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 -timmilltr
 
 THE FLOOD
 
 THE FLOOD 
 
 By 
 EMILE ZOLA 
 
 THE WARREN PRESS 
 New York
 
 COPVBIGHT 1911, BT 
 
 The Warrem Pnca*
 
 # 
 
 THE FLOOD 
 
 MY name is Louis Roubien. I am 
 seventy years old. I was born in 
 the village of Saint-Jory, several 
 miles up the Garonne from Toulouse. 
 
 For fourteen years I battled with the 
 earth for my daily bread. At last, pros- 
 perity smiled on me, and last month I was 
 still the richest farmer in the parish. 
 
 Our house seemed blessed, happiness 
 reigned there. The sun was our brother, 
 
 5 
 
 539x00
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 aud I (.aiinot recall a bad crop. We were 
 almost a dozeu ou the farm. There was 
 myself, still hale and hearty, leading the 
 children to work; then my young brother, 
 Pierre, an old bachelor and retired ser- 
 geant ; then my sister, Agathe, who came to 
 us after the death of her husband. She was 
 a commanding woman, enormous and gay, 
 whose laugh could be heard at the other 
 end of the village. Then came all the brood : 
 my son, Jacques; his wife, Rosie, and their 
 three daughters, Aimee, Veronique, and 
 Marie. The first named was married to 
 Cyprica Bouisson, a big jolly fellow, by 
 whom she had two children, one two years 
 old and the other ten months. Veronique 
 was just betrothi.'d, and was soon to marry 
 Oaspard Rabuteau. The third, Marie, was 
 a real young lady, so white, so fair, that she 
 looked as if born in the city. 
 
 6
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 That made ten, counting everybody. I 
 was a grandfather and a great-grandfather. 
 When we were at table I had my sister, 
 Agathe, at my right, and my brother, Pierre, 
 at my left. The children formed a circle, 
 seated according to age, with the heads di- 
 minishing down to the baby of ten months, 
 who already ate his soup like a man. And 
 let me tell you that the spoons in the plates 
 made a clatter. The brood had hearty ap- 
 petites. And what gayety between the 
 mouthfuls ! I was filled with pride and joy 
 when the little ones held out their hands 
 toward me, crying: 
 
 "Grandpa, give us some bread! A big 
 piece, grandpa!" 
 
 Oh ! the good days ! Our farm sang from 
 every corner. In the evening, Pierre in- 
 vented games and related stories of his regi- 
 ment. On Sunday Agathe made cakes for
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 the jjirls. Marie knew some caDticles, which 
 she sang like a chorister. She looked like 
 a saint, with her blond hair falling on her 
 nock and her hands folded on her apron. 
 
 I had hnilt another story on the house 
 when Aiinee had married Cjprien; and I 
 said laughingly that I would have to build 
 another after the wedding of Veronique and 
 Gaspard. We never cared to leave each 
 other. We would sooner have built a city 
 behind the farm, in our enclosure. When 
 families are united, it is so good to live and 
 die where one has grown up! 
 
 The month of May had been magnificent 
 that year. It was long since the crops gave 
 such good promise. That day precisely, I 
 had made a tour of inspection with my son, 
 Jacques. We started at about three o'clock. 
 Our meadows on the banks of the Garonne 
 were of a tender green. The grass wa» 
 
 s
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 three feet high, and an osier thicket, planted 
 the year before, had sprouts a yard higii. 
 From there we went to visit our wheat and 
 our vines, fields bought one by one as for- 
 tune came to us. The wheat was growing 
 strong; the vines, in full flower, promised a 
 superb vintage. And Jacques laughed his 
 good laugh as he slapped me on the shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "Well, father, we shall never want for 
 bread nor for wine. You must be a friend 
 of the Divine Power to have silver showered 
 upon your land in this way." 
 
 We often joked among ourselves of our 
 past poverty. Jacques was right, I must 
 have gained the friendship of some saint or 
 of God himself, for all the luck in the coun- 
 try was for us. When it hailed the hail 
 ceased on the border of our fields. If the 
 vines of our neighbors fell sick, ours seemed
 
 TUE FLOOD. 
 
 to have a wall of protection around them. 
 And in the end 1 grew to consider it only 
 just. Never doing harm to any one, I 
 thought that happiness was my due. 
 
 As we approached the house, Rose gesticu- 
 lated, calling out: 
 
 "Hurry up!'' 
 
 One of our cows had just had a calf, and 
 everybody was excited. The birth of that 
 Httle beast seemed one more blessing. We 
 had been <)l)ligod recently to enlarge the 
 stables, where we had nearly one hundred 
 head of animals — cows and sheep, without 
 counting the horses. 
 
 "Well, a good day's work !" I cried. "We 
 will (li'ink to-night a bottle of ripened wine." 
 
 Meanwhile, Rose took us aside and told us 
 that (Jaspard, Veronique's betrothed, had 
 come to arrange the day for the wedding. 
 She had invited him to remain for dinner.
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Gaspard, the oldest son of a farmer of 
 Moranges, was a big boy of twenty years, 
 known throughout the country for his pro- 
 digious strength. During a festival at Tou- 
 louse he had vanquished Martial, the "Lion 
 of the Midi." With that, a nice boy, with 
 a heart of gold. He was even timid, and 
 he blushed when Veronique looked him 
 squarely in the face. 
 
 I told Rose to call him. He was at the 
 bottom of the yard, helping our servants to 
 spread out the freshly-washed linen. When 
 he entered the dining room, where we were, 
 Jacques turned toward me, saying: 
 
 "You speak, father." 
 
 "Well," I said, "you have come, my boy, 
 to have us set the great day?" 
 
 "Yes, that is it. Father Roubien," he an- 
 swered, very red. 
 
 II
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "You mustn't blush, mj boy," I contin- 
 ued. "It will be, if you wish, on Saint- 
 Felicite day, the lUth of July. This is the 
 23rd of June, so you will have only twenty 
 days to wait. My poor dead wife was 
 called Felicite, and that will bring you hap- 
 piness. Well? Is it understood?" 
 
