by Albert Cohen
'Antoinette, do you really forgive me for coming so late?' 'But Emmeline, you weren't late at all, truly you weren't.' 'But I was, dear, I know I was. I got here at twenty to five instead of four o'clock as promised. I failed to keep my word and I feel dreadfully ashamed. But you know, the maid I've got just now, a little chit from Berne, has been leading me a merry dance.'
Listening to Madame Ventradour you got the impression that she was permanently knee-deep in domestic staff who were all midgets, for every maid she had ever employed was invariably described as 'little'. During the time since Madame Deume had met her at the sewing circle, Madame Ventradour had, in succession, gone through a little Spanish girl, a little Italian girl, a little girl from the Vaud, a tiny little thing from Aargau and, the most reprehensible of the whole lot, this little chit from Berne, who was the reason why she was late. When she had run through the chronicle of the little chit's misdemeanours, she produced a smelling-bottle from her reticule and inhaled. Ah, these servants would be the death of her!
'Listen, darling,' said Madame Deume turning nobly towards Adrien, 'dear Emmeline won't mind, I'll tell her about everything that's happened, but I do think that your wife and yourself should really be running along now. You have your packing to finish off and you've both to get changed, you'll just have time. I'll put you fully in the picture, Emmeline dear.'
After kissing Madame Ventradour's hand — he did it to impress her — Adrien said his farewells. He embraced Monsieur Deume, then Madame Deume, who held him lengthily clasped to her flaccid person and begged him to write as often as possible. 'Even if they're short letters, just to let your Mummy know that everything is going well for her Didi.' Ariane took her leave of both the ladies and of old Monsieur Deume, who was overjoyed because he and his daughter-in-law had a secret. Yes! They'd both already said their goodbyes away from prying eyes, just the two of them! And they'd embraced! She'd even given him a photo of herself and said he should keep it safe and not show anyone else! He smiled at the memory of it while Madame Deume, once the young people had gone, explained to dear Emmeline that Adrien had been invited with his wife to a 'grand dinner party' given by an influential person and that afterwards he was going away this very evening because he was being sent 'on a mission of high diplomacy to talk about problems with important people'.
'And now, dear, if you're not too put out by the novelty, we'll go in to table straight away. Oh, I know we've heaps of time, our train doesn't go until seven forty-five, but since you said you were agreeable to high tea I skipped ordinary tea altogether and I must confess that I'm feeling positively faint with hunger. Besides, if we eat early we'll have plenty of time for girl-talk afterwards while Hippolyte is looking after the last-minute arrangements. It's not quite five and our taxi is ordered for seven fifteen. We've got two hours all to ourselves for a good chat.'
'But my car is here, dear, I could get my chauffeur to drive you to the station, it would be no trouble since it's on my way. Except of course that your cases might damage the upholstery, but no matter, I'll not have to mind that. Some day I may even be glad I made the sacrifice, at least I'll try my very best to be.'
'Thank you, dear, thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I should never forgive myself, and besides your motor car is rather old and might not cope with the strain of our combined weights. Which reminds me, Didi's going to buy a new Cadillac when he gets back from his trip. They really are a superb motor. But now, let's sit ourselves down at table. Please excuse the absence of staff, but I did explain how we were fixed, what with poor Martha going off like that, Mariette leaving us in the lurch, and the temporary woman who's filling in only able to come mornings. That's why everything is already out on the table except for the potage. So if it's all right with you we'll move to the dining-room. Hippolyte, give dear Emmeline your arm.'
Madame Ventradour sat down cheerfully. She took out her slimming breadsticks, the trusty ones bought from the dependable family baker, put them down on her right, patted them tenderly, gave one of her chubby smiles, and cast her quickly reviving eyes over the delights spread out before her. Madame Deume apologized again, just cold offerings, the best she could manage in the circumstances, but then struck a bantering note as she asked her husband if he'd be the maid. Not needing to be told twice, for he had been thoroughly drilled beforehand, Monsieur Deume sprang into action.
He returned bearing the steaming soup-tureen. He served the potage, giving himself a double helping, his eyes wide with anticipation. But, just as he was about to dip his spoon into his potage, Madame Ventradour suddenly clapped one hand to her heart and emitted a wail like a mortally wounded bird. The penny dropped immediately and Monsieur Deume bowed his head in shame: how dreadful, he'd almost started without waiting for grace! Dear Emmeline, mettlesome as always, seized dear Antoinette's hand.
