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diff --git a/27711-h/27711-h.htm b/27711-h/27711-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fbaee3 --- /dev/null +++ b/27711-h/27711-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Germinie Lacerteux, by Edmond and Jules de Goncourt. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 15%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 3em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + color: #BDBDBD; +} + +hr.hr2 { + width: 10%; + margin-top: 2.5em; + margin-bottom: 2.5em; + clear: both; + color: #BDBDBD; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 95%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #C0C0C0; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-align: center;} + +.caption {text-align: center; margin-top: 1em; margin-left: 20em; margin-right: 20em;} + +.image {text-align: center;} + +h2.chapter {font-size: 145%; padding-bottom: 0.75em;} + +h3.chapter2 {font-size: 130%; font-variant: small-caps; padding-bottom: 1em;} + +.sc {font-variant: small-caps;} + +table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 83%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; +} + +.minispace {margin-bottom: 1em;} + +.microspace {margin-bottom: .5em;} + +.nanospace {padding-bottom: .25em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Germinie Lacerteux, by Edmond and Jules de Goncourt + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Germinie Lacerteux + +Author: Edmond and Jules de Goncourt + +Release Date: January 5, 2009 [EBook #27711] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMINIE LACERTEUX *** + + + + +Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Meredith Bach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h3 style="font-size: 140%;">CHEFS D'ŒUVRE</h3> + +<h4>DU</h4> + +<h2>ROMAN CONTEMPORAIN</h2> + +<hr style="width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" /> +<h4>REALISTS</h4> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a><img src="images/ifrontis.jpg" width="397" height="593" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="image"> +<img src="images/ichxxi.png" width="183" height="40" alt="Chapter XXI + +Jupillon was a true Parisian: he loved to fish with +a pole and line. + +And when summer came they stayed there all day, at +the foot of the garden, on the bank of the stream—Jupillon +on a laundry board resting on two stakes, pole +in hand, and Germinie sitting, with the child in her +skirts, under the medlar tree that overhung the stream." title="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;" /> +<div class="caption"><i>Jupillon was a true Parisian: he loved to fish with +a pole and line.</i> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>And when summer came they stayed there all day, at +the foot of the garden, on the bank of the stream—Jupillon +on a laundry board resting on two stakes, pole +in hand, and Germinie sitting, with the child in her +skirts, under the medlar tree that overhung the stream.</i></div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + + + +<hr /> +<h1 style="font-size: 175%; margin-top: -.5em;">BIBLIOTHÈQUE<br /> +DES CHEFS-D'ŒUVRE<br /> +DU ROMAN<br /> +CONTEMPORAIN</h1> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<hr style="width: 5%; margin-top: -.5em; margin-bottom: -.5em;" /> +<h2><i>GERMINIE LACERTEUX</i></h2> +<hr style="width: 5%; margin-top: -.5em; margin-bottom: -.5em;" /> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h3>EDMOND <small>AND</small> JULES <small>DE</small> GONCOURT</h3> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h3>PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY BY<br /> +GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, <span class="sc">Philadelphia</span></h3> +<hr /> + +<h2 style="font-size: 170%;">GERMINIE LACERTEUX</h2> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<h2 class="chapter">PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION</h2> + + +<p>We must ask pardon of the public for offering it this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> + +book, and give it due warning of what it will find +therein.</p> + +<p>The public loves fictitious novels! this is a true novel.</p> + +<p>It loves books which make a pretence of introducing +their readers to fashionable society: this book deals +with the life of the street.</p> + +<p>It loves little indecent books, memoirs of courtesans, +alcove confessions, erotic obscenity, the scandal tucked +away in pictures in a bookseller's shop window: that +which is contained in the following pages is rigidly +clean and pure. Do not expect the photograph of +Pleasure <i>décolletée</i>: the following study is the clinic of +Love.</p> + +<p>Again, the public loves to read pleasant, soothing +stories, adventures that end happily, imaginative works +that disturb neither its digestion nor its peace of mind: +this book furnishes entertainment of a melancholy, violent +sort calculated to disarrange the habits and injure +the health of the public.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>Why then have we written it? For no other purpose +than to annoy the public and offend its tastes?</p> + +<p>By no means.</p> + +<p>Living as we do in the nineteenth century, in an age +of universal suffrage, of democracy, of liberalism, we +asked ourselves the question whether what are called +"the lower classes" had no rights in the novel; if that +world beneath a world, the common people, must needs +remain subject to the literary interdict, and helpless +against the contempt of authors who have hitherto +said no word to imply that the common people possess +a heart and soul. We asked ourselves whether, in these +days of equality in which we live, there are classes +unworthy the notice of the author and the reader, misfortunes +too lowly, dramas too foul-mouthed, catastrophes +too commonplace in the terror they inspire. We were +curious to know if that conventional symbol of a forgotten +literature, of a vanished society, Tragedy, is +definitely dead; if, in a country where castes no longer +exist and aristocracy has no legal status, the miseries of +the lowly and the poor would appeal to public interest, +emotion, compassion, as forcibly as the miseries of the +great and the rich; if, in a word, the tears that are shed +in low life have the same power to cause tears to flow as +the tears shed in high life.</p> + +<p>These thoughts led us to venture upon the humble +tale, <i>Sœur Philomène</i>, in 1861; they lead us to put forth +<i>Germinie Lacerteux</i> to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now, let the book be spoken slightingly of; it matters +little. At this day, when the sphere of the Novel is +broadening and expanding, when it is beginning to be +the serious, impassioned, living form of literary study +and social investigation, when it is becoming, by virtue +of analysis and psychological research, the true History +of contemporary morals, when the novel has taken its +place among the necessary elements of knowledge, it +may properly demand its liberty and freedom of speech. +And to encourage it in the search for Art and Truth, to +authorize it to disclose misery and suffering which it is +not well for the fortunate people of Paris to forget, and +to show to people of fashion what the Sisters of Charity +have the courage to see for themselves, what the queens +of old compelled their children to touch with their eyes +in the hospitals: the visible, palpitating human suffering +that teaches charity; to confirm the novel in the practice +of that religion which the last century called by the +vast and far-reaching name, <i>Humanity</i>:—it needs no +other warrant than the consciousness that that is its +right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Paris, October, 1864.</i></p> + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">SECOND PREFACE</h2> + +<h3 class="chapter2">PREPARED FOR A POSTHUMOUS EDITION OF GERMINIE LACERTEUX</h3> + + +<p><i>July 22, 1862.</i>—The disease is gradually doing its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +work of destruction in our poor Rose. It is as if the +immaterial manifestations of life that formerly emanated +from her body were dying one by one. Her face is +entirely changed. Her expression is not the same, +her gestures are not the same; and she seems to me +as if she were putting off every day more and more +of that something, humanly speaking indefinable, which +makes the personality of a living being. Disease, before +making an end of its victim, introduces into +his body something strange, unfamiliar, something that +is <i>not he</i>, makes of him a new being, so to speak, +in whom we must seek to find the former being—he, +whose joyous, affectionate features have already ceased +to exist.</p> + +<p><i>July 31.</i>—Doctor Simon is to tell me very soon +whether our dear old Rose will live or die. I am waiting +to hear his ring, which to me, is equivalent to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +of a jury at the assizes, announcing their return to the +court room with their verdict. "It is all over, there is +no hope, it is simply a question of time. The disease +has progressed very rapidly. One lung is entirely gone +and the other substantially." And we must return to +the invalid, restore her serenity with a smile, give her +reason to hope for convalescence in every line of our +faces. Then we feel an unconquerable longing to rush +from the room and from the poor creature. We leave +the house, we wander at random through the streets; +at last, overdone with fatigue, we sit down at a table in +a café. We mechanically take up a copy of <i>L'Illustration</i> +and our eyes fall at once upon the solution of its +last riddle: <i>Against death, there is no appeal!</i></p> + +<p><i>Monday, August 11.</i>—The disease of the lungs is +complicated with peritonitis. She has terrible pains in +the bowels, she cannot move without assistance, she cannot +lie on her back or her left side. In God's name, is +not death enough? must she also endure suffering, aye, +torture, as the final implacable breaking-up of the +human organism? And she suffers thus, poor wretch! in +one of the servant's rooms, where the sun, shining in +through a window in the sloping roof, makes the air +as stifling as in a hothouse, and where there is so little +room that the doctor has to put his hat on the bed. +We struggled to the last to keep her, but finally we had +to make up our minds to let her go away. She was +unwilling to go to Maison Dubois, where we proposed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +take her; it seems that twenty-five years ago, when she +first came to us, she went there to see the nurse in charge +of Edmond, who died there, and so that particular hospital +represents to her the place where people die. I +am waiting for Simon who is to bring her a permit to +go to Lariboisière. She passed almost a good night. +She is all ready, in high spirits, in fact. We have covered +everything up from her as well as we could. She +longs to be gone. She is in a great hurry. She feels +that she is going to get well there. At two o'clock +Simon arrives: "Here it is, all right." She refuses to +have a litter: "I should think I was dead!" she says. +She is dressed. As soon as she leaves her bed, all the +signs of life to be seen upon her face disappear. It is +as if the earth had risen under her skin. She comes +down into our apartments. Sitting in the dining-room, +with a trembling hand, the knuckles of which knock +against one another, she draws her stockings on over +a pair of legs like broomsticks, consumptive legs. +Then, for a long moment, she looks about at the +familiar objects with dying eyes that seem desirous to +take away with them the memory of the places they are +leaving—and the door of the apartment closes upon her +with a noise as of farewell. She reaches the foot of the +stairs, where she rests for an instant on a chair. The +concierge, in a bantering tone, assures her that she will +be well in six weeks. She bows and says "yes," an +inaudible "yes." The cab drives up to the door. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +rests her hand on the concierge's wife. I hold her +against the pillow she has behind her back. With wide +open, vacant eyes she vaguely watches the houses pass, +but she does not speak. At the door of the hospital +she tries to alight without assistance. "Can you walk +so far?" the concierge asks. She makes an affirmative +gesture and walks on. Really I cannot imagine where +she procured the strength to walk as she does. Here +we are at last in the great hall, a high, cold, bare, +clean place with a litter standing, all ready for use, in +the centre. I seat her in a straw armchair by a door +with a glazed wicket. A young man opens the wicket, +asks my name and age and writes busily for quarter of +an hour, covering ten or more sheets of paper with +a religious figure at the head. At last, everything is +ready, and I embrace her. A boy takes one arm, the +housekeeper the other.—After that, I saw nothing +more.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, August 14.</i>—We have been to Lariboisière. +We found Rose quiet, hopeful, talking of her approaching +discharge—in three weeks at most,—and so free +from all thought of death that she told us of a furious +love scene that took place yesterday between a woman +in the bed next hers and a brother of the Christian +schools, who was there again to-day. Poor Rose is +death, but death engrossed with life. Near her bed was +a young woman, whose husband, a mechanic, had come +to see her. "You see, as soon as I can walk, I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +walk about the garden so much that they'll have to send +me home!" she said. And the mother in her added: +"Does the child ask for me sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, oh! yes," the man replied.</p> + +<p><i>Saturday, August 16.</i>—This morning, at ten o'clock, +someone rings the bell. I hear a colloquy at the door +between the housekeeper and the concierge. The door +opens, the concierge enters with a letter. I take the +letter; it bears the stamp of Lariboisière. Rose died +this morning at seven o'clock.</p> + +<p>Poor girl! So it is all over! I knew that she was +doomed; but she was so animated, so cheerful, almost +happy, when we saw her Thursday! And here we are +both walking up and down the salon, filled with the +thought that a fellow-creature's death inspires: We shall +never see her again!—an instinctive thought that recurs +incessantly within you. What a void! what a gap in +our household! A habit, an attachment of twenty-five +years growth, a girl who knew our whole lives and +opened our letters in our absence, and to whom we told +all our business. When I was a bit of a boy I trundled +my hoop with her, and she bought me apple-tarts with +her own money, when we went to walk. She would sit +up for Edmond till morning, to open the door for him, +when he went to the Bal de l'Opéra without our mother's +knowledge. She was the woman, the excellent nurse, +whose hands mother placed in ours when she was dying. +She had the keys to everything, she managed everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +she did everything for our comfort. For twenty-five years +she tucked us up in bed every night, and every night +there were the same never-ending jokes about her ugliness +and her disgraceful physique. Sorrows and joys +alike she shared with us. She was one of those devoted +creatures upon whose solicitude you rely to close your +eyes. Our bodies, when we were ill or indisposed, were +accustomed to her attentions. She was familiar with all +our hobbies. She had known all our mistresses. She +was a piece of our life, part of the furniture of our +apartment, a stray memory of our youth, at once loving +and scolding and care-taking, like a watchdog whom we +were accustomed to having always beside us and about +us, and who ought to last as long as ourselves. And we +shall never see her again! It is not she moving about +the rooms; she will never again come to our rooms to +bid us good-morning! It is a great wrench, a great +change in our lives, which seems to us, I cannot say +why, like one of those solemn breaks in one's existence, +when, as Byron says, destiny changes horses.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, August 17.</i>—This morning we are to perform +all the last sad duties. We must return to the hospital, +enter once more the reception hall, where I seem to see +again, in the armchair against the wicket, the ghost of +the emaciated creature I seated there less than a week +ago. "Will you identify the body?" the attendant +hurls the question at me in a harsh voice. We go to the +further end of the hospital, to a high yellow door, upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +which is written in great black letters: <i>Amphitheatre</i>. +The attendant knocks. After some moments the door is +partly opened, and a head like a butcher's boy's appears, +with a short pipe in its mouth: a head which suggests +the gladiator and the grave-digger. I fancied that I was +at the circus, and that he was the slave who received the +gladiators' bodies; and he does receive the slain in that +great circus, society. They made us wait a long while +before opening another door, and during those moments +of suspense, all our courage oozed away, as the blood of a +wounded man who is forced to remain standing oozes +away, drop by drop. The mystery of what we were +about to see, the horror of a sight that rends your heart, +the search for the one body amid other bodies, the +scrutiny and recognition of that poor face, disfigured +doubtless—the thought of all this made us as timid as +children. We were at the end of our strength, at the +end of our will-power, at the end of our nervous +tension, and, when the door opened, we said: "We +will send some one," and fled. From there we went +to the mayor's office, riding in a cab that jolted us +and shook our heads about like empty things. And an +indefinable horror seized upon us of death in a hospital, +which seems to be only an administrative formality. +One would say that in that abode of agony, everything +is so well administered, regulated, reduced to system, +that death opens it as if it were an administrative +bureau.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>While we were having the death registered,—<i>Mon +Dieu!</i> the paper, all covered with writing and flourishes +for a poor woman's death!—a man rushed out of an +adjoining room, in joyous exultation, and looked at the +almanac hanging on the wall to find the name of the +saint of the day and give it to his child. As he passed, +the skirt of the happy father's coat swept the sheet on +which the death was registered from the desk to the floor.</p> + +<p>When we returned home, we must look through her +papers, get her clothes together, sort out the clutter of +phials, bandages and innumerable things that sickness +collects—jostle death about, in short. It was a ghastly +thing to enter that attic, where the crumbs of bread +from her last meal were still lying in the folds of the +bedclothes. I threw the coverlid up over the bolster, +like a sheet over the ghost of a dead man.</p> + +<p><i>Monday, August 18.</i>—The chapel is beside the amphitheatre. +In the hospital God and the dead body are +neighbors. At the mass said for the poor woman beside +her coffin, two or three others were placed near by to +reap the benefit of the service. There was an unpleasant +promiscuousness of salvation in that performance: +it resembled the common grave in the prayer. +Behind me, in the chapel, Rose's niece was weeping—the +little girl she had at our house for a short time, who +is now a young woman of nineteen, a pupil at the convent +of the Sisters of Saint-Laurent: a poor, weazened, +pale, stunted creature, rickety from starvation, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +head too heavy for her body, back bent double, and the +air of a Mayeux—the last sad remnant of that consumption-ridden +family, awaited by Death and with his hand +even now heavy upon her,—in her soft eyes there is +already a gleam of the life beyond.</p> + +<p>Then from the chapel to the extreme end of the +Montmartre cemetery,—vast as a necropolis and occupying +a whole quarter of the city,—walking at slow steps +through mud that never ends. Lastly the intoning of +the priests, and the coffin laboriously lowered by the +gravediggers' arms to the ends of the ropes, as a cask of +wine is lowered into a cellar.</p> + +<p><i>Wednesday, August 20.</i>—Once more I must return to +the hospital. For since the visit I paid Rose on Thursday +and her sudden death the next day, there has existed for +me a mystery which I force from my thoughts, but which +constantly returns; the mystery of that agony of which I +know nothing, of that sudden end. I long to know and +I dread to learn. It does not seem to me as if she were +dead; I think of her simply as of a person who has disappeared. +My imagination returns to her last hours, gropes +for them in the darkness and reconstructs them, and they +torture me with their veiled horrors! I need to have my +doubts resolved. At last, this morning, I took my courage +in both hands. Again I see the hospital, again I see +the red-faced, obese concierge, reeking with life as one +reeks with wine, and the corridors where the morning +light falls upon the pale faces of smiling convalescents.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a distant corner, I rang at a door with little white +curtains. It was opened and I found myself in a parlor +where a Virgin stood upon a sort of altar between two +windows. On the northern wall of the room, the cold, +bare room, there are—why, I cannot explain—two +framed views of Vesuvius, wretched water-colors which +seem to shiver and to be entirely expatriated there. +Through an open door behind me, from a small room in +which the sun shines brightly, I hear the chattering of +sisters and children, childish joys, pretty little bursts of +laughter, all sorts of fresh, clear vocal notes: a sound as +from a dovecote bathed in the sun. Sisters in white with +black caps pass and repass; one stops in front of my +chair. She is short, badly developed, with an ugly, +sweet face, a poor face by the grace of God. She is +the mother of the Salle Saint-Joseph. She tells me how +Rose died, in hardly any pain, feeling that she was +improving, almost well, overflowing with encouragement +and hope. In the morning, after her bed was made, +without any suspicion that death was near, suddenly she +was taken with a hemorrhage, which lasted some few +seconds. I came away, much comforted, delivered +from the thought that she had had the anticipatory taste +of death, the horror of its approach.</p> + +<p><i>Thursday, October 21.</i></p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>In the midst of our dinner, which was rendered +melancholy enough by the constant hovering of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +conversation around the subject of death, Maria, who +came to dinner to-night, cried out, after two or three +nervous blows with her fingers upon her fluffy blonde +locks:—"My friends, while the poor girl was alive, I +kept the professional secret of my trade. But, now that +she is under ground, you must know the truth."</p> + +<p>And thereupon we learned things concerning the +unhappy creature that took away our appetites, leaving +in our mouths the bitter taste of fruit cut with a steel +knife. And a whole strange, hateful, repugnant, deplorable +existence was revealed to us. The notes she signed, +the debts she has left behind her at all the dealers, have +the most unforeseen, the most amazing, the most incredible +basis. She kept men: the milkwoman's son, for +whom she furnished a chamber; another to whom she +carried our wine, chickens, food of all sorts. A secret +life of nocturnal orgies, of nights passed abroad, of +fierce nymphomania, that made her lovers say: "Either +she or I will stay on the field!" A passion, passions +with her whole head and heart and all her senses at +once, and complicated by all the wretched creatures' +diseases, consumption which adds frenzy to pleasure, +hysteria, the beginning of insanity. She had two children +by the milkwoman's son, one of whom lived six +months. Some years ago, when she told us that she was +going on a visit to her province, it was to lie in. And, +with regard to these men, her passion was so extravagant, +so unhealthy, so insane, that she, who was formerly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +honesty personified, actually stole from us, took twenty +franc pieces out of rolls of a hundred francs, so that the +lovers she paid might not leave her. Now, after these +involuntarily dishonest acts, these petty crimes extorted +from her upright nature, she plunged into such depths of +self-reproach, remorse, melancholy, such black despair, +that in that hell in which she rolled on from sin to sin, +desperate and unsatisfied, she had taken to drinking to +escape herself, to save herself from the present, to +drown herself and founder for a few moments in the +heavy slumber, the lethargic torpor in which she would +lie wallowing across her bed for a whole day, just as she +fell when she tried to make it. The miserable creature! +how great an incentive, how many motives and reasons +she found for devouring her suffering, and bleeding +internally: in the first place the rejection at intervals of +religious ideas by the terrors of a hell of fire and brimstone; +then jealousy, that characteristic jealousy of +everything and everybody that poisoned her life; then, +then—then the disgust which these men, after a time, +brutally expressed for her ugliness, and which drove her +deeper and deeper into sottishness,—caused her one day +to have a miscarriage, and she fell half dead on the +floor. Such a frightful tearing away of the veil we have +worn over our eyes is like the examination of a pocketful +of horrible things in a dead body suddenly opened. From +what we have heard I suddenly seem to realize what she +must have suffered for ten years past: the dread of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +anonymous letter to us or of a denunciation from some +dealer; and the constant trepidation on the subject of +the money that was demanded of her, and that she could +not pay; and the shame felt by that proud creature, +perverted by the vile Quartier Saint-Georges, because of +her intimacy with low wretches whom she despised; and +the lamentable consciousness of the premature senility +caused by drunkenness; and the inhuman exactions +and brutality of the Alphonses of the gutter; and the +temptations to suicide which caused me to pull her away +from a window one day, when I found her leaning far +out—and lastly all the tears that we believed to be +without cause—all these things mingled with a very +deep and heartfelt affection for us, and with a vehement, +feverish devotion when either of us was ill. And this +woman possessed an energetic character, a force of will, +a skill in mystification, to which nothing can be compared. +Yes, yes, all those frightful secrets kept under +lock and key, hidden, buried deep in her own heart, so +that neither our eyes, nor our ears, nor our powers of +observation ever detected aught amiss, even in her +hysterical attacks, when nothing escaped her but groans: +a mystery preserved until her death, and which she must +have believed would be buried with her. And of what +did she die? She died, because, all through one rainy +winter's night, eight months ago, at Montmartre, she +spied upon the milkwoman's son, who had turned her +away, in order to find out with what woman he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +filled her place; a whole night leaning against a ground-floor +window, as a result of which she was drenched to +the bones with deadly pleurisy!</p> + +<p>Poor creature, we forgive her; indeed, a vast compassion +for her fills our hearts, as we reflect upon all +that she has suffered. But we have become suspicious, +for our lives, of the whole female sex, and of women +above us as well as of women below us in station. We +are terror-stricken at the double lining of their hearts, +at the marvelous faculty, the science, the consummate +genius of falsehood with which their whole being is +instinct.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The above extracts are from our journal: <span class="sc">Journal +des Goncourts</span>—<i>Mémoires de la Vie Littéraire</i>; they +are the documentary foundation upon which, two years +later, my brother and I composed <span class="sc">Germinie Lacerteux</span>, +whom we made a study of and taught when she +was in the service of our venerable cousin, Mademoiselle +de C——t, of whom we were writing a veracious biography, +after the style of a biography of modern history.</p> + +<div class="sc" style="text-align: right;">Edmond de Goncourt.</div> + +<p><i>Auteuil, April, 1886.</i></p> + + +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">I</h2> + + +<p>"Saved! so you are really out of danger, mademoiselle!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +exclaimed the maid with a cry of joy, as she +closed the door upon the doctor, and, rushing to the bed +on which her mistress lay, she began, in a frenzy of happiness +and with a shower of kisses to embrace, together with +the bed covers, the old woman's poor, emaciated body, +which seemed, in the huge bed, as small as a child's.</p> + +<p>The old woman took her head, silently, in both +hands, pressed it against her heart, heaved a sigh, and +muttered: "Ah, well! so I must live on!"</p> + +<p>This took place in a small room, through the window +of which could be seen a small patch of sky cut by +three black iron pipes, various neighboring roofs, and in +the distance, between two houses that almost touched, +the leafless branch of a tree, whose trunk was invisible.</p> + +<p>On the mantelpiece, in a mahogany box, was a square +clock with a large dial, huge figures and bulky hands. +Beside it, under glass covers, were two candlesticks +formed by three silver swans twisting their necks around +a golden quiver. Near the fireplace an easy chair <i>à la +Voltaire</i>, covered with one of the pieces of tapestry of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +checker-board pattern, which little girls and old women +make, extended its empty arms. Two little Italian +landscapes, a flower piece in water-colors after Bertin, +with a date in red ink at the bottom, and a few miniatures +hung on the walls.</p> + +<p>Upon the mahogany commode of an Empire pattern, +a statue of Time in black bronze, running with his +scythe in rest, served as a watch stand for a small watch +with a monogram in diamonds upon blue enamel, surrounded +with pearls. The floor was covered with a +bright carpet with black and green stripes. The curtains +at the bed and the window were of old-fashioned +chintz with red figures upon a chocolate ground.</p> + +<p>At the head of the bed, a portrait inclined over the +invalid and seemed to gaze sternly at her. It represented +a man with harsh features, whose face emerged +from the high collar of a green satin coat, and a muslin +cravat, with waving ends, tied loosely around the neck, +in the style of the early years of the Revolution. The +old woman in the bed resembled the portrait. She had +the same bushy, commanding black eyebrows, the same +aquiline nose, the same clearly marked lines of will, +resolution and energy. The portrait seemed to cast +a reflection upon her, as a father's face is reflected in +his child's. But in hers the harshness of the features +was softened by a gleam of rough kindliness, by an +indefinable flame of sturdy devotion and masculine +charity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>The light in the room was the light of an evening in +early spring, about five o'clock, a light as clear as crystal +and as white as silver, the cold, chaste, soft light, +which fades away in the flush of the sunset passing into +twilight. The sky was filled with that light of a new +life, adorably melancholy, like the still naked earth, and +so replete with pathos that it moves happy souls to tears.</p> + +<p>"Well, well! my silly Germinie, weeping?" said +the old woman, a moment later, withdrawing her hands +which were moist with her maid's kisses.</p> + +<p>"Oh! my dear, kind mademoiselle, I would like to +weep like this all the time! it's so good! it brings my +poor mother back before my eyes—and everything!—if +you only knew!"