The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flood, by Emile Zola
#14 in our series by Emile Zola

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: The Flood

Author: Emile Zola

Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7011]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 22, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOOD ***




This eBook was produced by Michael Castelluccio





THE FLOOD

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.
Rut 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 be 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 be 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 of The Flood, by Emile Zola

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOOD ***

This file should be named zofld10.txt or zofld10.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, zofld11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, zofld10a.txt

This eBook was produced by Michael Castelluccio

Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03

Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*