'I'm sorry, dear, so sorry, do forgive me if I offended you. I would never dream of forcing you to do anything that upset you!'
'But you know very well, dear, that we always say grace and that it does not upset us in the least. On the contrary, thanks be to God!' said Madame Deume. 'It was just that poor Hippolyte forgot himself momentarily, that's all.'
'You must forgive me, say you forgive me!' said Madame Ventradour turning to Monsieur Deume. 'Forgive me for offending you!'
'No offence taken, weally, Madame.'
'Oh say you forgive me! I was in the wrong, I blame myself! (Her voice grew ravaged, yearning, wanton:) But it's such a great joy for me, you know, a very great joy, oh yes, Lord, to speak with Thee. (Noticing that she was slipping into her praying mode, she got a grip on herself.) Such a great joy to speak with Him before partaking of what He in His great Goodness has been pleased to set upon my table! Giving thanks is such a comfort,' she said in a damp voice. 'I ask you all to forgive me for having shocked you so!'
'But dear,' said Madame Deume, who considered that Emmeline was taking things rather too far, 'there's absolutely nothing to forgive!'
While Monsieur Deume stared at his now less than flamboyantly steaming potage, Madame Ventradour, undaunted in her distress, persisted with her pleasant little game, made further requests for forgiveness, but no she could not! she absolutely could not dispense with grace before a meal! She could not bear to be deprived of His ' spirit! Oh, forgive, forgive! In her hiccups, she grabbed the startled Monsieur Deume by the arm, closed her eyes, and looked as though she were at her last gasp.
'I feel unwell, forgive me! .. . my smelling-salts! .. . would you? .. . in my reticule .. .it's on the hall table .. . forgive me! ... a small bottle . . . forgive me! . . . hall table . .. small bottle . . . forgive me! . . . table . . . bottle.'
When she felt she had bottled and tabled for long enough and had taken a good sniff at the said little green bottle, she revived and, like a convalescing angel, aimed a smile at Monsieur Deume, who was staring glumly into his potage. ('I wonder if it's the will of God that I seem always to be eating food that's gone cold on account of their pwayers.') Out of courtesy, Madame Deume asked dear Emmeline to say grace. Still husky-voiced, Madame Ventradour said she would do nothing of the kind, that she would surrender that great joy to dear Antoinette, and added that she didn't mind in the least not saying grace. She was the kind of person who, whenever she claimed that she didn't mind in the least, had to be understood as meaning exactly the opposite. She was of course hoping that Madame Deume would return the compliment and let her say grace. But dear Antoinette did not insist, for dear Emmeline went in for interminable graces, the equivalent of sermons, which she used to unload all the doings of her day to an accompaniment of sighs and other plaintive suspirations. So she dipped her nose towards the cream of wheatgerm and closed her eyes. Madame Ventradour followed suit in taking the mystical plunge, while old Monsieur Deume rested his head on both hands so that he could concentrate properly, for he found it difficult to derive any great pleasure from these perpetual communings with the Divinity. ('Nothing wong with it on Sundays, in fact I quite like
it, but not thwee times a day!') The unhappy man focused his mind, resisting a strong urge to scratch the back of his neck, and concentrated, but could not quite resist peeping through half-opened fingers at his potage, which now had stopped steaming altogether and was surely lukewarm. ('Hang it all, I'm pwetty certain God cares for us without it being necessawy for us to be asking Him to do so all the blessed time, and anyway He's supposed to know evewything, so what's the point of going on at Him explaining things He alweady knows?')
Madame Deume, who knew she was performing in front of a professional, launched into a high-grade prayer, her meatball bobbing up and down as she proceeded. When two minutes were up, Monsieur Deume stealthily slipped his forefinger under his soup-dish to see how hot it was. Madame Ventradour was also tiring quickly, though she was not fully aware of the fact. This ghastly old bigot who was quite capable of praying at you for half an hour always found that other people prayed for far too long. At this point, just as Madame Deume was in the middle of reporting to the Lord on Juliette Scorpeme's dreadful problems, Madame Ventradour, who was nothing if not spontaneous, gave a tragic little cry and pressed her hand to her heart. Dear Juliette had problems? And she had heard nothing about them!
