The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Flood, by Émile Zola
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 www.gutenberg.org. 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.
Title: The Flood
Author: Émile Zola
Release Date: February 22, 2003 [eBook #7011]
[Most recently updated: April 18, 2021]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
Produced by: Michael Castelluccio
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOOD ***
The Flood
by Émile Zola
Contents
I.
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,
prosperity smiled on we, and last month I was still the richest farmer in the
parish.
Our house seemed blessed, happiness reigned there. The sun was our brother, and
I cannot recall a bad crop. We were almost a dozen on the farm. There was
myself, still hale and hearty, leading the children to work; then my young
brother, Pierre, an old bachelor and retired sergeant; 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 betrothed, and was soon to marry
Gaspard Rabuteau. The third, Marie, was a real young lady, so white, so fair,
that she looked as if born in the city.
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 diminishing 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 appetites. 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
invented games and related stories of his regiment. On Sunday Agathe made cakes
for the girls. Marie knew some canticles, which she sang like a chorister. She
looked like a saint, with her blond hair falling on her neck and her hands
folded on her apron.
I had built another story on the house when Aimee had married Cyprien; 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 was three feet high,
and an osier thicket, planted the year before, had sprouts a yard high. From
there we went to visit our wheat and our vines, fields bought one by one as
fortune 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 shoulder.
“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 country 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 to have a wall of
protection around them. And in the end I 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 gesticulated, calling out:
“Hurry up!”
One of our cows had just had a calf, and everybody was excited. The birth of
that little beast seemed one more blessing. We had been obliged 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 drink
to-night a bottle of ripened wine.”
Meanwhile, Rose took us aside and told us that Gaspard, Veronique’s
betrothed, had come to arrange the day for the wedding. She had invited him to
remain for dinner.
Gaspard, the oldest son of a farmer of Moranges, was a big boy of twenty years,
known throughout the country for his prodigious strength. During a festival at
Toulouse 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 answered, very red.
“You mustn’t blush, my boy,” I continued. “It will be,
if you wish, on Saint-Felicite day, the 10th 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 happiness. Well? Is it understood?”
“Yes, that will do—Sainte-Felicite day. Father Roubien.”
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. Gaspard was placed next to Veronique, and
he sat looking at her, forgetting his plate, 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 ready with a witticism,
risked several jokes. Then that honest Pierre wanted to relate his love affair
with a young lady of Lyons. Fortunately, we were at the dessert, and every one
was talking at once. I had brought two bottles of mellowed wine from the
cellar. We drank to the good fortune of Gaspard and Veronique. Then we had
singing. Gaspard knew some love songs in dialect. We 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 asked 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 did not overflow its banks, we could not look on it as a bad neighbor.
“Bah!” I exclaimed, shrugging my shoulders. “Nothing will
happen. It is the same 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 entering their sheds. The great voice of the Garonne roared
continually; but it was to me as the voice of the silence, so accustomed to it
was I.
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 spread 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 sounded, a cry of distress and death:
“The Garonne! The Garonne!”
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 divide
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, appeared two men and three women, one of
them holding a child in her arms. It was they who were crying out, distracted,
running 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?” demanded Cyprien. “Do
you see anything, grandfather?”
“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 poplars, amongst the large tufts of
grass, what looked like a pack of gray beasts speckled with yellow. They sprang
up from all directions, waves crowding waves, a helter-skelter of masses of
foaming water, shaking the sod with the rumbling gallop of their hordes.
It was our turn to send forth the despairing cry:
“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, tumbling with the thunder of a charging battalion. With their first
shock they had broken three poplars; the tall foliage sank and disappeared. A
wooden cabin was swallowed 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.
“Quick! Quick!” I cried. “We must get into the house. It is
solid—we have nothing to fear.”
We took refuge upstairs. The house was built on a hillock above the road. The
water invaded the yard, softly, with a little rippling noise. We were not much
frightened.