</p> + +<p>"Go on, go on," said her mistress, closing her eyes +to listen, "tell me about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! my poor mother!" The maid paused a moment. +Then, with the flood of words that gushes forth +with tears of joy, she continued, as if, in the emotion +and outpouring of her happiness, her whole childhood +flowed back into her heart! "Poor woman! I can +see her now the last time she went out to take me to +mass, one 21st of January, I remember. In those days +they read from the king's Testament. Ah! she suffered +enough on my account, did mamma! She was forty-two +years old, when I was born——papa made her cry +a good deal! There were three of us before and there +wasn't any too much bread in the house. And then he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +was proud as anything. If we'd had only a handful of +peas in the house he would never have gone to the curé +for help. Ah! we didn't eat bacon every day at our +house. Never mind; for all that mamma loved me a +little more and she always found a little fat or cheese in +some corner to put on my bread. I wasn't five when +she died. That was a bad thing for us all. I had a +tall brother, who was white as a sheet, with a yellow +beard—and good! you have no idea. Everybody loved +him. They gave him all sorts of names. Some called +him Boda—why, I don't know. Others called him +Jesus Christ. Ah! he was a worker, he was! It didn't +make any difference to him that his health was good for +nothing; at daybreak he was always at his loom—for +we were weavers, you must know—and he never put his +shuttle down till night. And honest, too, if you knew! +People came from all about to bring him their yarn, +and without weighing it, too. He was a great friend of +the schoolmaster, and he used to write the <i>mottoes</i> for +the carnival. My father, he was a different sort: he'd +work for a moment, or an hour, you know, and then +he'd go off into the fields—and when he came home +he'd beat us, and beat us hard. He was like a madman; +they said it was because he was consumptive. It +was lucky my brother was there: he used to prevent my +second sister from pulling my hair and hurting me, +because she was jealous. He always took me by the +hand to go and see them play skittles. In fact, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +supported the family all alone. For my first communion +he had the bells rung! Ah! he did a heap of work so +that I should be like the others, in a little white dress +with flounces and a little bag in my hand, such as they +used to carry in those days. I didn't have any cap: I +remember making myself a pretty little wreath of ribbons +and the white pith you pull off when you strip +reeds; there was lots of it in the places where we used +to put the hemp to soak. That was one of my great +days—that and the drawing lots for the pigs at +Christmas—and the days when I went to help them tie +up the vines; that was in June, you know. We had a +little vineyard near Saint Hilaire. There was one very +hard year in those days—do you remember it, mademoiselle?—the +long frost of 1828 that ruined everything. +It extended as far as Dijon and farther, too—people had +to make bread from bran. My brother nearly killed +himself with work. Father, who was always out of +doors tramping about the fields, sometimes brought +home a few mushrooms. It was pretty bad, all the +same; we were hungry oftener than anything else. +When I was out in the fields myself, I'd look around to +see if anyone could see me, and then I'd crawl along +softly on my knees, and when I was under a cow, I'd +take off one of my sabots and begin to milk her. +Bless me! I came near being caught at it! My oldest +sister was out at service with the Mayor of Lenclos, and +she sent home her wages—twenty-four francs—it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +always as much as that. The second worked at dressmaking +in bourgeois families; but they didn't pay the +prices then that they do to-day; she worked from six +in the morning till dark for eight sous. Out of that she +wanted to put some by for a dress for the fête on Saint-Remi's +day.—Ah! that's the way it is with us: there +are many who live on two potatoes a day for six months +so as to have a new dress for that day. Bad luck fell +on us on all sides. My father died. We had to sell a +small field, and a bit of a vineyard that yielded a cask +of wine every year. The notaries don't work for +nothing. When my brother was sick there was nothing +to give him to drink but <i>lees</i> that we'd been putting +water to for a year. And there wasn't any change of +linen for him; all the sheets in the wardrobe, which +had a golden cross on top of it in mother's time, had +gone—and the cross too. More than that, before he +was sick this time, my brother goes off to the fête at +Clefmont. He hears someone say that my sister had +gone wrong with the mayor she worked for; he falls on +the men who said it, but he wasn't very strong. They +were, though, and they threw him down, and when he +was down, they kicked him with their wooden shoes, +in the pit of the stomach. He was brought home to us +for dead. The doctor put him on his feet again, though, +and told us he was cured. But he could just drag himself +along. I could see that he was going when he +kissed me. When he was dead, poor dear boy, Cadet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Ballard had to use all his strength to take me away +from the body. The whole village, mayor and all, went +to his funeral. As my sister couldn't keep her place +with the mayor on account of the things he said to her, +and had gone to Paris to find a place, my other sister +went after her. I was left all alone. One of my +mother's cousins then took me with her to Damblin; +but I was all upset there; I cried all night long, +and whenever I could run away I always went back to +our house. Just to see the old vine at our door, from +the end of the street, did me good! it put strength into +my legs. The good people who had bought the house +would keep me till someone came for me! they were +always sure to find me there. At last they wrote to my +sister in Paris that, if she didn't send for me to come +and live with her, I wasn't likely to live long. It's a +fact that I was just like wax. They put me in charge of +the driver of a small wagon that went from Langres to +Paris every month, and that's how I came to Paris. I +was fourteen years old, then. I remember that I went +to bed all dressed all the way, because they made me +sleep in the common room. When I arrived I was +covered with lice."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">II</h2> + + +<p>The old woman said nothing: she was comparing her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +own life with her servant's.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil was born in 1782. She +first saw the light in a mansion on Rue Royale and +Mesdames de France were her sponsors in baptism. +Her father was a close friend of the Comte d'Artois, +in whose household he held an important post. He +joined in all his hunting-parties, and was one of the +few familiar spirits, in whose presence, at the mass +preceding the hunt, he who was one day to be King +Charles X. used to hurry the officiating priest by saying +in an undertone: "Psit! psit! curé, swallow your +<i>Good Lord</i> quickly!"</p> + +<p>Monsieur de Varandeuil had made one of those +marriages which were customary enough in his day: he +had espoused a sort of actress, a singer, who, although +she had no great talent, had made a success at the +<i>Concert Spirituel</i>, beside Madame Todi, Madame Ponteuil +and Madame Saint-Huberty. The little girl born +of this marriage in 1782 was sickly and delicate, ugly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +of feature, with a nose even then large enough to be +absurd, her father's nose in a face as thin as a man's +wrist. She had nothing of what her parents' vanity +would have liked her to have. After making a fiasco on +the piano at the age of five, at a concert given by her +mother in her salon, she was relegated to the society of +the servants. Except for a moment in the morning, she +never went near her mother, who always made her kiss +her under the chin, so that she might not disturb her +rouge. When the Revolution arrived, Monsieur de +Varandeuil, thanks to the Comte d'Artois' patronage, +was disburser of pensions. Madame de Varandeuil was +traveling in Italy, whither she had ordered her physician +to send her on the pretext of ill health, leaving her +daughter and an infant son in her husband's charge. +The absorbing anxiety of the times, the tempests threatening +wealth and the families that handled wealth—Monsieur +de Varandeuil's brother was a Farmer-General—left +that very selfish and unloving father but little +leisure to attend to the wants of his children. Thereupon, +he began to be somewhat embarrassed pecuniarily. +He left Rue Royale and took up his abode at the Hôtel +du Petit-Charolais, belonging to his mother, who allowed +him to install himself there. Events moved rapidly; +one evening, in the early days of the guillotine, as he +was walking along Rue Saint-Antoine, he heard a hawker +in front of him, crying the journal: <i>Aux Voleurs! Aux +Voleurs!</i> According to the usual custom of those days,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +he gave a list of the articles contained in the number he +had for sale: Monsieur de Varandeuil heard his own +name mingled with oaths and obscenity. He bought +the paper and read therein a revolutionary denunciation +of himself.</p> + +<p>Some time after, his brother was arrested and detained +at Hôtel Talaru with the other Farmers-General. His +mother, in a paroxysm of terror, had foolishly sold the +Hôtel du Petit-Charolais, where he was living, for the +value of the mirrors: she was paid in <i>assignats</i>, and +died of despair over the constant depreciation of the +paper. Luckily Monsieur de Varandeuil obtained from +the purchasers, who could find no tenants, leave to occupy +the rooms formerly used by the stableboys. He took +refuge there, among the outbuildings of the mansion, +stripped himself of his name and posted at the door, +as he was ordered to do, his family name of Roulot, +under which he buried the <i>De Varandeuil</i> and the +former courtier of the Comte d'Artois. He lived there +alone, buried, forgotten, hiding his head, never going +out, cowering in his hole, without servants, waited upon +by his daughter, to whom he left everything. The Terror +was to them a period of shuddering suspense, the breathless +excitement of impending death. Every evening, +the little girl went and listened at a grated window to +the day's crop of condemnations, the <i>List of Prize +Winners in the Lottery of Saint Guillotine</i>. She +answered every knock at the door, thinking that they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +had come to take her father to the Place de la Révolution, +whither her uncle had already been taken. The +moment came when money, the money that was so +scarce, no longer procured bread. It was necessary to +go and get it, almost by force, at the doors of the +bakeries; it was necessary to earn it by standing for +hours in the cold, biting night air, in the crushing +pressure of crowds of people; to stand in line from three +o'clock in the morning. The father did not care to +venture into that mass of humanity. He was afraid of +being recognized, of compromising himself by one of +those outbursts to which his impetuous nature would +have given vent, no matter where he might be. Then, +too, he recoiled from the fatigue and severity of the +task. The little boy was still too small; he would have +been crushed; so the duty of obtaining bread for three +mouths each day fell to the daughter. She obtained it. +With her little thin body, fairly lost in her father's +knitted jacket, a cotton cap pulled down over her eyes, +her limbs all huddled together to retain a little warmth, +she would wait, shivering, her eyes aching with cold, +amid the pushing and buffeting, until the baker's wife +on Rue des Francs-Bourgeois placed in her hands a loaf +which her little fingers, stiff with cold, could hardly +hold. At last, this poor little creature, who returned +day after day, with her pinched face and her emaciated, +trembling body, moved the baker's wife to pity. With +the kindness of heart of a woman of the people, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +would send the coveted loaf to the little one by her +boy as soon as she appeared in the long line. But one +day, just as she put out her hand to take it, a woman, +whose jealousy was aroused by this mark of favor and +preference, dealt the child a kick with her wooden shoe +which kept her in bed almost a month. Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil bore the marks of the blow all her life.</p> + +<p>During that month, the whole family would have died +of starvation, had it not been for a supply of rice, which +one of their acquaintances, the Comtesse d'Auteuil, had +had the forethought to lay aside, and which she consented +to share with the father and the two children.</p> + +<p>Thus, Monsieur de Varandeuil escaped the Revolutionary +Tribunal by burying himself in obscurity. He +escaped it also by reason of the fact that the accounts of +his administration of his office were still unsettled, as he +had had the good fortune to procure the postponement of +the settlement from month to month. Then, too, he kept +suspicion at bay by his personal animosity toward some +great personages at court, and by the hatred of the +queen which many retainers of the king's brothers had +conceived. Whenever he had occasion to speak of +that wretched woman, he used violent, bitter, insulting +words, uttered in such a passionate, sincere tone that +they almost made him appear as an enemy of the +royal family; so that those to whom he was simply +Citizen Roulot looked upon him as a good patriot, and +those who knew his former name almost excused him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +for having been what he had been: a noble, the friend +of a prince of the blood, and a place holder.</p> + +<p>The Republic had reached the epoch of patriotic +suppers, those repasts of a whole street in the street; +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, in her confused, terrified +reminiscences of those days, could still see the tables +on Rue Pavée, with their legs in the streams of the +blood of September flowing from La Force! It was at +one of these suppers that Monsieur de Varandeuil conceived +a scheme that completely assured his immunity. +He informed two of his neighbors at table, devoted +patriots both, one of whom was on intimate terms with +Chaumette, that he was in great embarrassment because +his daughter had been privately baptized only, so that she +had no civil status, and said that he would be very happy +if Chaumette would have her entered on the registers of +the municipality and honor her with a name selected by +him from the Republican calendar of Greece or Rome. +Chaumette at once arranged a meeting with this father, +<i>who had reached so high a level</i>, as they said in those days. +During the interview Mademoiselle de Varandeuil was +taken into a closet where she found two women who were +instructed to satisfy themselves as to her sex, and she +showed them her breast. They then escorted her to the +great Salle des Declarations, and there, after a metaphorical +allocution, Chaumette baptized her <i>Sempronie</i>; +a name which habit was destined to fasten upon Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil and which she never abandoned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>Somewhat protected and reassured by that episode, +the family passed through the terrible days preceding +the fall of Robespierre. At last came the ninth Thermidor +and deliverance. But poverty was none the less +a pressing fact in the Varandeuil household. They had +not lived through the bitter days of the Revolution, +they were not to live through the wretched days of +the Directory without unhoped-for succor, money sent +by Providence by the hand of Folly. The father +and the two children could hardly have existed without +the income from four shares in the <i>Vaudeville</i>, an +investment which Monsieur de Varandeuil was happily +inspired to make in 1791, and which proved to be the +best of all possible investments in those years of death, +when people felt the need of forgetting death every +evening—in those days of supreme agony, when everyone +wished to laugh his last laugh at the latest song. +Soon these shares, added to the amount of some outstanding +claims that were paid, provided the family +with something more than bread. They thereupon left +the eaves of the Hôtel du Petit-Charolais and took a +small suite in the Marais, on Rue du Chaume.</p> + +<p>No change took place, however, in the habits of the +household. The daughter continued to wait upon her +father and brother. Monsieur de Varandeuil had gradually +become accustomed to see in her only the woman +indicated by her costume and by the work that she did. +The father's eyes did not care to recognize a daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +in that servant's garb and in her performance of menial +occupations. She was no longer a person with his blood +in her veins or who had the honor to belong to him: +she was a servant; and his selfishness confirmed him so +fully in that idea and in his harsh treatment of her, he +found that filial, affectionate, respectful service,—which +cost nothing at all, by the way,—so convenient, that it +cost him a bitter pang to give it up later, when a little +more money mended the family fortunes: battles had +to be fought to induce him to take a maid to fill his +child's place and to relieve the girl from the most +humiliating domestic labor.</p> + +<p>They were without information concerning Madame +de Varandeuil, who had refused to join her husband at +Paris during the early years of the Revolution; at last +they learned that she had married again in Germany, +producing, as a certificate of her husband's death, the +death certificate of his guillotined brother, the baptismal +name having been changed. The girl grew up, therefore, +abandoned, without affection, with no mother +except a woman dead to her family, whom her father +taught her to despise. Her childhood was passed in +constant anxiety, in the privations that wear life away, +in the fatigue resulting from labor that exhausted the +strength of a sickly child, in an expectation of death +that became, at last, an impatient longing to die: there +had been hours when that girl of thirteen was tempted +to do as many women did in those days—to open the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +door and rush into the street, crying: <i>Vive le roi!</i> in +order to end it all. Her girlhood was a continuation +of her childhood with less tragic motives of weariness. +She had to submit to the ill humor, the exactions, the +bitter moods, the tempestuous outbreaks of her father, +which had been hitherto somewhat curbed and restrained +by the great tempest of the time. She was still doomed +to undergo the fatigues and humiliations of a servant. +She remained alone with her father, kept down and +humbled, shut out from his arms and his kisses, her +heart heavy with grief because she longed to love and +had nothing to love. She was beginning to suffer from +the cold void that is formed about a woman by an unattractive, +unfascinating girlhood, by a girlhood devoid of +beauty and sympathetic charm. She could see that she +aroused a sort of compassion with her long nose, her +yellow complexion, her angular figure, her thin body. +She felt that she was ugly, and that her ugliness was +made repulsive by her miserable costumes, her dismal, +woolen dresses which she made herself, her father paying +for the material only after much grumbling: she +could not induce him to make her a small allowance for +her toilet until she was thirty-five.</p> + +<p>How sad and bitter and lonely for her was her life +with that morose, sour old man, who was always scolding +and complaining at home, affable only in society, +and who left her every evening to go to the great houses +that were reopened under the Directory and at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +beginning of the Empire! Only at very long intervals +did he take her out, and when he did, it was always to +that everlasting <i>Vaudeville</i>, where he had boxes. Even +on those rare occasions, his daughter was terrified. She +trembled all the time that she was with him; she was +afraid of his violent disposition, of the tone of the old +régime that his outbreaks of wrath had retained, of the +facility with which he would raise his cane at an insolent +remark from the <i>canaille</i>. On almost every occasion +there were scenes with the manager, wordy disputes with +people in the pit, and threats of personal violence to +which she put an end by lowering the curtain of the +box. The same thing was kept up in the street, even +in the cab, with the driver, who would refuse to carry +them at Monsieur de Varandeuil's price and would keep +them waiting one hour, two hours without moving; +sometimes would unharness his horse in his wrath and +leave him in the vehicle with his daughter who would +vainly implore him to submit and pay the price demanded.</p> + +<p>Considering that these diversions should suffice for +Sempronie, and having, moreover, a jealous desire to +have her all to himself and always under his hand, +Monsieur de Varandeuil allowed her to form no intimacies +with anybody. He did not take her into society; +he did not take her to the houses of their kinsfolk who +returned after the emigration, except on days of formal +receptions or family gatherings. He kept her closely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +confined to the house: not until she was forty did he +consider that she was old enough to be allowed to go +out alone. Thus, the girl had no friendship, no connection +of any sort to lean upon; indeed, she no longer +had her younger brother with her, as he had gone to +the United States and enlisted in the American navy.</p> + +<p>She was forbidden by her father to marry, he did not +admit that she would allow herself even to think of +marrying and deserting him; all the suitors who might +have come forward he fought and rejected in advance, +in order not to leave his daughter the courage to speak +to him on the subject, if the occasion should ever arise.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile our victories were stripping Italy of her +treasures. The masterpieces of Rome, Florence and +Venice were hurrying to Paris. Italian art was at a +premium. Collectors no longer took pride in any paintings +but those of the Italian school. Monsieur de Varandeuil +saw an opening for a fortune in this change of +taste. He, also, had fallen a victim to the artistic dilettantism +which was one of the refined passions of the +nobility before the Revolution. He had lived in the +society of artists and collectors; he admired pictures. +It occurred to him to collect a gallery of Italian works +and then to sell them. Paris was still overrun with the +objects of art sold and scattered under the Terror. +Monsieur de Varandeuil began to walk back and forth +through the streets—they were the markets for large +canvases in those days,—and at every step he made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +discovery; every day he purchased something. Soon +the small apartment was crowded with old, black paintings, +so large for the most part that the walls would not +hold them with their frames, with the result that there +was no room for the furniture. These were christened +Raphael, Vinci, or Andrea del Sarto; there were none +but <i>chefs d'œuvre</i>, and the father would keep his daughter +standing in front of them hours at a time, forcing +his admiration upon her, wearying her with his ecstatic +flights. He would ascend from epithet to epithet, would +work himself into a state of intoxication, of delirium, +and would end by thinking that he was negotiating +with an imaginary purchaser, would dispute with him +over the price of a masterpiece, and would cry out: +"A hundred thousand francs for my Rosso! yes, monsieur, +a hundred thousand francs!" His daughter, dismayed +by the large amount of money that those great, +ugly things, in which there were so many nude men, +deducted from the housekeeping supply, ventured upon +remonstrance and tried to check such ruinous extravagance. +Monsieur de Varandeuil lost his temper, waxed +wroth like a man who was ashamed to find one of his +blood so deficient in taste, and told her that that was +her fortune and that she would see later if he was an old +fool. At last she induced him to realize. The sale +took place; it was a failure, one of the most complete +shipwrecks of illusions that the glazed hall of the Hôtel +Bullion has ever seen. Stung to the quick, furious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +with rage at this blow, which not only involved pecuniary +loss and a serious inroad upon his little fortune, +but was also a direct denial of his claims to connoisseurship, +a slap at his knowledge of art delivered upon the +cheek of his Raphaels, Monsieur de Varandeuil informed +his daughter that they were too poor to remain in Paris +and that they must go into the provinces to live. Having +been cradled and reared in an epoch little adapted +to inspire a love of country life in women, Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil tried vainly to combat her father's resolution: +she was obliged to go with him wherever he +chose to go, and, by leaving Paris, to lose the society +and friendship of two young kinswomen, to whom, in +their too infrequent interviews, she had partly given her +confidence, and whose hearts she had felt reaching out to +her as to an older sister.</p> + +<p>Monsieur de Varandeuil hired a small house at L'Isle-Adam. +There he was near familiar scenes, in the +atmosphere of what was formerly a little court, close at +hand to two or three châteaux, whose owners he knew, +and which were beginning to throw open their doors +once more. Then, too, since the Revolution a little +community of well-to-do bourgeois, rich shopkeepers, +had settled upon this territory which once belonged to +the Contis. The name of Monsieur de Varandeuil +sounded very grand in the ears of all those good people. +They bowed very low to him, they contended for the +honor of entertaining him, they listened respectfully,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +almost devoutly, to the stories he told of society as it +was. And thus, flattered, caressed, honored as a relic +of Versailles, he had the place of honor and the prestige +of a lord among them. When he dined with +Madame Mutel, a former baker, who had forty thousand +francs a year, the hostess left the table, silk dress and +all, to go and fry the oyster plants herself: Monsieur +de Varandeuil did not like them except as she cooked +them. But Monsieur de Varandeuil's decision to go +into retirement at L'Isle-Adam was mainly due, not to +the pleasant surroundings there, but to a project that he +had formed. He had gone thither to obtain leisure for a +monumental work. That which he had been unable to +do for the honor and glory of Italian art by his collection, +he proposed to do by his pen. He had learned a +little Italian with his wife; he took it into his head to +present Vasari's <i>Lives of the Painters</i> to the French +public, to translate it with the assistance of his daughter, +who, when she was very small, had heard her mother's +maid speak Italian and had retained a few words. He +plunged the girl into Vasari, he locked up her time and +her thoughts in grammars, dictionaries, commentaries, +all the works of all the scholiasts of Italian art, kept +her bending double over the ungrateful toil, the <i>ennui</i> +and labor of translating Italian words, groping in the +darkness of her imperfect knowledge. The whole burden +of the book fell upon her; when he had laid out +her task, he would leave her tête-à-tête with the volumes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +bound in white vellum, to go and ramble about the +neighborhood, paying visits, gambling at some château +or dining among the bourgeois of his acquaintance, to +whom he would complain pathetically of the laborious +effort that the vast undertaking of his translation entailed +upon him. He would return home, listen to the reading +of the translation made during the day, make comments +and critical remarks, and upset a sentence to give +it a different meaning, which his daughter would eliminate +again when he had gone; then he would resume +his walks and jaunts, like a man who has well earned his +leisure, walking very erect, with his hat under his arm +and dainty pumps on his feet, enjoying himself, the sky +and the trees and Rousseau's God, gentle to all nature +and loving to the plants. From time to time fits of +impatience, common to children and old men, would +overtake him; he would demand a certain number of +pages for the next day, and would compel his daughter +to sit up half the night.</p> + +<p>Two or three years passed in this labor, in which +Sempronie's eyes were ruined at last. She lived entombed +in her father's Vasari, more entirely alone than +ever, holding aloof through innate, haughty repugnance +from the bourgeois ladies of L'Isle-Adam and +their manners <i>à la Madame Angot</i>, and too poorly clad +to visit at the châteaux. For her, there was no pleasure, +no diversion, which was not made wretched and poisoned +by her father's eccentricities and fretful humor. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +tore up the flowers that she planted secretly in the +garden. He would have nothing there but vegetables +and he cultivated them himself, putting forth grand +utilitarian theories, arguments which might have induced +the Convention to convert the Tuileries into a potato +field. Her only enjoyment was when her father, at +very long intervals, allowed her to entertain one of her +two young friends for a week—a week which would have +been seven days of paradise to Sempronie, had not her +father embittered its joys, its diversions, its fêtes, with +his always threatening outbreaks, his ill-humor always +armed and alert, and his constant fault-finding about +trifles—a bottle of eau de Cologne that Sempronie asked +for to place in her friend's room, a dish for her dinner, +or a place to which she wished to take her.</p> + +<p>At L'Isle-Adam Monsieur de Varandeuil had hired a +servant, who almost immediately became his mistress. +A child was born of this connection, and the father, in +his cynical indifference, was shameless enough to have +it brought up under his daughter's eyes. As the years +rolled on the woman acquired a firm foothold in the +house. She ended by ruling the household, father and +daughter alike. The day came when Monsieur de +Varandeuil chose to have her sit at his table and be +served by Sempronie. That was too much. Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil rebelled under the insult, and +drew herself up to the full height of her indignation. +Secretly, silently, in misery and isolation, harshly treated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +by the people and the things about her, the girl had +built up a resolute, straightforward character; tears had +tempered instead of softening it. Beneath filial docility +and humility, beneath passive obedience, beneath apparent +gentleness of disposition, she concealed a character +of iron, a man's strength of will, one of those +hearts which nothing bends and which never bend themselves. +When her father demanded that she lower herself +to that extent, she reminded him that she was his +daughter, she reviewed her whole life, cast, in a flood of +words, the shame and the reproach of it in his face, and +concluded by informing him that if that woman did not +leave the house that very evening, she would leave it, +and that she should have no difficulty in living, thank +God! wherever she might go, with the simple tastes he +had forced upon her. The father, thunderstruck and +bewildered by this revolt, yielded and dismissed the +servant; but he retained a dastardly sort of rancor +against his daughter on account of the sacrifice she had +extorted from him. His spleen betrayed itself in sharp, +aggressive words, ironical thanks and bitter smiles. +Sempronie's only revenge was to attend to his wants +more thoroughly, more gently, more patiently than ever. +Her devotion was destined to be subjected to one final +test; the old man had a stroke of apoplexy which left +him with one whole side of his body stiff and dead, +lame in one leg, and asleep so far as his intelligence was +concerned, although keenly conscious of his misfortune<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +and of his dependence upon his daughter. Thereupon, +all the evil that lay dormant in the depths of his nature +was aroused and let loose. His selfishness amounted to +ferocity. Under the torment of his suffering and his +weakness, he became a sort of malevolent madman. +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil devoted her days and her +nights to the invalid, who seemed to hate her for her +attentions, to be humiliated by her care as if it implied +generosity and forgiveness, to suffer torments at seeing +always by his side, indefatigable and kindly, that image +of duty. But what a life it was! She had to contend +against the miserable man's incurable <i>ennui</i>, to be always +ready to bear him company, to lead him about and support +him all day long. She must play cards with him +when he was at home, and not let him win or lose too +much. She must combat his wishes, his gormandizing +tendencies, take dishes away from him, and, in connection +with everything that he wanted, endure complaints, +reproaches, insults, tears, mad despair, and the +outbursts of childish anger in which helpless old men +indulge. And this lasted ten years! ten years, during +which Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had no other recreation, +no other consolation than to pour out all the tenderness +and warmth of a maternal affection upon one of her +two young friends, recently married,—her <i>chick</i>, as she +called her. It was Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's delight +to go and pass a short time every fortnight in that +happy household. She would kiss the pretty child,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +already in its cradle and asleep for the night when she +arrived; she would dine at racing speed; at dessert she +would send for a carriage and would hasten away like a +tardy schoolboy. But in the last years of her father's +life she could not even obtain permission to dine out: +the old man would no longer sanction such a long +absence and kept her almost constantly beside him, +repeating again and again that he was well aware that +it was not amusing to take care of an infirm old man +like himself, but that she would soon be rid of him. +He died in 1818, and, before his death, could find no +words but these for her who had been his daughter +nearly forty years: "I know that you never loved +me!"