第 80 页

of hastening the end of war, this is because I happen to be a man of

intellect. It would have been better possibly if my mind had been a

simple one, and if I had merely acted like some volcano which changes the

soil, leaving life the task of renewing humanity."

Much of the candle had now burnt away, and Guillaume at last rose from

the block of stone. He had again consulted his watch, and found that he

had ten minutes left him. The little current of air created by his

gestures made the light flicker, while all around him the darkness seemed

to grow denser. And near at hand ever lay the threatening open mine which

a spark might at any moment fire.

"It is nearly time," said Guillaume. "Come, brother, kiss me and go away.

You know how much I love you, what ardent affection for you has been

awakened in my old heart. So love me in like fashion, and find love

enough to let me die as I want to die, in carrying out my duty. Kiss me,

kiss me, and go away without turning your head."

His deep affection for Pierre made his voice tremble, but he struggled

on, forced back his tears, and ended by conquering himself. It was as if

he were no longer of the world, no longer one of mankind.

"No, brother, you have not convinced me," said Pierre, who on his side

did not seek to hide his tears, "and it is precisely because I love you

as you love me, with my whole being, my whole soul, that I cannot go

away. It is impossible! You cannot be the madman, the murderer you would

try to be."

"Why not? Am I not free. I have rid my life of all responsibilities, all

ties.... I have brought up my sons, they have no further need of me.

But one heart-link remained--Marie, and I have given her to you."

At this a disturbing argument occurred to Pierre, and he passionately

availed himself of it. "So you want to die because you have given me

Marie," said he. "You still love her, confess it!"

"No!" cried Guillaume, "I no longer love her, I swear it. I gave her to

you. I love her no more."

"So you fancied; but you can see now that you still love her, for here

you are, quite upset; whereas none of the terrifying things of which we

spoke just now could even move you.... Yes, if you wish to die it is

because you have lost Marie!"

Guillaume quivered, shaken by what his brother said, and in low, broken

words he tried to question himself. "No, no, that any love pain should

have urged me to this terrible deed would be unworthy--unworthy of my

great design. No, no, I decided on it in the free exercise of my reason,

and I am accomplishing it from no personal motive, but in the name of

justice and for the benefit of humanity, in order that war and want may

cease."

Then, in sudden anguish, he went on: "Ah! it is cruel of you, brother,

cruel of you to poison my delight at dying. I have created all the

happiness I could, I was going off well pleased at leaving you all happy,

and now you poison my death. No, no! question it how I may, my heart does

not ache; if I love Marie, it is simply in the same way as I love you."

Nevertheless, he remained perturbed, as if fearing lest he might be lying

to himself; and by degrees gloomy anger came over him: "Listen, that is

enough, Pierre," he exclaimed, "time is flying.... For the last time,

go away! I order you to do so; I will have it!"

"I will not obey you, Guillaume.... I will stay, and as all my

reasoning cannot save you from your insanity, fire your mine, and I will

die with you."

"You? Die? But you have no right to do so, you are not free!"

"Free, or not, I swear that I will die with you. And if it merely be a

question of flinging this candle into that hole, tell me so, and I will

take it and fling it there myself."

He made a gesture at which his brother thought that he was about to carry

out his threat. So he caught him by the arm, crying: "Why should you die?

It would be absurd. That others should die may be necessary, but you, no!

Of what use could be this additional monstrosity? You are endeavouring to

soften me, you are torturing my heart!" Then all at once, imagining that

Pierre's offer had concealed another design, Guillaume thundered in a

fury: "You don't want to take the candle in order to throw it there. What

you want to do is to blow it out! And you think I shan't be able

then--ah! you bad brother!"

In his turn Pierre exclaimed: "Oh! certainly, I'll use every means to

prevent you from accomplishing such a frightful and foolish deed!"

"You'll prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll cling to you, I'll fasten my arms to your shoulders, I'll hold

your hands if necessary."

