laurent became disheartened. At night he dreamt of the +corpses he had seen in the morning. This suffering, this daily disgust which he +imposed on himself, ended by troubling him to such a point, that he resolved to +pay only two more visits to the place. The next day, on entering the Morgue, he +received a violent shock in the chest. Opposite him, on a slab, Camille lay +looking at him, extended on his back, his head raised, his eyes half open. +</p> + +<p> +The murderer slowly approached the glass, as if attracted there, unable to +detach his eyes from his victim. He did not suffer; he merely experienced a +great inner chill, accompanied by slight pricks on his skin. He would have +thought that he would have trembled more violently. For fully five minutes, he +stood motionless, lost in unconscious contemplation, engraving, in spite of +himself, in his memory, all the horrible lines, all the dirty colours of the +picture he had before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Camille was hideous. He had been a fortnight in the water. His face still +appeared firm and rigid; the features were preserved, but the skin had taken a +yellowish, muddy tint. The thin, bony, and slightly tumefied head, wore a +grimace. It was a trifle inclined on one side, with the hair sticking to the +temples, and the lids raised, displaying the dull globes of the eyes. The +twisted lips were drawn to a corner of the mouth in an atrocious grin; and a +piece of blackish tongue appeared between the white teeth. This head, which +looked tanned and drawn out lengthwise, while preserving a human appearance, +had remained all the more frightful with pain and terror. +</p> + +<p> +The body seemed a mass of ruptured flesh; it had suffered horribly. You could +feel that the arms no longer held to their sockets; and the clavicles were +piercing the skin of the shoulders. The ribs formed black bands on the greenish +chest; the left side, ripped open, was gaping amidst dark red shreds. All the +torso was in a state of putrefaction. The extended legs, although firmer, were +daubed with dirty patches. The feet dangled down. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent gazed at Camille. He had never yet seen the body of a drowned person +presenting such a dreadful aspect. The corpse, moreover, looked pinched. It had +a thin, poor appearance. It had shrunk up in its decay, and the heap it formed +was quite small. Anyone might have guessed that it belonged to a clerk at 1,200 +francs a year, who was stupid and sickly, and who had been brought up by his +mother on infusions. This miserable frame, which had grown to maturity between +warm blankets, was now shivering on a cold slab. +</p> + +<p> +When Laurent could at last tear himself from the poignant curiosity that kept +him motionless and gaping before his victim, he went out and begun walking +rapidly along the quay. And as he stepped out, he repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I have done. He is hideous.” +</p> + +<p> +A smell seemed to be following him, the smell that the putrefying body must be +giving off. +</p> + +<p> +He went to find old Michaud, and told him he had just recognized Camille lying +on one of the slabs in the Morgue. The formalities were performed, the drowned +man was buried, and a certificate of death delivered. Laurent, henceforth at +ease, felt delighted to be able to bury his crime in oblivion, along with the +vexatious and painful scenes that had followed it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<p> +The shop in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf remained closed for three days. When it +opened again, it appeared darker and damper. The shop-front display, which the +dust had turned yellow, seemed to be wearing the mourning of the house; the +various articles were scattered at sixes and sevens in the dirty windows. +Behind the linen caps hanging from the rusty iron rods, the face of Thérèse +presented a more olive, a more sallow pallidness, and the immobility of +sinister calm. +</p> + +<p> +All the gossips in the arcade were moved to pity. The dealer in imitation +jewelry pointed out the emaciated profile of the young widow to each of her +customers, as an interesting and lamentable curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +For three days, Madame Raquin and Thérèse had remained in bed without speaking, +and without even seeing one another. The old mercer, propped up by pillows in a +sitting posture, gazed vaguely before her with the eyes of an idiot. The death +of her son had been like a blow on the head that had felled her senseless to +the ground. For hours she remained tranquil and inert, absorbed in her despair; +then she was at times seized with attacks of weeping, shrieking and delirium. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse in the adjoining room, seemed to sleep. She had turned her face to the +wall, and drawn the sheet over her eyes. There she lay stretched out at full +length, rigid and mute, without a sob raising the bed-clothes. It looked as if +she was concealing the thoughts that made her rigid in the darkness of the +alcove. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne, who attended to the two women, went feebly from one to the other, +gently dragging her feet along the floor, bending her wax-like countenance over +the two couches, without succeeding in persuading Thérèse, who had sudden fits +of impatience, to turn round, or in consoling Madame Raquin, whose tears began +to flow as soon as a voice drew her from her prostration. +</p> + +<p> +On the third day, Thérèse, rapidly and with a sort of feverish decision, threw +the sheet from her, and seated herself up in bed. She thrust back her hair from +her temples, and for a moment remained with her hands to her forehead and her +eyes fixed, seeming still to reflect. Then, she sprang to the carpet. Her limbs +were shivering, and red with fever; large livid patches marbled her skin, which +had become wrinkled in places as if she had lost flesh. She had grown older. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne, on entering the room, was struck with surprise to find her up. In a +placid, drawling tone, she advised her to go to bed again, and continue +resting. Thérèse paid no heed to her, but sought her clothes and put them on +with hurried, trembling gestures. When she was dressed, she went and looked at +herself in a glass, rubbing her eyes, and passing her hands over her +countenance, as if to efface something. Then, without pronouncing a syllable, +she quickly crossed the dining-room and entered the apartment occupied by +Madame Raquin. +</p> + +<p> +She caught the old mercer in a moment of doltish calm. When Thérèse appeared, +she turned her head following the movements of the young widow with her eyes, +while the latter came and stood before her, mute and oppressed. The two women +contemplated one another for some seconds, the niece with increasing anxiety, +the aunt with painful efforts of memory. Madame Raquin, at last remembering, +stretched out her trembling arms, and, taking Thérèse by the neck, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“My poor child, my poor Camille!” +</p> + +<p> +She wept, and her tears dried on the burning skin of the young widow, who +concealed her own dry eyes in the folds of the sheet. Thérèse remained bending +down, allowing the old mother to exhaust her outburst of grief. She had dreaded +this first interview ever since the murder; and had kept in bed to delay it, to +reflect at ease on the terrible part she had to play. +</p> + +<p> +When she perceived Madame Raquin more calm, she busied herself about her, +advising her to rise, and go down to the shop. The old mercer had almost fallen +into dotage. The abrupt apparition of her niece had brought about a favourable +crisis that had just restored her memory, and the consciousness of things and +beings around her. She thanked Suzanne for her attention. Although weakened, +she talked, and had ceased wandering, but she spoke in a voice so full of +sadness that at moments she was half choked. She watched the movements of +Thérèse with sudden fits of tears; and would then call her to the bedside, and +embrace her amid more sobs, telling her in a suffocating tone that she, now, +had nobody but her in the world. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, she consented to get up, and make an effort to eat. Thérèse +then saw what a terrible shock her aunt had received. The legs of the old lady +had become so ponderous that she required a stick to assist her to drag herself +into the dining-room, and there she thought the walls were vacillating around +her. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, the following day she wished the shop to be opened. She feared +she would go mad if she continued to remain alone in her room. She went down +the wooden staircase with heavy tread, placing her two feet on each step, and +seated herself behind the counter. From that day forth, she remained riveted +there in placid affliction. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, beside her, mused and waited. The shop resumed its gloomy calm. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<p> +Laurent resumed calling of an evening, every two or three days, remaining in +the shop talking to Madame Raquin for half an hour. Then he went off without +looking Thérèse in the face. The old mercer regarded him as the rescuer of her +niece, as a noble-hearted young man who had done his utmost to restore her son +to her, and she welcomed him with tender kindness. +</p> + +<p> +One Thursday evening, when Laurent happened to be there, old Michaud and Grivet +entered. Eight o’clock was striking. The clerk and the former commissary +of police had both thought, independently of one another, that they could +resume their dear custom, without appearing importunate, and they arrived at +the same moment, as if urged by the same impulse. Behind them, came Olivier and +Suzanne. +</p> + +<p> +Everyone went upstairs to the dining-room. Madame Raquin who expected nobody, +hastened to light the lamp, and prepare the tea. When all were seated round the +table, each before a cup, when the box of dominoes had been emptied on the +board, the old mother, with the past suddenly brought back to her, looked at +her guests, and burst into sobs. There was a vacant place, that of her son. +</p> + +<p> +This despair cast a chill upon the company and annoyed them. Every countenance +wore an air of egotistic beatitude. These people felt ill at ease, having no +longer the slightest recollection of Camille alive in their hearts. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, my dear lady,” exclaimed old Michaud, slightly impatiently, +“you must not give way to despair like that. You will make yourself +ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are all mortal,” affirmed Grivet. +</p> + +<p> +“Your tears will not restore your son to you,” sententiously +observed Olivier. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not cause us pain, I beg you,” murmured Suzanne. +</p> + +<p> +And as Madame Raquin sobbed louder, unable to restrain her tears, Michaud +resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, have a little courage. You know we come here to give you +some distraction. Then do not let us feel sad. Let us try to forget. We are +playing two sous a game. Eh! What do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +The mercer stifled her sobs with a violent effort. Perhaps she was conscious of +the happy egotism of her guests. She dried her tears, but was still quite +upset. The dominoes trembled in her poor hands, and the moisture in her eyes +prevented her seeing. +</p> + +<p> +The game began. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent and Thérèse had witnessed this brief scene in a grave and impassive +manner. The young man was delighted to see these Thursday evenings resumed. He +ardently desired them to be continued, aware that he would have need of these +gatherings to attain his end. Besides, without asking himself the reason, he +felt more at ease among these few persons whom he knew, and it gave him courage +to look Thérèse in the face. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman, attired in black, pale and meditative, seemed to him to +possess a beauty that he had hitherto ignored. He was happy to meet her eyes, +and to see them rest upon his own with courageous fixedness. Thérèse still +belonged to him, heart and soul. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<p> +A fortnight passed. The bitterness of the first hours was softening; each day +brought additional tranquillity and calm; life resumed its course with weary +languidness, and with the monotonous intellectual insensibility which follows +great shocks. At the commencement, Laurent and Thérèse allowed themselves to +drift into this new existence which was transforming them; within their beings +was proceeding a silent labour which would require analysing with extreme +delicacy if one desired to mark all its phases. +</p> + +<p> +It was not long before Laurent came every night to the shop as formerly. But he +no longer dined there, he no longer made the place a lounge during the entire +evening. He arrived at half-past nine, and remained until he had put up the +shutters. It seemed as if he was accomplishing a duty in placing himself at the +service of the two women. If he happened occasionally to neglect the tiresome +job, he apologised with the humility of a valet the following day. On Thursdays +he assisted Madame Raquin to light the fire, to do the honours of the house, +and displayed all kinds of gentle attentions that charmed the old mercer. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse peacefully watched the activity of his movements round about her. The +pallidness of her face had departed. She appeared in better health, more +smiling and gentle. It was only rarely that her lips, becoming pinched in a +nervous contraction, produced two deep pleats which conveyed to her countenance +a strange expression of grief and fright. +</p> + +<p> +The two sweethearts no longer sought to see one another in private. Not once +did they suggest a meeting, nor did they ever furtively exchange a kiss. The +murder seemed to have momentarily appeased their warmth. In killing Camille, +they had succeeded in satisfying their passion. Their crime appeared to have +given them a keen pleasure that sickened and disgusted them of their embraces. +</p> + +<p> +They had a thousand facilities for enjoying the freedom that had been their +dream, and the attainment of which had urged them on to murder. Madame Raquin, +impotent and childish, ceased to be an obstacle. The house belonged to them. +They could go abroad where they pleased. But love did not trouble them, its +fire had died out. They remained there, calmly talking, looking at one another +without reddening and without a thrill. They even avoided being alone. In their +intimacy, they found nothing to say, and both were afraid that they appeared +too cold. When they exchanged a pressure of the hand, they experienced a sort +of discomfort at the touch of their skins. +</p> + +<p> +Both imagined they could explain what made them so indifferent and alarmed when +face to face with one another. They put the coldness of their attitude down to +prudence. Their calm, according to them, was the result of great caution on +their part. They pretended they desired this tranquillity, and somnolence of +their hearts. On the other hand, they regarded the repugnance, the +uncomfortable feeling experienced as a remains of terror, as the secret dread +of punishment. Sometimes, forcing themselves to hope, they sought to resume the +burning dreams of other days, and were quite astonished to find they had no +imagination. +</p> + +<p> +Then, they clung to the idea of their forthcoming marriage. They fancied that +having attained their end, without a single fear to trouble them, delivered +over to one another, their passion would burn again, and they would taste the +delights that had been their dream. This prospect brought them calm, and +prevented them descending to the void hollowed out beneath them. They persuaded +themselves they loved one another as in the past, and they awaited the moment +when they were to be perfectly happy bound together for ever. +</p> + +<p> +Never had Thérèse possessed so placid a mind. She was certainly becoming +better. All her implacable, natural will was giving way. She felt happy at +night, alone in her bed; no longer did she find the thin face, and piteous form +of Camille at her side to exasperate her. She imagined herself a little girl, a +maid beneath the white curtains, lying peacefully amidst the silence and +darkness. Her spacious, and slightly cold room rather pleased her, with its +lofty ceiling, its obscure corners, and its smack of the cloister. +</p> + +<p> +She even ended by liking the great black wall which rose up before her window. +Every night during one entire summer, she remained for hours gazing at the grey +stones in this wall, and at the narrow strips of starry sky cut out by the +chimneys and roofs. She only thought of Laurent when awakened with a start by +nightmare. Then, sitting up, trembling, with dilated eyes, and pressing her +nightdress to her, she said to herself that she would not experience these +sudden fears, if she had a man lying beside her. She thought of her sweetheart +as of a dog who would have guarded and protected her. +</p> + +<p> +Of a daytime, in the shop, she took an interest in what was going on outside; +she went out at her own instigation, and no longer lived in sullen revolt, +occupied with thoughts of hatred and vengeance. It worried her to sit musing. +She felt the necessity of acting and seeing. From morning to night, she watched +the people passing through the arcade. The noise, and going and coming diverted +her. She became inquisitive and talkative, in a word a woman, for hitherto she +had only displayed the actions and ideas of a man. +</p> + +<p> +From her point of observation, she remarked a young man, a student, who lived +at an hotel in the neighbourhood, and who passed several times daily before the +shop. This youth had a handsome, pale face, with the long hair of a poet, and +the moustache of an officer. Thérèse thought him superior looking. She was in +love with him for a week, in love like a schoolgirl. She read novels, she +compared the young man to Laurent, and found the latter very coarse and heavy. +Her reading revealed to her romantic scenes that, hitherto, she had ignored. +She had only loved with blood and nerves, as yet, and she now began to love +with her head. Then, one day, the student disappeared. No doubt he had moved. +In a few hours Thérèse had forgotten him. +</p> + +<p> +She now subscribed to a circulating library, and conceived a passion for the +heroes of all the stories that passed under her eyes. This sudden love for +reading had great influence on her temperament. She acquired nervous +sensibility which caused her to laugh and cry without any motive. The +equilibrium which had shown a tendency to be established in her, was upset. She +fell into a sort of vague meditation. At moments, she became disturbed by +thoughts of Camille, and she dreamt of Laurent and fresh love, full of terror +and distrust. She again became a prey to anguish. At one moment she sought for +the means of marrying her sweetheart at that very instant, at another she had +an idea of running away never to see him again. +</p> + +<p> +The novels, which spoke to her of chastity and honour, placed a sort of +obstacle between her instincts and her will. She remained the ungovernable +creature who had wanted to struggle with the Seine and who had thrown herself +violently into illicit love; but she was conscious of goodness and gentleness, +she understood the putty face and lifeless attitude of the wife of Olivier, and +she knew it was possible to be happy without killing one’s husband. Then, +she did not see herself in a very good light, and lived in cruel indecision. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, on his side, passed through several different phases of love and +fever. First of all he enjoyed profound tranquility; he seemed as if relieved +of an enormous weight. At times he questioned himself with astonishment, +fancying he had had a bad dream. He asked himself whether it was really true +that he had flung Camille into the water, and had seen his corpse on the slab +at the Morgue. +</p> + +<p> +The recollection of his crime caused him strange surprise; never could he have +imagined himself capable of murder. He so prudent, so cowardly, shuddered at +the mere thought; ice-like beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead when +he reflected that the authorities might have discovered his crime and +guillotined him. Then he felt the cold knife on his neck. So long as he had +acted, he had gone straight before him, with the obstinacy and blindness of a +brute. Now, he turned round, and at the sight of the gulf he had just cleared, +grew faint with terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly, I must have been drunk,” thought he; “that woman +must have intoxicated me with caresses. Good heavens! I was a fool and mad! I +risked the guillotine in a business like that. Fortunately it passed off all +right. But if it had to be done again, I would not do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent lost all his vigor. He became inactive, and more cowardly and prudent +than ever. He grew fat and flabby. No one who had studied this great body, +piled up in a lump, apparently without bones or muscles, would ever have had +the idea of accusing the man of violence and cruelty. +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his former habits. For several months, he proved himself a model +clerk, doing his work with exemplary brutishness. At night, he took his meal at +a cheap restaurant in the Rue Saint-Victor, cutting his bread into thin slices, +masticating his food slowly, making his repast last as long as possible. When +it was over, he threw himself back against the wall and smoked his pipe. Anyone +might have taken him for a stout, good-natured father. In the daytime, he +thought of nothing; at night, he reposed in heavy sleep free from dreams. With +his face fat and rosy, his belly full, his brain empty, he felt happy. +</p> + +<p> +His frame seemed dead, and Thérèse barely entered his mind. Occasionally he +thought of her as one thinks of a woman one has to marry later on, in the +indefinite future. He patiently awaited the time for his marriage, forgetful of +the bride, and dreaming of the new position he would then enjoy. He would leave +his office, he would paint for amusement, and saunter about hither and thither. +These hopes brought him night after night, to the shop in the arcade, in spite +of the vague discomfort he experienced on entering the place. +</p> + +<p> +One Sunday, with nothing to do and being bored, he went to see his old school +friend, the young painter he had lived with for a time. The artist was working +on a picture of a nude Bacchante sprawled on some drapery. The model, lying +with her head thrown back and her torso twisted sometimes laughed and threw her +bosom forward, stretching her arms. As Laurent smoked his pipe and chatted with +his friend, he kept his eyes on the model. He took the woman home with him that +evening and kept her as his mistress for many months. The poor girl fell in +love with him. Every morning she went off and posed as a model all day. Then +she came back each evening. She didn’t cost Laurent a penny, keeping +herself out of her own earnings. Laurent never bothered to find out about her, +where she went, what she did. She was a steadying influence in his life, a +useful and necessary thing. He never wondered if he loved her and he never +considered that he was being unfaithful to Thérèse. He simply felt better and +happier. +</p> + +<p> +In the meanwhile the period of mourning that Thérèse had imposed on herself, +had come to an end, and the young woman put on light-coloured gowns. One +evening, Laurent found her looking younger and handsomer. But he still felt +uncomfortable in her presence. For some time past, she seemed to him feverish, +and full of strange capriciousness, laughing and turning sad without reason. +This unsettled demeanour alarmed him, for he guessed, in part, what her +struggles and troubles must be like. +</p> + +<p> +He began to hesitate, having an atrocious dread of risking his tranquillity. He +was now living peacefully, in wise contentment, and he feared to endanger the +equilibrium of his life, by binding himself to a nervous woman, whose passion +had already driven him crazy. But he did not reason these matters out, he felt +by instinct all the anguish he would be subjected to, if he made Thérèse his +wife. +</p> + +<p> +The first shock he received, and one that roused him in his sluggishness, was +the thought that he must at length begin to think of his marriage. It was +almost fifteen months since the death of Camille. For an instant, Laurent had +the idea of not marrying at all, of jilting Thérèse. Then he said to himself +that it was no good killing a man for nothing. In recalling the crime, and the +terrible efforts he had made to be the sole possessor of this woman who was now +troubling him, he felt that the murder would become useless and atrocious +should he not marry her. Besides, was he not bound to Thérèse by a bond of +blood and horror? Moreover, he feared his accomplice; perhaps, if he failed to +marry her, she would go and relate everything to the judicial authorities out +of vengeance and jealousy. With these ideas beating in his head the fever +settled on him again. +</p> + +<p> +Now, one Sunday the model did not return; no doubt she had found a warmer and +more comfortable place to lodge. Laurent was only moderately upset, but he felt +a sudden gap in his life without a woman lying beside him at night. In a week +his passions rebelled and he began spending entire evenings at the shop again. +He watched Thérèse who was still palpitating from the novels which she read. +</p> + +<p> +After a year of indifferent waiting they both were again tormented by desire. +One evening while shutting up the shop, Laurent spoke to Thérèse in the +passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to come to your room to-night,” he asked +passionately. +</p> + +<p> +She started with fear. “No, let’s wait. Let’s be +prudent.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that I’ve already waited a long time,” he +went on. “I’m sick of waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, her hands and face burning hot, looked at him wildly. She seemed to +hesitate, and then said quickly: +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s get married.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<p> +Laurent left the arcade with a strained mind. Thérèse had filled him with the +old longing lusts again. He walked along with his hat in his hand, so as to get +the fresh air full in his face. +</p> + +<p> +On reaching the door of his hotel in the Rue Saint-Victor, he was afraid to go +upstairs, and remain alone. A childish, inexplicable, unforeseen terror made +him fear he would find a man hidden in his garret. Never had he experienced +such poltroonery. He did not even seek to account for the strange shudder that +ran through him. He entered a wine-shop and remained an hour there, until +midnight, motionless and silent at a table, mechanically absorbing great +glasses of wine. Thinking of Thérèse, his anger raged at her refusal to have +him in her room that very night. He felt that with her he would not have been +afraid. +</p> + +<p> +When the time came for closing the shop, he was obliged to leave. But he went +back again to ask for matches. The office of the hotel was on the first floor. +Laurent had a long alley to follow and a few steps to ascend, before he could +take his candle. This alley, this bit of staircase which was frightfully dark, +terrified him. Habitually, he passed boldly through the darkness. But on this +particular night he had not even the courage to ring. He said to himself that +in a certain recess, formed by the entrance to the cellar, assassins were +perhaps concealed, who would suddenly spring at his throat as he passed along. +</p> + +<p> +At last he pulled the bell, and lighting a match, made up his mind to enter the +alley. The match went out. He stood motionless, breathless, without the courage +to run away, rubbing lucifers against the damp wall in such anxiety that his +hand trembled. He fancied he heard voices, and the sound of footsteps before +him. The matches broke between his fingers; but he succeeded in striking one. +The sulphur began to boil, to set fire to the wood, with a tardiness that +increased his distress. In the pale bluish light of the sulphur, in the +vacillating glimmer, he fancied he could distinguish monstrous forms. Then the +match crackled, and the light became white and clear. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, relieved, advanced with caution, careful not to be without a match. +When he had passed the entrance to the cellar, he clung to the opposite wall +where a mass of darkness terrified him. He next briskly scaled the few steps +separating him from the office of the hotel, and thought himself safe when he +held his candlestick. He ascended to the other floors more gently, holding +aloft his candle, lighting all the corners before which he had to pass. The +great fantastic shadows that come and go, in ascending a staircase with a +light, caused him vague discomfort, as they suddenly rose and disappeared +before him. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as he was upstairs, and had rapidly opened his door and shut himself +in, his first care was to look under his bed, and make a minute inspection of +the room to see that nobody was concealed there. He closed the window in the +roof thinking someone might perhaps get in that way, and feeling more calm +after taking these measures, he undressed, astonished at his cowardice. He +ended by laughing and calling himself a child. Never had he been afraid, and he +could not understand this sudden fit of terror. +</p> + +<p> +He went to bed. When he was in the warmth beneath the bedclothes, he again +thought of Thérèse, whom fright had driven from his mind. Do what he would, +obstinately close his eyes, endeavour to sleep, he felt his thoughts at work +commanding his attention, connecting one with the other, to ever point out to +him the advantage he would reap by marrying as soon as possible. Ever and anon +he would turn round, saying to himself: +</p> + +<p> +“I must not think any more; I shall have to get up at eight o’clock +to-morrow morning to go to my office.” +</p> + +<p> +And he made an effort to slip off to sleep. But the ideas returned one by one. +The dull labour of his reasoning began again; and he soon found himself in a +sort of acute reverie that displayed to him in the depths of his brain, the +necessity for his marriage, along with the arguments his desire and prudence +advanced in turn, for and against the possession of Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +Then, seeing he was unable to sleep, that insomnia kept his body in a state of +irritation, he turned on his back, and with his eyes wide open, gave up his +mind to the young woman. His equilibrium was upset, he again trembled with +violent fever, as formerly. He had an idea of getting up, and returning to the +Arcade of the Pont Neuf. He would have the iron gate opened, and Thérèse would +receive him. The thought sent his blood racing. +</p> + +<p> +The lucidity of his reverie was astonishing. He saw himself in the streets +walking rapidly beside the houses, and he said to himself: +</p> + +<p> +“I will take this Boulevard, I will cross this Square, so as to arrive +there quicker.” +</p> + +<p> +Then the iron gate of the arcade grated, he followed the narrow, dark, deserted +corridor, congratulating himself at being able to go up to Thérèse without +being seen by the dealer in imitation jewelry. Next he imagined he was in the +alley, in the little staircase he had so frequently ascended. He inhaled the +sickly odour of the passage, he touched the sticky walls, he saw the dirty +shadow that hung about there. And he ascended each step, breathless, and with +his ear on the alert. At last he scratched against the door, the door opened, +and Thérèse stood there awaiting him. +</p> + +<p> +His thoughts unfolded before him like real scenes. With his eyes fixed on +darkness, he saw. When at the end of his journey through the streets, after +entering the arcade, and climbing the little staircase, he thought he perceived +Thérèse, ardent and pale, he briskly sprang from his bed, murmuring: +</p> + +<p> +“I must go there. She’s waiting for me.” +</p> + +<p> +This abrupt movement drove away the hallucination. He felt the chill of the +tile flooring, and was afraid. For a moment he stood motionless on his bare +feet, listening. He fancied he heard a sound on the landing. And he reflected +that if he went to Thérèse, he would again have to pass before the door of the +cellar below. This thought sent a cold shiver down his back. Again he was +seized with fright, a sort of stupid crushing terror. He looked distrustfully +round the room, where he distinguished shreds of whitish light. Then gently, +with anxious, hasty precautions, he went to bed again, and there huddling +himself together, hid himself, as if to escape a weapon, a knife that +threatened him. +</p> + +<p> +The blood had flown violently to his neck, which was burning him. He put his +hand there, and beneath his fingers felt the scar of the bite he had received +from Camille. He had almost forgotten this wound and was terrified when he +found it on his skin, where it seemed to be gnawing into his flesh. He rapidly +withdrew his hand so as not to feel the scar, but he was still conscious of its +being there boring into and devouring his neck. Then, when he delicately +scratched it with his nail, the terrible burning sensation increased twofold. +So as not to tear the skin, he pressed his two hands between his doubled-up +knees, and he remained thus, rigid and irritated, with the gnawing pain in his +neck, and his teeth chattering with fright. +</p> + +<p> +His mind now settled on Camille with frightful tenacity. Hitherto the drowned +man had not troubled him at night. And behold the thought of Thérèse brought up +the spectre of her husband. The murderer dared not open his eyes, afraid of +perceiving his victim in a corner of the room. At one moment, he fancied his +bedstead was being shaken in a peculiar manner. He imagined Camille was beneath +it, and that it was he who was tossing him about in this way so as to make him +fall and bite him. With haggard look and hair on end, he clung to his mattress, +imagining the jerks were becoming more and more violent. +</p> + +<p> +Then, he perceived the bed was not moving, and he felt a reaction. He sat up, +lit his candle, and taxed himself with being an idiot. He next swallowed a +large glassful of water to appease his fever. +</p> + +<p> +“I was wrong to drink at that wine-shop,” thought he. “I +don’t know what is the matter with me to-night. It’s silly. I shall +be worn out to-morrow at my office. I ought to have gone to sleep at once, when +I got into bed, instead of thinking of a lot of things. That is what gave me +insomnia. I must get to sleep at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he blew out the light. He buried his head in the pillow, feeling slightly +refreshed, and thoroughly determined not to think any more, and to be no more +afraid. Fatigue began to relax his nerves. +</p> + +<p> +He did not fall into his usual heavy, crushing sleep, but glided lightly into +unsettled slumber. He simply felt as if benumbed, as if plunged into gentle and +delightful stupor. As he dozed, he could feel his limbs. His intelligence +remained awake in his deadened frame. He had driven away his thoughts, he had +resisted the vigil. Then, when he became appeased, when his strength failed and +his will escaped him, his thoughts returned quietly, one by one, regaining +possession of his faltering being. +</p> + +<p> +His reverie began once more. Again he went over the distance separating him +from Thérèse: he went downstairs, he passed before the cellar at a run, and +found himself outside the house; he took all the streets he had followed +before, when he was dreaming with his eyes open; he entered the Arcade of the +Pont Neuf, ascended the little staircase and scratched at the door. But instead +of Thérèse, it was Camille who opened the door, Camille, just as he had seen +him at the Morgue, looking greenish, and atrociously disfigured. The corpse +extended his arms to him, with a vile laugh, displaying the tip of a blackish +tongue between its white teeth. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent shrieked, and awoke with a start. He was bathed in perspiration. He +pulled the bedclothes over his eyes, swearing and getting into a rage with +himself. He wanted to go to sleep again. And he did so as before, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +The same feeling of heaviness overcame him, and as soon as his will had again +escaped in the languidness of semi-slumber, he set out again. He returned where +his fixed idea conducted him; he ran to see Thérèse, and once more it was the +drowned man who opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +The wretch sat up terrified. He would have given anything in the world to be +able to drive away this implacable dream. He longed for heavy sleep to crush +his thoughts. So long as he remained awake, he had sufficient energy to expel +the phantom of his victim; but as soon as he lost command of his mind it led +him to the acme of terror. +</p> + +<p> +He again attempted to sleep. Then came a succession of delicious spells of +drowsiness, and abrupt, harrowing awakenings. In his furious obstinacy, he +still went to Thérèse, but only to always run against the body of Camille. He +performed the same journey more than ten times over. He started all afire, +followed the same itinerary, experienced the same sensations, accomplished the +same acts, with minute exactitude; and more than ten times over, he saw the +drowned man present himself to be embraced, when he extended his arms to seize +and clasp his love. +</p> + +<p> +This same sinister catastrophe which awoke him on each occasion, gasping and +distracted, did not discourage him. After an interval of a few minutes, as soon +as he had fallen asleep again, forgetful of the hideous corpse awaiting him, he +once more hurried away to seek the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent passed an hour a prey to these successive nightmares, to these bad +dreams that followed one another ceaselessly, without any warning, and he was +struck with more acute terror at each start they gave him. +</p> + +<p> +The last of these shocks proved so violent, so painful that he determined to +get up, and struggle no longer. Day was breaking. A gleam of dull, grey light +was entering at the window in the roof which cut out a pale grey square in the +sky. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent slowly dressed himself, with a feeling of sullen irritation, +exasperated at having been unable to sleep, exasperated at allowing himself to +be caught by a fright which he now regarded as childish. As he drew on his +trousers he stretched himself, he rubbed his limbs, he passed his hands over +his face, harassed and clouded by a feverish night. And he repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“I ought not to have thought of all that, I should have gone to sleep. +Had I done so, I should be fresh and well-disposed now.” +</p> + +<p> +Then it occurred to him that if he had been with Thérèse, she would have +prevented him being afraid, and this idea brought him a little calm. At the +bottom of his heart he dreaded passing other nights similar to the one he had +just gone through. +</p> + +<p> +After splashing some water in his face, he ran the comb through his hair, and +this bit of toilet while refreshing his head, drove away the final vestiges of +terror. He now reasoned freely, and experienced no other inconvenience from his +restless night, than great fatigue in all his limbs. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not a poltroon though,” he said to himself as he finished +dressing. “I don’t care a fig about Camille. It’s absurd to +think that this poor devil is under my bed. I shall, perhaps, have the same +idea, now, every night. I must certainly marry as soon as possible. When +Thérèse has me in her arms, I shall not think much about Camille. She will kiss +me on the neck, and I shall cease to feel the atrocious burn that troubles me +at present. Let me examine this bite.” +</p> + +<p> +He approached his glass, extended his neck and looked. The scar presented a +rosy appearance. Then, Laurent, perceiving the marks of the teeth of his +victim, experienced a certain emotion. The blood flew to his head, and he now +observed a strange phenomenon. The ruby flood rushing to the scar had turned it +purple, it became raw and sanguineous, standing out quite red against the fat, +white neck. Laurent at the same time felt a sharp pricking sensation, as if +needles were being thrust into the wound, and he hurriedly raised the collar of +his shirt again. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” he exclaimed, “Thérèse will cure that. A few kisses +will suffice. What a fool I am to think of these matters!” +</p> + +<p> +He put on his hat, and went downstairs. He wanted to be in the open air and +walk. Passing before the door of the cellar, he smiled. Nevertheless, he made +sure of the strength of the hook fastening the door. Outside, on the deserted +pavement, he moved along with short steps in the fresh matutinal air. It was +then about five o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent passed an atrocious day. He had to struggle against the overpowering +drowsiness that settled on him in the afternoon at his office. His heavy, +aching head nodded in spite of himself, but he abruptly brought it up, as soon +as he heard the step of one of his chiefs. This struggle, these shocks +completed wearing out his limbs, while causing him intolerable anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, notwithstanding his lassitude, he went to see Thérèse, only to +find her feverish, extremely low-spirited, and as weary as himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Our poor Thérèse has had a bad night,” Madame Raquin said to him, +as soon as he had seated himself. “It seems she was suffering from +nightmare, and terrible insomnia. I heard her crying out on several occasions. +This morning she was quite ill.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, while her aunt was speaking, looked fixedly at Laurent. No doubt, they +guessed their common terror, for a nervous shudder ran over their countenances. +Until ten o’clock they remained face to face with one another, talking of +commonplace matters, but still understanding each other, and mutually imploring +themselves with their eyes, to hasten the moment when they could unite against +the drowned man. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<p> +Thérèse also had been visited by the spectre of Camille, during this feverish +night. +</p> + +<p> +After over a year of indifference, Laurent’s sudden attentions had +aroused her senses. As she tossed herself about in insomnia, she had seen the +drowned man rise up before her; like Laurent she had writhed in terror, and she +had said as he had done, that she would no longer be afraid, that she would no +more experience such sufferings, when she had her sweetheart in her arms. +</p> + +<p> +This man and woman had experienced at the same hour, a sort of nervous disorder +which set them panting with terror. A consanguinity had become established +between them. They shuddered with the same shudder; their hearts in a kind of +poignant friendship, were wrung with the same anguish. From that moment they +had one body and one soul for enjoyment and suffering. +</p> + +<p> +This communion, this mutual penetration is a psychological and physiological +phenomenon which is often found to exist in beings who have been brought into +violent contact by great nervous shocks. +</p> + +<p> +For over a year, Thérèse and Laurent lightly bore the chain riveted to their +limbs that united them. In the depression succeeding the acute crisis of the +murder, amidst the feelings of disgust, and the need for calm and oblivion that +had followed, these two convicts might fancy they were free, that they were no +longer shackled together by iron fetters. The slackened chain dragged on the +ground. They reposed, they found themselves struck with a sort of delightful +insensibility, they sought to love elsewhere, to live in a state of wise +equilibrium. But from the day when urged forward by events, they came to the +point of again exchanging burning sentences, the chain became violently +strained, and they received such a shock, that they felt themselves for ever +linked to one another. +</p> + +<p> +The day following this first attack of nightmare, Thérèse secretly set to work +to bring about her marriage with Laurent. It was a difficult task, full of +peril. The sweethearts trembled lest they should commit an imprudence, arouse +suspicions, and too abruptly reveal the interest they had in the death of +Camille. +</p> + +<p> +Convinced that they could not mention marriage themselves, they arranged a very +clever plan which consisted in getting Madame Raquin herself, and the Thursday +evening guests, to offer them what they dared not ask for. It then only became +necessary to convey to these worthy people the idea of remarrying Thérèse, and +particularly to make them believe that this idea originated with themselves, +and was their own. +</p> + +<p> +The comedy was long and delicate to perform. Thérèse and Laurent took the parts +adapted to them, and proceeded with extreme prudence, calculating the slightest +gesture, and the least word. At the bottom of their hearts, they were devoured +by a feeling of impatience that stiffened and strained their nerves. They lived +in a state of constant irritation, and it required all their natural cowardice +to compel them to show a smiling and peaceful exterior. +</p> + +<p> +If they yearned to bring the business to an end, it was because they could no +longer remain separate and solitary. Each night, the drowned man visited them, +insomnia stretched them on beds of live coal and turned them over with fiery +tongs. The state of enervation in which they lived, nightly increased the fever +of their blood, which resulted in atrocious hallucinations rising up before +them. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse no longer dared enter her room after dusk. She experienced the keenest +anguish, when she had to shut herself until morning in this large apartment, +which became lit-up with strange glimmers, and peopled with phantoms as soon as +the light was out. She ended by leaving her candle burning, and by preventing +herself falling asleep, so as to always have her eyes wide open. But when +fatigue lowered her lids, she saw Camille in the dark, and reopened her eyes +with a start. In the morning she dragged herself about, broken down, having +only slumbered for a few hours at dawn. +</p> + +<p> +As to Laurent, he had decidedly become a poltroon since the night he had taken +fright when passing before the cellar door. Previous to that incident he had +lived with the confidence of a brute; now, at the least sound, he trembled and +turned pale like a little boy. A shudder of terror had suddenly shaken his +limbs, and had clung to him. At night, he suffered even more than Thérèse; and +fright, in this great, soft, cowardly frame, produced profound laceration to +the feelings. He watched the fall of day with cruel apprehension. On several +occasions, he failed to return home, and passed whole nights walking in the +middle of the deserted streets. +</p> + +<p> +Once he remained beneath a bridge, until morning, while the rain poured down in +torrents; and there, huddled up, half frozen, not daring to rise and ascend to +the quay, he for nearly six hours watched the dirty water running in the +whitish shadow. At times a fit of terror brought him flat down on the damp +ground: under one of the arches of the bridge he seemed to see long lines of +drowned bodies drifting along in the current. When weariness drove him home, he +shut himself in, and double-locked the door. There he struggled until daybreak +amidst frightful attacks of fever. +</p> + +<p> +The same nightmare returned persistently: he fancied he fell from the ardent +clasp of Thérèse into the cold, sticky arms of Camille. He dreamt, first of +all, that his sweetheart was stifling him in a warm embrace, and then that the +corpse of the drowned man pressed him to his chest in an ice-like strain. These +abrupt and alternate sensations of voluptuousness and disgust, these successive +contacts of burning love and frigid death, set him panting for breath, and +caused him to shudder and gasp in anguish. +</p> + +<p> +Each day, the terror of the lovers increased, each day their attacks of +nightmare crushed and maddened them the more. They no longer relied on their +kisses to drive away insomnia. By prudence, they did not dare make +appointments, but looked forward to their wedding-day as a day of salvation, to +be followed by an untroubled night. +</p> + +<p> +It was their desire for calm slumber that made them wish for their union. They +had hesitated during the hours of indifference, both being oblivious of the +egotistic and impassioned reasons that had urged them to the crime, and which +were now dispelled. It was in vague despair that they took the supreme +resolution to unite openly. At the bottom of their hearts they were afraid. +They had leant, so to say, one on the other above an unfathomable depth, +attracted to it by its horror. They bent over the abyss together, clinging +silently to one another, while feelings of intense giddiness enfeebled their +limbs and gave them falling madness. +</p> + +<p> +But at the present moment, face to face with their anxious expectation and +timorous desires, they felt the imperative necessity of closing their eyes, and +of dreaming of a future full of amorous felicity and peaceful enjoyment. The +more they trembled one before the other, the better they foresaw the horror of +the abyss to the bottom of which they were about to plunge, and the more they +sought to make promises of happiness to themselves, and to spread out before +their eyes the invincible facts that fatally led them to marriage. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse desired her union with Laurent solely because she was afraid and wanted +a companion. She was a prey to nervous attacks that drove her half crazy. In +reality she reasoned but little, she flung herself into love with a mind upset +by the novels she had recently been reading, and a frame irritated by the cruel +insomnia that had kept her awake for several weeks. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, who was of a stouter constitution, while giving way to his terror and +his desire, had made up his mind to reason out his decision. To thoroughly +prove to himself that his marriage was necessary, that he was at last going to +be perfectly happy, and to drive away the vague fears that beset him, he +resumed all his former calculations. +</p> + +<p> +His father, the peasant of Jeufosse, seemed determined not to die, and Laurent +said to himself that he might have to wait a long time for the inheritance. He +even feared that this inheritance might escape him, and go into the pockets of +one of his cousins, a great big fellow who turned the soil over to the keen +satisfaction of the old boy. And he would remain poor; he would live the life +of a bachelor in a garret, with a bad bed and a worse table. Besides, he did +not contemplate working all his life; already he began to find his office +singularly tedious. The light labour entrusted to him became irksome owing to +his laziness. +</p> + +<p> +The invariable result of these reflections was that supreme happiness consisted +in doing nothing. Then he remembered that if he had drowned Camille, it was to +marry Thérèse, and work no more. Certainly, the thought of having his +sweetheart all to himself had greatly influenced him in committing the crime, +but he had perhaps been led to it still more, by the hope of taking the place +of Camille, of being looked after in the same way, and of enjoying constant +beatitude. Had passion alone urged him to the deed, he would not have shown +such cowardice and prudence. The truth was that he had sought by murder to +assure himself a calm, indolent life, and the satisfaction of his cravings. +</p> + +<p> +All these thoughts, avowedly or unconsciously, returned to him. To find +encouragement, he repeated that it was time to gather in the harvest +anticipated by the death of Camille, and he spread out before him the +advantages and blessings of his future existence: he would leave his office, +and live in delicious idleness; he would eat, drink and sleep to his +heart’s content; he would have an affectionate wife beside him; and, he +would shortly inherit the 40,000 francs and more of Madame Raquin, for the poor +old woman was dying, little by little, every day; in a word, he would carve out +for himself the existence of a happy brute, and would forget everything. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent mentally repeated these ideas at every moment, since his marriage with +Thérèse had been decided on. He also sought other advantages that would result +therefrom, and felt delighted when he found a new argument, drawn from his +egotism, in favour of his union with the widow of the drowned man. But however +much he forced himself to hope, however much he dreamed of a future full of +idleness and pleasure, he never ceased to feel abrupt shudders that gave his +skin an icy chill, while at moments he continued to experience an anxiety that +stifled his joy in his throat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<p> +In the meanwhile, the secret work of Thérèse and Laurent was productive of +results. The former had assumed a woeful and despairing demeanour which at the +end of a few days alarmed Madame Raquin. When the old mercer inquired what made +her niece so sad, the young woman played the part of an inconsolable widow with +consummate skill. She spoke in a vague manner of feeling weary, depressed, of +suffering from her nerves, without making any precise complaint. When pressed +by her aunt with questions, she replied that she was well, that she could not +imagine what it was that made her so low-spirited, and that she shed tears +without knowing why. +</p> + +<p> +Then, the constant choking fits of sobbing, the wan, heartrending smiles, the +spells of crushing silence full of emptiness and despair, continued. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of this young woman who was always giving way to her grief, who +seemed to be slowly dying of some unknown complaint, ended by seriously +alarming Madame Raquin. She had, now, no one in the whole world but her niece, +and she prayed the Almighty every night to preserve her this relative to close +her eyes. A little egotism was mingled with this final love of her old age. She +felt herself affected in the slight consolations that still assisted her to +live, when it crossed her mind that she might die alone in the damp shop in the +arcade. From that time, she never took her eyes off her niece, and it was with +terror that she watched her sadness, wondering what she could do to cure her of +her silent despair. +</p> + +<p> +Under these grave circumstances, she thought she ought to take the advice of +her old friend Michaud. One Thursday evening, she detained him in the shop, and +spoke to him of her alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” answered the old man, with that frank brutality he had +acquired in the performance of his former functions, “I have noticed for +some time past that Thérèse has been looking sour, and I know very well why her +face is quite yellow and overspread with grief.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know why!” exclaimed the widow. “Speak out at once. If +we could only cure her!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! the treatment is simple,” resumed Michaud with a laugh. +“Your niece finds life irksome because she had been alone for nearly two +years. She wants a husband; you can see that in her eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +The brutal frankness of the former commissary, gave Madame Raquin a painful +shock. She fancied that the wound Thérèse had received through the fatal +accident at Saint-Ouen, was still as fresh, still as cruel at the bottom of her +heart. It seemed to her that her son, once dead, Thérèse could have no thought +for a husband, and here was Michaud affirming, with a hearty laugh, that +Thérèse was out of sorts because she wanted one. +</p> + +<p> +“Marry her as soon as you can,” said he, as he took himself off, +“if you do not wish to see her shrivel up entirely. That is my advice, my +dear lady, and it is good, believe me.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin could not, at first, accustom herself to the thought that her son +was already forgotten. Old Michaud had not even pronounced the name of Camille, +and had made a joke of the pretended illness of Thérèse. The poor mother +understood that she alone preserved at the bottom of her heart, the living +recollection of her dear child, and she wept, for it seemed to her that Camille +had just died a second time. +</p> + +<p> +Then, when she had had a good cry, and was weary of mourning, she thought, in +spite of herself, of what Michaud had said, and became familiar with the idea +of purchasing a little happiness at the cost of a marriage which, according to +her delicate mind, was like killing her son again. +</p> + +<p> +Frequently, she gave way to feelings of cowardice when she came face to face +with the dejected and broken-down Thérèse, amidst the icy silence of the shop. +She was not one of those dry, rigid persons who find bitter delight in living a +life of eternal despair. Her character was full of pliancy, devotedness, and +effusion, which contributed to make up her temperament of a stout and affable +good lady, and prompted her to live in a state of active tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +Since her niece no longer spoke, and remained there pale and feeble, her own +life became intolerable, while the shop seemed to her like a tomb. What she +required was to find some warm affection beside her, some liveliness, some +caresses, something sweet and gay which would help her to wait peacefully for +death. It was these unconscious desires that made her accept the idea of +marrying Thérèse again; she even forgot her son a little. In the existence of +the tomb that she was leading, came a sort of awakening, something like a will, +and fresh occupation for the mind. She sought a husband for her niece, and this +search gave her matter for consideration. +</p> + +<p> +The choice of a husband was an important business. The poor old lady thought +much more of her own comfort than of Thérèse. She wished to marry her niece in +order to be happy herself, for she had keen misgivings lest the new husband of +the young woman should come and trouble the last hours of her old age. The idea +that she was about to introduce a stranger into her daily existence terrified +her. It was this thought alone that stopped her, that prevented her from +talking openly with her niece about matrimony. +</p> + +<p> +While Thérèse acted the comedy of weariness and dejection with that perfect +hypocrisy she had acquired by her education, Laurent took the part of a +sensible and serviceable man. He was full of little attentions for the two +women, particularly for Madame Raquin, whom he overwhelmed with delicate +attention. Little by little he made himself indispensable in the shop; it was +him alone who brought a little gaiety into this black hole. When he did not +happen to be there of an evening, the old mercer searched round her, ill at +ease, as if she missed something, being almost afraid to find herself face to +face with the despairing Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +But Laurent only occasionally absented himself to better prove his power. He +went to the shop daily, on quitting his office, and remained there until the +arcade was closed at night. He ran the errands, and handed Madame Raquin, who +could only walk with difficulty, the small articles she required. Then he +seated himself and chatted. He had acquired the gentle penetrating voice of an +actor which he employed to flatter the ears and heart of the good old lady. In +a friendly way, he seemed particularly anxious about the health of Thérèse, +like a tender-hearted man who feels for the sufferings of others. On repeated +occasions, he took Madame Raquin to one side, and terrified her by appearing +very much alarmed himself at the changes and ravages he said he perceived on +the face of the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall soon lose her,” he murmured in a tearful voice. “We +cannot conceal from ourselves that she is extremely ill. Ah! alas, for our poor +happiness, and our nice tranquil evenings!” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin listened to him with anguish. Laurent even had the audacity to +speak of Camille. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said he to the mercer, “the death of my poor +friend has been a terrible blow to her. She had been dying for the last two +years, since that fatal day when she lost Camille. Nothing will console her, +nothing will cure her. We must be resigned.” +</p> + +<p> +These impudent falsehoods made the old lady shed bitter tears. The memory of +her son troubled and blinded her. Each time the name of Camille was pronounced, +she gave way, bursting into sobs. She would have embraced the person who +mentioned her poor boy. Laurent had noticed the trouble, and outburst of tender +feeling that this name produced. He could make her weep at will, upset her with +such emotion that she failed to distinguish the clear aspect of things; and he +took advantage of this power to always hold her pliant and in pain in his hand, +as it were. +</p> + +<p> +Each evening in spite of the secret revolt of his trembling inner being, he +brought the conversation to bear on the rare qualities, on the tender heart and +mind of Camille, praising his victim with most shameless impudence. At moments, +when he found the eyes of Thérèse fixed with a strange expression on his own, +he shuddered, and ended by believing all the good he had been saying about the +drowned man. Then he held his tongue, suddenly seized with atrocious jealousy, +fearing that the young widow loved the man he had flung into the water, and +whom he now lauded with the conviction of an enthusiast. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the conversation Madame Raquin was in tears, and unable to +distinguish anything around her. As she wept, she reflected that Laurent must +have a loving and generous heart. He alone remembered her son, he alone still +spoke of him in a trembling and affected voice. She dried her eyes, gazing at +the young man with infinite tenderness, and feeling that she loved him as her +own child. +</p> + +<p> +One Thursday evening, Michaud and Grivet were already in the dining-room, when +Laurent coming in, approached Thérèse, and with gentle anxiety inquired after +her health. He seated himself for a moment beside her, performing for the +edification of the persons present, his part of an alarmed and affectionate +friend. As the young couple sat close together, exchanging a few words, +Michaud, who was observing them, bent down, and said in a low voice to the old +mercer, as he pointed to Laurent: +</p> + +<p> +“Look, there is the husband who will suit your niece. Arrange this +marriage quickly. We will assist you if it be necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +This remark came as a revelation to Madame Raquin. She saw, at once, all the +advantages she would derive, personally, from the union of Thérèse and Laurent. +The marriage would tighten the bonds already connecting her and her niece with +the friend of her son, with that good-natured fellow who came to amuse them in +the evening. +</p> + +<p> +In this manner, she would not be introducing a stranger into her home, she +would not run the risk of unhappiness. On the contrary, while giving Thérèse a +support, she added another joy to her old age, she found a second son in this +young man who for three years had shown her such filial affection. +</p> + +<p> +Then it occurred to her that Thérèse would be less faithless to the memory of +Camille by marrying Laurent. The religion of the heart is peculiarly delicate. +Madame Raquin, who would have wept to see a stranger embrace the young widow, +felt no repulsion at the thought of giving her to the comrade of her son. +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the evening, while the guests played at dominoes, the old mercer +watched the couple so tenderly, that they guessed the comedy had succeeded, and +that the denouement was at hand. Michaud, before withdrawing, had a short +conversation in an undertone with Madame Raquin. Then, he pointedly took the +arm of Laurent saying he would accompany him a bit of the way. As Laurent went +off, he exchanged a rapid glance with Thérèse, a glance full of urgent +enjoinment. +</p> + +<p> +Michaud had undertaken to feel the ground. He found the young man very much +devoted to the two ladies, but exceedingly astonished at the idea of a marriage +between Thérèse and himself. Laurent added, in an unsteady tone of voice, that +he loved the widow of his poor friend as a sister, and that it would seem to +him a perfect sacrilege to marry her. The former commissary of police insisted, +giving numerous good reasons with a view to obtaining his consent. He even +spoke of devotedness, and went so far as to tell the young man that it was +clearly his duty to give a son to Madame Raquin and a husband to Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +Little by little Laurent allowed himself to be won over, feigning to give way +to emotion, to accept the idea of this marriage as one fallen from the clouds, +dictated by feelings of devotedness and duty, as old Michaud had said. When the +latter had obtained a formal answer in the affirmative, he parted with his +companion, rubbing his hands, for he fancied he had just gained a great +victory. He prided himself on having had the first idea of this marriage which +would convey to the Thursday evenings all their former gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +While Michaud was talking with Laurent, slowly following the quays, Madame +Raquin had an almost identical conversation with Thérèse. At the moment when +her niece, pale and unsteady in gait, as usual, was about to retire to rest, +the old mercer detained her an instant. She questioned her in a tender tone, +imploring her to be frank, and confess the cause of the trouble that +overwhelmed her. Then, as she only obtained vague replies, she spoke of the +emptiness of widowhood, and little by little came to talk in a more precise +manner of the offer of a second marriage, concluding by asking Thérèse, +plainly, whether she had not a secret desire to marry again. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse protested, saying that such a thought had never entered her mind, and +that she intended remaining faithful to Camille. Madame Raquin began to weep. +Pleading against her heart, she gave her niece to understand that despair +should not be eternal; and, finally, in response to an exclamation of the young +woman saying she would never replace Camille, Madame Raquin abruptly pronounced +the name of Laurent. Then she enlarged with a flood of words on the propriety +and advantages of such an union. She poured out her mind, repeating aloud all +she had been thinking during the evening, depicting with naive egotism, the +picture of her final days of happiness, between her two dear children. Thérèse, +resigned and docile, listened to her with bowed head, ready to give +satisfaction to her slightest wish. +</p> + +<p> +“I love Laurent as a brother,” said she grievously, when her aunt +had ceased speaking. “But, as you desire it, I will endeavour to love him +as a husband. I wish to make you happy. I had hoped that you would have allowed +me to weep in peace, but I will dry my tears, as it is a question of your +happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +She kissed the old lady, who remained surprised and frightened at having been +the first to forget her son. As Madame Raquin went to bed, she sobbed bitterly, +accusing herself of having less strength than Thérèse, and of desiring, out of +egotism, a marriage that the young widow accepted by simple abnegation. +</p> + +<p> +The following morning, Michaud and his old friend had a short conversation in +the arcade, before the door of the shop, where they communicated to one another +the result of their efforts, and agreed to hurry matters on by forcing the +young people to become affianced the same evening. +</p> + +<p> +At five o’clock, Michaud was already in the shop when Laurent entered. As +soon as the young man had seated himself, the former commissary of police said +in his ear: +</p> + +<p> +“She accepts.” +</p> + +<p> +This blunt remark was overheard by Thérèse who remained pale, with her eyes +impudently fixed on Laurent. The two sweethearts looked at each other for a few +seconds as if consulting. Both understood that they must accept the position +without hesitation, and finish the business at one stroke. Laurent, rising, +went and took the hand of Madame Raquin, who made every effort to restrain her +tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear mother,” said he smiling, “I was talking about your +felicity, last night, with M. Michaud. Your children wish to make you +happy.” +</p> + +<p> +The poor old lady, on hearing herself called “dear mother,” allowed +her tears to flow. She quietly seized the hand of Thérèse and placed it in that +of Laurent, unable to utter a single word. +</p> + +<p> +The two sweethearts shivered on feeling their skins touch, and remained with +their burning fingers pressed together, in a nervous clasp. After a pause, the +young man, in a hesitating tone, resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse, shall we give your aunt a bright and peaceful existence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” feebly replied the young woman, “we have a duty to +perform.