Chapter I. The Betrothal

by Emile Zola

　　Pere Merlier's mill, one beautiful summer evening, was arranged fora grand fete. In the courtyard were three tables, placed end toend, which awaited the guests. Everyone knew that Francoise,Merlier's daughter, was that night to be betrothed to Dominique, ayoung man who was accused of idleness but whom the fair sex forthree leagues around gazed at with sparkling eyes, such a fineappearance had he.

　　Pere Merlier's mill was pleasing to look upon. It stood exactly inthe center of Rocreuse, where the highway made an elbow. Thevillage had but one street, with two rows of huts, a row on eachside of the road; but at the elbow meadows spread out, and hugetrees which lined the banks of the Morelle covered the extremity ofthe valley with lordly shade. There was not, in all Lorraine, acorner of nature more adorable. To the right and to the left thickwoods, centenarian forests, towered up from gentle slopes, fillingthe horizon with a sea of verdure, while toward the south the plainstretched away, of marvelous fertility, displaying as far as the eyecould reach patches of ground divided by green hedges. But whatconstituted the special charm of Rocreuse was the coolness of thatcut of verdure in the most sultry days of July and August. TheMorelle descended from the forests of Gagny and seemed to havegathered the cold from the foliage beneath which it flowed forleagues; it brought with it the murmuring sounds, the icy andconcentrated shade of the woods. And it was not the sole source ofcoolness: all sorts of flowing streams gurgled through the forest;at each step springs bubbled up; one felt, on following the narrowpathways, that there must exist subterranean lakes which piercedthrough beneath the moss and availed themselves of the smallestcrevices at the feet of trees or between the rocks to burst forth incrystalline fountains. The whispering voices of these brooks wereso numerous and so loud that they drowned the song of thebullfinches. It was like some enchanted park with cascades fallingfrom every portion.

　　Below the meadows were damp. Gigantic chestnut trees cast darkshadows. On the borders of the meadows long hedges of poplarsexhibited in lines their rustling branches. Two avenues of enormousplane trees stretched across the fields toward the ancient Chateaude Gagny, then a mass of ruins. In this constantly watered districtthe grass grew to an extraordinary height. It resembled a gardenbetween two wooded hills, a natural garden, of which the meadowswere the lawns, the giant trees marking the colossal flower beds.When the sun's rays at noon poured straight downward the shadowsassumed a bluish tint; scorched grass slept in the heat, while anicy shiver passed beneath the foliage.

　　And there it was that Pere Merlier's mill enlivened with itsticktack a corner of wild verdure. The structure, built of plasterand planks, seemed as old as the world. It dipped partially in theMorelle, which rounded at that point into a transparent basin. Asluice had been made, and the water fell from a height of severalmeters upon the mill wheel, which cracked as it turned, with theasthmatic cough of a faithful servant grown old in the house. WhenPere Merlier was advised to change it he shook his head, saying thata new wheel would be lazier and would not so well understand thework, and he mended the old one with whatever he could put his handson: cask staves, rusty iron, zinc and lead. The wheel appearedgayer than ever for it, with its profile grown odd, all plumed withgrass and moss. When the water beat upon it with its silvery floodit was covered with pearls; its strange carcass wore a sparklingattire of necklaces of mother-of-pearl.

　　The part of the mill which dipped in the Morelle had the air of abarbaric arch stranded there. A full half of the structure wasbuilt on piles. The water flowed beneath the floor, and deep placeswere there, renowned throughout the district for the enormous eelsand crayfish caught in them. Below the fall the basin was as clearas a mirror, and when the wheel did not cover it with foam schoolsof huge fish could be seen swimming with the slowness of a squadron.Broken steps led down to the river near a stake to which a boat wasmoored. A wooden gallery passed above the wheel. Windows opened,pierced irregularly. It was a pell-mell of corners, of littlewalls, of constructions added too late, of beams and of roofs, whichgave the mill the aspect of an old, dismantled citadel. But ivy hadgrown; all sorts of clinging plants stopped the too-wide chinks andthrew a green cloak over the ancient building. The young ladies whopassed by sketched Pere Merlier's mill in their albums.

