ads:
The Maison Tellier
Guy de Maupassant
They went there every evening about eleven o'clock, just as they would go to the club. Six
or eight of them; always the same set, not fast men, but respectable tradesmen, and young
men in government or some other employ, and they would drink their Chartreuse, and laugh
with the girls, or else talk seriously with Madame Tellier, whom everybody respected, and
then they would go home at twelve o'clock! The younger men would sometimes stay later.
It was a small, comfortable house painted yellow, at the corner of a street behind Saint
Etienne's Church, and from the windows one could see the docks full of ships being
unloaded, the big salt marsh, and, rising beyond it, the Virgin's Hill with its old gray chapel.
Madame Tellier, who came of a respectable family of peasant proprietors in the Department
of the Eure, had taken up her profession, just as she would have become a milliner or
dressmaker. The prejudice which is so violent and deeply rooted in large towns, does not
exist in the country places in Normandy. The peasant says:
"It is a paying-business," and he sends his daughter to keep an establishment of this
character just as he would send her to keep a girls' school.
She had inherited the house from an old uncle, to whom it had belonged. Monsieur and
Madame Tellier, who had formerly been innkeepers near Yvetot, had immediately sold their
house, as they thought that the business at Fecamp was more profitable, and they arrived
one fine morning to assume the direction of the enterprise, which was declining on account
of the absence of the proprietors. They were good people enough in their way, and soon
made themselves liked by their staff and their neighbors.
Monsieur died of apoplexy two years later, for as the new place kept him in idleness and
without any exercise, he had grown excessively stout, and his health had suffered. Since she
had been a widow, all the frequenters of the establishment made much of her; but people
said that, personally, she was quite virtuous, and even the girls in the house could not
discover anything against her. She was tall, stout and affable, and her complexion, which
had become pale in the dimness of her house, the shutters of which were scarcely ever
opened, shone as if it had been varnished. She had a fringe of curly false hair, which gave
her a juvenile look, that contrasted strongly with the ripeness of her figure. She was always
smiling and cheerful, and was fond of a joke, but there was a shade of reserve about her,
which her occupation had not quite made her lose. Coarse words always shocked her, and
when any young fellow who had been badly brought up called her establishment a hard
name, she was angry and disgusted.
In a word, she had a refined mind, and although she treated her women as friends, yet she
very frequently used to say that "she and they were not made of the same stuff."
Sometimes during the week she would hire a carriage and take some of her girls into the
country, where they used to enjoy themselves on the grass by the side of the little river.
They were like a lot of girls let out from school, and would run races and play childish
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games. They had a cold dinner on the grass, and drank cider, and went home at night with a
delicious feeling of fatigue, and in the carriage they kissed Madame' Tellier as their kind
mother, who was full of goodness and complaisance.
The house had two entrances. At the corner there was a sort of tap-room, which sailors and
the lower orders frequented at night, and she had two girls whose special duty it was to wait
on them with the assistance of Frederic, a short, light-haired, beardless fellow, as strong as a
horse. They set the half bottles of wine and the jugs of beer on the shaky marble tables
before the customers, and then urged the men to drink.
The three other girls--there were only five of them--formed a kind of aristocracy, and they
remained with the company on the first floor, unless they were wanted downstairs and there
was nobody on the first floor. The salon de Jupiter, where the tradesmen used to meet, was
papered in blue, and embellished with a large drawing representing Leda and the swan. The
room was reached by a winding staircase, through a narrow door opening on the street, and
above this door a lantern inclosed in wire, such as one still sees in some towns, at the foot
of the shrine of some saint, burned all night long.
The house, which was old and damp, smelled slightly of mildew. At times there was an
odor of eau de Cologne in the passages, or sometimes from a half-open door downstairs the
noisy mirth of the common men sitting and drinking rose to the first floor, much to the
disgust of the gentlemen who were there. Madame Tellier, who was on friendly terms with
her customers, did not leave the room, and took much interest in what was going on in the
town, and they regularly told her all the news. Her serious conversation was a change from
the ceaseless chatter of the three women; it was a rest from the obscene jokes of those stout
individuals who every evening indulged in the commonplace debauchery of drinking a glass
of liqueur in company with common women.
The names of the girls on the first floor were Fernande, Raphaele, and Rosa, the Jade. As
the staff was limited, madame had endeavored that each member of it should be a pattern,
an epitome of the feminine type, so that every customer might find as nearly as possible the
realization of his ideal. Fernande represented the handsome blonde; she was very tall, rather
fat, and lazy; a country girl, who could not get rid of her freckles, and whose short, light,
almost colorless, tow-like hair, like combed-out hemp, barely covered her head.
Raphaele, who came from Marseilles, played the indispensable part of the handsome
Jewess, and was thin, with high cheekbones, which were covered with rouge, and black hair
covered with pomatum, which curled on her forehead. Her eyes would have been
handsome, if the right one had not had a speck in it. Her Roman nose came down over a
square jaw, where two false upper teeth contrasted strangely with the bad color of the rest.
Rosa was a little roll of fat, nearly all body, with very short legs, and from morning till
night she sang songs, which were alternately risque or sentimental, in a harsh voice; told
silly, interminable tales, and only stopped talking in order to eat, and left off eating in order
to talk; she was never still, and was active as a squirrel, in spite of her embonpoint and her
short legs; her laugh, which was a torrent of shrill cries, resounded here and there,
ceaselessly, in a bedroom, in the loft, in the cafe, everywhere, and all about nothing.