"Ah! you'll prevent me, you bad brother! You think you'll prevent me!"

Choking and trembling with rage, Guillaume had already caught hold of

Pierre, pressing his ribs with his powerful muscular arms. They were

closely linked together, their eyes fixed upon one another, and their

breath mingling in that kind of subterranean dungeon, where their big

dancing shadows looked like ghosts. They seemed to be vanishing into the

night, the candle now showed merely like a little yellow tear in the

midst of the darkness; and at that moment, in those far depths, a quiver

sped through the silence of the earth which weighed so heavily upon them.

Distant but sonorous peals rang out, as if death itself were somewhere

ringing its invisible bell.

"You hear," stammered Guillaume, "it's their bell up there. The time has

come. I have vowed to act, and you want to prevent me!"

"Yes, I'll prevent you as long as I'm here alive."

"As long as you are alive, you'll prevent me!"

Guillaume could hear "La Savoyarde" pealing joyfully up yonder; he could

see the triumphant basilica, overflowing with its ten thousand pilgrims,

and blazing with the splendour of the Host amidst the smoke of incense;

and blind frenzy came over him at finding himself unable to act, at

finding an obstacle suddenly barring the road to his fixed idea.

"As long as you are alive, as long as you are alive!" he repeated, beside

himself. "Well, then, die, you wretched brother!"

A fratricidal gleam had darted from his blurred eyes. He hastily stooped,

picked up a large brick forgotten there, and raised it with both hands as

if it were a club.

"Ah! I'm willing," cried Pierre. "Kill me, then; kill your own brother

before you kill the others!"

The brick was already descending, but Guillaume's arms must have

deviated, for the weapon only grazed one of Pierre's shoulders.

Nevertheless, he sank upon his knees in the gloom. When Guillaume saw him

there he fancied he had dealt him a mortal blow. What was it that had

happened between them, what had he done? For a moment he remained

standing, haggard, his mouth open, his eyes dilating with terror. He

looked at his hands, fancying that blood was streaming from them. Then he

pressed them to his brow, which seemed to be bursting with pain, as if

his fixed idea had been torn from him, leaving his skull open. And he

himself suddenly sank upon the ground with a great sob.

"Oh! brother, little brother, what have I done?" he called. "I am a

monster!"

But Pierre had passionately caught him in his arms again. "It is nothing,

nothing, brother, I assure you," he replied. "Ah! you are weeping now.

How pleased I am! You are saved, I can feel it, since you are weeping.

And what a good thing it is that you flew into such a passion, for your

anger with me has dispelled your evil dream of violence."

"I am horrified with myself," gasped Guillaume, "to think that I wanted

to kill you! Yes, I'm a brute beast that would kill his brother! And the

others, too, all the others up yonder.... Oh! I'm cold, I feel so

cold."

His teeth were chattering, and he shivered. It was as if he had awakened,

half stupefied, from some evil dream. And in the new light which his

fratricidal deed cast upon things, the scheme which had haunted him and

goaded him to madness appeared like some act of criminal folly, projected

by another.

"To kill you!" he repeated almost in a whisper. "I shall never forgive

myself. My life is ended, I shall never find courage enough to live."

But Pierre clasped him yet more tightly. "What do you say?" he answered.

"Will there not rather be a fresh and stronger tie of affection between

us? Ah! yes, brother, let me save you as you saved me, and we shall be

yet more closely united! Don't you remember that evening at Neuilly, when

you consoled me and held me to your heart as I am holding you to mine? I

had confessed my torments to you, and you told me that I must live and

love!... And you did far more afterwards: you plucked your own love

from your breast and gave it to me. You wished to ensure my happiness at

the price of your own! And how delightful it is that, in my turn, I now

have an opportunity to console you, save you, and bring you back to

life!"

"No, no, the bloodstain is there and it is ineffaceable. I can hope no

more!"

"Yes, yes, you can. Hope in life as you bade me do! Hope in love and hope

in labour!"