</p> + +<p>Two years before her father's death, Sempronie's +brother had returned from America. He brought with +him a colored woman who had nursed him through the +yellow fever, and two girls, already grown up, whom he +had had by the woman before marrying her. Although +she was imbued with the ideas of the old régime as to +the blacks, and although she looked upon that ignorant +creature, with her negro jargon, her grin like a wild +beast's and her skin that left grease stains upon her +clothing, as no better than a monkey, Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil combated her father's horror and unwillingness +to receive his daughter-in-law; and she it was who +induced him, in the last days of his life, to allow her +brother to present his wife to him. When her father was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +dead she reflected that her brother's household was all +that remained of the family.</p> + +<p>Monsieur de Varandeuil, to whom the Comte d'Artois +had caused the arrears of salary of his office to be paid +at the return of the Bourbons, left about ten thousand +francs a year to his children. The brother had, before +that inheritance, only a pension of fifteen hundred francs +from the United States. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +considered that five or six thousand francs a year would +hardly suffice for the comfortable support of that family, +in which there were two children, and it at once occurred +to her to add to it her share in the inheritance. +She suggested this contribution in the most natural and +simple way imaginable. Her brother accepted it, and +she went with him to live in a pretty little apartment at +the upper end of Rue de Clichy, on the fourth floor of +one of the first houses built in that neighborhood, then +hardly known, where the fresh country air blew briskly +through the framework of the white buildings. She +continued there her modest life, her humble manner of +dressing, her economical habits, content with the least +desirable room in the suite, and spending upon herself +no more than eighteen hundred to two thousand francs a +year. But, soon, a brooding jealousy, slowly gathering +strength, took possession of the mulattress. She took +offence at the fraternal affection which seemed to be +taking her husband from her arms. She suffered because +of the communion of speech and thought and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +reminiscences between them; she suffered because of +the conversations in which she could take no part, +because of what she heard in their voices, but could not +understand. The consciousness of her inferiority kindled +in her heart the fires of wrath and hatred that +burn fiercely in the tropics. She had recourse to her +children for her revenge; she urged them on, excited +them, aroused their evil passions against her sister-in-law. +She encouraged them to laugh at her, to make +sport of her. She applauded the manifestations of the +mischievous intelligence characteristic of children, in +whom observation begins with naughtiness. Once she +had let them loose upon their aunt, she allowed them +to laugh at all her absurdities, her figure, her nose, her +dresses, whose meanness, nevertheless, provided their +own elegant attire. Thus incited and upheld, the little +ones soon arrived at insolence. Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil had the quick temper that accompanies +kindness of heart. With her the hand, as well as the +heart, had a part in the first impulse. And then she +shared the prevalent opinion of her time as to the +proper way of bringing up children. She endured two +or three impertinent sallies without a word; but at the +fourth she seized the mocking child, took down her +skirts, and administered to her, notwithstanding her +twelve years, the soundest whipping she had ever received. +The mulattress made a great outcry and told her +sister-in-law, that she had always detested her children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +and that she wanted to kill them. The brother interposed +between the two women and succeeded in reconciling +them after a fashion. But new scenes took place, +when the little ones, inflamed against the woman who +made their mother weep, assailed their aunt with the +refined tortures of misbehaved children, mingled with +the fiendish cruelty of little savages. After several +patched-up truces it became necessary to part. Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil decided to leave her brother, for +she saw how unhappy he was amid this daily wrenching +of his dearest affections. She left him to his wife +and his children. This separation was one of the great +sorrows of her life. She who was so strong against +emotion and so self-contained, and who seemed to take +pride in suffering, as it were, almost broke down when +she had to leave the apartment, where she had dreamed +of enjoying a little happiness in her corner, looking on +at the happiness of others: her last tears mounted to her +eyes.</p> + +<p>She did not go too far away, so that she might be at +hand to nurse her brother if he were ill, and to see him +and meet him sometimes. But there was a great void +in her heart and in her life. She had begun to visit +her kinsfolk since her father's death: she drew nearer +to them; she allowed the relatives whom the Restoration +had placed in a lofty and powerful position to come +to her, and sought out those whom the new order of +things left in obscurity and poverty. But she returned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +to her dear <i>chick</i> first of all, and to another distant +cousin, also married, who had become the <i>chick's</i> sister-in-law. +Her relations with her kinsfolk soon assumed +remarkable regularity. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +never went into society, to an evening party, or to the +play. It required Mademoiselle Rachel's brilliant success +to persuade her to step inside a theatre; she ventured +there but twice. She never accepted an invitation +to a large dinner-party. But there were two or three +houses where, as at the <i>chick's</i>, she would invite herself +to dine, unexpectedly, when there were no guests. "My +love," she would say without ceremony, "are you and +your husband doing nothing this evening? Then I +will stay and eat some of your ragoût." At eight +o'clock regularly she rose to go, and when the husband +took his hat to escort her home, she would knock it out +of his hands with a: "Nonsense! an old nanny-goat +like me! Why, I frighten men in the street!" And +then ten days or a fortnight would pass, during which +they would not see her. But if anything went wrong, +if there was a death or sickness in the house, Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil always heard of it at once, no +one knew how; she would come, in spite of everything—the +weather or the hour—would give a loud ring at +the bell in her own way—they finally called it <i>cousin's +ring</i>—and a moment later, relieved of her umbrella, +which never left her, and of her pattens, her hat tossed +upon a chair, she was at the service of those who needed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +her. She listened, talked, restored their courage with +an indescribable martial accent, with language as energetic +as a soldier might use to console a wounded comrade, +and stimulating as a cordial. If it was a child that +was out of sorts, she would go straight to the bed, laugh +at the little one, whose fear vanished at once, order the +father and mother about, run hither and thither, assume +the management of everything, apply the leeches, +arrange the cataplasms, and bring back hope, joy and +health at the double quick. In all branches of the +family the old maid appeared thus providentially, without +warning, on days of sorrow, <i>ennui</i> and suffering. +She was never seen except when her hands were needed +to heal, her devoted friendship to console. She was, +so to speak, an impersonal creature, because of her +great heart; a woman who did not belong to herself: +God seemed to have made her only to give her to others. +Her everlasting black dress which she persisted in wearing, +her worn, dyed shawl, her absurd hat, her impoverished +appearance, were, in her eyes, the means of +being rich enough to help others with her little fortune; +she was extravagant in almsgiving, and her pockets were +always filled with gifts for the poor; not of money, for +she feared the wineshop, but of four-pound loaves which +she bought for them at the baker's. And then, too, by +dint of living in poverty, she was able to give herself +what was to her the greatest of all luxuries: the joy of +her friends' children whom she overwhelmed with New<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +Year's and other gifts, with surprises and pleasures of all +sorts. For instance, suppose that one of them had been +left by his mother, who was absent from Paris, to pass a +lovely summer Sunday at his boarding school, and the +little rascal, out of spite, had misbehaved so that he was +not allowed to go out. How surprised he would be, as +the clock struck nine, to see his old cousin appear in the +courtyard, just buttoning the last button of her dress, +she had come in such haste. And what a feeling of +desolation at the sight! "Cousin," he would say piteously, +in one of those fits of passion in which at the +same moment you long to cry and to kill your <i>tyrant</i>, +"I—I am kept in, and——" "Kept in? Oh! yes, kept +in! And do you suppose I've taken all this trouble——Is +your schoolmaster poking fun at me? Where is the +puppy, that I may have a word with him? You go and +dress yourself meanwhile. Off with you!" And the +child, not daring to hope that a woman so shabbily +dressed would have the power to raise the embargo, +would suddenly feel a hand upon his arm, and the cousin +would carry him off, toss him into a cab, all bewildered +and dumfounded with joy, and take him to the Bois de +Boulogne. She would let him ride a donkey all day +long, urging the beast on with a broken branch, and +crying: "Get up!" And then, after a good dinner at +Borne's, she would take him back to school, and, under +the porte-cochère, as she kissed him she would slip a big +hundred-sou piece into his hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>Strange old maid. The bitter experiences of her +whole existence, the struggle to live, the never-ending +physical suffering, the long-continued bodily and mental +torture had, as it were, cut her loose from life and placed +her above it. Her education, the things she had seen, +the spectacle of what seemed the end of everything, the +Revolution, had so formed her character as to lead her +to disdain human suffering. And this old woman, who +had nothing left of life save breath, had risen to a serene +philosophy, to a virile, haughty, almost satirical stoicism. +Sometimes she would begin to declaim against a sorrow +that seemed a little too keen; but, in the midst of her +tirade, she would suddenly hurl an angry, mocking word +at herself, upon which her face would at once become +calm. She was cheerful with the cheerfulness of a deep, +bubbling spring, the cheerfulness of devoted hearts that +have seen everything, of the old soldier or the old hospital +nurse. Kind-hearted to admiration she was, and +yet something was lacking in her kindness of heart: forgiveness. +Hitherto, she had never succeeded in moving +or bending her character. A slight, an unkind action, a +trifle, if it touched her heart, wounded her forever. She +forgot nothing. Time, death itself, did not disarm her +memory.</p> + +<p>Of religion, she had none. Born at a period when +women did without it, she had grown to womanhood at +a time when there were no churches. Mass did not +exist when she was a young maid. There had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +nothing to accustom her to the thought of God or to +make her feel the need of Him, and she had retained a +sort of shrinking hatred for priests, which must have +been connected with some family secret of which she +never spoke. Her faith, her strength, her piety, all +consisted in the pride of her conscience; she considered +that if she retained her own esteem, she could be sure +of acting rightly and of never failing in her duty. She +was thus singularly constituted by the two epochs in +which she had lived, a compound of the two, dipped in +the opposing currents of the old régime and the Revolution. +After Louis XVI. failed to take horse on the +Tenth of August, she lost her regard for kings; but she +detested the mob. She desired equality and she held +parvenus in horror. She was a republican and an aristocrat, +combined scepticism with prejudice, the horrors +of '93, which she saw, with the vague and noble theories +of humanity which surrounded her cradle.</p> + +<p>Her external qualities were altogether masculine. She +had the sharp voice, the freedom of speech, the unruly +tongue of the old woman of the eighteenth century, +heightened by an accent suggestive of the common +people, a mannish, highly colored style of elocution +peculiar to herself, rising above modesty in the choice of +words and fearless in calling things baldly by their plain +names.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the years rolled on, sweeping away the +Restoration and the monarchy of Louis-Philippe. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +saw all those whom she had loved go from her one by +one, all her family take the road to the cemetery. She +was left quite alone, and she marveled and was grieved +that death should forget her, who would have offered so +little resistance, for she was already leaning over the +grave and was obliged to force her heart down to the +level of the little children brought to her by the sons +and daughters of the friends whom she had lost. Her +brother was dead. Her dear <i>chick</i> was no more. The +<i>chick's</i> sister-in-law alone was left to her. But hers was +a life that hung trembling in the balance, ready to fly +away. Crushed by the death of a child for whom she +had waited for years, the poor woman was dying of consumption. +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil was in her bedroom +every day, from noon until six o'clock, for four +years. She lived by her side all that time, in the close +atmosphere and the odor of constant fumigations. She +did not allow herself to be kept away for one hour by +her own gout and rheumatism, but gave her time and +her life to the peaceful last hours of that dying woman, +whose eyes were fixed upon heaven, where her dead +children awaited her. And when, in the cemetery, +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had turned aside the +shroud to kiss the dead face for the last time, it seemed +to her as if there were no one near to her, as if she were +all alone upon the earth.</p> + +<p>Thenceforth, yielding to the infirmities which she had +no further reason to shake off, she began to live the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +narrow, confined life of old people who wear out their +carpet in one spot only—never leaving her room, reading +but little because it tired her eyes, and passing most of +her time buried in her easy-chair, reviewing the past and +living it over again. She would sit in the same position +for days, her eyes wide open and dreaming, her thoughts +far from herself, far from the room in which she sat, +journeying whither her memories led her, to distant +faces, dearly loved, pallid faces, to vanished regions—lost +in a profound lethargy which Germinie was careful +not to disturb, saying to herself: "Madame is in her +meditations——"</p> + +<p>One day in every week, however, she went abroad. +Indeed it was with that weekly excursion in view, in +order to be nearer the spot to which she wished to go +on that one day, that she left her apartments on Rue +Taitbout and took up her abode on Rue de Laval. One +day in every week, deterred by nothing, not even by +illness, she repaired to the Montmartre Cemetery, where +her father and her brother rested, and the women whose +loss she regretted, all those whose sufferings had come to +an end before hers. For the dead and for Death she displayed +a veneration almost equal to that of the ancients. +To her, the grave was sacred, and a dear friend. She loved +to visit the land of hope and deliverance where her dear +ones were sleeping, there to await death and to be ready +with her body. On that day, she would start early in +the morning, leaning on the arm of her maid, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +carried a folding-stool. As she drew near the cemetery, +she would enter the shop of a dealer in wreaths, who +had known her for many years, and who, in winter, +loaned her a foot-warmer. There she would rest a few +moments; then, loading Germinie down with wreaths of +immortelles, she would pass through the cemetery gate, +take the path to the left of the cedar at the entrance, +and make her pilgrimage slowly from tomb to tomb. +She would throw away the withered flowers, sweep up +the dead leaves, tie the wreaths together, and, sitting +down upon her folding-chair, would gaze and dream, +and absent-mindedly remove a bit of moss from the flat +stone with the end of her umbrella. Then she would +rise, turn as if to say <i>au revoir</i> to the tomb she was +leaving, walk away, stop once more, and talk in an +undertone, as she had done before, with that part of her +that was sleeping under the stone; and having thus paid +a visit to all the dead who lived in her affections, she +would return home slowly and reverentially, enveloping +herself in silence as if she were afraid to speak.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">III</h2> + + +<p>In the course of her reverie, Mademoiselle de Varandeuil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +had closed her eyes.</p> + +<p>The maid's story ceased, and the remainder of the +history of her life, which was upon her lips that evening, +was once more buried in her heart.</p> + +<p>The conclusion of her story was as follows:</p> + +<p>When little Germinie Lacerteux arrived in Paris, +being then less than fifteen years old, her sister, desirous +to have her begin to earn her living at once, and to help +to put bread in her hand, obtained a place for her in a +small café on the boulevard, where she performed the +double duties of lady's maid to the mistress of the café +and assistant to the waiters in carrying on the main +business of the establishment. The child, just from her +village and dropped suddenly in that place, was completely +bewildered and terrified by her surroundings and +her duties. She had the first instinctive feeling of +wounded modesty and, foreshadowing the woman she +was destined to become, she shuddered at the perpetual +contact with the other sex, working, eating, passing +her whole time with men; and whenever she had an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +opportunity to go out, and went to her sisters, there were +tearful, despairing scenes, when, without actually complaining +of anything, she manifested a sort of dread to +return, saying that she did not want to stay there, that +they were not satisfied with her, that she preferred to +return to them. They would reply that it had already +cost them enough to bring her to Paris, that it was a +silly whim on her part and that she was very well off +where she was, and they would send her back to the +café in tears. She dared not tell all that she suffered in +the company of the waiters in the café, insolent, boasting, +cynical fellows, fed on the remains of debauches, +tainted with all the vices to which they ministered, and +corrupt to the core with putrefying odds and ends of +obscenity. At every turn, she had to submit to the +dastardly jests, the cruel mystifications, the malicious +tricks of these scoundrels, who were only too happy to +make a little martyr of the poor unsophisticated child, +ignorant of everything, with the crushed and sickly air, +timid and sullen, thin and pale, and pitiably clad in her +wretched, countrified gowns. Bewildered, overwhelmed, +so to speak, by this hourly torture, she became their +drudge. They made sport of her ignorance, they deceived +her and abused her credulity by absurd fables, +they overburdened her with fatiguing tasks, they assailed +her with incessant, pitiless ridicule, which well-nigh +drove her benumbed intellect to imbecility. In addition, +they made her blush at the things they said to her, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +made her feel ashamed, although she did not understand +them. They soiled the artlessness of her fourteen years +with filthy veiled allusions. And they found amusement +in putting the eyes of her childish curiosity to the keyholes +of the private supper-rooms.</p> + +<p>The little one longed to confide in her sisters, but she +dared not. When, with nourishing food, her body took +on a little flesh, her cheeks a little color and she began +to have something of the aspect of a woman, they took +great liberties with her and grew bolder. There were +attempts at familiarity, significant gestures, advances, +which she eluded, and from which she escaped unscathed, +but which assailed her purity by breathing upon her +innocence. Roughly treated, scolded, reviled by the +master of the establishment, who was accustomed to +abuse his maidservants and who bore her a grudge +because she was not old enough or of the right sort for +a mistress, she found no support, no touch of humanity, +except in his wife. She began to love that woman with +a sort of animal devotion, and to obey her with the +docility of a dog. She did all her errands without +thought or reflection. She carried her letters to her +lovers and was very clever about delivering them. She +became very active and agile and ingenuously sly in +passing in and out, evading the awakened suspicions of +the husband; and without any clear idea of what she +was doing or of what she was concealing, she felt a +mischievous delight, such as children and monkeys feel,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +in telling herself vaguely that she was causing some +little suffering to that man and that house, which caused +her so much. There was among her comrades an old +waiter, named Joseph, who defended her, warned her of +the cruel plots concocted against her, and, when she was +present, put a stop to conversation that was too free, with +the authority of his white hairs and his paternal interest +in the girl. Meanwhile Germinie's horror of the house +increased every day. One week her sisters were compelled +to take her back to the café by force.</p> + +<p>A few days later, there was a great review on the +Champ de Mars, and the waiters had leave of absence +for the day. Only Germinie and old Joseph remained +in the house. Joseph was at work sorting soiled linen in +a small, dark room. He told Germinie to come and help +him. She entered the room; she cried out, fell to the +floor, wept, implored, struggled, called desperately for +help. The empty house was deaf.</p> + +<p>When she recovered consciousness, Germinie ran and +shut herself up in her chamber. She was not seen again +that day. On the following day, when Joseph walked +toward her and attempted to speak to her, she recoiled +from him in dismay, with the gesture of a woman mad +with fear. For a long time, whenever a man approached +her, her first involuntary impulse was to draw back +suddenly, trembling and nervous, like a terrified, bewildered +beast, looking about for means of flight. +Joseph, who feared that she would denounce him, allowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +her to keep him at a distance, and respected the horrible +repugnance she exhibited for him.</p> + +<p>She became <i>enceinte</i>. One Sunday she had been to +pass the evening with her sister, the concierge; she had +an attack of vomiting, followed by severe pain. A +physician who occupied an apartment in the house, came +to the lodge for his key, and the sisters learned from him +the secret of their younger sister's condition. The brutal, +intractable pride of the common people in their honor, +the implacable severity of rigid piety, flew to arms in the +two women and found vent in fierce indignation. Their +bewilderment changed to fury. Germinie recovered +consciousness under their blows, their insults, the wounds +inflicted by their hands, the harsh words that came from +their mouths. Her brother-in-law was there, who had +never forgiven her the cost of her journey; he glanced at +her with a bantering expression, with the cunning, ferocious +joy of an Auvergnat, with a sneering laugh that dyed +the girl's cheeks a deeper red than her sisters' blows.</p> + +<p>She received the blows, she did not repel the insults. +She sought neither to defend nor to excuse herself. She +did not tell what had taken place and how little her own +desires had had to do with her misfortune. She was +dumb: she had a vague hope that they would kill her. +When her older sister asked her if there had been no +violence, and reminded her that there were police officers +and courts, she closed her eyes at the thought of publishing +her shame. For one instant only, when her mother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +memory was cast in her face, she emitted a glance, a +lightning flash from her eyes, by which the two women +felt their consciences pierced; they remembered that +they were the ones who had placed her and kept her in +that den, and had exposed her to the danger, nay, had +almost forced her into her misfortune.</p> + +<p>That same evening, the younger of Germinie's sisters +took her to the Rue Saint-Martin, to the house of a +repairer of cashmere shawls, with whom she lodged, and +who, being almost daft on the subject of religion, was +banner-bearer in a sisterhood of the Virgin. She made +her lie beside her on a mattress on the floor, and having +her there under her hand all night, she vented upon her +all her long-standing, venomous jealousy, her bitter +resentment at the preference, the caresses given Germinie +by her father and mother. It was a long succession of +petty tortures, brutal or hypocritical exhibitions of spite, +kicks that bruised her legs, and progressive movements +of the body by which she gradually forced her companion +out of bed—it was a cold winter's night—to the floor of +the fireless room. During the day, the seamstress took +Germinie in hand, catechized her, preached at her, and +by detailing the tortures of the other life, inspired in her +mind a horrible fear of the hell whose flames she caused +her to feel.</p> + +<p>She lived there four months, in close confinement, and +was never allowed to leave the house. At the end of +four months she gave birth to a dead child. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +her health was restored, she entered the service of a +depilator on Rue Laffitte, and for the first few days she +had the joyful feeling of having been released from +prison. Two or three times, in her walks, she met old +Joseph who ran after her and wanted to marry her; but +she escaped him and the old man never knew that he +had been a father.</p> + +<p>But soon Germinie began to pine away in her new +place. The house where she had taken service as a +maid of all work was what servants call "a barrack." +A spendthrift and glutton, devoid of order as of money, +as is often the case with women engaged in the occupations +that depend upon chance, and in the problematical +methods of gaining a livelihood in vogue in Paris, the +depilator, who was almost always involved in a lawsuit +of some sort, paid but little heed to her small servant's +nourishment. She often went away for the whole day +without leaving her any dinner. The little one would +satisfy her appetite as well as she could with some kind +of uncooked food, salads, vinegary things that deceive a +young woman's appetite, even charcoal, which she would +nibble with the depraved taste and capricious stomach of +her age and sex. This diet, just after recovering from +her confinement, her health being but partially restored +and greatly in need of stimulants, exhausted the young +woman's strength, reduced her flesh and undermined +her constitution. She had a terrifying aspect. Her complexion +changed to that dead white that looks green in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +the daylight. Her swollen eyes were surrounded with a +great, bluish shadow. Her discolored lips assumed the +hue of faded violets. Her breath failed her at the +slightest ascent, and the incessant vibrating sound that +came from the arteries of her throat was painful to those +near her. With heavy feet and enfeebled body, she +dragged herself along, as if life were too heavy a burden +for her. Her faculties and her senses were so torpid +that she swooned for no cause at all, for so small a +matter as the fatigue of combing her mistress's hair.