by Émile Zola
CHAPTER III
Three days later the necessary formalities were gone through, andwithout demur the police authorities at the Prefecture accepted Florenton Monsieur Verlaque's recommendation as his substitute. Gavard, by theway, had made it a point to accompany them. When he again found himselfalone with Florent he kept nudging his ribs with his elbow as theywalked along together, and laughed, without saying anything, whilewinking his eyes in a jeering way. He seemed to find something veryridiculous in the appearance of the police officers whom they met onthe Quai de l'Horloge, for, as he passed them, he slightly shrugged hisshoulders and made the grimace of a man seeking to restrain himself fromlaughing in people's faces.
On the following morning Monsieur Verlaque began to initiate the newinspector into the duties of his office. It had been arranged thatduring the next few days he should make him acquainted with theturbulent sphere which he would have to supervise. Poor Verlaque,as Gavard called him was a pale little man, swathed in flannels,handkerchiefs, and mufflers. Constantly coughing, he made his waythrough the cool, moist atmosphere, and running waters of the fishmarket, on a pair of scraggy legs like those of a sickly child.
When Florent made his appearance on the first morning, at seven o'clock,he felt quite distracted; his eyes were dazed, his head ached withall the noise and riot. Retail dealers were already prowling aboutthe auction pavilion; clerks were arriving with their ledgers, andconsigners' agents, with leather bags slung over their shoulders, saton overturned chairs by the salesmen's desks, waiting to receive theircash. Fish was being unloaded and unpacked not only in the enclosure,but even on the footways. All along the latter were piles of smallbaskets, an endless arrival of cases and hampers, and sacks of mussels,from which streamlets of water trickled. The auctioneers' assistants,all looking very busy, sprang over the heaps, tore away the straw atthe tops of the baskets, emptied the latter, and tossed them aside.They then speedily transferred their contents in lots to huge wickerworktrays, arranging them with a turn of the hand so that they might showto the best advantage. And when the large tray-like baskets were allset out, Florent could almost fancy that a whole shoal of fish had gotstranded there, still quivering with life, and gleaming with rosy nacre,scarlet coral, and milky pearl, all the soft, pale, sheeny hues of theocean.
The deep-lying forests of seaweed, in which the mysterious life of theocean slumbers, seemed at one haul of the nets to have yielded up allthey contained. There were cod, keeling, whiting, flounders, plaice,dabs, and other sorts of common fish of a dingy grey with whitishsplotches; there were conger-eels, huge serpent-like creatures, withsmall black eyes and muddy, bluish skins, so slimy that they stillseemed to be gliding along, yet alive. There were broad flat skatewith pale undersides edged with a soft red, and superb backs bumpy withvertebrae, and marbled down to the tautly stretched ribs of theirfins with splotches of cinnabar, intersected by streaks of the tint ofFlorentine bronze--a dark medley of colour suggestive of the hues of atoad or some poisonous flower. Then, too, there were hideous dog-fish,with round heads, widely-gaping mouths like those of Chinese idols, andshort fins like bats' wings; fit monsters to keep yelping guard over thetreasures of the ocean grottoes. And next came the finer fish, displayedsingly on the osier trays; salmon that gleamed like chased silver, everyscale seemingly outlined by a graving-tool on a polished metal surface;mullet with larger scales and coarser markings; large turbot and hugebrill with firm flesh white like curdled milk; tunny-fish, smooth andglossy, like bags of blackish leather; and rounded bass, with widelygaping mouths which a soul too large for the body seemed to have rentasunder as it forced its way out amidst the stupefaction of death. Andon all sides there were sole, brown and grey, in pairs; sand-eels, slimand stiff, like shavings of pewter; herrings, slightly twisted, withbleeding gills showing on their silver-worked skins; fat dories tingedwith just a suspicion of carmine; burnished mackerel with green-streakedbacks, and sides gleaming with ever-changing iridescence; and rosygurnets with white bellies, their head towards the centre of the basketsand their tails radiating all around, so that they simulated somestrange florescence splotched with pearly white and brilliant vermilion.There were rock mullet, too, with delicious flesh, flushed with thepinky tinge peculiar to the Cyprinus family; boxes of whiting withopaline reflections; and baskets of smelts--neat little baskets, prettyas those used for strawberries, and exhaling a strong scent of violets.And meantime the tiny black eyes of the shrimps dotted as with beadsof jet their soft-toned mass of pink and grey; and spiny crawfish andlobsters striped with black, all still alive, raised a grating sound asthey tried to crawl along with their broken claws.
Florent gave but indifferent attention to Monsieur Verlaque'sexplanations. A flood of sunshine suddenly streamed through the loftyglass roof of the covered way, lighting up all these precious colours,toned and softened by the waves--the iridescent flesh-tints of theshell-fish, the opal of the whiting, the pearly nacre of the mackerel,the ruddy gold of the mullets, the plated skins of the herrings, andmassive silver of the salmon. It was as though the jewel-cases of somesea-nymph had been emptied there--a mass of fantastical, undreamt-ofornaments, a streaming and heaping of necklaces, monstrous bracelets,gigantic brooches, barbaric gems and jewels, the use of which could notbe divined. On the backs of the skate and the dog-fish you saw, as itwere, big dull green and purple stones set in dark metal, while theslender forms of the sand-eels and the tails and fins of the smeltsdisplayed all the delicacy of finely wrought silver-work.
And meantime Florent's face was fanned by a fresh breeze, a sharp, saltbreeze redolent of the sea. It reminded him of the coasts of Guiana andhis voyages. He half fancied that he was gazing at some bay left dry bythe receding tide, with the seaweed steaming in the sun, the bare rocksdrying, and the beach smelling strongly of the brine. All around himthe fish in their perfect freshness exhaled a pleasant perfume, thatslightly sharp, irritating perfume which depraves the appetite.
Monsieur Verlaque coughed. The dampness was affecting him, and hewrapped his muffler more closely about his neck.
"Now," said he, "we will pass on to the fresh water fish."
This was in a pavilion beside the fruit market, the last one, indeed, inthe direction of the Rue Rambuteau. On either side of the space reservedfor the auctions were large circular stone basins, divided into separatecompartments by iron gratings. Slender streams of water flowed frombrass jets shaped like swan's necks; and the compartments were filledwith swarming colonies of crawfish, black-backed carp ever on themove, and mazy tangles of eels, incessantly knotting and unknottingthemselves. Again was Monsieur Verlaque attacked by an obstinate fitof coughing. The moisture of the atmosphere was more insipid herethan amongst the sea water fish: there was a riverside scent, as ofsun-warmed water slumbering on a bed of sand.
A great number of crawfishes had arrived from Germany that morning incases and hampers, and the market was also crowded with river fish fromHolland and England. Several men were unpacking shiny carp from theRhine, lustrous with ruddy metallic hues, their scales resemblingbronzed _cloisonne_ enamel; and others were busy with huge pike, thecruel iron-grey brigands of the waters, who ravenously protruded theirsavage jaws; or with magnificent dark-hued with verdigris. And amidstthese suggestions of copper, iron, and bronze, the gudgeon and perch,the trout, the bleak, and the flat-fish taken in sweep-nets showedbrightly white, the steel-blue tints of their backs gradually toningdown to the soft transparency of their bellies. However, it was thefat snowy-white barbel that supplied the liveliest brightness in thisgigantic collection of still life.
Bags of young carp were being gently emptied into the basins. The fishspun round, then remained motionless for a moment, and at last shot awayand disappeared. Little eels were turned out of their hampers in a mass,and fell to the bottom of the compartments like tangled knots of snakes;while the larger ones--those whose bodies were about as thick as achild's arm--raised their heads and slipped of their own accord into thewater with the supple motion of serpents gliding into the
concealmentof a thicket. And meantime the other fish, whose death agony hadbeen lasting all the morning as they lay on the soiled osiers of thebasket-trays, slowly expired amidst all the uproar of the auctions,opening their mouths as though to inhale the moisture of the air, withgreat silent gasps, renewed every few seconds.
However, Monsieur Verlaque brought Florent back to the salt water fish.He took him all over the place and gave him the minutest particularsabout everything. Round the nine salesmen's desks ranged along threesides of the pavilion there was now a dense crowd of surging, swayingheads, above which appeared the clerks, perched upon high chairs andmaking entries in their ledgers.
"Are all these clerks employed by the salesmen?" asked Florent.
By way of reply Monsieur Verlaque made a detour along the outsidefootway, led him into the enclosure of one of the auctions, and thenexplained the working of the various departments of the big yellowoffice, which smelt strongly of fish and was stained all overby drippings and splashings from the hampers. In a little glazedcompartment up above, the collector of the municipal dues took note ofthe prices realised by the different lots of fish. Lower down, seatedupon high chairs and with their wrists resting upon little desks, weretwo female clerks, who kept account of the business on behalf of thesalesmen. At each end of the stone table in front of the office was acrier who brought the basket-trays forward in turn, and in a bawlingvoice announced what each lot consisted of; while above him the femaleclerk, pen in hand, waited to register the price at which the lotswere knocked down. And outside the enclosure, shut up in another littleoffice of yellow wood, Monsieur Verlaque showed Florent the cashier, afat old woman, who was ranging coppers and five-franc pierces in piles.
"There is a double control, you see," said Monsieur Verlaque; "thecontrol of the Prefecture of the Seine and that of the Prefecture ofPolice. The latter, which licenses the salesmen, claims to have theright of supervision over them; and the municipality asserts its rightto be represented at the transactions as they are subject to taxation."
He went on expatiating at length in his faint cold voice respecting therival claims of the two Prefectures. Florent, however, was paying butlittle heed, his attention being concentrated on a female clerk sittingon one of the high chairs just in front of him. She was a tall, darkwoman of thirty, with big black eyes and an easy calmness of manner, andshe wrote with outstretched fingers like a girl who had been taught theregulation method of the art.
However, Florent's attention was diverted by the yelping of the crier,who was just offering a magnificent turbot for sale.
"I've a bid of thirty francs! Thirty francs, now; thirty francs!"
He repeated these words in all sorts of keys, running up and down astrange scale of notes full of sudden changes. Humpbacked and with hisface twisted askew, and his hair rough and disorderly, he wore a greatblue apron with a bib; and with flaming eyes and outstretched arms hecried vociferously: "Thirty-one! thirty-two! thirty-three! Thirty-threefrancs fifty centimes! thirty-three fifty!"
Then he paused to take breath, turning the basket-tray and pushing itfarther upon the table. The fish-wives bent forward and gently touchedthe turbot with their finger-tips. Then the crier began again withrenewed energy, hurling his figures towards the buyers with a waveof the hand and catching the slightest indication of a fresh bid--theraising of a finger, a twist of the eyebrows, a pouting of the lips, awink, and all with such rapidity and such a ceaseless jumble of wordsthat Florent, utterly unable to follow him, felt quite disconcertedwhen, in a sing-song voice like that of a priest intoning the finalwords of a versicle, he chanted: "Forty-two! forty-two! The turbot goesfor forty-two francs."
It was the beautiful Norman who had made the last bid. Florentrecognised her as she stood in the line of fish-wives crowding againstthe iron rails which surrounded the enclosure. The morning was freshand sharp, and there was a row of tippets above the display of big whiteaprons, covering the prominent bosoms and stomachs and sturdy shoulders.With high-set chignon set off with curls, and white and dainty skin,the beautiful Norman flaunted her lace bow amidst tangled shocks ofhair covered with dirty kerchiefs, red noses eloquent of drink,sneering mouths, and battered faces suggestive of old pots. And she alsorecognised Madame Quenu's cousin, and was so surprised to see him therethat she began gossiping to her neighbours about him.
The uproar of voices had become so great that Monsieur Verlaquerenounced all further attempt to explain matters to Florent. On thefootway close by, men were calling out the larger fish withprolonged shouts, which sounded as though they came from giganticspeaking-trumpets; and there was one individual who roared "Mussels!Mussels!" in such a hoarse, cracked, clamorous voice that the very roofsof the market shook. Some sacks of mussels were turned upside down,and their contents poured into hampers, while others were emptied withshovels. And there was a ceaseless procession of basket-trays containingskate, soles, mackerel, conger-eels, and salmon, carried backwards andforwards amidst the ever-increasing cackle and pushing of the fish-womenas they crowded against the iron rails which creaked with theirpressure. The humpbacked crier, now fairly on the job, waved his skinnyarms in the air and protruded his jaws. Presently, seemingly lashed intoa state of frenzy by the flood of figures that spurted from his lips, hesprang upon a stool, where, with his mouth twisted spasmodically andhis hair streaming behind him, he could force nothing more thanunintelligible hisses from his parched throat. And in the meantime, upabove, the collector of municipal dues, a little old man, muffled ina collar of imitation astrachan, remained with nothing but his noseshowing under his black velvet skullcap. And the tall, dark-complexionedfemale clerk, with eyes shining calmly in her face, which had beenslightly reddened by the cold, sat on her high wooden chair, quietlywriting, apparently unruffled by the continuous rattle which came fromthe hunchback below her.
"That fellow Logre is wonderful," muttered Monsieur Verlaque with asmile. "He is the best crier in the markets. I believe he could makepeople buy boot soles in the belief they were fish!"
Then he and Florent went back into the pavilion. As they again passedthe spot where the fresh water fish was being sold by auction, and wherethe bidding seemed much quieter, Monsieur Verlaque explained that Frenchriver fishing was in a bad way.[*] The crier here, a fair, sorry-lookingfellow, who scarcely moved his arms, was disposing of some lots of eelsand crawfish in a monotonous voice, while the assistants fished freshsupplies out of the stone basins with their short-handled nets.
[*] M. Zola refers, of course, to the earlier years of the Second Empire. Under the present republican Government, which has largely fostered fish culture, matters have considerably improved.--Translator.
However, the crowd round the salesmen's desks was still increasing.Monsieur Verlaque played his part as Florent's instructor in the mostconscientious manner, clearing the way by means of his elbows, andguiding his successor through the busiest parts. The upper-class retaildealers were there, quietly waiting for some of the finer fish, orloading the porters with their purchases of turbot, tunny, and salmon.The street-hawkers who had clubbed together to buy lots of herrings andsmall flat-fish were dividing them on the pavement. There were also somepeople of the smaller middle class, from distant parts of the city, whohad come down at four o'clock in the morning to buy a really fresh fish,and had ended by allowing some enormous lot, costing from forty to fiftyfrancs, to be knocked down to them, with the result that they wouldbe obliged to spend the whole day in getting their friends andacquaintances to take the surplus off their hands. Every now and thensome violent pushing would force a gap through part of the crowd. Afish-wife, who had got tightly jammed, freed herself, shaking her fistsand pouring out a torrent of abuse. Then a compact mass of people againcollected, and Florent, almost suffocated, declared that he had seenquite enough, and understood all that was necessary.
As Monsieur Verlaque was helping him to extricate himself from thecrowd, they found themselves face to face with the handsome Norman.She remained stock-still in fron
t of them, and with her queenly airinquired:
"Well, is it quite settled? You are going to desert us, MonsieurVerlaque?"
"Yes, yes," replied the little man; "I am going to take a rest in thecountry, at Clamart. The smell of the fish is bad for me, it seems.Here, this is the gentleman who is going to take my place."
So speaking he turned round to introduce Florent to her. The handsomeNorman almost choked; however, as Florent went off, he fancied he couldhear her whisper to her neighbours, with a laugh: "Well, we shall havesome fine fun now, see if we don't!"
The fish-wives had begun to set out their stalls. From all the taps atthe corners of the marble slabs water was gushing freely; and there wasa rustling sound all round, like the plashing of rain, a streaming ofstiff jets of water hissing and spurting. And then, from the lower sideof the sloping slabs, great drops fell with a softened murmur, splashingon the flagstones where a mass of tiny streams flowed along hereand there, turning holes and depressions into miniature lakes, andafterwards gliding in a thousand rills down the slope towards the RueRambuteau. A moist haze ascended, a sort of rainy dust, bringing freshwhiffs of air to Florent's face, whiffs of that salt, pungent sea breezewhich he remembered so well; while in such fish as was already laid outhe once more beheld the rosy nacres, gleaming corals, and milky pearls,all the rippling colour and glaucous pallidity of the ocean world.
That first morning left him much in doubt; indeed, he regretted that hehad yielded to Lisa's insistence. Ever since his escape from the greasydrowsiness of the kitchen he had been accusing himself of base weaknesswith such violence that tears had almost risen in his eyes. But he didnot dare to go back on his word. He was a little afraid of Lisa, andcould see the curl of her lips and the look of mute reproach upon herhandsome face. He felt that she was too serious a woman to be trifledwith. However, Gavard happily inspired him with a consoling thought.On the evening of the day on which Monsieur Verlaque had conducted himthrough the auction sales, Gavard took him aside and told him, with agood deal of hesitation, that "the poor devil" was not at all well off.And after various remarks about the scoundrelly Government which groundthe life out of its servants without allowing them even the means to diein comfort, he ended by hinting that it would be charitable on Florent'spart to surrender a part of his salary to the old inspector. Florentwelcomed the suggestion with delight. It was only right, he considered,for he looked upon himself simply as Monsieur Verlaque's temporarysubstitute; and besides, he himself really required nothing, as heboarded and lodged with his brother. Gavard added that he thought ifFlorent gave up fifty francs out of the hundred and fifty which hewould receive monthly, the arrangement would be everything that couldbe desired; and, lowering his voice, he added that it would not be forlong, for the poor fellow was consumptive to his very bones. Finallyit was settled that Florent should see Monsieur Verlaque's wife, andarrange matters with her, to avoid any possibility of hurting the oldman's feelings.