The two women on the ground floor, Lodise, who was nicknamed La Cocotte, and Flora,
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whom they called Balancoise, because she limped a little, the former always dressed as the
Goddess of Liberty, with a tri-colored sash, and the other as a Spanish woman, with a string
of copper coins in her carroty hair, which jingled at every uneven step, looked like cooks
dressed up for the carnival. They were like all other women of the lower orders, neither
uglier nor better looking than they usually are.
They looked just like servants at an inn, and were generally called "the two pumps."
A jealous peace, which was, however, very rarely disturbed, reigned among these five
women, thanks to Madame Tellier's conciliatory wisdom, and to her constant good humor,
and the establishment, which was the only one of the kind in the little town, was very much
frequented. Madame Tellier had succeeded in giving it such a respectable appearance, she
was so amiable and obliging to everybody, her good heart was so well known, that she was
treated with a certain amount of consideration. The regular customers spent money on her,
and were delighted when she was especially friendly toward them, and when they met
during the day, they would say: "Until this evening, you know where," just as men say: "At
the club, after dinner." In a word, Madame Tellier's house was somewhere to go to, and they
very rarely missed their daily meetings there.
One evening toward the end of May, the first arrival, Monsieur Poulin, who was a timber
merchant, and had been mayor, found the door shut. The lantern behind the grating was not
alight; there was not a sound in the house; everything seemed dead. He knocked, gently at
first, but then more loudly, but nobody answered the door. Then he went slowly up the
street, and when he got to the market place he met Monsieur Duvert, the gunmaker, who
was going to the same place, so they went back together, but did not meet with any better
success. But suddenly they heard a loud noise, close to them, and on going round the house,
they saw a number of English and French sailors, who were hammering at the closed
shutters of the taproom with their fists.
The two tradesmen immediately made their escape, but a low "Pst!" stopped them; it was
Monsieur Tournevau, the fish curer, who had recognized them, and was trying to attract
their attention. They told him what had happened, and he was all the more annoyed, as he
was a married man and father of a family, and only went on Saturdays. That was his regular
evening, and now he should be deprived of this dissipation for the whole week.
The three men went as far as the quay together, and on the way they met young Monsieur
Philippe, the banker's son, who frequented the place regularly, and Monsieur Pinipesse, the
collector, and they all returned to the Rue aux Juifs together, to make a last attempt. But the
exasperated sailors were besieging the house, throwing stones at the shutters, and shouting,
and the five first-floor customers went away as quickly as possible, and walked aimlessly
about the streets.
Presently they met Monsieur Dupuis, the insurance agent, and then Monsieur Vasse, the
Judge of the Tribunal of Commerce, and they took a long walk, going to the pier first of all,
where they sat down in a row on the granite parapet and watched the rising tide, and when
the promenaders had sat there for some time, Monsieur Tournevau said:
"This is not very amusing!"
"Decidedly not," Monsieur Pinipesse replied, and they started off to walk again.
After going through the street alongside the hill, they returned over the wooden bridge
which crosses the Retenue, passed close to the railway, and came out again on the market
place, when, suddenly, a quarrel arose between Monsieur Pinipesse, the collector, and
Monsieur Tournevau about an edible mushroom which one of them declared he had found
in the neighborhood.
As they were out of temper already from having nothing to do, they would very probably
have come to blows, if the others had not interfered. Monsieur Pinipesse went off furious,
and soon another altercation arose between the ex-mayor, Monsieur Poulin, and Monsieur
Dupuis, the insurance agent, on the subject of the tax collector's salary and the profits which
he might make. Insulting remarks were freely passing between them, when a torrent of
formidable cries was heard, and the body of sailors, who were tired of waiting so long
outside a closed house, came into the square. They were walking arm in arm, two and two,
and formed a long procession, and were shouting furiously. The townsmen hid themselves
in a doorway, and the yelling crew disappeared in the direction of the abbey. For a long
time they still heard the noise, which diminished like a storm in the distance, and then
silence was restored. Monsieur Poulin and Monsieur Dupuis, who were angry with each
other, went in different directions, without wishing each other good-by.
The other four set off again, and instinctively went in the direction of Madame Tellier's
establishment, which was still closed, silent, impenetrable. A quiet, but obstinate drunken
man was knocking at the door of the lower room, antd then stopped and called Frederic, in
a low voice, but finding that he got no answer, he sat down on the doorstep, and waited the
course of events.
The others were just going to retire, when the noisy band of sailors reappeared at the end of
the street. The French sailors were shouting the "Marseillaise," and the Englishmen "Rule
Britannia." There was a general lurching against the wall, and then the drunken fellows
went on their way toward the quay, where a fight broke out between the two nations, in the
course of which an Englishman had his arm broken and a Frenchman his nose split.
The drunken man who had waited outside the door, was crying by that time, as drunken
men and children cry when they are vexed, and the others went away. By degrees, calm was
restored in the noisy town; here and there, at moments, the distant sound of voices could be
heard, and then died away in the distance.
One man only was still wandering about, Monsieur Tournevau, the fish curer, who was
annoyed at having to wait until the following Saturday, and he hoped something would turn
up, he did not know what; but he was exasperated at the police for thus allowing an
establishment of such public utility, which they had under their control, to be closed.