　　On the side facing the highway the structure was more solid. Astone gateway opened upon the wide courtyard, which was bordered tothe right and to the left by sheds and stables. Beside a well animmense elm covered half the courtyard with its shadow. In thebackground the building displayed the four windows of its secondstory, surmounted by a pigeon house. Pere Merlier's sole vanity wasto have this front plastered every ten years. It had just receiveda new coating and dazzled the village when the sun shone on it atnoon.

　　For twenty years Pere Merlier had been mayor of Rocreuse. He wasesteemed for the fortune he had acquired. His wealth was estimatedat something like eighty thousand francs, amassed sou by sou. Whenhe married Madeleine Guillard, who brought him the mill as herdowry, he possessed only his two arms. But Madeleine never repentedof her choice, so briskly did he manage the business. Now his wifewas dead, and he remained a widower with his daughter Francoise.Certainly he might have rested, allowed the mill wheel to slumber inthe moss, but that would have been too dull for him, and in his eyesthe building would have seemed dead. He toiled on for pleasure.

　　Pere Merlier was a tall old man with a long, still face, who neverlaughed but who possessed, notwithstanding, a very gay heart. Hehad been chosen mayor because of his money and also on account ofthe imposing air he could assume during a marriage ceremony.

　　Francoise Merlier was just eighteen. She did not pass for one ofthe handsome girls of the district, as she was not robust. Up toher fifteenth year she had been even ugly.

　　The Rocreuse people had not been able to understand why the daughterof Pere and Mere Merlier, both of whom had always enjoyed excellenthealth, grew ill and with an air of regret. But at fifteen, thoughyet delicate, her little face became one of the prettiest in theworld. She had black hair, black eyes, and was as rosy as a peach;her lips constantly wore a smile; there were dimples in her cheeks,and her fair forehead seemed crowned with sunlight. Although notconsidered robust in the district, she was far from thin; the ideawas simply that she could not lift a sack of grain, but she wouldbecome plump as she grew older--she would eventually be as round anddainty as a quail. Her father's long periods of silence had madeher thoughtful very young. If she smiled constantly it was toplease others. By nature she was serious.

　　Of course all the young men of the district paid court to her, moreon account of her ecus than her pretty ways. At last she made achoice which scandalized the community.

　　On the opposite bank of the Morelle lived a tall youth namedDominique Penquer. He did not belong to Rocreuse. Ten years beforehe had arrived from Belgium as the heir of his uncle, who had lefthim a small property upon the very border of the forest of Gagny,just opposite the mill, a few gunshots distant. He had come to sellthis property, he said, and return home. But the district charmedhim, it appeared, for he did not quit it. He was seen cultivatinghis little field, gathering a few vegetables upon which hesubsisted. He fished and hunted; many times the forest guardsnearly caught him and were on the point of drawing up proces-verbauxagainst him. This free existence, the resources of which thepeasants could not clearly discover, at length gave him a badreputation. He was vaguely styled a poacher. At any rate, he waslazy, for he was often found asleep on the grass when he should havebeen at work. The hut he inhabited beneath the last trees on theedge of the forest did not seem at all like the dwelling of anhonest young fellow. If he had had dealings with the wolves of theruins of Gagny the old women would not have been the least bitsurprised. Nevertheless, the young girls sometimes risked defendinghim, for this doubtful man was superb; supple and tall as a poplar,he had a very white skin, with flaxen hair and beard which gleamedlike gold in the sun.

　　One fine morning Francoise declared to Pere Merlier that she lovedDominique and would never wed any other man.