The thought of this kindly action afforded Florent great relief, and henow accepted his duties with the object of doing good, thus continuingto play the part which he had been fulfilling all his life. However, hemade the poultry dealer promise that he would not speak of the matterto anyone; and as Gavard also felt a vague fear of Lisa, he kept thesecret, which was really very meritorious in him.
And now the whole pork shop seemed happy. Handsome Lisa manifested thegreatest friendliness towards her brother-in-law. She took care that hewent to bed early, so as to be able to rise in good time; she kept hisbreakfast hot for him; and she no longer felt ashamed at being seentalking to him on the footway, now that he wore a laced cap. Quenu,quite delighted by all these good signs, sat down to table in theevening between his wife and brother with a lighter heart than ever.They often lingered over dinner till nine o'clock, leaving the shop inAugustine's charge, and indulging in a leisurely digestion interspersedwith gossip about the neighbourhood, and the dogmatic opinions of Lisaon political topics; Florent also had to relate how matters had gone inthe fish market that day. He gradually grew less frigid, and beganto taste the happiness of a well-regulated existence. There was awell-to-do comfort and trimness about the light yellowish dining roomwhich had a softening influence upon him as soon as he crossed itsthreshold. Handsome Lisa's kindly attentions wrapped him, as it were, incotton-wool; and mutual esteem and concord reigned paramount.
Gavard, however, considered the Quenu-Gradelles' home to be too drowsy.He forgave Lisa her weakness for the Emperor, because, he said, oneought never to discuss politics with women, and beautiful MadameQuenu was, after all, a very worthy person, who managed her businessadmirably. Nevertheless, he much preferred to spend his evenings atMonsieur Lebigre's, where he met a group of friends who shared his ownopinions. Thus when Florent was appointed to the inspectorship of thefish market, Gavard began to lead him astray, taking him off for hours,and prompting him to lead a bachelor's life now that he had obtained aberth.
Monsieur Lebigre was the proprietor of a very fine establishment, fittedup in the modern luxurious style. Occupying the right-hand corner of theRue Pirouette, and looking on to the Rue Rambuteau, it formed, with itsfour small Norwegian pines in green-painted tubs flanking the doorway, aworthy pendant to the big pork shop of the Quenu-Gradelles. Through theclear glass windows you could see the interior, which was decorated withfestoons of foliage, vine branches, and grapes, painted on a soft greenground. The floor was tiled with large black and white squares. Atthe far end was the yawning cellar entrance, above which rose a spiralstaircase hung with red drapery, and leading to the billiard-room on thefirst floor. The counter or "bar" on the right looked especially rich,and glittered like polished silver. Its zinc-work, hanging with a broadbulging border over the sub-structure of white and red marble, edged itwith a rippling sheet of metal as if it were some high altar ladenwith embroidery. At one end, over a gas stove, stood porcelain pots,decorated with circles of brass, and containing punch and hot wine. Atthe other extremity was a tall and richly sculptured marble fountain,from which a fine stream of water, so steady and continuous that itlooked as though it were motionless, flowed into a basin. In the centre,edged on three sides by the sloping zinc surface of the counter, was asecond basin for rinsing and cooling purposes, where quart bottles ofdraught wine, partially empty, reared their greenish necks. Then on thecounter, to the right and left of this central basin, were batchesof glasses symmetrically arranged: little glasses for brandy, thicktumblers for draught wine, cup glasses for brandied fruits, glasses forabsinthe, glass mugs for beer, and tall goblets, all turned upside downand reflecting the glitter of the counter. On the left, moreover, was ametal urn, serving as a receptacle for gratuities; whilst a similar oneon the right bristled with a fan-like arrangement of coffee spoons.
Monsieur Lebigre was generally to be found enthroned behind his counterupon a seat covered with buttoned crimson leather. Within easy reach ofhis hand were the liqueurs in cut-glass decanters protruding from thecompartments of a stand. His round back rested against a huge mirrorwhich completely filled the panel behind him; across it ran two glassshelves supporting an array of jars and bottles. Upon one of them theglass jars of preserved fruits, cherries, plums, and peaches, stood outdarkly; while on the other, between symmetrically arranged packets offinger biscuits, were bright flasks of soft green and red and yellowglass, suggesting strange mysterious liqueurs, or floral extracts ofexquisite limpidity. Standing on the glass shelf in the white glow ofthe mirror, these flasks, flashing as if on fire, seemed to be suspendedin the air.
To give his premises the appearance of a cafe, Monsieur Lebigre hadplaced two small tables of bronzed iron and four chairs against thewall, in front of the counter. A chandelier with five lights andfrosted globes hung down from the ceiling. On the left was a round gilttimepiece, above a _tourniquet_[*] fixed to the wall. Then at the farend came the private "cabinet," a corner of the shop shut off by apartition glazed with frosted glass of a small square pattern. In thedaytime this little room received a dim light fr
om a window that lookedon to the Rue Pirouette; and in the evening, a gas jet burnt over thetwo tables painted to resemble marble. It was there that Gavard andhis political friends met each evening after dinner. They looked uponthemselves as being quite at home there, and had prevailed on thelandlord to reserve the place for them. When Monsieur Lebigre had closedthe door of the glazed partition, they knew themselves to be so safelyscreened from intrusion that they spoke quite unreservedly of the great"sweep out" which they were fond of discussing. No unprivileged customerwould have dared to enter.
[*] This is a kind of dial turning on a pivot, and usually enclosed in a brass frame, from which radiate a few small handles or spokes. Round the face of the dial--usually of paper--are various numerals, and between the face and its glass covering is a small marble or wooden ball. The appliance is used in lieu of dice or coins when two or more customers are "tossing" for drinks. Each in turn sends the dial spinning round, and wins or loses according to the numeral against which the ball rests when the dial stops. As I can find no English name for the appliance, I have thought it best to describe it.--Translator.
On the first day that Gavard took Florent off he gave him someparticulars of Monsieur Lebigre. He was a good fellow, he said, whosometimes came to drink his coffee with them; and, as he had said oneday that he had fought in '48, no one felt the least constraint in hispresence. He spoke but little, and seemed rather thick-headed. As thegentlemen passed him on their way to the private room they graspedhis hand in silence across the glasses and bottles. By his side onthe crimson leather seat behind the counter there was generally a fairlittle woman, whom he had engaged as counter assistant in additionto the white-aproned waiter who attended to the tables and thebilliard-room. The young woman's name was Rose, and she seemed a verygentle and submissive being. Gavard, with a wink of his eye, toldFlorent that he fancied Lebigre had a weakness for her. It was she, bythe way, who waited upon the friends in the private room, coming andgoing, with her happy, humble air, amidst the stormiest politicaldiscussions.
Upon the day on which the poultry dealer took Florent to Lebigre's topresent him to his friends, the only person whom the pair found in thelittle room when they entered it was a man of some fifty years of age,of a mild and thoughtful appearance. He wore a rather shabby-looking hatand a long chestnut-coloured overcoat, and sat, with his chin restingon the ivory knob of a thick cane, in front of a glass mug full of beer.His mouth was so completely concealed by a vigorous growth of beard thathis face had a dumb, lipless appearance.
"How are you, Robine?" exclaimed Gavard.
Robine silently thrust out his hand, without making any reply, thoughhis eyes softened into a slight smile of welcome. Then he let his chindrop on to the knob of his cane again, and looked at Florent over hisbeer. Florent had made Gavard swear to keep his story a secret for fearof some dangerous indiscretion; and he was not displeased to observe atouch of distrust in the discreet demeanour of the gentleman with theheavy beard. However, he was really mistaken in this, for Robine nevertalked more than he did now. He was always the first to arrive, justas the clock struck eight; and he always sat in the same corner, neverletting go his hold of his cane, and never taking off either his hat orhis overcoat. No one had ever seen him without his hat upon his head. Heremained there listening to the talk of the others till midnight, takingfour hours to empty his mug of beer, and gazing successively at thedifferent speakers as though he heard them with his eyes. When Florentafterwards questioned Gavard about Robine, the poultry dealer spoke ofthe latter as though he held him in high esteem. Robine, he asserted,was an extremely clever and able man, and, though he was unable to sayexactly where he had given proof of his hostility to the establishedorder of things, he declared that he was one of the most dreaded of theGovernment's opponents. He lived in the Rue Saint Denis, in roomsto which no one as a rule could gain admission. The poultry dealer,however, asserted that he himself had once been in them. The wax floors,he said, were protected by strips of green linen; and there were coversover the furniture, and an alabaster timepiece with columns. He hadcaught a glimpse of the back of a lady, who was just disappearingthrough one doorway as he was entering by another, and had taken herto be Madame Robine. She appeared to be an old lady of very genteelappearance, with her hair arranged in corkscrew curls; but of this hecould not be quite certain. No one knew why they had taken up theirabode amidst all the uproar of a business neighbourhood; for the husbanddid nothing at all, spending his days no one knew how and living on noone knew what, though he made his appearance every evening as though hewere tired but delighted with some excursion into the highest regions ofpolitics.
"Well, have you read the speech from the throne?" asked Gavard, takingup a newspaper that was lying on the table.
Robine shrugged his shoulders. Just at that moment, however, the doorof the glazed partition clattered noisily, and a hunchback made hisappearance. Florent at once recognised the deformed crier of the fishmarket, though his hands were now washed and he was neatly dressed, withhis neck encircled by a great red muffler, one end of which hung downover his hump like the skirt of a Venetian cloak.
"Ah, here's Logre!" exclaimed the poultry dealer. "Now we shall hearwhat he thinks about the speech from the throne."
Logre, however, was apparently furious. To begin with he almost brokethe pegs off in hanging up his hat and muffler. Then he threw himselfviolently into a chair, and brought his fist down on the table, whiletossing away the newspaper.
"Do you think I read their fearful lies?" he cried.
Then he gave vent to the anger raging within him. "Did ever anyonehear," he cried, "of masters making such fools of their people? For twowhole hours I've been waiting for my pay! There were ten of us in theoffice kicking our heels there. Then at last Monsieur Manoury arrivedin a cab. Where he had come from I don't know, and don't care, but I'mquite sure it wasn't any respectable place. Those salesmen are all aparcel of thieves and libertines! And then, too, the hog actually gaveme all my money in small change!"
Robine expressed his sympathy with Logre by the slight movement of hiseyelids. But suddenly the hunchback bethought him of a victim upon whomto pour out his wrath. "Rose! Rose!" he cried, stretching his head outof the little room.
The young woman quickly responded to the call, trembling all over.
"Well," shouted Logre, "what do you stand staring at me like that for?Much good that'll do! You saw me come in, didn't you? Why haven't youbrought me my glass of black coffee, then?"
Gavard ordered two similar glasses, and Rose made all haste to bringwhat was required, while Logre glared sternly at the glasses and littlesugar trays as if studying them. When he had taken a drink he seemed togrow somewhat calmer.
"But it's Charvet who must be getting bored," he said presently. "He iswaiting outside on the pavement for Clemence."
Charvet, however, now made his appearance, followed by Clemence. He wasa tall, scraggy young man, carefully shaved, with a skinny nose andthin lips. He lived in the Rue Vavin, behind the Luxembourg, and calledhimself a professor. In politics he was a disciple of Hebert.[*] Hewore his hair very long, and the collar and lapels of his threadbarefrock-coat were broadly turned back. Affecting the manner and speech ofa member of the National Convention, he would pour out such a flood ofbitter words and make such a haughty display of pedantic learning thathe generally crushed his adversaries. Gavard was afraid of him, thoughhe would not confess it; still, in Charvet's absence he would say thathe really went too far. Robine, for his part, expressed approvalof everything with his eyes. Logre sometimes opposed Charvet on thequestion of salaries; but the other was really the autocrat ofthe coterie, having the greatest fund of information and the mostoverbearing manner. For more than ten years he and Clemence had livedtogether as man and wife, in accordance with a previously arrangedcontract, the terms of which were strictly observed by both parties toit. Florent looked at the young woman with some little surprise, but atlast he recollected whe
re he had previously seen her. This was at thefish auction. She was, indeed, none other than the tall dark femaleclerk whom he had observed writing with outstretched fingers, after themanner of one who had been carefully instructed in the art of holding apen.
[*] Hebert, as the reader will remember, was the furious demagogue with the foul tongue and poisoned pen who edited the _Pere Duchesne_ at the time of the first French Revolution. We had a revival of his politics and his journal in Paris during the Commune of 1871.--Translator.
Rose made her appearance at the heels of the two newcomers. Withoutsaying a word she placed a mug of beer before Charvet and a tray beforeClemence, who in a leisurely way began to compound a glass of "grog,"pouring some hot water over a slice of lemon, which she crushed withher spoon, and glancing carefully at the decanter as she poured outsome rum, so as not to add more of it than a small liqueur glass couldcontain.
Gavard now presented Florent to the company, but more especially toCharvet. He introduced them to one another as professors, and very ablemen, who would be sure to get on well together. But it was probable thathe had already been guilty of some indiscretion, for all the men at onceshook hands with a tight and somewhat masonic squeeze of each other'sfingers. Charvet, for his part, showed himself almost amiable; andwhether he and the others knew anything of Florent's antecedents, theyat all events indulged in no embarrassing allusions.
"Did Manoury pay you in small change?" Logre asked Clemence.
She answered affirmatively, and produced a roll of francs and another oftwo-franc pieces, and unwrapped them. Charvet watched her, and his eyesfollowed the rolls as she replaced them in her pocket, after countingtheir contents and satisfying herself that they were correct.
"We have our accounts to settle," he said in a low voice.
"Yes, we'll settle up to-night," the young woman replied. "But weare about even, I should think. I've breakfasted with you four times,haven't I? But I lent you a hundred sous last week, you know."
Florent, surprised at hearing this, discreetly turned his head away.Then Clemence slipped the last roll of silver into her pocket, drank alittle of her grog, and, leaning against the glazed partition, quietlysettled herself down to listen to the men talking politics. Gavard hadtaken up the newspaper again, and, in tones which he strove to rendercomic, was reading out some passages of the speech from the throne whichhad been delivered that morning at the opening of the Chambers. Charvetmade fine sport of the official phraseology; there was not a single lineof it which he did not tear to pieces. One sentence afforded especialamusement to them all. It was this: "We are confident, gentlemen,that, leaning on your lights[*] and the conservative sentiments of thecountry, we shall succeed in increasing the national prosperity day byday."
[*] In the sense of illumination of mind. It has been necessary to give a literal translation of this phrase to enable the reader to realise the point of subsequent witticisms in which Clemence and Gavard indulge. --Translator.
Logre rose up and repeated this sentence, and by speaking through hisnose succeeded fairly well in mimicking the Emperor's drawling voice.
"It's lovely, that prosperity of his; why, everyone's dying of hunger!"said Charvet.
"Trade is shocking," asserted Gavard.
"And what in the name of goodness is the meaning of anybody 'leaning onlights'?" continued Clemence, who prided herself upon literary culture.
Robine himself even allowed a faint laugh to escape from the depths ofhis beard. The discussion began to grow warm. The party fell foul ofthe Corps Legislatif, and spoke of it with great severity. Logre did notcease ranting, and Florent found him the same as when he cried the fishat the auctions--protruding his jaws and hurling his words forward witha wave of the arm, whilst retaining the crouching attitude of a snarlingdog. Indeed, he talked politics in just the same furious manner as heoffered a tray full of soles for sale.
Charvet, on the other hand, became quieter and colder amidst the smokeof the pipes and the fumes of the gas which were now filling the littleden; and his voice assumed a dry incisive tone, sharp like a guillotineblade, while Robine gently wagged his head without once removing hischin from the ivory knob of his cane. However, some remark of Gavard'sled the conversation to the subject of women.
"Woman," declared Charvet drily, "is the equal of man; and, that beingso, she ought not to inconvenience him in the management of his life.Marriage is a partnership, in which everything should be halved. Isn'tthat so, Clemence?"
"Clearly so," replied the young woman, leaning back with her headagainst the wall and gazing into the air.
However, Florent now saw Lacaille, the costermonger, and Alexandre, theporter, Claude Lantier's friend, come into the little room. In the pastthese two had long remained at the other table in the sanctum; they didnot belong to the same class as the others. By the help of politics,however, their chairs had drawn nearer, and they had ended by formingpart of the circle. Charvet, in whose eyes they represented "thepeople," did his best to indoctrinate them with his advanced politicaltheories, while Gavard played the part of the shopkeeper free fromall social prejudices by clinking glasses with them. Alexandre wasa cheerful, good-humoured giant, with the manner of a big merry lad.Lacaille, on the other hand, was embittered; his hair was alreadygrizzling; and, bent and wearied by his ceaseless perambulations throughthe streets of Paris, he would at times glance loweringly at the placidfigure of Robine, and his sound boots and heavy coat.
That evening both Lacaille and Alexandre called for a liqueur glass ofbrandy, and then the conversation was renewed with increased warmth andexcitement, the party being now quite complete. A little later,while the door of the cabinet was left ajar, Florent caught sight ofMademoiselle Saget standing in front of the counter. She had taken abottle from under her apron, and was watching Rose as the latter pouredinto it a large measureful of black-currant syrup and a smaller oneof brandy. Then the bottle disappeared under the apron again, andMademoiselle Saget, with her hands out of sight, remained talking in thebright glow of the counter, face to face with the big mirror, in whichthe flasks and bottles of liqueurs were reflected like rows of Venetianlanterns. In the evening all the metal and glass of the establishmenthelped to illuminate it with wonderful brilliancy. The old maid,standing there in her black skirts, looked almost like some big strangeinsect amidst all the crude brightness. Florent noticed that she wastrying to inveigle Rose into a conversation, and shrewdly suspected thatshe had caught sight of him through the half open doorway. Since hehad been on duty at the markets he had met her at almost every step,loitering in one or another of the covered ways, and generally in thecompany of Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette. He had noticed also thatthe three women stealthily examined him, and seemed lost in amazementat seeing him installed in the position of inspector. That evening,however, Rose was no doubt loath to enter into conversation with the oldmaid, for the latter at last turned round, apparently with the intentionof approaching Monsieur Lebigre, who was playing piquet with a customerat one of the bronzed tables. Creeping quietly along, MademoiselleSaget had at last managed to install herself beside the partition of thecabinet, when she was observed by Gavard, who detested her.