He went back to it and examined the walls, trying to find out some reason, and on the
shutter he saw a notice stuck up. He struck a wax match and read the following, in a large,
uneven hand: "Closed on account of the Confirmation."
Then he went away, as he saw it was useless to remain, and left the drunken man lying on
the pavement fast asleep, outside that inhospitable door.
The next day, all the regular customers, one after the other, found some reason for going
through the street, with a bundle of papers under their arm to keep them in countenance,
and with a furtive glance they all read that mysterious notice:
"Closed on account of the Confirmation."
PART II
Madame Tellier had a brother, who was a carpenter in their native place, Virville, in the
Department of Eure. When she still kept the inn at Yvetot, she had stood godmother to that
brother's daughter, who had received the name of Constance--Constance Rivet; she herself
being a Rivet on her father's side. The carpenter, who knew that his sister was in a good
position, did not lose sight of her, although they did not meet often, for they were both kept
at home by their occupations, and lived a long way from each other. But as the girl was
twelve years old, and going to be confirmed, he seized that opportunity to write to his sister,
asking her to come and be present at the ceremony. Their old parents were dead, and as she
could not well refuse her goddaughter, she accepted the invitation. Her brother, whose
name was Joseph, hoped that by dint of showing his sister attention, she might be induced
to make her will in the girl's favor, as she had no children of her own.
His sister's occupation did not trouble his scruples in the least, and, besides, nobody knew
anything about it at Virville. When they spoke of her, they only said: "Madame Tellier is
living at Fecamp," which might mean that she was living on her own private income. It was
quite twenty leagues from Fecamp to Virville, and for a peasant, twenty leagues on land is
as long a journey as crossing the ocean would be to city people. The people at Virville had
never been further than Rouen, and nothing attracted the people from Fecamp to a village of
five hundred houses in the middle of a plain, and situated in another department; at any rate,
nothing was known about her business.
But the Confirmation was coming on, and Madame Tellier was in great embarrassment. She
had no substitute, and did not at all care to leave her house, even for a day; for all the
rivalries between the girls upstairs and those downstairs would infallibly break out. No
doubt Frederic would get drunk, and when he was in that state, he would knock anybody
down for a mere word. At last, however, she made up her mind to take them all with her,
with the exception of the man, to whom she gave a holiday until the next day but one.
When she asked her brother, he made no objection, but undertook to put them all up for a
night, and so on Saturday morning the eight-o'clock express carried off Madame Tellier and
her companions in a second-class carriage. As far as Beuzeville they were alone, and
chattered like magpies, but at that station a couple got in. The man, an old peasant, dressed
in a blue blouse with a turned-down collar, wide sleeves tight at the wrist, ornamented with
white embroidery, wearing an old high hat with long nap, held an enormous green umbrella
in one hand, and a large basket in the other, from which the heads of three frightened ducks
protruded. The woman, who sat up stiffly in her rustic finery, had a face like a fowl, with a
nose that was as pointed as a bill. She sat down opposite her husband and did not stir, as
she was startled at finding herself in such smart company.
There was certainly an array of striking colors in the carriage. Madame Tellier was dressed
in blue silk from head to foot, and had on a dazzling red imitation French cashmere shawl.
Fernande was puffing in a Scotch plaid dress, of which her companions had laced the
bodice as tight as they could, forcing up her full bust, that was continually heaving up and
down. Raphaele, with a bonnet covered with feathers, so that it looked like a bird's nest, had
on a lilac dress with gold spots on it, and there was something Oriental about it that suited
her Jewish face. Rosa had on a pink skirt with largo flounces, and looked like a very fat
child, an obese dwarf; while the two Pumps looked as if they had cut their dresses out of
old flowered curtains dating from the Restoration.
As soon as they were no longer alone in the compartment, the ladies put on staid looks, and
began to talk of subjects which might give others a high opinion of them. But at Bolbeck a
gentleman with light whiskers, a gold chain, and wearing two or three rings, got in, and put
several parcels wrapped in oilcloth on the rack over his head. He looked inclined for a joke,
and seemed a good-hearted fellow.
"Are you ladies changing your quarters?" he said, and that question embarrassed them all
considerably. Madame Tellier, however, quickly regained her composure, and said sharply,
to avenge the honor of her corps:
"I think you might try and be polite!"
He excused himself, and said: "I beg your pardon, I ought to have said your nunnery."
She could not think of a retort, so, perhaps thinking she had said enough, madame gave him
a dignified bow and compressed her lips.
Then the gentleman, who was sitting between Rosa and the old peasant, began to wink
knowingly at the ducks whose heads were sticking out of the basket, and when he felt that
he had fixed the attention of his public, he began to tickle them under the bills and spoke
funnily to them to make the company smile.
"We have left our little pond, quack! quack! to make the acquaintance of the little spit, qu-
ack! qu-ack!"
The unfortunate creatures turned their necks away, to avoid his caresses, and made
desperate efforts to get out of their wicker prison, and then, suddenly, all at once, uttered
the most lamentable quacks of distress. The women exploded with laughter. They leaned
forward and pushed each other, so as to see better; they were very much interested in the
ducks, and the gentleman redoubled his airs, his wit and his teasing.