　　It may well be imagined what a blow this was to Pere Merlier. Hesaid nothing, according to his custom, but his face grew thoughtfuland his internal gaiety no longer sparkled in his eyes. He lookedgruff for a week. Francoise also was exceedingly grave. Whattormented Pere Merlier was to find out how this rogue of a poacherhad managed to fascinate his daughter. Dominique had never visitedthe mill. The miller watched and saw the gallant on the other sideof the Morelle, stretched out upon the grass and feigning to beasleep. Francoise could see him from her chamber window.Everything was plain: they had fallen in love by casting sheep'seyes at each other over the mill wheel.

　　Another week went by. Francoise became more and more grave. PereMerlier still said nothing. Then one evening he himself silentlybrought in Dominique. Francoise at that moment was setting thetable. She did not seem astonished; she contented herself withputting on an additional plate, knife and fork, but the littledimples were again seen in her cheeks, and her smile reappeared.That morning Pere Merlier had sought out Dominique in his hut on theborder of the wood.

　　There the two men had talked for three hours with doors and windowsclosed. What was the purport of their conversation no one everknew. Certain it was, however, that Pere Merlier, on taking hisdeparture, already called Dominique his son-in-law. Without doubtthe old man had found the youth he had gone to seek a worthy youthin the lazy fellow who stretched himself out upon the grass to makethe girls fall in love with him.

　　All Rocreuse clamored. The women at the doors had plenty to say onthe subject of the folly of Pere Merlier, who had thus introduced areprobate into his house. The miller let people talk on. Perhapshe remembered his own marriage. He was without a sou when he weddedMadeleine and her mill; this, however, had not prevented him frommaking a good husband. Besides, Dominique cut short the gossip bygoing so vigorously to work that all the district was amazed. Themiller's assistant had just been drawn to serve as a soldier, andDominique would not suffer another to be engaged. He carried thesacks, drove the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when itrefused to turn, and all this with such good will that people cameto see him out of curiosity. Pere Merlier had his silent laugh. Hewas excessively proud of having formed a correct estimate of thisyouth. There is nothing like love to give courage to young folks.Amid all these heavy labors Francoise and Dominique adored eachother. They did not indulge in lovers' talks, but there was asmiling gentleness in their glances.

　　Up to that time Pere Merlier had not spoken a single word on thesubject of marriage, and they respected this silence, awaiting theold man's will. Finally one day toward the middle of July he causedthree tables to be placed in the courtyard, beneath the great elm,and invited his friends of Rocreuse to come in the evening and drinka glass of wine with him.

　　When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in theirhands, Pere Merlier raised his very high and said:

　　"I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed thisyoung fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis's Day."

　　Then they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But Pere Merlier, againlifting his voice, exclaimed:

　　"Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your right."

　　They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all theguests laughed joyously. It was a genuine fete. They emptied asmall cask of wine. Then when all were gone but intimate friendsthe conversation was carried on without noise. The night hadfallen, a starry and cloudless night. Dominique and Francoise,seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.

　　An old peasant spoke of the war the emperor had declared againstPrussia. All the village lads had already departed. On thepreceding day troops had again passed through the place. There wasgoing to be hard fighting.

　　"Bah!" said Pere Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man."Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if thePrussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!"

　　The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke.They were going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair wouldsoon be over.

　　"I have afready seen them; I have already seen them," repeated theold peasant in a hollow voice.

　　There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominiquehad heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the handbehind the bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed sodelightful that they remained where they were, their eyes plungedinto the depths of the shadows.

　　What a warm and superb night it was! The village slumbered on bothedges of the white highway in infantile quietude. From time to timewas heard the crowing of some chanticleer aroused too soon. Fromthe huge wood near by came long breaths, which passed over the roofslike caresses. The meadows, with their dark shadows, assumed amysterious and dreamy majesty, while all the springs, all theflowing waters which gurgled in the darkness, seemed to be the cooland rhythmical respiration of the sleeping country. Occasionallythe ancient mill wheel, lost in a doze, appeared to dream like thoseold watchdogs that bark while snoring; it cracked; it talked toitself, rocked by the fall of the Morelle, the surface of which gaveforth the musical and continuous sound of an organ pipe. Never hadmore profound peace descended upon a happier corner of nature.