Abbe Mouret's Transgression: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

'Ah! I felt sure of it,' cried Albine, in accents of supreme despair. 'I
begged you to take me away--Serge, I beseech you, don't look through
it.'

But Serge, in spite of himself, stood rooted to the ground, on the
threshold of the breach through which he gazed. Down below, in the
depths of the valley, the setting sun cast a sheet of gold upon the
village of Les Artaud, which showed vision-like amidst the twilight in
which the neighbouring fields were already steeped. One could plainly
distinguish the houses that straggled along the high road; the little
yards with their dunghills, and the narrow gardens planted with
vegetables. Higher up, the tall cypress in the graveyard reared its
dusky silhouette, and the red tiles on the church glowed brazier-like,
the dark bell looking down on them like a human face, while the old
parsonage at the side threw its doors and windows open to the evening
air.

'For pity's sake,' sobbed Albine, 'don't look out, Serge. Remember that
you promised you would always love me. Ah! will you ever love me enough,
now? Stay, let me cover your eyes with my hands. You know it was my
hands that cured you. You won't push me away.'

But he put her from him gently. Then, while she fell down and clung to
his legs, he passed his hands across his face, as though he were wiping
from his brow and eyes some last lingering traces of sleep. It was
yonder, then, that lay the unknown world, the strange land of which he
had never dreamed without vague fear. Where had he seen that country?
From what dream was he awakening, that he felt such keen anguish
swelling up in his breast till it almost choked him? The village was
breaking out into life at the close of the day's work. The men were
coming home from the fields with weary gait, their jackets thrown over
their shoulders; the women, standing by their doors, were beckoning to
them to hasten on; while the children, in noisy bands, chased the fowls
about and pelted them with stones. In the churchyard a couple of
scapegraces, a lad and a girl, were creeping along under the shelter of
the wall in order to escape notice. Swarms of sparrows were retiring to
roost beneath the eaves of the church; and, on the steps of the
parsonage, a blue calico skirt had just appeared, of such spreading
dimensions as to quite block the doorway.

'Oh! he is looking out! he is looking out!' sobbed Albine. 'Listen to
me. It was only just now that you promised to obey me. I beg of you to
turn round and to look upon the garden. Haven't you been very happy in
the garden? It was the garden which gave me to you. Think of the happy
days it has in store for us, what lasting bliss and enjoyment. Instead
of which it will be death that will force its way through that hole, if
you don't quickly flee and take me with you. See, all those people
yonder will come and thrust themselves between us. We were so quite
alone, so secluded, so well guarded by the trees! Oh! the garden is our
love! Look on the garden, I beg it of you on my knees!'

But Serge was quivering. He had began to recollect. The past was
re-awakening. He could distinctly hear the stir of the village life.
Those peasants, those women and children, he knew them. There was the
mayor, Bambousse, returning from Les Olivettes, calculating how much the
approaching vintage would yield him; there were the Brichets, the
husband crawling along, and the wife moaning with misery. There was
Rosalie flirting with big Fortune behind a wall. He recognised also the
pair in the churchyard, that mischievous Vincent and that bold hussy
Catherine, who were catching big grasshoppers amongst the tombstones.
Yes, and they had Voriau, the black dog, with them, helping them and
ferreting about in the dry grass, and sniffing at every crack in the old
stones. Under the eaves of the church the sparrows were twittering and
bickering before going to roost. The boldest of them flew down and
entered the church through the broken windows, and, as Serge followed
them with his eyes, he recollected all the noise they had formerly made
below the pulpit and on the step by the altar rails, where crumbs were
always put for them. And that was La Teuse yonder, on the parsonage
doorstep, looking fatter than ever in her blue calico dress. She was
turning her head to smile at Desiree, who was coming up from the yard,
laughing noisily. Then they both vanished indoors, and Serge, distracted
with all these revived memories, stretched out his arms.

'It is all over now,' faltered Albine, as she sank down amongst the
broken brambles. 'You will never love me enough again.'

She wept, while Serge stood rooted by the breach, straining his ears to
catch the slightest sound that might be wafted from the village,
waiting, as it were, for some voice that might fully awaken him. The
bell in the church-tower had begun to sway, and slowly through the quiet
evening air the three chimes of the _Angelus_ floated up to the Paradou.
It was a soft and silvery summons. The bell now seemed to be alive.