Rosa joined in, and leaning over her neighbor's legs, she kissed the three animals on the
head, and immediately all the girls wanted to kiss them, in turn, and as they did so the
gentleman took them on his knee, jumped them up and down and pinched their arms. The
two peasants, who were even in greater consternation than their poultry, rolled their eyes as
if they were possessed, without venturing to move, and their old wrinkled faces had not a
smile, not a twitch.
Then the gentleman, who was a commercial traveller, offered the ladies suspenders by way
of a joke, and taking up one of his packages, he opened it. It was a joke, for the parcel
contained garters. There were blue silk, pink silk, red silk, violet silk, mauve silk garters,
and the buckles were made of two gilt metal cupids embracing each other. The girls uttered
exclamations of delight and looked at them with that gravity natural to all women when
they are considering an article of dress. They consulted one another by their looks or in a
whisper, and replied in the same manner, and Madame Tellier was longingly handling a pair
of orange garters that were broader and more imposing looking than the rest; really fit for
the mistress of such an establishment.
The gentleman waited, for he had an idea.
"Come, my kittens," he said, "you must try them on."
There was a torrent of exclamations, and they squeezed their petticoats between their legs,
but he quietly waited his time and said: "Well, if you will not try them on I shall pack them
up again."
And he added cunningly:. "I offer any pair they like to those who will try them on."
But they would not, and sat up very straight and looked dignified.
But the two Pumps looked so distressed that he renewed his offer to them, and Flora,
especially, visibly hesitated, and he insisted: "Come, my dear, a little courage! Just look at
that lilac pair; it will suit your dress admirably."
That decided her, and pulling up her dress she showed a thick leg fit for a milkmaid, in a
badly fitting, coarse stocking. The commercial traveller stooped down and fastened the
garter. When he had done this, he gave her the lilac pair and asked: "Who next?"
"I! I!" they all shouted at once, and he began on Rosa, who uncovered a shapeless, round
thing without any ankle, a regular "sausage of a leg," as Raphaele used to say.
Lastly, Madame Tellier herself put out her leg, a handsome, muscular Norman leg, and in
his surprise and pleasure, the commercial traveller gallantly took off his hat to salute that
master calf, like a true French cavalier.
The two peasants, who were speechless from surprise, glanced sideways out of the corner of
one eye, and they looked so exactly like fowls that the man with the light whiskers, when he
sat up, said: "Co--co--ri--co" under their very noses, and that gave rise to another storm of
amusement.
The old people got out at Motteville with their basket, their ducks and their umbrella, and
they heard the woman say to her husband as they went away:
"They are no good and are off to that cursed place, Paris."
The funny commercial traveller himself got out at Rouen, after behaving so coarsely that
Madame Tellier was obliged sharply to put him in his right place, and she added, as a
moral: "This will teach us not to talk to the first comer."
At Oissel they changed trains, and at a little station further on Monsieur Joseph Rivet was
waiting for them with a large cart with a number of chairs in it, drawn by a white horse.
The carpenter politely kissed all the ladies and then helped them into his conveyance.
Three of them sat on three chairs at the back, Raphaele, Madame Tellier and her brother on
the three chairs in front, while Rosa, who had no seat, settled herself as comfortably as she
could on tall Fernande's knees, and then they set off.
But the horse's jerky trot shook the cart so terribly that the chairs began to dance and threw
the travellers about, to the right and to the left, as if they were dancing puppets, which made
them scream and make horrible grimaces.
They clung on to the sides of the vehicle, their bonnets fell on their backs, over their faces
and on their shoulders, and the white horse went on stretching out his head and holding out
his little hairless tail like a rat's, with which he whisked his buttocks from time to time.
Joseph Rivet, with one leg on the shafts and the other doubled under him, held the reins
with his elbows very high, and kept uttering a kind of clucking sound, which made the
horse prick up its ears and go faster.
The green country extended on either side of the road, and here and there the colza in
flower presented a waving expanse of yellow, from which arose a strong, wholesome, sweet
and penetrating odor, which the wind carried to some distance.
The cornflowers showed their little blue heads amid the rye, and the women wanted to pick
them, but Monsieur Rivet refused to stop.
Then, sometimes, a whole field appeared to be covered with blood, so thick were the
poppies, and the cart, which looked as if it were filled with flowers of more brilliant hue,
jogged on through fields bright with wild flowers, and disappeared behind the trees of a
farm, only to reappear and to go on again through the yellow or green standing crops, which
were studded with red or blue.
One o'clock struck as they drove up to the carpenter's door. They were tired out and pale
with hunger, as they had eaten nothing since they left home. Madame Rivet ran out and
made them alight, one after another, and kissed them as soon as they were on the ground,
and she seemed as if she would never tire of kissing her sister-in-law, whom she apparently
wanted to monopolize. They had lunch in the workshop, which had been cleared out for the
next day's dinner.
The capital omelet, followed by boiled chitterlings and washed down with good hard cider,
made them all feel comfortable.
Rivet had taken a glass so that he might drink with them, and his wife cooked, waited on
them, brought in the dishes, took them out and asked each of them in a whisper whether
they had everything they wanted. A number of boards standing against the walls and heaps
of shavings that had been swept into the corners gave out a smell of planed wood, a smell
of a carpenter's shop, that resinous odor which penetrates to the lungs.