 "Yes, that will do — Sainte-Felicite dav. 
 Father Koubien." 
 
 And he gave each of us a grip that made 
 us wince. Then he embraced Rose, calling 
 her mother. This big boy with the terrific 
 fists loved Veronique to the point of losing 
 his appetite. 
 
 "Now,'' I continued, "you must remain 
 for dinner. Well, everybody to the table! 
 I have a thundering appetite, I have." 
 
 That evening we were eleven at table. 
 Haspjird was placed next to Veronique, and 
 he sat looking at her, forgetting his plate,
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 so moved at the thought of her belonging 
 to him that, at times, the tears sprang to his 
 eyes. Cyprien and Aimee, married only 
 three years, smiled. Jacques and Rose, who 
 had had twenty-five years of married life, 
 were more serious, but, surreptitiously, they 
 ■exchanged tender glances. As for me, I 
 ;seemed to relive in those two sweethearts, 
 whose happiness seemed to bring a corner 
 <of Paradise to our table. What good soup 
 we had that evening ! Aunt Agathe, always 
 iready with a witticism, risked several jokes. 
 Then that honest Pierre wanted to relate 
 Ihis love affair with a young lady of Lyons. 
 JFortunately, we were at the dessert, and 
 every one was talking at once. I had brought 
 itwo bottles of mellowed wine from the cel- 
 !lar. We drank to the good fortune of 
 Gaspard and Veronique. Then we had sing- 
 ing. Gaspard knew some love songs in 
 
 13
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 dialect. ^Ve also asked Marie for a canticle. 
 She stood up and sang in a flute-like voice 
 that tickled one's ears. 
 
 I went to the window, and Gaspard 
 joined me there. 
 
 "Is there no news up your way?" I askedl 
 him. 
 
 "No," he answered. "There is considerable 
 talk about the heavy rains of the last few 
 days. Some seem to think that they will 
 cause trouble." 
 
 In effect, it had rained for sixty hours 
 without stopping?. The Garonne was very 
 much swollen since the preceding day, but 
 we had confidence in it, and, as long as it 
 <li(l not overflow its banks, we could not 
 look on it as a bad neighbor. 
 
 "Bah I" I exclaimed, shrugging my shoul- 
 ders. "Nothing will happen. It is the same 
 
 t4
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 every year. The river puts up her back as 
 if she were furious, and she calms down in 
 a night. You will see, my boy, that it will 
 amount to nothing this time. See how 
 beautiful the weather is!" 
 
 And I pointed to the sky. It was seven 
 o'clock; the sun was setting. The sky was 
 blue, an immense blue sheet of profound 
 purity, in which the rays of the setting sun 
 were like a golden dust. Never had I seen 
 the village drowsing in so sweet a peace. 
 Upon the tiled roofs a rosy tint was fading. 
 I heard a neighbor's laugh, then the voices 
 of children at the turn in the road in front 
 of our place. Farther away and softened by 
 the distance, rose the sounds of flocks en- 
 tering their sheds. The great voice of the 
 Garonne roared continually; but it was to 
 me as the voice of the silence, so accus- 
 tomed to it was I. 
 
 IS
 
 TUE FLOOD. 
 
 Little by little the sky paled; the village 
 became more drowsy. It was the evening of 
 a beautiful day ; and I thought that all our 
 good fortune — the big harvests, the happy 
 house, the betrothal of Veronique — came to 
 us from above in the purity of the dying 
 light. A benediction si)read over us with 
 the farewell of the evening. 
 
 Meanwhile I had returned to the center of 
 the room. The girls were chattering. We 
 listened to them, smiling. Suddenly, across 
 the serenity of the country, a terrible cry 
 wounded, a cry of distress and death : 
 
 "The Garonne! The Garonne!"
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 II. 
 
 We rushed out into the yard. 
 
 Saint-Jory is situated at the bottom of a 
 slope at about five hundred yards from the 
 Garonne. Screens of tall poplars that di- 
 vide the meadows, hide the river completely. 
 
 We could see nothing. And still the cry 
 rang out: 
 
 "The Garonne! The Garonne!" 
 
 Suddenly, on the wide road before us, ap- 
 peared two men and three women, one of 
 them holding a child in her arms. It was 
 they who were crying out, distracted, run- 
 
 17
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 ning with long strides. They turned at 
 times, looking behind with terrified faces, as 
 if a band of wolves was pursuing them. 
 
 "What's the matter with them?'' demand- 
 ed Cyprieu. "Do you see anything, grand- 
 father?" 
 
 "No,'' I answered. "The leaves are not 
 even moving." 
 
 I was still talking when an exclamation 
 burst from us. Behind the fugitives there 
 appeared, between the trunks of the pop- 
 lars, amongst the large tufts of grass, what 
 looked like a pack of gray beasts speckled 
 with yellow. They sprang up from all direc- 
 tions, waves crowding waves, a helter-skel- 
 ter of masses of foaming water, shaking the 
 sod witli the rumbling gallop of their 
 hordes. 
 
 It was our turn to send forth the despair- 
 ing cry :
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "The Garonne! The Garonne!" 
 The two men and the three women were 
 still running on the road. They heard the 
 terrible gallop gaining on them. Now the 
 waves arrived in a single line, rolling, tum- 
 bling with the thunder of a charging bat- 
 talion. With their first shock they had bro- 
 ken three poplars; the tall foliage sank and 
 disappeared. A wooden cabin was swal- 
 lowed up, a wall was demolished; heavy 
 carts were carried away like straws. But 
 the water seemed, above all, to pursue the 
 fugitives. At the bend in the road, where 
 there was a steep slope, it fell suddenly in 
 an immense sheet and cut off retreat. They 
 continued to run, nevertheless, splashing 
 through the water, no longer shouting, mad 
 with terror. The water swirled about their 
 knees. An enormous wave felled the woman 
 who was carrying the child. Then all were 
 engulfed.
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "Quick ! Quick !" I cried. "We must get 
 into the house. It is solid — we have noth- 
 ing to fear." 
 