Still weeping and clasping one another, the brothers continued speaking

in low voices. The expiring candle suddenly went out unknown to them, and

in the inky night and deep silence their tears of redeeming affection

flowed freely. On the one hand, there was joy at being able to repay a

debt of brotherliness, and on the other, acute emotion at having been led

by a fanatical love of justice and mankind to the very verge of crime.

And there were yet other things in the depths of those tears which

cleansed and purified them; there were protests against suffering in

every form, and ardent wishes that the world might some day be relieved

of all its dreadful woe.

At last, after pushing the flagstone over the cavity near the pillar,

Pierre groped his way out of the vault, leading Guillaume like a child.

Meantime Mere-Grand, still seated near the window of the workroom, had

impassively continued sewing. Now and again, pending the arrival of four

o'clock, she had looked up at the timepiece hanging on the wall on her

left hand, or else had glanced out of the window towards the unfinished

pile of the basilica, which a gigantic framework of scaffoldings

encompassed. Slowly and steadily plying her needle, the old lady remained

very pale and silent, but full of heroic serenity. On the other hand,

Marie, who sat near her, embroidering, shifted her position a score of

times, broke her thread, and grew impatient, feeling strangely nervous, a

prey to unaccountable anxiety, which oppressed her heart. For their part,

the three young men could not keep in place at all; it was as if some

contagious fever disturbed them. Each had gone to his work: Thomas was

filing something at his bench; Francois and Antoine were on either side

of their table, the first trying to solve a mathematical problem, and the

other copying a bunch of poppies in a vase before him. It was in vain,

however, that they strove to be attentive. They quivered at the slightest

sound, raised their heads, and darted questioning glances at one another.

What could be the matter? What could possess them? What did they fear?

Now and again one or the other would rise, stretch himself, and then,

resume his place. However, they did not speak; it was as if they dared

not say anything, and thus the heavy silence grew more and more terrible.

When it was a few minutes to four o'clock Mere-Grand felt weary, or else

desired to collect her thoughts. After another glance at the timepiece,

she let her needlework fall on her lap and turned towards the basilica.

It seemed to her that she had only enough strength left to wait; and she

remained with her eyes fixed on the huge walls and the forest of

scaffolding which rose over yonder with such triumphant pride under the

blue sky. Then all at once, however brave and firm she might be, she

could not restrain a start, for "La Savoyarde" had raised a joyful clang.

The consecration of the Host was now at hand, the ten thousand pilgrims

filled the church, four o'clock was about to strike. And thereupon an

irresistible impulse forced the old lady to her feet; she drew herself

up, quivering, her hands clasped, her eyes ever turned yonder, waiting in

mute dread.

"What is the matter?" cried Thomas, who noticed her. "Why are you

trembling, Mere-Grand?"

Francois and Antoine raised their heads, and in turn sprang forward.

"Are you ill? Why are you turning so pale, you who are so courageous?"

But she did not answer. Ah! might the force of the explosion rend the

earth asunder, reach the house and sweep it into the flaming crater of

the volcano! Might she and the three young men, might they all die with

the father, this was her one ardent wish in order that grief might be

spared them. And she remained waiting and waiting, quivering despite

herself, but with her brave, clear eyes ever gazing yonder.

"Mere-Grand, Mere-Grand!" cried Marie in dismay; "you frighten us by

refusing to answer us, by looking over there as if some misfortune were

coming up at a gallop!"

Then, prompted by the same anguish, the same cry suddenly came from

Thomas, Francois and Antoine: "Father is in peril--father is going to

die!"

What did they know? Nothing precise, certainly. Thomas no doubt had been

astonished to see what a large quantity of the explosive his father had

recently prepared, and both Francois and Antoine were aware of the ideas

of revolt which he harboured in his mind. But, full of filial deference,

they never sought to know anything beyond what he might choose to confide

to them. They never questioned him; they bowed to whatever he might do.

And yet now a foreboding came to them, a conviction that their father was