“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 be anything,” I said, seeing the large questioning
eyes of our girls.
Aimee had put her two children into the bed. She sat beside them, with
Veronique and Marie. Aunt Agathe spoke of heating 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, Cyprien 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 impossible, 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 windowsill, I indicated the
progress of the flood. The river, after its attack on the village, was in
possession even to the narrowest streets. It was no longer a galloping charge,
but a slow and invincible strangulation. 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 stationary—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 Gaspard. “That is, unless the roads are free in a couple of
hours—which is quite possible.”
He looked at me without answering, his face quite pale; and I saw him look at
Veronique 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 forethought to bring
up two lamps with them. I had them lighted, thinking that they 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 herself with an air of intense
interest, shuffling, cutting, dealing with such a flow of talk that she almost
drowned the noise of the water. But our girls could not be diverted; 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:
“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
peaceful lamps that threw discs of light upon the 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 Pierre, “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 killing 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 temples.
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 distance 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 animals.
“My God! My God!” repeated the women, in low voices, as if they
feared to speak aloud.
A terrible cracking silenced the exclamations. 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 enraged 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 the tears and the sobs that we had suppressed. Ah! what ruin!
The harvests destroyed, 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
promise. 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.
Shrugging 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!”
“Yes, yes; you are right, father,” said Jacques, feverishly.
“And we run no danger—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 absence of the servants, for whom I was waiting, 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 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.
III.
Fortunately, the roof was vast and sloped gently. We reached it through a
lid-like window, above which was a sort of platform. 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, bravely. “The people of
Saintin have boats; they will come this way. Look over there! Isn’t that
a lantern on the water?”
But no one answered me. Pierre had lighted his pipe, and he was smoking so
furiously 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 questioned 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 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 water 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 house, bearing drifting barrels, pieces of wood, clumps of
weeds. In 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 something. 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 offered 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.
We were separated from it by seven houses. Our farmhouse, the first of the
village, adjoined 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 neighboring 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
the aid of an 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 together!”
When she saw him on the top of the house she ran over the tiles, still holding
her children. And she called out:
“Cyprien, wait for me! I am going with you. 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
the crest of the house. They walked slowly. She had taken the children again,
and at every step he turned and supported her.
“Get her to a safe place, and return!” I shouted.
I saw him wave his hand, but the roaring of the water prevented my hearing his
answer. Soon we could not see them. They had descended to the roof of the next
house. At 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 their way. They reached the angle formed by the street upon which
faced the Raimbeau house, a high structure, with a roof at least ten 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. Aimee, who must have
consented to wait for him, stood on the tiles. We saw her plainly, black and
enlarged against the pale sky, straining her children to her bosom. And it was
then that the horrifying trouble began.
The Raimbeau house, originally intended for a factory, was very flimsily built.
Besides, the facade was exposed to the current in the street. I thought I could
see it tremble from the attacks of the water; and, with a contraction of the
throat, I watched Cyprien cross the roof. Suddenly a rumbling was heard. The
moon rose, a round moon, whose yellow face lighted up the immense 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 swirling of waves beneath the debris of
the roof. Then calm was restored, the surface became 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 living 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.”
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,
leaving a gap in the route. Then a chill seized us. We mechanically grasped
each other’s hands, wringing them cruelly as we watched the harrowing
sight.
Cyprien had tried at first to stiffen his body. With 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. Then, resigning
himself, he fell back again, hanging limp.
Death was slow in coming. The water barely covered his hair, and it rose very
gradually. He must have felt its coolness on his brain. A wave wet his brow;
others closed his eyes. Slowly we saw his head disappear.
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.
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 rolling, as if the roof had become
detached and turned into a raft. The swift currents seemed to be drifting us
away. Then, 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 moments when the
attacks became frenzied, when the beams battered fiercely; and then we thought
that the end was near, that the walls would open and deliver us to the river.
Gaspard had risked himself upon the edge of the roof. He had seized a rafter
and drawn it to him.