</p> + +<p>She was silently drooping there when her sister found +her another place, with a former actor, a retired comedian, +living upon the money that the laughter of all +Paris had brought him. The good man was old and +had never had any children. He took pity on the +wretched girl, interested himself in her welfare, took +care of her and made much of her. He took her into +the country. He walked with her on the boulevards in +the sunlight, and enjoyed the warmth the more for leaning +on her arm. It delighted him to see her in good +spirits. Often, to amuse her, he would take down a +moth-eaten costume from his wardrobe and try to +remember a fragment of some part that had gone from +his memory. The mere sight of this little maid and her +white cap was like a ray of returning youth to him. In +his old age, Jocrisse leaned upon her with the good-fellowship, +the pleasures and the childish fancies of a +grandfather's heart. But he died after a few months,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +and Germinie had fallen back into the service of kept +mistresses, boarding-house keepers, and passageway +tradesmen, when the sudden death of a maidservant +gave her an opportunity to enter the service of Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil, then living on Rue Taitbout, +in the house of which her sister was concierge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">IV</h2> + + +<p>Those people who look for the death of the Catholic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +religion in our day, do not realize by what an infinite +number of sturdy roots it still retains its hold upon the +hearts of the people. They do not realize the secret, +delicate fascination it has for the woman of the people. +They do not realize what confession and the confessor +are to the impoverished souls of those poor women. In +the priest who listens and whose voice falls softly on her +ear, the woman of toil and suffering sees not so much +the minister of God, the judge of her sins, the arbiter of +her welfare, as the confidant of her sorrows and the +friend of her misery. However coarse she may be, there +is always a little of the true woman in her, a feverish, +trembling, sensitive, wounded something, a restlessness +and, as it were, the sighing of an invalid who craves +caressing words, even as a child's trifling ailments +require the nurse's droning lullaby. She, as well as +the woman of the world, must have the consolation +of pouring out her heart, of confiding her troubles +to a sympathetic ear. For it is the nature of her +sex to seek an outlet for the emotions and an arm to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +lean upon. There are in her mind things that she must +tell, and concerning which she would like to be questioned, +pitied and comforted. She dreams of a compassionate +interest, a tender sympathy for hidden feelings +of which she is ashamed. Her masters may be the +kindest, the most friendly, the most approachable of +masters to the woman in their employ: their kindness +to her will still be of the same sort that they bestow upon +a domestic animal. They will be uneasy concerning +her appetite and her health; they will look carefully +after the animal part of her, and that will be all. It +will not occur to them that she can suffer elsewhere +than in her body, and they will not dream that she can +have the heartache, the sadness and immaterial pain for +which they seek relief by confiding in those of their own +station. In their eyes, the woman who sweeps and does +the cooking, has no ideas that can cause her to be sad +or thoughtful, and they never speak to her of her +thoughts. To whom, then, shall she carry them? To +the priest who is waiting for them, asks for them, welcomes +them, to the churchman who is also a man of the +world, a superior creature, a well-educated gentleman, +who knows everything, speaks well, is always accessible, +gentle, patient, attentive, and seems to feel no scorn for +the most humble soul, the most shabbily dressed penitent. +The priest alone listens to the woman in a cap. +He alone takes an interest in her secret sufferings, in +the things that disturb and agitate her and that bring to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +a maid, as well as to her mistress, the sudden longing to +weep, or excite a tempest within her. There is none +but he to encourage her outpourings, to draw from her +those things which the irony of her daily life holds back, +to look to the state of her moral health; none but he +to raise her above her material life, none but he to +cheer her with moving words of charity and hope,—such +divine words as she has never heard from the mouths +of the men of her family and of her class.</p> + +<p>After entering the service of Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +Germinie became profoundly religious and cared for +nothing but the church. She abandoned herself little +by little to the sweet delight of confession, to the priest's +smooth, tranquil bass voice that came to her from the +darkness, to the conversations which resembled the touch +of soothing words, and from which she went forth +refreshed, light of heart, free from care, and happy +with a delightful sense of relief, as if a balm had been +applied to all the tender, suffering, fettered portions of +her being.</p> + +<p>She did not, could not, open her heart elsewhere. +Her mistress had a certain masculine roughness of +demeanor which repelled expansiveness. She had an +abrupt, exclamatory way of speaking that forced back +all that Germinie would have liked to confide to her. +It was in her nature to be brutal in her treatment of all +lamentations that were not caused by pain or disappointment. +Her virile kindliness had no pity to spare for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +diseases of the imagination, for the suffering that is +created by the thought, for the weariness of spirit that +flows from a woman's nerves and from the disordered +condition of her mental organism. Germinie often +found her unfeeling; the old woman had simply been +hardened by the times in which she had lived and by +the circumstances of her life. The shell of her heart +was as hard as her body. Never complaining herself, +she did not like to hear complaints about her. And by +the right of all the tears she had not shed, she detested +childish tears in grown persons.</p> + +<p>Soon the confessional became a sort of sacred, idolized +rendezvous for Germinie's thoughts. Every day it +was her first idea, the theme of her first prayer. Throughout +the day, she was kneeling there as in a dream; and +while she was about her work it was constantly before +her eyes, with its oaken frame with fillets of gold, its +pediment in the shape of a winged angel's head, its +green curtain with the motionless folds, and the mysterious +darkness on both sides. It seemed to her that now +her whole life centred there, and that every hour tended +thither. She lived through the week looking forward to +that longed-for, prayed-for, promised day. On Thursday, +she began to be impatient; she felt, in the redoubling +of her blissful agony, the material drawing +near, as it were, of the blessed Saturday evening; and +when Saturday came and mademoiselle's dinner had +been hastily served and her work done, she would make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +her escape and run to Notre-Dame de Lorette, hurrying +to the penitential stool as to a lover's rendezvous. Her +fingers dipped in holy water and a genuflexion duly +made, she would glide over the flags, between the rows +of chairs, as softly as a cat steals across a carpeted floor. +With bent head, almost crawling, she would go noiselessly +forward in the shadow of the side aisles, until she +reached the mysterious, veiled confessional, where she +would pause and await her turn, absorbed in the emotion +of suspense.</p> + +<p>The young priest who confessed her, encouraged her +frequent confessions. He was not sparing of time or +attention or charity. He allowed her to talk at great +length and tell him, with many words, of all her petty +troubles. He was indulgent to the diffuseness of a suffering +soul, and permitted her to pour out freely her +most trivial afflictions. He listened while she set forth +her anxieties, her longings, her troubles; he did not +repel or treat with scorn any portion of the confidences +of a servant who spoke to him of all the most delicate, +secret concerns of her existence, as one would speak to +a mother and a physician.</p> + +<p>This priest was young. He was kind-hearted. He +had lived in the world. A great sorrow had impelled +him, crushed and broken, to assume the gown wherein +he wore mourning for his heart. There remained something +of the man in the depths of his being, and he +listened, with melancholy compassion, to the outpouring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +of this maidservant's suffering heart. He understood +that Germinie needed him, that he sustained and +strengthened her, that he saved her from herself and +removed her from the temptations to which her nature +exposed her. He was conscious of a sad sympathy for +that heart overflowing with affection, for the ardent, yet +tractable girl, for the unhappy creature who knew nothing +of her own nature, who was promised to passion by +every impulse of her heart, by her whole body, and who +betrayed in every detail of her person the vocation of +her temperament. Enlightened by his past experience, +he was amazed and terrified sometimes by the gleams +that emanated from her, by the flame that shot from her +eyes at the outburst of love in a prayer, by the evident +tendency of her confessions, by her constantly recurring +to that scene of violence, that scene in which her perfectly +sincere purpose to resist seemed to the priest to +have been betrayed by a convulsion of the senses that +was stronger than she.</p> + +<p>This fever of religion lasted several years, during +which Germinie lived a concentrated, silent, happy life, +entirely devoted to God's service—at least she thought +so. Her confessor, however, had come gradually to the +conclusion that all her adoration tended toward himself. +By her glances, by her blushes, by the words she no +longer said to him, and by others which she made bold +to say to him for the first time, he realized that his +penitent's devotion was going astray and becoming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +unduly fervent, deceiving itself as to its object. She +watched for him when the services were at an end, followed +him into the sacristy, hung on his skirts, ran into +the church after his cassock. The confessor tried to +warn her, to divert her amorous fervor from himself. +He became more reserved and assumed a cold demeanor. +In despair at this change, at his apparent indifference, +Germinie, feeling bitter and hurt, confessed to him one +day, in the confessional, the hatred that had taken possession +of her for two young girls, who were his favorite +penitents. Thereupon the priest dismissed her, without +discussion, and sent her to another confessor. Germinie +went once or twice to confess to this other confessor; +then she ceased to go; soon she ceased even to think of +going, and of all her religion naught remained in her +mind but a certain far-off sweetness, like the faint odor +of burned-out incense.</p> + +<p>Affairs had reached that point when mademoiselle +fell ill. Throughout her illness, as Germinie did not +want to leave her, she did not attend mass. And on the +first Sunday—when mademoiselle, being fully recovered, +did not require her care, she was greatly surprised to find +that "her devotee" remained at home and did not run +away to church.</p> + +<p>"Oho!" said she, "so you don't go and see your +curés nowadays? What have they done to you, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Germinie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">V</h2> + + +<p>"There, mademoiselle!—Look at me," said Germinie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a few months later. She had asked her mistress's +permission to go that evening to the wedding ball +of her grocer's sister, who had chosen her for her maid-of-honor, +and she had come to exhibit herself <i>en grande +toilette</i>, in her low-necked muslin dress.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle raised her eyes from the old volume, +printed in large type, which she was reading, removed +her spectacles, placed them in the book to mark her +place, and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"What, my little bigot, you at a ball! Do you know, +my girl, this seems to me downright nonsense! You +and the hornpipe! Faith, all you need now is to want +to get married! A deuce of a want, that! But if you +marry, I warn you that I won't keep you—mind that! +I've no desire to wait on your brats! Come a little +nearer——Oho! why——bless my soul! Mademoiselle +Show-all! We're getting to be a bit of a flirt +lately, I find——"</p> + +<p>"Why no, mademoiselle," Germinie tried to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then," continued Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +following out her thought, "among you people, the men +are such sweet creatures! They'll spend all you have—to +say nothing of the blows. But marriage—I am sure +that that nonsensical idea of getting married buzzes +around in your head when you see the others. That's +what gives you that simper, I'll wager. <i>Bon Dieu de +Dieu!</i> Now turn a bit, so that I can see you," said +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, with an abrupt change of +tone to one that was almost caressing; and placing her +thin hands on the arms of her easy-chair, crossing her +legs and moving her foot back and forth, she set about +inspecting Germinie and her toilet.</p> + +<p>"What the devil!" said she, after a few moments of +silent scrutiny, "what! is it really you?——Then I +have never used my eyes to look at you.——Good +God, yes!—--But——but——" She mumbled +more vague exclamations between her teeth.——"Where +the deuce did you get that mug like an amorous +cat's?" she said at last, and continued to gaze at +her.</p> + +<p>Germinie was ugly. Her hair, of so dark a chestnut +that it seemed black, curled and twisted in unruly waves, +in little stiff, rebellious locks, which escaped and stood +up all over her head, despite the pomade upon her +shiny <i>bandeaux</i>. Her smooth, narrow, swelling brow +protruded above the shadow of the deep sockets in which +her eyes were buried and sunken to such a depth as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +almost to denote disease; small, bright, sparkling eyes +they were, made to seem smaller and brighter by a constant +girlish twinkle that softened and lighted up their +laughter. They were neither brown eyes nor blue eyes, +but were of an undefinable, changing gray, a gray that +was not a color, but a light! Emotion found expression +therein in the flame of fever, pleasure in the flashing +rays of a sort of intoxication, passion in phosphorescence. +Her short, turned-up nose, with large, dilated, +palpitating nostrils, was one of those noses of which the +common people say that it rains inside: upon one side, +at the corner of the eye was a thick, swollen blue vein. +The square head of the Lorraine race was emphasized in +her broad, high, prominent cheek-bones, which were well-covered +with the traces of small-pox. The most noticeable +defect in her face was the too great distance +between the nose and mouth. This lack of proportion +gave an almost apish character to the lower part of the +head, where the expansive mouth, with white teeth and +full lips that looked as if they had been crushed, they +were so flat, smiled at you with a strange, vaguely irritating +smile.</p> + +<p>Her <i>décolleté</i> dress disclosed her neck, the upper part +of her breast, her shoulders and her white back, presenting +a striking contrast to her swarthy face. It was a +lymphatic sort of whiteness, the whiteness, at once +unhealthy and angelic, of flesh in which there is no life. +She had let her arms fall by her sides—round, smooth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +arms with a pretty dimple at the elbow. Her wrists +were delicate; her hands, which did not betray the +servant, were embellished with a lady's fingernails. And +lazily, with graceful sloth, she allowed her indolent +figure to curve and sway;—a figure that a garter might +span, and that was made even more slender to the eye +by the projection of the hips and the curve of the hoops +that gave the balloon-like roundness to her skirt;—an +impossible waist, absurdly small but adorable, like everything +in woman that offends one's sense of proportion +by its diminutiveness.</p> + +<p>From this ugly woman emanated a piquant, mysterious +charm. Light and shadow, jostling and intercepting +each other on her face on which hollows and protuberances +abounded, imparted to it that suggestion of libertinism +which the painter of love scenes gives to the +rough sketch of his mistress. Everything about her,—her +mouth, her eyes, her very plainness—was instinct with +allurement and solicitation. Her person exhaled an +aphrodisiac charm, which challenged and laid fast hold +of the other sex. It unloosed desire, and caused an +electric shock. Sensual thoughts were naturally and +involuntarily aroused by her, by her gestures, her gait, +her slightest movement—even by the air in which her +body had left one of its undulations. Beside her, one +felt as if he were near one of those disturbing, disquieting +creatures, burning with the love disease and +communicating it to others, whose face appears to man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +in his restless hours, torments his listless noonday +thoughts, haunts his nights and trespasses upon his +dreams.</p> + +<p>In the midst of Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's scrutiny, +Germinie stooped over her, and covered her hand with +hurried kisses.</p> + +<p>"There—there—enough of that," said Mademoiselle. +"You would soon wear out the skin—with your way of +kissing. Come, run along, enjoy yourself, and try not +to stay out too late. Don't get all tired out."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil was left alone. She placed +her elbows on her knees, stared at the fire and stirred +the burning wood with the tongs. Then, as she was +accustomed to do when deeply preoccupied, she struck +herself two or three sharp little blows on the neck with +the flat of her hand, and thereby set her black cap all +awry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">VI</h2> + + +<p>When she mentioned the subject of marriage to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +Germinie, Mademoiselle de Varandeuil touched upon the +real cause of her trouble. She placed her hand upon +the seat of her <i>ennui</i>. Her maid's uneven temper, her +distaste for life, the languor, the emptiness, the discontent +of her existence, arose from that disease which +medical science calls the <i>melancholia of virgins</i>. The +torment of her twenty-four years was the ardent, excited, +poignant longing for marriage, for that state which was +too holy and honorable for her, and which seemed +impossible of attainment in face of the confession her +womanly probity would insist upon making of her fall +and her unworthiness. Family losses and misfortunes +forcibly diverted her mind from her own troubles.</p> + +<p>Her brother-in-law, her sister the concierge's husband, +had dreamed the dream of all Auvergnats: he +had undertaken to increase his earnings as concierge by +the profits of a dealer in bric-à-brac. He had begun +modestly with a stall in the street, at the doors of the +marts where executors' sales are held; and there you +could see, set out upon blue paper, plated candlesticks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +ivory napkin rings, colored lithographs with frames of +gold lace on a black ground, and three or four odd +volumes of Buffon. His profit on the plated candlesticks +intoxicated him. He hired a dark shop on a +passage way, opposite an umbrella mender's, and began +to trade upon the credulity that goes in and out of the +lower rooms in the Auction Exchange. He sold <i>assiettes +à coq</i>, pieces of Jean Jacques Rousseau's wooden shoe, +and water-colors by Ballue, signed Watteau. In that +business he threw away what he had made, and ran in +debt to the amount of several thousand francs. His +wife, in order to straighten matters out a little and to +try and get out of debt, asked for and obtained a place +as box-opener at the <i>Théâtre-Historique</i>. She hired +her sister the dressmaker to watch the door in the evening, +went to bed at one o'clock and was astir again at +five. After a few months she caught cold in the corridors +of the theatre, and an attack of pleurisy laid her +low and carried her off in six weeks. The poor woman +left a little girl three years old, who was taken down +with the measles; the disease assumed its most malignant +form in the foul stench of the loft, where the child +had breathed for more than a month air poisoned by +the breath of her dying mother. The father had gone +into the country to try and borrow money. He married +again there. Nothing more was heard of him.</p> + +<p>When returning from her sister's burial Germinie ran +to the house of an old woman who made a living in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +those curious industries which prevent poverty from +absolutely starving to death in Paris. This old woman +carried on several trades. Sometimes she cut bristles +into equal lengths for brushes, sometimes she sorted out +bits of gingerbread. When those industries failed, she +did cooking and washed the faces of pedlars' children. +In Lent she rose at four o'clock in the morning, went +and took possession of a chair at Notre-Dame, and sold +it for ten or twelve sous when the crowd arrived. In +order to procure fuel to warm herself, in the den where +she lived on Rue Saint-Victor, she would go, at nightfall, +to the Luxembourg and peel the bark off the trees. +Germinie, who knew her from having given her the +crusts from the kitchen every week, hired a servant's +room on the sixth floor of the house, and took up her +abode there with the little one. She did it on the impulse +of the moment, without reflection. She did not +remember her sister's harsh treatment of her when she +was <i>enceinte</i>, so that she had no need to forgive it.</p> + +<p>Thenceforth Germinie had but one thought, her +niece. She determined to rescue her from death and +restore her to life by dint of careful nursing. She would +rush away from Mademoiselle at every moment, run up +the stairs to the sixth floor four at a time, kiss the child, +give her her draught, arrange her comfortably in bed, +look at her, and rush down again, all out of breath and +red with pleasure. Care, caresses, the breath from the +heart with which we revive a tiny flame on the point of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +dying out, consultations, doctor's visits, costly medicines, +the remedies of the wealthy,—Germinie spared +nothing for the little one and gave her everything. Her +wages flowed through that channel. For almost a year +she gave her beef juice every morning: sleepyhead that +she was, she left her bed at five o'clock in the morning +to prepare it, and awoke without being called, as +mothers do. The child was out of danger at last, when +Germinie received a visit one morning from her sister +the dressmaker, who had been married two or three +years to a machinist, and who came now to bid her +adieu: her husband was going to accompany some +fellow-workmen who had been hired to go to Africa. +She was going with him and she proposed to Germinie +that they should take the little one with them as a playmate +for their own child. They offered to take her off +her hands. Germinie, they said, would have to pay only +for the journey. It was a separation she would have +to make up her mind to sooner or later on account of +her mistress. And then, said the sister, she was the +child's aunt too. And she heaped words upon words +to induce Germinie to give them the child, with whom +she and her husband expected, after their arrival in +Africa, to move Germinie to pity, to get possession of +her wages, to play upon her heart and her purse.</p> + +<p>It cost Germinie very dear to part with her niece. +She had staked a portion of her existence upon the child. +She was attached to her by her anxiety and her sacrifices.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +She had disputed possession of her with disease and had +won the day; the girl's life was her miracle. And yet she +realized that she could never take her to mademoiselle's +apartments; that mademoiselle, at her age, with the burden +of her years, and an aged person's need of tranquillity, +could never endure the constant noise and movement +of a child. And then, the little girl's presence in +the house would cause idle gossip and set the whole +street agog: people would say she was her child. Germinie +made a confidante of her mistress. Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil knew the whole story. She knew that +she had taken charge of her niece, although she had +pretended not to know it; she had chosen to see nothing +in order to permit everything. She advised Germinie +to entrust her niece to her sister, pointing out to her all +the difficulties in the way of keeping her herself, and she +gave her money to pay for the journey of the whole +family.</p> + +<p>The parting was a heart-breaking thing to Germinie. +She found herself left alone and without occupation. +Not having the child, she knew not what to love; her +heart was weary, and she had such a feeling of the emptiness +of life without the little one, that she turned once +more to religion and transferred her affections to the +church.</p> + +<p>Three months had passed when she received news of +her sister's death. The husband, who was one of the +whining, lachrymose breed of mechanics, gave her in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +his letter, mingled with labored, moving phrases, and +threads of pathos, a despairing picture of his position, +with the burial to pay for, attacks of fever that prevented +him from working, two young children, without counting +the little girl, and a household with no wife to heat +the soup. Germinie wept over the letter; then her +thoughts turned to living in that house, beside that poor +man, among the poor children, in that horrible Africa; +and a vague longing to sacrifice herself began to awaken +within her. Other letters followed, in which, while +thanking her for her assistance, her brother-in-law gave +to his poverty, to his desolate plight, to the misery that +enveloped him, a still more dramatic coloring—the coloring +that the common people impart to trifles, with its +memories of the Boulevard du Crime and its fragments +of vile books. Once caught by the <i>blague</i> of this misery, +Germinie could not cut loose from it. She fancied she +could hear the cries of the children calling her. She +became completely absorbed, buried in the project and +resolution of going to them. She was haunted by the +idea and by the word Africa, which she turned over and +over incessantly in the depths of her mind, without +a word. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, noticing her +thoughtfulness and melancholy, asked her what the +matter was, but in vain: Germinie did not speak. She +was pulled this way and that, tormented between what +seemed to her a duty and what seemed to her ingratitude, +between her mistress and her sisters' blood.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +She thought that she could not leave mademoiselle. +And again she said to herself that God did not +wish her to abandon her family. She would look +about the apartment and mutter: "And yet I must +go!" Then she would fear that mademoiselle might +be sick when she was not there. Another maid! At +that thought she was seized with jealousy and fancied +that she could already see someone stealing her mistress. +At other moments, when her religious ideas impelled her +to thoughts of self-sacrifice, she was all ready to devote +her existence to this brother-in-law. She determined to +go and live with this man, whom she detested, with +whom she had always been on the worst of terms, who +had almost killed her sister with grief, whom she knew +to be a brutish, drunken sot; and all that she anticipated, +all that she dreaded, the certainty of all she would have +to suffer and her shrinking fear of it, served to exalt and +inflame her imagination, to urge her on to the sacrifice +with the greater impatience and ardor. Often the +whole scheme fell to the ground in an instant: at a +word, at a gesture from mademoiselle, Germinie would +become herself once more, and would fail to recognize +herself. She felt that she was bound to her mistress +absolutely and forever, and she had a thrill of horror +at having so much as thought of detaching her own life +from hers. She struggled thus for two years. Then +she learned one fine day, by chance, that her niece had +died a few weeks after her sister: her brother-in-law had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +concealed the child's death in order to maintain his +hold upon her, and to lure her to him in Africa, with her +few sous. Germinie's illusions being wholly dispelled +by that revelation, she was cured on the spot. She +hardly remembered that she had ever thought of going +away.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">VII</h2> + + +<p>About this time a small creamery at the end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +street, with few customers, changed hands, as a result of +the sale of the real estate by order of court. The shop +was renovated and repainted. The front windows were +embellished with inscriptions in yellow letters. Pyramids +of chocolate from the Compagnie Coloniale, and +coffee-cups filled with flowers, alternating with small +liqueur glasses, were displayed upon the shelves. At +the door glistened the sign—a copper milk jug divided +in the middle.</p> + +<p>The woman who thus endeavored to re-establish the concern, +the new <i>crémière</i>, was a person of about fifty years +of age, whose corpulence passed all bounds, and who still +retained some <i>débris</i> of beauty, half submerged in fat. +It was said in the quarter that she had set herself up in +business with the money of an old gentleman, whose +servant she had been until his death, in her native province, +near Langres; for it happened that she was a +countrywoman of Germinie, not from the same village, +but from a small place near by; and although she and +mademoiselle's maid had never met nor seen each other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +in the country, they knew each other by name and were +drawn together by the fact that they had acquaintances +in common and could compare memories of the same +places. The stout woman was a flattering, affected, +fawning creature. She said: "My love" to everybody, +talked in a piping voice, and played the child with the +querulous languor of corpulent persons. She detested +vulgar remarks and would blush and take alarm at trifles. +She adored secrets, twisted everything into a confidential +communication, invented stories and always whispered +in your ear. Her life was passed in gossiping and groaning. +She pitied others and she pitied herself; she +lamented her ill fortune and her stomach. When she +had eaten too much she would say dramatically: "I am +dying!" and nothing ever was so pathetic as her indigestion. +She was constantly moved to tears: she wept +indiscriminately for a maltreated horse, for someone who +had died, for milk that had curdled. She wept over the +various items in the newspapers, she wept for the sake of +weeping.</p> + +<p>Germinie was very soon ensnared and moved to pity +by this wheedling, talkative <i>crémière</i>, who was always in +a state of intense emotion, calling upon others to open +their hearts to her, and apparently so affectionate. +After three months hardly anything passed mademoiselle's +doors that did not come from Mère Jupillon. +Germinie procured everything, or almost everything +there. She passed hours in the shop. Once there it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +was hard work for her to leave; she remained there, +unable to rise from her chair. A sort of instinctive +cowardice detained her. At the door she would stop +and talk on, in order to delay her departure. She felt +bound to the <i>crémière</i> by the invisible charm of familiar +places to which you constantly return, and which end +by embracing you like things that would love you. +And then, too, in her eyes the shop meant Madame +Jupillon's three dogs, three wretched curs; she always +had them on her knees, she scolded them and kissed +them and talked to them; and when she was warm with +their warmth, she would feel in the depths of her heart +the contentment of a beast rubbing against her little +ones. Again, the shop to her meant all the gossip of +the quarter, the rendezvous of all the scandals,—how +this one had failed to pay her note and that one had +received a carriage load of flowers; it meant a place +that was on the watch for everything, even to the lace +<i>peignoir</i> going to town on the maid's arm.</p> + +<p>In a word everything tended to attach her to the +place. Her intimacy with the <i>crémière</i> was strengthened +by all the mysterious bonds of friendship between women +of the people, by the continual chatter, the daily exchange +of the trivial affairs of life, the conversation for +the sake of conversing, the repetition of the same <i>bonjour</i> +and the same <i>bonsoir</i>, the division of caresses among the +same animals, the naps side by side and chair against +chair. The shop at last became her regular place for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +idling away her time, a place where her thoughts, her +words, her body and her very limbs were marvelously at +ease. There came a time when her happiness consisted +in sitting drowsily of an evening in a straw arm-chair, +beside Mère Jupillon—sound asleep with her spectacles +on her nose—and holding the dogs rolled in a ball in +the skirt of her dress; and while the lamp, almost +dying, burned pale upon the counter, she would sit idly +there, letting her glance lose itself at the back of the +shop, and gradually grow dim, with her ideas, as her +eyes rested vaguely upon a triumphal arch of snail +shells joined together with old moss, beneath which +stood a little copper Napoléon, with his hands behind +his back.