 We took refuge upstairs. The house was 
 built on a hillock above the road. Tlie 
 water invaded the yard, softly, with a little 
 rippling noise. W^e were not much fright- 
 ened. 
 
 "Bah!" said Jacques, to reassure every 
 one, "this will not amount to anything. 
 You remember, father, in '55, the water 
 came up into the yard. It was a foot deep. 
 Then it receded." 
 
 "It is disastrous for the crops, just the 
 same," murmured Cyprien. 
 
 "No, it will not bo anything," I said, see- 
 ing tlie large questioning ej'es of our girls. 
 
 Aimce had put her two children into the 
 bed. She sat beside them, with Veronique 
 and Marie. Aunt Agathe spoke of heating
 
 TEE FLOOD. 
 
 some wine she had brought up, to give us 
 courage. 
 
 Jacques and Rose were looking out of a 
 window. I was at the other, with my 
 brother Pierre, Cyprieu and Gaspard. 
 
 "Come up!" I cried to our two servants, 
 who were wading in the yard. "Don't stay 
 there and get all wet." 
 
 "But the animals?" they asked. "They 
 are afraid. They are killing each other in 
 the barn." 
 
 "No, no; come up! After a while we'll 
 see to them." 
 
 The rescue of the animals would be im- 
 possible, if the disaster was to attain greater 
 proportions. I thought it unnecessary to 
 frighten the family. So I forced myself to 
 appear hopeful. Leaning on the window- 
 sill, I indicated the progress of the flood. 
 The river, after its attack on the village, 
 
 as
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 was in possession even to the narrowest 
 streets. It was no longer a galloping 
 charge, but a slow and invincible strangu- 
 lation. The hollow in the bottom of which 
 Saint-Jory is built was changed into a lake. 
 In our yard the water was soon three feet 
 deep. But I asserted that it remained sta- 
 tionary — I even went so far as to pretend 
 that it was going down. 
 
 "Well, you will be obliged to sleep here 
 to-night, my boy," I said, turning to Gas- 
 pard. "That is, unless the roads are free 
 in a couple of hours — which is quite pos- 
 sible." 
 
 He looked at me without answering, his 
 face quite pale; and I saw him look at Vero- 
 ni([ue with an expression of anguish. 
 
 It was half-past eight o'clock. It was 
 still daylight— a pale, sad light beneath the 
 blanched sky. The servants had had the
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 forethought to bring up two lamps with 
 them. I had them lighted, thinking that 
 thev would brighten up the somber room. 
 Aunt Agathe, who had rolled a table to the 
 middle of the room, wished to organize a 
 card party. The worthy woman, whose eyes 
 sought mine momentarily, thought above all 
 of diverting the children. Her good humor 
 kept up a superb bravery; and she laughed 
 to combat the terror that she felt growing 
 around her. She forcibly placed Aimee, 
 Veronique, and Marie at the table. She put 
 the cards into their hands, took a hand her- 
 self with an air of Intense interest, shuf- 
 fling, cutting, dealing with such a flow of 
 talk that she almost drowned the noise of 
 the water. But our girls could not be di- 
 verted ; they were pale, with feverish hands, 
 and ears on the alert. Every few moments 
 there was a pause in the play. One of them 
 would turn to me, asking in a low voice: 
 
 23
 
 TUB FLOOD. 
 
 "Grandpa, is it still rising?" 
 
 "No, no. Go on with the game. There is 
 no danger." 
 
 Never had my heart been gripped by such 
 agony. All the men placed themselves at 
 the windows to hide the terrifying sight. 
 We tried to smile, turned toward the peace- 
 ful lamps that threw discs of light upon the j 
 table. I recalled our winter evenings, when 
 we gathered around the table. It was the 
 same quiet interior, filled with the warmth 
 of affection. And while peace was there I 
 heard behind me the roaring of the escaped 
 river, that was constantly rising. 
 
 "Louis," said my brother Pierto, "the 
 water is within three feet of the window. 
 We ought to tell them." 
 
 I hushed him up by pressing his arm. 
 But it was no longer possible to hide the 
 peril. In our barns the animals were kill- 
 
 34
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 ing each other. There were bleatings and 
 bellowings from the crazed herds; and the 
 horses gave the harsh cries that can be 
 heard at great distances when they are in 
 danger of death. 
 
 "My God! My God!" cried Aimee, who 
 stood up, pressing her hands to her tem- 
 ples. 
 
 They all ran to the windows. There they 
 remained, mute, their hair rising with fear. 
 A dim light floated above the yellow sheet 
 of water. The pale sky looked like a white 
 cloth thrown over the earth. In the dis- 
 tance trailed some smoke. Everything was 
 misty. It was the terrified end of a day 
 melting into a night of death. And not a 
 human sound, nothing but the roaring of 
 that sea stretching to infinity; nothing but 
 the bellowings and the neighings of the ani- 
 mals.
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "My God! My God!" repeated the wom- 
 en, in low voices, as if they feared to speak 
 aloud. 
 
 A terrible cracking silenced the exclama- 
 tions. The maddened animals had burst 
 open the doors of the stables. They passed 
 in the yellow flood, rolled about, carried 
 away by the current. The sheep were 
 tossed about like dead leaves, whirling in 
 bands in the eddies. The cows and the 
 horses struggled, tried to walk, and lost 
 their footing. Our big gray horse fought 
 long for life. He stretched his neck, he 
 reared, snorting like a forge. But the en- 
 raged waters took him by the crupper, and 
 we saw him, beaten, abandon himself. 
 
 Then we gave way for the first time. We 
 felt the need of tears. Our hands stretched 
 out to those dear animals that were being 
 borne away, we lamented, giving vent to 
 
 a6
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 the tears and the sobs that we had sup- 
 pressed. Ah ! what ruin ! The harvests de- 
 stroyed, the cattle drowned, our fortunes 
 changed in a few hours! God was not just! 
 We had done nothing against Him, and He 
 was taking everything from us! I shook 
 my fist at the horizon, I spoke of our walk 
 that afternoon, of our meadows, our wheat 
 and vines that we had found so full of prom- 
 ise. It was all a lie, then! The sun lied 
 when he sank, so sweet and calm, in the 
 midst of the evening's serenity. 
 