They wanted to see the little girl, but she had gone to church and would not be back again
until evening, so they all went out for a stroll in the country.
It was a small village, through which the highroad passed. Ten or a dozen houses on either
side of the single street were inhabited by the butcher, the grocer, the carpenter, the
innkeeper, the shoemaker and the baker.
The church was at the end of the street and was surrounded by a small churchyard, and four
immense lime-trees, which stood just outside the porch, shaded it completely. It was built
of flint, in no particular style, and had a slate-roofed steeple. When you got past it, you were
again in the open country, which was varied here and there by clumps of trees which hid the
homesteads.
Rivet had given his arm to his sister, out of politeness, although he was in his working
clothes, and was walking with her in a dignified manner. His wife, who was overwhelmed
by Raphaele's gold-striped dress, walked between her and Fernande, and roly-poly Rosa
was trotting behind with Louise and Flora, the Seesaw, who was limping along, quite tired
out.
The inhabitants came to their doors, the children left off playing, and a window curtain
would be raised, so as to show a muslin cap, while an old woman with a crutch, who was
almost blind, crossed herself as if it were a religious procession, and they all gazed for a
long time at those handsome ladies from town, who had come so far to be present at the
confirmation of Joseph Rivet's little girl, and the carpenter rose very much in the public
estimation.
As they passed the church they heard some children singing. Little shrill voices were
singing a hymn, but Madame Tellier would not let them go in, for fear of disturbing the
little cherubs.
After the walk, during which Joseph Rivet enumerated the principal landed proprietors,
spoke about the yield of the land and the productiveness of the cows and sheep, he took his
tribe of women home and installed them in his house, and as it was very small, they had to
put them into the rooms, two and two.
Just for once Rivet would sleep in the workshop on the shavings; his wife was to share her
bed with her sister-in-law, and Fernande and Raphaele were to sleep together in the next
room. Louise and Flora were put into the kitchen, where they had a mattress on the floor,
and Rosa had a little dark cupboard to herself at the top of the stairs, close to the loft, where
the candidate for confirmation was to sleep.
When the little girl came in she was overwhelmed with kisses; all the women wished to
caress her with that need of tender expansion, that habit of professional affection which had
made them kiss the ducks in the railway carriage.
They each of them took her on their knees, stroked her soft, light hair and pressed her in
their arms with vehement and spontaneous outbursts of affection, and the child, who was
very good and religious, bore it all patiently.
As the day had been a fatiguing one for everybody, they all went to bed soon after dinner.
The whole village was wrapped in that perfect stillness of the country, which is almost like
a religious silence, and the girls, who were accustomed to the noisy evenings of their
establishment, felt rather impressed by the perfect repose of the sleeping village, and they
shivered, not with cold, but with those little shivers of loneliness which come over uneasy
and troubled hearts.
As soon as they were in bed, two and two together, they clasped each other in their arms, as
if to protect themselves against this feeling of the calm and profound slumber of the earth.
But Rosa, who was alone in her little dark cupboard, felt a vague and painful emotion come
over her.
She was tossing about in bed, unable to get to sleep, when she heard the faint sobs of a
crying child close to her head, through the partition. She was frightened, and called out, and
was answered by a weak voice, broken by sobs. It was the little girl, who was always used
to sleeping in her mother's room, and who was afraid in her small attic.
Rosa was delighted, got up softly so as not to awaken any one, and went and fetched the
child. She took her into her warm bed, kissed her and pressed her to her bosom, lavished
exaggerated manifestations of tenderness on her, and at last grew calmer herself and went to
sleep. And till morning the candidate for confirmation slept with her head on Rosa's bosom.
At five o'clock the little church bell, ringing the Angelus, woke the women, who usually
slept the whole morning long.
The villagers were up already, and the women went busily from house to house, carefully
bringing short, starched muslin dresses or very long wax tapers tied in the middle with a
bow of silk fringed with gold, and with dents in the wax for the fingers.
The sun was already high in the blue sky, which still had a rosy tint toward the horizon, like
a faint remaining trace of dawn. Families of fowls were walking about outside the houses,
and here and there a black cock, with a glistening breast, raised his head, which was
crowned by his red comb, flapped his wings and uttered his shrill crow, which the other
cocks repeated.
Vehicles of all sorts came from neighboring parishes, stopping at the different houses, and
tall Norman women dismounted, wearing dark dresses, with kerchiefs crossed over the
bosom, fastened with silver brooches a hundred years old.
The men had put on their blue smocks over their new frock-coats or over their old dress-
coats of green-cloth, the two tails of which hung down below their blouses. When the
horses were in the stable there was a double line of rustic conveyances along the road: carts,
cabriolets, tilburies, wagonettes, traps of every shape and age, tipping forward on their
shafts or else tipping backward with the shafts up in the air.
The carpenter's house was as busy as a bee-hive. The women, in dressing- jackets and
petticoats, with their thin, short hair, which looked faded and worn, hanging down their
backs, were busy dressing the child, who was standing quietly on a table, while Madame
Tellier was directing the movements of her battalion. They washed her, did her hair, dressed
her, and with the help of a number of pins, they arranged the folds of her dress and took in
the waist, which was too large.
Then, when she was ready, she was told to sit down and not to move, and the women
hurried off to get ready themselves.