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">VIII</h2> + + +<p>Madame Jupillon, who claimed to have been married<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +and signed herself <i>Widow Jupillon</i>, had a son. He was +still a child. She had placed him at Saint-Nicholas, the +great religious establishment where, for thirty francs a +month, rudimentary instruction and a trade are furnished +to the children of the common people, and to many +natural children. Germinie fell into the way of accompanying +Madame Jupillon when she went to see <i>Bibi</i> on +Thursdays. This visit became a means of distraction to +her, something to look forward to. She would urge the +mother to hurry, would always arrive first at the omnibus +office, and was content to sit with her arms resting on a +huge basket of provisions all the way.</p> + +<p>It happened that Mère Jupillon had trouble with her +leg—a carbuncle that prevented her from walking for +nearly eighteen months. Germinie went alone to Saint-Nicholas, +and as she was promptly and easily led to +devote herself to others, she took as deep an interest in +that child as if he were connected with her in some +way. She did not miss a single Thursday and always +arrived with her hands full of the last week's desserts,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +and with cakes and fruit and sweetmeats she had bought. +She would kiss the urchin, inquire for his health, and +feel to see if he had his knitted vest under his blouse; +she would notice how flushed he was from running, +would wipe his face with her handkerchief and make +him show her the soles of his shoes so that she could +see if there were any holes in them. She would ask if +his teachers were satisfied with him, if he attended to +his duties and if he had had many good marks. She +would talk to him of his mother and bid him love the +good Lord, and until the clock struck two she would +walk with him in the courtyard: the child would offer +her his arm, as proud as you please to be with a woman +much better dressed than the majority of those who +came there—with a woman in silk. He was anxious to +learn the flageolet. It cost only five francs a month, +but his mother would not give them. Germinie carried +him the hundred sous every month, on the sly. It was +a humiliating thing to him to wear the little uniform +blouse when he went out to walk, and on the two or +three occasions during the year when he went to see his +mother. On his birthday, one year, Germinie unfolded +a large parcel before him: she had had a tunic made for +him; it is doubtful if twenty of his comrades in the +whole school belonged to families in sufficiently easy +circumstances to wear such garments.</p> + +<p>She spoiled him thus for several years, not allowing +him to suffer with a longing for anything, encouraging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +the caprices and the pride of wealthy children in the poor +child, softening for him the privations and hardships of +that trade school, where children were formed for a +laboring life, wore blouses and ate off plates of brown +earthenware; a school that by its toilsome apprenticeship +hardened the children of the people to lives of toil. +Meanwhile the boy was growing fast. Germinie did +not notice it: in her eyes he was still the child he had +always been. From habit she always stooped to kiss +him. One day she was summoned before the abbé who +was at the head of the school. He spoke to her of +expelling Jupillon. Obscene books had been found in +his possession. Germinie, trembling at the thought +of the blows that awaited the child at his mother's +hands, prayed and begged and implored; she succeeded +at last in inducing the abbé to forgive the culprit. When +she went down into the courtyard again she attempted +to scold him; but at the first word of her moral lecture, +Bibi suddenly cast in her face a glance and smile in +which there was no trace of the child that he was the +day before. She lowered her eyes, and she was the one +to blush. A fortnight passed before she went again to +Saint-Nicholas.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">IX</h2> + + +<p>About the time that young Jupillon left the boarding-school,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +a maid in the service of a kept woman who lived +on the floor below mademoiselle sometimes passed the +evening with Germinie at Madame Jupillon's. A native +of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, which supplies +Paris with coupé drivers and lorettes' waiting-maids, +this girl was what is called in vulgar parlance: "a great +<i>bringue</i>;" she was an awkward, wild-eyed creature, with +the eyebrows of a water carrier. She soon fell into the +habit of going there every evening. She treated everybody +to cakes and liquors, amused herself by showing +off little Jupillon, playing pat-a-cake with him, sitting +on his knee, telling him to his face that he was a beauty, +treating him like a child, playing the wanton with him +and joking him because he was not a man. The boy, +happy and proud of these attentions from the first woman +who had ever taken notice of him, manifested before long +his preference for Adèle: so was the new-comer called.</p> + +<p>Germinie was passionately jealous. Jealousy was the +foundation of her nature; it was the dregs of her affection +and gave it its bitter taste. Those whom she loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +she wished to have entirely to herself, to possess them +absolutely. She demanded that they should love no one +but her. She could not permit them to take from her +and bestow upon others the slightest fragment of their +affection: as she had earned it, it no longer belonged +to them; they were no longer entitled to dispose of it. +She detested the people whom her mistress seemed to +welcome more cordially than others, and with whom she +was on most intimate terms. By her ill-humor and her +sullen manner she had offended, had almost driven from +the house, two or three of mademoiselle's old friends, +whose visits wounded her; as if the old ladies came +there for the purpose of abstracting something from the +rooms, of taking a little of her mistress from her. +People of whom she had once been fond became +odious to her: she did not consider that they were fond +enough of her; she hated them for all the love she +wanted from them. Her heart was despotic and exacting +in everything. As it gave all, it demanded all in +return. At the least sign of coldness, at the slightest +indication that she had a rival, she would fly into a rage, +tear her hair, pass her nights in weeping, and execrate +the whole world.</p> + +<p>Seeing that other woman make herself at home in the +shop and adopt a tone of familiarity with the young man, +all Germinie's jealous instincts were aroused and changed +to furious rage. Her hatred flew to arms and rebelled, +with her disgust, against the shameless, brazen-faced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +creature, who could be seen on Sunday sitting at table +on the outer boulevards with soldiers, and who had blue +marks on her face on Monday. She did her utmost to +induce Madame Jupillon to turn her away; but she was +one of the best customers of the creamery, and the +<i>crémière</i> mildly refused to close her doors upon her. +Germinie had recourse to the son and told him that she +was a miserable creature. But that only served to +attach the young man the closer to the vile woman, +whose evil reputation delighted him. Moreover, he +had the cruel mischievous instinct of youth, and he +redoubled his attentions to her simply to see "the nose" +that Germinie made and to enjoy her despair. Soon +Germinie discovered that the woman's intentions were +more serious than she had at first supposed: she began +to understand what she wanted of the child,—for the tall +youth of seventeen was still a child in her eyes. Thenceforward +she hung upon their steps; she was always beside +them, never left them alone for a moment, made one at +all their parties, at the theatre or in the country, joined +them in all their walks, was always at hand and in the +way, seeking to hold Adèle back, and to restore her +sense of decency by a word in an undertone: "A mere +boy! ain't you ashamed?" she would say to her. And +the other would laugh aloud, as if it were a good joke.</p> + +<p>When they left the theatre, enlivened and heated by +the feverish excitement of the performance and the +place; when they returned from an excursion to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +country, laden with a long day's sunshine, intoxicated +with the blue sky and the pure air, excited by the wine +imbibed at dinner, amid the sportive liberties in which +the woman of the people, drunk with enjoyment and +with the delights of unlimited good cheer, and with the +senses keyed up to the highest pitch of joviality, makes +bold to indulge at night, Germinie tried to be always +between the maid and Jupillon. She never relaxed her +efforts to break the lovers' hold upon each other's arms, +to unbind them, to uncouple them. Never wearying of +the task, she was forever separating them, luring them +away from each other. She placed her body between +those bodies that were groping for each other. She +glided between the hands outstretched to touch each +other; she glided between the lips that were put forth in +search of other proffered lips. But of all this that she +prevented she felt the breath and the shock. She felt +the pressure of the hands she held apart, the caresses +that she caught on the wing and that missed their mark +and went astray upon her. The hot breath of the kisses +she intercepted blew upon her cheek. Involuntarily, +and with a feeling of horror, she became a party to the +embracing, she was infected with the desires aroused by +this constant friction and struggling, which diminished +day by day the young man's restraint and respect for her +person.</p> + +<p>It happened one day that she was less strong against +herself than she had previously been. On that occasion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +she did not elude his advances so abruptly as usual. +Jupillon felt that she stopped short. Germinie felt it +even more keenly than he; but she was at the end of +her efforts, exhausted with the torture she had undergone. +The love which, coming from another, she had +turned aside from Jupillon, had slowly taken full possession +of her own heart. Now it was firmly rooted there, +and, bleeding with jealousy, she found that she was +incapable of resistance, weak and fainting, like a person +fatally wounded, in presence of the joy that had come +to her.</p> + +<p>She repelled the young man's audacious attempts, +however, without a word. She did not dream of belonging +to him otherwise than as a friend, or giving way +farther than she had done. She lived upon the thought +of love, believing that she could live upon it always. +And in the ecstatic exaltation of her thoughts, she put +aside all memory of her fall, and repressed her desires. +She remained shuddering and pure, lost and suspended +in abysses of affection, neither enjoying nor wishing for +aught from the lover but a caress, as if her heart were +made only for the joy of kissing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">X</h2> + + +<p>This happy though unsatisfied love produced a strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +physiological phenomenon in Germinie's physical being. +One would have said that the passion that was alive +within her renewed and transformed her lymphatic temperament. +She did not seem, as before, to extract her +life, drop by drop, from a penurious spring: it flowed +through her arteries in a full, generous stream; she felt +the tingling sensation of rich blood over her whole +body. She seemed to be filled with the warm glow of +health, and the joy of living beat its wings in her breast +like a bird in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>A marvelous animation had come to her. The miserable +nervous energy that once sustained her had given +place to healthy activity, to bustling, restless, overflowing +gayety. She had no trace now of the weakness, the +dejection, the prostration, the supineness, the sluggishness +that formerly distinguished her. The heavy, drowsy +feeling in the morning was a thing of the past; she +awoke feeling fresh and bright, and alive in an instant +to the cheer of the new day. She dressed in haste, +playfully; her agile fingers moved of themselves, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +she was amazed to be so bright and full of activity during +the hours of faintness before breakfast, when she +had so often felt her heart upon her lips. And throughout +the day she had the same consciousness of physical +well-being, the same briskness of movement. She +must be always on the move, walking, running, doing +something, expending her strength. At times all that +she had lived through seemed to have no existence; the +sensations of living that she had hitherto experienced +seemed to her like a far-off dream, or as if dimly seen +in the background of a sleeping memory. The past +lay behind her, as if she had traversed it, covered with +a veil like one in a swoon, or with the unconsciousness +of a somnambulist. It was the first time that she had +experienced the feeling, the impression, at once bitter +and sweet, violent and celestial, of the game of life +brilliant in its plenitude, its regularity and its power.</p> + +<p>She ran up and downstairs for a nothing. At a word +from mademoiselle she would trip down the whole five +flights. When she was seated, her feet danced on the +floor. She brushed and scrubbed and beat and shook +and washed and set to rights, without rest or reprieve, +always at work, filling the apartment with her goings +and comings, and the incessant bustle that followed her +about.—"Mon Dieu!" her mistress would say, stunned +by the uproar she made, just like a child,—"you're +turning things upside down, Germinie! that will do for +that!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>One day, when she went into Germinie's kitchen, +mademoiselle saw a little earth in a cigar box on the +leads.—"What's that?" she asked.—"That's grass—that +I planted—to look at," said Germinie.—"So +you're in love with grass now, eh? All you need now +is to have canaries!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XI</h2> + + +<p>In the course of a few months, Germinie's life, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +whole life belonged to the <i>crémière</i>. Mademoiselle's service +was not exacting and took but little time. A whiting +or a cutlet—that was all the cooking there was to be +done. Mademoiselle might have kept her with her in the +evening for company: she preferred, however, to send +her away, to drive her out of doors, to force her to take a +little air and diversion. She asked only that she would +return at ten o'clock to help her to bed; and yet when +Germinie was a little late, mademoiselle undressed +herself and went to bed alone very comfortably. Every +hour that her mistress left her at leisure, Germinie +passed in the shop. She fell into the habit of going +down to the creamery in the morning, when the shutters +were removed, and generally carried them inside; +she would take her <i>café au lait</i> there and remain until +nine o'clock, when she would go back and give mademoiselle +her chocolate; and between breakfast and +dinner she found excuses for returning two or three +times, delaying and chattering in the back-shop on the +slightest pretext. "What a magpie you are getting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +be!" mademoiselle would say, in a scolding voice, but +with a smiling face.</p> + +<p>At half past five, when her mistress's little dinner was +cleared away, she would run down the stairs four at a +time, install herself at Mère Jupillon's, wait until ten +o'clock, clamber up the five flights, and in five minutes +undress her mistress, who submitted unresistingly, +albeit she was somewhat astonished that Germinie +should be in such haste to go to bed; she remembered +the time when she had a mania for moving her sleepy +body from one easy-chair to another, and was never +willing to go up to her room. While the candle was +still smoking on mademoiselle's night table, Germinie +would be back at the creamery, this time to remain +until midnight, until one o'clock; often she did not go +until a policeman, noticing the light, tapped on the +shutters and made them close up.</p> + +<p>In order to be always there and to have the right to +be always there, to make herself a part of the shop, to +keep her eyes constantly upon the man she loved, to +hover about him, to keep him, to be always brushing +against him, she had become the servant of the establishment. +She swept the shop, she prepared the old +woman's meals and the food for the dogs. She waited +upon the son; she made his bed, she brushed his +clothes, she waxed his boots, happy and proud to touch +what he touched, thrilling with pleasure when she placed +her hand where he placed his body, and ready to kiss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +the mud upon the leather of his boots, because it was +his!</p> + +<p>She did the menial work, she kept the shop, she +served the customers. Madame Jupillon rested everything +upon her shoulders; and while the good-natured +girl was working and perspiring, the bulky matron, +assuming the majestic, leisurely air of an annuitant, +anchored upon a chair in the middle of the sidewalk +and inhaling the fresh air of the street, fingered and +rattled the precious coin in the capacious pocket beneath +her apron—the coin that rings so sweetly in the ears of +the petty tradesmen of Paris, that the retired shopkeeper +is melancholy beyond words at first, because he +no longer has the chinking and the tinkling under his +hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XII</h2> + + +<p>When the spring came, Germinie said to Jupillon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +almost every evening: "Suppose we go as far as the +beginning of the fields?"</p> + +<p>Jupillon would put on his flannel shirt with red and +black squares, and his black velvet cap; and they would +start for what the people of the quarter call "the beginning +of the fields."</p> + +<p>They would go up the Chaussée Clignancourt, and, +with the flood of Parisians from the faubourg hurrying +to drink a little fresh air, would walk on toward the +great patch of sky that rose straight from the pavements, +at the top of the ascent, between the two lines of houses, +unobstructed except by an occasional omnibus. The +air was growing cooler and the sun shone only upon the +roofs of the houses and the chimneys. As from a great +door opening into the country, there came from the +end of the street and from the sky beyond, a breath +of boundless space and liberty.</p> + +<p>At the Château-Rouge they found the first tree, the +first foliage. Then, at Rue du Château, the horizon +opened before them in dazzling beauty. The fields<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +stretched away in the distance, glistening vaguely in +the powdery, golden haze of seven o'clock. All nature +trembled in the daylight dust that the day leaves in its +wake, upon the verdure it blots from sight and the +houses it suffuses with pink.</p> + +<p>Frequently they descended the footpath covered with +the figures of the game of hop-scotch marked out in +charcoal, by long walls with an occasional overhanging +branch, by lines of detached houses with gardens +between. At their left rose tree-tops filled with light, +clustering foliage pierced by the beams of the setting +sun, which cast lines of fire across the bars of the iron +gateways. After the gardens came hedgerows, estates +for sale, unfinished buildings erected upon the line +of projected streets and stretching out their jagged +walls into empty space, with heaps of broken bottles at +their feet; large, low, plastered houses, with windows +filled with bird-cages and cloths, and with the +Y of the sink-pipes at every floor; and openings into +enclosures that resembled barnyards, studded with little +mounds on which goats were browsing.</p> + +<p>They would stop here and there and smell the flowers, +inhale the perfume of a meagre lilac growing in a narrow +lane. Germinie would pluck a leaf in passing and +nibble at it.</p> + +<p>Flocks of joyous swallows flew wildly about in circles +and in fantastic figures over her head. The birds called. +The sky answered the cages. She heard everything +about her singing, and glanced with a glad eye at the +women in chemisettes at the windows, the men in their +shirt sleeves in the little gardens, the mothers on the +doorsteps with their little ones between their legs.</p> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<a name="i116" id="i116"></a><img src="images/ichxii.png" width="170" height="38" alt="Chapter XII + +But at the fortifications her pleasure returned. She +would go with Jupillon and sit upon the slope of the +embankment. Beside her were families innumerable, +workmen lying flat upon their faces, small annuitants +gazing at the horizon through spy-glasses, philosophers +of want, bent double, with their hands upon their knees, +the greasy coats characteristic of old men, and black +hats worn as red as their red beards." title="" /></div> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;" /> +<div class="caption"><i>But at the fortifications her pleasure returned. She +would go with Jupillon and sit upon the slope of the +embankment. Beside her were families innumerable, +workmen lying flat upon their faces, small annuitants +gazing at the horizon through spy-glasses, philosophers +of want, bent double, with their hands upon their knees, +the greasy coats characteristic of old men, and black +hats worn as red as their red beards.</i></div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> + +<div class="image"> +<img src="images/i116.jpg" width="403" height="590" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<p>At the foot of the slope the pavement came to an end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +The street was succeeded by a broad, white, chalky, +dusty road, made of débris, old pieces of plaster, crumbs +of lime and bricks; a sunken road, with deep ruts, +polished on the edges, made by the iron tires of the +huge great wheels of carts laden with hewn stone. At +that point began the things that collect where Paris ends, +the things that grow where grass does not grow, one of +those arid landscapes that large cities create around +them, the first zone of suburbs <i>intra muros</i> where nature +is exhausted, the soil used up, the fields sown with +oyster shells. Beyond was a wilderness of half-enclosed +yards displaying numbers of carts and trucks with their +shafts in the air against the sky, stone-cutters' sheds, +factories built of boards, unfinished workmen's houses, +full of gaps and open to the light, and bearing the +mason's flag, wastes of gray and white sand, kitchen +gardens marked out with cords, and, on the lower level, +bogs to which the embankment of the road slopes down +in oceans of small stones.</p> + +<p>Soon they would reach the last lantern hanging on a +green post. People were still coming and going about +them. The road was alive and amused the eyes. They +met women carrying their husband's canes, lorettes in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +silk dresses leaning on the arms of their blouse-clad +brothers, old women in bright-colored ginghams walking +about with folded arms, enjoying a moment's rest +from labor. Workmen were drawing their children +in little wagons, urchins returning with their rods from +fishing at Saint-Ouen, and men and women dragging +branches of flowering acacia at the ends of sticks.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a pregnant woman would pass, holding out +her arms to a yet small child, and casting the shadow of +her pregnancy upon the wall.</p> + +<p>And everyone moved tranquilly, blissfully, at a pace +that told of the wish to delay, with the awkward ease +and the happy indolence of those who walk for pleasure. +No one was in a hurry, and against the unbroken horizon +line, crossed from time to time by the white smoke of a +railroad train, the groups of promenaders were like black +spots, almost motionless, in the distance.</p> + +<p>Behind Montmartre, they came to those great moats, +as it were, those sloping squares, where narrow, gray, +much-trodden paths cross and recross. A few blades of +shriveled, yellow grass grew thereabout, softened by the +rays of the setting sun, which they could see, all ablaze, +between the houses. And Germinie loved to watch the +wool-combers at work there, the quarry horses at pasture +in the bare fields, the madder-red trousers of the soldiers +who were playing at bowls, the children flying kites that +made black spots in the clear air. Passing all these, they +turned to cross the bridge over the railroad by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +wretched settlement of ragpickers, the stonemasons' +quarter at the foot of Clignancourt hill. They would +walk quickly by those houses built of materials stolen +from demolished buildings, and exuding the horrors they +conceal; the wretched structures, half cabin, half burrow, +caused Germinie a vague feeling of terror: it seemed to +her as if all the crimes of Night were lurking there.</p> + +<p>But at the fortifications her pleasure returned. She +would go with Jupillon and sit upon the slope of the +embankment. Beside her were families innumerable, +workmen lying flat upon their faces, small annuitants +gazing at the horizon through spy-glasses, philosophers +of want, bent double, with their hands upon their knees, +the greasy coats characteristic of old men, and black +hats worn as red as their red beards. The air was full +of rich harmonies. Below her, in the moat, a musical +society was playing at each corner. Before her eyes was +a multi-colored crowd, white blouses, children in blue +aprons running around, a game of riding at the ring in +progress, wine shops, cake shops, fried fish stalls, and +shooting galleries half hidden in clumps of verdure, +from which arose staves bearing the tricolor; and farther +away, in a bluish haze, a line of tree tops marked +the location of a road. To the right she could see +Saint-Denis and the towering basilica; at her left, above +a line of houses that were becoming indistinct, the sun +was setting over Saint-Ouen in a disk of cherry-colored +flame, and projecting upon the gray horizon shafts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +light like red pillars that seemed to support it tremblingly. +Often a child's balloon would pass swiftly +across the dazzling expanse of sky.</p> + +<p>They would go down, pass through the gate, walk +along by the Lorraine sausage shops, the dealers in +honeycomb, the board <i>cabarets</i>, the verdureless, still +unpainted arbors, where a noisy multitude of men and +women and children were eating fried potatoes, mussels +and prawns, until they reached the first field, the first +living grass: on the edge of the grass there was a handcart +laden with gingerbread and peppermint lozenges, +and a woman selling hot cocoa on a table in the furrow. +A strange country, where everything was mingled—the +smoke from the frying-pan and the evening vapor, +the noise of quoits on the head of a cask and the +silence shed from the sky, the city barrier and the +idyllic rural scene, the odor of manure and the fresh +smell of green wheat, the great human Fair and Nature! +Germinie enjoyed it, however; and, urging Jupillon to +go farther, walking on the very edge of the road, she +would constantly step in among the grain to enjoy the +fresh, cool sensation of the stalks against her stockings. +When they returned she always wanted to go upon the +slope once more. The sun had by that time disappeared +and the sky was gray below, pink in the centre and +blue above. The horizon grew dark; from green the +trees became a dark brown and melted into the sky; the +zinc roofs of the wine shops looked as if the moon were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +shining upon them, fires began to appear in the darkness, +the crowd became gray, and the white linen took +on a bluish tinge. Little by little everything would +fade away, be blotted out, lose its form and color in a +dying remnant of colorless daylight, and through the +increasing darkness the voices of a class whose life +begins at night, and the voice of the wine beginning to +sing, would arise, mingled with the din of the rattles. +Upon the slope the tops of the tall grass waved to and +fro in the gentle breeze. Germinie would make up her +mind to go. She would wend her way homeward, filled +with the influence of the falling night, abandoning herself +to the uncertain vision of things half-seen, passing +the dark houses, and finding that everything along her +road had turned paler, as it were—wearied by the long +walk over rough roads, and content to be weary and +slow and half-fainting, and with a feeling of peace at +her heart.</p> + +<p>At the first lighted lanterns on Rue du Château, she +would fall from her dream to the pavement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XIII</h2> + + +<p>Madame Jupillon's face always wore a pleased expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +when Germinie appeared; when she kissed her she +was very effusive, when she spoke to her her voice was +caressing, when she looked at her her glance was most +amiable. The huge creature's kind heart seemed, when +with her, to abandon itself to the emotion, the affection, +the trustfulness of a sort of maternal tenderness. +She took Germinie into her confidence as to her business, +as to her woman's secrets, as to the most private +affairs of her life. She seemed to open her heart to her +as to a person of her own blood, whom she desired to +make familiar with matters of interest to the family. +When she spoke of the future, she always referred to +Germinie as one from whom she was never to be separated, +and who formed a part of the household. Often +she allowed certain discreet, mysterious smiles to escape +her, smiles which made it appear that she saw all that +was going on and was not angry. Sometimes, too, +when her son was sitting by Germinie's side, she would +let her eyes, moist with a mother's tears, rest upon them, +and would embrace them with a glance that seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +unite her two children and call down a blessing on their +heads.</p> + +<p>Without speaking, without ever uttering a word that +could be construed as an engagement, without divulging +her thoughts or binding herself in any way, and all the +time repeating that her son was still very young to think +of being married, she encouraged Germinie's hopes and +illusions by her whole bearing, her airs of secret indulgence +and of complicity, so far as her heart was concerned; +by those meaning silences when she seemed to +open to her a mother-in-law's arms. And displaying all +her talents in the way of hypocrisy, drawing upon her +hidden mines of sentiment, her good-natured shrewdness, +and the consummate, intricate cunning that fat +people possess, the corpulent matron succeeded in vanquishing +Germinie's last resistance by dint of this tacit +assurance and promise of marriage; and she finally +allowed the young man's ardor to extort from her what +she believed that she was giving in advance to the +husband.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XIV</h2> + + +<p>As Germinie was going down the servant's staircase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +one day, she heard Adèle's voice calling her over the +banister and telling her to bring her two sous' worth of +butter and ten of absinthe.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you can sit down a minute, you know you +can," said Adèle, when she brought her the absinthe +and the butter. "I never see you now, you'll never +come in. Come! you have plenty of time to be with +your old woman. For my part, I couldn't live with an +Antichrist's face like hers! So stay. This is the house +without work to-day. There isn't a sou—madame's +abed. Whenever there's no money, she goes to bed, +does madame; she stays in bed all day, reading novels. +Have some of this?"—And she offered her her glass of +absinthe.—"No? oh! no, you don't drink. You're +very foolish. It's a funny thing not to drink. Say, it +would be very nice of you to write me a little line for +my dearie. Hard work, you know. I have told you +about it. See, here's madame's pen—and her paper—it +smells good. Are you ready? He's a good fellow, +my dear, and no mistake! He's in the butcher line as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +I told you. Ah! my word! I mustn't rub him the +wrong way! When he's had a glass of blood after killing +his beasts, he's like a madman—and if you're +obstinate with him—Dame! why then he thumps you! +But what would you have? He does that to make him +strong. If you could see him thump himself on the +breast—blows that would kill an ox, and say: 'That's +a wall, that is!' Ah! he's a gentleman, I tell you! +Are you thinking about the letter, eh? Make it one of +the fetching kind. Say nice things to him, you know—and +a little sad—he adores that. At the theatre he +doesn't like anything that doesn't make him cry. Look +here! Imagine that you're writing to a lover of your +own."