 The water was still rising. Pierre, who 
 was watching it, cried: 
 
 "Louis, we must look out! The water is 
 
 up to the window!" 
 
 That warning snatched us from our spell 
 of despair. I was once more myself. Shrug- 
 ging my shoulders, I said : 
 
 "Money is nothing. As long as we are all 
 saved, there need be no regrets. We shall 
 have to work again — that is all!" 
 
 27
 
 THE FLOOD, 
 
 "Yes, yes; jou are right, father," said 
 Jacques, feverishly. "And we run no dan- 
 ger — the walls are good and strong. We 
 must get up on the roof." 
 
 That was the only refuge left us. The 
 water, which had mounted the stairs step 
 by step, was already coming through the 
 door. We rushed to the attic in a group, 
 holding close to each other. Cyprien had 
 disappeared. I called him, and I saw him 
 return from the next room, his face working 
 with emotion. Then, as I remarked the ab- 
 sence of the servants, for whom I was wait- 
 ing, he gave me a strange look, then said, 
 in a suppressed voice: 
 
 "Dead! The corner of the shed under 
 their room caved in." 
 
 The poor girls must have gone to fetch 
 their savings from their trunks. I told him 
 to say nothing about it. A cold shiver had 
 
 28
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 passed over me. It was Death entering the 
 house. 
 
 When we went up, in our turn, we did not 
 even think of putting out the lights. The 
 cards remained spread upon the table. 
 There was already a foot of water in the 
 room. 
 
 39
 
 1 
 
 THE FLOOD. ^ 
 
 III. 
 
 Fortunately, the roof was vast and sloped 
 gently. We reached it through a lid-like 
 window, above which was a sort of plat- 
 form. It was there that we took refuge. 
 The women seated themselves. The men 
 went over the tiles to reconnoitre. From 
 my post against the dormer window 
 through which we had climbed, I examined 
 the four points of the horizon. 
 
 "Help cannot fail to arrive," I said, brave- 
 ly. "The pe(»ple of Saintin have boats; they 
 will come this way. Look over there ! Isn't 
 that a lantern on the water?" 
 
 3*
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 But no one answered me. Pierre had 
 lighted his pipe, and he was smoking so fu- 
 riously that, at each puff, he spit out pieces 
 of the stem. Jacques and Cyprien looked 
 into the distance, with drawn faces; while 
 Gaspard, clenching his fists, continued to 
 walk about, seeking an issue. At our feet 
 the women, silent and shivering, hid their 
 faces to shut out the sight. Yet Rose raised 
 her head, glanced about her and demanded : 
 
 "And the servants? Where are they? 
 Why, aren't they here?" 
 
 I avoided answering. She then ques- 
 tioned me, her eyes on mine. 
 
 "Where are the servants?" 
 
 I turned away, unable to lie. I felt that 
 chill that had already brushed me pass over 
 our women and our dear girls. They had 
 understood. Marie burst into tears. Aimee 
 wrapped her two children in her skirt, as 
 
 31
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 if to protect them. Veronique, her face in 
 her hands, did not move. Aunt Agathe, 
 very pale, made the sign of the cross, and 
 mumbled Paters and Aves. 
 
 Meanwhile the spectacle about us became 
 of sovereign grandeur. The night retained 
 the clearness of a summer night. There 
 was no moon, but the sky was sprinkled 
 with stars, and was of so pure a blue that 
 it seemed to fill space with a blue light. 
 And the immense sheet of water expanded 
 beneath the softness of the sky. We could 
 no longer see any land. 
 
 "The Avater is rising; the water is rising!" 
 repeated my brother Pierre, still crunching 
 the stem of his pipe between his teeth. 
 
 The water was within a yard of the roof. 
 It was losing its tranquility; currents were 
 being formed. In less than an hour the 
 water became threatening, dashing against
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 the house, bearing driftiug ban-els, pieces 
 of wood, clumps of weeds. lu the distance 
 there were attacks upon walls, and we could 
 hear the resounding shocks. Poplar trees 
 fell, houses crumbled, like a cartload of 
 stones emptied by the roadside. 
 
 Jacques, unnerved by the sobs of the 
 women, cried : 
 
 "We can't stay here. We must try some- 
 thing. Father, I beg of you, try to do 
 something." 
 
 I stammered after him : 
 
 "Yes, yes; let us try to do something." 
 
 And we knew of nothing. Gaspard of- 
 fered to take Veronique on his back and 
 swim with her to a place of safety. Pierre 
 suggested a raft. Cyprien finally said: 
 
 "If we could only reach the church!" 
 
 Above the waters the church remained 
 standing, with its little square steeple. W^e 
 
 33
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 were separated from it by seven houses. 
 Our farmhouse, the first of the village, ad- 
 joined a higher building, which, in turn, 
 leaned against the next. Perhaps, by way 
 of the roofs, we would be able to reach the 
 parsonage. A number of people must have 
 taken refuge there already, for the neigh- 
 boring roofs were vacant, and we could hear 
 voices that surely came from the steeple. 
 But what dangers must be run to reach 
 them! 
 
 "It is impossible," said Pierre. "The 
 house of the Raimbeaus is too high; we 
 would need ladders." 
 
 "I am going to try it," said Cyprien. "I 
 will return if the way is impracticable. 
 Otherwise, we will all go and we will have 
 to carry the girls." 
 
 I let him go. He was right. We had to 
 try the impossible. He had succeeded, by 
 
 S4
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 the aid of au iron hook fixed in a chimney, 
 in climbing to the next house, when his wife, 
 Aimee, raising her head, noticed that he was 
 no longer with us. She screamed : 
 
 "Where is he? I don't want him to leave 
 me! We are together, we shall die to- 
 gether I" 
 
 When she saw him on the top of the house 
 she ran over the tiles, still holding her chil- 
 dren. And she called out: 
 
 "Cyprien, wait for me! I am going with 
 70U. I am going to die with you." 
 