"Shut the door, Florent!" he cried unceremoniously. "We can't even be byourselves, it seems!"
When midnight came and Lacaille went away he exchanged a few whisperedwords with Monsieur Lebigre, and as the latter shook hands with him heslipped four five-franc pieces into his palm, without anyone noticingit. "That'll make twenty-two francs that you'll have to pay to-morrow,remember," he whispered in his ear. "The person who lends the moneywon't do it for less in future. Don't forget, too, that you owe threedays' truck hire. You must pay everything off."
Then Monsieur Lebigre wished the friends good night. He was very sleepyand should sleep well, he said, with a yawn which revealed his bigteeth, while Rose gazed at him with an air of submissive humility.However, he gave her a push, and told her to go and turn out the gas inthe little ro
om.
On reaching the pavement, Gavard stumbled and nearly fell. And being ina humorous vein, he thereupon exclaimed: "Confound it all! At any rate,I don't seem to be leaning on anybody's lights."
This remark seemed to amuse the others, and the party broke up. A littlelater Florent returned to Lebigre's, and indeed he became quite attachedto the "cabinet," finding a seductive charm in Robine's contemplativesilence, Logre's fiery outbursts, and Charvet's cool venom. When he wenthome, he did not at once retire to bed. He had grown very fond of hisattic, that girlish bedroom, where Augustine had left scraps of ribbons,souvenirs, and other feminine trifles lying about. There still remainedsome hair-pins on the mantelpiece, with gilt cardboard boxes of buttonsand lozenges, cutout pictures, and empty pomade pots that retained anodour of jasmine. Then there were some reels of thread, needles, anda missal lying by the side of a soiled Dream-book in the drawer ofthe rickety deal table. A white summer dress with yellow spotshung forgotten from a nail; while upon the board which served as atoilet-table a big stain behind the water-jug showed where a bottle ofbandoline had been overturned. The little chamber, with its narrow ironbed, its two rush-bottomed chairs, and its faded grey wallpaper,was instinct with innocent simplicity. The plain white curtains, thechildishness suggested by the cardboard boxes and the Dream-book, andthe clumsy coquetry which had stained the walls, all charmed Florent andbrought him back to dreams of youth. He would have preferred not tohave known that plain, wiry-haired Augustine, but to have been able toimagine that he was occupying the room of a sister, some bright sweetgirl of whose budding womanhood every trifle around him spoke.
Yet another pleasure which he took was to lean out of the garret windowat nighttime. In front of it was a narrow ledge of roof, enclosed byan iron railing, and forming a sort of balcony, on which Augustine hadgrown a pomegranate in a box. Since the nights had turned cold, Florenthad brought the pomegranate indoors and kept it by the foot of his bedtill morning. He would linger for a few minutes by the open window,inhaling deep draughts of the sharp fresh air which was wafted up fromthe Seine, over the housetops of the Rue de Rivoli. Below him the roofsof the markets spread confusedly in a grey expanse, like slumberinglakes on whose surface the furtive reflection of a pane of glass gleamedevery now and then like a silvery ripple. Farther away the roofs of themeat and poultry pavilions lay in deeper gloom, and became mere massesof shadow barring the horizon. Florent delighted in the great stretch ofopen sky in front of him, in that spreading expanse of the markets whichamidst all the narrow city streets brought him a dim vision of somestrip of sea coast, of the still grey waters of a bay scarce quiveringfrom the roll of the distant billows. He used to lose himself in dreamsas he stood there; each night he conjured up the vision of some freshcoast line. To return in mind to the eight years of despair which he hadspent away from France rendered him both very sad and very happy. Thenat last, shivering all over, he would close the window. Often, as hestood in front of the fireplace taking off his collar, the photograph ofAuguste and Augustine would fill him with disquietude. They seemed to bewatching him as they stood there, hand in hand, smiling faintly.
Florent's first few weeks at the fish market were very painful to him.The Mehudins treated him with open hostility, which infected the wholemarket with a spirit of opposition. The beautiful Norman intended torevenge herself on the handsome Lisa, and the latter's cousin seemed avictim ready to hand.
The Mehudins came from Rouen. Louise's mother still related how she hadfirst arrived in Paris with a basket of eels. She had ever afterwardsremained in the fish trade. She had married a man employed in the Octroiservice, who had died leaving her with two little girls. It was she whoby her full figure and glowing freshness had won for herself in earlierdays the nickname of "the beautiful Norman," which her eldest daughterhad inherited. Now five and sixty years of age, Madame Mehudin hadbecome flabby and shapeless, and the damp air of the fish market hadrendered her voice rough and hoarse, and given a bluish tinge to herskin. Sedentary life had made her extremely bulky, and her head wasthrown backwards by the exuberance of her bosom. She had never beenwilling to renounce the fashions of her younger days, but still worethe flowered gown, the yellow kerchief, and turban-like head-gear ofthe classic fish-wife, besides retaining the latter's loud voice andrapidity of gesture as she stood with her hands on her hips, shoutingout the whole abusive vocabulary of her calling.
She looked back regretfully to the old Marche des Innocents, which thenew central markets had supplanted. She would talk of the ancient rightsof the market "ladies," and mingle stories of fisticuffs exchanged withthe police with reminiscences of the visits she had paid the Court inthe time of Charles X and Louis Philippe, dressed in silk, and carryinga bouquet of flowers in her hand. Old Mother Mehudin, as she was nowgenerally called, had for a long time been the banner-bearer of theSisterhood of the Virgin at St. Leu. She would relate that in theprocessions in the church there she had worn a dress and cap of tulletrimmed with satin ribbons, whilst holding aloft in her puffy fingersthe gilded staff of the richly-fringed silk standard on which the figureof the Holy Mother was embroidered.
According to the gossip of the neighbourhood, the old woman had made afairly substantial fortune, though the only signs of it were the massivegold ornaments with which she loaded her neck and arms and bosom onimportant occasions. Her two daughters got on badly together as theygrew up. The younger one, Claire, an idle, fair-complexioned girl,complained of the ill-treatment which she received from her sisterLouise, protesting, in her languid voice, that she could never submit tobe the other's servant. As they would certainly have ended by comingto blows, their mother separated them. She gave her stall in the fishmarket to Louise, while Claire, whom the smell of the skate and theherrings affected in the lungs, installed herself among the fresh waterfish. And from that time the old mother, although she pretended tohave retired from business altogether, would flit from one stall to theother, still interfering in the selling of the fish, and causing herdaughters continual annoyance by the foul insolence with which she wouldat times speak to customers.
Claire was a fantastical creature, very gentle in her manner, and yetcontinually at loggerheads with others. People said that she invariablyfollowed her own whimsical inclinations. In spite of her dreamy, girlishface she was imbued with a nature of silent firmness, a spirit ofindependence which prompted her to live apart; she never took thingsas other people did, but would one day evince perfect fairness, and thenext day arrant injustice. She would sometimes throw the market intoconfusion by suddenly increasing or lowering the prices at her stall,without anyone being able to guess her reason for doing so. Sheherself would refuse to explain her motive. By the time she reached herthirtieth year, her delicate physique and fine skin, which the waterof the tanks seemed to keep continually fresh and soft, her small,faintly-marked face and lissome limbs would probably become heavy,coarse, and flabby, till she would look like some faded saint that hadstepped from a stained-glass window into the degrading sphere of themarkets. At twenty-two, however, Claire, in the midst of her carp andeels, was, to use Claude Lantier's expression, a Murillo. A Murillo,that is, whose hair was often in disorder, who wore heavy shoes andclumsily cut dresses, which left her without any figure. But she wasfree from all coquetry, and she assumed an air of scornful contempt whenLouise, displaying her bows and ribbons, chaffed her about her clumsilyknotted neckerchiefs. Moreover, she was virtuous; it was said that theson of a rich shopkeeper in the neighbourhood had gone abroad in despairat having failed to induce her to listen to his suit.
Louise, the beautiful Norman, was of a different nature. She had beenengaged to be married to a clerk in the corn market; but a sack of flourfalling upon the young man had broken his back and killed him. Not verylong afterwards Louise had given birth to a boy. In the Mehudins' circleof acquaintance she was looked upon as a widow; and the old fish-wifein conversation would occasionally refer to the time when her son-in-lawwas alive.
The Mehudins were a power in the markets
. When Monsieur Verlaque hadfinished instructing Florent in his new duties, he advised him toconciliate certain of the stall-holders, if he wished his life to beendurable; and he even carried his sympathy so far as to put him inpossession of the little secrets of the office, such as the variouslittle breaches of rule that it was necessary to wink at, and thoseat which he would have to feign stern displeasure; and also thecircumstances under which he might accept a small present. A marketinspector is at once a constable and a magistrate; he has to maintainproper order and cleanliness, and settle in a conciliatory spiritall disputes between buyers and sellers. Florent, who was of a weakdisposition put on an artificial sternness when he was obliged toexercise his authority, and generally over-acted his part. Moreover, hisgloomy, pariah-like face and bitterness of spirit, the result of longsuffering, were against him.
The beautiful Norman's idea was to involve him in some quarrel or other.She had sworn that he would not keep his berth a fortnight. "That fatLisa's much mistaken," said she one morning on meeting Madame Lecoeur,"if she thinks that she's going to put people over us. We don't wantsuch ugly wretches here. That sweetheart of hers is a perfect fright!"
After the auctions, when Florent commenced his round of inspection,strolling slowly through the dripping alleys, he could plainly see thebeautiful Norman watching him with an impudent smile on her face. Herstall, which was in the second row on the left, near the fresh waterfish department faced the Rue Rambuteau. She would turn round, however,and never take her eyes off her victim whilst making fun of him withher neighbours. And when he passed in front of her, slowly examining theslabs, she feigned hilarious merriment, slapped her fish with her hand,and turned her jets of water on at full stream, flooding the pathway.Nevertheless Florent remained perfectly calm.
At last, one morning as was bound to happen, war broke out. As Florentreached La Normande's stall that day an unbearable stench assailedhis nostrils. On the marble slab, in addition to part of a magnificentsalmon, showing its soft roseate flesh, there lay some turbots of creamywhiteness, a few conger-eels pierced with black pins to mark theirdivisions, several pairs of soles, and some bass and red mullet--infact, quite a display of fresh fish. But in the midst of it, amongstall these fish whose eyes still gleamed and whose gills were of a brightcrimson, there lay a huge skate of a ruddy tinge, splotched with darkstains--superb, indeed, with all its strange colourings. Unfortunately,it was rotten; its tail was falling off and the ribs of its fins werebreaking through the skin.
"You must throw that skate away," said Florent as he came up.
The beautiful Norman broke into a slight laugh. Florent raised his eyesand saw her standing before him, with her back against the bronze lamppost which lighted the stalls in her division. She had mounted upona box to keep her feet out of the damp, and appeared very tall as heglanced at her. She looked also handsomer than usual, with herhair arranged in little curls, her sly face slightly bent, her lipscompressed, and her hands showing somewhat too rosily against her bigwhite apron. Florent had never before seen her decked with so muchjewellery. She had long pendants in her ears, a chain round her neck, abrooch in her dress body, and quite a collection of rings on two fingersof her left hand and one of her right.
As she still continued to look slyly at Florent, without making anyreply, the latter continued: "Do you hear? You must remove that skate."
He had not yet noticed the presence of old Madame Mehudin, who sat allof a heap on a chair in a corner. She now got up, however, and, with herfists resting on the marble slap, insolently exclaimed: "Dear me! Andwhy is she to throw her skate away? You won't pay her for it, I'll bet!"
Florent immediately understood the position. The women at the otherstalls began to titter, and he felt that he was surrounded by covertrebellion, which a word might cause to blaze forth. He thereforerestrained himself, and in person drew the refuse-pail from under thestall and dropped the skate into it. Old Madame Mehudin had alreadystuck her hands on her hips, while the beautiful Norman, who had notspoken a word, burst into another malicious laugh as Florent strodesternly away amidst a chorus of jeers, which he pretended not to hear.
Each day now some new trick was played upon him, and he was obliged towalk through the market alleys as warily as though he were in a hostilecountry. He was splashed with water from the sponges employed tocleanse the slabs; he stumbled and almost fell over slippery refuseintentionally spread in his way; and even the porters contrived to runtheir baskets against the nape of his neck. One day, moreover, when twoof the fish-wives were quarrelling, and he hastened up to prevent themcoming to blows, he was obliged to duck in order to escape being slappedon either cheek by a shower of little dabs which passed over his head.There was a general outburst of laughter on this occasion, and Florentalways believed that the two fish-wives were in league with theMehudins. However, his old-time experiences as a teacher had endowedhim with angelic patience, and he was able to maintain a magisterialcoolness of manner even when anger was hotly rising within him, andhis whole being quivered with a sense of humiliation. Still, the youngscamps of the Rue de l'Estrapade had never manifested the savageryof these fish-wives, the cruel tenacity of these huge females, whosemassive figures heaved and shook with a giant-like joy whenever he fellinto any trap. They stared him out of countenance with their red faces;and in the coarse tones of their voices and the impudent gesture oftheir hands he could read volumes of filthy abuse levelled at himself.Gavard would have been quite in his element amidst all these petticoats,and would have freely cuffed them all round; but Florent, who hadalways been afraid of women, gradually felt overwhelmed as by a sortof nightmare in which giant women, buxom beyond all imagination,danced threateningly around him, shouting at him in hoarse voices andbrandishing bare arms, as massive as any prize-fighter's.
Amongst this hoard of females, however, Florent had one friend. Claireunhesitatingly declared that the new inspector was a very good fellow.When he passed in front of her, pursued by the coarse abuse of theothers, she gave him a pleasant smile, sitting nonchalantly behind herstall, with unruly errant locks of pale hair straying over her neck andher brow, and the bodice of her dress pinned all askew. He also oftensaw her dipping her hands into her tanks, transferring the fish fromone compartment to another, and amusing herself by turning on the brasstaps, shaped like little dolphins with open mouths, from which the waterpoured in streamlets. Amidst the rustling sound of the water she hadsome of the quivering grace of a girl who has just been bathing and hashurriedly slipped on her clothes.
One morning she was particularly amiable. She called the inspector toher to show him a huge eel which had been the wonder of the marketwhen exhibited at the auction. She opened the grating, which she hadpreviously closed over the basin in whose depths the eel seemed to belying sound asleep.
"Wait a moment," she said, "and I'll show it to you."
Then she gently slipped her bare arm into the water; it was not a veryplump arm, and its veins showed softly blue beneath its satiny skin. Assoon as the eel felt her touch, it rapidly twisted round, and seemed tofill the narrow trough with its glistening greenish coils. And directlyit had settled down to rest again Claire once more stirred it with herfingertips.
"It is an enormous creature," Florent felt bound to say. "I have rarelyseen such a fine one."
Claire thereupon confessed to him that she had at first been frightenedof eels; but now she had learned how to tighten her grip so that theycould not slip away. From another compartment she took a smaller one,which began to wriggle both with head and tail, as she held it aboutthe middle in her closed fist. This made her laugh. She let it go, thenseized another and another, scouring the basin and stirring up the wholeheap of snaky-looking creatures with her slim fingers.
Afterwards she began to speak of the slackness of trade. The hawkers onthe foot-pavement of the covered way did the regular saleswomen a greatdeal of injury, she said. Meantime her bare arm, which she had notwiped, was glistening and dripping with water. Big drops trickled fromeach finger.
"Oh," she exclaimed suddenly, "I must show you my carp, too!"
She now removed another grating, and, using both hands, lifted out alarge carp, which began to flap its tail and gasp. It was too big to beheld conveniently, so she sought another one. This was smaller, and shecould hold it with one hand, but the latter was forced slightly openby the panting of the sides each time that the fish gasped. To amuseherself it occurred to Claire to pop the tip of her thumb into thecarp's mouth whilst it was dilated. "It won't bite," said she with hergentle laugh; "it's not spiteful. No more are the crawfishes; I'm notthe least afraid of them."
She plunged her arm into the water again, and from a compartment fullof a confused crawling mass brought up a crawfish that had caught herlittle finger in its claws. She gave the creature a shake, but it nodoubt gripped her too tightly, for she turned very red, and snapped offits claw with a quick, angry gesture, though still continuing to smile.
"By the way," she continued quickly, to conceal her emotion, "I wouldn'ttrust myself with a pike; he'd cut off my fingers like a knife."
She thereupon showed him some big pike arranged in order of size uponclean scoured shelves, beside some bronze-hued tench and little heaps ofgudgeon. Her hands were now quite slimy with handling the carp, and asshe stood there in the dampness rising from the tanks, she held themoutstretched over the dripping fish on the stall. She seemed envelopedby an odour of spawn, that heavy scent which rises from among the reedsand water-lilies when the fish, languid in the sunlight, discharge theireggs. Then she wiped her hands on her apron, still smiling the placidsmile of a girl who knew nothing of passion in that quivering atmosphereof the frigid loves of the river.