'Sorry, dear. Forgive me. Do carry on.'
She closed her eyes again, did her best to listen, but a thought went round and round inside her head: she must not forget to ask exactly what kind of problems Juliette was having. In the end, she managed to shoo away these worldly notions, closed her eyes tighter, and tried to lose herself in the living words of the grace. But she could not help thinking that poor Antoinette did not vary her set expressions overmuch. Her orisons lacked what Madame Ventradour liked best: spontaneity, the unexpected, the pungent turn of phrase. Her religious palate had been desensitized and required constant pepper and spice. For example, she bought a new Bible once every five years so she could taste afresh the pleasure of underlining comforting passages, nodding her head in agreement as she went. Truth to tell, the practice of daily observance tried Madame Ventradour's patience rather, though naturally she was not aware of it. But this was why, when confronted by the first sermon of a new entrant to the ministry or a talk given by a Negro evangelist or a lecture delivered by a Hindu prince, she was all ears for that hint of ginger which she needed if she was to believe that religion could thrill.
Madame Deume, suddenly remembering the seven forty-five, moved into a higher gear, briskly thanked the Almighty for having given them this day their daily bread, which in her case was this evening jollied along by caviare, foie gras in aspic, one of Rossi's roast chickens, Russian salad, a selection of cheeses, pastries and fruit. The Almighty does us proud. Sometimes.
'The Gantets must be worth a pretty penny,' said Madame Ventradour.
'I wouldn't say pennies was the right word,' Madame Deume corrected her. 'Two drawing-rooms en suite. A littel more chicken? Not even a littel more skin? I think perfectly browned skin is the best part of the animal. Perhaps a littel cheese, then? No? Well let's move straight on to dessert. Hippolyte, you can finish up your meringue and lend a hand, I've got my stiffness. Get a move on, it's six now, you've got just an hour and a quarter to do all your last things. And remember, I won't have that taxi kept waiting. Come along, clear the table and take all the things into the kitchen and put them down tidily so the daily won't find everything in a mess tomorrow morning, whatever would she think? Put the leftovers in the fridge but not the cheese, it ruins it, or else wrap it up in tin-foil first, make sure you close the kitchen shutters properly, all the others are done, and turn off the gas at the main, and then get a move on with my cases, except the one with my dresses of course, I packed that myself seeing as you wouldn't know how, my poor back's still aching. I've laid out all the rest of the things I'm taking with me on the bed and the tables, and you can pack them naicely in my two cases, you're quite good at that, making the most of the space and being careful with anything delicate, and don't forget to fold my tartan travelling-rug properly and put my two umbrellas through the straps. Oh botheration, what with everything I've had to think of I've forgotten to put the dust-sheets over the settee and the armchairs, so you can do it. When you've shut the cases, bring them down yourself, taxi-drivers demand outrageous tips for doing it, and take them outside, it'll save us time. On second thoughts, don't put them outside, best not risk it. Leave them in the hall, just by the door. Now come along, and put a littel vim in it, if you perlease!'
'Do you want me to do the washing-up as well?'
'Yes, but do it last thing and only if there's time, and be careful not to splash your clothes.'
'Did I tell you I've waterpwoofed the luggage labels in case it wains. I waterpwoofed them by wubbing them all over with a candle.'
'That's very clever, I'm sure, but now go, don't just stand there doing nothing, make yourself useful. You can get the table cleared away quickly and give us some peace and quiet, because we want to have a littel chat, just we two ladies. But you can leave the pastries. Dear Emmeline, do help yourself. Another Japanese fancy or a meringue? I shall have a rum baba, I can't resist them.'
While Monsieur Deume was clearing away, the two women smilingly put away an amazing number of cakes while discussing last Sunday's sermon, which had been a two-hander, shared by two preachers. It was a good idea for bringing in the young people, said Madame Deume. After a third chocolate eclair, Madame Ventradour agreed. The notion of sermons given by two ministers was rather bold, but she wasn't against new ideas as long as they were sensible.