The church bell began to ring again, and its tinkle was lost in the air, like a feeble voice
which is soon drowned in space. The candidates came out. of the houses and went toward
the parochial building, which contained the two schools and the mansion house, and which
stood quite at one end of the village, while the church was situated at the other.
The parents, in their very best clothes, followed their children, with embarrassed looks, and
those clumsy movements of a body bent by toil.
The little girls disappeared in a cloud of muslin, which looked like whipped cream, while
the lads, who looked like embryo waiters in a cafe and whose heads shone with pomatum,
walked with their legs apart, so as not to get any dust or dirt on their black trousers.
It was something for a family, to be proud of, when a large number of relatives, who had
come from a distance, surrounded the child, and the carpenter's triumph was complete.
Madame Tellier's regiment, with its leader at its head, followed Constance; her father gave
his arm to his sister, her mother walked by the side of Raphaele, Fernande with Rosa and
Louise and Flora together, and thus they proceeded majestically through the village, like a
general's staff in full uniform, while the effect on the village was startling.
At the school the girls ranged themselves under the Sister of Mercy and the boys under the
schoolmaster, and they started off, singing a hymn as they went. The boys led the way, in
two files, between the two rows of vehicles, from which the horses had been taken out, and
the girls followed in the same order; and as all the people in the village had given the town
ladies the precedence out of politeness, they came immediately behind the girls, and
lengthened the double line of the procession still more, three on the right and three on the
left, while their dresses were as striking as a display of fireworks.
When they went into the church the congregation grew quite excited. They pressed against
each other, turned round and jostled one another in order to see, and some of the devout
ones spoke almost aloud, for they were so astonished at the sight of those ladies whose
dresses were more elaborate than the priest's vestments.
The mayor offered them his pew, the first one on the right, close to the choir, and Madame
Tellier sat there with her sister-in-law, Fernande and Raphaele. Rosa, Louise and Flora
occupied the second seat, in company with the carpenter.
The choir was full of kneeling children, the girls on one side and the boys on the other, and
the long wax tapers which they held looked like lances pointing in all directions, and three
men were standing in front of the lectern, singing as loud as they could.
They prolonged the syllables of the sonorous Latin indefinitely, holding on to "Amens" with
interminable "a-a's," which the reed stop of the organ sustained in a monotonous, long-
drawn-out tone.
A child's shrill voice took up the reply, and from time to time a priest sitting in a stall and
wearing a biretta got up, muttered something and sat down again, while the three singers
continued, their eyes fixed on the big book of plain chant lying open before them on the
outstretched wings of a wooden eagle.
Then silence ensued and the service went on. Toward the close Rosa, with her head in both
hands, suddenly thought of her mother, her village church and her first communion. She
almost fancied that that day had returned, when she was so small anti was almost hidden in
her white dress, and she began to cry.
First of all she wept silently, and the tears dropped slowly from her eyes, but her emotion in
creased with her recollections, and she began to sob. She took out her pocket handkerchief,
wiped her eyes and held it to her mouth, so as not to scream, but it was in vain. A sort of
rattle escaped her throat, and she was answered by two other profound, heartbreaking sobs,
for her two neighbors, Louise and Flora, who were kneeling near her, overcome by similar
recollections, were sobbing by her side, amid a flood of tears; and as tears are contagious,
Madame Tellier soon in turn found that her eyes were wet, and on turning to her sister- in-
law, she saw that all the occupants of her seat were also crying.
Soon, throughout the church, here and there, a wife, a mother, a sister, seized by the strange
sympathy of poignant emotion, and affected at the sight of those handsome ladies on their
knees, shaken with sobs was moistening her cambric pocket handkerchief and pressing her
beating heart with her left hand.
Just as the sparks from an engine will set fire to dry grass, so the tears of Rosa and of her
companions infected the whole congregation in a moment. Men, women, old men and lads
in new smocks were soon all sobbing, and something superhuman seemed to be hovering
over their heads --a spirit, the powerful breath of an invisible and all powerful Being.
Suddenly a species of madness seemed to pervade the church, the noise of a crowd in a
state of frenzy, a tempest of sobs and stifled cries. It came like gusts of wind which blow
the trees in a forest, and the priest, paralyzed by emotion, stammered out incoherent
prayers, without finding words, ardent prayers of the soul soaring to heaven.
The people behind him gradually grew calmer. The cantors, in all the dignity of their white
surplices, went on in somewhat uncertain voices, and the reed stop itself seemed hoarse, as
if the instrument had been weeping; the priest, however, raised his hand to command
silence and went and stood on the chancel steps, when everybody was silent at once.
After a few remarks on what had just taken place, and which he attributed to a miracle, he
continued, turning to the seats where the carpenter's guests were sitting; "I especially thank
you, my dear sisters, who have come from such a distance, and whose presence among us,
whose evident faith and ardent piety have set such a salutary example to all. You have
edified my parish; your emotion has warmed all hearts; without you, this great day would
not, perhaps, have had this really divine character. It is sufficient, at times, that there should
be one chosen lamb, for the Lord to descend on His flock."
His voice failed him again, from emotion, and he said no more, but concluded the service.
They now left the church as quickly as possible; the children themselves were restless and
tired with such a prolonged tension of the mind. The parents left the church by degrees to
see about dinner.