The kindliness which Claire showed to Florent was but a slightconsolation to him. By stopping to talk to the girl he only drew uponhimself still coarser jeers from the other stallkeepers. Claire shruggedher shoulders, and said that her mother was an old jade, and her sistera worthless creature. The injustice of the market folk towards the newinspector filled her with indignation. The war between them, however,grew more bitter every day. Florent had serious thoughts of resigninghis post; indeed, he would not have retained it for another twenty-fourhours if he had not been afraid that Lisa might imagine him to be acoward. He was frightened of what she might say and what she mightthink. She was naturally well aware of the contest which was going onbetween the fish-wives and their inspector; for the whole echoing marketresounded with it, and the entire neighbourhood discussed each freshincident with endless comments.
"Ah, well," Lisa would often say in the evening, after dinner, "I'd soonbring them to reason if I had anything to do with them! Why, they are alot of dirty jades that I wouldn't touch with the tip of my finger! ThatNormande is the lowest of the low! I'd soon crush her, that I would! Youshould really use your authority, Florent. You are wrong to behave asyou do. Put your foot down, and they'll all come to their senses veryquickly, you'll see."
A terrible climax was presently reached. One morning the servant ofMadame Taboureau, the baker, came to the market to buy a brill; andthe beautiful Norman, having noticed her lingering near her stall forseveral minutes, began to make overtures to her in a coaxing way: "Comeand see me; I'll suit you," she said. "Would you like a pair of soles,or a fine turbot?"
Then as the servant at last came up, and sniffed at a brill with thatdissatisfied pout which buyers assume in the hope of getting what theywant at a lower price, La Normande continued:
"Just feel the weight of that, now," and so saying she laid the brill,wrapped in a sheet of thick yellow paper, on the woman's open palm.
The servant, a mournful little woman from Auvergne, felt the weight ofthe brill, and examined its gills, still pouting, and saying not a word.
"And how much do you want for it?" she asked presently, in a reluctanttone.
"Fifteen francs," replied La Normande.
At this the servant hastily laid the brill on the stall again, andseemed anxious to hurry away, but the other detained her. "Wait amoment," said she. "What do you offer?"
"No, no, I can't take it. It is much too dear."
"Come, now, make me an offer."
"Well, will you take eight francs?"
Old Madame Mehudin, who was there, suddenly seemed to wake up, andbroke out into a contemptuous laugh. Did people think that she and herdaughter stole the fish they sold? "Eight francs for a brill that size!"she exclaimed. "You'll be wanting one for nothing next, to use as acooling plaster!"
Meantime La Normande turned her head away, as though greatly offended.However, the servant came back twice and offered nine francs; andfinally she increased her bid to ten.
"All right, come on, give me your money!" cried the fish-girl, seeingthat the woman was now really going away.
The servant took her stand in front of the stall and entered into afriendly gossip with old Madame Mehudin. Madame Taboureau, she said, wasso exacting! She had got some people coming to dinner that evening, somecousins from Blois a notary and his wife. Madame Taboureau's family,she added, was a very respectable one, and she herself, although only abaker, had received an excellent education.
"You'll clean it nicely for me, won't you?" added the woman, pausing inher chatter.
With a jerk of her finger La Normande had removed the fish's entrailsand tossed them into a pail. Then she slipped a corner of her apronunder its gills to wipe away a few grains of sand. "There, my dear," shesaid, putting the fish into the servant's basket, "you'll come back tothank me."
Certainly the servant did come back a quarter of an hour afterwards,but it was with a flushed, red face. She had been crying, and her littlebody was trembling all over with anger. Tossing the brill on to themarble slab, she pointed to a broad gash in its belly that reached thebone. Then a flood of broken words burst from her throat, which wasstill contracted by sobbing: "Madame Taboureau won't have it. She saysshe couldn't put it on her table. She told me, too, that I was an idiot,and let myself be cheated by anyone. You can see for yourself that thefish is spoilt. I never thought of turning it round; I quite trustedyou. Give me my ten francs back."
"You should look at what you buy," the handsome Norman calmly observed.
And then, as the servant was just raising her voice again, old MadameMehudin got up. "Just you shut up!" she cried. "We're not going to takeback a fish that's been knocking about in other people's houses. How dowe know that you didn't let it fall and damage it yourself?"
"I! I damage it!" The little servant was choking with indignation. "Ah!you're a couple of thieves!" she cried, sobbing bitterly. "Yes, a coupleof thieves! Madame Taboureau herself told me so!"
Matters then became uproarious. Boiling over with rage and brandishingtheir fists, both mother and daughter fairly exploded; while the poorlittle servant, quite bewildered by their voices, the one hoarse andthe other shrill, which belaboured her with insults as though they werebattledores and she a shuttlecock, sobbed on more bitterly than ever.
"Be off with you! Your Madame Taboureau would like to be half as freshas that fish is! She'd like us to sew it up for her, no doubt!"
"A whole fish for ten francs! What'll she want next!"
Then came coarse words and foul accusations. Had the servant beenthe most worthless of her sex she could not have been more bitterlyupbraided.
Florent, whom the market keeper had gone to fetch, made his appearancewhen the quarrel was at its hottest. The whole pavilion seemed to bein a state of insurrection. The fish-wives, who manifest the keenestjealousy of each other when the sale of a penny herring is in question,display a united front when a quarrel arises with a buyer. They sang thepopular old ditty, "The baker's wife has heaps of crowns, which cost herprecious little"; they stamped their feet, and goaded the Mehudinsas though the latter were dogs which they were urging on to bite anddevour. And there were even some, having stalls at the other end ofthe alley, who rushed up wildly, as though they meant to spring at thechignon of the poor little woman, she meantime being quite submerged bythe flood of in
sulting abuse poured upon her.
"Return mademoiselle her ten francs," said Florent sternly, when he hadlearned what had taken place.
But old Madame Mehudin had her blood up. "As for you, my little man,"quoth she, "go to blazes! Here, that's how I'll return the ten francs!"
As she spoke, she flung the brill with all her force at the head ofMadame Taboureau's servant, who received it full in the face. The bloodspurted from her nose, and the brill, after adhering for a moment toher cheeks, fell to the ground and burst with a flop like that of a wetclout. This brutal act threw Florent into a fury. The beautiful Normanfelt frightened and recoiled, as he cried out: "I suspend you for aweek, and I will have your licence withdrawn. You hear me?"
Then, as the other fish-wives were still jeering behind him, he turnedround with such a threatening air that they quailed like wild beastsmastered by the tamer, and tried to assume an expression of innocence.When the Mehudins had returned the ten francs, Florent peremptorilyordered them to cease selling at once. The old woman was choking withrage, while the daughter kept silent, but turned very white. She, thebeautiful Norman, to be driven out of her stall!
Claire said in her quiet voice that it served her mother and sisterright, a remark which nearly resulted in the two girls tearing eachother's hair out that evening when they returned home to the RuePirouette. However, when the Mehudins came back to the market at theweek's end, they remained very quiet, reserved, and curt of speech,though full of a cold-blooded wrath. Moreover, they found the pavilionquite calm and restored to order again. From that day forward thebeautiful Norman must have harboured the thought of some terriblevengeance. She felt that she really had Lisa to thank for what hadhappened. She had met her, the day after the battle, carrying her headso high, that she had sworn she would make her pay dearly for her glanceof triumph. She held interminable confabulations with Madame Saget,Madame Lecoeur, and La Sarriette, in quiet corners of the market;however, all their chatter about the shameless conduct which theyslanderously ascribed to Lisa and her cousin, and about the hairs whichthey declared were found in Quenu's chitterlings, brought La Normandelittle consolation. She was trying to think of some very malicious planof vengeance, which would strike her rival to the heart.
Her child was growing up in the fish market in all freedom and neglect.When but three years old the youngster had been brought there, and dayby day remained squatting on some rag amidst the fish. He would fallasleep beside the big tunnies as though he were one of them, and awakeamong the mackerel and whiting. The little rascal smelt of fish asstrongly as though he were some big fish's offspring. For a long timehis favourite pastime, whenever his mother's back was turned, was tobuild walls and houses of herrings; and he would also play at soldierson the marble slab, arranging the red gurnets in confronting lines,pushing them against each other, and battering their heads, whileimitating the sound of drum and trumpet with his lips; after which hewould throw them all into a heap again, and exclaim that they were dead.When he grew older he would prowl about his aunt Claire's stall to gethold of the bladders of the carp and pike which she gutted. He placedthem on the ground and made them burst, an amusement which affordedhim vast delight. When he was seven he rushed about the alleys, crawledunder the stalls, ferreted amongst the zinc bound fish boxes, and becamethe spoiled pet of all the women. Whenever they showed him somethingfresh which pleased him, he would clasp his hands and exclaim inecstasy, "Oh, isn't it stunning!" _Muche_ was the exact word which heused; _muche_ being the equivalent of "stunning" in the lingo of themarkets; and he used the expression so often that it clung to him as anickname. He became known all over the place as "Muche." It was Muchehere, there and everywhere; no one called him anything else. He was tobe met with in every nook; in out-of-the-way corners of the offices inthe auction pavilion; among the piles of oyster baskets, and betwixt thebuckets where the refuse was thrown. With a pinky fairness of skin, hewas like a young barbel frisking and gliding about in deep water. Hewas as fond of running, streaming water as any young fry. He wasever dabbling in the pools in the alleys. He wetted himself with thedrippings from the tables, and when no one was looking often slylyturned on the taps, rejoicing in the bursting gush of water. But it wasespecially beside the fountains near the cellar steps that his motherwent to seek him in the evening, and she would bring him thence with hishands quite blue, and his shoes, and even his pockets, full of water.
At seven years old Muche was as pretty as an angel, and as coarse in hismanners as any carter. He had curly chestnut hair, beautiful eyes,and an innocent-looking mouth which gave vent to language that even agendarme would have hesitated to use. Brought up amidst all the ribaldryand profanity of the markets, he had the whole vocabulary of the placeon the tip of his tongue. With his hands on his hips he often mimickedGrandmother Mehudin in her anger, and at these times the coarsest andvilest expressions would stream from his lips in a voice of crystallinepurity that might have belonged to some little chorister chanting the_Ave Maria_. He would even try to assume a hoarse roughness of tone,seek to degrade and taint that exquisite freshness of childhood whichmade him resemble a _bambino_ on the Madonna's knees. The fish-wiveslaughed at him till they cried; and he, encouraged, could scarcely say acouple of words without rapping out an oath. But in spite of all this hestill remained charming, understanding nothing of the dirt amidst whichhe lived, kept in vigorous health by the fresh breezes and sharp odoursof the fish market, and reciting his vocabulary of coarse indecencieswith as pure a face as though he were saying his prayers.
The winter was approaching, and Muche seemed very sensitive to the cold.As soon as the chilly weather set in he manifested a strong predilectionfor the inspector's office. This was situated in the left-hand corner ofthe pavilion, on the side of the Rue Rambuteau. The furniture consistedof a table, a stack of drawers, an easy-chair, two other chairs, and astove. It was this stove which attracted Muche. Florent quite worshippedchildren, and when he saw the little fellow, with his dripping legs,gazing wistfully through the window, he made him come inside. His firstconversation with the lad caused him profound amazement. Muche sat downin front of the stove, and in his quiet voice exclaimed: "I'll justtoast my toes, do you see? It's d----d cold this morning." Then he brokeinto a rippling laugh, and added: "Aunt Claire looks awfully blue thismorning. Is it true, sir, that you are sweet on her?"
Amazed though he was, Florent felt quite interested in the odd littlefellow. The handsome Norman retained her surly bearing, but allowedher son to frequent the inspector's office without a word of objection.Florent consequently concluded that he had the mother's permission toreceive the boy, and every afternoon he asked him in; by degrees formingthe idea of turning him into a steady, respectable young fellow. Hecould almost fancy that his brother Quenu had grown little again, andthat they were both in the big room in the Rue Royer-Collard once more.The life which his self-sacrificing nature pictured to him as perfecthappiness was a life spent with some young being who would never growup, whom he could go on teaching for ever, and in whose innocence hemight still love his fellow man. On the third day of his acquaintancewith Muche he brought an alphabet to the office, and the lad delightedhim by the intelligence he manifested. He learned his letters with allthe sharp precocity which marks the Parisian street arab, and derivedgreat amusement from the woodcuts illustrating the alphabet.
He found opportunities, too, for plenty of fine fun in the littleoffice, where the stove still remained the chief attraction and a sourceof endless enjoyment. At first he cooked potatoes and chestnuts at it,but presently these seemed insipid, and he thereupon stole some gudgeonsfrom his aunt Claire, roasted them one by one, suspended from a stringin front of the glowing fire, and then devoured them with gusto, thoughhe had no bread. One day he even brought a carp with him; but it wasimpossible to roast it sufficiently, and it made such a smell in theoffice that both window and door had to be thrown open. Sometimes, whenthe odour of all these culinary operations became too strong, Florentwould throw the fish into the street, b
ut as a rule he only laughed. Bythe end of a couple of months Muche was able to read fairly well, andhis copy-books did him credit.
Meantime, every evening the lad wearied his mother with his talk abouthis good friend Florent. His good friend Florent had drawn him picturesof trees and of men in huts, said he. His good friend Florent waved hisarm and said that men would be far better if they all knew how to read.And at last La Normande heard so much about Florent that she seemedto be almost intimate with this man against whom she harboured so muchrancour. One day she shut Muche up at home to prevent him from going tothe inspector's, but he cried so bitterly that she gave him his libertyagain on the following morning. There was very little determinationabout her, in spite of her broad shoulders and bold looks. When the ladtold her how nice and warm he had been in the office, and came back toher with his clothes quite dry, she felt a sort of vague gratitude, apleasure in knowing that he had found a shelter-place where he could sitwith his feet in front of a fire. Later on, she was quite touched whenhe read her some words from a scrap of soiled newspaper wrapped rounda slice of conger-eel. By degrees, indeed, she began to think, thoughwithout admitting it, that Florent could not really be a bad sort offellow. She felt respect for his knowledge, mingled with an increasingcuriosity to see more of him and learn something of his life. Then, allat once, she found an excuse for gratifying this inquisitiveness. Shewould use it as a means of vengeance. It would be fine fun to makefriends with Florent and embroil him with that great fat Lisa.
"Does your good friend Florent ever speak to you about me?" she askedMuche one morning as she was dressing him.
"Oh, no," replied the boy. "We enjoy ourselves."
"Well, you can tell him that I've quite forgiven him, and that I'm muchobliged to him for having taught you to read."
Thenceforward the child was entrusted with some message every day. Hewent backwards and forwards from his mother to the inspector, and fromthe inspector to his mother, charged with kindly words and questions andanswers, which he repeated mechanically without knowing their meaning.He might, indeed, have been safely trusted with the most compromisingcommunications. However, the beautiful Norman felt afraid of appearingtimid, and so one day she herself went to the inspector's office and satdown on the second chair, while Muche was having his writing lesson.She proved very suave and complimentary, and Florent was by far the moreembarrassed of the two. They only spoke of the lad; and when Florentexpressed a fear that he might not be able to continue the lessonsin the office, La Normande invited him to come to their home in theevening. She spoke also of payment; but at this he blushed, and saidthat he certainly would not come if any mention were made of money.Thereupon the young woman determined in her own mind that she wouldrecompense him with presents of choice fish.
Peace was thus made between them; the beautiful Norman even took Florentunder her protection. Apart from this, however, the whole market wasbecoming reconciled to the new inspector, the fish-wives arriving at theconclusion that he was really a better fellow than Monsieur Verlaque,notwithstanding his strange eyes. It was only old Madame Mehudin whostill shrugged her shoulders, full of rancour as she was against the"long lanky-guts," as she contemptuously called him. And then, too, astrange thing happened. One morning, when Florent stopped with a smilebefore Claire's tanks, the girl dropped an eel which she was holding andangrily turned her back upon him, her cheeks quite swollen and reddenedby temper. The inspector was so much astonished that he spoke to LaNormande about it.
"Oh, never mind her," said the young woman; "she's cracked. She makesa point of always differing from everybody else. She only behaved likethat to annoy me."
La Normande was now triumphant--she strutted about her stall, and becamemore coquettish than ever, arranging her hair in the most elaboratemanner. Meeting the handsome Lisa one day she returned her look ofscorn, and even burst out laughing in her face. The certainty she feltof driving the mistress of the pork shop to despair by winning hercousin from her endowed her with a gay, sonorous laugh, which rolled upfrom her chest and rippled her white plump neck. She now had the whimof dressing Muche very showily in a little Highland costume and velvetbonnet. The lad had never previously worn anything but a tatteredblouse. It unfortunately happened, however, that just about this time heagain became very fond of the water. The ice had melted and the weatherwas mild, so he gave his Scotch jacket a bath, turning the fountain tapon at full flow and letting the water pour down his arm from his elbowto his hand. He called this "playing at gutters." Then a little later,when his mother came up and caught him, she found him with two otheryoung scamps watching a couple of little fishes swimming about in hisvelvet cap, which he had filled with water.
For nearly eight months Florent lived in the markets, feeling continualdrowsiness. After his seven years of suffering he had lighted upon suchcalm quietude, such unbroken regularity of life, that he was scarcelyconscious of existing. He gave himself up to this jog-trot peacefulnesswith a dazed sort of feeling, continually experiencing surprise atfinding himself each morning in the same armchair in the little office.This office with its bare hut-like appearance had a charm for him. Hehere found a quiet and secluded refuge amidst that ceaseless roar of themarkets which made him dream of some surging sea spreading aroundhim, and isolating him from the world. Gradually, however, a vaguenervousness began to prey upon him; he became discontented, accusedhimself of faults which he could not define, and began to rebel againstthe emptiness which he experienced more and more acutely in mind andbody. Then, too, the evil smells of the fish market brought him nausea.By degrees he became unhinged, his vague boredom developing intorestless, nervous excitement.