“We must defend ourselves,” he cried.
Jacques, 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 unending fight continued. And the water
retained its tranquil obstinacy, invincible.
Then Jacques and Pierre succumbed, prostrated; 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 themselves into each other’s arms. They
repeated incessantly one phrase—a phrase of terror that I still hear
ringing in my ears:
“I don’t want to die! 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.
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 distance; and the silence spread over the immense 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
drifting 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.
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 had brought up for an emergency.
Gaspard even fell into the water, but at our screams he laughed. He knew the
water well; he could swim three miles in the Garonne at a stretch. Getting up
again, he shook himself, crying:
“Come, get on it! Don’t lose any time!”
The women were on their knees. Gaspard had 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 church. Aimee was still in the same
place. She 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 Gaspard. “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 aboard. 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 commanding. 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
manoeuvre, 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 regaining our
refuge they all cried:
“No, no! Let us try again! Better die here!”
Gaspard no longer laughed. We renewed our efforts, bending to our poles with
redoubled 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 promise 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 current
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!”
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, sustained 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 state, I was surprised to see Gaspard at the spot where my brother had
disappeared. The young man had Veronique in his arms. When 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 themselves up on the roof, I cried:
“And Aunt Agathe? And Jacques? And Rose?”
They shook their heads. Large tears coursed down their cheeks. They explained
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 reappeared.
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 children out of the water. Then they all sank, the water closed
over them beneath the drowsy light of the moon.
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 unconscious, and support them almost
in a standing position to prevent the waves washing over their legs. At last,
their senses returned, and our anguish increased upon seeing them wet,
shivering and crying miserably that they did not wish to die.
The end had come. The destroyed village 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 nothing.
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.
“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
approaching. I remember that we were like mad. We raised our arms in our fury;
we shouted 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 engulfed 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 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 rafters. 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,
frowning and muttering to himself. The growing 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 expression of contemptuous
anger. Then, as we sank lower, he made up his mind; he started down the roof.
“Pierre! Pierre!” I cried, fearing to comprehend.
He turned and said quietly:
“Adieu, Louis! You see, it is too long for me. And it will leave more
room for you.”
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 swimmer, and he probably abandoned
himself, heart-broken at the death of our dear ones 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 slowly,
as if the water, nearing its highest level, was reposing, tired and lazy.
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 opposed 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
selfishness 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, grandfather!”
Rapidly, he explained to Veronique 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, 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 terrible. 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, I
heard someone laughing, without explaining 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 sunrise. But the laughter
sounded continually.
Turning, I saw Marie, standing in her wet clothes. It was she who was laughing.
Ah! the poor, dear child! How sweet and pretty she was at that early hour! I
saw her stoop, take up some water in the hollow of her hand, and wash her face.
Then she coiled her beautiful blonde hair. Doubtless, 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 beauty of the
morning.
I let her hasten, not understanding, shaking my head tenderly. When she
considered herself ready to go, she sang one of her canticles in her clear
crystalline voice. But, interrupting herself, she cried, as if responding 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 disappeared.
Then, I remembered nothing more. I was 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 animal that dreads death. Then, nothing, nothing, a black pit, oblivion.
VI.
Why am I still here? They tell me that people from Saintin 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 those
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 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 surrounded 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 handsome children and the
fruitful vines, the beautiful girls and the golden grain, the joy of my old
age, the living recompense of my entire life! Since all that is gone, why
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 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 everywhere; the streets filled
with funeral processions; financial aid powerless to heal the wounds! But I
walked through it all without seeing anything. I had my ruins, I had my dead,
to crush me.
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 these lamentable photographs that I found
Gaspard and Veronique. They had been clasped passionately in each other’s
arms, exchanging in death their bridal kiss. It 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.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOOD ***
This file should be named 7011-h.htm or 7011-h.zip
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/7/0/1/7011/
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
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 www.gutenberg.org. 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.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.