There was a crowd outside, a noisy crowd, a babel of loud voices, where the shrill Norman
accent was discernible. The villagers formed two ranks, and when the children appeared,
each family took possession of their own.
The whole houseful of women caught hold of Constance, surrounded her and kissed her,
and Rosa was especially demonstrative. At last she took hold of one hand, while Madame
Tellier took the other, and Raphaele and Fernande held up her long muslin skirt, so that it
might not drag in the dust; Louise and Flora brought up the rear with Madame Rivet; and
the child, who was very silent and thoughtful, set off for home in the midst of this guard of
honor.
Dinner was served in the workshop on long boards supported by trestles, and through the
open door they could see all the enjoyment that was going on in the village. Everywhere
they were feasting, and through every window were to be seen tables surrounded by people
in their Sunday best, and a cheerful noise was heard in every house, while the men sat in
their shirt-sleeves, drinking glass after glass of cider.
In the carpenter's house the gaiety maintained somewhat of an air of reserve, the
consequence of the emotion of the girls in the morning, and Rivet was the only one who
was in a jolly mood, and he was drinking to excess. Madame Tellier looked at the clock
every moment, for, in order not to lose two days running, they must take the 3:55 train,
which would bring them to Fecamp by dark.
The carpenter tried very hard to distract her attention, so as to keep his guests until the next
day, but he did not succeed, for she never joked when there was business on hand, and as
soon as they had had their coffee she ordered her girls to make haste and get ready, and
then, turning to her brother, she said:
"You must put in the horse immediately," and she herself went to finish her last
preparations.
When she came down again, her sister-in-law was waiting to speak to her about the child,
and a long conversation took place, in which, however, nothing was settled. The carpenter's
wife was artful and pretended to be very much affected, and Madame Tellier, who was
holding the girl on her knee, would not pledge herself to anything definite, but merely gave
vague promises--she would not forget her, there was plenty of time, and besides, they
would meet again.
But the conveyance did not come to the door and the women did not come downstairs.
Upstairs they even heard loud laughter, romping, little screams, and much clapping of
hands, and so, while the carpenter's wife went to the stable to see whether the cart was
ready, madame went upstairs.
Rivet, who was very drunk, was plaguing Rosa, who was half choking with laughter. Louise
and Flora were holding him by the arms and trying to calm him, as they were shocked at his
levity after that morning's ceremony; but Raphaele and Fernande were urging him on,
writhing and holding their sides with laughter, and they uttered shrill cries at every rebuff
the drunken fellow received.
The man was furious, his face was red, and he was trying to shake off the two women who
were clinging to him, while he was pulling Rosa's skirt with all his might and stammering
incoherently.
But Madame Tellier, who was very indignant, went up to her brother, seized him by the
shoulders, and threw him out of the room with such violence that he fell against the wall in
the passage, and a minute afterward they heard him pumping water on his head in the yard,
and when he reappeared with the cart he was quite calm.
They started off in the same way as they had come the day before, and the little white horse
started off with his quick, dancing trot. Under the hot sun, their fun, which had been
checked during dinner, broke out again. The girls now were amused at the jolting of the
cart, pushed their neighbors' chairs, and burst out laughing every moment.
There was a glare of light over the country, which dazzled their eyes, and the wheels raised
two trails of dust along the highroad. Presently, Fernande, who was fond of music, asked
Rosa to sing something, and she boldly struck up the "Gros Cure de Meudon," but Madame
Tellier made her stop immediately, as she thought it a very unsuitable song for such a day,
and she added:
"Sing us something of Beranger's." And so, after a moment's hesitation, Rosa began
Beranger's song "The Grandmother" in her worn-out voice, and all the girls, and even
Madame Tellier herself, joined in the chorus:
"How I regret
My dimpled arms,
My nimble legs,
And vanished charms."
"That is first rate," Rivet declared, carried away by the rhythm, and they shouted the refrain
to every verse, while Rivet beat time on the shaft with his foot, and with the reins on the
back of the horse, who, as if he himself were carried away by the rhythm, broke into a wild
gallop, and threw all the women in a heap, one on top of the other, on the bottom of the
conveyance.
They got up, laughing as if they were mad, and the Gong went on, shouted at the top of
their voices, beneath the burning sky, among the ripening grain, to the rapid gallop of the
little horse, who set off every time the refrain was sung, and galloped a hundred yards, to
their great delight, while occasionally a stone-breaker by the roadside sat up and looked at
the load of shouting females through his wire spectacles.
When they got out at the station, the carpenter said:
"I am sorry you are going; we might have had some good times together." But Madame
Tellier replied very sensibly: "Everything has its right time, and we cannot always be
enjoying ourselves." And then he had a sudden inspiration:
"Look here, I will come and see you at Fecamp next month." And he gave Rosa a roguish
and knowing look.
"Come," his sister replied, "you must be sensible; you may come if you like, but you are not
to be up to any of your tricks."
He did not reply, and as they heard the whistle of the train, he immediately began to kiss
them all. When it came to Rosa's turn, he tried to get to her mouth, which she, however,
smiling with her lips closed, turned away from him each time by a rapid movement of her
head to one side. He held her in his arms, but he could not attain his object, as his large
whip, which he was holding in his hand and waving behind the girl's back in desperation,
interfered with his movements.