All his days were precisely alike, spent among the same sounds and thesame odours. In the mornings the noisy buzzing of the auction salesresounded in his ears like a distant echo of bells; and sometimes, whenthere was a delay in the arrival of the fish, the auctions continuedtill very late. Upon these occasions he remained in the pavilion tillnoon, disturbed at every moment by quarrels and disputes, which heendeavoured to settle with scrupulous justice. Hours elapsed before hecould get free of some miserable matter or other which was exciting themarket. He paced up and down amidst the crush and uproar of the sales,slowly perambulating the alleys and occasionally stopping in front ofthe stalls which fringed the Rue Rambuteau, and where lay rosy heaps ofprawns and baskets of boiled lobsters with tails tied backwards, whilelive ones were gradually dying as they sprawled over the marbleslabs. And then he would watch gentlemen in silk hats and black glovesbargaining with the fish-wives, and finally going off with boiledlobsters wrapped in paper in the pockets of their frock-coats.[*]Farther away, at the temporary stalls, where the commoner sorts of fishwere sold, he would recognise the bareheaded women of the neighbourhood,who always came at the same hour to make their purchases.
[*] The little fish-basket for the use of customers, so familiar in London, is not known in Paris.--Translator.
At times he took an interest in some well-dressed lady trailing her lacepetticoats over the damp stones, and escorted by a servant in a whiteapron; and he would follow her at a little distance on noticing how thefish-wives shrugged their shoulders at sight of her air of disgust. Themedley of hampers and baskets and bags, the crowd of skirts flittingalong the damp alleys, occupied his attention until lunchtime. He took adelight in the dripping water and the fresh breeze as he passed from theacrid smell of the shell-fish to the pungent odour of the salted fish.It was always with the latter that he brought his official round ofinspection to a close. The cases of red herrings, the Nantes sardines ontheir layers of leaves, and the rolled cod, exposed for sale underthe eyes of stout, faded fish-wives, brought him thoughts of a voyagenecessitating a vast supply of salted provisions.
In the afternoon the markets became quieter, grew drowsy; and Florentthen shut himself up in his office, made out his reports, and enjoyedthe happiest hours of his day. If he happened to go out and crossthe fish market, he found it almost deserted. There was no longer thecr
ushing and pushing and uproar of ten o'clock in the morning. Thefish-wives, seated behind their stalls, leant back knitting, while afew belated purchasers prowled about casting sidelong glances at theremaining fish, with the thoughtful eyes and compressed lips of womenclosely calculating the price of their dinner. At last the twilightfell, there was a noise of boxes being moved, and the fish was laid forthe night on beds of ice; and then, after witnessing the closing of thegates, Florent went off, seemingly carrying the fish market along withhim in his clothes and his beard and his hair.
For the first few months this penetrating odour caused him no greatdiscomfort. The winter was a severe one, the frosts converted the alleysinto slippery mirrors, and the fountains and marble slabs were fringedwith a lacework of ice. In the mornings it was necessary to place littlebraziers underneath the taps before a drop of water could be drawn. Thefrozen fish had twisted tails; and, dull of hue and hard to the touchlike unpolished metal, gave out a ringing sound akin to that of palecast-iron when it snaps. Until February the pavilion presented a mostmournful appearance: it was deserted, and wrapped in a bristling shroudof ice. But with March came a thaw, with mild weather and fogs and rain.Then the fish became soft again, and unpleasant odours mingled with thesmell of mud wafted from the neighbouring streets. These odours were asyet vague, tempered by the moisture which clung to the ground. But inthe blazing June afternoons a reeking stench arose, and the atmospherebecame heavy with a pestilential haze. The upper windows were thenopened, and huge blinds of grey canvas were drawn beneath the burningsky. Nevertheless, a fiery rain seemed to be pouring down, heating themarket as though it were a big stove, and there was not a breath of airto waft away the noxious emanations from the fish. A visible steam wentup from the stalls.
The masses of food amongst which Florent lived now began to cause himthe greatest discomfort. The disgust with which the pork shop had filledhim came back in a still more intolerable fashion. He almost sickenedas he passed these masses of fish, which, despite all the water lavishedupon them, turned bad under a sudden whiff of hot air. Even when he shuthimself up in his office his discomfort continued, for the abominableodour forced its way through the chinks in the woodwork of the windowand door. When the sky was grey and leaden, the little room remainedquite dark; and then the day was like a long twilight in the depths ofsome fetid march. He was often attacked by fits of nervous excitement,and felt a craving desire to walk; and he would then descend into thecellars by the broad staircase opening in the middle of the pavilion. Inthe pent-up air down below, in the dim light of the occasional gas jets,he once more found the refreshing coolness diffused by pure cold water.He would stand in front of the big tank where the reserve stock of livefish was kept, and listen to the ceaseless murmur of the four streamletsof water falling from the four corners of the central urn, and thenspreading into a broad stream and gliding beneath the locked gratings ofthe basins with a gentle and continuous flow. This subterranean spring,this stream murmuring in the gloom, had a tranquillising effect uponhim. Of an evening, too, he delighted in the fine sunsets which threwthe delicate lacework of the market buildings blackly against the redglow of the heavens. The dancing dust of the last sun rays streamedthrough every opening, through every chink of the Venetian shutters,and the whole was like some luminous transparency on which the slendershafts of the columns, the elegant curves of the girders, and thegeometrical tracery of the roofs were minutely outlined. Florentfeasted his eyes on this mighty diagram washed in with Indian ink onphosphorescent vellum, and his mind reverted to his old fancy of acolossal machine with wheels and levers and beams espied in the crimsonglow of the fires blazing beneath its boilers. At each consecutive hourof the day the changing play of the light--from the bluish haze of earlymorning and the black shadows of noon to the flaring of the sinking sunand the paling of its fires in the ashy grey of the twilight--revealedthe markets under a new aspect; but on the flaming evenings, when thefoul smells arose and forced their way across the broad yellow beamslike hot puffs of steam, Florent again experienced discomfort, andhis dream changed, and he imagined himself in some gigantic knacker'sboiling-house where the fat of a whole people was being melted down.
The coarseness of the market people, whose words and gestures seemed tobe infected with the evil smell of the place, also made him suffer. Hewas very tolerant, and showed no mock modesty; still, these impudentwomen often embarrassed him. Madame Francois, whom he had again met,was the only one with whom he felt at ease. She showed such pleasureon learning he had found a berth and was quite comfortable and out ofworry, as she put it, that he was quite touched. The laughter of Lisa,the handsome Norman, and the others disquieted him; but of MadameFrancois he would willingly have made a confidante. She never laughedmockingly at him; when she did laugh, it was like a woman rejoicing atanother's happiness. She was a brave, plucky creature, too; hers was ahard business in winter, during the frosts, and the rainy weather wasstill more trying. On some mornings Florent saw her arrive in a pouringdeluge which had been slowly, coldly falling ever since the previousnight. Between Nanterre and Paris the wheels of her cart had sunk up tothe axles in mud, and Balthazar was caked with mire to his belly. Hismistress would pity him and sympathise with him as she wiped him downwith some old aprons.
"The poor creatures are very sensitive," said she; "a mere nothing givesthem a cold. Ah, my poor old Balthazar! I really thought that we hadtumbled into the Seine as we crossed the Neuilly bridge, the rain camedown in such a deluge!"
While Balthazar was housed in the inn stable his mistress remained inthe pouring rain to sell her vegetables. The footway was transformedinto a lake of liquid mud. The cabbages, carrots, and turnips werepelted by the grey water, quite drowned by the muddy torrent that rushedalong the pavement. There was no longer any of that glorious greeneryso apparent on bright mornings. The market gardeners, cowering in theirheavy cloaks beneath the downpour, swore at the municipality which,after due inquiry, had declared that rain was in no way injurious tovegetables, and that there was accordingly no necessity to erect anyshelters.
Those rainy mornings greatly worried Florent, who thought about MadameFrancois. He always managed to slip away and get a word with her. Buthe never found her at all low-spirited. She shook herself like a poodle,saying that she was quite used to such weather, and was not made ofsugar, to melt away beneath a few drops of rain. However, he made herseek refuge for a few minutes in one of the covered ways, and frequentlyeven took her to Monsieur Lebigre's, where they had some hot winetogether. While she with her peaceful face beamed on him in allfriendliness, he felt quite delighted with the healthy odour of thefields which she brought into the midst of the foul market atmosphere.She exhaled a scent of earth, hay, fresh air, and open skies.
"You must come to Nanterre, my lad," she said to him, "and look at mykitchen garden. I have put borders of thyme everywhere. How bad yourvillainous Paris does smell!"
Then she went off, dripping. Florent, on his side, felt quitere-invigorated when he parted from her. He tried, too the effect of workupon the nervous depression from which he suffered. He was a man of avery methodical temperament, and sometimes carried out his plans for theallotment of his time with a strictness that bordered on mania. He shuthimself up two evenings a week in order to write an exhaustive work onCayenne. His modest bedroom was excellently adapted, he thought, tocalm his mind and incline him to work. He lighted his fire, saw thatthe pomegranate at the foot of the bed was looking all right, and thenseated himself at the little table, and remained working till midnight.He had pushed the missal and Dream-book back in the drawer, which wasnow filling with notes, memoranda, manuscripts of all kinds. The workon Cayenne made but slow progress, however, as it was constantly beinginterrupted by other projects, plans for enormous undertakings whichhe sketched out in a few words. He successively drafted an outline ofa complete reform of the administrative system of the markets, a schemefor transforming the city dues, levied on produce as it entered Paris,into taxes levied upon the sales, a new system o
f victualling the poorerneighbourhoods, and, lastly, a somewhat vague socialist enactment forthe storing in common warehouses of all the provisions brought to themarkets, and the ensuring of a minimum daily supply to each household inParis. As he sat there, with his head bent over his table, and his mindabsorbed in thoughts of all these weighty matters, his gloomy figurecast a great black shadow on the soft peacefulness of the garret.Sometimes a chaffinch which he had picked up one snowy day in the marketwould mistake the lamplight for the day, and break the silence, whichonly the scratching of Florent's pen on his paper disturbed, by a cry.
Florent was fated to revert to politics. He had suffered too muchthrough them not to make them the dearest occupation of his life. Underother conditions he might have become a good provincial schoolmaster,happy in the peaceful life of some little town. But he had been treatedas though he were a wolf, and felt as though he had been marked outby exile for some great combative task. His nervous discomfort was theoutcome of his long reveries at Cayenne, the brooding bitterness he hadfelt at his unmerited sufferings, and the vows he had secretly sworn toavenge humanity and justice--the former scourged with a whip, and thelatter trodden under foot. Those colossal markets and their teemingodoriferous masses of food had hastened the crisis. To Florent theyappeared symbolical of some glutted, digesting beast, of Paris,wallowing in its fat and silently upholding the Empire. He seemed to beencircled by swelling forms and sleek, fat faces, which ever andever protested against his own martyrlike scragginess and sallow,discontented visage. To him the markets were like the stomach of theshopkeeping classes, the stomach of all the folks of average rectitudepuffing itself out, rejoicing, glistening in the sunshine, and declaringthat everything was for the best, since peaceable people had neverbefore grown so beautifully fat. As these thoughts passed through hismind Florent clenched his fists, and felt ready for a struggle, moreirritated now by the thought of his exile than he had been when he firstreturned to France. Hatred resumed entire possession of him. He oftenlet his pen drop and became absorbed in dreams. The dying fire cast abright glow upon his face; the lamp burned smokily, and the chaffinchfell asleep again on one leg, with its head tucked under its wing.
Sometimes Auguste, on coming upstairs at eleven o'clock and seeing thelight shining under the door, would knock, before going to bed. Florentadmitted him with some impatience. The assistant sat down in front ofthe fire, speaking but little, and never saying why he had come. Hiseyes would all the time remain fixed upon the photograph of himself andAugustine in their Sunday finery. Florent came to the conclusion thatthe young man took a pleasure in visiting the room for the simple reasonthat it had been occupied by his sweetheart; and one evening he askedhim with a smile if he had guessed rightly.
"Well, perhaps it is so," replied Auguste, very much surprised at thediscovery which he himself now made of the reasons which actuated him."I'd really never thought of that before. I came to see you withoutknowing why. But if I were to tell Augustine, how she'd laugh!"
Whenever he showed himself at all loquacious, his one eternal theme wasthe pork shop which he was going to set up with Augustine at Plaisance.He seemed so perfectly assured of arranging his life in accordancewith his desires, that Florent grew to feel a sort of respect for him,mingled with irritation. After all, the young fellow was very resoluteand energetic, in spite of his seeming stupidity. He made straightfor the goal he had in view, and would doubtless reach it in perfectassurance and happiness. On the evenings of these visits from theapprentice, Florent could not settle down to work again; he went off tobed in a discontented mood, and did not recover his equilibrium tillthe thought passed through his mind, "Why, that Auguste is a perfectanimal!"
Every month he went to Clamart to see Monsieur Verlaque. These visitswere almost a delight to him. The poor man still lingered on, to thegreat astonishment of Gavard, who had not expected him to last for morethan six months. Every time that Florent went to see him Verlaque woulddeclare that he was feeling better, and was most anxious to resume hiswork again. But the days glided by, and he had serious relapses. Florentwould sit by his bedside, chat about the fish market, and do what hecould to enliven him. He deposited on the pedestal table the fiftyfrancs which he surrendered to him each month; and the old inspector,though the payment had been agreed upon, invariably protested, andseemed disinclined to take the money. Then they would begin to speak ofsomething else, and the coins remained lying on the table. When Florentwent away, Madame Verlaque always accompanied him to the street door.She was a gentle little woman, of a very tearful disposition. Her onetopic of conversation was the expense necessitated by her husband'sillness, the costliness of chicken broth, butcher's meat, Bordeauxwine, medicine, and doctors' fees. Her doleful conversation greatlyembarrassed Florent, and on the first few occasions he did notunderstand the drift of it. But at last, as the poor woman seemed alwaysin a state of tears, and kept saying how happy and comfortable they hadbeen when they had enjoyed the full salary of eighteen hundred francsa year, he timidly offered to make her a private allowance, to bekept secret from her husband. This offer, however, she declined,inconsistently declaring that the fifty francs were sufficient. But inthe course of the month she frequently wrote to Florent, callinghim their saviour. Her handwriting was small and fine, yet she wouldcontrive to fill three pages of letter paper with humble, flowingsentences entreating the loan of ten francs; and this she at last did soregularly that wellnigh the whole of Florent's hundred and fifty francsfound its way to the Verlaques. The husband was probably unaware ofit; however, the wife gratefully kissed Florent's hands. This charityafforded him the greatest pleasure, and he concealed it as though itwere some forbidden selfish indulgence.
"That rascal Verlaque is making a fool of you," Gavard would sometimessay. "He's coddling himself up finely now that you are doing the workand paying him an income."
At last one day Florent replied:
"Oh, we've arranged matters together. I'm only to give him twenty-fivefrancs a month in future."
As a matter of fact, Florent had but little need of money. The Quenuscontinued to provide him with board and lodging; and the few francswhich he kept by him sufficed to pay for the refreshment he took in theevening at Monsieur Lebigre's. His life had gradually assumed all theregularity of clockwork. He worked in his bedroom, continued to teachlittle Muche twice a week from eight to nine o'clock, devoted an eveningto Lisa, to avoid offending her, and spent the rest of his spare time inthe little "cabinet" with Gavard and his friends.
When he went to the Mehudins' there was a touch of tutorial stiffnessin his gentle demeanour. He was pleased with the old house in theRue Pirouette. On the ground floor he passed through the faint odourspervading the premises of the purveyor of cooked vegetables. Big pans ofboiled spinach and sorrel stood cooling in the little backyard. Then heascended the winding staircase, greasy and dark, with worn and bulgingsteps which sloped in a disquieting manner. The Mehudins occupied thewhole of the second floor. Even when they had attained to comfortablecircumstances the old mother had always declined to move into freshquarters, despite all the supplications of her daughters, who dreamt ofliving in a new house in a fine broad street. But on this point the oldwoman was not to be moved; she had lived there, she said, and meant todie there. She contented herself, moreover, with a dark little closet,leaving the largest rooms to Claire and La Normande. The later, withthe authority of the elder born, had taken possession of the room thatoverlooked the street; it was the best and largest of the suite. Clairewas so much annoyed at her sister's action in the matter that sherefused to occupy the adjoining room, whose window overlooked the yard,and obstinately insisted on sleeping on the other side of the landing,in a sort of garret, which she did not even have whitewashed. However,she had her own key, and so was independent; directly anything happenedto displease her she locked herself up in her own quarters.
As a rule, when Florent arrived the Mehudins were just finishingtheir dinner. Muche sprang to his neck, and for a moment the young manremained s
eated with the lad chattering between his legs. Then, whenthe oilcloth cover had been wiped, the lesson began on a corner ofthe table. The beautiful Norman gave Florent a cordial welcome. Shegenerally began to knit or mend some linen, and would draw her chair upto the table and work by the light of the same lamp as the others; andshe frequently put down her needle to listen to the lesson, which filledher with surprise. She soon began to feel warm esteem for this man whoseemed so clever, who, in speaking to the little one, showed himself asgentle as a woman, and manifested angelic patience in again and againrepeating the same instructions. She no longer considered him at allplain, but even felt somewhat jealous of beautiful Lisa. And then shedrew her chair still nearer, and gazed at Florent with an embarrassingsmile.