</p> + +<p>Germinie began to write.</p> + +<p>"Say, Germinie! Have you heard? Madame's +taken a strange idea into her head. It's a funny thing +about women like her, who can hold their heads up with +the greatest of 'em, who can have everything, hobnob +with kings if they choose! And there's nothing to be +said—when one is like madame, you know, when one +has such a body as that! And then the way they load +themselves down with finery, with their tralala of dresses +and lace everywhere and everything else—how do you +suppose anyone can resist them? And if it isn't a gentleman, +if it's someone like us—you can see how much +more all that will catch him; a woman in velvet goes +to his brain. Yes, my dear, just fancy, here's madame<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +gone daft on that <i>gamin</i> of a Jupillon! That's all we +needed to make us die of hunger here!"</p> + +<p>Germinie, with her pen in the air over the letter she +had begun, looked up at Adèle, devouring her with her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"That brings you to a standstill, doesn't it?" said +Adèle, sipping her absinthe, her face lighted up with joy +at sight of Germinie's discomposed features. "Oh! it is +too absurd, really; but it's true, 'pon my word it's true. +She noticed the <i>gamin</i> on the steps of the shop the other +day, coming home from the races. She's been there +two or three times on the pretence of buying something. +She'll probably have some perfumery sent from there—to-morrow, +I think.—Bah! it's sickening, isn't it? It's +their affair. Well! what about my letter? Is it what +I told you that makes you so stupid? You played the +prude—I didn't know—Oh! yes, yes, now I remember; +that's what it is—What was it you said to me about the +little one? I believe you didn't want anyone to touch +him! Idiot!"</p> + +<p>At a gesture of denial from Germinie, she continued:</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, nonsense! What do I care? The kind +of a child that, if you blew his nose, milk would come +out! Thanks! that's not my style. However, that's +your business. Come, now for my letter, eh?"</p> + +<p>Germinie leaned over the sheet of paper. But she +was burning up with fever; the quill cracked in her +nervous fingers. "There," she said, throwing it down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +after a few seconds, "I don't know what's the matter +with me to-day. I'll write it for you another time."</p> + +<p>"As you like, little one—but I rely on you. Come +to-morrow, then.—I'll tell you some of madame's nonsense. +We'll have a good laugh at her!"</p> + +<p>And, when the door was closed, Adèle began to roar +with laughter: it had cost her only a little <i>blague</i> to +unearth Germinie's secret.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XV</h2> + + +<p>So far as young Jupillon was concerned, love was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +simply the satisfaction of a certain evil curiosity, which +sought, in the knowledge and possession of a woman, +the privilege and the pleasure of despising her. Just +emerging from boyhood, the young man had brought +to his first <i>liaison</i> no other ardor, no other flame than +the cold instincts of rascality awakened in boys by vile +books, the confidences of their comrades, boarding-school +conversation, the first breath of impurity which +debauches desire. The sentiment with which the young +man usually regards the woman who yields to him, the +caresses, the loving words, the affectionate attentions +with which he envelops her—nothing of all that existed +in Jupillon's case. Woman was to him simply an +obscene image; and a passion for a woman seemed to +him desirable as being prohibited, illicit, vulgar, cynical +and amusing—an excellent opportunity for trickery and +sarcasm.</p> + +<p>Sarcasm—the low, cowardly, despicable sarcasm of +the dregs of the people—was the beginning and the end +of this youth. He was a perfect type of those Parisians<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +who bear upon their faces the mocking scepticism of +the great city of <i>blague</i> in which they are born. The +smile, the shrewdness and the mischief of the Parisian +physiognomy were always mocking and impertinent in +him. Jupillon's smile had the jovial expression imparted +by a wicked mouth, a mouth that was almost +cruel at the corners of the lips, which curled upward +and were always twitching nervously. His face was +pale with the pallor that nitric acid strong enough to eat +copper gives to the complexion, and in his sharp, pert, +bold features were mingled bravado, energy, recklessness, +intelligence, impudence and all sorts of rascally +expressions, softened, at certain times, by a cat-like, +wheedling air. His trade of glove-cutter—he had taken +up with that trade after two or three unsuccessful trials +as an apprentice in other crafts—the habit of working +in the shop-windows, of being on exhibition to the +passers-by, had given to his whole person the self-assurance +and the dandified airs of a <i>poseur</i>. Sitting in the +work-shop on the street, with his white shirt, his little +black cravat <i>à la Colin</i>, and his skin-tight pantaloons, +he had adopted an awkward air of nonchalance, the +pretentious carriage and <i>canaille</i> affectations of the +workman who knows he is being stared at. And various +little refinements of doubtful taste, the parting of the +hair in the middle and brushing it down over the temples, +the low shirt collars that left the whole neck bare, +the striving after the coquettish effects that properly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +belong to the other sex, gave him an uncertain appearance, +which was made even more ambiguous by his +beardless face, marred only by a faint suggestion of a +moustache, and his sexless features to which passion and +ill-temper imparted all the evil quality of a shrewish +woman's face. But in Germinie's eyes all these airs +and this Jupillon style were of the highest distinction.</p> + +<p>Thus constituted, with nothing lovable about him and +incapable of a genuine attachment even through his +passions, Jupillon was greatly embarrassed and bored +by this adoration which became intoxicated with itself, +and waxed greater day by day. Germinie wearied him +to death. She seemed to him absurd in her humiliation, +and laughable in her devotion. He was weary, +disgusted, worn out with her. He had had enough of her +love, enough of her person. And he had no hesitation +about cutting loose from her, without charity or pity. +He ran away from her. He failed to keep the appointments +she made. He pretended that he was kept away +by accident, by errands to be done, by a pressure of +work. At night, she waited for him and he did not +come; she supposed that he was detained by business: +in fact he was at some low billiard hall, or at some ball +at the barrier.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XVI</h2> + + +<p>There was a ball at the <i>Boule-Noire</i> one Thursday.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +The dancing was in full blast.</p> + +<p>The ball-room had the ordinary appearance of modern +places of amusement for the people. It was brilliant +with false richness and tawdry splendor. There were +paintings there, and tables at which wine was sold, +gilded chandeliers and glasses that held a quartern of +brandy, velvet hangings and wooden benches, the +shabbiness and rusticity of an ale-house with the decorations +of a cardboard palace.</p> + +<p>Garnet velvet lambrequins with a fringe of gold lace +hung at the windows and were economically copied in +paint beneath the mirrors, which were lighted by three-branched +candelabra. On the walls, in large white +panels, pastoral scenes by Boucher, surrounded with +painted frames, alternated with Prud'hon's <i>Seasons</i>, +which were much astonished to find themselves in such +a place; and above the windows and doors dropsical +Loves gamboled among five roses protruding from a +pomade jar of the sort used by suburban hair-dressers. +Square pillars, embellished with meagre arabesques,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +supported the ceiling in the centre of the hall, where +there was a small octagonal stand containing the orchestra. +An oaken rail, waist high, which served as a back +to a cheap red bench, enclosed the dancers. And against +this rail, on the outside, were tables painted green and +two rows of benches, surrounding the dance with a café.</p> + +<p>In the dancers' enclosure, beneath the fierce glare +and the intense heat of the gas, were women of all +sorts, dressed in dark, worn, rumpled woolens, women +in black tulle caps, women in black <i>paletots</i>, women in +<i>caracos</i> worn shiny at the seams, women in fur tippets +bought of open-air dealers and in shops in dark alleys. +And in the whole assemblage not one of the youthful +faces was set off by a collar, not a glimpse of a white +skirt could be seen among the whirling dancers, not a +glimmer of white about these women, who were all +dressed in gloomy colors, the colors of want, to the +ends of their unpolished shoes. This absence of linen +gave to the ball an aspect as of poverty in mourning; it +imparted to all the faces a touch of gloom and uncleanness, +of lifelessness and earthiness—a vaguely forbidding +aspect, in which there was a suggestion of the Hôtel-Dieu +and the Mont-de-Piété!</p> + +<p>An old woman in a wig with the hair parted at the +side passed in front of the tables, with a basket filled +with pieces of Savoy cake and red apples.</p> + +<p>From time to time the dance, in its twisting and +turning, disclosed a soiled stocking, the typical Jewish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +features of a street pedlar of sponges, red fingers protruding +from black mitts, a swarthy moustached face, an +under-petticoat soiled with the mud of night before +last, a second-hand-skirt, stiff and crumpled, of flowered +calico, the cast-off finery of some kept mistress.</p> + +<p>The men wore <i>paletots</i>, small, soft caps pulled down +over their ears, and woolen comforters untied and hanging +down their backs. They invited the women to +dance by pulling them by the cap ribbons that fluttered +behind them. Some few, in hats and frockcoats and +colored shirts, had an insolent air of domesticity and a +swagger befitting grooms in some great family.</p> + +<p>Everybody was jumping and bustling about. The +women frisked and capered and gamboled, excited and +stimulated by the spur of bestial pleasure. And in the +evolutions of the contra-dance, one could hear brothel +addresses given: <i>Impasse du Dépotoir</i>.</p> + +<p>Germinie entered the hall just at the conclusion of a +quadrille to the air of <i>La Casquette du père Bugeaud</i>, +in which the cymbals, the sleigh-bells and the drum had +infected the dancers with the giddiness and madness +of their uproar. At a glance she embraced the whole +room, all the men leading their partners back to the +places marked by their caps: she had been misled; <i>he</i> +was not there, she could not see him. However, she +waited. She entered the dancers' enclosure and sat down +on the end of a bench, trying not to seem too much +embarrassed. From their linen caps she judged that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +women seated in line beside her were servants like herself: +comrades of her own class alarmed her less than +the little brazen-faced hussies, with their hair in nets +and their hands in the pockets of their <i>paletots</i>, who +strolled humming about the room. But soon she aroused +hostile attention, even on her bench. Her hat—only +about a dozen women at the ball wore hats—her flounced +skirt, the white hem of which could be seen under her +dress, the gold brooch that secured her shawl awakened +malevolent curiosity all about her. Glances and smiles +were bestowed upon her that boded her no good. All +the women seemed to be asking one another where this +new arrival had come from, and to be saying to one +another that she would take their lovers from them. +Young women who were walking about the hall in pairs, +with their arms about one another's waists as if for a +waltz, made her lower her eyes as they passed in front +of her, and then went on with a contemptuous shrug, +turning their heads to look back at her.</p> + +<p>She changed her place: she was met with the same +smiles, the same whispering, the same hostility. She +went to the further end of the hall; all the women +looked after her; she felt as if she were enveloped in +malicious, envious glances, from the hem of her dress +to the flowers on her hat. Her face flushed. At times +she feared that she should weep. She longed to leave +the place, but she lacked courage to walk the length of +the hall all alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>She began mechanically to watch an old woman who +was slowly making the circuit of the hall with a noiseless +step, like a bird of night flying in a circle. A +black hat, of the hue of charred paper, confined her +<i>bandeaux</i> of grizzled hair. From her square, high masculine +shoulders, hung a sombre-hued Scotch tartan. +When she reached the door, she cast a last glance about +the hall, that embraced everyone therein, with the eye +of a vulture seeking in vain for food.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was an outcry: a police officer was +ejecting a diminutive youth who tried to bite his hands +and clung to the tables, against which, as he was dragged +along, he struck with a noise like breaking furniture.</p> + +<p>As Germinie turned her head she spied Jupillon: he +was sitting between two women at a green table in a +window-recess, smoking. One of the two was a tall +blonde with a small quantity of frizzled flaxen hair, a +flat, stupid face and round eyes. A red flannel chemise +lay in folds on her back, and she had both hands in the +pockets of a black apron which she was flapping up +and down on her dark red skirt. The other, a short, +dark creature, whose face was still red from having been +scrubbed with soap, was enveloped as to her head, with +the coquetry of a fishwoman, in a white knitted hood +with a blue border.</p> + +<p>Jupillon had recognized Germinie. When he saw +her rise and approach him, with her eyes fixed upon +his face, he whispered something to the woman in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +hood, rested his elbows defiantly on the table and +waited.</p> + +<p>"Hallo! you here," he exclaimed when Germinie +stood before him, erect, motionless and mute. "This +is a surprise!—Waiter! another bowl!"</p> + +<p>And, emptying the bowl of sweetened wine into the +two women's glasses, he continued: "Come, don't +make up faces—sit down there."</p> + +<p>And, as Germinie did not budge: "Go on! These +ladies are friends of mine—ask them!"</p> + +<p>"Mélie," said the woman in the hood to the other +woman, in a voice like a diseased crow's, "don't you +see? She's monsieur's mother. Make room for the +lady if she'd like to drink with us."</p> + +<p>Germinie cast a murderous glance at the woman.</p> + +<p>"Well! what's the matter?" the woman continued; +"that don't suit you, madame, eh? Excuse me! you +ought to have told me beforehand. How old do you +suppose she is, Mélie, eh? <i>Sapristi!</i> You select young +ones, my boy, you don't put yourself out!"</p> + +<p>Jupillon smiled internally, and simpered and sneered +externally. His whole manner displayed the cowardly +delight that evil-minded persons take in watching the +suffering of those who suffer because of loving them.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to you—to you!—not here—outside," +said Germinie.</p> + +<p>"Much joy to you! Coming, Mélie?" said the +woman in the hood, lighting the stub of a cigar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +that Jupillon had left on the table beside a piece of +lemon.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" said Jupillon, impressed, in +spite of himself, by Germinie's tone.</p> + +<p>"Come!"</p> + +<p>And she walked on ahead of him. As she passed, the +people crowded about her, laughing. She heard voices, +broken sentences, subdued hooting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XVII</h2> + + +<p>Jupillon promised Germinie not to go to the ball<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +again. But he was just beginning to make a name for +himself at La Brididi, among the low haunts near the +barrier, the <i>Boule-Noire</i>, the <i>Reine-Blanche</i> and the +<i>Ermitage</i>. He had become one of the dancers who +make the guests leave their seats, who keep a whole +roomful of people hanging on the soles of their boots +as they toss them two inches above their heads, and +whom the fair dancers of the locality invite to dance +with them and sometimes pay for their refreshment to +that end. The ball to him was not a ball simply; it +was a stage, an audience, popularity, applause, the +flattering murmur of his name among the groups of +people, an ovation accorded to saltatory glory in the +glare of the reverberators.</p> + +<p>On Sunday he did not go to the <i>Boule-Noire</i>; but on +the following Thursday he went there again; and Germinie, +seeing plainly enough that she could not prevent +him from going, decided to follow him and to stay there +as long as he did. Sitting at a table in the background, +in the least brilliantly lighted corner of the ball-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +she would follow him eagerly with her eyes throughout +the whole contra-dance; and when it was at an end, if +he held back, she would go and seize him, take him +almost by force from the hands and caresses of the +women who persisted in trying to pull him back, to +detain him by wicked wiles.</p> + +<p>As they soon came to know her, the insulting remarks +in her neighborhood ceased to be vague and indistinct +and muttered under the breath, as at the first ball. The +words were thrown in her face, the laughter spoke aloud. +She was obliged to pass her three hours amid a chorus of +derision that pointed its finger at her, called her by name +and cast her age in her face. At every turn she was forced +to submit to the appellation of: <i>old woman!</i> which the +young hussies spat at her over their shoulders as they +passed. But they did at least look at her; often, however, +dancing women invited by Jupillon to drink, and brought +by him to the table at which Germinie was, would sit +with their elbows on the table and their cheeks resting +on their hands, drinking the bowl of mulled wine for +which she paid, apparently unaware that there was +another woman there, crowding into her place as if it +were unoccupied, and making no reply when she spoke +to them. Germinie could have killed these creatures +whom Jupillon forced her to entertain and who despised +her so utterly that they did not even notice her presence.</p> + +<p>The time arrived, when, having endured all she could +endure and being sickened by the humiliation she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +forced to swallow, she conceived the idea of dancing +herself. She saw no other way to avoid leaving her +lover to others, to keep him by her all the evening, and +perhaps to bind him more closely to her by her success, +if she had any chance of succeeding. Throughout a +whole month she worked, in secret, to learn to dance. +She rehearsed the figures and the steps. She forced her +body into unnatural attitudes, she wore herself out trying +to master the contortions and the manipulations of the +skirt that she saw were applauded. At the end of the +month she made the venture; but everything tended to +disconcert her and added to her awkwardness; the +hostility that she could feel in the atmosphere, the smiles +of astonishment and pity that played about the lips of +the spectators when she took her place in the dancers' +enclosure. She was so absurd and so laughed at, that +she had not the courage to make a second attempt. She +buried herself gloomily in her dark corner, only leaving +it to hunt up Jupillon and carry him off, with the mute +violence of a wife dragging her husband out of the +wineshop and leading him home by the arm.</p> + +<p>It was soon rumored in the street that Germinie went +to these balls, that she never missed one of them. The +fruit woman, at whose shop Adèle had already held +forth, sent her son "to see;" he returned with a confirmation +of the rumor, and told of all the petty annoyances +to which Germinie was subjected, but which did +not keep her from returning. Thereafter there was no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +more doubt in the quarter as to the relations between +mademoiselle's servant and Jupillon—relations which +some charitable souls had hitherto persisted in denying. +The scandal burst out, and in a week the poor girl, +berated by all the slanderous tongues in the quarter, +baptized and saluted by the vilest names in the language +of the streets, fell at a blow from the most emphatically +expressed esteem to the most brutally advertised +contempt.</p> + +<p>Thus far her pride—and it was very great—had procured +for her the respect and consideration which is +bestowed, in the lorette quarters, upon a servant who +honestly serves a virtuous mistress. She had become +accustomed to respect and deference and attention. +She stood apart from her comrades. Her unassailable +probity, her conduct, as to which not a word could be +said, her confidential relations with mademoiselle, which +caused her mistress's honorable character to be reflected +upon her, led the shopkeeper to treat her on a different +footing from the other maids. They addressed her, cap +in hand; they always called her <i>Mademoiselle Germinie</i>. +They hurried to wait upon her; they offered her the only +chair in the shop when she had to wait. Even when she +contended over prices they were still polite with her and +never called her <i>haggler</i>. Jests that were somewhat too +broad were cut short when she appeared. She was +invited to the great banquets, to family parties, and +consulted upon business matters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Everything changed as soon as her relations with +Jupillon and her assiduous attendance at the <i>Boule-Noire</i> +were known. The quarter took its revenge for +having respected her. The brazen-faced maids in the +house accosted her as one of their own kind. One, +whose lover was at Mazas, called her: "My dear." +The men accosted her familiarly, and with all the +intimacy of thee and thou in glance and gesture and +tone and touch. The very children on the sidewalk, +who were formerly trained to courtesy politely to her, +ran away from her as from a person of whom they had +been told to be afraid. She felt that she was being +maligned behind her back, handed over to the devil. +She could not take a step without walking through scorn +and receiving a blow from her shame upon the cheek.</p> + +<p>It was a horrible affliction to her. She suffered as if +her honor were being torn from her, shred by shred, +and dragged in the gutter. But the more she suffered, +the closer she pressed her love to her heart and clung to +him. She bore him no ill-will, she uttered no word of +reproach to him. She attached herself to him by all +the tears he caused her pride to shed. And now, in the +street through which she passed but a short time ago, +proudly and with head erect, she could be seen, bent +double as if crouching over her fault, hurrying furtively +along, with oblique glances, dreading to be recognized, +quickening her pace in front of the shops that swept +their slanders out upon her heels.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XVIII</h2> + + +<p>Jupillon was constantly complaining that he was tired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +of working for others, that he could not set up for himself, +that he could not find fifteen or eighteen hundred +francs in his mother's purse. He needed no more than +that, he said, to hire a couple of rooms on the ground +floor and set up as a glover in a small way. Indeed he +was already dreaming of what he might do and laying +out his plans: he would open a shop in the quarter, an +excellent quarter for his business, as it was full of purchasers, +and of makers of wretched gloves at five francs. +He would soon add a line of perfumery and cravats to +his gloves; and then, when he had made a tidy sum, he +would sell out and take a fine shop on Rue de Richelieu.</p> + +<p>Whenever he mentioned the subject Germinie asked +him innumerable questions. She wanted to know everything +that was necessary to start in business. She made +him tell her the names of the tools and appurtenances, +give her an idea of their prices and where they could be +bought. She questioned him as to his trade and the details +of his work so inquisitively and persistently that Jupillon +lost his patience at last and said to her:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's all this to you? The work sickens me +enough now; don't mention it to me!"</p> + +<p>One Sunday she walked toward Montmartre with him. +Instead of taking Rue Frochot she turned into Rue Pigalle.</p> + +<p>"Why, this ain't the way, is it?" said Jupillon.</p> + +<p>"I know what I'm about," said she, "come on."</p> + +<p>She had taken his arm, and she walked on, turning her +head slightly away from him so that he could not see what +was taking place on her face. Half way along Rue Fontaine +Saint-Georges, she halted abruptly in front of two +windows on the ground floor of a house, and said to +him: "Look!"</p> + +<p>She was trembling with joy.</p> + +<p>Jupillon looked; he saw between the two windows, +on a glistening copper plate:</p> + +<div class="nanospace"> </div> +<div class="center"> +<i>Magasin de Ganterie.</i><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jupillon.</span> +</div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + +<p>He saw white curtains at the first window. Through +the glass in the other he saw pigeon-holes and boxes, +and, near the window, the little glover's cutting board, +with the great shears, the jar for clippings, and the knife +to make holes in the skins in order to stretch them.</p> + +<p>"The concierge has your key," she said.</p> + +<p>They entered the first room, the shop.</p> + +<p>She at once set about showing him everything. She +opened the boxes and laughed. Then she pushed open +the door into the other room. "There, you won't be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +stifled there as you are in the loft at your mother's. Do +you like it? Oh! it isn't handsome, but it's clean. +I'd have liked to give you mahogany. Do you like that +little rug by the bed? And the paper—I didn't think +of that——" She put a receipt for the rent in his hand. +"See! this is for six months. Dame! you must go to +work right off and earn some money. The few sous I +had laid by are all gone. Oh! let me sit down. You +look so pleased—it gives me a turn—it makes my head +spin. I haven't any legs."</p> + +<p>And she sank into a chair. Jupillon stooped over her +to kiss her.</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes, they're not there any longer," she said, +seeing that he was looking for her earrings. "They've +gone like my rings. D'ye see, all gone——"</p> + +<p>And she showed him her hands, bare of the paltry +gems she had worked so long to buy.</p> + +<p>"They all went for the easy-chair, you see—but it's +all horsehair."</p> + +<p>As Jupillon stood in front of her with an embarrassed +air, as if he were trying to find words with which to +thank her, she continued:</p> + +<p>"Why, you're a funny fellow. What's the matter +with you? Ah! it's on that account, is it?" And she +pointed to the bedroom. "You're a stupid! I love you, +don't I? Well then?"</p> + +<p>Germinie said the words simply, as the heart says +sublime things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XIX</h2> + + +<p>She became <i>enceinte</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>At first she doubted, she dared not believe it. But +when she was certain of the fact, she was filled with +immeasurable joy, a joy that overflowed her heart. Her +happiness was so great and so overpowering that it stifled +at a single stroke the anguish, the fear, the inward trembling +that ordinarily disturb the maternity of unmarried +women and poisons their anticipations of childbirth, the +divine hope that lives and moves within them. The +thought of the scandal caused by the discovery of her +<i>liaison</i>, of the outcry in the quarter, the idea of the +abominable thing that had always made her think of +suicide: dishonor,—even the fear of being detected by +mademoiselle and dismissed by her—nothing of all this +could cast a shadow on her felicity. The child that she +expected allowed her to see nothing but it, as if she +had it already in her arms before her; and, hardly +attempting to conceal her condition, she bore her +woman's shame almost proudly through the streets, +exulting and radiant in the thought that she was to be +a mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was unhappy only because she had spent all her +savings, and was not only without money but had been +paid several months' wages in advance by her mistress. +She bitterly deplored having to receive her child in a +poor way. Often, as she passed through Rue Saint-Lazare, +she would stop in front of a linen-draper's, in +whose windows were displayed stores of rich baby-linen. +She would devour with her eyes the pretty, dainty flowered +garments, the piqué bibs, the long short-waisted +dresses trimmed with English embroidery, the whole +doll-like cherub's costume. A terrible longing,—the +longing of a pregnant woman,—to break the glass and +steal it all, would come upon her: the clerks standing +behind the display framework became accustomed to seeing +her take up her station there and would laughingly +point her out to one another.</p> + +<p>Again, at intervals, amid the happiness that overflowed +her heart, amid the ecstasy that exalted her being, +another disturbing thought passed through her mind. +She would ask herself how the father would welcome his +child. Two or three times she had attempted to tell +him of her condition but had not dared. At last, one +day, seeing that his face wore the expression she had +awaited so long as a preliminary to telling him everything, +an expression in which there was a touch of +affection, she confessed to him, blushing hotly and as if +asking his forgiveness, what it was that made her so +happy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's all imagination!" said Jupillon.</p> + +<p>And when she had assured him that it was not imagination +and that she was positively five months advanced +in pregnancy: "Just my luck!" the young man +rejoined. "Thanks!" And he swore. "Would you +mind telling me who's going to feed the sparrow?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! never you fear! it sha'n't suffer, I'll look out +for that. And then it'll be so pretty! Don't be afraid, +no one shall know anything about it. I'll fix myself up. +See! the last part of the time I'll walk like this, with +my head back—I won't wear any petticoats, and I'll +pull myself in—you'll see! Nobody shall notice anything, +I tell you. Just think of it! a little child of +our own!"</p> + +<p>"Well, as long as it's so, it's so, eh?" said the young +man.</p> + +<p>"Say," ventured Germinie, timidly, "suppose you +should tell your mother?"</p> + +<p>"Ma? Oh! no, I rather think not. You must lie +in first. After that we'll take the brat to the house. It +will give her a start, and perhaps she'll consent without +meaning to."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XX</h2> + + +<p>Twelfth Night arrived. It was the day on which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil gave a grand dinner-party +regularly every year. She invited all the children of +her own family or her old friends' families, great and +small. The small suite would hardly hold them all. +They were obliged to put part of the furniture on the +landing, and a table was set in each of the two rooms +which formed mademoiselle's whole suite. For the +children, that day was a great festival to which they +looked forward for a week. They came running up the +stairway behind the pastry-cook's men. At table they +ate too much without being scolded. At night, they +were unwilling to go to bed, they climbed on the chairs +and made a racket that always gave Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil a sick headache the next day; but she bore +them no grudge therefor: she had had the full enjoyment +of a genuine grandmother's fête, in listening to +them, looking at them, tying around their necks the +white napkins that made them look so rosy. And not +for anything in the world would she have failed to give +this dinner-party, which filled her old maid's apartments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +with the fair-haired little imps of Satan, and brought +thither, in a single day, an atmosphere of activity and +youth and laughter that lasted a whole year.