 She persisted. He leaned over, pleading 
 with her, promising to come back, telling 
 her that he was going for the rescue of all 
 of us. But, with a wild air, she shook her 
 head, repeating: 
 
 "I am going with you! I am going with 
 you !" 
 
 He had to take the children. Then he 
 helped her up. We could follow them along 
 
 3S
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 1 
 
 the crest of the house. They walked slowly. 
 She had taken tlie children again, and at 
 every step he turned and supported her. 
 
 "Get her to a safe place, and return!" I 
 shouted. 
 
 I saw liim wave liis hand, but the roar- 
 ing of the water prevented my hearing his 
 answer. Soon we could not see them. They 
 had descended to the roof of the next house. 
 \t the end of five minutes they appeared 
 upon the third roof, which must have been 
 very steep, for they went on hands and 
 knees along the summit. A sudden terror 
 seized me. I put my hands to my mouth 
 and shouted : 
 
 "Come back! Come back!" 
 
 Then all of us shouted together. Our 
 voices stopped them for a moment, but they 
 continued on tlieir way. They reached the 
 angle formed by the street upon which faced 
 
 36
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 the Raimbeau house, a high structure, with 
 a roof at least teu feet above those of the 
 neighboring houses. For a moment they 
 hesitated. Then Cyprien climbed up a 
 chimney pipe, with the agility of a cat. Ai- 
 mee, who must have consented to wait for 
 him, stood on the tiles. We saw her plain- 
 ly, black and enlarged against the pale sky, 
 straining her children to her bosom. And 
 it was then that the horrifying trouble be- 
 gan. 
 
 The Raimbeau house, originally intended 
 for a factory, was very fiimsily built. Be- 
 sides, the facade was exposed to the current 
 in the street. I thought I could see it trem- 
 ble from the attacks of the water; and, with 
 a contraction of the throat, I watched Cy- 
 prien cross the roof. Suddenly a rumbling 
 was heard. The moon rose, a round moon, 
 whose yellow face lighted up the immense 
 
 37
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 lake. Not a detail of the catastrophe was 
 lost to us. The Raimbeau house collapsed. 
 We gave a cry of terror as we saw Cyprien 
 disappear. As the house crumbled we could 
 distinguish nothing but a tempest, a swirl- 
 ing of waves beneath the debris of the roof. 
 Then calm was restored, the surface be- 
 came smooth; and out of the black hole 
 of the engulfed house projected the skeleton 
 of its framework. There was a mass of 
 entangled beams, and, amongst them, I 
 seemed to see a body moving, something liv- 
 ing making superhuman efforts. 
 
 "He lives !" I cried. "Oh, God be praised ! 
 He lives!" 
 
 We laughed nervously; we clapped our 
 hands, as if saved ourselves. 
 
 "He is going to raise himself up," said 
 Pierre. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Gaspard, "he is trying 
 to seize the beam on his left." 
 
 .18
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 But our laugh ceased. We had just 
 realized the terrible situation in which 
 Cyprien was placed. During the fall of the 
 house his feet had been caught between two 
 beams, and he hung head downward within 
 a few inches of the water. On the roof of 
 the next house Aimee was still standing, 
 holding her two children. A convulsive 
 tremor shook her. She did not take her 
 eyes from her husband, a few yards below 
 her. And, mad with horror, she emitted 
 without cessation a lamentable sound like 
 the howling of a dog. 
 
 "We can't let him die like that," said 
 Jacques, distracted. "We must get down 
 there." 
 
 "Perhaps we could slide down the beams 
 and save him," remarked Pierre. 
 
 And they started toward the neighboring 
 roof, when the second house collapsed, leav- 
 
 .19 
 
 I
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 iiig a gap ill the route. Then a chill seized 
 us. We mechanically grasped each other's 
 hands, wringing them cruelly as we watched 
 the harrowing sight. 
 
 Cyprieii had tried at first to stiffen his 
 body. AVith extraordinary strength, he had 
 lifted himself above the water, holding his 
 body in an oblique position. But the strain 
 was too great. Nevertheless, he struggled, 
 tried to reach some of the beams, felt around 
 him for something to hold to. Tlieii, re- 
 signing himself, he fell back again, hang- 
 ing limp. 
 
 Death was slow in coming. The water 
 barely covered his hair, and it rose very 
 gradually. He must liave felt its cool- 
 ness on his brain. A wave wet his brow; 
 others closed his eyes. Slowly we saw his 
 head disappear. 
 
 40
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 The women, at our feet, had buried their 
 faces in their clasped hands. We, ourselves, 
 fell to our knees, our arms outstretched, 
 weeping, stammering supplications. 
 
 On the other roof Aimee, still standing, 
 her children clasped to her bosom, howled 
 mournfully into the night. 
 
 a«
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I know not how long we remained in a 
 stupor after that tragedy. When I came to, 
 the water had risen. It was now on a level 
 with the tiles. The roof was a narrow 
 island, emerging from the immense sheet. 
 To the right and the left the houses must 
 have crumbled. 
 
 "We are moving," murmured Rose, who 
 clung to the tiles. 
 
 And we all experienced the effect of roll- 
 ing, as if the roof had become detached and
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 turned into a raft. The swift currents 
 seemed to be drifting us away. Tlien, when 
 we looked at the church clock, immovable 
 opposite us, the dizziness ceased; we found 
 ourselves in the same place in the midst 
 of the waves. 
 
 Then the water began an attack. Until 
 then the stream had followed the street ; but 
 the debris that encumbered it deflected the 
 course. And when a drifting object, a 
 beam, came within reach of the current, it 
 seized it and directed it against the house 
 like a battering-ram. Soon ten, a dozen, 
 beams were attacking us on all sides. The 
 water roared. Our feet were spattered 
 with foam. We heard the dull moaning of 
 the house full of water. There were mo- 
 ments when the attacks became frenzied, 
 when the beams battered fiercely ; and then 
 we thought that the end was near, that the 
 
 43
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 walls would open and deliver us to the 
 river. 
 
 Gaspard had risked himself upon the 
 edge of the roof. Ho had seized a rafter 
 and drawn it to him. 
 
 "We must defend ourselves/' he cried. 
 