"But you are jogging my elbow, mother, and I can't write," Mucheexclaimed angrily. "There! see what a blot you've made me make! Getfurther away, do!"
La Normande now gradually began to say a good many unpleasant thingsabout beautiful Lisa. She pretended that the latter concealed her realage, that she laced her stays so tightly that she nearly suffocatedherself, and that if she came down of a morning looking so trim andneat, without a single hair out of place, it must be because she lookedperfectly hideous when in dishabille. Then La Normande would raise herarm a little, and say that there was no need for her to wear any staysto cramp and deform her figure. At these times the lessons would beinterrupted, and Muche gazed with interest at his mother as she raisedher arms. Florent listened to her, and even laughed, thinking to himselfthat women were very odd creatures. The rivalry between the beautifulNorman and beautiful Lisa amused him.
Muche, however, managed to finish his page of writing. Florent, who wasa good penman, set him copies in large hand and round hand on slips ofpaper. The words he chose were very long and took up the whole line, andhe evinced a marked partiality for such expressions as "tyrannically,""liberticide," "unconstitutional," and "revolutionary." At times alsohe made the boy copy such sentences as these: "The day of justice willsurely come"; "The suffering of the just man is the condemnation of theoppressor"; "When the hour strikes, the guilty shall fall." In preparingthese copy slips he was, indeed, influenced by the ideas which hauntedhis brain; he would for the time become quite oblivious of Muche, thebeautiful Norman, and all his surroundings. The lad would have copiedRousseau's "Contrat Social" had he been told to do so; and thus,drawing each letter in turn, he filled page after page with lines of"tyrannically" and "unconstitutional."
As long as the tutor remained there, old Madame Mehudin kept fidgetinground the table, muttering to herself. She still harboured terriblerancour against Florent; and asserted that it was folly to make the ladwork in that way at a time when children should be in bed. She wouldcertainly have turned that "spindle-shanks" out of the house, if thebeautiful Norman, after a stormy scene, had not bluntly told her thatshe would go to live elsewhere if she were not allowed to receive whomshe chose. However, the pair began quarrelling again on the subjectevery evening.
"You may say what you like," exclaimed the old woman; "but he's gottreacherous eyes. And, besides, I'm always suspicious of those skinnypeople. A skinny man's capable of anything. I've never come across adecent one yet. That one's as flat as a board. And he's got such an uglyface, too! Though I'm sixty-five and more, I'd precious soon send himabout his business if he came a-courting of me!"
She said this because she had a shrewd idea of how matters were likelyto turn out. And then she went on to speak in laudatory terms ofMonsieur Lebigre, who, indeed, paid the greatest attention to thebeautiful Norman. Apart from the handsome dowry which he imagined shewould bring with her, he considered that she would be a magnificentacquisition to his counter. The old woman never missed an opportunity tosound his praises; there was no lankiness, at any rate, about him, saidshe; he was stout and strong, with a pair of calves which would havedone honour even to one of the Emperor's footmen.
However, La Normande shrugged her shoulders and snappishly replied:"What do I care whether he's stout or not? I don't want him or anybody.And besides, I shall do as I please."
Then, if the old woman became too pointed in her remarks, the otheradded: "It's no business of yours, and besides, it isn't true. Holdyour tongue and don't worry me." And thereupon she would go off intoher room, banging the door behind her. Florent, however, had a yetmore bitter enemy than Madame Mehudin in the house. As soon as ever hearrived there, Claire would get up without a word, take a candle, and gooff to her own room on the other side of the landing; and she could beheard locking her door in a burst of sullen anger. One evening whenher sister asked the tutor to dinner, she prepared her own food onthe landing, and ate it in her bedroom; and now and again she secludedherself so closely that nothing was seen of her for a week at a time.She usually retained her appearance of soft lissomness, but periodicallyhad a fit of iron rigidity, when her eyes blazed from under her paletawny locks like those of a distrustful wild animal. Old Mother Mehudin,fancying that she might relieve herself in her company, only made herfurious by speaking to her of Florent; and thereupon the old woman, inher exasperation, told everyone that she would have gone off and lefther daughters to themselves had she not been afraid of their devouringeach other if they remained alone together.
As Florent went away one evening, he passed in front of Claire's door,which was standing wide open. He saw the girl look at him, and turn veryred. Her hostile demeanour annoyed him; and it was only the timiditywhich he felt in the presence of women that restrained him from seekingan explanation of her conduct. On this particular evening he wouldcertainly have addressed her if he had not detected Mademoiselle Saget'spale face peering over the balustrade of the upper landing. So he wenthis way, but had not taken a dozen steps before Claire's door was closedbehind him with such violence as to shake the whole staircase. It wasafter this that Mademoiselle Saget, eager to propagate slander, wentabout repeating everywhere that Madame Quenu's cousin was "carrying on"most dreadfully with both the Mehudin girls.
Florent, however, gave very little thought to these two handsome youngwomen. His usual manner towards them was that of a man who has butlittle success with the sex. Certainly he had come to entertain afeeling of genuine friendship for La Normande, who really displayed avery good heart when her impetuous temper did not run away with her. Buthe never went any further than this. Moreover, the queenly proportionsof her robust figure filled him with a kind of alarm; and of an evening,whenever she drew her chair up to the lamp and bent forward as thoughto look at Muche's copy-book, he drew in his own sharp bony elbows andshrunken shoulders as if realising what a pitiful specimen of humanityhe was by the side of that buxom, hardy creature so full of the life ofripe womanhood. Moreover, there was another reason why he recoiled fromher. The smells of the markets distressed him; on finishing his dutiesof an evening he would have liked to escape from the fishy odour amidstwhich his days were spent; but, alas! beautiful though La Normande was,this odour seemed to adhere to her silky skin. She had tried everysort of aromatic oil, and bathed freely; but as soon as the fresheninginfluence of the bath was over her blood again impregnated her skin withthe faint odour of salmon, the musky perfume of smelts, and the pungentscent of herrings and skate. Her skirts, too, as she moved about,exhaled these fishy smells, and she walked as though amidst anatmosphere redolent of slimy seaweed. With her tall, goddess-likefigure, her purity of form, and transparency of complexion she resembledsome lovely antique marble that had rolled about in the depths of thesea and had been brought to land in some fisherman's net.
Mademoiselle Saget, however, swore by all her gods that Florent was theyoung woman's lover. According to her account, indeed, he courtedboth the sisters. She had quarrelled with the beautiful Norman abouta ten-sou dab; and ever since this falling-out she had manifested warmfriendship for handsome Lisa. By this means she hoped the sooner toarrive at a solution of what she called the Quenus' mystery. Florentstill continued to elude her curiosity, and she told her friends thatshe felt like a body without a soul, though
she was careful not toreveal what was troubling her so grievously. A young girl infatuatedwith a hopeless passion could not have been in more distress than thisterrible old woman at finding herself unable to solve the mystery of theQuenus' cousin. She was constantly playing the spy on Florent, followinghim about, and watching him, in a burning rage at her failure to satisfyher rampant curiosity. Now that he had begun to visit the Mehudins shewas for ever haunting the stairs and landings. She soon discovered thathandsome Lisa was much annoyed at Florent visiting "those women," andaccordingly she called at the pork shop every morning with a budget ofinformation. She went in shrivelled and shrunk by the frosty air, and,resting her hands on the heating-pan to warm them, remained in front ofthe counter buying nothing, but repeating in her shrill voice: "Hewas with them again yesterday; he seems to live there now. I heard LaNormande call him 'my dear' on the staircase."
She indulged like this in all sorts of lies in order to remain in theshop and continue warming her hands for a little longer. On the morningafter the evening when she had heard Claire close her door behindFlorent, she spun out her story for a good half hour, inventing allsorts of mendacious and abominable particulars.
Lisa, who had assumed a look of contemptuous scorn, said but little,simply encouraging Mademoiselle Saget's gossip by her silence. At last,however, she interrupted her. "No, no," she said; "I can't really listento all that. Is it possible that there can be such women?"
Thereupon Mademoiselle Saget told Lisa that unfortunately all women werenot so well conducted as herself. And then she pretended to find allsorts of excuses for Florent: it wasn't his fault; he was no doubt abachelor; these women had very likely inveigled him in their snares.In this way she hinted questions without openly asking them. But Lisapreserved silence with respect to her cousin, merely shrugging hershoulders and compressing her lips. When Mademoiselle Saget at last wentaway, the mistress of the shop glanced with disgust at the cover of theheating-pan, the glistening metal of which had been tarnished by theimpression of the old woman's little hands.
"Augustine," she cried, "bring a duster, and wipe the cover of theheating-pan. It's quite filthy!"
The rivalry between the beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman nowbecame formidable. The beautiful Norman flattered herself that she hadcarried a lover off from her enemy; and the beautiful Lisa was indignantwith the hussy who, by luring the sly cousin to her home, would surelyend by compromising them all. The natural temperament of each womanmanifested itself in the hostilities which ensued. The one remainedcalm and scornful, like a lady who holds up her skirts to keep them frombeing soiled by the mud; while the other, much less subject to shame,displayed insolent gaiety and swaggered along the footways with the airsof a duellist seeking a cause of quarrel. Each of their skirmishes wouldbe the talk of the fish market for the whole day. When the beautifulNorman saw the beautiful Lisa standing at the door of her shop, shewould go out of her way in order to pass her, and brush against her withher apron; and then the angry glances of the two rivals crossed likerapiers, with the rapid flash and thrust of pointed steel. When thebeautiful Lisa, on the other hand, went to the fish market, she assumedan expression of disgust on approaching the beautiful Norman's stall.And then she proceeded to purchase some big fish--a turbot or asalmon--of a neighbouring dealer, spreading her money out on the marbleslab as she did so, for she had noticed that this seemed to have apainful effect upon the "hussy," who ceased laughing at the sight. Tohear the two rivals speak, anyone would have supposed that the fishand pork they sold were quite unfit for food. However, their principalengagements took place when the beautiful Norman was seated at her stalland the beautiful Lisa at her counter, and they glowered blackly at eachother across the Rue Rambuteau. They sat in state in their big whiteaprons, decked out with showy toilets and jewels, and the battle betweenthem would commence early in the morning.
"Hallo, the fat woman's got up!" the beautiful Norman would exclaim."She ties herself up as tightly as her sausages! Ah, she's gotSaturday's collar on again, and she's still wearing that poplin dress!"
At the same moment, on the opposite side of the street, beautiful Lisawas saying to her shop girl: "Just look at that creature staring at usover yonder, Augustine! She's getting quite deformed by the life sheleads. Do you see her earrings? She's wearing those big drops of hers,isn't she? It makes one feel ashamed to see a girl like that withbrilliants."
All complaisance, Augustine echoed her mistress's words.
When either of them was able to display a new ornament it was likescoring a victory--the other one almost choked with spleen. Every daythey would scrutinise and count each other's customers, and manifest thegreatest annoyance if they thought that the "big thing over the way" wasdoing the better business. Then they spied out what each had for lunch.Each knew what the other ate, and even watched to see how she digestedit. In the afternoon, while the one sat amidst her cooked meats and theother amidst her fish, they posed and gave themselves airs, as thoughthey were queens of beauty. It was then that the victory of the day wasdecided. The beautiful Norman embroidered, selecting the most delicateand difficult work, and this aroused Lisa's exasperation.
"Ah!" she said, speaking of her rival, "she had far better mend herboy's stockings. He's running about quite barefooted. Just look at thatfine lady, with her red hands stinking of fish!"
For her part, Lisa usually knitted.
"She's still at that same sock," La Normande would say, as she watchedher. "She eats so much that she goes to sleep over her work. I pity herpoor husband if he's waiting for those socks to keep his feet warm!"
They would sit glowering at each other with this implacable hostilityuntil evening, taking note of every customer, and displaying such keeneyesight that they detected the smallest details of each other's dressand person when other women declared that they could see nothing atsuch a distance. Mademoiselle Saget expressed the highest admiration forMadame Quenu's wonderful sight when she one day detected a scratch onthe fish-girl's left cheek. With eyes like those, said the old maid,one might even see through a door. However, the victory often remainedundecided when night fell; sometimes one or other of the rivals wastemporarily crushed, but she took her revenge on the morrow. Severalpeople of the neighbourhood actually laid wagers on these contests, somebacking the beautiful Lisa and others the beautiful Norman.
At last they ended by forbidding their children to speak to one another.Pauline and Muche had formerly been good friends, notwithstanding thegirl's stiff petticoats and lady-like demeanour, and the lad's tatteredappearance, coarse language, and rough manners. They had at times playedtogether at horses on the broad footway in front of the fish market,Pauline always being the horse and Muche the driver. One day, however,when the boy came in all simplicity to seek his playmate, Lisa turnedhim out of the house, declaring that he was a dirty little street arab.
"One can't tell what may happen with children who have been soshockingly brought up," she observed.
"Yes, indeed; you are quite right," replied Mademoiselle Saget, whohappened to be present.
When Muche, who was barely seven years old, came in tears to his motherto tell her of what had happened, La Normande broke out into a terriblepassion. At the first moment she felt a strong inclination to rushover to the Quenu-Gradelles' and smash everything in their shop. Buteventually she contented herself with giving Muche a whipping.
"If ever I catch you going there again," she cried, boiling over withanger, "you'll get it hot from me, I can tell you!"
Florent, however, was the real victim of the two women. It was he, intruth, who had set them by the ears, and it was on his account thatthey were fighting each other. Ever since he had appeared upon the scenethings had been going from bad to worse. He compromised and disturbedand embittered all these people, who had previously lived in such sleekpeace and harmony. The beautiful Norman felt inclined to claw him whenhe lingered too long with the Quenus, and it was chiefly from an impulseof hostile rivalry that she desired to win him to herself. T
he beautifulLisa, on her side, maintained a cold judicial bearing, and althoughextremely annoyed, forced herself to silence whenever she saw Florentleaving the pork shop to go to the Rue Pirouette.
Still, there was now much less cordiality than formerly round theQuenus' dinner-table in the evening. The clean, prim dining-room seemedto have assumed an aspect of chilling severity. Florent divined areproach, a sort of condemnation in the bright oak, the polished lamp,and the new matting. He scarcely dared to eat for fear of letting crumbsfall on the floor or soiling his plate. There was a guileless simplicityabout him which prevented him from seeing how the land really lay.He still praised Lisa's affectionate kindliness on all sides; andoutwardly, indeed, she did continue to treat him with all gentleness.
"It is very strange," she said to him one day with a smile, as thoughshe were joking; "although you don't eat at all badly now, you don't getfatter. Your food doesn't seem to do you any good."
At this Quenu laughed aloud, and tapping his brother's stomach,protested that the whole contents of the pork shop might pass through itwithout depositing a layer of fat as thick as a two-sou piece. However,Lisa's insistence on this particular subject was instinct with that samesuspicious dislike for fleshless men which Madame Mehudin manifestedmore outspokenly; and behind it all there was likewise a veiled allusionto the disorderly life which she imagined Florent was leading. Shenever, however, spoke a word to him about La Normande. Quenu hadattempted a joke on the subject one evening, but Lisa had received it soicily that the good man had not ventured to refer to the matter again.They would remain seated at table for a few moments after dessert, andFlorent, who had noticed his sister-in-law's vexation if ever he wentoff too soon, tried to find something to talk about. On these occasionsLisa would be near him, and certainly he did not suffer in her presencefrom that fishy smell which assailed him when he was in the company ofLa Normande. The mistress of the pork shop, on the contrary, exhaled anodour of fat and rich meats. Moreover, not a thrill of life stirred hertight-fitting bodice; she was all massiveness and all sedateness.Gavard once said to Florent in confidence that Madame Quenu was no doubthandsome, but that for his part he did not admire such armour-platedwomen.
Lisa avoided talking to Quenu of Florent. She habitually prided herselfon her patience, and considered, too, that it would not be proper tocause any unpleasantness between the brothers, unless some peremptoryreason for her interference should arise. As she said, she could put upwith a good deal, but, of course, she must not be tried too far. She hadnow reached the period of courteous tolerance, wearing an expressionlessface, affecting perfect indifference and strict politeness, andcarefully avoiding everything which might seem to hint that Florent wasboarding and lodging with them without their receiving the slightestpayment from him. Not, indeed, that she would have accepted any paymentfrom him, she was above all that; still he might, at any rate, shethought, have lunched away from the house.
"We never seem to be alone now," she remarked to Quenu one day. "Ifthere is anything we want to say to one another we have to wait till wego upstairs at night."
And then, one night when they were in bed, she said to him: "Yourbrother earns a hundred and fifty francs a month, doesn't he? Well, it'sstrange he can't put a trifle by to buy himself some more linen. I'vebeen obliged to give him three more of your old shirts."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," Quenu replied. "Florent's not hard to please;and we must let him keep his money for himself."
"Oh, yes, of course," said Lisa, without pressing the matter further. "Ididn't mention it for that reason. Whether he spends his money well orill, it isn't our business."
In her own mind she felt quite sure that he wasted his salary at theMehudins'.
Only on one occasion did she break through her habitual calmness ofdemeanour, the quiet reserve which was the result of both naturaltemperament and preconceived design. The beautiful Norman had madeFlorent a present of a magnificent salmon. Feeling very much embarrassedwith the fish, and not daring to refuse it, he brought it to Lisa.
"You can make a pasty of it," he said ingenuously.
Lisa looked at him sternly with whitening lips. Then, striving torestrain her anger, she exclaimed: "Do you think that we are short offood? Thank God, we've got quite enough to eat here! Take it back!"