</p> + +<p>Germinie was preparing the dinner. She was whipping +cream in an earthen bowl on her knees, when +suddenly she felt the first pains. She looked at her face +in the bit of a broken mirror that she had above her +kitchen dresser, and saw that she was pale. She went +down to Adèle: "Give me your mistress's rouge," she +said. And she put some on her cheeks. Then she +went up again, and, refusing to listen to the voice of +her suffering, finished cooking the dinner. It had to +be served, and she served it. At dessert, she leaned +against the furniture and grasped the backs of chairs +as she passed the plates, hiding her torture with +the ghastly set smile of people whose entrails are +writhing.</p> + +<p>"How's this, are you sick?" said her mistress, looking +sharply at her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mademoiselle, a little—it may be the charcoal +or the hot kitchen."</p> + +<p>"Go to bed—we don't need you any more, and you +can clean up to-morrow."</p> + +<p>She went down to Adèle once more.</p> + +<p>"It's come," she said; "call a cab quick. It was +Rue de la Huchette where you said your midwife lives, +wasn't it? opposite a copper planer's? Haven't you a +pen and paper?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>And she sat down to write a line to her mistress. She +told her that she was too ill to work, that she had gone +to the hospital, but would not tell her where, because +she would fatigue herself coming to see her; that she +would come back within a week.</p> + +<p>"There you are!" said Adèle, all out of breath, giving +her the number of the cab.</p> + +<p>"I can stay there," said Germinie; "not a word to +mademoiselle. That's all. Swear you won't say a +word to her!"</p> + +<p>She was descending the stairs when she met Jupillon.</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" said he, "where are you going? going +out?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to lie in——It took me during the +day. There was a great dinner-party here——Oh! +but it was hard work! Why do you come here? I +told you never to come; I don't want you to!"</p> + +<p>"Because——I'll tell you——because just now I +absolutely must have forty francs. 'Pon my word, I +must."</p> + +<p>"Forty francs! Why I have just that for the midwife!"</p> + +<p>"That's hard luck——look out! What do you +want to do?" And he offered his arm to assist her. +"<i>Cristi!</i> I'm going to have hard work to get 'em all +the same."</p> + +<p>He had opened the carriage door.</p> + +<p>"Where do you want him to take you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To La Bourbe," said Germinie. And she slipped +the forty francs into his hand.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Jupillon.</p> + +<p>"Oh! nonsense——there or somewhere else! Besides, +I have seven francs left."</p> + +<p>The cab started away.</p> + +<p>Jupillon stood for a moment motionless on the sidewalk, +looking at the two napoleons in his hand. Then +he ran after the cab, stopped it, and said to Germinie +through the window:</p> + +<p>"At least, I can go with you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am in too much pain, I'd rather be alone," +she replied, writhing on the cushions of the cab.</p> + +<p>After an endless half hour, the cab stopped on Rue +de Port-Royal, in front of a black door surmounted by +a violet lantern, which announced to such medical +students as happened to pass through the street that +there was that night, and at that moment, the curious +and interesting spectacle of a difficult labor in progress +at La Maternité.</p> + +<p>The driver descended from his box and rang. The +concierge, assisted by a female attendant, took Germinie's +arms and led her up-stairs to one of the four +beds in the <i>salle d'accouchement</i>. Once in bed, her +pains became somewhat less excruciating. She looked +about her, saw the other beds, all empty, and, at the +end of the immense room, a huge country-house fireplace +in which a bright fire was blazing, and in front of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +which, hanging upon iron bars, sheets and cloths and +bandages were drying.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Germinie gave birth to a little +girl. Her bed was moved into another room. She had +been there several hours, lost in the blissful after-delivery +weakness which follows the frightful agony of childbirth, +happy and amazed to find that she was still alive, swimming +in a sea of blessed relief and deeply penetrated +with the joy of having created. Suddenly a loud cry: +"I am dying!" caused her to turn her eyes in the +direction from which it came: she saw one of her +neighbors throw her arms around the neck of one of the +assistant nurses, fall back almost instantly, move a moment +under the clothes, then lie perfectly still. Almost +at the same instant, another shriek arose from a bed on +the other side, a horrible, piercing, terrified shriek, as of +one who sees death approaching: it was a woman calling +the young assistant, with desperate gestures; the +assistant ran to her, leaned over her, and fell in a dead +faint upon the floor.</p> + +<p>Thereupon silence reigned once more; but between +the two dead bodies and the half-dead assistant, whom +the cold floor did not restore to consciousness for more +than an hour, Germinie and the other women who were +still alive in the room lay quiet, not daring even to ring +the bell that hung beside each bed to call for help.</p> + +<p>Thereafter La Maternité was the scene of one of those +terrible puerperal epidemics which breathe death upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +human fecundity, of one of those cases of atmospheric +poisoning which empty, in a twinkling and by whole +rows, the beds of women lately delivered, and which +once caused the closing of La Clinique. They believed +that it was a visitation of the plague, a plague that +turns the face black in a few hours, carries all before it +and snatches up the youngest and the strongest, a plague +that issues from the cradle—the Black Plague of +mothers! All about Germinie, at all hours, especially +at night, women were dying such deaths as the milk-fever +causes, deaths that seemed to violate all nature's +laws, agonizing deaths, accompanied by wild shrieks +and troubled by hallucinations and delirium, death +agonies that compelled the application of the strait-waistcoat, +death agonies that caused the victims to leap +suddenly from their beds, carrying the clothes with them, +and causing the whole room to shudder at the thought +that they were dead bodies from the amphitheatre! +Life departed as if it were torn from the body. The +very disease assumed a ghastly shape and monstrous +aspect. The bedclothes were lifted in the centre by +the swelling caused by peritonitis, producing a vague, +horrifying effect in the lamplight.</p> + +<p>For five days Germinie, lying swathed and bandaged +in her bed, closing her eyes and ears as best she could, +had the strength to combat all these horrors, and yielded +to them only at long intervals. She was determined to +live, and she clung to her strength by thinking of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +child and of mademoiselle. But, on the sixth day, her +energy was exhausted, her courage forsook her. A cold +wave flowed into her heart. She said to herself that it +was all over. The hand that death lays upon one's +shoulder, the presentiment of death, was already touching +her. She felt the first breath of the epidemic, the +belief that she was its destined victim, and the impression +that she was already half-possessed by it. Although +unresigned, she succumbed. Her life, vanquished beforehand, +hardly made an effort to struggle. At that +crisis a head bent over her pillow, like a ray of light.</p> + +<p>It was the head of the youngest of the pupil-assistants, +a fair head, with long golden locks and blue eyes +so soft and sweet that the dying saw heaven opening its +gates therein. When they saw her, delirious women +said: "Look! the Blessed Virgin!"</p> + +<p>"My child," she said to Germinie, "you must ask +for your discharge at once. You must go away from +here. You must dress warmly. You must wrap up +well. As soon as you're at home and in bed, you must +take a hot draught of something or other. You must +try to take a sweat. Then, it won't do you any harm. +But go away from here. It wouldn't be healthy for you +here to-night," she said, glancing around at the beds. +"Don't say that I told you to go: you would get me +discharged if you should."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXI</h2> + + +<p>Germinie recovered in a few days. The joy and pride<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +of having given birth to a tiny creature in whom her +flesh was mingled with the flesh of the man she loved, +the bliss of being a mother, saved her from the natural +results of a confinement in which she did not receive +proper care. She was restored to health and had an +apparent pleasure in living that her mistress had never +before seen her manifest.</p> + +<p>Every Sunday, no matter what the weather might be, +she left the house about eleven o'clock; mademoiselle +believed that she went to see a friend in the country, +and was delighted that her maid derived so much benefit +from these days passed in the open air. Germinie would +capture Jupillon, who allowed himself to be taken in +tow without too much resistance, and they would start +for Pommeuse where the child was, and where a good +breakfast ordered by the mother awaited them. Once +in the carriage on the Mulhouse railway, Germinie +would not speak or reply when spoken to. She would +lean out of the window, and all her thoughts seemed to +be upon what lay before her. She gazed, as if her longing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +were striving to outrun the steam. The train would +hardly have stopped before she had leaped out, tossed +her ticket to the ticket-taker, and started at a run on the +Pommeuse road, leaving Jupillon behind. She drew +nearer and nearer, she could see the house, she was +there: yes, there was the child! She would pounce +upon her, snatch her from the nurse's arms with jealous +hands—a mother's hands!—hug her, strain her to her +heart, kiss her, devour her with kisses and looks and +smiles! She would gaze admiringly at her for an instant +and then, distraught with joy, mad with love, would +cover her with kisses to the tips of her little bare toes. +Breakfast would be served. She would sit at the table +with the child on her knees and eat nothing: she had +kissed her so much that she had not yet looked at her, +and she would begin to seek out points of resemblance +to themselves in the little one. One feature was his, +another hers:—"She has your nose and my eyes. Her +hair will be like yours in time. It will curl! Look, +those are your hands—she is all you." And for hours she +would continue the inexhaustible and charming prattle of +a woman who is determined to give a man his share of +their daughter. Jupillon submitted to it all with reasonably +good grace, thanks to divers three-sou cigars Germinie +always produced from her pocket and gave to him +one by one. Then he had found a means of diversion; +the Morin flowed at the foot of the garden. Jupillon +was a true Parisian: he loved to fish with a pole and line.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>And when summer came they stayed there all day, at +the foot of the garden, on the bank of the stream—Jupillon +on a laundry board resting on two stakes, pole +in hand, and Germinie sitting, with the child in her +skirts, under the medlar tree that overhung the stream. +On pleasant days, the sun poured down upon the broad +sparkling current, from which beams of light arose as +from a mirror. It was like a display of fireworks from +the sky and the stream, amid which Germinie would +hold the little girl upon her feet and let her trample +upon her with her little bare pink legs, in her short +baby dress, her skin shimmering in spots in the sunlight, +her flesh mottled with sunbeams like the flesh +of angels Germinie had seen in pictures. She had a +divinely sweet sensation when the little one, with the +active hands of children that cannot talk, touched her +chin and mouth and cheeks, persisted in putting her +fingers in her eyes, rested them playfully on the lids, +and kept them moving over her whole face, tickling +and tormenting her with the dear little digits that +seem to grope in the dark for a mother's features: +it was as if her child's life and warmth were wandering +over her face. From time to time she would +bestow half of her smile on Jupillon over the little +one's head, and would call to him: "Do look at +her!"</p> + +<p>Then the child would fall asleep with the open mouth +that laughs in sleep. Germinie would lean over her and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +listen to her breathing in repose. And, soothed by the +peaceful respiration, she would gradually forget herself +as she gazed dreamily at the poor abode of her happiness, +the rustic garden, the apple-trees with their leaves +covered with little yellow snails and the red-cheeked +apples on the southern limbs, the poles, at whose feet +the beanstalks, twisted and parched, were beginning to +climb, the square of cabbages, the four sunflowers in the +little circle in the centre of the path; and, close beside +her, on the edge of the stream, the patches of grass +covered with dog's mercury, the white heads of the nettles +against the wall, the washerwomen's boxes, the bottles +of lye and the bundle of straw scattered about by the +antics of a puppy just out of the water. She gazed and +dreamed. She thought of the past, having her future +on her knees. With the grass and the trees and the +river that were before her eyes, she reconstructed, in +memory, the rustic garden of her rustic childhood. She +saw again the two stones reaching down to the water, +from which her mother, when she was a little child, used +to wash her feet before putting her to bed in summertime.</p> + +<p>"Look you, Père Remalard," said Jupillon from his +board, on one of the hottest days in August, to the +peasant who was watching him,—"do you know they +won't bite at the red worm worth a sou?"</p> + +<p>"You must try the gentle," rejoined the peasant sententiously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right, I'll have my revenge with the gentle! +Père Remalard, you must get some calf's lights Thursday. +You hang 'em up in that tree, and Sunday we'll +see."</p> + +<p>On the Sunday Jupillon had miraculous success with +his fishing, and Germinie heard the first syllable issue +from her daughter's mouth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXII</h2> + + +<p>On Wednesday morning, when she came downstairs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +Germinie found a letter for herself. In that letter, +written on the back of a laundry receipt, the Remalard +woman informed her that her child had fallen sick +almost immediately after her departure; that she had +grown steadily worse; that she had consulted the doctor; +that he said some insect had stung the child; that +she had been to him a second time; that she did not +know what more to do; that she had had pilgrimages +made for her. The letter concluded thus: "If you +could see how troubled I am for your little one—if you +could see how good she is when she isn't suffering!"</p> + +<p>This letter produced upon Germinie the effect of +a push from behind. She went out and instinctively +walked toward the railroad that would take her to her +little one. Her hair was uncombed and she was in her +slippers, but she did not think of that. She must see +her child, she must see her instantly. Then she would +come back. She thought of mademoiselle's breakfast +for a moment, then forgot it. Suddenly, half-way to +the station, she saw a clock at a cab office and noticed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +the hour: she remembered that there was no train at +that time. She retraced her steps, saying to herself that +she would hurry the breakfast and then make some +excuse to be given her liberty for the rest of the day. +But when the breakfast was served she could find none: +her mind was so full of her child that she could not +invent a falsehood; her imagination was benumbed. +And then, if she had spoken, if she had made the +request, she would have betrayed herself; she could feel +the words upon her lips: "I want to go and see my +child!" At night she dared not make her escape; +mademoiselle had been a little indisposed the night +before; she was afraid that she might need her.</p> + +<p>The next morning when she entered mademoiselle's +room with a fable she had invented during the night, all +ready to ask for leave of absence, mademoiselle said to +her, looking up from a letter that had just been sent +up to her from the lodge: "Ah! my old friend De +Belleuse wants you for the whole day to-day, to help her +with her preserves. Come, give me my two eggs, post-haste, +and off with you. Eh? what! doesn't that suit +you? What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"With me? why nothing at all!" Germinie found +strength to say.</p> + +<p>All that endless day she passed standing over hot +stewpans and sealing up jars, in the torture known only +to those whom the chances of life detain at a distance +from the sick bed of those dear to them. She suffered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +such heart-rending agony as those unhappy creatures +suffer who cannot go where their anxiety calls them, +and who, in the extremity of despair caused by separation +and uncertainty, constantly imagine that death will +come in their absence.</p> + +<p>As she received no letter Thursday evening and none +Friday morning, she took courage. If the little one were +growing worse the nurse would have written her. The +little one was better: she imagined her saved, cured. +Children are forever coming near dying, and they get +well so quickly! And then hers was strong. She decided +to wait, to be patient until Sunday, which was only +forty-eight hours away, deceiving the remainder of her +fears with the superstitions that say yes to hope, persuading +herself that her daughter had "escaped," +because the first person she met in the morning was a +man, because she had seen a red horse in the street, +because she had guessed that a certain person would turn +into a certain street, because she had ascended a flight +of stairs in so many strides.</p> + +<p>On Saturday, in the morning, when she entered Mère +Jupillon's shop, she found her weeping hot tears over a +lump of butter that she was covering with a moist cloth.</p> + +<p>"Ah! it's you, is it?" said Mère Jupillon. "That +poor charcoal woman! See, I'm actually crying over +her! She just went away from here. You don't know—they +can't get their faces clean in their trade with anything +but butter. And here's her love of a daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>—she's +at death's door, you know, the dear child. That's +the way it is with us! Ah! <i>mon Dieu</i>, yes!—Well, as +I was saying, she said to her just now like this: 'Mamma, +I want you to wash my face in butter right away—for the +good God.'"</p> + +<p>And Mère Jupillon began to sob.</p> + +<p>Germinie had fled. All that day she was unable to +keep still. Again and again she went up to her chamber +to prepare the few things she proposed to take to her +little one the next day, to dress her cleanly, to make a +little special toilet for her in honor of her recovery. As +she went down in the evening to put Mademoiselle to +bed, Adèle handed her a letter that she had found for +her below.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXIII</h2> + + +<p>Mademoiselle had begun to undress, when Germinie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +entered her bedroom, walked a few steps, dropped upon +a chair, and almost immediately, after two or three long-drawn, +deep, heart-breaking sighs, mademoiselle saw +her throw herself backward, wringing her hands, and at +last roll from the chair to the floor. She tried to lift her +up, but Germinie was shaken by such violent convulsions +that the old woman was obliged to let the frantic body +fall again upon the floor; for all the limbs, which were +for a moment contracted and rigid, lashed out to right +and left, at random, with the sharp report of the trigger +of a rifle, and threw down whatever they came in contact +with. At mademoiselle's shrieks on the landing, a +maid ran to a doctor's office near by but did not find +him; four other women employed in the house assisted +mademoiselle to lift Germinie up and carry her to the +bed in her mistress's room, on which they laid her after +cutting her corset lacings.</p> + +<p>The terrible convulsions, the nervous contortions of +the limbs, the snapping of the tendons had ceased; but +her neck and her breast, which was uncovered where her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +dress was unbuttoned, moved up and down as if waves +were rising and falling under the skin, and the rustling +of the skirts showed that the movement extended to her +feet. Her head thrown back, her face flushed, her eyes +full of melancholy tenderness, of the patient agony we +see in the eyes of the wounded, the great veins clearly +marked under her chin, Germinie, breathing hard and +paying no heed to questions, raised her hands to her +neck and throat and clawed at them; she seemed to +be trying to tear out the sensation of something rising +and falling within her. In vain did they make her inhale +ether and drink orange-flower water; the waves of grief +that flowed through her body did not cease their action; +and her face continued to wear the same expression +of gentle melancholy and sentimental anxiety, which +seemed to place the suffering of the heart above the +suffering of the flesh in every feature. For a long time +everything seemed to wound her senses and to produce +a painful effect upon them—the bright light, the sound +of voices, the odor of the things about her. At last, +after an hour or more, a deluge of tears suddenly poured +from her eyes and put an end to the terrible crisis. +After that there was nothing more than an occasional +convulsive shudder in the overburdened body, soon +quieted by weariness and by general prostration. It was +possible to carry Germinie to her own room.</p> + +<p>The letter Adèle handed her contained the news of +her daughter's death.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXIV</h2> + + +<p>As a result of this crisis, Germinie fell into a state of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +dumb, brutish sorrow. For months she was insensible +to everything; for months, completely possessed and +absorbed by the thought of the little creature that was +no more, she carried her child's death in her entrails as +she had carried her life. Every evening, when she went +up to her chamber, she took the poor darling's little +cap and dress from the trunk at the foot of her bed. +She would gaze at them and touch them; she would lay +them out on the bed; she would sit for hours weeping +over them, kissing them, talking to them, saying the +things that a mother's bitter sorrow is wont to say to a +little daughter's ghost.</p> + +<p>While weeping for her daughter the unhappy creature +wept for herself as well. A voice whispered to her that +she was saved had the child lived; that to have that +child to love was her Providence; that all that she +dreaded in herself would be expended upon that dear +head and be sanctified there—her affections, her unreasoning +impulses, her ardor, all the passions of her +nature. It seemed to her that she had felt her mother's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +heart soothing and purifying her woman's heart. In her +daughter she saw a sort of celestial vision that would +redeem her and make her whole, a little angel of +deliverance as it were, issuing from her errors to fight +for her and rescue her from the evil influences which +pursued her and by which she sometimes thought that +she was possessed.</p> + +<p>When she began to recover from the first prostration +of despair, when, as the consciousness of life and the +perception of objects returned to her, she looked about +her with eyes that saw, she was aroused from her grief +by a more poignant cause of bitterness of spirit.</p> + +<p>Madame Jupillon, who had become too stout and too +heavy to do what it was necessary for her to do at the +creamery, notwithstanding all the assistance rendered by +Germinie, had sent to her province for a niece of hers. +She was the embodiment of the blooming youth of the +country, a woman in whom there was still something of +the child, active and vivacious, with black eyes full of +sunlight, lips as round and red as cherries, the summer +heat of her province in her complexion, the warmth of +perfect health in her blood. Impulsive and ingenuous +as she was, the girl had, at first, drawn near to her +cousin, simply and naturally, obeying the law of attraction +that draws the young toward the young. She had +met his friendly advances with the immodesty of innocence, +artless effrontery, the liberties taught by life in +the country, the happy folly of a nature abounding in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +high spirits, and with all sorts of ignorant hardihood, +unblushing ingenuousness and rustic coquetry, against +which her cousin's vanity was without means of defence. +The child's presence deprived Germinie of all hope of +repose. Mere girl as she was, she wounded her every +minute in the day by her presence, her touch, her +caresses, everything in her amorous body that spoke of +love. Her preoccupation with Jupillon, the work that +kept them constantly together, the provincial wonderment +that she constantly exhibited, the half-confidences +she allowed to come to her lips when the young man had +gone, her gayety, her jests, her healthy good-humor—everything +helped to exasperate Germinie and to arouse +a sullen wrath within her; everything wounded that +jealous heart, so jealous that the very animals caused it a +bitter pang by seeming to love someone whom it loved.</p> + +<p>She dared not speak to Mère Jupillon and denounce +the little one to her, for fear of betraying herself; but +whenever she found herself alone with Jupillon she +vented her feelings in recriminations, complaints and +quarrels. She would remind him of an incident, a word, +something he had done or said, some answer he had made, +a trifle forgotten by him but still bleeding in her heart.</p> + +<p>"Are you mad?" Jupillon would say to her; "a slip +of a girl!"—"A slip of a girl, eh? nonsense!—when +she has such eyes that all the men stare at her in the +street! I went out with her the other day—I was +ashamed—I don't know how she did it, but we were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +followed by a gentleman all the time."—"Well, what if +you were? She's a pretty girl, you know!"—"Pretty! +pretty!" And at that word Germinie would hurl herself, +figuratively speaking, at the girl's face, and claw it +to pieces with frantic words.</p> + +<p>Often she would end by saying to Jupillon: "Look +here! you love her!"—"Well! what then?" he would +retort, highly entertained by these disputes, by the opportunity +to watch the antics of this fierce wrath which he +fanned with pretended sulkiness, and by the excitement +of trifling with the woman, whom he saw to be half +insane under his sarcasms and his indifference, stumbling +wildly about and running her head against stone +walls in the first paroxysms of madness.</p> + +<p>As a result of these scenes, repeated almost every day, +a revolution took place in that excitable, extreme character, +which knew no middle course, in that heart in +which the most violent passions were constantly clashing. +Love, in which poison had long been at work, +became decomposed and changed to hate. Germinie +began to detest her lover and to seek out every possible +pretext for hating him more. And her thoughts recurred +to her daughter, to the loss of her child, to the cause of +her death, and she persuaded herself that he had killed +her. She looked upon him as an assassin. She conceived +a horror of him, she avoided him, fled from him +as from the evil genius of her life, with the terror that +one has of a person who is one's Bane!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXV</h2> + + +<p>One morning, after a night passed by her in turning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +over and over in her mind all her despairing, hate-ridden +thoughts, Germinie went to the creamery for her +four sous' worth of milk and found in the back-shop +three or four maids from the neighborhood engaged in +"taking an eye-opener." They were seated at a table, +gossiping and sipping liqueurs.</p> + +<p>"Aha!" said Adèle, striking the table with her glass; +"you here already, Mademoiselle de Varandeuil?"</p> + +<p>"What's this?" said Germinie, taking Adèle's glass; +"I'd like some myself."</p> + +<p>"Are you so thirsty as all that this morning? Brandy +and absinthe, that's all!—my soldier boy's <i>tap</i>, you +know,—he never drank anything else. It's a little stiff, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes," said Germinie, contracting her lips and +winking like a child who is given a glass of liqueur with +the dessert at a grand dinner-party.</p> + +<p>"It's good, all the same." Her spirits rose. "Madame +Jupillon, let's have the bottle—I'll pay."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>And she tossed money on the table. After the third +glass, she cried: "I am <i>tight</i>!" And she roared with +laughter.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had gone out that morning +to collect her half-yearly income. When she returned +at eleven o'clock, she rang once, twice! no one +came. "Ah!" she said to herself, "she must have +gone down." She opened the door with her key, went +to her bedroom and looked in: the mattress and bedclothes +lay in a heap on two chairs, and Germinie was +stretched out across the straw under-mattress, sleeping +heavily, like a log, in the utterly relaxed condition following +a sudden attack of lethargy.</p> + +<p>At the noise made by mademoiselle, Germinie sprang +to her feet and passed her hand over her eyes.—"Yes?" +she said, as if some one had called her; her eyes were +wandering.</p> + +<p>"What's happened?" said Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +in alarm; "did you fall? Is anything the matter +with you?"</p> + +<p>"With me? no," Germinie replied; "I fell asleep. +What time is it? Nothing's the matter. Ah! what a +fool!"</p> + +<p>And she began to shake the mattress, turning her +back to her mistress to hide the flush of intoxication on +her face.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXVI</h2> + + +<p>One Sunday morning Jupillon was dressing in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +room Germinie had furnished for him. His mother was +sitting by, gazing at him with the wondering pride expressed +in the eyes of mothers among the common people +in presence of a son who dresses like a <i>monsieur</i>.</p> + +<p>"You're dressed up like the young man on the first +floor!" she said. "I should think it was his coat. I +don't mean to say fine things don't look well on you, +too——"</p> + +<p>Jupillon, intent upon tying his cravat, made no reply.</p> + +<p>"You'll play the deuce with the poor girls to-day!" +continued Mère Jupillon, giving to her voice an accent +of insinuating sweetness: "Look you, bibi, let me tell +you this, you great bad boy: if a young woman goes +wrong, so much the worse for her! that's their look-out. +You're a man, aren't you? you've got the age and the +figure and everything. I can't always keep you in leading-strings. +So, I said to myself, as well one as another. +That one will do. And I fixed her so that she wouldn't +see anything. Yes, Germinie would do, as you seemed +to like her. That prevented you from wasting your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +money on bad women—and then I didn't see anything +out of the way in the girl till now. But now it won't +do at all. They're telling stories in the quarter—a heap +of horrible things about us. A pack of vipers! We're +above all that, I know. When one has been an honest +woman all her life, thank God! But you never know +what will happen—mademoiselle would only have to put +the end of her nose into her maid's affairs. Why there's +the law—the bare idea gives me a turn. What do you +say to that, bibi, eh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dame</i>, mamma,—whatever you please."