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Laurent, becoming very pale, turned towards Madame Raquin, and added: +</p> + +<p> +“When Camille fell into the water, he shouted out to me: ‘Save my +wife, I entrust her to you.’ I believe I am acting in accordance with his +last wish in marrying Thérèse.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, on hearing these words, let go the hand of Laurent. She had received a +shock like a blow in the chest. The impudence of her sweetheart overwhelmed +her. She observed him with a senseless look, while Madame Raquin, half stifled +by sobs, stammered: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, my friend, marry her, make her happy; my son, from the depth +of his tomb, will thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, feeling himself giving way, leant on the back of a chair, while +Michaud, who was himself moved to tears, pushed him towards Thérèse with the +remark: +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss one another. It will be your betrothal.” +</p> + +<p> +When the lips of the young man came in contact with the cheeks of the widow, he +experienced a peculiarly uncomfortable feeling, while the latter abruptly drew +back, as if the two kisses of her sweetheart burnt her. This was the first +caress he had given her in the presence of witnesses. All her blood rushed to +her face, and she felt herself red and burning. +</p> + +<p> +After this crisis, the two murderers breathed. Their marriage was decided on. +At last they approached the goal they had so long had in view. Everything was +settled the same evening. The Thursday following, the marriage was announced to +Grivet, as well as to Olivier and his wife. Michaud, in communicating the news +to them, did not conceal his delight. He rubbed his hands, repeating as he did +so: +</p> + +<p> +“It was I who thought of it. It is I who have married them. You will see +what a nice couple they’ll make!” +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne silently embraced Thérèse. This poor creature, who was half dead, and +as white as a sheet, had formed a friendship for the rigid and sombre young +widow. She showed her a sort of childlike affection mingled with a kind of +respectful terror. Olivier complimented the aunt and niece, while Grivet +hazarded a few spicy jokes that met with middling success. Altogether the +company were delighted, enchanted, and declared that everything was for the +best; in reality all they thought about was the wedding feast. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse and Laurent were clever enough to maintain a suitable demeanour, by +simply displaying tender and obliging friendship to one another. They gave +themselves an air of accomplishing an act of supreme devotedness. Nothing in +their faces betrayed a suspicion of the terror and desire that disturbed them. +Madame Raquin watched the couple with faint smiles, and a look of feeble, but +grateful goodwill. +</p> + +<p> +A few formalities required fulfilling. Laurent had to write to his father to +ask his consent to the marriage. The old peasant of Jeufosse who had almost +forgotten that he had a son at Paris, answered him, in four lines, that he +could marry, and go and get hanged if he chose. He gave him to understand that +being resolved never to give him a sou, he left him master of his body, and +authorised him to be guilty of all imaginable follies. A permission accorded in +such terms, caused Laurent singular anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin, after reading the letter of this unnatural father, in a +transport of kind-heartedness, acted very foolishly. She made over to her niece +the 40,000 francs and more, that she possessed, stripping herself entirely for +the young couple, on whose affection she relied, with the desire of being +indebted to them for all her happiness. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent brought nothing into the community, and he even gave it to be +understood that he did not always intend to remain in his present employment, +but would perhaps take up painting again. In any case, the future of the little +family was assured; the interest on the money put aside added to the profit on +the mercery business, would be sufficient to keep three persons comfortably. As +a matter of fact it was only just sufficient to make them happy. +</p> + +<p> +The preparations for the marriage were hurried on, the formalities being +abridged as much as possible, and at last the welcome day arrived. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<p> +In the morning, Laurent and Thérèse, awoke in their respective rooms, with the +same feeling of profound joy in their hearts: both said to themselves that +their last night of terror had passed. They would no longer have to sleep +alone, and they would mutually defend themselves against the drowned man. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse looked around her, giving a strange smile as she measured her great bed +with her eyes. She rose and began to slowly dress herself, in anticipation of +the arrival of Suzanne, who was to come and assist her with her bridal toilet. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, on awakening, sat up in bed, and remained in that position for a few +minutes, bidding farewell to his garret, which struck him as vile. At last he +was to quit this kennel and have a wife. It was in the month of December and he +shivered. He sprang on the tile floor, saying to himself that he would be warm +at night. +</p> + +<p> +A week previously, Madame Raquin, knowing how short he was of money, had +slipped a purse into his hand containing 500 francs, which represented all her +savings. The young man had accepted this present without difficulty, and had +rigged himself out from tip to toe. Moreover, the money of the old mercer +permitted him to make Thérèse the customary presents. +</p> + +<p> +The black trousers, dress coat, white waistcoat, shirt and cambric tie, hung +spread out on a couple of chairs. Laurent washed, perfumed himself with a +bottle of eau de Cologne, and then proceeded to carefully attire himself. He +wished to look handsome. As he fastened his collar, a collar which was high and +stiff, he experienced keen pain in the neck. The button escaped from his +fingers. He lost patience. The starched linen seemed to cut into his flesh. +Wishing to see what was the matter, he raised his chin, and perceived the bite +Camille had given him looking quite red. The collar had slightly galled the +scar. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent pressed his lips together, and turned pale; the sight of this mark +seaming his neck, frightened and irritated him at this moment. He crumpled up +the collar, and selected another which he put on with every precaution, and +then finished dressing himself. As he went downstairs his new clothes made him +look rigid. With his neck imprisoned in the inflexible linen, he dared not turn +his head. At every movement he made, a pleat pinched the wound that the teeth +of the drowned man had made in his flesh, and it was under the irritation of +these sharp pricks, that he got into the carriage, and went to fetch Thérèse to +conduct her to the town-hall and church. +</p> + +<p> +On the way, he picked up a clerk employed at the Orleans Railway Company, and +old Michaud, who were to act as witnesses. When they reached the shop, everyone +was ready: Grivet and Olivier, the witnesses of Thérèse, were there, along with +Suzanne, who looked at the bride as little girls look at dolls they have just +dressed up. Although Madame Raquin was no longer able to walk, she desired to +accompany the couple everywhere, so she was hoisted into a conveyance and the +party set out. +</p> + +<p> +Everything passed off in a satisfactory manner at the town-hall and church. The +calm and modest attitude of the bride and bridegroom was remarked and approved. +They pronounced the sacramental “yes” with an emotion that moved +Grivet himself. They were as if in a dream. Whether seated, or quietly kneeling +side by side, they were rent by raging thoughts that flashed through their +minds in spite of themselves, and they avoided looking at one another. When +they seated themselves in their carriage, they seemed to be greater strangers +than before. +</p> + +<p> +It had been decided that the wedding feast should be a family affair at a +little restaurant on the heights of Belleville. The Michauds and Grivet alone +were invited. Until six in the evening, the wedding party drove along the +boulevards, and then repaired to the cheap eating-house where a table was +spread with seven covers in a small private room painted yellow, and reeking of +dust and wine. +</p> + +<p> +The repast was not accompanied by much gaiety. The newly married pair were +grave and thoughtful. Since the morning, they had been experiencing strange +sensations, which they did not seek to fathom. From the commencement, they had +felt bewildered at the rapidity with which the formalities and ceremony were +performed, that had just bound them together for ever. +</p> + +<p> +Then, the long drive on the boulevards had soothed them and made them drowsy. +It appeared to them that this drive lasted months. Nevertheless, they allowed +themselves to be taken through the monotonous streets without displaying +impatience, looking at the shops and people with sparkless eyes, overcome by a +numbness that made them feel stupid, and which they endeavoured to shake off by +bursting into fits of laughter. When they entered the restaurant, they were +weighed down by oppressive fatigue, while increasing stupor continued to settle +on them. +</p> + +<p> +Placed at table opposite one another, they smiled with an air of constraint, +and then fell into the same heavy reverie as before, eating, answering +questions, moving their limbs like machines. Amidst the idle lassitude of their +minds, the same string of flying thoughts returned ceaselessly. They were +married, and yet unconscious of their new condition, which caused them profound +astonishment. They imagined an abyss still separated them, and at moments asked +themselves how they could get over this unfathomable depth. They fancied they +were living previous to the murder, when a material obstacle stood between +them. +</p> + +<p> +Then they abruptly remembered they would occupy the same apartment that night, +in a few hours, and they gazed at one another in astonishment, unable to +comprehend why they should be permitted to do so. They did not feel they were +united, but, on the contrary, were dreaming that they had just been violently +separated, and one cast far from the other. +</p> + +<p> +The silly chuckling of the guests beside them, who wished to hear them talk +familiarly, so as to dispel all restraint, made them stammer and colour. They +could never make up their minds to treat one another as sweethearts in the +presence of company. +</p> + +<p> +Waiting had extinguished the flame that had formerly fired them. All the past +had disappeared. They had forgotten their violent passion, they forgot even +their joy of the morning, that profound joy they had experienced at the thought +that they would no more be afraid. They were simply wearied and bewildered at +all that was taking place. The events of the day turned round and round in +their heads, appearing incomprehensible and monstrous. They sat there mute and +smiling, expecting nothing, hoping for nothing. Mingled with their dejection of +spirits, was a restless anxiety that proved vaguely painful. +</p> + +<p> +At every movement Laurent made with his neck, he felt a sharp burn devouring +his flesh; his collar cut and pinched the bite of Camille. While the mayor read +out to him the law bearing on marriage, while the priest spoke to him of the +Almighty, at every minute of this long day, he had felt the teeth of the +drowned man entering his skin. At times, he imagined a streak of blood was +running down his chest, and would bespatter his white waistcoat with crimson. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin was inwardly grateful to the newly married couple for their +gravity. Noisy joy would have wounded the poor mother. In her mind, her son was +there, invisible, handing Thérèse over to Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +Grivet had other ideas. He considered the wedding party sad, and wanted to +enliven it, notwithstanding the looks of Michaud and Olivier which riveted him +to his chair each time he wished to get up and say something silly. +Nevertheless, he managed to rise once and propose a toast. +</p> + +<p> +“I drink to the offspring of monsieur and madame,” quoth he in a +sprightly tone. +</p> + +<p> +It was necessary to touch glasses. Thérèse and Laurent had turned extremely +pale on hearing this sentence. They had never dreamed that they might have +children. The thought flashed through them like an icy shiver. They nervously +joined glasses with the others, examining one another, surprised and alarmed to +find themselves there, face to face. +</p> + +<p> +The party rose from table early. The guests wished to accompany the newly +married pair to the nuptial chamber. It was barely half-past nine when they all +returned to the shop in the arcade. The dealer in imitation jewelry was still +there in her cupboard, before the box lined with blue velvet. She raised her +head inquisitively, gazing at the young husband and wife with a smile. The +latter caught her eyes, and was terrified. It struck her that perhaps this old +woman was aware of their former meetings, by having noticed Laurent slipping +into the little corridor. +</p> + +<p> +When they all arrived on the upper floor, Thérèse withdrew almost immediately, +with Madame Raquin and Suzanne, the men remaining in the dining-room, while the +bride performed her toilet for the night. Laurent, nerveless and depressed, did +not experience the least impatience, but listened complacently to the coarse +jokes of old Michaud and Grivet, who indulged themselves to their hearts’ +content, now that the ladies were no longer present. When Suzanne and Madame +Raquin quitted the nuptial apartment, and the old mercer in an unsteady voice +told the young man that his wife awaited him, he started. For an instant he +remained bewildered. Then he feverishly grasped the hands extended to him, and +entered the room, clinging to the door like a man under the influence of drink. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<p> +Laurent carefully closed the door behind him, and for a moment or two stood +leaning against it, gazing round the apartment in anxiety and embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +A clear fire burned on the hearth, sending large sheets of light dancing on +ceiling and walls. The room was thus lit-up by bright vacillating gleams, that +in a measure annulled the effects of the lamp placed on a table in their midst. +Madame Raquin had done her best to convey a coquettish aspect to the apartment. +It was one mass of white, and perfumed throughout, as if to serve as a nest for +young, fresh love. The good lady, moreover, had taken pleasure in adding a few +bits of lace to the bed, and in filling the vases on the chimney-piece with +bunches of roses. Gentle warmth and pleasant fragrance reigned over all, and +not a sound broke the silence, save the crackling and little sharp reports of +the wood aglow on the hearth. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse was seated on a low chair to the right of the chimney, staring fixedly +at the bright flames, with her chin in her hand. She did not turn her head when +Laurent entered. Clothed in a petticoat and linen night-jacket bordered with +lace, she looked snowy white in the bright light of the fire. Her jacket had +become disarranged, and part of her rosy shoulder appeared, half hidden by a +tress of raven hair. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent advanced a few paces without speaking, and took off his coat and +waistcoat. When he stood in his shirt sleeves, he again looked at Thérèse, who +had not moved, and he seemed to hesitate. Then, perceiving the bit of shoulder, +he bent down quivering, to press his lips to it. The young woman, abruptly +turning round, withdrew her shoulder, and in doing so, fixed on Laurent such a +strange look of repugnance and horror, that he shrank back, troubled and ill at +ease, as if himself seized with terror and disgust. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent then seated himself opposite Thérèse, on the other side of the chimney, +and they remained thus, silent and motionless, for fully five minutes. At +times, tongues of reddish flame escaped from the wood, and then the faces of +the murderers were touched with fleeting gleams of blood. +</p> + +<p> +It was more than a couple of years since the two sweethearts had found +themselves shut up alone in this room. They had arranged no love-meetings since +the day when Thérèse had gone to the Rue Saint-Victor to convey to Laurent the +idea of murder. Prudence had kept them apart. Barely had they, at long +intervals, ventured on a pressure of the hand, or a stealthy kiss. After the +murder of Camille, they had restrained their passion, awaiting the nuptial +night. This had at last arrived, and now they remained anxiously face to face, +overcome with sudden discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +They had but to stretch forth their arms to clasp one another in a passionate +embrace, and their arms remained lifeless, as if worn out with fatigue. The +depression they had experienced during the daytime, now oppressed them more and +more. They observed one another with timid embarrassment, pained to remain so +silent and cold. Their burning dreams ended in a peculiar reality: it sufficed +that they should have succeeded in killing Camille, and have become married, it +sufficed that the lips of Laurent should have grazed the shoulder of Thérèse, +for their lust to be satisfied to the point of disgust and horror. +</p> + +<p> +In despair, they sought to find within them a little of that passion which +formerly had devoured them. Their frames seemed deprived of muscles and nerves, +and their embarrassment and anxiety increased. They felt ashamed of remaining +so silent and gloomy face to face with one another. They would have liked to +have had the strength to squeeze each other to death, so as not to pass as +idiots in their own eyes. +</p> + +<p> +What! they belonged one to the other, they had killed a man, and played an +atrocious comedy in order to be able to love in peace, and they sat there, one +on either side of a mantelshelf, rigid, exhausted, their minds disturbed and +their frames lifeless! Such a denouement appeared to them horribly and cruelly +ridiculous. It was then that Laurent endeavoured to speak of love, to conjure +up the remembrances of other days, appealing to his imagination for a revival +of his tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse,” he said, “don’t you recall our afternoons in +this room? Then I came in by that door, but today I came in by this one. We are +free now. We can make love in peace.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in a hesitating, spiritless manner, and the young woman, huddled up on +her low chair, continued gazing dreamily at the flame without listening. +Laurent went on: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember how I used to dream of staying a whole night with you? I +dreamed of waking up in the morning to your kisses, now it can come +true.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse all at once started as though surprised to hear a voice stammering in +her ears. Turning towards Laurent, on whose countenance the fire, at this +moment, cast a broad reddish reflection, she gazed at his sanguinary face, and +shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +The young man, more troubled and anxious, resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“We have succeeded, Thérèse; we have broken through all obstacles, and we +belong to one another. The future is ours, is it not? A future of tranquil +happiness, of satisfied love. Camille is no longer here——” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent ceased speaking. His throat had suddenly become dry, and he was +choking, unable to continue. On hearing the name of Camille, Thérèse received a +violent shock. The two murderers contemplated one another, stupefied, pale, and +trembling. The yellow gleams of light from the fire continued to dance on +ceiling and walls, the soft odour of roses lingered in the air, the crackling +of the wood broke the silence with short, sharp reports. +</p> + +<p> +Remembrances were abandoned. The spectre of Camille which had been evoked, came +and seated itself between the newly married pair, in front of the flaming fire. +Thérèse and Laurent recognised the cold, damp smell of the drowned man in the +warm air they were breathing. They said to themselves that a corpse was there, +close to them, and they examined one another without daring to move. Then all +the terrible story of their crime was unfolded in their memory. The name of +their victim sufficed to fill them with thoughts of the past, to compel them to +go through all the anguish of the murder over again. They did not open their +lips, but looked at one another, and both at the same time were troubled with +the same nightmare, both with their eyes broached the same cruel tale. +</p> + +<p> +This exchange of terrified looks, this mute narration they were about to make +to themselves of the murder, caused them keen and intolerable apprehension. The +strain on their nerves threatened an attack, they might cry out, perhaps fight. +Laurent, to drive away his recollections, violently tore himself from the +ecstasy of horror that enthralled him in the gaze of Thérèse. He took a few +strides in the room; he removed his boots and put on slippers; then, returning +to his former place, he sat down at the chimney corner, and tried to talk on +matters of indifference. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, understanding what he desired, strove to answer his questions. They +chatted about the weather, endeavouring to force on a commonplace conversation. +Laurent said the room was warm, and Thérèse replied that, nevertheless, a +draught came from under the small door on the staircase, and both turned in +that direction with a sudden shudder. The young man hastened to speak about the +roses, the fire, about everything he saw before him. The young woman, with an +effort, rejoined in monosyllables, so as not to allow the conversation to drop. +They had drawn back from one another, and were giving themselves easy airs, +endeavouring to forget whom they were, treating one another as strangers +brought together by chance. +</p> + +<p> +But, in spite of themselves, by a strange phenomenon, whilst they uttered these +empty phrases, they mutually guessed the thoughts concealed in their banal +words. Do what they would, they both thought of Camille. Their eyes continued +the story of the past. They still maintained by looks a mute discourse, apart +from the conversation they held aloud, which ran haphazard. The words they cast +here and there had no signification, being disconnected and contradictory; all +their intelligence was bent on the silent exchange of their terrifying +recollections. +</p> + +<p> +When Laurent spoke of the roses, or of the fire, of one thing or another, +Thérèse was perfectly well aware that he was reminding her of the struggle in +the skiff, of the dull fall of Camille; and, when Thérèse answered yes or no to +an insignificant question, Laurent understood that she said she remembered or +did not remember a detail of the crime. They charted it in this manner +open-heartedly without needing words, while they spoke aloud of other matters. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, unconscious of the syllables they pronounced, they followed their +secret thoughts sentence by sentence; they might abruptly have continued their +confidences aloud, without ceasing to understand each other. This sort of +divination, this obstinacy of their memory in presenting to themselves without +pause, the image of Camille, little by little drove them crazy. They thoroughly +well perceived that they guessed the thoughts of one another, and that if they +did not hold their tongues, the words would rise of themselves to their mouths, +to name the drowned man, and describe the murder. Then they closely pinched +their lips and ceased their conversation. +</p> + +<p> +In the overwhelming silence that ensued, the two murderers continued to +converse about their victim. It appeared to them that their eyes mutually +penetrated their flesh, and buried clear, keen phrases in their bodies. At +moments, they fancied they heard themselves speaking aloud. Their senses +changed. Sight became a sort of strange and delicate hearing. They so +distinctly read their thoughts upon their countenances, that these thoughts +took a peculiarly piercing sound that agitated all their organism. They could +not have understood one another better, had they shouted in a heartrending +voice: +</p> + +<p> +“We have killed Camille, and his corpse is there, extended between us, +making our limbs like ice.” +</p> + +<p> +And the terrible confidence continued, more manifest, more resounding, in the +calm moist air of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent and Thérèse had commenced the mute narration from the day of their +first interview in the shop. Then the recollections had come one by one in +order; they had related their hours of love, their moments of hesitation and +anger, the terrible incident of the murder. It was then that they pinched their +lips, ceasing to talk of one thing and another, in fear lest they should all at +once name Camille without desiring to do so. +</p> + +<p> +But their thoughts failing to cease, had then led them into great distress, +into the affrighted period of expectancy following the crime. They thus came to +think of the corpse of the drowned man extended on a slab at the Morgue. +Laurent, by a look, told Thérèse all the horror he had felt, and the latter, +driven to extremities, compelled by a hand of iron to part her lips, abruptly +continued the conversation aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“You saw him at the Morgue?” she inquired of Laurent without naming +Camille. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent looked as if he expected this question. He had been reading it for a +moment on the livid face of the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered he in a choking voice. +</p> + +<p> +The murderers shivered, and drawing nearer the fire, extended their hands +towards the flame as if an icy puff of wind had suddenly passed through the +warm room. For an instant they maintained silence, coiled up like balls, +cowering on their chairs. Then Thérèse, in a hollow voice, resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Did he seem to have suffered much?” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent could not answer. He made a terrified gesture as if to put aside some +hideous vision, and rising went towards the bed. Then, returning violently with +open arms, he advanced towards Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me,” said he, extending his neck. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse had risen, looking quite pale in her nightdress, and stood half thrown +back, with her elbow resting on the marble mantelpiece. She gazed at the neck +of her husband. On the white skin she had just caught sight of a pink spot. The +rush of blood to the head, increased the size of this spot, turning it bright +red. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me, kiss me,” repeated Laurent, his face and neck scarlet. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman threw her head further back, to avoid an embrace, and pressing +the tip of her finger on the bite Camille had given her husband, addressed him +thus: +</p> + +<p> +“What have you here? I never noticed this wound before.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Laurent as if the finger of Thérèse was boring a hole in his +throat. At the contact of this finger, he suddenly started backward, uttering a +suppressed cry of pain. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” he stammered, “that——” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated, but he could not lie, and in spite of himself, he told the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the bite Camille gave me. You know, in the boat. It is nothing. +It has healed. Kiss me, kiss me.” +</p> + +<p> +And the wretch craned his neck which was burning him. He wanted Thérèse to kiss +the scar, convinced that the lips of this woman would appease the thousand +pricks lacerating his flesh, and with raised chin he presented his extended +neck for the embrace. Thérèse, who was almost lying back on the marble +chimney-piece, gave a supreme gesture of disgust, and in a supplicating voice +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no, not on that part. There is blood.” +</p> + +<p> +She sank down on the low chair, trembling, with her forehead between her hands. +Laurent remained where he stood for a moment, looking stupid. Then, all at +once, with the clutch of a wild beast, he grasped the head of Thérèse in his +two great hands, and by force brought her lips to the bite he had received from +Camille on his neck. For an instant he kept, he crushed, this head of a woman +against his skin. Thérèse had given way, uttering hollow groans. She was +choking on the neck of Laurent. When she had freed herself from his hands, she +violently wiped her mouth, and spat in the fire. She had not said a word. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, ashamed of his brutality, began walking slowly from the bed to the +window. Suffering alone—the horrible burn—had made him exact a kiss +from Thérèse, and when her frigid lips met the scorching scar, he felt the pain +more acutely. This kiss obtained by violence had just crushed him. The shock +had been so painful, that for nothing in the world would he have received +another. +</p> + +<p> +He cast his eyes upon the woman with whom he was to live, and who sat +shuddering, doubled up before the fire, turning her back to him; and he +repeated to himself that he no longer loved this woman, and that she no longer +loved him. +</p> + +<p> +For nearly an hour Thérèse maintained her dejected attitude, while Laurent +silently walked backward and forward. Both inwardly acknowledged, with terror, +that their passion was dead, that they had killed it in killing Camille. The +embers on the hearth were gently dying out; a sheet of bright, clear fire shone +above the ashes. Little by little, the heat of the room had become stifling; +the flowers were fading, making the thick air sickly, with their heavy odour. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, all at once, had an hallucination. As he turned round, coming from the +window to the bed, he saw Camille in a dark corner, between the chimney and +wardrobe. The face of his victim looked greenish and distorted, just as he had +seen it on the slab at the Morgue. He remained glued to the carpet, fainting, +leaning against a piece of furniture for support. At a hollow rattle in his +throat, Thérèse raised her head. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there!” exclaimed Laurent in a terrified tone. +</p> + +<p> +With extended arm, he pointed to the dark corner where he perceived the +sinister face of Camille. Thérèse, infected by his terror, went and pressed +against him. +</p> + +<p> +“It is his portrait,” she murmured in an undertone, as if the face +of her late husband could hear her. +</p> + +<p> +“His portrait?” repeated Laurent, whose hair stood on end. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you know, the painting you did,” she replied. “My aunt +was to have removed it to her room. No doubt she forgot to take it down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really; his portrait,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +The murderer had some difficulty in recognising the canvas. In his trouble he +forgot that it was he who had drawn those clashing strokes, who had spread on +those dirty tints that now terrified him. Terror made him see the picture as it +was, vile, wretchedly put together, muddy, displaying the grimacing face of a +corpse on a black ground. His own work astonished and crushed him by its +atrocious ugliness; particularly the two eyes which seemed floating in soft, +yellowish orbits, reminding him exactly of the decomposed eyes of the drowned +man at the Morgue. For a moment, he remained breathless, thinking Thérèse was +telling an untruth to allay his fears. Then he distinguished the frame, and +little by little became calm. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and take it down,” said he in a very low tone to the young +woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no, I’m afraid,” she answered with a shiver. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent began to tremble again. At moments the frame of the picture +disappeared, and he only saw the two white eyes giving him a long, steady look. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg you to go and unhook it,” said he, beseeching his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“We will turn it face to the wall, and then it will not frighten +us,” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said she, “I cannot do it.” +</p> + +<p> +The murderer, cowardly and humble, thrust the young woman towards the canvas, +hiding behind her, so as to escape the gaze of the drowned man. But she +escaped, and he wanted to brazen the matter out. Approaching the picture, he +raised his hand in search of the nail, but the portrait gave such a long, +crushing, ignoble look, that Laurent after seeking to stare it out, found +himself vanquished, and started back overpowered, murmuring as he did so: +</p> + +<p> +“No, you are right, Thérèse, we cannot do it. Your aunt shall take it +down to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his walk up and down, with bowed head, feeling the portrait was +staring at him, following him with its eyes. At times, he could not prevent +himself casting a side glance at the canvas; and, then, in the depth of the +darkness, he still perceived the dull, deadened eyes of the drowned man. The +thought that Camille was there, in a corner, watching him, present on his +wedding night, examining Thérèse and himself, ended by driving him mad with +terror and despair. +</p> + +<p> +One circumstance, which would have brought a smile to the lips of anyone else, +made him completely lose his head. As he stood before the fire, he heard a sort +of scratching sound. He turned pale, imagining it came from the portrait, that +Camille was descending from his frame. Then he discovered that the noise was at +the small door opening on the staircase, and he looked at Thérèse who also +showed signs of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“There is someone on the staircase,” he murmured. “Who can be +coming that way?” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman gave no answer. Both were thinking of the drowned man, and +their temples became moist with icy perspiration. They sought refuge together +at the end of the room, expecting to see the door suddenly open, and the corpse +of Camille fall on the floor. As the sound continued, but more sharply and +irregularly, they thought their victim must be tearing away the wood with his +nails to get in. For the space of nearly five minutes, they dared not stir. +Finally, a mewing was heard, and Laurent advancing, recognised the tabby cat +belonging to Madame Raquin, which had been accidentally shut up in the room, +and was endeavouring to get out by clawing at the door. +</p> + +<p> +François, frightened by Laurent, sprang upon a chair at a bound. With hair on +end and stiffened paws, he looked his new master in the face, in a harsh and +cruel manner. The young man did not like cats, and François almost terrified +him. In this moment of excitement and alarm, he imagined the cat was about to +fly in his face to avenge Camille. He fancied the beast must know everything, +that there were thoughts in his strangely dilated round eyes. The fixed gaze of +the animal caused Laurent to lower his lids. As he was about to give François a +kick, Thérèse exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t hurt him.” +</p> + +<p> +This sentence produced a strange impression on Laurent, and an absurd idea got +into his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Camille has entered into this cat,” thought he. “I shall +have to kill the beast. It looks like a human being.” +</p> + +<p> +He refrained from giving the kick, being afraid of hearing François speak to +him with the voice of Camille. Then he said to himself that this animal knew +too much, and that he should have to throw it out of the window. But he had not +the pluck to accomplish his design. François maintained a fighting attitude. +With claws extended, and back curved in sullen irritation, he followed the +least movement of his enemy with superb tranquillity. The metallic sparkle of +his eyes troubled Laurent, who hastened to open the dining-room door, and the +cat fled with a shrill mew. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse had again seated herself before the extinguished fire. Laurent resumed +his walk from bed to window. It was thus that they awaited day-light. They did +not think of going to bed; their hearts were thoroughly dead. They had but one, +single desire: to leave the room they were in, and where they were choking. +They experienced a real discomfort in being shut up together, and in breathing +the same atmosphere. They would have liked someone to be there to interrupt +their privacy, to drag them from the cruel embarrassment in which they found +themselves, sitting one before the other without opening their lips, and unable +to resuscitate their love. Their long silences tortured them, silence loaded +with bitter and despairing complaints, with mute reproaches, which they +distinctly heard in the tranquil air. +</p> + +<p> +Day came at last, a dirty, whitish dawn, bringing penetrating cold with it. +When the room had filled with dim light, Laurent, who was shivering, felt +calmer. He looked the portrait of Camille straight in the face, and saw it as +it was, commonplace and puerile. He took it down, and shrugging his shoulders, +called himself a fool. Thérèse had risen from the low chair, and was tumbling +the bed about for the purpose of deceiving her aunt, so as to make her believe +they had passed a happy night. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” Laurent brutally remarked to her, “I hope we +shall sleep well to-night! There must be an end to this sort of +childishness.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse cast a deep, grave glance at him. +</p> + +<p> +“You understand,” he continued. “I did not marry for the +purpose of passing sleepless nights. We are just like children. It was you who +disturbed me with your ghostly airs. To-night you will try to be gay, and not +frighten me.” +</p> + +<p> +He forced himself to laugh without knowing why he did so. +</p> + +<p> +“I will try,” gloomily answered the young woman. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the wedding night of Thérèse and Laurent. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<p> +The following nights proved still more cruel. The murderers had wished to pass +this part of the twenty-four hours together, so as to be able to defend +themselves against the drowned man, and by a strange effect, since they had +been doing so, they shuddered the more. They were exasperated, and their nerves +so irritated, that they underwent atrocious attacks of suffering and terror, at +the exchange of a simple word or look. At the slightest conversation between +them, at the least talk, they had alone, they began raving, and were ready to +draw blood. +</p> + +<p> +The sort of remorse Laurent experienced was purely physical. His body, his +irritated nerves and trembling frame alone were afraid of the drowned man. His +conscience was for nothing in his terror. He did not feel the least regret at +having killed Camille. When he was calm, when the spectre did not happen to be +there, he would have committed the murder over again, had he thought his +interests absolutely required it. +</p> + +<p> +During the daytime he laughed at himself for his fright, making up his mind to +be stronger, and he harshly rebuked Thérèse, whom he accused of troubling him. +According to what he said, it was Thérèse who shuddered, it was Thérèse alone +who brought on the frightful scenes, at night, in the bedroom. And, as soon as +night came, as soon as he found himself shut in with his wife, icy perspiration +pearled on his skin, and his frame shook with childish terror. +</p> + +<p> +He thus underwent intermittent nervous attacks that returned nightly, and threw +his senses into confusion while showing him the hideous green face of his +victim. These attacks resembled the accesses of some frightful illness, a sort +of hysteria of murder. The name of illness, of nervous affection, was really +the only one to give to the terror that Laurent experienced. His face became +convulsed, his limbs rigid, his nerves could be seen knotting beneath his skin. +The body suffered horribly, while the spirit remained absent. The wretch felt +no repentance. His passion for Thérèse had conveyed a frightful evil to him, +and that was all. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse also found herself a prey to these heavy shocks. But, in her terror, +she showed herself a woman: she felt vague remorse, unavowed regret. She, at +times, had an inclination to cast herself on her knees and beseech the spectre +of Camille to pardon her, while swearing to appease it by repentance. Maybe +Laurent perceived these acts of cowardice on the part of Thérèse, for when they +were agitated by the common terror, he laid the blame on her, and treated her +with brutality. +</p> + +<p> +On the first nights, they were unable to go to bed. They waited for daylight, +seated before the fire, or pacing to and fro as on the evening of the +wedding-day. The thought of lying down, side by side, on the bed, caused them a +sort of terrifying repugnance. By tacit consent, they avoided kissing one +another, and they did not even look at their couch, which Thérèse tumbled about +in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +When overcome with fatigue, they slept for an hour or two in the armchairs, to +awaken with a start, under the influence of the sinister denouement of some +nightmare. On awakening, with limbs stiff and tired, shivering all over with +discomfort and cold, their faces marbled with livid blotches, they contemplated +one another in bewilderment, astonished to see themselves there. And they +displayed strange bashfulness towards each other, ashamed at showing their +disgust and terror. +</p> + +<p> +But they struggled against sleep as much as they could. They seated themselves, +one on each side of the chimney, and talked of a thousand trifles, being very +careful not to let the conversation drop. There was a broad space between them +in front of the fire. When they turned their heads, they imagined that Camille +had drawn a chair there, and occupied this space, warming his feet in a +lugubrious, bantering fashion. This vision, which they had seen on the evening +of the wedding-day, returned each night. +</p> + +<p> +And this corpse taking a mute, but jeering part, in their interviews, this +horribly disfigured body ever remaining there, overwhelmed them with continued +anxiety. Not daring to move, they half blinded themselves staring at the +scorching flames, and, when unable to resist any longer, they cast a timid +glance aside, their eyes irritated by the glowing coal, created the vision, and +conveyed to it a reddish glow. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, in the end, refused to remain seated any longer, without avowing the +cause of this whim to Thérèse. The latter understood that he must see Camille +as she saw him; and, in her turn, she declared that the heat made her feel ill, +and that she would be more comfortable a few steps away from the chimney. +Pushing back her armchair to the foot of the bed, she remained there overcome, +while her husband resumed his walk in the room. From time to time, he opened +the window, allowing the icy air of the cold January night to fill the +apartment, and this calmed his fever. +</p> + +<p> +For a week, the newly-married couple passed the nights in this fashion, dozing +and getting a little rest in the daytime, Thérèse behind the counter in the +shop, Laurent in his office. At night they belonged to pain and fear. And the +strangest part of the whole business was the attitude they maintained towards +each other. They did not utter one word of love, but feigned to have forgotten +the past; and seemed to accept, to tolerate one another like sick people, +feeling secret pity for their mutual sufferings. +</p> + +<p> +Both hoped to conceal their disgust and fear, and neither seemed to think of +the peculiar nights they passed, which should have enlightened them as to the +real state of their beings. When they sat up until morning, barely exchanging a +word, turning pale at the least sound, they looked as if they thought all +newly-married folk conducted themselves in the same way, during the first days +of their marriage. This was the clumsy hypocrisy of two fools. +</p> + +<p> +They were soon so overcome by weariness that they one night decided to lie on +the bed. They did not undress, but threw themselves, as they were, on the +quilt, fearing lest their bare skins should touch, for they fancied they would +receive a painful shock at the least contact. Then, when they had slept thus, +in an anxious sleep, for two nights, they risked removing their clothes, and +slipping between the sheets. But they remained apart, and took all sorts of +precautions so as not to come together. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse got into bed first, and lay down close to the wall. Laurent waited +until she had made herself quite comfortable, and then ventured to stretch +himself out at the opposite edge of the mattress, so that there was a broad +space between them. It was there that the corpse of Camille lay. +</p> + +<p> +When the two murderers were extended under the same sheet, and had closed their +eyes, they fancied they felt the damp corpse of their victim, lying in the +middle of the bed, and turning their flesh icy cold. It was like a vile +obstacle separating them. They were seized with fever and delirium, and this +obstacle, in their minds, became material. They touched the corpse, they saw it +spread out, like a greenish and dissolved shred of something, and they inhaled +the infectious odour of this lump of human putrefaction. All their senses were +in a state of hallucination, conveying intolerable acuteness to their +sensations. +</p> + +<p> +The presence of this filthy bedfellow kept them motionless, silent, abstracted +with anguish. Laurent, at times, thought of taking Thérèse violently in his +arms; but he dared not move. He said to himself that he could not extend his +hand, without getting it full of the soft flesh of Camille. Next he fancied +that the drowned man came to sleep between them so as to prevent them clasping +one another, and he ended by understanding that Camille was jealous. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, ever and anon, they sought to exchange a timid kiss, to see what +would happen. The young man jeered at his wife, and ordered her to embrace him. +But their lips were so cold that it seemed as if the dead man had got between +their mouths. Both felt disgusted. Thérèse shuddered with horror, and Laurent +who heard her teeth chattering, railed at her: +</p> + +<p> +“Why are you trembling?” he exclaimed. “Are you afraid of +Camille? Ah! the poor man is as dead as a doornail at this moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Both avoided saying what made them shudder. When an hallucination brought the +countenance of the drowned man before Thérèse, she closed her eyes, keeping her +terror to herself, not daring to speak to her husband of her vision, lest she +should bring on a still more terrible crisis. And it was just the same with +Laurent. When driven to extremities, he, in a fit of despair, accused Thérèse +of being afraid of Camille. The name, uttered aloud, occasioned additional +anguish. The murderer raved. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” he stammered, addressing the young woman, “you +are afraid of Camille. I can see that plain enough! You are a silly thing, you +have no pluck at all. Look here! just go to sleep quietly. Do you think your +husband will come and pull you out of bed by the heels, because I happen to be +sleeping with you?” +</p> + +<p> +This idea that the drowned man might come and pull them out of bed by the +heels, made the hair of Laurent stand on end, and he continued with greater +violence, while still in the utmost terror himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to take you some night to the cemetery. We will open the +coffin Camille is in, and you will see what he looks like! Then you will +perhaps cease being afraid. Go on, he doesn’t know we threw him in the +water.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse with her head under the bedclothes, was uttering smothered groans. +</p> + +<p> +“We threw him into the water, because he was in our way,” resumed +her husband. “And we’ll throw him in again, will we not? +Don’t act like a child. Show a little strength. It’s silly to +trouble our happiness. You see, my dear, when we are dead and underground, we +shall be neither less nor more happy, because we cast an idiot in the Seine, +and we shall have freely enjoyed our love which will have been an advantage. +Come, give me a kiss.” +</p> + +<p> +The young woman kissed him, but she was icy cold, and half crazy, while he +shuddered as much as she did. +</p> + +<p> +For a fortnight Laurent was asking himself how he could kill Camille again. He +had flung him in the water; and yet he was not dead enough, because he came +every night to sleep in the bed of Thérèse. While the murderers thought that +having committed the crime, they could love one another in peace, their +resuscitated victim arrived to make their touch like ice. Thérèse was not a +widow. Laurent found that he was mated to a woman who already had a drowned man +for husband. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<p> +Little by little, Laurent became furiously mad, and resolved to drive Camille +from his bed. He had first of all slept with his clothes on, then he had +avoided touching Thérèse. In rage and despair, he wanted, at last, to take his +wife in his arms, and crush the spectre of his victim rather than leave her to +it. This was a superb revolt of brutality. +</p> + +<p> +The hope that the kisses of Thérèse would cure him of his insomnia, had alone +brought him into the room of the young woman. When he had found himself there, +in the position of master, he had become a prey to such atrocious attacks, that +it had not even occurred to him to attempt the cure. And he had remained +overwhelmed for three weeks, without remembering that he had done everything to +obtain Thérèse, and now that she was in his possession, he could not touch her +without increased suffering. +</p> + +<p> +His excessive anguish drew him from this state of dejection. In the first +moment of stupor, amid the strange discouragement of the wedding-night, he had +forgotten the reasons that had urged him to marry. But his repeated bad dreams +had aroused in him a feeling of sullen irritation, which triumphed over his +cowardice, and restored his memory. He remembered he had married in order to +drive away nightmare, by pressing his wife closely to his breast. Then, one +night, he abruptly took Thérèse in his arms, and, at the risk of passing over +the corpse of the drowned man, drew her violently to him. +</p> + +<p> +The young woman, who was also driven to extremes, would have cast herself into +the fire had she thought that flames would have purified her flesh, and +delivered her from her woe. She returned Laurent his advances, determined to be +either consumed by the caresses of this man, or to find relief in them. +</p> + +<p> +And they clasped one another in a hideous embrace. Pain and horror took the +place of love. When their limbs touched, it was like falling on live coal. They +uttered a cry, pressing still closer together, so as not to leave room for the +drowned man. But they still felt the shreds of Camille, which were ignobly +squeezed between them, freezing their skins in parts, whilst in others they +were burning hot. +</p> + +<p> +Their kisses were frightfully cruel. Thérèse sought the bite that Camille had +given in the stiff, swollen neck of Laurent, and passionately pressed her lips +to it. There was the raw sore; this wound once healed, and the murderers would +sleep in peace. The young woman understood this, and she endeavoured to +cauterise the bad place with the fire of her caresses. But she scorched her +lips, and Laurent thrust her violently away, giving a dismal groan. It seemed +to him that she was pressing a red-hot iron to his neck. Thérèse, half mad, +came back. She wanted to kiss the scar again. She experienced a keenly +voluptuous sensation in placing her mouth on this piece of skin wherein Camille +had buried his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +At one moment she thought of biting her husband in the same place, of tearing +away a large piece of flesh, of making a fresh and deeper wound, that would +remove the trace of the old one. And she said to herself that she would no more +turn pale when she saw the marks of her own teeth. But Laurent shielded his +neck from her kisses. The smarting pain he experienced was too acute, and each +time his wife presented her lips, he pushed her back. They struggled in this +manner with a rattling in their throats, writhing in the horror of their +caresses. +</p> + +<p> +They distinctly felt that they only increased their suffering. They might well +strain one another in these terrible clasps, they cried out with pain, they +burnt and bruised each other, but were unable to calm their frightfully excited +nerves. Each strain rendered their disgust more intense. While exchanging these +ghastly embraces, they were a prey to the most terrible hallucinations, +imagining that the drowned man was dragging them by the heels, and violently +jerking the bedstead. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment they let one another go, feeling repugnance and invincible nervous +agitation. Then they determined not to be conquered. They clasped each other +again in a fresh embrace, and once more were obliged to separate, for it seemed +as if red-hot bradawls were entering their limbs. At several intervals they +attempted in this way to overcome their disgust, by tiring, by wearing out +their nerves. And each time their nerves became irritated and strained, causing +them such exasperation, that they would perhaps have died of enervation had +they remained in the arms of one another. This battle against their own bodies +excited them to madness, and they obstinately sought to gain the victory. +Finally, a more acute crisis exhausted them. They received a shock of such +incredible violence that they thought they were about to have a fit. +</p> + +<p> +Cast back one on each side of the bed, burning and bruised, they began to sob. +And amidst their tears, they seemed to hear the triumphant laughter of the +drowned man, who again slid, chuckling, under the sheet. They had been unable +to drive him from the bed and were vanquished. Camille gently stretched himself +between them, whilst Laurent deplored his want of power to thrust him away, and +Thérèse trembled lest the corpse should have the idea of taking advantage of +the victory to press her, in his turn, in his arms, in the quality of +legitimate master. +</p> + +<p> +They had made a supreme effort. In face of their defeat, they understood that, +in future, they dared not exchange the smallest kiss. What they had attempted, +in order to drive away their terror, had plunged them into greater fright. And, +as they felt the chill of the corpse, which was now to separate them for ever, +they shed bitter tears, asking themselves, with anguish, what would become of +them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<p> +In accordance with the hopes of old Michaud, when doing his best to bring about +the marriage of Thérèse and Laurent, the Thursday evenings resumed their former +gaiety, as soon as the wedding was over. +</p> + +<p> +These evenings were in great peril at the time of the death of Camille. The +guests came, in fear, into this house of mourning; each week they were +trembling with anxiety, lest they should be definitely dismissed. +</p> + +<p> +The idea that the door of the shop would no doubt at last be closed to them, +terrified Michaud and Grivet, who clung to their habits with the instinct and +obstinacy of brutes. They said to themselves that the old woman and young widow +would one day go and weep over the defunct at Vernon or elsewhere, and then, on +Thursday nights, they would not know what to do. In the mind’s eye they +saw themselves wandering about the arcade in a lamentable fashion, dreaming of +colossal games at dominoes. +</p> + +<p> +Pending the advent of these bad times, they timidly enjoyed their final moments +of happiness, arriving with an anxious, sugary air at the shop, and repeating +to themselves, on each occasion, that they would perhaps return no more. For +over a year they were beset with these fears. In face of the tears of Madame +Raquin and the silence of Thérèse, they dared not make themselves at ease and +laugh. They felt they were no longer at home as in the time of Camille; it +seemed, so to say, that they were stealing every evening they passed seated at +the dining-room table. It was in these desperate circumstances that the egotism +of Michaud urged him to strike a masterly stroke by finding a husband for the +widow of the drowned man. +</p> + +<p> +On the Thursday following the marriage, Grivet and Michaud made a triumphant +entry into the dining-room. They had conquered. The dining-room belonged to +them again. They no longer feared dismissal. They came there as happy people, +stretching out their legs, and cracking their former jokes, one after the +other. It could be seen from their delighted and confident attitude that, in +their idea, a revolution had been accomplished. All recollection of Camille had +been dispelled. The dead husband, the spectre that cast a chill over everyone, +had been driven away by the living husband. The past and its joys were +resuscitated. Laurent took the place of Camille, all cause for sadness +disappeared, the guests could now laugh without grieving anyone; and, indeed, +it was their duty to laugh to cheer up this worthy family who were good enough +to receive them. +</p> + +<p> +Henceforth, Grivet and Michaud, who for nearly eighteen months had visited the +house under the pretext of consoling Madame Raquin, could set their little +hypocrisy aside, and frankly come and doze opposite one another to the sharp +ring of the dominoes. +</p> + +<p> +And each week brought a Thursday evening, each week those lifeless and +grotesque heads which formerly had exasperated Thérèse, assembled round the +table. The young woman talked of showing these folk the door; their bursts of +foolish laughter and silly reflections irritated her. But Laurent made her +understand that such a step would be a mistake; it was necessary that the +present should resemble the past as much as possible; and, above all, they must +preserve the friendship of the police, of those idiots who protected them from +all suspicion. Thérèse gave way. The guests were well received, and they viewed +with delight a future full of a long string of warm Thursday evenings. +</p> + +<p> +It was about this time that the lives of the couple became, in a way, divided +in two. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning, when day drove away the terror of night, Laurent hastily +dressed himself. But he only recovered his ease and egotistic calm when in the +dining-room, seated before an enormous bowl of coffee and milk, which Thérèse +prepared for him. Madame Raquin, who had become even more feeble and could +barely get down to the shop, watched him eating with a maternal smile. He +swallowed the toast, filled his stomach and little by little became +tranquillised. After the coffee, he drank a small glass of brandy which +completely restored him. Then he said “good-bye” to Madame Raquin +and Thérèse, without ever kissing them, and strolled to his office. +</p> + +<p> +Spring was at hand; the trees along the quays were becoming covered with +leaves, with light, pale green lacework. The river ran with caressing sounds +below; above, the first sunny rays of the year shed gentle warmth. Laurent felt +himself another man in the fresh air; he freely inhaled this breath of young +life descending from the skies of April and May; he sought the sun, halting to +watch the silvery reflection streaking the Seine, listening to the sounds on +the quays, allowing the acrid odours of early day to penetrate him, enjoying +the clear, delightful morn. +</p> + +<p> +He certainly thought very little about Camille. Sometimes he listlessly +contemplated the Morgue on the other side of the water, and his mind then +reverted to his victim, like a man of courage might think of a silly fright +that had come over him. With stomach full, and face refreshed, he recovered his +thick-headed tranquillity. He reached his office, and passed the whole day +gaping, and awaiting the time to leave. He was a mere clerk like the others, +stupid and weary, without an idea in his head, save that of sending in his +resignation and taking a studio. He dreamed vaguely of a new existence of +idleness, and this sufficed to occupy him until evening. +</p> + +<p> +Thoughts of the shop in the arcade never troubled him. At night, after longing +for the hour of release since the morning, he left his office with regret, and +followed the quays again, secretly troubled and anxious. However slowly he +walked, he had to enter the shop at last, and there terror awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse experienced the same sensations. So long as Laurent was not beside her, +she felt at ease. She had dismissed her charwoman, saying that everything was +in disorder, and the shop and apartment filthy dirty. She all at once had ideas +of tidiness. The truth was that she felt the necessity of moving about, of +doing something, of exercising her stiff limbs. She went hither and thither all +the morning, sweeping, dusting, cleaning the rooms, washing up the plates and +dishes, doing work that would have disgusted her formerly. These household +duties kept her on her feet, active and silent, until noon, without allowing +her time to think of aught else than the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and +the greasy plates. +</p> + +<p> +On the stroke of twelve, she went to the kitchen to prepare lunch. At table, +Madame Raquin was pained to see her always rising to fetch the dishes; she was +touched and annoyed at the activity displayed by her niece; she scolded her, +and Thérèse replied that it was necessary to economise. When the meal was over, +the young woman dressed, and at last decided to join her aunt behind the +counter. There, sleep overtook her; worn out by her restless nights, she dozed +off, yielding to the voluptuous feeling of drowsiness that gained her, as soon +as she sat down. +</p> + +<p> +These were only light spells of heaviness, replete with vague charm that calmed +her nerves. The thoughts of Camille left her; she enjoyed that tranquil repose +of invalids who are all at once freed from pain. She felt relieved in body, her +mind free, she sank into a gentle and repairing state of nothingness. Deprived +of these few calm moments, she would have broken down under the tension of her +nervous system. These spells of somnolence gave her strength to suffer again, +and become terrified the ensuing night. As a matter of fact she did not sleep, +she barely closed her lids, and was lost in a dream of peace. When a customer +entered, she opened her eyes, served the few sous worth of articles asked for, +and fell back into the floating reverie. +</p> + +<p> +In this manner she passed three or four hours of perfect happiness, answering +her aunt in monosyllables, and yielding with real enjoyment to these moments of +unconsciousness which relieved her of her thoughts, and completely overcame +her. She barely, at long intervals, cast a glance into the arcade, and was +particularly at her ease in cloudy weather, when it was dark and she could +conceal her lassitude in the gloom. +</p> + +<p> +The damp and disgusting arcade, crossed by a lot of wretched drenched +pedestrians, whose umbrellas dripped upon the tiles, seemed to her like an +alley in a low quarter, a sort of dirty, sinister corridor, where no one would +come to seek and trouble her. At moments, when she saw the dull gleams of light +that hung around her, when she smelt the bitter odour of the dampness, she +imagined she had just been buried alive, that she was underground, at the +bottom of a common grave swarming with dead. And this thought consoled and +appeased her, for she said to herself that she was now in security, that she +was about to die and would suffer no more. +</p> + +<p> +But sometimes she had to keep her eyes open; Suzanne paid her a visit, and +remained embroidering near the counter all the afternoon. The wife of Olivier, +with her putty face and slow movements, now pleased Thérèse, who experienced +strange relief in observing this poor, broken-up creature, and had made a +friend of her. She loved to see her at her side, smiling with her faint smile, +more dead than alive, and bringing into the shop the stuffy odour of the +cemetery. When the blue eyes of Suzanne, transparent as glass, rested fixedly +on those of Thérèse, the latter experienced a beneficent chill in the marrow of +her bones. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse remained thus until four o’clock, when she returned to the +kitchen, and there again sought fatigue, preparing dinner for Laurent with +febrile haste. But when her husband appeared on the threshold she felt a +tightening in the throat, and all her being once more became a prey to anguish. +</p> + +<p> +Each day, the sensations of the couple were practically the same. During the +daytime, when they were not face to face, they enjoyed delightful hours of +repose; at night, as soon as they came together, both experienced poignant +discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +The evenings, nevertheless, were calm. Thérèse and Laurent, who shuddered at +the thought of going to their room, sat up as long as possible. Madame Raquin, +reclining in a great armchair, was placed between them, and chatted in her +placid voice. She spoke of Vernon, still thinking of her son, but avoiding to +mention him from a sort of feeling of diffidence for the others; she smiled at +her dear children, and formed plans for their future. The lamp shed its faint +gleams on her white face, and her words sounded particularly sweet in the +silence and stillness of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The murderers, one seated on each side of her, silent and motionless, seemed to +be attentively listening to what she said. In truth they did not attempt to +follow the sense of the gossip of the good old lady. They were simply pleased +to hear this sound of soft words which prevented them attending the crash of +their own thoughts. They dared not cast their eyes on one another, but looked +at Madame Raquin to give themselves countenances. They never breathed a word +about going to bed; they would have remained there until morning, listening to +the affectionate nonsense of the former mercer, amid the appeasement she spread +around her, had she not herself expressed the desire to retire. It was only +then that they quitted the dining-room and entered their own apartment in +despair, as if casting themselves to the bottom of an abyss. +</p> + +<p> +But they soon had much more preference for the Thursday gatherings, than for +these family evenings. When alone with Madame Raquin, they were unable to +divert their thoughts; the feeble voice of their aunt, and her tender gaiety, +did not stifle the cries that lacerated them. They could feel bedtime coming +on, and they shuddered when their eyes caught sight of the door of their room. +Awaiting the moment when they would be alone, became more and more cruel as the +evening advanced. On Thursday night, on the contrary, they were giddy with +folly, one forgot the presence of the other, and they suffered less. Thérèse +ended by heartily longing for the reception days. Had Michaud and Grivet not +arrived, she would have gone and fetched them. When strangers were in the +dining-room, between herself and Laurent, she felt more calm. She would have +liked to always have guests there, to hear a noise, something to divert her, +and detach her from her thoughts. In the presence of other people, she +displayed a sort of nervous gaiety. Laurent also recovered his previous +merriment, returning to his coarse peasant jests, his hoarse laughter, his +practical jokes of a former canvas dauber. Never had these gatherings been so +gay and noisy. +</p> + +<p> +It was thus that Laurent and Thérèse could remain face to face, once a week, +without shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +But they were soon beset with further anxiety. Paralysis was little by little +gaining on Madame Raquin, and they foresaw the day when she would be riveted to +her armchair, feeble and doltish. The poor old lady already began to stammer +fragments of disjointed phrases; her voice was growing weaker, and her limbs +were one by one losing their vitality. She was becoming a thing. It was with +terror that Thérèse and Laurent observed the breaking up of this being who +still separated them, and whose voice drew them from their bad dreams. When the +old mercer lost her intelligence, and remained stiff and silent in her +armchair, they would find themselves alone, and in the evening would no longer +be able to escape the dreadful face to face conversation. Then their terror +would commence at six o’clock instead of midnight. It would drive them +mad. +</p> + +<p> +They made every effort to give Madame Raquin that health which had become so +necessary to them. They called in doctors, and bestowed on the patient all +sorts of little attentions. Even this occupation of nurses caused them to +forget, and afforded them an appeasement that encouraged them to double in +zeal. They did not wish to lose a third party who rendered their evenings +supportable; and they did not wish the dining-room and the whole house to +become a cruel and sinister spot like their room. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin was singularly touched at the assiduous care they took of her. +She applauded herself, amid tears, at having united them, and at having +abandoned to them her forty thousand francs. Never, since the death of her son, +had she counted on so much affection in her final moments. Her old age was +quite softened by the tenderness of her dear children. She did not feel the +implacable paralysis which, in spite of all, made her more and more rigid day +by day. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, Thérèse and Laurent continued to lead their double existence. In +each of them there were like two distinct beings: a nervous, terrified being +who shuddered as soon as dusk set in, and a torpid forgetful being, who +breathed at ease when the sun rose. They lived two lives, crying out in anguish +when alone, and peacefully smiling in company. Never did their faces, in +public, show the slightest trace of the sufferings that had reached them in +private. They appeared calm and happy, and instinctively concealed their +troubles. +</p> + +<p> +To see them so tranquil in the daytime, no one would have suspected the +hallucinations that tortured them every night. They would have been taken for a +couple blessed by heaven, and living in the enjoyment of full felicity. Grivet +gallantly called them the “turtle-doves.” When he jested about +their fatigued looks, Laurent and Thérèse barely turned pale, and even +succeeded in forcing on a smile. They became accustomed to the naughty jokes of +the old clerk. +</p> + +<p> +So long as they remained in the dining-room, they were able to keep their +terror under control. The mind could not imagine the frightful change that came +over them, as soon as they were shut up in their bedroom. On the Thursday +night, particularly, this transformation was so violently brutal, that it +seemed as if accomplished in a supernatural world. The drama in the bedroom, by +its strangeness, by its savage passion, surpassed all belief, and remained +deeply concealed within their aching beings. Had they spoken of it, they would +have been taken for mad. +</p> + +<p> +“How happy those sweethearts are!” frequently remarked old Michaud. +“They hardly say a word, but that does not prevent them thinking. I bet +they devour one another with kisses when we have gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the opinion of the company. Thérèse and Laurent came to be spoken of +as a model couple. All the tenants in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf extolled the +affection, the tranquil happiness, the everlasting honeymoon of the married +pair. They alone knew that the corpse of Camille slept between them; they alone +felt, beneath the calm exterior of their faces, the nervous contractions that, +at night, horribly distorted their features, and changed the placid expression +of their physiognomies into hideous masks of pain. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a> +CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<p> +At the expiration of four months, Laurent thought of taking advantage of the +profit he had calculated on deriving from his marriage. He would have abandoned +his wife, and fled from the spectre of Camille, three days after the wedding, +had not his interest detained him at the shop in the arcade. He accepted his +nights of terror, he remained in the anguish that was choking him, so as not to +be deprived of the benefit of his crime. +</p> + +<p> +If he parted from Thérèse, he would again be plunged in poverty, and be forced +to retain his post; by remaining with her, he would, on the contrary, be able +to satisfy his inclination for idleness, and to live liberally, doing nothing, +on the revenue Madame Raquin had placed in the name of his wife. Very likely he +would have fled with the 40,000 francs, had he been able to realise them; but +the old mercer, on the advice of Michaud, had shown the prudence to protect the +interests of her niece in the marriage contract. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, in this manner, found himself attached to Thérèse by a powerful bond. +As a set-off against his atrocious nights, he determined at least to be kept in +blissful laziness, well fed, warmly clothed, and provided with the necessary +cash in his pocket to satisfy his whims. At this price alone, would he consent +to sleep with the corpse of the drowned man. +</p> + +<p> +One evening, he announced to Madame Raquin and his wife that he had sent in his +resignation, and would quit his office at the end of a fortnight. Thérèse gave +a gesture of anxiety. He hastened to add that he intended taking a small studio +where he would go on with his painting. He spoke at length about the annoyance +of his employment, and the broad horizons that Art opened to him. Now that he +had a few sous and could make a bid for success, he wished to see whether he +was not capable of great achievements. +</p> + +<p> +The speech he made on this subject simply concealed a ferocious desire to +resume his former studio life. Thérèse sat with pinched lips without replying; +she had no idea of allowing Laurent to squander the small fortune that assured +her liberty. When her husband pressed her with questions in view of obtaining +her consent, she answered curtly, giving him to understand that if he left his +office, he would no longer be earning any money, and would be living entirely +at her expense. +</p> + +<p> +But, as she spoke, Laurent observed her so keenly, that he troubled her, and +arrested on her lips the refusal she was about to utter. She fancied she read +in the eyes of her accomplice, this menacing threat: +</p> + +<p> +“If you do not consent, I shall reveal everything.” +</p> + +<p> +She began to stammer, and Madame Raquin exclaimed that the desire of her dear +son was no more than what was just, and that they must give him the means to +become a man of talent. The good lady spoilt Laurent as she had spoilt Camille. +Quite mollified by the caresses the young man lavished on her, she belonged to +him, and never failed to take his part. +</p> + +<p> +It was therefore decided that Laurent should have a studio, and receive one +hundred francs a month pocket-money. The budget of the family was arranged in +this way: the profits realised in the mercery business would pay the rent of +the shop and apartment, and the balance would almost suffice for the daily +expenses of the family; Laurent would receive the rent of his studio and his +one hundred francs a month, out of the two thousand and a few hundred francs +income from the funded money, the remainder going into the general purse. In +that way the capital would remain intact. This arrangement somewhat +tranquillised Thérèse, who nevertheless made her husband swear that he would +never go beyond the sum allowed him. But as to that matter, she said to herself +that Laurent could not get possession of the 40,000 francs without her +signature, and she was thoroughly determined that she would never place her +name to any document. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow, Laurent took a small studio in the lower part of the Rue +Mazarine, which his eye had been fixed on for a month. He did not mean to leave +his office without having a refuge where he could quietly pass his days far +away from Thérèse. At the end of the fortnight, he bade adieu to his +colleagues. Grivet was stupefied at his departure. A young man, said he, who +had such a brilliant future before him, a young man who in the space of four +years, had reached a salary that he, Grivet, had taken twenty years to attain! +Laurent stupefied him still more, when he told him he was going to give his +whole time to painting. +</p> + +<p> +At last the artist installed himself in his studio, which was a sort of square +loft about seven or eight yards long by the same breadth. The ceiling which +inclined abruptly in a rapid slope, was pierced by a large window conveying a +white raw light to the floor and blackish walls. The sounds in the street did +not ascend so high. This silent, wan room, opening above on the sky, resembled +a hole, or a vault dug out of grey clay. Laurent furnished the place anywise; +he brought a couple of chairs with holes in the rush seats, a table that he set +against the wall so that it might not slip down, an old kitchen dresser, his +colour-box and easel; all the luxury in the place consisted of a spacious divan +which he purchased for thirty francs from a second-hand dealer. +</p> + +<p> +He remained a fortnight without even thinking of touching his brushes. He +arrived between eight and nine o’clock in the morning, smoked, stretched +himself on the divan, and awaited noon, delighted that it was morning, and that +he had many hours of daylight before him. At twelve he went to lunch. As soon +as the meal was over, he hastened back, to be alone, and get away from the pale +face of Thérèse. He next went through the process of digestion, sleeping spread +out on the divan until evening. His studio was an abode of peace where he did +not tremble. One day his wife asked him if she might visit this dear refuge. He +refused, and as, notwithstanding his refusal, she came and knocked at the door, +he refrained from opening to her, telling her in the evening that he had spent +the day at the Louvre Museum. He was afraid that Thérèse might bring the +spectre of Camille with her. +</p> + +<p> +Idleness ended by weighing heavily on his shoulders, so he purchased a canvas +and colours, and set to work. As he had not sufficient money to pay models, he +resolved to paint according to fancy, without troubling about nature, and he +began the head of a man. +</p> + +<p> +But at this time, he did not shut himself up so much as he had done; he worked +for two or three hours every morning and passed the afternoon strolling hither +and thither in Paris and its vicinity. It was opposite the Institut, on his +return from one of these long walks, that he knocked up against his old college +friend, who had met with a nice little success, thanks to the good fellowship +of his comrades, at the last Salon. +</p> + +<p> +“What, is it you?” exclaimed the painter. “Ah! my poor +Laurent, I hardly recognise you. You have lost flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am married,” answered Laurent in an embarrassed tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Married, you!” said the other. “Then I am not surprised to +see you look so funny: and what are you doing now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have taken a small studio,” replied Laurent; “and I paint +a little, in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, in a feverish voice, he briefly related the story of his marriage, and +explained his future plans. His friend observed him with an air of astonishment +that troubled and alarmed him. The truth was that the painter no longer found +in the husband of Thérèse, the coarse, common fellow he had known formerly. It +seemed to him that Laurent was acquiring a gentlemanly bearing; his face had +grown thinner, and had taken the pale tint of good taste, while his whole frame +looked more upright and supple. +</p> + +<p> +“But you are becoming a handsome chap,” the artist could not +refrain from exclaiming. “You are dressed like an ambassador, in the +latest style. Who’s your model?” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, who felt the weight of the examination he was undergoing, did not dare +to abruptly take himself off. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come up to my studio for a moment?” he at last asked his +friend, who showed no signs of leaving him. +</p> + +<p> +“Willingly,” answered the latter. +</p> + +<p> +The painter, who could not understand the change he noticed in his old comrade, +was anxious to visit his studio. He had no idea of climbing five floors to gaze +on the new pictures of Laurent, which assuredly would disgust him; he merely +wished to satisfy his curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +When he had reached the studio, and had glanced at the canvases hanging against +the walls, his astonishment redoubled. They comprised five studies, two heads +of women, and three of men painted with real vigour. They looked thick and +substantial, each part being dashed off with magnificent dabs of colour on a +clear grey background. The artist quickly approached, and was so astounded that +he did not even seek to conceal his amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you do those?” he inquired of Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the latter. “They are studies that I intend to +utilise in a large picture I am preparing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, no humbug, are you really the author of those things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Yes. Why should I not be the author of them?” +</p> + +<p> +The painter did not like to answer what he thought, which was as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Because those canvases are the work of an artist, and you have never +been anything but a vile bungler.” +</p> + +<p> +For a long time, he remained before the studies in silence. Certainly they were +clumsy, but they were original, and so powerfully executed that they indicated +a highly developed idea of art. They were life-like. Never had this friend of +Laurent seen rough painting so full of high promise. When he had examined all +the canvases, he turned to the author of them and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, frankly, I should never have thought you capable of painting like +that. Where the deuce did you learn to have talent? It is not usually a thing +that one acquires.” +</p> + +<p> +And he considered Laurent, whose voice appeared to him more gentle, while every +gesture he made had a sort of elegance. The artist had no idea of the frightful +shock this man had received, and which had transformed him, developing in him +the nerves of a woman, along with keen, delicate sensations. No doubt a strange +phenomenon had been accomplished in the organism of the murderer of Camille. It +is difficult for analysis to penetrate to such depths. Laurent had, perhaps, +become an artist as he had become afraid, after the great disorder that had +upset his frame and mind. +</p> + +<p> +Previously, he had been half choked by the fulness of his blood, blinded by the +thick vapour of breath surrounding him. At present, grown thin, and always +shuddering, his manner had become anxious, while he experienced the lively and +poignant sensations of a man of nervous temperament. In the life of terror that +he led, his mind had grown delirious, ascending to the ecstasy of genius. The +sort of moral malady, the neurosis wherewith all his being was agitated, had +developed an artistic feeling of peculiar lucidity. Since he had killed, his +frame seemed lightened, his distracted mind appeared to him immense; and, in +this abrupt expansion of his thoughts, he perceived exquisite creations, the +reveries of a poet passing before his eyes. It was thus that his gestures had +suddenly become elegant, that his works were beautiful, and were all at once +rendered true to nature, and life-like. +</p> + +<p> +The friend did not seek further to fathom the mystery attending this birth of +the artist. He went off carrying his astonishment along with him. But before he +left, he again gazed at the canvases and said to Laurent: +</p> + +<p> +“I have only one thing to reproach you with: all these studies have a +family likeness. The five heads resemble each other. The women, themselves, +have a peculiarly violent bearing that gives them the appearance of men in +disguise. You will understand that if you desire to make a picture out of these +studies, you must change some of the physiognomies; your personages cannot all +be brothers, or brothers and sisters, it would excite hilarity.” +</p> + +<p> +He left the studio, and on the landing merrily added: +</p> + +<p> +“Really, my dear boy, I am very pleased to have seen you. Henceforth, I +shall believe in miracles. Good heavens! How highly respectable you do +look!” +</p> + +<p> +As he went downstairs, Laurent returned to the studio, feeling very much upset. +When his friend had remarked that all his studies of heads bore a family +likeness, he had abruptly turned round to conceal his paleness. The fact was +that he had already been struck by this fatal resemblance. Slowly entering the +room, he placed himself before the pictures, and as he contemplated them, as he +passed from one to the other, ice-like perspiration moistened his back. +</p> + +<p> +“He is quite right,” he murmured, “they all resemble one +another. They resemble Camille.” +</p> + +<p> +He retired a step or two, and seated himself on the divan, unable to remove his +eyes from the studies of heads. The first was an old man with a long white +beard; and under this white beard, the artist traced the lean chin of Camille. +The second represented a fair young girl, who gazed at him with the blue eyes +of his victim. Each of the other three faces presented a feature of the drowned +man. It looked like Camille with the theatrical make-up of an old man, of a +young girl, assuming whatever disguise it pleased the painter to give him, but +still maintaining the general expression of his own countenance. +</p> + +<p> +There existed another terrible resemblance among these heads: they all appeared +suffering and terrified, and seemed as though overburdened with the same +feeling of horror. Each of them had a slight wrinkle to the left of the mouth, +which drawing down the lips, produced a grimace. This wrinkle, which Laurent +remembered having noticed on the convulsed face of the drowned man, marked them +all with a sign of vile relationship. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent understood that he had taken too long a look at Camille at the Morgue. +The image of the drowned man had become deeply impressed on his mind; and now, +his hand, without his being conscious of it, never failed to draw the lines of +this atrocious face which followed him everywhere. +</p> + +<p> +Little by little, the painter, who was allowing himself to fall back on the +divan, fancied he saw the faces become animated. He had five Camilles before +him, five Camilles whom his own fingers had powerfully created, and who, by +terrifying peculiarity were of various ages and of both sexes. He rose, he +lacerated the pictures and threw them outside. He said to himself that he would +die of terror in his studio, were he to people it with portraits of his victim. +</p> + +<p> +A fear had just come over him: he dreaded that he would no more be able to draw +a head without reproducing that of the drowned man. He wished to ascertain, at +once, whether he were master of his own hand. He placed a white canvas on his +easel; and, then, with a bit of charcoal, sketched out a face in a few lines. +The face resembled Camille. Laurent swiftly effaced this drawing and tried +another. +</p> + +<p> +For an hour he struggled against futility, which drove along his fingers. At +each fresh attempt, he went back to the head of the drowned man. He might +indeed assert his will, and avoid the lines he knew so well. In spite of +himself, he drew those lines, he obeyed his muscles and his rebellious nerves. +He had first of all proceeded rapidly with his sketches; he now took pains to +pass the stick of charcoal slowly over the canvas. The result was the same: +Camille, grimacing and in pain, appeared ceaselessly. +</p> + +<p> +The artist sketched the most different heads successively: the heads of angels, +of virgins with aureoles, of Roman warriors with their helmets, of fair, rosy +children, of old bandits seamed with scars; and the drowned man always, always +reappeared; he became, in turn, angel, virgin, warrior, child and bandit. +</p> + +<p> +Then, Laurent plunged into caricature: he exaggerated the features, he produced +monstrous profiles, he invented grotesque heads, but only succeeded in +rendering the striking portrait of his victim more horrible. He finished by +drawing animals, dogs and cats; but even the dogs and cats vaguely resembled +Camille. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent then became seized with sullen rage. He smashed the canvas with his +fist, thinking in despair of his great picture. Now, he must put that idea +aside; he was convinced that, in future, he would draw nothing but the head of +Camille, and as his friend had told him, faces all alike would cause hilarity. +He pictured to himself what his work would have been, and perceived upon the +shoulders of his personages, men and women, the livid and terrified face of the +drowned man. The strange picture he thus conjured up, appeared to him +atrociously ridiculous and exasperated him. +</p> + +<p> +He no longer dared to paint, always dreading that he would resuscitate his +victim at the least stroke of his brush. If he desired to live peacefully in +his studio he must never paint there. This thought that his fingers possessed +the fatal and unconscious faculty of reproducing without end the portrait of +Camille, made him observe his hand in terror. It seemed to him that his hand no +longer belonged to him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<p> +The crisis threatening Madame Raquin took place. The paralysis, which for +several months had been creeping along her limbs, always ready to strangle her, +at last took her by the throat and linked her body. One evening, while +conversing peacefully with Thérèse and Laurent, she remained in the middle of a +sentence with her mouth wide open: she felt as if she was being throttled. When +she wanted to cry out and call for help, she could only splutter a few hoarse +sounds. Her hands and feet were rigid. She found herself struck dumb, and +powerless to move. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse and Laurent rose from their chairs, terrified at this stroke, which had +contorted the old mercer in less than five seconds. When she became rigid, and +fixed her supplicating eyes on them, they pressed her with questions in order +to ascertain the cause of her suffering. Unable to reply, she continued gazing +at them in profound anguish. +</p> + +<p> +They then understood that they had nothing but a corpse before them, a corpse +half alive that could see and hear, but could not speak to them. They were in +despair at this attack. At the bottom of their hearts, they cared little for +the suffering of the paralysed woman. They mourned over themselves, who in +future would have to live alone, face to face. +</p> + +<p> +From this day the life of the married couple became intolerable. They passed +the most cruel evenings opposite the impotent old lady, who no longer lulled +their terror with her gentle, idle chatter. She reposed in an armchair, like a +parcel, a thing, while they remained alone, one at each end of the table, +embarrassed and anxious. This body no longer separated them; at times they +forgot it, confounding it with the articles of furniture. +</p> + +<p> +They were now seized with the same terror as at night. The dining-room became, +like the bedroom, a terrible spot, where the spectre of Camille arose, causing +them to suffer an extra four or five hours daily. As soon as twilight came, +they shuddered, lowering the lamp-shade so as not to see one another, and +endeavouring to persuade themselves that Madame Raquin was about to speak and +thus remind them of her presence. If they kept her with them, if they did not +get rid of her, it was because her eyes were still alive, and they experienced +a little relief in watching them move and sparkle. +</p> + +<p> +They always placed the impotent old lady in the bright beam of the lamp, so as +to thoroughly light up her face and have it always before them. This flabby, +livid countenance would have been a sight that others could not have borne, but +Thérèse and Laurent experienced such need for company, that they gazed upon it +with real joy. +</p> + +<p> +This face looked like that of a dead person in the centre of which two living +eyes had been fixed. These eyes alone moved, rolling rapidly in their orbits. +The cheeks and mouth maintained such appalling immobility that they seemed as +though petrified. When Madame Raquin fell asleep and lowered her lids, her +countenance, which was then quite white and mute, was really that of a corpse. +Thérèse and Laurent, who no longer felt anyone with them, then made a noise +until the paralysed woman raised her eyelids and looked at them. In this manner +they compelled her to remain awake. +</p> + +<p> +They regarded her as a distraction that drew them from their bad dreams. Since +she had been infirm, they had to attend to her like a child. The care they +lavished on her forced them to scatter their thoughts. In the morning Laurent +lifted her up and bore her to her armchair; at night he placed her on her bed +again. She was still heavy, and he had to exert all his strength to raise her +delicately in his arms, and carry her. It was also he who rolled her armchair +along. The other attentions fell to Thérèse. She dressed and fed the impotent +old lady, and sought to understand her slightest wish. +</p> + +<p> +For a few days Madame Raquin preserved the use of her hands. She could write on +a slate, and in this way asked for what she required; then the hands withered, +and it became impossible for her to raise them or hold a pencil. From that +moment her eyes were her only language, and it was necessary for her niece to +guess what she desired. The young woman devoted herself to the hard duties of +sick-nurse, which gave her occupation for body and mind that did her much good. +</p> + +<p> +So as not to remain face to face, the married couple rolled the armchair of the +poor old lady into the dining-room, the first thing in the morning. They placed +her between them, as if she were necessary to their existence. They caused her +to be present at their meals, and at all their interviews. When she signified +the desire to retire to her bedroom, they feigned not to understand. She was +only of use to interrupt their private conversations, and had no right to live +apart. +</p> + +<p> +At eight o’clock, Laurent went to his studio, Thérèse descended to the +shop, while the paralyzed woman remained alone in the dining-room until noon; +then, after lunch, she found herself without company again until six +o’clock. Frequently, during the day, her niece ran upstairs, and, +hovering round her, made sure she did not require anything. The friends of the +family were at a loss for sufficiently laudatory phrases wherein to extol the +virtues of Thérèse and Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +The Thursday receptions continued, the impotent old lady being present, as in +the past. Her armchair was advanced to the table, and from eight o’clock +till eleven she kept her eyes open, casting penetrating glances from one to +another of her guests in turn. On the first few of these evenings, old Michaud +and Grivet felt some embarrassment in the presence of the corpse of their old +friend. They did not know what countenance to put on. They only experienced +moderate sorrow, and they were inquiring in their minds in what measure it +would be suitable to display their grief. Should they speak to this lifeless +form? Should they refrain from troubling about it? Little by little, they +decided to treat Madame Raquin as though nothing had happened to her. They +ended by feigning to completely ignore her condition. They chatted with her, +putting questions and giving the answers, laughing both for her and for +themselves, and never permitting the rigid expression on the countenance to +baffle them. +</p> + +<p> +It was a strange sight: these men who appeared to be speaking sensibly to a +statue, just as little girls talk to their dolls. The paralysed woman sat rigid +and mute before them, while they babbled, multiplying their gestures in +exceedingly animated conversations with her. Michaud and Grivet prided +themselves on their correct attitude. In acting as they did, they believed they +were giving proof of politeness; they, moreover, avoided the annoyance of the +customary condolences. They fancied that Madame Raquin must feel flattered to +find herself treated as a person in good health; and, from that moment, it +became possible for them to be merry in her presence, without the least +scruple. +</p> + +<p> +Grivet had contracted a mania. He affirmed that Madame Raquin and himself +understood one another perfectly; and that she could not look at him without +him at once comprehending what she desired. This was another delicate +attention. Only Grivet was on every occasion in error. He frequently +interrupted the game of dominoes, to observe the infirm woman whose eyes were +quietly following the game, and declare that she wanted such or such a thing. +On further inquiry it was found that she wanted nothing at all, or that she +wanted something entirely different. This did not discourage Grivet, who +triumphantly exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Just as I said!” And he began again a few moments later. +</p> + +<p> +It was quite another matter when the impotent old lady openly expressed a +desire; Thérèse, Laurent, and the guests named one object after another that +they fancied she might wish for. Grivet then made himself remarkable by the +clumsiness of his offers. He mentioned, haphazard, everything that came into +his head, invariably offering the contrary to what Madame Raquin desired. But +this circumstance did not prevent him repeating: +</p> + +<p> +“I can read in her eyes as in a book. Look, she says I am right. Is it +not so, dear lady? Yes, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, it was no easy matter to grasp the wishes of the poor old woman. +Thérèse alone possessed this faculty. She communicated fairly well with this +walled-up brain, still alive, but buried in a lifeless frame. What was passing +within this wretched creature, just sufficiently alive to be present at the +events of life, without taking part in them? She saw and heard, she no doubt +reasoned in a distinct and clear manner. But she was without gesture and voice +to express the thoughts originating in her mind. Her ideas were perhaps choking +her, and yet she could not raise a hand, nor open her mouth, even though one of +her movements or words should decide the destiny of the world. +</p> + +<p> +Her mind resembled those of the living buried by mistake, who awaken in the +middle of the night in the earth, three or four yards below the surface of the +ground. They shout, they struggle, and people pass over them without hearing +their atrocious lamentations. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent frequently gazed at Madame Raquin, his lips pressed together, his hands +stretched out on his knees, putting all his life into his sparkling and swiftly +moving eyes. And he said to himself: +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows what she may be thinking of all alone? Some cruel drama must +be passing within this inanimate frame.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent made a mistake. Madame Raquin was happy, happy at the care and +affection bestowed on her by her dear children. She had always dreamed of +ending in this gentle way, amidst devotedness and caresses. Certainly she would +have been pleased to have preserved her speech, so as to be able to thank the +friends who assisted her to die in peace. But she accepted her condition +without rebellion. The tranquil and retired life she had always led, the +sweetness of her character, prevented her feeling too acutely the suffering of +being mute and unable to make a movement. She had entered second childhood. She +passed days without weariness, gazing before her, and musing on the past. She +even tasted the charm of remaining very good in her armchair, like a little +girl. +</p> + +<p> +Each day the sweetness and brightness of her eyes became more penetrating. She +had reached the point of making them perform the duties of a hand or mouth, in +asking for what she required and in expressing her thanks. In this way she +replaced the organs that were wanting, in a most peculiar and charming manner. +Her eyes, in the centre of her flabby and grimacing face, were of celestial +beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Since her twisted and inert lips could no longer smile, she smiled with +adorable tenderness, by her looks; moist beams and rays of dawn issued from her +orbits. Nothing was more peculiar than those eyes which laughed like lips in +this lifeless countenance. The lower part of the face remained gloomy and wan, +while the upper part was divinely lit up. It was particularly for her beloved +children that she placed all her gratitude, all the affection of her soul into +a simple glance. When Laurent took her in his arms, morning and night, to carry +her, she thanked him lovingly by looks full of tender effusion. +</p> + +<p> +She lived thus for weeks, awaiting death, fancying herself sheltered from any +fresh misfortune. She thought she had already received her share of suffering. +But she was mistaken. One night she was crushed by a frightful blow. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse and Laurent might well place her between them, in the full light, but +she was no longer sufficiently animated to separate and defend them against +their anguish. When they forgot that she was there and could hear and see them, +they were seized with folly. Perceiving Camille, they sought to drive him away. +Then, in unsteady tones, they allowed the truth to escape them, uttering words +that revealed everything to Madame Raquin. Laurent had a sort of attack, during +which he spoke like one under the influence of hallucination, and the paralysed +woman abruptly understood. +</p> + +<p> +A frightful contraction passed over her face, and she experienced such a shock +that Thérèse thought she was about to bound to her feet and shriek, but she +fell backward, rigid as iron. This shock was all the more terrible as it seemed +to galvanise a corpse. Sensibility which had for a moment returned, +disappeared; the impotent woman remained more crushed and wan than before. Her +eyes, usually so gentle, had become dark and harsh, resembling pieces of metal. +</p> + +<p> +Never had despair fallen more rigorously on a being. The sinister truth, like a +flash of flame, scorched the eyes of the paralysed woman and penetrated within +her with the concussion of a shaft of lightning. Had she been able to rise, to +utter the cry of horror that ascended to her throat, and curse the murderers of +her son, she would have suffered less. But, after hearing and understanding +everything, she was forced to remain motionless and mute, inwardly preserving +all the glare of her grief. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to her that Thérèse and Laurent had bound her, riveted her to her +armchair to prevent her springing up, and that they took atrocious pleasure in +repeating to her, after gagging her to stifle her cries— +</p> + +<p> +“We have killed Camille!” +</p> + +<p> +Terror and anguish coursed furiously in her body unable to find an issue. She +made superhuman efforts to raise the weight crushing her, to clear her throat +and thus give passage to her flood of despair. In vain did she strain her final +energy; she felt her tongue cold against her palate, she could not tear herself +from death. Cadaverous impotence held her rigid. Her sensations resembled those +of a man fallen into lethargy, who is being buried, and who, bound by the bonds +of his own frame, hears the deadened sound of the shovels of mould falling on +his head. +</p> + +<p> +The ravages to which her heart was subjected, proved still more terrible. She +felt a blow inwardly that completely undid her. Her entire life was afflicted: +all her tenderness, all her goodness, all her devotedness had just been +brutally upset and trampled under foot. She had led a life of affection and +gentleness, and in her last hours, when about to carry to the grave a belief in +the delight of a calm life, a voice shouted to her that all was falsehood and +all crime. +</p> + +<p> +The veil being rent, she perceived apart from the love and friendship which was +all she had hitherto been able to see, a frightful picture of blood and shame. +She would have cursed the Almighty had she been able to shout out a blasphemy. +Providence had deceived her for over sixty years, by treating her as a gentle, +good little girl, by amusing her with lying representations of tranquil joy. +And she had remained a child, senselessly believing in a thousand silly things, +and unable to see life as it really is, dragging along in the sanguinary filth +of passions. Providence was bad; it should have told her the truth before, or +have allowed her to continue in her innocence and blindness. Now, it only +remained for her to die, denying love, denying friendship, denying devotedness. +Nothing existed but murder and lust. +</p> + +<p> +What! Camille had been killed by Thérèse and Laurent, and they had conceived +the crime in shame! For Madame Raquin, there was such a fathomless depth in +this thought, that she could neither reason it out, nor grasp it clearly. She +experienced but one sensation, that of a horrible disaster; it seemed to her +that she was falling into a dark, cold hole. And she said to herself: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be smashed to pieces at the bottom.” +</p> + +<p> +After the first shock, the crime appeared to her so monstrous that it seemed +impossible. Then, when convinced of the misbehaviour and murder, by recalling +certain little incidents which she had formerly failed to understand, she was +afraid of going out of her mind. Thérèse and Laurent were really the murderers +of Camille: Thérèse whom she had reared, Laurent whom she had loved with the +devoted and tender affection of a mother. These thoughts revolved in her head +like an immense wheel, accompanied by a deafening noise. +</p> + +<p> +She conjectured such vile details, fathomed such immense hypocrisy, assisting +in thought at a double vision so atrocious in irony, that she would have liked +to die, mechanical and implacable, pounded her brain with the weight and +ceaseless action of a millstone. She repeated to herself: +</p> + +<p> +“It is my children who have killed my child.” +</p> + +<p> +And she could think of nothing else to express her despair. +</p> + +<p> +In the sudden change that had come over her heart, she no longer recognised +herself. She remained weighed down by the brutal invasion of ideas of vengeance +that drove away all the goodness of her life. When she had been thus +transformed, all was dark inwardly; she felt the birth of a new being within +her frame, a being pitiless and cruel, who would have liked to bite the +murderers of her son. +</p> + +<p> +When she had succumbed to the overwhelming stroke of paralysis, when she +understood that she could not fly at the throats of Thérèse and Laurent, whom +she longed to strangle, she resigned herself to silence and immobility, and +great tears fell slowly from her eyes. Nothing could be more heartrending than +this mute and motionless despair. Those tears coursing, one by one, down this +lifeless countenance, not a wrinkle of which moved, that inert, wan face which +could not weep with its features, and whose eyes alone sobbed, presented a +poignant spectacle. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse was seized with horrified pity. +</p> + +<p> +“We must put her to bed,” said she to Laurent, pointing to her +aunt. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent hastened to roll the paralysed woman into her bedroom. Then, as he +stooped down to take her in his arms, Madame Raquin hoped that some powerful +spring would place her on her feet; and she attempted a supreme effort. The +Almighty would not permit Laurent to press her to his bosom; she fully +anticipated he would be struck down if he displayed such monstrous impudence. +But no spring came into action, and heaven reserved its lightning. Madame +Raquin remained huddled up and passive like a bundle of linen. She was grasped, +raised and carried along by the assassin; she experienced the anguish of +feeling herself feeble and abandoned in the arms of the murderer of Camille. +Her head rolled on to the shoulder of Laurent, whom she observed with eyes +increased in volume by horror. +</p> + +<p> +“You may look at me,” he murmured. “Your eyes will not eat +me.” +</p> + +<p> +And he cast her brutally on the bed. The impotent old lady fell unconscious on +the mattress. Her last thought had been one of terror and disgust. In future, +morning and night, she would have to submit to the vile pressure of the arms of +Laurent. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<p> +A shock of terror alone had made the married pair speak, and avow their crime +in the presence of Madame Raquin. Neither one nor the other was cruel; they +would have avoided such a revelation out of feelings of humanity, had not their +own security already made it imperative on their part to maintain silence. +</p> + +<p> +On the ensuing Thursday, they felt particularly anxious. In the morning, +Thérèse inquired of Laurent whether he considered it prudent to leave the +paralysed woman in the dining-room during the evening. She knew all and might +give the alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” replied Laurent, “it is impossible for her to raise +her little finger. How can she babble?” +</p> + +<p> +“She will perhaps discover a way to do so,” answered Thérèse. +“I have noticed an implacable thought in her eyes since the other +evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Laurent. “You see, the doctor told me it was +absolutely all over with her. If she ever speaks again it will be in the final +death-rattle. She will not last much longer, you may be sure. It would be +stupid to place an additional load on our conscience by preventing her being +present at the gathering this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“You misunderstand me,” she exclaimed. “Oh! You are right. +There has been enough crime. I meant to say that we might shut our aunt up in +her own room, pretending she was not well, and was sleeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” replied Laurent, “and that idiot Michaud +would go straight into the room to see his old friend, notwithstanding. It +would be a capital way to ruin us.” +</p> + +<p> +He hesitated. He wanted to appear calm, and anxiety gave a tremor to his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be best to let matters take their course,” he continued. +“These people are as silly as geese. The mute despair of the old woman +will certainly teach them nothing. They will never have the least suspicion of +the thing, for they are too far away from the truth. Once the ordeal is over, +we shall be at ease as to the consequences of our imprudence. All will be well, +you will see.” +</p> + +<p> +When the guests arrived in the evening, Madame Raquin occupied her usual place, +between the stove and table. Thérèse and Laurent feigned to be in good spirits, +concealing their shudders and awaiting, in anguish, the incident that was bound +to occur. They had brought the lamp-shade very low down, so that the oilcloth +table covering alone was lit up. +</p> + +<p> +The guests engaged in the usual noisy, common-place conversation that +invariably preceded the first game of dominoes. Grivet and Michaud did not fail +to address the usual questions to the paralysed woman, on the subject of her +health, and to give excellent answers to them, as was their custom. After +which, the company, without troubling any further about the poor old lady, +plunged with delight into the game. +</p> + +<p> +Since Madame Raquin had become aware of the horrible secret, she had been +awaiting this evening with feverish impatience. She had gathered together all +her remaining strength to denounce the culprits. Up to the last moment, she +feared she would not be present at the gathering; she thought Laurent would +make her disappear, perhaps kill her, or at least shut her up in her own +apartment. When she saw that her niece and nephew allowed her to remain in the +dining-room, she experienced lively joy at the thought of attempting to avenge +her son. +</p> + +<p> +Aware that her tongue was powerless, she resorted to a new kind of language. +With astonishing power of will, she succeeded, in a measure, in galvanising her +right hand, in slightly raising it from her knee, where it always lay stretched +out, inert; she then made it creep little by little up one of the legs of the +table before her, and thus succeeded in placing it on the oilcloth table cover. +Then, she feebly agitated the fingers as if to attract attention. +</p> + +<p> +When the players perceived this lifeless hand, white and nerveless, before +them, they were exceedingly surprised. Grivet stopped short, with his arm in +the air, at the moment when he was about to play the double-six. Since the +impotent woman had been struck down, she had never moved her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Hey! Just look, Thérèse,” cried Michaud. “Madame Raquin is +agitating her fingers. She probably wants something.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse could not reply. Both she and Laurent had been following the exertion +of the paralysed woman, and she was now looking at the hand of her aunt, which +stood out wan in the raw light of the lamp, like an avenging hand that was +about to speak. The two murderers waited, breathless. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Grivet, “she wants something. Oh! We +thoroughly understand one another. She wants to play dominoes. Eh! Isn’t +it so, dear lady?” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin made a violent sign indicating that she wanted nothing of the +kind. She extended one finger, folded up the others with infinite difficulty, +and began to painfully trace letters on the table cover. She had barely +indicated a stroke or two, when Grivet again exclaimed in triumph: +</p> + +<p> +“I understand; she says I do right to play the double-six.” +</p> + +<p> +The impotent woman cast a terrible glance at the old clerk, and returned to the +word she wished to write. But Grivet interrupted her at every moment, declaring +it was needless, that he understood, and he then brought out some stupidity. +Michaud at last made him hold his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce! Allow Madame Raquin to speak,” said he. “Speak, +my old friend.” +</p> + +<p> +And he gazed at the oilcloth table cover as if he had been listening. But the +fingers of the paralysed woman were growing weary. They had begun the word more +than ten times over, and now, in tracing this word, they wandered to right and +left. Michaud and Olivier bent forward, and being unable to read, forced the +impotent old lady to resume the first letters. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Bravo!” exclaimed Olivier, all at once, “I can read it, +this time. She has just written your name, Thérèse. Let me see: +‘<i>Thérèse and</i>——’ Complete the sentence, dear +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse almost shrieked in anguish. She watched the finger of her aunt gliding +over the oilcloth, and it seemed to her that this finger traced her name, and +the confession of her crime in letters of fire. Laurent had risen violently, +with half a mind to fling himself on the paralysed woman and break her arm. +When he saw this hand return to life to reveal the murder of Camille, he +thought all was lost, and already felt the weight and frigidity of the knife on +the nape of his neck. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin still wrote, but in a manner that became more and more +hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“This is perfect. I can read it very well indeed,” resumed Olivier +after an instant, and with his eyes on the married pair. “Your aunt +writes your two names: ‘<i>Thérèse and Laurent</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady made sign after sign in the affirmative, casting crushing glances +on the murderers. Then she sought to complete the sentence, but her fingers had +stiffened, the supreme will that galvanised them, escaped her. She felt the +paralysis slowly descending her arm and again grasping her wrist. She hurried +on, and traced another word. +</p> + +<p> +Old Michaud read out in a loud voice: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Thérèse and Laurent have——</i>” +</p> + +<p> +And Olivier inquired: +</p> + +<p> +“What have your dear children?” +</p> + +<p> +The murderers, seized with blind terror, were on the point of completing the +sentence aloud. They contemplated the avenging hand with fixed and troubled +eyes, when, all at once this hand became convulsed, and flattened out on the +table. It slipped down and fell on the knee of the impotent woman like a lump +of inanimate flesh and bone. The paralysis had returned and arrested the +punishment. Michaud and Olivier sat down again disappointed, while Thérèse and +Laurent experienced such keen joy that they felt like fainting under the +influence of the sudden rush of blood that beat in their bosoms. +</p> + +<p> +Grivet who felt vexed at not having been believed on trust, thought the moment +had arrived to regain his infallibility, by completing the unfinished sentence. +While every one was endeavouring to supply the missing words, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“It is quite clear. I can read the whole phrase in the eyes of the lady. +It is not necessary for her to write on the table to make me understand; a mere +look suffices. She means to say: +</p> + +<p> +“Thérèse and Laurent have been very kind to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Grivet, on this occasion, had cause to be proud of his imagination, for all the +company were of his opinion; and the guests began to sing the praises of the +married couple, who were so good for the poor lady. +</p> + +<p> +“It is certain,” old Michaud gravely remarked, “that Madame +Raquin wishes to bear testimony to the tender affection her children lavish on +her, and this does honour to the whole family.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, taking up his dominoes again, he added: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, let us continue. Where were we? Grivet was about to play the +double-six, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +Grivet played the double six, and the stupid, monotonous game went on. +</p> + +<p> +The paralysed woman, cut up by frightful despair, looked at her hand, which had +just betrayed her. She felt it as heavy as lead, now; never would she be able +to raise it again. Providence would not permit Camille to be avenged. It +withdrew from his mother the only means she had of making known the crime to +which he had fallen a victim. And the wretched woman said to herself that she +was now only fit to go and join her child underground. She lowered her lids, +feeling herself, henceforth, useless, and with the desire of imagining herself +already in the darkness of the tomb. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<p> +For two months, Thérèse and Laurent had been struggling in the anguish of their +union. One suffered through the other. Then hatred slowly gained them, and they +ended by casting angry glances at one another, full of secret menace. +</p> + +<p> +Hatred was forced to come. They had loved like brutes, with hot passion, +entirely sanguineous. Then, amidst the enervation of their crime, their love +had turned to fright, and their kisses had produced a sort of physical terror. +At present, amid the suffering which marriage, which life in common imposed on +them, they revolted and flew into anger. +</p> + +<p> +It was a bitter hatred, with terrible outbursts. They felt they were in the way +of one another, and both inwardly said that they would lead a tranquil +existence were they not always face to face. When in presence of each other, it +seemed as if an enormous weight were stifling them, and they would have liked +to remove this weight, to destroy it. Their lips were pinched, thoughts of +violence passed in their clear eyes, and a craving beset them to devour one +another. +</p> + +<p> +In reality, one single thought tormented them: they were irritated at their +crime, and in despair at having for ever troubled their lives. Hence all their +anger and hatred. They felt the evil incurable, that they would suffer for the +murder of Camille until death, and this idea of perpetual suffering exasperated +them. Not knowing whom to strike, they turned in hatred on one another. +</p> + +<p> +They would not openly admit that their marriage was the final punishment of the +murder; they refused to listen to the inner voice that shouted out the truth to +them, displaying the story of their life before their eyes. And yet, in the +fits of rage that bestirred them, they both saw clearly to the bottom of their +anger, they were aware it was the furious impulse of their egotistic nature +that had urged them to murder in order to satisfy their desire, and that they +had only found in assassination, an afflicted and intolerable existence. They +recollected the past, they knew that their mistaken hopes of lust and peaceful +happiness had alone brought them to remorse. Had they been able to embrace one +another in peace, and live in joy, they would not have mourned Camille, they +would have fattened on their crime. But their bodies had rebelled, refusing +marriage, and they inquired of themselves, in terror, where horror and disgust +would lead them. They only perceived a future that would be horrible in pain, +with a sinister and violent end. +</p> + +<p> +Then, like two enemies bound together, and who were making violent efforts to +release themselves from this forced embrace, they strained their muscles and +nerves, stiffening their limbs without succeeding in releasing themselves. At +last understanding that they would never be able to escape from their clasp, +irritated by the cords cutting into their flesh, disgusted at their contact, +feeling their discomfort increase at every moment, forgetful, and unable to +bear their bonds a moment longer, they addressed outrageous reproaches to one +another, in the hope of suffering loss, of dressing the wounds they inflicted +on themselves, by cursing and deafening each other with their shouts and +accusations. +</p> + +<p> +A quarrel broke out every evening. It looked as though the murderers sought +opportunities to become exasperated so as to relax their rigid nerves. They +watched one another, sounded one another with glances, examined the wounds of +one another, discovering the raw parts, and taking keen pleasure in causing +each other to yell in pain. They lived in constant irritation, weary of +themselves, unable to support a word, a gesture or a look, without suffering +and frenzy. Both their beings were prepared for violence; the least display of +impatience, the most ordinary contrariety increased immoderately in their +disordered organism, and all at once, took the form of brutality. A mere +nothing raised a storm that lasted until the morrow. A plate too warm, an open +window, a denial, a simple observation, sufficed to drive them into regular +fits of madness. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the discussion, they never failed to bring up the subject of +the drowned man. From sentence to sentence they came to mutual reproaches about +this drowning business at Saint-Ouen, casting the crime in the face of one +another. They grew excited to the pitch of fury, until one felt like murdering +the other. Then ensued atrocious scenes of choking, blows, abominable cries, +shameless brutalities. As a rule, Thérèse and Laurent became exasperated, in +this manner, after the evening meal. They shut themselves up in the +dining-room, so that the sound of their despair should not be heard. There, +they could devour one another at ease. At the end of this damp apartment, of +this sort of vault, lighted by the yellow beams of the lamp, the tone of their +voices took harrowing sharpness, amidst the silence and tranquillity of the +atmosphere. And they did not cease until exhausted with fatigue; then only +could they go and enjoy a few hours’ rest. Their quarrels became, in a +measure, necessary to them—a means of procuring a few hours’ rest +by stupefying their nerves. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin listened. She never ceased to be there, in her armchair, her +hands dangling on her knees, her head straight, her face mute. She heard +everything, and not a shudder ran through her lifeless frame. Her eyes rested +on the murderers with the most acute fixedness. Her martyrdom must have been +atrocious. She thus learned, detail by detail, all the events that had preceded +and followed the murder of Camille. Little by little her ears became polluted +with an account of the filth and crimes of those whom she had called her +children. +</p> + +<p> +These quarrels of the married couple placed her in possession of the most +minute circumstances connected with the murder, and spread out, one by one, +before her terrified mind, all the episodes of the horrible adventure. As she +went deeper into this sanguinary filth, she pleaded in her mind for mercy, at +times, she fancied she was touching the bottom of the infamy, and still she had +to descend lower. Each night, she learnt some new detail. The frightful story +continued to expand before her. It seemed like being lost in an interminable +dream of horror. The first avowal had been brutal and crushing, but she +suffered more from these repeated blows, from these small facts which the +husband and wife allowed to escape them in their fits of anger, and which lit +up the crime with sinister rays. Once a day, this mother heard the account of +the murder of her son; and, each day this account became more horrifying, more +replete with detail, and was shouted into her ears with greater cruelty and +uproar. +</p> + +<p> +On one occasion, Thérèse, taken aback with remorse, at the sight of this wan +countenance, with great tears slowly coursing down its cheeks, pointed out her +aunt to Laurent, beseeching him with a look to hold his tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what of it? Leave me alone!” exclaimed the latter in a +brutal tone, “you know very well that she cannot give us up. Am I more +happy than she is? We have her cash, I have no need to constrain myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The quarrel continued, bitter and piercing, and Camille was killed over again. +Neither Thérèse nor Laurent dared give way to the thoughts of pity that +sometimes came over them, and shut the paralysed woman in her bedroom, when +they quarrelled, so as to spare her the story of the crime. They were afraid of +beating one another to death, if they failed to have this semi-corpse between +them. Their pity yielded to cowardice. They imposed ineffable sufferings on +Madame Raquin because they required her presence to protect them against their +hallucinations. +</p> + +<p> +All their disputes were alike, and led to the same accusations. As soon as one +of them accused the other of having killed this man, there came a frightful +shock. +</p> + +<p> +One night, at dinner, Laurent who sought a pretext for becoming irritable, +found that the water in the decanter was lukewarm. He declared that tepid water +made him feel sick, and that he wanted it fresh. +</p> + +<p> +“I was unable to procure any ice,” Thérèse answered dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, I will deprive myself of drinking,” retorted Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“This water is excellent,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“It is warm, and has a muddy taste,” he answered. “It’s +like water from the river.” +</p> + +<p> +“Water from the river?” repeated Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +And she burst out sobbing. A juncture of ideas had just occurred in her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you cry?” asked Laurent, who foresaw the answer, and turned +pale. +</p> + +<p> +“I cry,” sobbed the young woman, “I cry because—you +know why—Oh! Great God! Great God! It was you who killed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie!” shouted the murderer vehemently, “confess that you +lie. If I threw him into the Seine, it was you who urged me to commit the +murder.” +</p> + +<p> +“I! I!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you! Don’t act the ignorant,” he replied, +“don’t compel me to force you to tell the truth. I want you to +confess your crime, to take your share in the murder. It will tranquillise and +relieve me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But <i>I</i> did not drown Camille,” she pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you did, a thousand times yes!” he shouted. “Oh! You +feign astonishment and want of memory. Wait a moment, I will recall your +recollections.” +</p> + +<p> +Rising from table, he bent over the young woman, and with crimson countenance, +yelled in her face: +</p> + +<p> +“You were on the river bank, you remember, and I said to you in an +undertone: ‘I am going to pitch him into the water.’ Then you +agreed to it, you got into the boat. You see that we murdered him +together.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not true,” she answered. “I was crazy, I don’t +know what I did, but I never wanted to kill him. You alone committed the +crime.” +</p> + +<p> +These denials tortured Laurent. As he had said, the idea of having an +accomplice relieved him. Had he dared, he would have attempted to prove to +himself that all the horror of the murder fell upon Thérèse. He more than once +felt inclined to beat the young woman, so as to make her confess that she was +the more guilty of the two. +</p> + +<p> +He began striding up and down, shouting and raving, followed by the piercing +eyes of Madame Raquin. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! The wretch! The wretch!” he stammered in a choking voice, +“she wants to drive me mad. Look, did you not come up to my room one +evening, did you not intoxicate me with your caresses to persuade me to rid you +of your husband? You told me, when I visited you here, that he displeased you, +that he had the odour of a sickly child. Did I think of all this three years +ago? Was I a rascal? I was leading the peaceful existence of an upright man, +doing no harm to anybody. I would not have killed a fly.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was you who killed Camille,” repeated Thérèse with such +desperate obstinacy that she made Laurent lose his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it was you, I say it was you,” he retorted with a terrible +burst of rage. “Look here, don’t exasperate me, or if you do +you’ll suffer for it. What, you wretch, have you forgotten everything? +You who maddened me with your caresses! Confess that it was all a calculation +in your mind, that you hated Camille, and that you had wanted to kill him for a +long time. No doubt you took me as a sweetheart, so as to drive me to put an +end to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not true,” said she. “What you relate is monstrous. +You have no right to reproach me with my weakness towards you. I can speak in +regard to you, as you speak of me. Before I knew you, I was a good woman, who +never wronged a soul. If I drove you mad, it was you made me madder still. +Listen Laurent, don’t let us quarrel. I have too much to reproach you +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can you reproach me with?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing,” she answered. “You did not save me from +myself, you took advantage of my surrender, you chose to spoil my life. I +forgive you all that. But, in mercy, do not accuse me of killing Camille. Keep +your crime for yourself. Do not seek to make me more terrified than I am +already.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent raised his hand to strike her in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Beat me, I prefer that,” said she, “I shall suffer +less.” +</p> + +<p> +And she advanced her head. But he restrained himself, and taking a chair, sat +down beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he began in a voice that he endeavoured to render calm, +“it is cowardly to refuse to take your share in the crime. You know +perfectly well that as we did the deed together, you know you are as guilty as +I am. Why do you want to make my load heavier, by saying you are innocent? If +you were so, you would not have consented to marry me. Just recall what passed +during the two years following the murder. Do you want a proof? If so I will go +and relate everything to the Public Prosecutor, and you will see whether we are +not both condemned.” +</p> + +<p> +They shuddered, and Thérèse resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Men may, perhaps, condemn me, but Camille knows very well that you did +everything. He does not torment me at night as he does you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Camille leaves me in peace,” said Laurent, pale and trembling, +“it is you who see him before you in your nightmares. I have heard you +shout out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that,” angrily exclaimed the young woman. “I +have never shouted out. I don’t wish the spectre to appear. Oh! I +understand, you want to drive it away from yourself. I am innocent, I am +innocent!” +</p> + +<p> +They looked at one another in terror, exhausted with fatigue, fearing they had +evoked the corpse of the drowned man. Their quarrels invariably ended in this +way; they protested their innocence, they sought to deceive themselves, so as +to drive away their bad dreams. They made constant efforts, each in turn, to +reject the responsibility of the crime, defending themselves as though they +were before a judge and jury, and accusing one another. +</p> + +<p> +The strangest part of this attitude was that they did not succeed in duping +themselves by their oaths. Both had a perfect recollection of all the +circumstances connected with the murder, and their eyes avowed what their lips +denied. +</p> + +<p> +Their falsehoods were puerile, their affirmations ridiculous. It was the wordy +dispute of two wretches who lied for the sake of lying, without succeeding in +concealing from themselves that they did so. Each took the part of accuser in +turn, and although the prosecution they instituted against one another proved +barren of result, they began it again every evening with cruel tenacity. +</p> + +<p> +They were aware that they would prove nothing, that they would not succeed in +effacing the past, and still they attempted this task, still they returned to +the charge, spurred on by pain and terror, vanquished in advance by +overwhelming reality. The sole advantage they derived from their disputes, +consisted in producing a tempest of words and cries, and the riot occasioned in +this manner momentarily deafened them. +</p> + +<p> +And all the time their anger lasted, all the time they were accusing one +another, the paralysed woman never ceased to gaze at them. Ardent joy sparkled +in her eyes, when Laurent raised his broad hand above the head of Thérèse. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<p> +Matters now took a different aspect. Thérèse, driven into a corner by fright, +not knowing which way to turn for a consoling thought, began to weep aloud over +the drowned man, in the presence of Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +She abruptly became depressed, her overstrained nerves relaxed, her unfeeling +and violent nature softened. She had already felt compassionate in the early +days of her second marriage, and this feeling now returned, as a necessary and +fatal reaction. +</p> + +<p> +When the young woman had struggled with all her nervous energy against the +spectre of Camille, when she had lived in sullen irritation for several months +up in arms against her sufferings, seeking to get the better of them by efforts +of will, she all at once experienced such extraordinary lassitude that she +yielded vanquished. Then, having become a woman again, even a little girl, no +longer feeling the strength to stiffen herself, to stand feverishly erect +before her terror, she plunged into pity, into tears and regret, in the hope of +finding some relief. She sought to reap advantage from her weakness of body and +mind. Perhaps the drowned man, who had not given way to her irritation, would +be more unbending to her tears. +</p> + +<p> +Her remorse was all calculation. She thought that this would no doubt be the +best way to appease and satisfy Camille. Like certain devotees, who fancy they +will deceive the Almighty, and secure pardon by praying with their lips, and +assuming the humble attitude of penitence, Thérèse displayed humility, striking +her chest, finding words of repentance, without having anything at the bottom +of her heart save fear and cowardice. Besides, she experienced a sort of +physical pleasure in giving way in this manner, in feeling feeble and undone, +in abandoning herself to grief without resistance. +</p> + +<p> +She overwhelmed Madame Raquin with her tearful despair. The paralysed woman +became of daily use to her. She served as a sort of praying-desk, as a piece of +furniture in front of which Thérèse could fearlessly confess her faults and +plead for forgiveness. As soon as she felt inclined to cry, to divert herself +by sobbing, she knelt before the impotent old lady, and there, wailing and +choking, performed to her alone a scene of remorse which weakened but relieved +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a wretch,” she stammered, “I deserve no mercy. I +deceived you, I drove your son to his death. Never will you forgive me. And +yet, if you only knew how I am rent by remorse, if you only knew how I suffer, +perhaps you would have pity. No, no pity for me. I should like to die here at +your feet, overwhelmed by shame and grief.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke in this manner for hours together, passing from despair to hope, +condemning and then pardoning herself; she assumed the voice, brief and +plaintive in turn, of a little sick girl; she flattened herself on the ground +and drew herself up again, acting upon all the ideas of humility and pride, of +repentance and revolt that entered her head. Sometimes even, forgetting she was +on her knees before Madame Raquin, she continued her monologue as in a dream. +When she had made herself thoroughly giddy with her own words, she rose +staggering and dazed, to go down to the shop in a calmer frame of mind, no +longer fearing to burst into sobs before her customers. When she again felt +inclined for remorse, she ran upstairs and knelt at the feet of the impotent +woman. This scene was repeated ten times a day. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse never reflected that her tears, and display of repentance must impose +ineffable anguish on her aunt. The truth was that if she had desired to invent +a torment to torture Madame Raquin, it would not have been possible to have +found a more frightful one than the comedy of remorse she performed before her. +The paralysed woman could see the egotism concealed beneath these effusions of +grief. She suffered horribly from these long monologues which she was compelled +to listen to at every instant, and which always brought the murder of Camille +before her eyes. She could not pardon, she never departed from the implacable +thought of vengeance that her impotency rendered more keen, and all day long +she had to listen to pleas for pardon, and to humble and cowardly prayers. +</p> + +<p> +She would have liked to give an answer; certain sentences of her niece brought +crushing refusals to her lips, but she had to remain mute and allow Thérèse to +plead her cause without once interrupting her. The impossibility of crying out +and stopping her ears caused her inexpressible torture. The words of the young +woman entered her mind, slow and plaintive, as an irritating ditty. At first, +she fancied the murderers inflicted this kind of torture on her out of sheer +diabolical cruelty. Her sole means of defence was to close her eyes, as soon as +her niece knelt before her, then although she heard, she did not see her. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse, at last, had the impudence to kiss her aunt. One day, in a fit of +repentance, she feigned she had perceived a gleam of mercy in the eyes of the +paralysed woman; and she dragged herself along on her knees, she raised herself +up, exclaiming in a distracted tone: +</p> + +<p> +“You forgive me! You forgive me!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she kissed the forehead and cheeks of the poor old creature, who was +unable to throw her head backward so as to avoid the embrace. The cold skin on +which Thérèse placed her lips, caused her violent disgust. She fancied this +disgust, like the tears of remorse, would be an excellent remedy to appease her +nerves; and she continued to kiss the impotent old woman daily, by way of +penitence, and also to relieve herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! How good you are!” she sometimes exclaimed. “I can see +my tears have touched you. Your eyes are full of pity. I am saved.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she smothered her with caresses, placing the head of the infirm old lady +on her knees, kissing her hands, smiling at her happily, and attending to all +her requirements with a display of passionate affection. After a time, she +believed in the reality of this comedy, she imagined she had obtained the +pardon of Madame Raquin, and spoke of nothing but the delight she experienced +at having secured her pardon. +</p> + +<p> +This was too much for the paralysed woman. It almost killed her. At the kisses +of her niece, she again felt that sensation of bitter repugnance and rage which +came over her, morning and night, when Laurent took her in his arms to lift her +up, or lay her down. She was obliged to submit to the disgusting caresses of +the wretch who had betrayed and killed her son. She could not even use her hand +to wipe away the kisses that this woman left on her cheeks; and, for hours and +hours together, she felt these kisses burning her. +</p> + +<p> +She became the doll of the murderers of Camille, a doll that they dressed, that +they turned to right and left, and that they made use of according to their +requirements and whims. She remained inert in their hands, as if she had been a +lay-figure, and yet she lived, and became excited and indignant at the least +contact with Thérèse or Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +What particularly exasperated her was the atrocious mockery of the young woman, +who pretended she perceived expressions of mercy in her eyes, when she would +have liked to have brought down fire from heaven on the head of the criminal. +She frequently made supreme efforts to utter a cry of protestation, and loaded +her looks with hatred. But Thérèse, who found it answered her purpose to repeat +twenty times a day that she was pardoned, redoubled her caresses, and would see +nothing. So the paralysed woman had to accept the thanks and effusions that her +heart repelled. Henceforth, she lived in a state of bitter but powerless +irritation, face to face with her yielding niece who displayed adorable acts of +tenderness to recompense her for what she termed her heavenly goodness. +</p> + +<p> +When Thérèse knelt before Madame Raquin, in the presence of her husband, he +brutally brought her to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“No acting,” said he. “Do I weep, do I prostrate myself? You +do all this to trouble me.” +</p> + +<p> +The remorse of Thérèse caused him peculiar agitation. His suffering increased +now that his accomplice dragged herself about him, with eyes red by weeping, +and supplicating lips. The sight of this living example of regret redoubled his +fright and added to his uneasiness. It was like an everlasting reproach +wandering through the house. Then he feared that repentance would one day drive +his wife to reveal everything. He would have preferred her to remain rigid and +threatening, bitterly defending herself against his accusations. But she had +changed her tactics. She now readily recognised the share she had taken in the +crime. She even accused herself. She had become yielding and timid, and +starting from this point implored redemption with ardent humility. This +attitude irritated Laurent, and every evening the quarrels of the couple became +more afflicting and sinister. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me,” said Thérèse to her husband, “we are very +guilty. We must repent if we wish to enjoy tranquillity. Look at me. Since I +have been weeping I am more peaceable. Imitate me. Let us say together that we +are justly punished for having committed a horrible crime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” roughly answered Laurent, “you can say what you +please. I know you are deucedly clever and hypocritical. Weep, if that diverts +you. But I must beg you not to worry me with your tears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said she, “you are bad. You reject remorse. You are +cowardly. You acted as a traitor to Camille.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say that I alone am guilty?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she replied, “I do not say that. I am guilty, more +guilty than you are. I ought to have saved my husband from your hands. Oh! I am +aware of all the horror of my fault. But I have sought pardon, and I have +succeeded, Laurent, whereas you continue to lead a disconsolate life. You have +not even had the feeling to spare my poor aunt the sight of your vile anger. +You have never even addressed a word of regret to her.” +</p> + +<p> +And she embraced Madame Raquin, who shut her eyes. She hovered round her, +raising the pillow that propped up her head, and showing her all kinds of +attention. Laurent was infuriated. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, leave her alone,” he cried. “Can’t you see that +your services, and the very sight of you are odious to her. If she could lift +her hand she would slap your face.” +</p> + +<p> +The slow and plaintive words of his wife, and her attitudes of resignation, +gradually drove him into blinding fits of anger. He understood her tactics; she +no longer wished to be at one with him, but to set herself apart wrapped in her +regret, so as to escape the clasp of the drowned man. And, at moments, he said +to himself that she had perhaps taken the right path, that tears might cure her +of her terror, and he shuddered at the thought of having to suffer, and contend +with fright alone. +</p> + +<p> +He also would have liked to repent, or at least to have performed the comedy of +repentance, to see what effect it would have. Unable to find the sobs and +necessary words, he flung himself into violence again, stirring up Thérèse so +as to irritate her and lead her back with him to furious madness. But the young +woman took care to remain inert, to answer his cries of anger by tearful +submission, and to meet his coarseness by a proportionate display of humility +and repentance. Laurent was thus gradually driven to fury. To crown his +irritation, Thérèse always ended with the panegyric of Camille so as to display +the virtues of the victim. +</p> + +<p> +“He was good,” said she, “and we must have been very cruel to +assail such a warm-hearted man who had never a bad thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was good, yes, I know,” jeered Laurent. “You mean to say +he was a fool. You must have forgotten! You pretended you were irritated at the +slightest thing he said, that he could not open his mouth without letting out +some stupidity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t jeer,” said Thérèse. “It only remains for you to +insult the man you murdered. You know nothing about the feelings of a woman, +Laurent; Camille loved me and I loved him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You loved him! Ah! Really what a capital idea,” exclaimed Laurent. +“And no doubt it was because you loved your husband, that you took me as +a sweetheart. I remember one day when we were together, that you told me +Camille disgusted you, when you felt the end of your fingers enter his flesh as +if it were soft clay. Oh! I know why you loved me. You required more vigorous +arms than those of that poor devil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I loved him as a sister,” answered Thérèse. “He was the son +of my benefactress. He had all the delicate feelings of a feeble man. He showed +himself noble and generous, serviceable and loving. And we killed him, good +God! good God!” +</p> + +<p> +She wept, and swooned away. Madame Raquin cast piercing glances at her, +indignant to hear the praise of Camille sung by such a pair of lips. Laurent +who was unable to do anything against this overflow of tears, walked to and fro +with furious strides, searching in his head for some means to stifle the +remorse of Thérèse. +</p> + +<p> +All the good he heard said of his victim ended by causing him poignant anxiety. +Now and again he let himself be caught by the heartrending accents of his wife. +He really believed in the virtues of Camille, and his terror redoubled. But +what tried his patience beyond measure was the comparison that the widow of the +drowned man never failed to draw between her first and second husband, and +which was all to the advantage of the former. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! Yes,” she cried, “he was better than you. I would +sooner he were alive now, and you in his place underground.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent first of all shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Say what you will,” she continued, becoming animated, +“although I perhaps failed to love him in his lifetime, yet I remember +all his good qualities now, and do love him. Yes, I love him and hate you, do +you hear? For you are an assassin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you hold your tongue?” yelled Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“And he is a victim,” she went on, notwithstanding the threatening +attitude of her husband, “an upright man killed by a rascal. Oh! I am not +afraid of you. You know well enough that you are a miserable wretch, a brute of +a man without a heart, and without a soul. How can you expect me to love you, +now that you are reeking with the blood of Camille? Camille was full of +tenderness for me, and I would kill you, do you hear, if that could bring him +to life again, and give me back his love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you hold your tongue, you wretch?” shouted Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should I hold my tongue?” she retorted. “I am speaking +the truth. I would purchase forgiveness at the price of your blood. Ah! How I +weep, and how I suffer! It is my own fault if a scoundrel, such as you, +murdered my husband. I must go, one of these nights, and kiss the ground where +he rests. That will be my final rapture.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, beside himself, rendered furious by the atrocious pictures that +Thérèse spread out before his eyes, rushed upon her, and threw her down, +menacing her with his uplifted fist. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” she cried, “strike me, kill me! Camille +never once raised his hand to me, but you are a monster.” +</p> + +<p> +And Laurent, spurred on by what she said, shook her with rage, beat her, +bruised her body with his clenched fists. In two instances he almost strangled +her. Thérèse yielded to his blows. She experienced keen delight in being +struck, delivering herself up, thrusting her body forward, provoking her +husband in every way, so that he might half kill her again. This was another +remedy for her suffering. She slept better at night when she had been +thoroughly beaten in the evening. Madame Raquin enjoyed exquisite pleasure, +when Laurent dragged her niece along the floor in this way, belabouring her +with thumps and kicks. +</p> + +<p> +The existence of the assassin had become terrible since the day when Thérèse +conceived the infernal idea of feeling remorse and of mourning Camille aloud. +From that moment the wretch lived everlastingly with his victim. At every hour, +he had to listen to his wife praising and regretting her first husband. The +least incident became a pretext: Camille did this, Camille did that, Camille +had such and such qualities, Camille loved in such and such a way. +</p> + +<p> +It was always Camille! Ever sad remarks bewailing his death. Thérèse had +recourse to all her spitefulness to render this torture, which she inflicted on +Laurent so as to shield her own self, as cruel as possible. She went into +details, relating a thousand insignificant incidents connected with her youth, +accompanied by sighs and expressions of regret, and in this manner, mingled the +remembrance of the drowned man with every action of her daily life. +</p> + +<p> +The corpse which already haunted the house, was introduced there openly. It sat +on the chairs, took its place at table, extended itself on the bed, making use +of the various articles of furniture, and of the objects lying about hither and +thither. Laurent could touch nothing, not a fork, not a brush, without Thérèse +making him feel that Camille had touched it before him. +</p> + +<p> +The murderer being ceaselessly thrust, so to say, against the man he had +killed, ended by experiencing a strange sensation that very nearly drove him +out of his mind. By being so constantly compared to Camille, by making use of +the different articles Camille had used, he imagined he was Camille himself, +that he was identical with his victim. Then, with his brain fit to burst, he +flew at his wife to make her hold her tongue, so as to no longer hear the words +that drove him frantic. All their quarrels now ended in blows. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"></a> +CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<p> +A time came when Madame Raquin, in order to escape the sufferings she endured, +thought of starving herself to death. She had reached the end of her courage, +she could no longer support the martyrdom that the presence of the two +murderers imposed on her, she longed to find supreme relief in death. Each day +her anguish grew more keen, when Thérèse embraced her, and when Laurent took +her in his arms to carry her along like a child. She determined on freeing +herself from these clasps and caresses that caused her such horrible disgust. +As she had not sufficient life left within her to permit of her avenging her +son, she preferred to be entirely dead, and to leave naught in the hands of the +assassins but a corpse that could feel nothing, and with which they could do as +they pleased. +</p> + +<p> +For two days she refused all nourishment, employing her remaining strength to +clench her teeth or to eject anything that Thérèse succeeded in introducing +into her mouth. Thérèse was in despair. She was asking herself at the foot of +which post she should go to weep and repent, when her aunt would be no longer +there. She kept up an interminable discourse to prove to Madame Raquin that she +should live. She wept, she even became angry, bursting into her former fits of +rage, opening the jaw of the paralysed woman as you open that of an animal +which resists. Madame Raquin held out, and an odious scene ensued. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent remained absolutely neutral and indifferent. He was astonished at the +efforts of Thérèse to prevent the impotent old woman committing suicide. Now +that the presence of the old lady had become useless to them he desired her +death. He would not have killed her, but as she wished to die, he did not see +the use of depriving her of the means to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“But, let her be!” he shouted to his wife. “It will be a good +riddance. We shall, perhaps, be happier when she is no longer here.” +</p> + +<p> +This remark repeated several times in the hearing of Madame Raquin, caused her +extraordinary emotion. She feared that the hope expressed by Laurent might be +realised, and that after her death the couple would enjoy calm and happiness. +And she said to herself that it would be cowardly to die, that she had no right +to go away before she had seen the end of the sinister adventure. Then, only, +could she descend into darkness, to say to Camille: +</p> + +<p> +“You are avenged.” +</p> + +<p> +The idea of suicide became oppressive, when she all at once reflected that she +would sink into the grave ignorant as to what had happened to the two murderers +of her son. There, she would lie in the cold and silent earth, eternally +tormented by uncertainty concerning the punishment of her tormentors. To +thoroughly enjoy the slumber of death, she must be hushed to rest by the sweet +delight of vengeance, she must carry away with her a dream of satisfied hatred, +a dream that would last throughout eternity. So she took the food her niece +presented to her, and consented to live on. +</p> + +<p> +Apart from this, it was easy for her to perceive that the climax could not be +far off. Each day the position of the married couple became more strained and +unbearable. A crash that would smash everything was imminent. At every moment, +Thérèse and Laurent started up face to face in a more threatening manner. It +was no longer at nighttime, alone, that they suffered from their intimacy; +entire days were passed amidst anxiety and harrowing shocks. It was one +constant scene of pain and terror. They lived in a perfect pandemonium, +fighting, rendering all they did and said bitter and cruel, seeking to fling +one another to the bottom of the abyss which they felt beneath their feet, and +falling into it together. +</p> + +<p> +Ideas of separation had, indeed, occurred to both of them. Each had thought of +flight, of seeking some repose far from this Arcade of the Pont Neuf where the +damp and filth seemed adapted to their desolated life. But they dared not, they +could not run away. It seemed impossible for them to avoid reviling each other, +to avoid remaining there to suffer and cause pain. They proved obstinate in +their hatred and cruelty. A sort of repulsion and attraction separated and kept +them together at the same time. They behaved in the identical manner of two +persons who, after quarrelling, wish to part, and who, nevertheless, continue +returning to shout out fresh insults at one another. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, material obstacles stood in the way of flight. What were they to do +with the impotent woman? What could be said to the Thursday evening guests? If +they fled, these people would, perhaps, suspect something. At this thought, +they imagined they were being pursued and dragged to the guillotine. So they +remained where they were through cowardice, wretchedly dragging out their lives +amidst the horror of their surroundings. +</p> + +<p> +During the morning and afternoon, when Laurent was absent, Thérèse went from +the dining-room to the shop in anxiety and trouble, at a loss to know what to +do to fill up the void in her existence that daily became more pronounced. When +not kneeling at the feet of Madame Raquin or receiving blows and insults from +her husband, she had no occupation. As soon as she was seated alone in the +shop, she became dejected, watching with a doltish expression, the people +passing through the dirty, dark gallery. She felt ready to die of sadness in +the middle of this gloomy vault, which had the odour of a cemetery, and ended +by begging Suzanne to come and pass entire days with her, in the hope that the +presence of this poor, gentle, pale creature might calm her. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne accepted her offer with delight; she continued to feel a sort of +respectful friendship for Thérèse, and had long desired to come and work with +her, while Olivier was at his office. Bringing her embroidery with her, she +took the vacant chair of Madame Raquin behind the counter. +</p> + +<p> +From that day Thérèse rather neglected her aunt. She went upstairs less +frequently to weep on her knees and kiss the deathlike face of the invalid. She +had something else to do. She made efforts to listen with interest to the +dilatory gossip of Suzanne, who spoke of her home, and of the trivialities of +her monotonous life. This relieved Thérèse of her own thoughts. Sometimes she +caught herself paying attention to nonsense that brought a bitter smile to her +face. +</p> + +<p> +By degrees, she lost all her customers. Since her aunt had been confined to her +armchair upstairs, she had let the shop go from bad to worse, abandoning the +goods to dust and damp. A smell of mildew hung in the atmosphere, spiders came +down from the ceiling, the floor was but rarely swept. +</p> + +<p> +But what put the customers to flight was the strange way in which Thérèse +sometimes welcomed them. When she happened to be upstairs, receiving blows from +Laurent or agitated by a shock of terror, and the bell at the shop door tinkled +imperiously, she had to go down, barely taking time to do up her hair or brush +away the tears. On such occasions she served the persons awaiting her roughly; +sometimes she even spared herself the trouble of serving, answering from the +top of the staircase, that she no longer kept what was asked for. This kind of +off-hand behaviour, was not calculated to retain custom. +</p> + +<p> +The little work-girls of the quarter, who were used to the sweet amiability of +Madame Raquin, were driven away by the harshness and wild looks of Thérèse. +When the latter took Suzanne with her to keep her company, the defection became +complete. To avoid being disturbed in their gossip, the two young woman managed +to drive away the few remaining purchasers who visited the shop. Henceforth, +the mercery business ceased to bring in a sou towards the household expenses, +and it became necessary to encroach on the capital of forty thousand francs and +more. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, Thérèse absented herself the entire afternoon. No one knew where she +went. Her reason for having Suzanne with her was no doubt partly for the +purpose of securing company but also to mind the shop, while she was away. When +she returned in the evening, worn out, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, it +was to find the little wife of Olivier still behind the counter, bowed down, +with a vague smile on her lips, in the same attitude as she had left her five +hours previously. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse had a bad fright about five months after her marriage to Laurent. She +found out she was pregnant and detested the thought of having a child of +Laurent’s. She had the fear that she would give birth to a drowned body. +She thought that she could feel inside herself a soft, decomposing corpse. No +matter what, she had to rid herself of this child. She did not tell Laurent. +One day she cruelly provoked him and turned her stomach towards him, hoping to +receive a kick. He kicked her and she let him go on kicking her in the stomach +until she thought she would die. The next day her wish was fulfilled and she +had a miscarriage. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent also led a frightful existence. The days seemed insupportably long; +each brought the same anguish, the same heavy weariness which overwhelmed him +at certain hours with crushing monotony and regularity. He dragged on his life, +terrified every night by the recollections of the day, and the expectation of +the morrow. He knew that henceforth, all his days would resemble one another, +and bring him equal suffering. And he saw the weeks, months and years gloomily +and implacably awaiting him, coming one after the other to fall upon him and +gradually smother him. +</p> + +<p> +When there is no hope in the future, the present appears atrociously bitter. +Laurent no longer resisted, he became lumpish, abandoning himself to the +nothingness that was already gaining possession of his being. Idleness was +killing him. In the morning he went out, without knowing where to go, disgusted +at the thought of doing what he had done on the previous day, and compelled, in +spite of himself, to do it again. He went to his studio by habit, by mania. +</p> + +<p> +This room, with its grey walls, whence he could see naught but a bare square of +sky, filled him with mournful sadness. He grovelled on the divan heavy in +thought and with pendent arms. He dared not touch a brush. He had made fresh +attempts at painting, but only to find on each occasion, the head of Camille +appear jeering on the canvas. So as not to go out of his mind, he ended by +throwing his colour-box into a corner, and imposing the most absolute idleness +on himself. This obligatory laziness weighed upon him terribly. +</p> + +<p> +In the afternoon, he questioned himself in distress to find out what he should +do. For half an hour, he remained on the pavement in the Rue Mazarine, thinking +and hesitating as to how he could divert himself. He rejected the idea of +returning to the studio, and invariably decided on going down the Rue +Guénégaud, to walk along the quays. And, until evening, he went along, dazed +and seized with sudden shudders whenever he looked at the Seine. Whether in his +studio or in the streets, his dejection was the same. The following day he +began again. He passed the morning on his divan, and dragged himself along the +quays in the afternoon. This lasted for months, and might last for years. +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally Laurent reflected that he had killed Camille so as to do nothing +ever afterwards, and now that he did nothing, he was quite astonished to suffer +so much. He would have liked to force himself to be happy. He proved to his own +satisfaction, that he did wrong to suffer, that he had just attained supreme +felicity, consisting in crossing his arms, and that he was an idiot not to +enjoy this bliss in peace. But his reasoning exploded in the face of facts. He +was constrained to confess, at the bottom of his heart, that this idleness +rendered his anguish the more cruel, by leaving him every hour of his life to +ponder on the despair and deepen its incurable bitterness. Laziness, that +brutish existence which had been his dream, proved his punishment. At moments, +he ardently hoped for some occupation to draw him from his thoughts. Then he +lost all energy, relapsing beneath the weight of implacable fatality that bound +his limbs so as to more surely crush him. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, he only found some relief when beating Thérèse, at night. This +brutality alone relieved him of his enervated anguish. +</p> + +<p> +But his keenest suffering, both physical and moral, came from the bite Camille +had given him in the neck. At certain moments, he imagined that this scar +covered the whole of his body. If he came to forget the past, he all at once +fancied he felt a burning puncture, that recalled the murder both to his frame +and mind. +</p> + +<p> +When under the influence of emotion, he could not stand before a looking-glass +without noticing this phenomenon which he had so frequently remarked and which +always terrified him; the blood flew to his neck, purpling the scar, which then +began to gnaw the skin. +</p> + +<p> +This sort of wound that lived upon him, which became active, flushed, and +biting at the slightest trouble, frightened and tortured him. He ended by +believing that the teeth of the drowned man had planted an insect there which +was devouring him. The part of his neck where the scar appeared, seemed to him +to no longer belong to his body; it was like foreign flesh that had been stuck +in this place, a piece of poisoned meat that was rotting his own muscles. +</p> + +<p> +In this manner, he carried the living and devouring recollection of his crime +about with him everywhere. When he beat Thérèse, she endeavoured to scratch the +spot, and sometimes dug her nails into it making him howl with pain. She +generally pretended to sob, as soon as she caught sight of the bite, so as to +make it more insufferable to Laurent. All her revenge for his brutality, +consisted in martyrising him in connection with this bite. +</p> + +<p> +While shaving, he had frequently been tempted to give himself a gash in the +neck, so as to make the marks of the teeth of the drowned man disappear. When, +standing before the mirror, he raised his chin and perceived the red spot +beneath the white lather, he at once flew into a rage, and rapidly brought the +razor to his neck, to cut right into the flesh. But the sensations of the cold +steel against his skin always brought him to his senses, and caused him to feel +so faint that he was obliged to seat himself, and wait until he had recovered +sufficient courage to continue shaving. +</p> + +<p> +He only issued from his torpor at night to fall into blind and puerile fits of +anger. When tired of quarreling with Thérèse and beating her, he would kick the +walls like a child, and look for something he could break. This relieved him. +</p> + +<p> +He had a particular dislike for the tabby cat François who, as soon as he +appeared, sought refuge on the knees of Madame Raquin. If Laurent had not yet +killed the animal, it was because he dared not take hold of him. The cat looked +at him with great round eyes that were diabolical in their fixedness. He +wondered what these eyes which never left him, wanted; and he ended by having +regular fits of terror, and imagining all sorts of ridiculous things. +</p> + +<p> +When at table—at no matter what moment, in the middle of a quarrel or of +a long silence—he happened, all at once, to look round, and perceive +François examining him with a harsh, implacable stare, he turned pale and lost +his head. He was on the point of saying to the cat: +</p> + +<p> +“Heh! Why don’t you speak? Tell me what it is you want with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +When he could crush his paw or tail, he did so in affrighted joy, the mewing of +the poor creature giving him vague terror, as though he heard a human cry of +pain. Laurent, in fact, was afraid of François, particularly since the latter +passed his time on the knees of the impotent old lady, as if in the centre of +an impregnable fortress, whence he could with impunity set his eyes on his +enemy. The murderer of Camille established a vague resemblance between this +irritated animal and the paralysed woman, saying to himself that the cat, like +Madame Raquin, must know about the crime and would denounce him, if he ever +found a tongue. +</p> + +<p> +At last, one night, François looked at Laurent so fixedly, that the latter, +irritated to the last pitch, made up his mind to put an end to the annoyance. +He threw the window of the dining-room wide open, and advancing to where the +cat was seated, grasped him by the skin at the back of the neck. Madame Raquin +understood, and two big tears rolled down her cheeks. The cat began to swear, +and stiffen himself, endeavouring to turn round and bite the hand that grasped +him. But Laurent held fast. He whirled the cat round two or three times in the +air, and then sent him flying with all the strength of his arm, against the +great dark wall opposite. François went flat against it, and breaking his +spine, fell upon the glass roof of the arcade. All night the wretched beast +dragged himself along the gutter mewing hoarsely, while Madame Raquin wept over +him almost as much as she had done over Camille. Thérèse had an atrocious +attack of hysterics, while the wailing of the cat sounded sinisterly, in the +gloom below the windows. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent soon had further cause for anxiety. He became alarmed at a certain +change he observed in the attitude of his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse became sombre and taciturn. She no longer lavished effusions of +repentance and grateful kisses on Madame Raquin. In presence of the paralysed +woman, she resumed her manner of frigid cruelty and egotistic indifference. It +seemed as though she had tried remorse, and finding no relief had turned her +attention to another remedy. Her sadness was no doubt due to her inability to +calm her life. +</p> + +<p> +She observed the impotent old woman with a kind of disdain, as a useless thing +that could no longer even serve her for consolation. She now only bestowed on +her the necessary attention to prevent her dying of hunger. From this moment +she dragged herself about the house in silence and dejection. She multiplied +her absences from the shop, going out as frequently as three and four times a +week. +</p> + +<p> +It was this change in her mode of life, that surprised and alarmed Laurent. He +fancied that her remorse had taken another form, and was now displayed by this +mournful weariness he noticed in her. This weariness seemed to him more +alarming than the chattering despair she had overwhelmed him with previously. +She no longer spoke, she no longer quarrelled with him, she seemed to consign +everything to the depths of her being. He would rather have heard her +exhausting her endurance than see her keep in this manner to herself. He feared +that one day she would be choking with anguish, and to obtain relief, would go +and relate everything to a priest or an examining magistrate. +</p> + +<p> +Then these numerous absences of Thérèse had frightful significance in his eyes. +He thought she went to find a confidant outside, that she was preparing her +treason. On two occasions he tried to follow her, and lost her in the streets. +He then prepared to watch her again. A fixed idea got into his head: Thérèse, +driven to extremities by suffering, was about to make disclosures, and he must +gag her, he must arrest her confession in her throat. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<p> +One morning, Laurent, instead of going to his studio, took up a position at a +wine-shop situated at one of the corners of the Rue Guénégaud, opposite the +studio. From there, he began to examine the persons who issued from the passage +on to the pavement of the Rue Mazarine. He was watching for Thérèse. The +previous evening, the young woman had mentioned that she intended going out +next day and probably would not be home until evening. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent waited fully half an hour. He knew that his wife always went by the Rue +Mazarine; nevertheless, at one moment, he remembered that she might escape him +by taking the Rue de Seine, and he thought of returning to the arcade, and +concealing himself in the corridor of the house. But he determined to retain +his seat a little longer, and just as he was growing impatient he suddenly saw +Thérèse come rapidly from the passage. +</p> + +<p> +She wore a light gown, and, for the first time, he noticed that her attire +appeared remarkably showy, like a street-walker. She twisted her body about on +the pavement, staring provokingly at the men who came along, and raising her +skirt, which she clutched in a bunch in her hand, much higher than any +respectable woman would have done, in order to display her lace-up boots and +stockings. As she went up the Rue Mazarine, Laurent followed her. +</p> + +<p> +It was mild weather, and the young woman walked slowly, with her head thrown +slightly backward and her hair streaming down her back. The men who had first +of all stared her in the face, turned round to take a back view. She passed +into the Rue de l’École de Médecine. Laurent was terrified. He knew that +somewhere in this neighbourhood, was a Commissariat of Police, and he said to +himself that there could no longer be any doubt as to the intentions of his +wife, she was certainly about to denounce him. Then he made up his mind to rush +after her, if she crossed the threshold of the commissariat, to implore her, to +beat her if necessary, so as to compel her to hold her tongue. At a street +corner she looked at a policeman who came along, and Laurent trembled with +fright, lest she should stop and speak to him. In terror of being arrested on +the spot if he showed himself, he hid in a doorway. +</p> + +<p> +This excursion proved perfect agony. While his wife basked in the sun on the +pavement, trailing her skirt with nonchalance and impudence, shameless and +unconcerned, he followed behind her, pale and shuddering, repeating that it was +all over, that he would be unable to save himself and would be guillotined. +Each step he saw her take, seemed to him a step nearer punishment. Fright gave +him a sort of blind conviction, and the slightest movement of the young woman +added to his certainty. He followed her, he went where she went, as a man goes +to the scaffold. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly on reaching the former Place Saint-Michel, Thérèse advanced towards a +cafe that then formed the corner of the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince. There she +seated herself in the centre of a group of women and students, at one of the +tables on the pavement, and familiarly shook hands with all this little crowd. +Then she called for absinthe. +</p> + +<p> +She seemed quite at ease, chatting with a fair young man who no doubt had been +waiting for her some time. Two girls came and leant over the table where she +sat, addressing her affectionately in their husky voices. Around her, women +were smoking cigarettes, men were embracing women in the open street, before +the passers-by, who never even turned their heads. Low words and hoarse +laughter reached Laurent, who remained motionless in a doorway on the opposite +side of the street. +</p> + +<p> +When Thérèse had finished her absinthe, she rose, and leaning on the arm of the +fair young man, went down the Rue de la Harpe. Laurent followed them as far as +the Rue Saint-André-des-Arts, where he noticed them enter a lodging-house. He +remained in the middle of the street with his eyes on the front of the +building. Presently his wife showed herself for an instant at an open window on +the second floor, and he fancied he perceived the hands of the pale young man +encircling her waist. Then, the window closed with a sharp clang. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent understood. Without waiting a moment longer, he tranquilly took himself +off reassured and happy. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” said he to himself, as he went towards the quays. +“It’s better, after all, that she should have a sweetheart. That +will occupy her mind, and prevent her thinking of injuring me. She’s +deucedly more clever than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +What astonished him, was that he had not been the first to think of plunging +into vice, which might have driven away his terror. But his thoughts had never +turned in that direction, and, moreover, he had not the least inclination for +riotous living. The infidelity of his wife did not trouble him in the least. He +felt no anger at the knowledge that she was in the arms of another man. On the +contrary, he seemed to enjoy the idea. He began to think that he had been +following the wife of a comrade, and laughed at the cunning trick the woman was +playing her husband. Thérèse had become such a stranger to him, that he no +longer felt her alive in his heart. He would have sold her, bound hand and +foot, a hundred times over, to purchase calm for one hour. +</p> + +<p> +As he sauntered along, he enjoyed the sudden, delightful reaction that had just +brought him from terror to peace. He almost thanked his wife for having gone to +a sweetheart, when he thought her on her way to a commissary of police. This +adventure had come to an unforeseen end that agreeably surprised him. It +distinctly showed him that he had done wrong to tremble, and that he, in his +turn, should try vice, in order to see whether such a course would not relieve +him by diverting his thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +On returning to the shop in the evening, Laurent decided that he would ask his +wife for a few thousand francs, and that he would resort to high-handed +measures to obtain them. Reflection told him that vice would be an expensive +thing, for a man. He patiently awaited Thérèse, who had not yet come in. When +she arrived, he affected gentleness, and refrained from breathing a word about +having followed her in the morning. She was slightly tipsy, and from her +ill-adjusted garments, came that unpleasant odour of tobacco and spirits that +is met with in public drinking places. Completely exhausted, and with cheeks as +pale as death, she advanced at an unsteady gait and with a head quite heavy +from the shameless fatigue of the day. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner passed in silence. Thérèse ate nothing. At dessert Laurent placed +his elbows on the table, and flatly asked her for 5,000 francs. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered dryly. “If I were to give you a free hand, +you’d bring us to beggary. Aren’t you aware of our position? We are +going as fast as ever we can to the dogs.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be,” he quietly resumed. “I don’t care a fig, +I intend to have money.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, a thousand times no!” she retorted. “You left your +place, the mercery business is in a very bad way, and the revenue from my +marriage portion is not sufficient to maintain us. Every day I encroach on the +principal to feed you and give you the one hundred francs a month you wrung +from me. You will not get anything beyond that, do you understand? So +it’s no use asking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just reflect,” he replied, “and don’t be so silly as +to refuse. I tell you I mean to have 5,000 francs, and I shall have them. +You’ll give them me, in spite of all.” +</p> + +<p> +This quiet determination irritated Thérèse and put the finishing touch to her +intoxication. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I know what it is,” she cried, “you want to finish as +you began. We have been keeping you for four years. You only came to us to eat +and drink, and since then you’ve been at our charge. Monsieur does +nothing, Monsieur has arranged so as to live at my expense with his arms folded +one over the other. No, you shall have nothing, not a sou. Do you want me to +tell you what you are? Well then, you are a———” +</p> + +<p> +And she pronounced the word. Laurent began to laugh, shrugging his shoulders. +He merely replied: +</p> + +<p> +“You learn some pretty expressions in the company you keep now.” +</p> + +<p> +This was the only allusion he ventured to make to the love affairs of Thérèse. +She quickly raised her head, and bitterly replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow, I don’t keep the company of murderers.” +</p> + +<p> +Laurent became very pale, and for a moment remained silent, with his eyes fixed +on his wife; then, in a trembling voice, he resumed: +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, my girl, don’t let us get angry; there is no good in that +neither for you nor me. I’ve lost all courage. We had better come to an +understanding if we wish to avoid a misfortune. If I ask you for 5,000 francs +it is because I want them; and I will even tell you what I intend to do with +them, so as to ensure our tranquillity.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave her a peculiar smile, and continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Come, reflect, let me have your last word.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thoroughly made up my mind,” answered the young woman, +“and it is as I have told you. You shall not have a sou.” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband rose violently. She was afraid of being beaten; she crouched down, +determined not to give way to blows. But Laurent did not even approach her, he +confined himself to telling her in a frigid tone that he was tired of life, and +was about to relate the story of the murder to the commissary of police of the +quarter. +</p> + +<p> +“You drive me to extremes,” said he, “you make my life +unbearable. I prefer to have done with it. We shall both be tried and +condemned. And there will be an end to it all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you’ll frighten me?” shouted his wife. “I +am as weary as you are. I’ll go to the commissary of police myself, if +you don’t. Ah! Indeed, I am quite ready to follow you to the scaffold, +I’m not a coward like you. Come along, come along with me to the +commissary.” +</p> + +<p> +She had risen, and was making her way to the staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” stammered Laurent, “let’s go +together.” +</p> + +<p> +When they were down in the shop they looked at one another, anxious and +alarmed. It seemed as though they were riveted to the ground. The few seconds +they had taken to run downstairs had suffered to show them, as in a flash, all +the consequences of a confession. They saw at the same moment, suddenly and +distinctly: gendarmes, prison, assize-court and guillotine. This made them feel +faint, and they were tempted to throw themselves on their knees, one before the +other, to implore one another to remain, and reveal nothing. Fright and +embarrassment kept them motionless and mute for two or three minutes. Thérèse +was the first to make up her mind to speak and give way. +</p> + +<p> +“After all,” said she, “I am a great fool to quarrel with you +about this money. You will succeed in getting hold of it and squandering it, +one day or another. I may just as well give it you at once.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not seek to conceal her defeat any further. She seated herself at the +counter, and signed a cheque for 5,000 francs, which Laurent was to present to +her banker. There was no more question of the commissary of police that +evening. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Laurent had the gold in his pocket, he began to lead a riotous life, +drinking to excess, and frequenting women of ill-repute. He slept all day and +stayed out all night, in search of violent emotions that would relieve him of +reality. But he only succeeded in becoming more oppressed than before. When the +company were shouting around him, he heard the great, terrible silence within +him; when one of his ladyloves kissed him, when he drained his glass, he found +naught at the bottom of his satiety, but heavy sadness. +</p> + +<p> +He was no longer a man for lust and gluttony. His chilled being, as if inwardly +rigid, became enervated at the kisses and feasts. Feeling disgusted beforehand, +they failed to arouse his imagination or to excite his senses and stomach. He +suffered a little more by forcing himself into a dissolute mode of life, and +that was all. Then, when he returned home, when he saw Madame Raquin and +Thérèse again, his weariness brought on frightful fits of terror. And he vowed +he would leave the house no more, that he would put up with his suffering, so +as to become accustomed to it, and be able to conquer it. +</p> + +<p> +For a month Thérèse lived, like Laurent, on the pavement and in the cafes. She +returned daily for a moment, in the evening to feed Madame Raquin and put her +to bed, and then disappeared again until the morrow. She and her husband on one +occasion were four days without setting eyes on each other. At last, she +experienced profound disgust at the life she was leading, feeling that vice +succeeded no better with her than the comedy of remorse. +</p> + +<p> +In vain had she dragged through all the lodging-houses in the Latin Quarter, in +vain had she led a low, riotous life. Her nerves were ruined. Debauchery ceased +to give her a sufficiently violent shock to render her oblivious of the past. +She resembled one of those drunkards whose scorched palates remain insensible +to the most violent spirits. She had done with lust, and the society of her +paramours only worried and wearied her. Then, she quitted them as useless. +</p> + +<p> +She now fell a prey to despondent idleness which kept her at home, in a dirty +petticoat, with hair uncombed, and face and hands unwashed. She neglected +everything and lived in filth. +</p> + +<p> +When the two murderers came together again face to face, in this manner, after +having done their best to get away from each other, they understood that they +would no longer have strength to struggle. Debauchery had rejected them, it had +just cast them back to their anguish. Once more they were in the dark, damp +lodging in the arcade; and, henceforth, were as if imprisoned there, for +although they had often attempted to save themselves, never had they been able +to sever the sanguinary bond attaching them. They did not even think of +attempting a task they regarded as impossible. They found themselves so urged +on, so overwhelmed, so securely fastened together by events, that they were +conscious all resistance would be ridiculous. They resumed their life in +common, but their hatred became furious rage. +</p> + +<p> +The quarrels at night began again. But for that matter, the blows and cries +lasted all day long. To hatred distrust was now added, and distrust put the +finishing touch to their folly. +</p> + +<p> +They were afraid of each other. The scene that had followed the demand for +5,000 francs, was repeated morning and night. They had the fixed idea that they +wanted to give one another up. From that standpoint they did not depart. When +either of them said a word, or made a gesture, the other imagined that he or +she, as the case might be, intended to go to the commissary of police. Then, +they either fought or implored one another to do nothing. +</p> + +<p> +In their anger, they shouted out that they would run and reveal everything, and +terrified each other to death. After this they shuddered, they humbled +themselves, and promised with bitter tears to maintain silence. They suffered +most horribly, but had not the courage to cure themselves by placing a red-hot +iron on the wound. If they threatened one another to confess the crime, it was +merely to strike terror into each other and drive away the thought, for they +would never have had strength to speak and seek peace in punishment. +</p> + +<p> +On more than twenty occasions, they went as far as the door of the commissariat +of police, one following the other. Now it was Laurent who wanted to confess +the murder, now Thérèse who ran to give herself up. But they met in the street, +and always decided to wait, after an interchange of insults and ardent prayers. +</p> + +<p> +Every fresh attack made them more suspicious and ferocious than before. From +morning till night they were spying upon one another. Laurent barely set his +foot outside the lodging in the arcade, and if, perchance, he did absent +himself, Thérèse never failed to accompany him. Their suspicions, their fright +lest either should confess, brought them together, united them in atrocious +intimacy. Never, since their marriage, had they lived so tightly tied together, +and never had they experienced such suffering. But, notwithstanding the anguish +they imposed on themselves, they never took their eyes off one another. They +preferred to endure the most excruciating pain, rather than separate for an +hour. +</p> + +<p> +If Thérèse went down to the shop, Laurent followed, afraid that she might talk +to a customer; if Laurent stood in the doorway, observing the people passing +through the arcade, Thérèse placed herself beside him to see that he did not +speak to anyone. When the guests were assembled on Thursday evenings, the +murderers addressed supplicating glances to each other, listening to one +another in terror, one accomplice expecting the other to make some confession, +and giving an involving interpretation to sentences only just commenced. +</p> + +<p> +Such a state of warfare could not continue any longer. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse and Laurent had both reached the point of pondering on the advisability +of extricating themselves from the consequences of their first crime, by +committing a second. It became absolutely necessary that one of them should +disappear so that the other might enjoy some repose. This reflection came to +them both at the same time; both felt the urgent necessity for a separation, +and both desired that it should be eternal. The murder that now occurred to +their minds, seemed to them natural, fatal and forcibly brought about by the +murder of Camille. They did not even turn the matter over in their heads but +welcomed the idea as the only means of safety. Laurent determined he would kill +Thérèse because she stood in his way, because she might ruin him by a word, and +because she caused him unbearable suffering. Thérèse made up her mind that she +would kill Laurent, for the same reasons. +</p> + +<p> +The firm resolution to commit another murder somewhat calmed them. They formed +their plans. But in that respect they acted with feverish excitement, and +without any display of excessive prudence. They only thought vaguely of the +probable consequences of a murder committed without flight and immunity being +ensured. They felt the invincible necessity to kill one another, and yielded to +this necessity like furious brutes. They would not have exposed themselves for +their first crime, which they had so cleverly concealed, and yet they risked +the guillotine, in committing a second, which they did not even attempt to +hide. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a contradiction in their conduct that they never so much as caught +sight of. Both simply said to themselves that if they succeeded in fleeing, +they would go and live abroad, taking all the cash with them. Thérèse, a +fortnight or three weeks before, had drawn from the bank the few thousand +francs that remained of her marriage portion, and kept them locked up in a +drawer—a circumstance that had not escaped Laurent. The fate of Madame +Raquin did not trouble them an instant. +</p> + +<p> +A few weeks previously, Laurent had met one of his old college friends, now +acting as dispenser to a famous chemist, who gave considerable attention to +toxicology. This friend had shown him over the laboratory where he worked, +pointing out to him the apparatus and the drugs. +</p> + +<p> +One night, after he had made up his mind in regard to the murder, and as +Thérèse was drinking a glass of sugar and water before him, Laurent remembered +that he had seen in this laboratory a small stoneware flagon, containing +prussic acid, and that the young dispenser had spoken to him of the terrible +effects of this poison, which strikes the victim down with sudden death, +leaving but few traces behind. And Laurent said to himself, that this was the +poison he required. On the morrow, succeeding in escaping the vigilance of +Thérèse, he paid his friend a visit, and while he had his back turned, stole +the small stoneware flagon. +</p> + +<p> +The same day, Thérèse took advantage of the absence of Laurent, to send the +large kitchen knife, with which they were in the habit of breaking the loaf +sugar, and which was very much notched, to be sharpened. When it came back, she +hid it in a corner of the sideboard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<p> +The following Thursday, the evening party at the Raquins, as the guests +continued to term the household of their hosts, was particularly merry. It was +prolonged until half-past eleven, and as Grivet withdrew, he declared that he +had never passed such a pleasant time. +</p> + +<p> +Suzanne, who was not very well, never ceased talking to Thérèse of her pain and +joy. Thérèse appeared to listen to her with great interest, her eyes fixed, her +lips pinched, her head, at moments, bending forward; while her lowering eyelids +cast a cloud over the whole of her face. +</p> + +<p> +Laurent, for his part, gave uninterrupted attention to the tales of old Michaud +and Olivier. These gentlemen never paused, and it was only with difficulty that +Grivet succeeded in getting in a word edgeways between a couple of sentences of +father and son. He had a certain respect for these two men whom he considered +good talkers. On that particular evening, a gossip having taken the place of +the usual game, he naively blurted out that the conversation of the former +commissary of police amused him almost as much as dominoes. +</p> + +<p> +During the four years, or thereabouts, that the Michauds and Grivet had been in +the habit of passing the Thursday evenings at the Raquins’, they had not +once felt fatigued at these monotonous evenings that returned with enervating +regularity. Never had they for an instant suspected the drama that was being +performed in this house, so peaceful and harmonious when they entered it. +Olivier, with the jest of a person connected with the police, was in the habit +of remarking that the dining-room savoured of the honest man. Grivet, so as to +have his say, had called the place the Temple of Peace. +</p> + +<p> +Latterly, on two or three different occasions, Thérèse explained the bruises +disfiguring her face, by telling the guests she had fallen down. But none of +them, for that matter, would have recognised the marks of the fist of Laurent; +they were convinced as to their hosts being a model pair, replete with +sweetness and love. +</p> + +<p> +The paralysed woman had not made any fresh attempt to reveal to them the infamy +concealed behind the dreary tranquillity of the Thursday evenings. An +eye-witness of the tortures of the murderers, and foreseeing the crisis which +would burst out, one day or another, brought on by the fatal succession of +events, she at length understood that there was no necessity for her +intervention. And from that moment, she remained in the background allowing the +consequences of the murder of Camille, which were to kill the assassins in +their turn, to take their course. She only prayed heaven, to grant her +sufficient life to enable her to be present at the violent catastrophe she +foresaw; her only remaining desire was to feast her eyes on the supreme +suffering that would undo Thérèse and Laurent. +</p> + +<p> +On this particular evening, Grivet went and seated himself beside her, and +talked for a long time, he, as usual, asking the questions and supplying the +answers himself. But he failed to get even a glance from her. When half-past +eleven struck, the guests quickly rose to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“We are so comfortable with you,” said Grivet, “that no one +ever thinks of leaving.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fact is,” remarked Michaud by way of supporting the old clerk, +“I never feel drowsy here, although I generally go to bed at nine +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Olivier thought this a capital opportunity for introducing his little joke. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said he, displaying his yellow teeth, “this +apartment savours of honest people: that is why we are so comfortable +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Grivet, annoyed at being forestalled, began to declaim with an emphatic +gesture: +</p> + +<p> +“This room is the Temple of Peace!” +</p> + +<p> +In the meanwhile, Suzanne, who was putting on her hat, remarked to Thérèse: +</p> + +<p> +“I will come to-morrow morning at nine o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” hastened to answer the young woman in a strange, troubled +tone, “don’t come until the afternoon I have an engagement in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +She accompanied the guests into the arcade, and Laurent also went down with a +lamp in his hand. As soon as the married couple were alone, both heaved a sigh +of relief. They must have been devoured by secret impatience all the evening. +Since the previous day they had become more sombre, more anxious in presence of +one another. They avoided looking at each other, and returned in silence to the +dining-room. Their hands gave slight convulsive twitches, and Laurent was +obliged to place the lamp on the table, to avoid letting it fall. +</p> + +<p> +Before putting Madame Raquin to bed they were in the habit of setting the +dining-room in order, of preparing a glass of sugar and water for the night, of +moving hither and thither about the invalid, until everything was ready. +</p> + +<p> +When they got upstairs on this particular occasion, they sat down an instant +with pale lips, and eyes gazing vaguely before them. Laurent was the first to +break silence: +</p> + +<p> +“Well! Aren’t we going to bed?” he inquired, as if he had +just started from a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, we are going to bed,” answered Thérèse, shivering as +though she felt a violent chill. +</p> + +<p> +She rose and grasped the water decanter. +</p> + +<p> +“Let it be,” exclaimed her husband, in a voice that he endeavoured +to render natural, “I will prepare the sugar and water. You attend to +your aunt.” +</p> + +<p> +He took the decanter of water from the hands of his wife and poured out a +glassful. Then, turning half round, he emptied the contents of the small +stoneware flagon into the glass at the same time as he dropped a lump of sugar +into it. In the meanwhile, Thérèse had bent down before the sideboard, and +grasping the kitchen knife sought to slip it into one of the large pockets +hanging from her waist. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment, a strange sensation which comes as a warning note of +danger, made the married couple instinctively turn their heads. They looked at +one another. Thérèse perceived the flagon in the hands of Laurent, and the +latter caught sight of the flash of the blade in the folds of the skirt of his +wife. +</p> + +<p> +For a few seconds they examined each other, mute and frigid, the husband near +the table, the wife stooping down before the sideboard. And they understood. +Each of them turned icy cold, on perceiving that both had the same thought. And +they were overcome with pity and horror at mutually reading the secret design +of the other on their agitated countenances. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Raquin, feeling the catastrophe near at hand, watched them with +piercing, fixed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Thérèse and Laurent, all at once, burst into sobs. A supreme crisis undid them, +cast them into the arms of one another, as weak as children. It seemed to them +as if something tender and sweet had awakened in their breasts. They wept, +without uttering a word, thinking of the vile life they had led, and would +still lead, if they were cowardly enough to live. +</p> + +<p> +Then, at the recollection of the past, they felt so fatigued and disgusted with +themselves, that they experienced a huge desire for repose, for nothingness. +They exchanged a final look, a look of thankfulness, in presence of the knife +and glass of poison. Thérèse took the glass, half emptied it, and handed it to +Laurent who drank off the remainder of the contents at one draught. The result +was like lightning. The couple fell one atop of the other, struck down, finding +consolation, at last, in death. The mouth of the young woman rested on the scar +that the teeth of Camille had left on the neck of her husband. +</p> + +<p> +The corpses lay all night, spread out contorted, on the dining-room floor, lit +up by the yellow gleams from the lamp, which the shade cast upon them. And for +nearly twelve hours, in fact until the following day at about noon, Madame +Raquin, rigid and mute, contemplated them at her feet, overwhelming them with +her heavy gaze, and unable to sufficiently gorge her eyes with the hideous +sight. +</p> + +<p> +AFTERWORD +</p> + +<p> +The idea of the plot of “Thérèse Raquin,” according to M. Paul +Alexis, Zola’s biographer, came from a novel called “La Venus de +Gordes” contributed to the “Figaro” by Adolphe Belot and +Ernest Daudet—the brother of Alphonse Daudet—in collaboration. In +this story the authors dealt with the murder of a man by his wife and her +paramour, followed by the trial of the murderers at the assizes. Zola, in +noticing the book in the “Figaro,” when it arrived for review, +pointed out that a much more powerful story might be written on the same +subject by invoking divine instead of human justice. For instance, showing the +two murderers safe from earthly consequences, yet separated by the pool of +blood between them, haunted by their crime, and detesting one another for the +deed done together. +</p> + +<p> +It then occurred to Zola to write the tale on these lines himself. Convinced +that the idea was good, he elaborated it with the greatest care and all the +skill at his command, the result being that he produced a volume which proved +his first genuine success, and which is still considered by many to be his very +best book. +</p> + +<p> +EDWARD VIZETELLY +</p> + +<p> +SURBITON, 1 December, 1901. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THÉRÈSE RAQUIN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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