'O God!' cried Serge, falling on his knees, quite overcome by the
emotion which the soft notes of the bell had excited in him.

He bent down towards the ground, and he felt the three peals of the
_Angelus_ pass over his neck and echo through his heart. The voice of
the bell seemed to grow louder. It was raised again sternly, pitilessly,
for a few moments which seemed to him to be years. It summoned up before
him all his old life, his pious childhood, his happy days at the
seminary, and his first Masses in that burning valley of Les Artaud,
where he had dreamt of a solitary, saintly life. He had always heard it
speaking to him as it was doing now. He recognised every inflection of
that sacred voice, which had so constantly fallen upon his ears, like
the grave and gentle voice of a mother. Why had he so long ceased to
hear it? In former times it had promised him the coming of Mary. Had
Mary come then and taken him and carried him off into those happy green
fastnesses, which the sound of the bell could not reach? He would never
have lapsed into forgetfulness if the bell had not ceased to ring. And
as he bent his head still lower towards the earth, the contact of his
beard with his hands made him start. He could not recognise his own self
with that long silky beard. He twisted it and fumbled about in his hair
seeking for the bare circle of the tonsure, but a heavy growth of curls
now covered his whole head from his brow to the nape of his neck.

'Ah! you were right,' he said, casting a look of despair at Albine. 'It
was forbidden. We have sinned, and we have merited some terrible
punishment. . . . But I, indeed, I tried to reassure you, I did not hear
the threats which sounded in your ears through the branches.'

Albine tried to clasp him in her arms again as she sobbed out, 'Get up,
and let us escape together. Perhaps even yet there is time for us to
love each other.'

'No, no; I haven't the strength. I should stumble and fall over the
smallest pebble in the path. Listen to me. I am afraid of myself. I know
not what man dwells in me. I have murdered myself, and my hands are red
with blood. If you took me away, you would never see aught in my eyes
save tears.'

She kissed his wet eyes, as she answered passionately, 'No matter! Do
you love me?'

He was too terrified to answer her. A heavy step set the pebbles rolling
on the other side of the wall. A growl of anger seemed to draw nigh.
Albine had not been mistaken. Some one was, indeed, there, disturbing
the woodland quiet with jealous inquisition. Then both Albine and Serge,
as if overwhelmed with shame, sought to bide themselves behind a bush.
But Brother Archangias, standing in front of the breach, could already
see them.

The Brother remained for a moment silent, clenching his fists and
looking at Albine clinging round Serge's neck, with the disgust of a man
who has espied some filth by the roadside.

'I suspected it,' he mumbled between his teeth. 'It was virtually
certain that they had hidden him here.'

Then he took a few steps, and cried out: 'I see you. It is an
abomination. Are you a brute beast to go coursing through the woods with
that female? She has led you far astray, has she not? She has besmeared
you with filth, and now you are hairy like a goat. . . . Pluck a branch
from the trees wherewith to smite her on the back.'

Again Albine whispered in an ardent, prayerful voice: 'Do you love me?
Do you love me?'

But Serge, with bowed head, kept silence, though he did not yet drive
her from him.

'Fortunately, I have found you,' continued Brother Archangias. 'I
discovered this hole. . . . You have disobeyed God, and have slain your
own peace. Henceforward, for ever, temptation will gnaw you with its
fiery tooth, and you will no longer have ignorance of evil to help you
to fight it. It was that creature who tempted you to your fall, was it
not? Do you not see the serpent's tail writhing amongst her hair? The
mere sight of her shoulders is sufficient to make one vomit with
disgust. . . . Leave her. Touch her not, for she is the beginning of
hell. In the name of God, come forth from that garden.'

'Do you love me? Oh! do you love me?' reiterated Albine.

But Serge hastily drew away from her as though her bare arms and
shoulders really scorched him.

'In the name of God! In the name of God!' cried the Brother, in a voice
of thunder.

Serge unresistingly stepped towards the breach. As soon as Brother
Archangias, with rough violence, had dragged him out of the Paradou,
Albine, who had fallen half fainting to the ground, with hands wildly
stretched towards the love which was deserting her, rose up again,
choking with sobs. And she fled, vanished into the midst of the trees,
whose trunks she lashed with her streaming hair.

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