"Passengers for Rouen, take your seats!" a guard cried, and they got in. There was a slight
whistle, followed by a loud whistle from the engine, which noisily puffed cut its first jet of
steam, while the wheels began to turn a little with a visible effort, and Rivet left the station
and ran along by the track to get another look at Rosa, and as the carriage passed him, he
began to crack his whip and to jump, while he sang at the top of his voice:
"How I regret
My dimpled arms,
My nimble legs,
And vanished charms."
And then he watched a white pocket-handkerchief, which somebody was waving, as it
disappeared in the distance.
PART III
They slept the peaceful sleep of a quiet conscience, until they got to Rouen, and when they
returned to the house, refreshed and rested, Madame Tellier could not help saying:
"It was all very well, but I was longing to get home."
They hurried over their supper, and then, when they had put on their usual evening costume,
waited for their regular customers, and the little colored lamp outside the door told the
passers-by that Madame Tellier had returned, and in a moment the news spread, nobody
knew how or through whom.
Monsieur Philippe, the banker's son, even carried his friendliness so far as to send a special
messenger to Monsieur Tournevau, who was in the bosom of his family.
The fish curer had several cousins to dinner every Sunday, and they were having coffee,
when a man came in with a letter in his hand. Monsieur Tournevau was much excited; he
opened the envelope and grew pale; it contained only these words in pencil:
"The cargo of cod has been found; the ship has come into port; good business for you.
Come immediately."
He felt in his pockets, gave the messenger two sons, and suddenly blushing to his ears, he
said: "I must go out." He handed his wife the laconic and mysterious note, rang the bell, and
when the servant came in, he asked her to bring him has hat and overcoat immediately. As
soon as he was in the street, he began to hurry, and the way seemed to him to be twice as
long as usual, in consequence of his impatience.
Madame Tellier's establishment had put on quite a holiday look. On the ground floor, a
number of sailors were making a deafening noise, and Louise and Flora drank with one and
the other, and were being called for in every direction at once.
The upstairs room was full by nine o'clock. Monsieur Vasse, the Judge of the Tribunal of
Commerce, Madame Tellier's regular but Platonic wooer, was talking to her in a corner in a
low voice, and they were both smiling, as if they were about to come to an understanding.
Monsieur Poulin, the ex-mayor, was talking to Rosa, and she was running her hands
through the old gentleman's white whiskers.
Tall Fernande was on the sofa, her feet on the coat of Monsieur Pinipesse, the tax collector,
and leaning back against young Monsieur Philippe, her right arm around his neck, while she
held a cigarette in her left hand.
Raphaele appeared to be talking seriously with Monsieur Dupuis, the insurance agent, and
she finished by saying: "Yes, I will, yes."
Just then, the door opened suddenly, and Monsieur Tournevau came in, and was greeted
with enthusiastic cries of "Long live Tournevau!" And Raphaele, who was dancing alone up
and down the room, went and threw herself into his arms. He seized her in a vigorous
embrace and, without saying a word, lifted her up as if she had been a feather.
Rosa was chatting to the ex-mayor, kissing him and puffing; both his whiskers at the same
time, in order to keep his head straight.
Fernanae and Madame Tellier remained with the four men, and Monsieur Philippe
exclaimed: "I will pay for some champagne; get three bottles, Madame Tellier." And
Fernande gave him a hug, and whispered to him: "Play us a waltz, will you?" So he rose
and sat down at the old piano in the corner, and managed to get a hoarse waltz out of the
depths of the instrument.
The tall girl put her arms round the tax collector, Madame Tellier let Monsieur Vasse take
her round the waist, and the two couples turned round, kissing as they danced. Monsieur
Vasse, who had formerly danced in good society, waltzed with such elegance that Madame
Tellier was quite captivated.
Frederic brought the champagne; the first cork popped, and Monsieur Philippe played the
introduction to a quadrille, through which the four dancers walked in society fashion,
decorously, with propriety, deportment, bows and curtsies, and then they began to drink.
Monsieur Philippe next struck up a lively polka, and Monsieur Tournevau started off with
the handsome Jewess, whom he held without letting her feet touch the ground. Monsieur
Pinipesse and Monsieur Vasse had started off with renewed vigor, and from time to time
one or other couple would stop to toss off a long draught of sparkling wine, and that dance
was threatening to become never-ending, when Rosa opened the door.
"I want to dance," she exclaimed. And she caught hold of Monsieur Dupuis, who was
sitting idle on the couch, and the dance began again.
But the bottles were empty. "I will pay for one," Monsieur Tournevau said. "So will I,"
Monsieur Vasse declared. "And. I will do the same," Monsieur Dupuis remarked.
They all began to clap their hands, and it soon became a regular ball, and from time to time
Louise and Flora ran upstairs quickly and had a few turns, while their customers downstairs
grew impatient, and then they returned regretfully to the tap-room. At midnight they were
still dancing.
Madame Tellier let them amuse themselves while she had long private talks in corners with
Monsieur Vasse, as if to settle the last details of something that had already been settled.
At last, at one o'clock, the two married men, Monsieur Tournevau and Monsieur Pinipesse,
declared that they were going home, and wanted to pay. Nothing was charged for except the
champagne, and that cost only six francs a bottle, instead of ten, which was the usual price,
and when they expressed their surprise at such generosity, Madame Tellier, who was
beaming, said to them:
"We don't have a holiday every day."
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