When nice Monsieur Deume had gone, bearing his last load of plates and cutlery, the two ladies spoke on a variety of interesting subjects. To begin with there was the matter of that delightful woman who had that delightful house set in those huge and quite delightful grounds. Then there was the ingratitude of the poor who rarely showed their appreciation of all one did for them, always wanting more, and besides had never learned to hold out their hands with any degree of humility. Then they talked of the impertinence of the younger generation of servants, 'They give themselves airs, nowadays they insist on having an afternoon off in addition to the whole of Sunday, though they don't have the same demands on their time as we do, when you think of all the trouble we take to train them, and they're harder and harder to come by, one has such difficulties in getting hold of them, they're not interested in going into service any more, they prefer to work in a factory, they've lost the love-thy-neighbour spirit altogether, because it is my contention that respectable persons who have a spiritual need for servants surely count as neighbours.'
Next Madame Deume spoke glowingly of a Mademoiselle Malassis of Lausanne, 'quite a catch, the parents' apartment has a frontage with fourteen no sixteen windows, and of course not a stain on her character'. Then she evoked the splendours of the Kanakises, the Rassets and of His Excellency the Under-Secretary-General. Upon dear Emmeline's enquiring how the dinner for their gentleman from the League of Nations had gone off, dear Antoinette turned a deaf ear, was sparing with details, and limited her remarks to stating that he was an eminent man and that she had found great pleasure in conversing with him, though she did not mention the fact that the conversation had taken place over the telephone.
Finally they got on to their pet topic of the comings, goings and doings of various queens of whose affairs they kept abreast, from their engagements, outfits and times of rising to even what they had for breakfast, which generally started with grapefruit. They began with Queen Marie-Adelaide, their favourite, whose children were quite delightful. No less delightful was the interest she took in horses and horse-racing, which was so awfully smart. Besides, said Madame Deume as she munched the last of her apple in a gruesome detonation of smug conceit, dear Marie-Adelaide possessed the supreme art of always looking radiant, simple and natural, she had such a winning personality, hadn't she?
'They say she sometimes parts her curtains and watches ordinary people as they pass by in the street, apparently she tries to imagine the lives co
mmoners lead, so as to feel closer to them, for she really does take an interest in simple folk! I think that's so naice, don't you? There's ever such a lervely story that's told about her son George, that's the eldest, he's eight now, gracious how quickly time flies, it seems only yesterday he was in that beautiful cradle of his, with the royal crest on it, well now, littel Prince George, you know him, the one with the curls, he'll be King when he comes of age, she's been Regent of course since the King died, well anyhow they say that littel Prince George was at the station waiting for the train to take him to one of their superb chateaux in the country, he completely forgot who he was and started running up and down the platform like any common boy, now wasn't that lervely? And then he caught sight of the stationmaster with his flag who was about to give the signal for another train which was about to leave, and he went up to him and said: "Perlease may I wave the flag?" He really said "perlease"! Now isn't that naice coming from a littel prince! The stationmaster was quite taken aback, didn't know which way to turn, because he's not allowed in any circumstances to hand over his flag to another person, it's against the rules, but dash it all, he said to himself, he is a prince, so he gave the flag to the littel Prince but apparently the littel Prince didn't know how to wave it properly! It made your heart ache to see it! Everybody had tears in their eyes. Just as lervely is another adventure the littel Prince had. He was coming out of the palace and, seeing as he doesn't miss a thing, it's in the blood, the eye of a born leader as they say, he noticed that the bootlaces of one of the palace guards had come undone, he pointed this out and apparently the guard said to him: "I'm very sorry, Your Royal Highness", that's right because he must be addressed as Your Royal Highness even though he's only eight, "I'm very sorry, Your Royal Highness, but I'm not allowed to bend down, I haven't been given permission, I must stand to attention all the time!" Well, it seems the Prince bent down, got on his knees, and laced up that private's boots with his very own hands! You have to have royal blood to behave with such simplicity! Quite wonderful! Because he could easily have said: "I'm a prince and I order you to bend down!" It seems Marie-Adelaide absolutely forbids people to cheer the littel Prince and Princess as they drive through the streets in their carriage. But I will say that unaffected she may be, but she has her dignity! Apparently a high-ranking aristocrat once said "your father" to her, to which she replied simply: "You mean His Majesty the King!" The aristocrat didn't know where to put himself! Still, I think he got what was coming to him, don't you? I'd even go so far as to say that I think she should have turned her back and ignored him and left him to stew! Emmeline, I've just thought of something. Did you read the piece about littel Laurette in yesterday's paper?'