 Jaf(iues, on his side, had stopped a long 
 pole in its passage. Pierre helped him. I 
 cursed my age that left me without strength, 
 as feeble as a child. But the defense was 
 organized — a drill between three men and 
 a river. Gaspard, holding his beam in 
 readiness, awaited the driftwood that the 
 current sent against us, and he stopped it 
 a short distance from the walls. At times 
 the shock was so rude that he fell. Beside 
 him Jacques and Pierre manipulated the 
 long pole. During nearly an hour that un- 
 ending figlit continued. And the water re- 
 tained its tran(|iiil obstinacy, invincible. 
 
 44
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Then Jacques and Pierre succumbed, pros- 
 trated; while Gaspard, in a last violent 
 thrust, had his beam wrested from him by 
 the current. The combat was useless. 
 
 Marie and Veronique had thrown them- 
 selves into each other's arms. They repeat- 
 ed incessantly one phrase — a phrase of ter- 
 mor that I still hear ringing in my ears : 
 
 "I don't want to die I I don't want to 
 die!" 
 
 Rose put her arms about them. She tried 
 to console them, to reassure them. And she 
 herself, trembling, raised her face and cried 
 out, in spite of herself: 
 
 "I don't want to die!" 
 
 Aunt Agathe alone said nothing. She no 
 longer prayed, no longer made the sign of 
 the cross. Bewildered, her eyes roamed 
 about, and she tried to smile when her 
 glance met mine. 
 
 >-« 
 
 45
 
 TEE FLOOD. 
 
 The water was beating against the tiles 
 now. There was no hope of help. We still 
 heard the voices in the direction of the 
 church ; two lanterns had passed in the dis- 
 tance; and the silence spread over the im- 
 mense yellow sheet. The people of Saintin, 
 who owned boats, must have been surprised 
 before us. 
 
 Gaspard continued to wander over the 
 roof- Suddenly he called us. 
 
 "Look!" he said. "Help me — hold me 
 tight!" 
 
 He had a pole and he was watching an 
 enormous black object that was gently drift- 
 ing toward the house. It was the roof of a 
 shed, made of strong boards, and that was 
 floating like a raft. When it was within 
 reach he stopped it with the pole, and, as 
 he felt himself being carried off, he called 
 to us. We held him around the waist 
 
 «6
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Then, as the mass entered the current, it 
 returned against our roof so violently that 
 we were afraid of seeing it smashed into 
 splinters. 
 
 Gaspard jumped upon it boldly. He went 
 over it carefully, to assure himself of its 
 solidity. He laughed, saying joyously: 
 
 "Grandfather, we are saved! Don't cry 
 any more, you women. A real boat ! Look, 
 my feet are dry. And it will easily carry 
 all of us!" 
 
 Still, he thought it well to make it more 
 solid. He caught some floating beams and 
 bound them to it with a rope that Pierre 
 liad brought up for an emergency. Gas- 
 pard even fell into the water, but at our 
 screams he laughed. He knew the water 
 well; he could swim three miles in the Ga- 
 ronne at a stretch. Getting up again, he 
 shook himself, crying: 
 
 47
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "Come, get on it I Don't lose any time I" 
 
 The women were on their knees, Gas- 
 pare! liad to carry Veronique and Marie to 
 the middle of the raft, where he made them 
 sit down. 
 
 Rose and Aunt Agathe slid down the tiles 
 and placed themselves beside the young 
 girls. At this moment I looked toward the 
 churcli. Aimoe was still in the same place. 
 Slie was leaning now against a chimney, 
 holding her children up at arm's length, for 
 the water was to her waist. 
 
 "Don't grieve, grandfather," said Gas- 
 Itiird. "We will take her off on the way." 
 
 Pierre and Jacques were already on the 
 raft, so I jumped on. Gaspard was the last 
 one aboiird. He gave us poles that he had 
 prepared and that were to serve us as oars. 
 He had a very long one that he used with 
 great skill. We let him do all the command- 
 
 48
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 ing. At an order from him, we braced our 
 poles against the tiles to put out into the 
 stream. But it seemed as if the raft was 
 attached to the roof. In spite of all our 
 efforts, we could not budge it. At each new 
 effort the current swung us violently against 
 the house. And it was a dangerous manoeu- 
 vre, for the shock threatened to break up 
 the planks composing the raft. 
 
 So once again we were made to feel our 
 helplessness. We had thought ourselves 
 saved, and we were still at the mercy of 
 the river. I even regretted that the women 
 were not on the roof; for, every minute, I 
 expected to see them precipitated into the 
 boiling torrent. But when I suggested re- 
 gaining our refuge they al' cried: 
 
 "No, no! Let us try again! Better die 
 here !" 
 
 49
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Gaspard no longer laughed. We renewed 
 onr efforts, bending to our poles with re- 
 doubled energy. Pierre then had the idea 
 to climb up on the roof and draw us, by 
 means of a rope, towards the left. He was 
 thus able to draw us out of the current. 
 Then, when he again jumped upon the raft, 
 a few thrusts of our poles sent us out into 
 the open. But Gaspard recalled the prom- 
 ise he had made me to stop for our poor 
 Aimee, whose plaintive moans had never 
 ceased. For that purpose it was necessary 
 to cross the street, where the terrible cur- 
 rent existed. He consulted me by a glance. 
 I was completely upset. Never had such a 
 combat raged within me. We would have to 
 expose eight lives. And yet I had not the 
 strength to resist the mournful appeal. 
 
 "Yes, yes," I said to Gaspard. "We can 
 not possibly go away without her!"
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 He lowered his head without a word, and 
 began using his pole against all the walls 
 left standing. We passed the neighboring 
 house, but as soon as we emerged into the 
 street a cry escaped us. The current, which 
 had again seized us, carried us back against 
 our house. We were whirled round like a 
 leaf, so rapidly that our cry was cut short 
 by the smashing of the raft against the tiles. 
 There was a rending sound, the planks were 
 loosened and wrenched apart, and we were 
 all thrown into the water. I do not know 
 what happened then. I remember that when 
 I sank I saw Aunt Agathe floating, sus- 
 tained by her skirts, until she went down 
 backward, head first, without a struggle. 
 