"Well, at any rate, cook it for me," replied Florent, amazed by heranger; "I'll eat it myself."
At this she burst out furiously.
"The house isn't an inn! Tell those who gave you the fish to cook it foryou! I won't have my pans tainted and infected! Take it back again! Doyou hear?"
If he had not gone away with it, she would certainly have seized it andhurled it into the street. Florent took it to Monsieur Lebigre's, whereRose was ordered to make a pasty of it; and one evening the pasty waseaten in the little "cabinet," Gavard, who was present, "standing"some oysters for the occasion. Florent now gradually came more and morefrequently to Monsieur Lebigre's, till at last he was constantly to bemet in the little private room. He there found an atmosphere of heatedexcitement in which his political feverishness could pulsate freely.At times, now, when he shut himself up in his garret to work, the quietsimplicity of the little room irritated him, his theoretical searchfor liberty proved quite insufficient, and it became necessary that heshould go downstairs, sally out, and seek satisfaction in the trenchantaxioms of Charvet and the wild outbursts of Logre. During the first fewevenings the clamour and chatter had made him feel ill at ease; he wasthen quite conscious of their utter emptiness, but he felt a need ofdrowning his thoughts, of goading himself on to some extreme resolutionwhich might calm his mental disquietude. The atmosphere of the littleroom, reeking with the odour of spirits and warm with tobacco smoke,intoxicated him and filled him with peculiar beatitude, prompting a kindof self-surrender which made him willing to acquiesce in the wildestideas. He grew attached to those he met there, and looked for themand awaited their coming with a pleasure which increased with habit.Robine's mild, bearded countenance, Clemence's serious profile,Charvet's fleshless pallor, Logre's hump, Gavard, Alexandre, andLacaille, all entered into his life, and assumed a larger and largerplace in it. He took quite a sensual enjoyment in these meetings.When his fingers closed round the brass knob on the door of the littlecabinet it seemed to be animated with life, to warm him, and turn of itsown accord. Had he grasped the supple wrist of a woman he could not havefelt a more thrilling emotion.
To tell the truth, very serious things took place in that little room.One evening, Logre, after indulging in wilder outbursts than usual,banged his fist upon the table, declaring that if they were men theywould make a clean sweep of the Government. And he added that it wasnecessary they should come to an understanding without further delay, ifthey desired to be fully prepared when the time for action arrived. Thenthey all bent their heads together, discussed the matter in lower tones,and decided to form a little "group," which should be ready for whatevermight happen. From that day forward Gavard flattered himself that hewas a member of a secret society, and was engaged in a conspiracy. Thelittle circle received no new members, but Logre promised to put it intocommunication with other associations with which he was acquainted; andthen, as soon as they held all Paris in their grasp, they would riseand make the Tuileries' people dance. A series of endless discussions,renewed during several months, then began--discussions on questions oforganisation, on questions of ways and means, on questions of strategy,and of the form of the future Government. As soon as Rose had broughtClemence's grog, Charvet's and Robine's beer, the coffee for Logre,Gavard, and Florent, and the liqueur glasses of brandy for Lacailleand Alexandre, the door of the cabinet was carefully fastened, and thedebate began.
Charvet and Florent were naturally those whose utterances were listenedto with the greatest attention. Gavard had not been able to keep histongue from wagging, but had gradually related the whole story ofCayenne; and Florent found himself surrounded by a halo of martyrdom.His words were received as though they were the expression ofindisputabl
e dogmas. One evening, however, the poultry dealer, vexedat hearing his friend, who happened to be absent, attacked, exclaimed:"Don't say anything against Florent; he's been to Cayenne!"
Charvet was rather annoyed by the advantage which this circumstancegave to Florent. "Cayenne, Cayenne," he muttered between his teeth. "Ah,well, they were not so badly off there, after all."
Then he attempted to prove that exile was a mere nothing, and that realsuffering consisted in remaining in one's oppressed country, gagged inpresence of triumphant despotism. And besides, he urged, it wasn't hisfault that he hadn't been arrested on the Second of December. Next,however, he hinted that those who had allowed themselves to be capturedwere imbeciles. His secret jealousy made him a systematic opponent ofFlorent; and the general discussions always ended in a duel betweenthese two, who, while their companions listened in silence, would speakagainst one another for hours at a time, without either of them allowingthat he was beaten.
One of the favourite subjects of discussion was that of thereorganisation of the country which would have to be effected on themorrow of their victory.
"We are the conquerors, are we not?" began Gavard.
And, triumph being taken for granted, everyone offered his opinion.There were two rival parties. Charvet, who was a disciple of Hebert, wassupported by Logre and Robine; while Florent, who was always absorbedin humanitarian dreams, and called himself a Socialist, was backed byAlexandre and Lacaille. As for Gavard, he felt no repugnance for violentaction; but, as he was often twitted about his fortune with no end ofsarcastic witticisms which annoyed him, he declared himself a Communist.
"We must make a clean sweep of everything," Charvet would curtly say, asthough he were delivering a blow with a cleaver. "The trunk is rotten,and it must come down."
"Yes! yes!" cried Logre, standing up that he might look taller,and making the partition shake with the excited motion of his hump."Everything will be levelled to the ground; take my word for it. Afterthat we shall see what to do."
Robine signified approval by wagging his beard. His silence seemedinstinct with delight whenever violent revolutionary propositions weremade. His eyes assumed a soft ecstatic expression at the mention of theguillotine. He half closed them, as though he could see the machine, andwas filled with pleasant emotion at the sight; and next he would gentlyrub his chin against the knob of his stick, with a subdued purr ofsatisfaction.
"All the same," said Florent, in whose voice a vague touch of sadnesslingered, "if you cut down the tree it will be necessary to preservesome seed. For my part, I think that the tree ought to be preserved, sothat we may graft new life on it. The political revolution, you know,has already taken place; to-day we have got to think of the labourer,the working man. Our movement must be altogether a social one. I defyyou to reject the claims of the people. They are weary of waiting, andare determined to have their share of happiness."
These words aroused Alexandre's enthusiasm. With a beaming, radiant facehe declared that this was true, that the people were weary of waiting.
"And we will have our share," added Lacaille, with a more menacingexpression. "All the revolutions that have taken place have been forthe good of the middle classes. We've had quite enough of that sort ofthing, and the next one shall be for our benefit."
From this moment disagreement set in. Gavard offered to make a divisionof his property, but Logre declined, asserting that he cared nothing formoney. Then Charvet gradually overcame the tumult, till at last he alonewas heard speaking.
"The selfishness of the different classes does more than anything elseto uphold tyranny," said he. "It is wrong of the people to displayegotism. If they assist us they shall have their share. But why shouldI fight for the working man if the working man won't fight forme? Moreover, that is not the question at present. Ten years ofrevolutionary dictatorship will be necessary to accustom a nation likeFrance to the fitting enjoyment of liberty."
"All the more so as the working man is not ripe for it, and requires tobe directed," said Clemence bluntly.
She but seldom spoke. This tall, serious looking girl, alone amongso many men, listened to all the political chatter with a learnedlycritical air. She leaned back against the partition, and every now andthen sipped her grog whilst gazing at the speakers with frowningbrows or inflated nostrils, thus silently signifying her approval ordisapproval, and making it quite clear that she held decided opinionsupon the most complicated matters. At times she would roll a cigarette,and puff slender whiffs of smoke from the corners of her mouth, whilstlending increased attention to what was being debated. It was as thoughshe were presiding over the discussion, and would award the prize tothe victor when it was finished. She certainly considered that it becameher, as a woman, to display some reserve in her opinions, and to remaincalm whilst the men grew more and more excited. Now and then, however,in the heat of the debate, she would let a word or a phrase escape herand "clench the matter" even for Charvet himself, as Gavard said. In herheart she believed herself the superior of all these fellows. The onlyone of them for whom she felt any respect was Robine, and she wouldthoughtfully contemplate his silent bearing.
Neither Florent nor any of the others paid any special attention toClemence. They treated her just as though she were a man, shaking handswith her so roughly as almost to dislocate her arms. One evening Florentwitnessed the periodical settlement of accounts between her and Charvet.She had just received her pay, and Charvet wanted to borrow ten francsfrom her; but she first of all insisted that they must reckon uphow matters stood between them. They lived together in a voluntarypartnership, each having complete control of his or her earnings, andstrictly paying his or her expenses. By so doing, said they, they wereunder no obligations to one another, but retained entire freedom. Rent,food, washing, and amusements, were all noted down and added up. Thatevening, when the accounts had been verified, Clemence proved to Charvetthat he already owed her five francs. Then she handed him the other tenwhich he wished to borrow, and exclaimed: "Recollect that you now owe mefifteen. I shall expect you to repay me on the fifth, when you get paidfor teaching little Lehudier."
When Rose was summoned to receive payment for the "drinks," eachproduced the few coppers required to discharge his or her liability.Charvet laughingly called Clemence an aristocrat because she drank grog.She wanted to humiliate him, said he, and make him feel that he earnedless than she did, which, as it happened, was the fact. Beneath hislaugh, however, there was a feeling of bitterness that the girl shouldbe better circumstanced than himself, for, in spite of his theory of theequality of the sexes, this lowered him.
Although the discussions in the little room had virtually no result,they served to exercise the speakers' lungs. A tremendous hubbubproceeded from the sanctum, and the panes of frosted glass vibratedlike drum-skins. Sometimes the uproar became so great that Rose, whilelanguidly serving some blouse-wearing customer in the shop, would turnher head uneasily.
"Why, they're surely fighting together in there," the customer wouldsay, as he put his glass down on the zinc-covered counter, and wiped hismouth with the back of his hand.
"Oh, there's no fear of that," Monsieur Lebigre tranquilly replied."It's only some gentlemen talking together."
Monsieur Lebigre, indeed, although very strict with his other customers,allowed the politicians to shout as loudly as they pleased, and nevermade the least remark on the subject. He would sit for hours together onthe bench behind the counter, with his big head lolling drowsily againstthe mirror, whilst he watched Rose uncorking the bottles and giving awipe here and there with her duster. And in spite of the somniferouseffects of the wine fumes and the warm streaming gaslight, he would keephis ears open to the sounds proceeding from the little room. At times,when the voices grew noisier than usual, he got up from his seat andwent to lean against the partition; and occasionally he even pushed thedoor open, and went inside and sat down there for a few minutes, givingGavard a friendly slap on the thigh. And then he would nod approvalof everything that was sa
id. The poultry dealer asserted that althoughfriend Lebigre hadn't the stuff of an orator in him, they might safelyreckon on him when the "shindy" came.
One morning, however, at the markets, when a tremendous row broke outbetween Rose and one of the fish-wives, through the former accidentallyknocking over a basket of herrings, Florent heard Rose's employer spokenof as a "dirty spy" in the pay of the police. And after he had succeededin restoring peace, all sorts of stories about Monsieur Lebigre werepoured into his ears. Yes, the wine seller was in the pay of the police,the fish-wives said; all the neighbourhood knew it. Before MademoiselleSaget had begun to deal with him she had once met him entering thePrefecture to make his report. It was asserted, too, that he was amoney-monger, a usurer, and lent petty sums by the day to costermongers,and let out barrows to them, exacting a scandalous rate of interest inreturn. Florent was greatly disturbed by all this, and felt it hisduty to repeat it that evening to his fellow politicians. The latter,however, only shrugged their shoulders, and laughed at his uneasiness.
"Poor Florent!" Charvet exclaimed sarcastically; "he imagines the wholepolice force is on his track, just because he happens to have been sentto Cayenne!"
Gavard gave his word of honour that Lebigre was perfectly staunch andtrue, while Logre, for his part, manifested extreme irritation. He fumedand declared that it would be quite impossible for them to get on ifeveryone was to be accused of being a police spy; for his own part, hewould rather stay at home, and have nothing more to do with politics.Why, hadn't people even dared to say that he, Logre himself, who hadfought in '48 and '51, and had twice narrowly escaped transportation,was a spy as well? As he shouted this out, he thrust his jaws forward,and glared at the others as though he would have liked to ram theconviction that he had nothing to do with the police down their throats.At the sight of his furious glances his companions made gestures ofprotestation. However, Lacaille, on hearing Monsieur Lebigre accused ofusury, silently lowered his head.
The incident was forgotten in the discussions which ensued. Since Logrehad suggested a conspiracy, Monsieur Lebigre had grasped the hands ofthe frequenters of the little room with more vigor than ever. Theircustom, to tell the truth, was of but small value to him, for they neverordered more than one "drink" apiece. They drained the last drops justas they rose to leave, having been careful to allow a little to remainin their glasses, even during their most heated arguments. In this wisethe one "shout" lasted throughout the evening. They shivered as theyturned out into the cold dampness of the night, and for a moment or tworemained standing on the footway with dazzled eyes and buzzing ears,as though surprised by the dark silence of the street. Rose, meanwhile,fastened the shutters behind them. Then, quite exhausted, at a loss foranother word they shook hands, separated, and went their different ways,still mentally continuing the discussion of the evening, and regrettingthat they could not ram their particular theories down each other'sthroats. Robine walked away, with his bent back bobbing up and down, inthe direction of the Rue Rambuteau; whilst Charvet and Clemence wentoff through the markets on their return to the Luxembourg quarter, theirheels sounding on the flag-stones in military fashion, whilst they stilldiscussed some question of politics or philosophy, walking along side byside, but never arm-in-arm.
The conspiracy ripened very slowly. At the commencement of the summerthe plotters had got no further than agreeing that it was necessary astroke should be attempted. Florent, who had at first looked uponthe whole business with a kind of distrust, had now, however, come tobelieve in the possibility of a revolutionary movement. He took up thematter seriously; making notes, and preparing plans in writing, whilethe others still did nothing but talk. For his part, he began toconcentrate his whole life in the one persistent idea which made hisbrain throb night after night; and this to such a degree that he at lasttook his brother Quenu with him to Monsieur Lebigre's, as though such acourse were quite natural. Certainly he had no thought of doing anythingimproper. He still looked upon Quenu as in some degree his pupil, andmay even have considered it his duty to start him on the proper path.Quenu was an absolute novice in politics, but after spending five or sixevenings in the little room he found himself quite in accord with theothers. When Lisa was not present he manifested much docility, a sort ofrespect for his brother's opinions. But the greatest charm of the affairfor him was really the mild dissipation of leaving his shop and shuttinghimself up in the little room where the others shouted so loudly, andwhere Clemence's presence, in his opinion, gave a tinge of rakishnessand romance to the proceedings. He now made all haste with hischitterlings in order that he might get away as early as possible,anxious to lose not a single word of the discussions, which seemed tohim to be very brilliant, though he was not always able to follow them.The beautiful Lisa did not fail to notice his hurry to be gone, but asyet she refrained from saying anything. When Florent took him off, shesimply went to the door-step, and watched them enter Monsieur Lebigre's,her face paling somewhat, and a severe expression coming into her eyes.
One evening, as Mademoiselle Saget was peering out of her garretcasement, she recognised Quenu's shadow on the frosted glass of the"cabinet" window facing the Rue Pirouette. She had found her casement anexcellent post of observation, as it overlooked that milky transparency,on which the gaslight threw silhouettes of the politicians, with nosessuddenly appearing and disappearing, gaping jaws abruptly springing intosight and then vanishing, and huge arms, apparently destitute of bodies,waving hither and thither. This extraordinary jumble of detachedlimbs, these silent but frantic profiles, bore witness to the heateddiscussions that went on in the little room, and kept the old maidpeering from behind her muslin curtains until the transparency turnedblack. She shrewdly suspected some "bit of trickery," as she phrased it.By continual watching she had come to recognise the different shadowsby their hands and hair and clothes. As she gazed upon the chaos ofclenched fists, angry heads, and swaying shoulders, which seemed tohave become detached from their trunks and to roll about one atop of theother, she would exclaim unhesitatingly, "Ah, there's that big booby ofa cousin; there's that miserly old Gavard; and there's the hunchback;and there's that maypole of a Clemence!" Then, when the action of theshadow-play became more pronounced, and they all seemed to havelost control over themselves, she felt an irresistible impulse to godownstairs to try to find out what was happening. Thus she now made apoint of buying her black-currant syrup at nights, pretending that shefelt out-of-sorts in the morning, and was obliged to take a sip as soonas ever she was out of bed. On the evening when she noticed Quenu'smassive head shadowed on the transparency in close proximity toCharvet's fist, she made her appearance at Monsieur Lebigre's in abreathless condition. To gain more time, she made Rose rinse out herlittle bottle for her; however, she was about to return to her room whenshe heard the pork butcher exclaim with a sort of childish candour:
"No, indeed, we'll stand for it no longer! We'll make a clean sweep ofall those humbugging Deputies and Ministers! Yes, we'll send the wholelot packing."
Eight o'clock had scarcely struck on the following morning whenMademoiselle Saget was already at the pork shop. She found MadameLecoeur and La Sarriette there, dipping their noses into theheating-pan, and buying hot sausages for breakfast. As the old maid hadmanaged to draw them into her quarrel with La Normande with respect tothe ten-sou dab, they had at once made friends again with Lisa, and theynow had nothing but contempt for the handsome fish-girl, and assailedher and her sister as good-for-nothing hussies, whose only aim wasto fleece men of their money. This opinion had been inspired by theassertions of Mademoiselle Saget, who had declared to Madame Lecoeurthat Florent had induced one of the two girls to coquette with Gavard,and that the four of them had indulged in the wildest dissipation atBarratte's--of course, at the poultry dealer's expense. From the effectsof this impudent story Madame Lecoeur had not yet recovered; she wore adoleful appearance, and her eyes were quite yellow with spleen.