 A sharp pain brought me to. Pierre was 
 dragging me by the hair along the tiles. I 
 lay still, stupidly watching. Pierre had 
 plunged in again. And, in my confused
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 state, I was surprised to see Gaspard at 
 the spot where my brother had disap- 
 peared. The young man had Veronique in 
 his arms. AVhen he had placed her near me 
 he again jumped in, bringing up Marie, her 
 face so waxy white that I thought her dead. 
 Then he plunged again. But this time he 
 searched in vain. Pierre had joined him. 
 They talked and gave each other indications 
 that I could not hear. As they drew them- 
 selves up on the roof, I cried: 
 
 "And Aunt Agathe? And Jacques? And 
 Rose?" 
 
 They shook their heads. Large tears 
 coursed down their cheeks. They ex- 
 plained to me that Jacques had struck his 
 head against a beam and that Rose had been 
 carried down with her husband's body, to 
 which she clung. Aunt Agathe had not re- 
 appeared.
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Raising myself, I looked toward the roof, 
 where Aimee stood. The water was rising 
 constantly. Aimee was now silent. I could 
 see her upstretched arms holding her chil- 
 dren out of the water. Then they all sank, 
 the water closed over them beneath the 
 drowsy light of the moon.
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 V. 
 
 There were only five of us on the roof 
 now. The water left us but a narrow band 
 along the ridge. One of the chimneys had 
 just been carried away. We had to raise 
 Marie and Veronique, who were still uncon- 
 scious, and support them almost in a stand- 
 ing position to prevent the waves washing 
 over their legs. At last, their senses re- 
 turned, and our anguish increased upon 
 seeing them wet, shivering and crying mis- 
 erably that they did not wish to die. 
 
 54
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 The end had come. The destroyed vil- 
 lage was marked by a few vestiges of walls. 
 Alone, the church reared its steeple intact, 
 from whence came the voices — a murmur of 
 human beings in a refuge. There were no 
 longer any sounds of falling houses, like a 
 cart of stones suddenly discharged. It was 
 as if we were abandoned, shipwrecked, a 
 thousand miles from land. 
 
 One moment we thought we heard the 
 dip of oars. Ah ! what hopeful music ! How 
 we all strained our eyes into space! We 
 held our breath. But we could see noth- 
 ing. The yellow sheet stretched away, 
 spotted with black shadows. But none of 
 those shadows — tops of trees, remnants of 
 walls — moved. Driftwood, weeds, empty 
 barrels caused us false joy. We waved our 
 handkerchiefs until, realizing our error, we 
 again succumbed to our anxiety. 
 
 55
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 "Ah, I see it!" cried Gaspard, suddenly. 
 "Look over there. A large boat!" 
 
 And he pointed out a distant speck. I 
 could see nothing;, neither could Pierre. But 
 Gaspard insisted it was a boat. The sound 
 of oars became distinct. At last, we saw 
 it. It was proceeding slowly and seemed 
 to be circling about us without approach- 
 ing. I remember that we were like mad. 
 We raised our arms in our fury; we shout- 
 ed with all our might. And we insulted the 
 boat, called it cowardly. But, dark and 
 silent, it glided away slowly. Was it really 
 a boat? I do not know to this day. When 
 it disappeared it carried our last hope. 
 
 We were expecting every second to be en- 
 gulfed with the house. It was undermined 
 and was probably supported by one solid 
 wall, which, in giving way, would pull 
 everything with it. But what terrified me 
 
 S6
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 most was to feel the roof sway under our 
 feet. The house would perhaps hold out 
 overnight, but the tiles were sinking in, 
 beaten and pierced by beams. We had taken 
 refuge on the left side on some solid raft- 
 ers. Then these rafters seemed to weaken. 
 Certainly they would sink if all five of us 
 remained in so small a space. 
 
 For some minutes my brother Pierre had 
 been twisting his soldierly mustache, frown- 
 ing and muttering to himself. The grow- 
 ing danger that surrounded him and against 
 which his courage availed nothing, was 
 wearing out his endurance. He spat two or 
 three times into the water, with an expres- 
 sion of contemptuous anger. Then, as we 
 sank lower, he made up his mind; he start- 
 ed down the roof. 
 
 "Pierre! Pierre!" I cried, fearing to 
 comprehend. 
 
 57
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 He turned uud said quietly: 
 
 "Adieu, Louis I You see, it is too long 
 for me. And it will leave more room for 
 jou." 
 
 And, first throwing in his pipe, he 
 plunged, adding: 
 
 "Good night! I have had enough!" 
 
 He did not come up. He was not a strong 
 •wimmer, and he probably abandoned him- 
 self, heart-broken at the death of our dear 
 ©nes and at our ruin. 
 
 Two o'clock sounded from the steeple of 
 the church. The night would soon end — 
 that horrible night already so filled with 
 agony and tears. Little by little, beneath 
 our feet, the small dry space grew smaller. 
 The current had changed again. The drift 
 passed to the right of the village, floating 
 Mlowly, as if the water, nearing its highest 
 level, was reposing, tired and lazy. 
 
 58
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Gaspard suddenly took off his shoes and 
 his shirt. I watched him for a moment as 
 he wrung his hands. When I questioned 
 him he said: 
 
 "Listen, grandfather; it is killing me to 
 wait. I cannot stay here. Let me do as I 
 wish. I will save her." 
 
 He was speaking of Veronique. I op- 
 posed him. He would never have the 
 strength to carry the young girl to the 
 ^church. But he was obstinate. 
 
 "Yes, I can ! My arms are strong. I feel 
 myself able. You will see. I love her — I 
 will save her!" 
 
 I was silent. I drew Marie to my breast. 
 Then he thought I was reproaching the self- 
 ishness of his love. He stammered : 
 
 "I will return and get Marie. I swear 
 it. I will find a boat and organize a rescue 
 party. Have confidence in me, grand- 
 lather!" 
 