That morning, however, it was for Madame Quenu that the old maid hada shock in s
tore. She looked round the counter, and then in her mostgentle voice remarked:
"I saw Monsieur Quenu last night. They seem to enjoy themselvesimmensely in that little room at Lebigre's, if one may judge from thenoise they make."
Lisa had turned her head towards the street, listening very attentively,but apparently unwilling to show it. The old maid paused, hoping thatone of the others would question her; and then, in a lower tone, sheadded: "They had a woman with them. Oh, I don't mean Monsieur Quenu, ofcourse! I didn't say that; I don't know--"
"It must be Clemence," interrupted La Sarriette; "a big scraggy creaturewho gives herself all sorts of airs just because she went to boardingschool. She lives with a threadbare usher. I've seen them together;they always look as though they were taking each other off to the policestation."
"Oh, yes; I know," replied the old maid, who, indeed, knew everythingabout Charvet and Clemence, and whose only purpose was to alarm Lisa.
The mistress of the pork shop, however, never flinched. She seemed to beabsorbed in watching something of great interest in the market yonder.Accordingly the old maid had recourse to stronger measures. "I think,"said she, addressing herself to Madame Lecoeur, "that you ought toadvise your brother-in-law to be careful. Last night they were shoutingout the most shocking things in that little room. Men really seem tolose their heads over politics. If anyone had heard them, it might havebeen a very serious matter for them."
"Oh! Gavard will go his own way," sighed Madame Lecoeur. "It only wantedthis to fill my cup. I shall die of anxiety, I am sure, if he ever getsarrested."
As she spoke, a gleam shot from her dim eyes. La Sarriette, however,laughed and wagged her little face, bright with the freshness of themorning air.
"You should hear what Jules says of those who speak against the Empire,"she remarked. "They ought all to be thrown into the Seine, he told me;for it seems there isn't a single respectable person amongst them."
"Oh! there's no harm done, of course, so long as only people like myselfhear their foolish talk," resumed Mademoiselle Saget. "I'd rather cutmy hand off, you know, than make mischief. Last night now, for instance,Monsieur Quenu was saying----"
She again paused. Lisa had started slightly.
"Monsieur Quenu was saying that the Ministers and Deputies and all whoare in power ought to be shot."
At this Lisa turned sharply, her face quite white and her hands clenchedbeneath her apron.
"Quenu said that?" she curtly asked.
"Yes, indeed, and several other similar things that I can't recollectnow. I heard him myself. But don't distress yourself like that, MadameQuenu. You know very well that I sha'n't breathe a word. I'm quite oldenough to know what might harm a man if it came out. Oh, no; it will gono further."
Lisa had recovered her equanimity. She took a pride in the happypeacefulness of her home; she would not acknowledge that there had everbeen the slightest difference between herself and her husband. And sonow she shrugged her shoulders and said with a smile: "Oh, it's all apack of foolish nonsense."
When the three others were in the street together they agreed thathandsome Lisa had pulled a very doleful face; and they were unanimouslyof opinion that the mysterious goings-on of the cousin, the Mehudins,Gavard, and the Quenus would end in trouble. Madame Lecoeur inquiredwhat was done to the people who got arrested "for politics," but on thispoint Mademoiselle Saget could not enlighten her; she only knew thatthey were never seen again--no, never. And this induced La Sarriette tosuggest that perhaps they were thrown into the Seine, as Jules had saidthey ought to be.
Lisa avoided all reference to the subject at breakfast and dinner thatday; and even in the evening, when Florent and Quenu went off togetherto Monsieur Lebigre's, there was no unwonted severity in her glance. Onthat particular evening, however, the question of framing a constitutionfor the future came under discussion, and it was one o'clock in themorning before the politicians could tear themselves away from thelittle room. The shutters had already been fastened, and they wereobliged to leave by a small door, passing out one at a time with bentbacks. Quenu returned home with an uneasy conscience. He opened thethree or four doors on his way to bed as gently as possible, walkingon tip-toe and stretching out his hands as he passed through thesitting-room, to avoid a collision with any of the furniture. The wholehouse seemed to be asleep. When he reached the bedroom, he was annoyedto find that Lisa had not extinguished the candle, which was burningwith a tall, mournful flame in the midst of the deep silence. As Quenutook off his shoes, and put them down in a corner, the time-piece struckhalf past one with such a clear, ringing sound that he turned in alarm,almost frightened to move, and gazing with an expression of angryreproach at the shining gilded Gutenberg standing there, with his fingeron a book. Lisa's head was buried in her pillow, and Quenu could onlysee her back; but he divined that she was merely feigning sleep, and herconduct in turning her back upon him was so instinct with reproach thathe felt sorely ill at ease. At last he slipped beneath the bed-clothes,blew out the candle, and lay perfectly still. He could have sworn thathis wife was awake, though she did not speak to him; and presently hefell asleep, feeling intensely miserable, and lacking the courage to saygood night.
He slept till late, and when he awoke he found himself sprawling in themiddle of the bed with the eider-down quilt up to his chin, whilst Lisasat in front of the secretaire, arranging some papers. His slumberhad been so heavy that he had not heard her rise. However, he now tookcourage, and spoke to her from the depths of the alcove: "Why didn't youwake me? What are you doing there?"
"I'm sorting the papers in these drawers," she replied in her usual toneof voice.
Quenu felt relieved. But Lisa added: "One never knows what may happen.If the police were to come--"
"What! the police?"
"Yes, indeed, the police; for you're mixing yourself up with politicsnow."
At this Quenu sat up in bed, quite dazed and confounded by such aviolent and unexpected attack.
"I mix myself up with politics! I mix myself up with politics!" herepeated. "It's no concern of the police. I've nothing to do with anycompromising matters."
"No," replied Lisa, shrugging her shoulders; "you merely talk aboutshooting everybody."
"I! I!"
"Yes. And you bawl it out in a public-house! Mademoiselle Saget heardyou. All the neighbourhood knows by this time that you are a RedRepublican!"
Quenu fell back in bed again. He was not perfectly awake as yet. Lisa'swords resounded in his ears as though he already heard the heavy trampof gendarmes at the bedroom door. He looked at her as she sat there,with her hair already arranged, her figure tightly imprisoned in herstays, her whole appearance the same as it was on any other morning; andhe felt more astonished than ever that she should be so neat and primunder such extraordinary circumstances.
"I leave you absolutely free, you know," she continued, as she went onarranging the papers. "I don't want to wear the breeches, as the sayinggoes. You are the master, and you are at liberty to endanger yourposition, compromise our credit, and ruin our business."
Then, as Quenu tried to protest, she silenced him with a gesture. "No,no; don't say anything," she continued. "This is no quarrel, and I amnot even asking an explanation from you. But if you had consulted me,and we had talked the matter over together, I might have intervened.Ah! it's a great mistake to imagine that women understand nothing aboutpolitics. Shall I tell you what my politics are?"
She had risen from her seat whilst speaking, and was now walking to andfro between the bed and the window, wiping as she went some specksof dust from the bright mahogany of the mirrored wardrobe and thedressing-table.
"My politics are the politics of honest folks," said she. "I'm gratefulto the Government when business is prosperous, when I can eat my mealsin peace and comfort, and can sleep at nights without being awakened bythe firing of guns. There were pretty times in '48, were there not? Youremember our uncle Gradelle, the worthy man, showing us his books forthat year? He lost more
than six thousand francs. Now that we have gotthe Empire, however, everything prospers. We sell our goods readilyenough. You can't deny it. Well, then, what is it that you want? Howwill you be better off when you have shot everybody?"
She took her stand in front of the little night-table, crossed her armsover her breast, and fixed her eyes upon Quenu, who had shuffled himselfbeneath the bed-clothes, almost out of sight. He attempted to explainwhat it was that his friends wanted, but he got quite confused in hisendeavours to summarise Florent's and Charvet's political and socialsystems; and could only talk about the disregard shown to principles,the accession of the democracy to power, and the regeneration ofsociety, in such a strange tangled way that Lisa shrugged her shoulders,quite unable to understand him. At last, however, he extricated himselffrom his difficulties by declaring that the Empire was the reign oflicentiousness, swindling finance, and highway robbery. And, recallingan expression of Logre's he added: "We are the prey of a band ofadventurers, who are pillaging, violating, and assassinating France.We'll have no more of them."
Lisa, however, still shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, and is that all you have got to say?" she asked with perfectcoolness. "What has all that got to do with me? Even supposing it weretrue, what then? Have I ever advised you to practise dishonest courses?Have I ever prompted you to dishonour your acceptances, or cheat yourcustomers, or pile up money by fraudulent practices? Really, you'll endby making me quite angry! We are honest folks, and we don't pillage orassassinate anybody. That's quite sufficient. What other folks do is noconcern of ours. If they choose to be rogues it's their affair."
She looked quite majestic and triumphant; and again pacing the room,drawing herself up to her full height, she resumed: "A pretty notionit is that people are to let their business go to rack and ruin just toplease those who are penniless. For my part, I'm in favour of making haywhile the sun shines, and supporting a Government which promotes trade.If it does do dishonourable things, I prefer to know nothing about them.I know that I myself commit none, and that no one in the neighbourhoodcan point a finger at me. It's only fools who go tilting at windmills.At the time of the last elections, you remember, Gavard said that theEmperor's candidate had been bankrupt, and was mixed up in all sorts ofscandalous matters. Well, perhaps that was true, I don't deny it; butall the same, you acted wisely in voting for him, for all that was notin question; you were not asked to lend the man any money or to transactany business with him, but merely to show the Government that you werepleased with the prosperity of the pork trade."
At this moment Quenu called to mind a sentence of Charvet's, assertingthat "the bloated bourgeois, the sleek shopkeepers, who backed up thatGovernment of universal gormandising, ought to be hurled into the sewersbefore all others, for it was owing to them and their gluttonous egotismthat tyranny had succeeded in mastering and preying upon the nation." Hewas trying to complete this piece of eloquence when Lisa, carried off byher indignation, cut him short.
"Don't talk such stuff! My conscience doesn't reproach me with anything.I don't owe a copper to anybody; I'm not mixed up in any dishonestbusiness; I buy and sell good sound stuff; and I charge no more thanothers do. What you say may perhaps apply to people like our cousins,the Saccards. They pretend to be even ignorant that I am in Paris; butI am prouder than they are, and I don't care a rap for their millions.It's said that Saccard speculates in condemned buildings, and cheats androbs everybody. I'm not surprised to hear it, for he was always that wayinclined. He loves money just for the sake of wallowing in it, and thentossing it out of his windows, like the imbecile he is. I can understandpeople attacking men of his stamp, who pile up excessive fortunes. Formy part, if you care to know it, I have but a bad opinion of Saccard.But we--we who live so quietly and peaceably, who will need at leastfifteen years to put by sufficient money to make ourselves comfortablyindependent, we who have no reason to meddle in politics, and whoseonly aim is to bring up our daughter respectably, and to see that ourbusiness prospers--why you must be joking to talk such stuff about us.We are honest folks!"
She came and sat down on the edge of the bed. Quenu was already muchshaken in his opinions.
"Listen to me, now," she resumed in a more serious voice. "You surelydon't want to see your own shop pillaged, your cellar emptied, and yourmoney taken from you? If these men who meet at Monsieur Lebigre's shouldprove triumphant, do you think that you would then lie as comfortablyin your bed as you do now? And on going down into the kitchen, do youimagine that you would set about making your galantines as peacefullyas you will presently? No, no, indeed! So why do you talk aboutoverthrowing a Government which protects you, and enables you to putmoney by? You have a wife and a daughter, and your first duty is towardsthem. You would be in fault if you imperilled their happiness. It isonly those who have neither home nor hearth, who have nothing to lose,who want to be shooting people. Surely you don't want to pull thechestnuts out of the fire for _them_! So stay quietly at home, youfoolish fellow, sleep comfortably, eat well, make money, keep an easyconscience, and leave France to free herself of the Empire if the Empireannoys her. France can get on very well without _you_."
She laughed her bright melodious laugh as she finished; and Quenu wasnow altogether convinced. Yes, she was right, after all; and she lookedso charming, he thought, as she sat there on the edge of the bed, sotrim, although it was so early, so bright, and so fresh in the dazzlingwhiteness of her linen. As he listened to her his eyes fell on theirportraits hanging on either side of the fireplace. Yes, they werecertainly honest folks; they had such a respectable, well-to-do air intheir black clothes and their gilded frames! The bedroom, too, lookedas though it belonged to people of some account in the world. The lacesquares seemed to give a dignified appearance to the chairs; andthe carpet, the curtains, and the vases decorated with paintedlandscapes--all spoke of their exertions to get on in the world andtheir taste for comfort. Thereupon he plunged yet further beneath theeider-down quilt, which kept him in a state of pleasant warmth. Hebegan to feel that he had risked losing all these things at MonsieurLebigre's--his huge bed, his cosy room, and his business, on whichhis thoughts now dwelt with tender remorse. And from Lisa, from thefurniture, from all his cosy surroundings, he derived a sense of comfortwhich thrilled him with a delightful, overpowering charm.
"You foolish fellow!" said his wife, seeing that he was now quiteconquered. "A pretty business it was that you'd embarked upon; but you'dhave had to reckon with Pauline and me, I can tell you! And now don'tbother your head any more about the Government. To begin with, allGovernments are alike, and if we didn't have this one, we should haveanother. A Government is necessary. But the one thing is to be able tolive on, to spend one's savings in peace and comfort when one grows old,and to know that one has gained one's means honestly."
Quenu nodded his head in acquiescence, and tried to commence ajustification of his conduct.
"It was Gavard--," he began.
But Lisa's face again assumed a serious expression, and she interruptedhim sharply.
"No, it was not Gavard. I know very well who it was; and it would bea great deal better if he would look after his own safety beforecompromising that of others."
"Is it Florent you mean?" Quenu timidly inquired after a pause.
Lisa did not immediately reply. She got up and went back to thesecretaire, as if trying to restrain herself.
"Yes, it is Florent," she said presently, in incisive tones. "You knowhow patient I am. I would bear almost anything rather than come betweenyou and your brother. The tie of relationship is a sacred thing. But thecup is filled to overflowing now. Since your brother came here thingshave been constantly getting worse and worse. But now, I won't sayanything more; it is better that I shouldn't."
There was another pause. Then, as her husband gazed up at the ceilingwith an air of embarrassment, she continued, with increased violence:
"Really, he seems to ignore all that we have done for him. We haveput ourselves to great inconvenience for his s
ake; we have given himAugustine's bedroom, and the poor girl sleeps without a murmur in astuffy little closet where she can scarcely breathe. We board and lodgehim and give him every attention--but no, he takes it all quite as amatter of course. He is earning money, but what he does with it nobodyknows; or, rather, one knows only too well."
"But there's his share of the inheritance, you know," Quenu ventured tosay, pained at hearing his brother attacked.
Lisa suddenly stiffened herself as though she were stunned, and heranger vanished.
"Yes, you are right; there is his share of the inheritance. Here isthe statement of it, in this drawer. But he refused to take it; youremember, you were present, and heard him. That only proves that he is abrainless, worthless fellow. If he had had an idea in his head, he wouldhave made something out of that money by now. For my own part, I shouldbe very glad to get rid of it; it would be a relief to us. I have toldhim so twice, but he won't listen to me. You ought to persuade him totake it. Talk to him about it, will you?"
Quenu growled something in reply; and Lisa refrained from pressing thepoint further, being of opinion that she had done all that could beexpected of her.
"He is not like other men," she resumed. "He's not a comfortable sort ofperson to have in the house. I shouldn't have said this if we hadn't gottalking on the subject. I don't busy myself about his conduct, thoughit's setting the whole neighbourhood gossiping about us. Let him eatand sleep here, and put us about, if he likes; we can get over that; butwhat I won't tolerate is that he should involve us in his politics. Ifhe tries to lead you off again, or compromises us in the least degree,I shall turn him out of the house without the least hesitation. I warnyou, and now you understand!"
Florent was doomed. Lisa was making a great effort to restrain herself,to prevent the animosity which had long been rankling in her heartfrom flowing forth. But Florent and his ways jarred against her everyinstinct; he wounded her, frightened her, and made her quite miserable.
"A man who has made such a discreditable career," she murmured, "who hasnever been able to get a roof of his own over his head! I can very wellunderstand his partiality for bullets! He can go and stand in their wayif he chooses; but let him leave honest folks to their families! Andthen, he isn't pleasant to have about one! He reeks of fish in theevening at dinner! It prevents me from eating. He himself never lets amouthful go past him, though it's little better he seems to be for itall! He can't even grow decently stout, the wretched fellow, to such adegree do his bad instincts prey on him!"
She had stepped up to the window whilst speaking, and now saw Florentcrossing the Rue Rambuteau on his way to the fish market. There wasa very large arrival of fish that morning; the tray-like baskets werecovered with rippling silver, and the auction rooms roared with thehubbub of their sales. Lisa kept her eyes on the bony shoulders of herbrother-in-law as he made his way into the pungent smells of the market,stooping beneath the sickening sensation which they brought him; andthe glance with which she followed his steps was that of a woman bent oncombat and resolved to be victorious.
When she turned round again, Quenu was getting up. As he sat on the edgeof the bed in his night-shirt, still warm from the pleasant heat of theeider-down quilt and with his feet resting on the soft fluffy rug belowhim, he looked quite pale, quite distressed at the misunderstandingbetween his wife and his brother. Lisa, however, gave him one of hersweetest smiles, and he felt deeply touched when she handed him hissocks.