 59
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 Rapidly, he explained to Veroiiique that 
 she must not struggle, that she must submit 
 without a movement, and that she must not 
 be afraid. The young girl answered "yes" 
 to everything, with a distracted look. Then, 
 after making the sign of the cross, he slid 
 down the roof, holding Veronique by a rope 
 that he had looped under her arms. She 
 gave a scream, beat the water with arms 
 and legs, and, suffocated, she fainted. 
 
 "I like this better!" Gaspard called to 
 me. "Now, I can answer for her !" 
 
 It can be imagined with what agony I 
 followed them with my eyes. On the white 
 surface, I could see Gaspard's slightest 
 movement. He held the young girl by means 
 of the rope that he coiled around his neck; 
 and he carried her thus, half thrown over 
 his right shoulder. The crushing weight 
 bore him under at times. But he advanced, 
 
 60
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 swimming with superhuman strength. I was 
 no longer in doubt. He had traversed a 
 third of the distance when he struck against 
 something submerged. The shock was ter- 
 rible. Both disappeared. Then I saw him 
 reappear, alone. The rope must have 
 snapped. He plunged twice. At last, he 
 came up with Veronique, whom he again 
 took on his back. But without the rope to 
 hold her, she weighed him down more than 
 ever. Still, he advanced. A tremor shook 
 me as I saw them approaching the church. 
 Suddenly, I saw some beams bearing down 
 upon them. A second shock separated them 
 and the waters closed over them. 
 
 From this moment, I was stupefied. I 
 had but the instinct of the animal looking 
 out for its own safety. When the water 
 advanced, I retreated. In that stupor, T 
 heard someone laughing, without explaining 
 
 6x
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 to myself who it was. The dawn appeared, 
 a great white daybreak. It was very fresh 
 and very calm, as on the bank of a pond, 
 the surface of which awakens before sun- 
 rise. But the laughter sounded continually. 
 
 Turning, I saw Marie, standing in her 
 wet clothes. It was she who was laughing. 
 
 Ah I the poor, dear child ! How sweet and 
 pretty she was at that early hour! I saw 
 her stoop, take up some water in the hol- 
 low of her hand, and wash her face. Then 
 she coiled her beautiful blonde hair. Doubt- 
 less, she imagined she was in her little room, 
 dressing while the church bell rang merrily. 
 And she continued to laugh her childish 
 laugh, her eyes bright and her face happy. 
 
 I, too, began to laugh, infected with her 
 madness. Terror had destroyed her mind; 
 and it was a mercy, so charmed did she 
 appear with the beaut/ of the morning. 
 
 6«
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 I let her hasten, not understanding, shak- 
 ing my head tenderly. When she consid- 
 ered herself ready to go, she sang one of her 
 canticles in her clear crystalline voice. But, 
 interrupting herself, she cried, as if respond- 
 ing to someone who had called her : 
 
 "I am coming, I am coming!" 
 
 She took up the canticle again, went down 
 the roof, and entered the water. It covered 
 her softly, without a ripple. I had not 
 ceased smiling. I looked with happiness 
 upon the spot where she had just disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Then, I remembered nothing more. I wa« 
 alone on the roof. The water had risen. A 
 chimney was standing, and I must have 
 clung to it with all my strength, like an 
 unimal that dreads death. Then, nothing, 
 nothing, a black pit, oblivion. 
 
 63
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Why am I still here? They tell me that 
 people from Saint in came toward six o'clock, 
 with boats, and that they found me lying on 
 a chimney, unconscious. The water was 
 cruel not to have carried me away to be 
 with tliose who were dear to me. 
 
 All the others are gone! The babes in 
 swaddling clothes, the girls to be married, 
 the young married couples, the old married 
 couples. \ And I, I live like a useless weed, 
 coarse and dried, rooted in the rock. If I 
 
 64
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 had the courage, I would say like Pierre: 
 "I have had enough! Good night!" And 
 I would throw myself into the Garonne. 
 
 I have no child, my house is destroyed, my 
 fields are devastated. Oh ! the evenings when 
 we were all at table, and the gaiety sur- 
 rounded me and kept me young. Oh ! the 
 great days of harvest and vintage when 
 we all worked, and when we returned to the 
 house proud of our wealth ! Oh ! the hand- 
 some children and the fruitful vines, the 
 beautiful girls and the golden grain, the joy 
 of my old age, the living recompense of mr 
 entire life! Since all that is gone, whv 
 should I live? 
 
 There is no consolation. I do not want 
 help. I will give my fields to the village 
 people who still have their children. They 
 will find the courage to clear the land of 
 the flotsam and cultivate it anew. When 
 
 6s
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 one has no children, a corner is large enough 
 to die in. 
 
 I had one desire, one only desire. I wished 
 to recover the bodies of my family, to bury 
 them beneath a slab, where I should soon 
 rejoin them. It was said that, at Toulouse, 
 a large number of bodies carried down the 
 stream, had been taken from the water. I 
 decided to make the trip. 
 
 What a terrible disaster! Nearly two 
 thousand houses in ruins; seven hundred 
 deaths ; all the bridges carried away ; a whole 
 district razed, buried in the mud; atrocious 
 tragedies; twenty thousand half-clad 
 wretches starving to death ; the city in a 
 pestilential condition ; mourning every- 
 where ; the streets filled with funeral proces- 
 sions; financial aid powerless to heal the 
 wounds! But I walked through it all with- 
 out seeing anything. I had my ruins, I 
 had my dead, to crush me. 
 
 66
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 I was told that many of the bodies had 
 been buried in trenches in a corner of the 
 cemetery. Only, they had had the forethought 
 to photograph the unidentified. And it 
 was among tliese lamentable photographs 
 that I found Gaspard and Veronique. They 
 had been clasped passionately in each other's 
 arms, exchanging in death their bridal kiss. 
 Tt had been necessary to break their arms 
 in order to separate them. But, first, they 
 had been photographed together; and they 
 sleep together beneath the sod. 
 
 I have nothing but them, the image of 
 those two handsome children; bloated by 
 the water, disfigured, retaining upon their 
 livid faces the heroism of their love. I look 
 at them, and I weep.
 
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