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I knew you loved your dear darling mamma!" +exclaimed the monstrous creature embracing him. +"Well! invite her to dinner to-night. You can get +up two bottles of our Lunel—at two francs—the heady +kind. And be sure she comes. Make eyes at her, so +that she'll think to-day's the great day. Put on your +fine gloves: they'll make you look more dignified."</p> + +<p>Germinie arrived at seven o'clock, happy and bright +and hopeful, her head filled with blissful dreams by the +mysterious air with which Jupillon delivered his mother's +invitation. They dined and drank and made merry. +Mère Jupillon began to cast glances expressive of deep +emotion, drowned in tears, upon the couple sitting +opposite her. When the coffee was served, she said, as +if for the purpose of being left alone with Germinie: +"Bibi, you know you have an errand to do this +evening."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Jupillon went out. Madame Jupillon, as she sipped +her coffee, turned to Germinie the face of a mother +seeking to learn her daughter's secret, and, in her indulgence, +forgiving her in advance of her confession. +For a moment the two women sat thus, silent, one waiting +for the other to speak, the other with the cry of her +heart on her lips. Suddenly Germinie rushed from her +chair into the stout woman's arms.</p> + +<p>"If you knew, Madame Jupillon!"</p> + +<p>She talked and wept and embraced her all at once. +"Oh! you won't be angry with me! Well! yes, I +love him—I've had a child by him. It's true, I love +him. Three years ago——"</p> + +<p>At every word Madame Jupillon's face became sterner +and more icy. She coldly pushed Germinie away, and +in her most doleful voice, with an accent of lamentation +and hopeless desolation, she began, like a person +who is suffocating: "Oh! my God—you!—tell me +such things as that!—me!—his mother!—to my face! +My God, must it be? My son—a child—an innocent +child! You've had the face to ruin him for me! And +now you tell me that you did it! No, it ain't possible, +my God! And I had such confidence. There's nothing +worth living for. There's no trusting anybody in +this world! All the same, mademoiselle, I wouldn't +ever 'a' believed it of you. <i>Dame!</i> such things give +me a turn. Ah! this upsets me completely. I know +myself, and I'm quite likely to be sick after this——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Madame Jupillon! Madame Jupillon!" Germinie +murmured in an imploring tone, half dead with shame +and grief on the chair on which she had fallen. "I beg +you to forgive me. It was stronger than I was. And +then I thought—I believed——"</p> + +<p>"You believed! Oh! my God; you believed! What +did you believe? That you'd be my son's wife, eh? Ah! +Lord God! is it possible, my poor child?"</p> + +<p>And adopting a more and more plaintive and lamentable +tone as the words she hurled at Germinie cut deeper +and deeper, Mère Jupillon continued: "But, my poor +girl, you must have a reason, let's hear it. What did I +always tell you? That it would be all right if you'd been +born ten years earlier. Let's see, your date was 1820, +you told me, and now it's '49. You're getting on +toward thirty, you see, my dear child. I say! it makes +me feel bad to say that to you—I'd so much rather not +hurt you. But a body only has to look at you, my poor +young lady. What can I do? It's your age—your hair—I +can lay my finger in the place where you part it."</p> + +<p>"But," said Germinie, in whose heart black wrath +was beginning to rumble, "what about what your son +owes me? My money? The money I took out of +the savings bank, the money I borrowed for him, the +money I——"</p> + +<p>"Money? he owes you money? Oh! yes, what you +lent him to begin business with. Well! what about it? +Do you think we're thieves? Does anyone want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +cheat you out of your old money, although there wasn't +any paper—I know it because the other day—it just +occurs to me—that honest man of a child of mine wanted +to write it down for fear he might die. But the next +minute we're pickpockets, as glib as you please! Oh! +my God, it's hardly worth while living in such times as +these! Ah! I'm well paid for getting attached to you! +But I see through it now. You're a politician, you are! +You wanted to pay yourself with my son, for his whole +life! Excuse me! No, thank you! It costs less to +give back your money! A café waiter's leavings! my +poor dear boy! God preserve him from it!"</p> + +<p>Germinie had snatched her shawl and hat from the +hook and was out of doors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXVII</h2> + + +<p>Mademoiselle was sitting in her large armchair at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +corner of the fireplace, where a few live embers were +still sleeping under the ashes. Her black cap was pulled +down over her wrinkled forehead almost to her eyes. +Her black dress, cut in the shape of a child's frock, was +draped in scanty folds about her scanty body, showing +the location of every bone, and fell straight from her +knees to the floor. She wore a small black shawl crossed +on her breast and tied behind her back, as they are worn +by little girls. Her half-open hands were resting on her +hips, with the palms turned outward—thin, old woman's +hands, awkward and stiff, and swollen with gout at the +knuckles and finger joints. Sitting in the huddled, +crouching posture that compels old people to raise their +heads to look at you and speak to you, she seemed to +be buried in all that mass of black, whence nothing +emerged but her face, to which preponderance of bile +had imparted the yellow hue of old ivory, and the flashing +glance of her brown eyes. One who saw her thus, +her bright, sparkling eyes, the meagre body, the garb of +poverty and the noble air with which she bore all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +burdens of age, might well have fancied that he was +looking at a fairy on the stage of the Petits-Ménages.</p> + +<p>Germinie was by her side. The old lady began:</p> + +<p>"The list is still under the door, eh, Germinie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, my girl," Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +resumed, after a pause, "do you know that when +one is born in one of the finest houses on Rue Royale—when +one has been in a fair way to own the Grand and +Petit-Charolais—when one has almost had the Château +of Clichy-la-Garenne for a country house—and when it +took two servants to carry the silver platter on which +the joint was served at your grandmother's—do you +know that it takes no small amount of philosophy"—and +mademoiselle with difficulty raised a hand to her +shoulder—"to see yourself end like this, in this devilish +nest of rheumatism, where, in spite of all the list in the +world, you can't keep out of draughts.—That's it, stir up +the fire a little."</p> + +<p>She put out her feet toward Germinie, who was kneeling +in front of the fireplace, and laughingly placed them +under her nose: "Do you know that that takes no small +amount of philosophy—to wear stockings out at heel! +Simpleton! I'm not scolding you; I know well enough +that you can't do everything. So you might as well have +a woman come to do the mending. That's not very +much to do. Why don't you speak to that little girl that +came here last year? She had a face that I remember."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! she's black as a mole, mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"Bah! I knew it. In the first place you never think +well of anybody. That isn't true, you say? Why, +wasn't she a niece of Mère Jupillon's? We might take +her for one or two days a week."</p> + +<p>"That hussy shall never set foot here."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, more fables! You're a most astonishing +creature, to adore people and then not want to see them +again. What has she done to you?"</p> + +<p>"She's a lost creature, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"Bah! what does my linen care for that?"</p> + +<p>"But, mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"All right! find me someone else then. I don't care +about her particularly. But find me someone."</p> + +<p>"Oh! the women that come in like that don't do any +work. I'll mend your clothes. You don't need any +one."</p> + +<p>"You!—Oh! if we have to rely on your needle!" +said mademoiselle jocosely; "and then, will Mère +Jupillon ever give you the time?"</p> + +<p>"Madame Jupillon? Oh! for all the dust I shall +ever leave in her house again!"</p> + +<p>"Hoity-toity! What's that? She too! so she's on +your black books, is she? Oho! hurry up and make +another acquaintance, or else, <i>bon Dieu de Dieu</i>! we +shall have some bad days here!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXVIII</h2> + + +<p>The winter of that year should certainly have assured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil a share of paradise hereafter. +She had to undergo the reflex action of her +maid's chagrin, her nervous irritability, the vengeance +of her embittered, contradictory moods, which the +approaching spring would ere long infect with that +species of malignant madness which the critical season, +the travail of nature and the restless, disturbing fructification +of the summer cause in unhealthily sensitive +organizations.</p> + +<p>Germinie was forever wiping eyes which no longer +wept, but which had once wept copiously. She was +always ready with an everlasting: "Nothing's the +matter, mademoiselle!" uttered in the tone that covers +a secret. She adopted dumb, despairing, funereal attitudes, +the airs by which a woman's body diffuses melancholy +and makes her very shadow a bore. With her +face, her glance, her mouth, the folds of her dress, her +presence, the noise she made at work in the adjoining +room, even with her silence, she enveloped mademoiselle +in the despair that exhaled from her person. At the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +slightest word she would bristle up. Mademoiselle +could not address an observation to her, ask her the +most trivial question, give her an order or express a +wish: everything was taken by her as a reproach. And +thereupon she would act like a madwoman. She would +wipe her eyes and grumble: "Oh! I am very unfortunate! +I can see that mademoiselle doesn't care for +me any more!" Her spite against various people vented +itself in sublimely ingenious complaints. "That woman +always comes when it rains!" she would say, upon discovering +a bit of mud that Madame de Belleuse had left +on the carpet. During the week following New Year's +Day, the week when all of Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's +remaining relatives and friends, rich and poor alike, +climbed the five flights and waited on the landing at her +door for their turns to occupy the six chairs in her bedroom, +Germinie redoubled her ill-humor, her impertinent +remarks, her sulky muttering. Inventing grievances +against her mistress, she punished her constantly +by a persistent silence, which it was impossible to break. +Then there would be periods of frenzied industry. +Mademoiselle would hear through the partitions on all +sides furious manipulation of the broom and duster, +the sharp, vicious scrubbing and slamming of the servant +whom one imagines muttering to herself as she maltreats +the furniture: "Oh! yes, I'll do your work for you!"</p> + +<p>Old people are patient with servants who have been +long in their service. Long habit, the weakening will-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>power, +the horror of change, the dread of new faces,—everything +disposes them to weakness and cowardly +concessions. Notwithstanding her quick temper, her +promptness to lose her head, to fly into a rage, to +breathe fire and flame, mademoiselle said nothing. She +acted as if she saw nothing. She pretended to be reading +when Germinie entered the room. She waited, +curled up in her easy-chair, until the maid's ill-humor +had blown over or burst. She bent her back before the +storm; she said no word, had no thought of bitterness +against her. She simply pitied her for causing herself +so much suffering.</p> + +<p>In truth Germinie was not Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's +maid; she was Devotion, waiting to close her +eyes. The solitary old woman, overlooked by death, +alone at the end of her life, dragging her affections +from grave to grave, had found her last friend in her +servant. She had rested her heart upon her as upon an +adopted daughter, and she was especially unhappy because +she was powerless to comfort her. Moreover, at +intervals, Germinie returned to her from the depths of +her brooding melancholy and her savage humor, and +threw herself on her knees before her kind heart. +Suddenly, at a ray of sunlight, a beggar's song, or any +one of the nothings that float in the air and expand +the heart, she would burst into tears and demonstrations +of affection; her heart would overflow with burning +emotions, she would seem to feel a pleasure in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +embracing her mistress, as if the joy of living again had +effaced everything. At other times some trifling ailment +of mademoiselle's would bring about the change; +a smile would come to the old servant's face and gentleness +to her hands. Sometimes, at such moments, +mademoiselle would say: "Come, my girl—something's +the matter. Tell me what it is." And Germinie +would reply: "No, mademoiselle, it's the weather."—"The +weather!" mademoiselle would repeat with a +doubtful air, "the weather!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXIX</h2> + + +<p>One evening in March the Jupillons, mother and son,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +were talking together by the stove in their back-shop.</p> + +<p>Jupillon had been drafted. The money his mother +had put aside to purchase his release had been used up +as a result of six months of poor business and by credits +given to certain <i>lorettes</i> on the street, who had left the +key under their door-mat one fine morning. He had +not prospered, in a business way, himself, and his stock +in trade had been taken on execution. He had been +that day to ask a former employer to advance him the +money to purchase a substitute. But the old perfumer +had not forgiven him for leaving him and setting up for +himself, and he refused point-blank.</p> + +<p>Mère Jupillon, in despair, was complaining tearfully. +She repeated the number drawn by her son: "Twenty-two! +twenty-two!" And she said: "And yet I sewed +a black spider into your <i>paletot</i> with his web; a <i>velvety</i> +fellow he was! Oh, dear! I ought to have done as they +told me and made you wear the cap you were baptized +in. Ah! the good God ain't fair! There's the fruit +woman's son drew a lucky number! That comes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +being honest! And those two sluts at number eighteen +must go and hook it with my money! I might have +known they meant something by the way they shook +hands. They did me out of more than seven hundred +francs, did you know it? And the black creature opposite—and +that infernal girl as had the face to eat pots of +strawberries at twenty francs! they might as well have +taken me too, the hussies! But you haven't gone yet +all the same. I'd rather sell the creamery—I'll go out +to work again, do cooking or housekeeping,—anything! +Why, I'd draw money from a stone for you!"</p> + +<p>Jupillon smoked and let his mother do the talking. +When she had finished, he said: "That'll do for talk, +mamma!—all that's nothing but words. You'll spoil +your digestion and it ain't worth while. You needn't +sell anything—you needn't strain yourself at all—I'll +buy my substitute and it sha'n't cost you a sou;—do you +want to bet on it?"</p> + +<p>"Jesus!" ejaculated Madame Jupillon.</p> + +<p>"I have an idea."</p> + +<p>After a pause, Jupillon continued: "I didn't want to +make trouble with you on account of Germinie—you +know, at the time the stories about us were going round; +you thought it was time for me to break with her—that +she would be in our way—and you kicked her out of the +house, stiff. That wasn't my idea—I didn't think she +was so bad as all that for the family butter. But, however, +you thought best to do it. And perhaps, after all,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +you did the best thing; instead of cooling her off, you +warmed her up for me—yes, warmed her up—I've met +her once or twice—and she's changed, I tell you. Gad! +how she's drying up!"</p> + +<p>"But you know very well she hasn't got a sou."</p> + +<p>"I don't say she has, of her own. But what's that +got to do with it? She'll find it somewhere. She's good +for twenty-three hundred shiners yet!"</p> + +<p>"But suppose you get mixed up in it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! she won't steal 'em——"</p> + +<p>"The deuce she won't!"</p> + +<p>"Well! if she does, it won't be from anyone but her +mistress. Do you suppose her mademoiselle would have +her pinched for that? She'll turn her off, and that'll +be the end of it. We'll advise her to try the air in +another quarter—off she goes!—and we sha'n't see her +again. But it would be too stupid for her to steal. +She'll arrange it somehow, she'll hunt round and turn +things over. I don't know how, not I! but that's her +affair, you understand. This is the time for her to show +her talents. By the way, perhaps you don't know, they +say her old woman's sick. If the dear lady should happen +to step out and leave her all the stuff, as the story +goes in the quarter—why, it wouldn't be a bad thing +to have played see-saw with her, eh, mamma? We must +put on gloves, you see, mamma, when we're dealing +with people who may have four or five thousand a year +come tumbling into their aprons."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! my God! what are you talking about? But +after the way I treated her—oh! no, she'll never come +back here."</p> + +<p>"Well! I tell you I'll bring her back—and to-night +at the latest," said Jupillon, rising, and rolling a cigarette +between his fingers. "No excuses, you know," he +said to his mother, "they won't do any good—and +be cold to her. Act as if you received her only on +my account, because you are weak. No one knows +what may happen, we must always keep an anchor to +windward."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXX</h2> + + +<p>Jupillon was walking back and forth on the sidewalk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +in front of Germinie's house when she came out.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, Germinie," he said, behind her.</p> + +<p>She turned as if she had been struck, and, without +answering his greeting, instinctively moved on a few +steps as if to fly from him.</p> + +<p>"Germinie!"</p> + +<p>Jupillon said nothing more than that; he did not +follow her, he did not move. She came back to him +like a trained beast when his rope is taken off.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said she. "Do you want more money? +or do you want to tell me some of your mother's foolish +remarks?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I am going away," said Jupillon, with a +serious face. "I am drafted—and I am going away."</p> + +<p>"You are going away?" said she. She seemed as if +her mind was not awake.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Germinie," Jupillon continued. "I +have made you unhappy. I haven't been very kind to +you, I know. My cousin's been a little to blame. +What do you want?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're going away?" rejoined Germinie, taking his +arm. "Don't lie to me—are you going away?"</p> + +<p>"I tell you, yes—and it's true. I'm only waiting +for marching orders. You have to pay more than two +thousand francs for a substitute this year. They say +there's going to be a war: however, there's a chance."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he was leading Germinie down the +street.</p> + +<p>"Where are you taking me?" said she.</p> + +<p>"To mother's, of course—so that you two can make +up and put an end to all this nonsense."</p> + +<p>"After what she said to me? Never!"</p> + +<p>And Germinie pushed Jupillon's arm away.</p> + +<p>"Well, if that's the way it is, good-bye."</p> + +<p>And Jupillon raised his cap.</p> + +<p>"Shall I write to you from the regiment?"</p> + +<p>Germinie was silent, hesitating, for a moment. Then +she said, abruptly: "Come on!" and, motioning to +Jupillon to walk beside her, she turned back up the +street.</p> + +<p>And so they walked along, side by side, without a +word. They reached a paved road that stretched out as +far as the eye could see, between two lines of lanterns, +between two rows of gnarled trees that held aloft handfuls +of bare branches and cast their slender, motionless +shadows on high blank walls. There, in the keen air, +chilled by the evaporation of the snow, they walked on +and on for a long time, burying themselves in the vague,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +infinite, unfamiliar depths of a street that follows the +same wall, the same trees, the same lanterns, and leads +on to the same darkness beyond. The damp, heavy air +that they breathed smelt of sugar and tallow and carrion. +From time to time a vivid flash passed before their eyes: +it was the lantern of a butcher's cart that shone upon +slaughtered cattle and huge pieces of bleeding meat +thrown upon the back of a white horse; the light upon +the flesh, amid the darkness, resembled a purple conflagration, +a furnace of blood.</p> + +<p>"Well! have you reflected?" said Jupillon. "This +little Avenue Trudaine isn't a very cheerful place, do +you know?"</p> + +<p>"Come on," Germinie replied.</p> + +<p>And, without another word, she set out again at the +same fierce, jerky gait, agitated by all the tumult raging +in her heart. Her thoughts were expressed in her gestures. +Her feet went astray, madness attacked her hands. +At times her shadow, seen from behind, reminded one of +a woman from La Salpêtrière. Two or three passers-by +stopped for a moment and looked after her; then, remembering +that they were in Paris, passed on.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she stopped, and with the gesture of one +who has made a desperate resolution, she said: "Ah! +my God! another pin in the cushion!—Let us go!"</p> + +<p>And she took Jupillon's arm.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know very well," said Jupillon, when they +were near the creamery, "my mother wasn't fair to you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +You see, the woman has been too virtuous all her life. +She don't know, she don't understand. And then, d'ye +see, I'll tell you the whole secret: she loves me so much +she's jealous of any woman who loves me. So go in, +do!"</p> + +<p>And he pushed her into the arms of Madame Jupillon, +who kissed her, mumbled a few words of regret, and +made haste to weep in order to relieve her own embarrassment +and make the scene more affecting.</p> + +<p>Throughout the evening Germinie sat with her eyes +fixed on Jupillon, almost terrifying him with her expression.</p> + +<p>"Come, come," he said, as he walked home with her, +"don't be so down in the mouth as all this. We must +have a little philosophy in this world. Well! here I am +a soldier—that's all! To be sure they don't all come +back. But then—look here! I propose that we enjoy +ourselves for the fortnight that's left, because it will be +so much gained—and if I don't come back—Well, +at all events, I shall leave you a pleasant memory of me."</p> + +<p>Germinie made no reply.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXI</h2> + + +<p>For a whole week Germinie did not set foot in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +shop again.</p> + +<p>The Jupillons, when she did not return, began to despair. +At last, one evening about half past ten, she +pushed the door open, entered the shop without a word +of greeting, walked up to the little table where the +mother and son were sitting half asleep, and placed upon +it, beneath her hand which was closed like a claw, an +old piece of cloth that gave forth a ringing sound.</p> + +<p>"There it is!" said she.</p> + +<p>And, letting go the corners of the cloth, she emptied +its contents on the table: forth came greasy bank-notes, +patched on the back, fastened together with pins, old +tarnished louis d'or, black hundred-sou pieces, forty-sou +pieces, ten-sou pieces, the money of the poor, the money +of toil, money from Christmas-boxes, money soiled by +dirty hands, worn out in leather purses, rubbed smooth +in the cash drawer filled with sous—money with a flavor +of perspiration.</p> + +<p>For a moment she gazed at the display as if to assure +her own eyes; then she said to Madame Jupillon in a sad +voice, the voice of her sacrifice:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There it is—There's the two thousand three hundred +francs for him to buy a substitute."</p> + +<p>"Oh! my dear Germinie!" said the stout woman, +almost suffocated by emotion; and she threw herself +upon Germinie's neck, who submitted to be embraced. +"Oh! you must take something with us—a cup of +coffee—"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Germinie; "I am done up. +<i>Dame!</i> I've had to fly around, you know, to get them. +I'm going to bed now. Some other time."</p> + +<p>And she went away.</p> + +<p>She had had to "fly around," as she said, to scrape +together such a sum, to accomplish that impossibility: +to raise two thousand three hundred francs—two thousand +three hundred francs, of which she had not the +first five! She had collected them, begged them, extorted +them piece by piece, almost sou by sou. She had +picked them up, scraped them together here and there, +from this one and from that one, by loans of two hundred, +one hundred, fifty, twenty francs, or whatever sum +anyone would lend. She had borrowed from her concierge, +her grocer, her fruit woman, her poulterer, her +laundress; she had borrowed from all the dealers in the +quarter, and from the dealers in the quarters where she +had previously lived with mademoiselle. She had made +up the amount with money drawn from every source, +even from her poor miserable water-carrier. She had +gone a-begging everywhere, importuned humbly, prayed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +implored, invented fables, swallowed the shame of lying +and of seeing that she was not believed. The humiliation +of confessing that she had no money laid by, as +was supposed, and as, through pride, she had encouraged +people to suppose, the sympathy of people she despised, +the refusals, the alms, she had undergone everything, +endured what she would not have endured to procure +bread for herself, and not once only, with a single +person, but with thirty, forty, all those who had given +her something or from whom she had hoped for something.</p> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<a name="i204" id="i204"></a><img src="images/ichxxxi.png" width="207" height="40" alt="Chapter XXXI + +At last, one evening about half past ten, she pushed +the door open, entered the shop without a word of greeting, +walked up to the little table where the mother and +son were sitting half asleep, and placed upon it, beneath +her hand which was closed like a claw, an old piece of +cloth that gave forth a ringing sound. + +"There it is!" said she." title="" /></div> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;" /> +<div class="caption"> +<i>At last, one evening about half past ten, she pushed +the door open, entered the shop without a word of greeting, +walked up to the little table where the mother and +son were sitting half asleep, and placed upon it, beneath +her hand which was closed like a claw, an old piece of +cloth that gave forth a ringing sound.</i> +<br /> +<br /> +<i>"There it is!" said she.</i></div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<img src="images/i204.jpg" width="401" height="588" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> + +<p>At last she had succeeded in collecting the money; +but it was her master and had possession of her forever. +Her life thenceforth belonged to the obligations +she had entered into with all these people, to the service +her dealers had rendered her, knowing very well what +they were doing. She belonged to her debt, to the sum +she would have to pay every year. She knew it; she +knew that all her wages would go in that way; that with +the rates of interest, which she had left entirely at the +discretion of her creditors, and the written obligations +demanded by them, mademoiselle's three hundred francs +would hardly suffice to pay the interest on the twenty-three +hundred she had borrowed. She knew that she +was in debt, that she should be in debt forever, that she +was doomed forever to privation and embarrassment, to +the strictest economy in her manner of living and her +dress. She had hardly any more illusions as to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +Jupillons than as to her own future. She had a presentiment +that her money was lost so far as they were +concerned. She had not even based any hopes on the +possibility that this sacrifice would touch the young man. +She had acted on the impulse of the moment. If she +had been told to die to prevent his going, she would +have died. The idea of seeing him a soldier, the idea +of the battlefield, the cannon, the wounded, in presence +of which a woman shuts her eyes in terror, had led her +to do something more than die; to sell her life for that +man, to consign herself to everlasting poverty.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXII</h2> + + +<p>Disorders of the nervous system frequently result in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +disarranging the natural sequence of human joys and +sorrows, in destroying their proportion and equilibrium, +and in carrying them to the greatest possible excess. It +seems that, under the influence of this disease of sensitiveness, +the sharpened, refined, spiritualized sensations +exceed their natural measure and limits, reach a point +beyond themselves, and, as it were, make the enjoyment +and suffering of the individual infinite. So the infrequent +joys that Germinie still knew were insane joys, +from which she emerged drunk, and with the physical +symptoms of drunkenness.—"Why, my girl," mademoiselle +sometimes could not forbear saying, "anyone +would think you were tipsy."—"Mademoiselle makes +you pay dear for a little amusement once in a while!" +Germinie would reply. And when she relapsed into her +sorrowful, disappointed, restless condition, her desolation +was more intense, more frantic and delirious than +her gayety.</p> + +<p>The moment had arrived when the terrible truth, which +she had suspected before, at last became clear to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +She saw that she had failed to lay hold of Jupillon by +the devotion her love had manifested, by stripping herself +of all she possessed, by all the pecuniary sacrifices which +involved her life in the toils and embarrassment of a +debt it was impossible for her to pay. She felt that he +gave her his love grudgingly, a love to which he imparted +all the humiliation of an act of charity. When +she told him that she was again <i>enceinte</i>, the man whom +she was about to make a father once more said to her: +"Well, women like you are amusing creatures! always +full or just empty!" She conceived the ideas, the suspicions +that come to genuine love when it is betrayed, +the presentiments of the heart that tell women they +are no longer in undisputed possession of their lovers, +and that there is another because there is likely to be +another.</p> + +<p>She complained no more, she wept no more, she indulged +no more in recrimination. She abandoned the +struggle with this man, armed with indifference, who, +with the cold-blooded sarcasm of the vulgar cad, was +so expert in insulting her passion, her unreasoning impulses, +her wild outbursts of affection. And so, in agonizing +resignation, she set herself the task of waiting—for +what? She did not know: perhaps until he would +have no more of her.</p> + +<p>Heart-broken and silent, she kept watch upon Jupillon; +she followed him about and never lost sight of +him; she tried to make him speak by interjecting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +remarks in his fits of distraction. She hovered about +him, but she saw nothing wrong, she could lay hold of +nothing, detect nothing; and yet she was convinced +that there was something and that what she feared was +true; she felt a woman's presence in the air.</p> + +<p>One morning, as she went down the street rather +earlier than usual, she spied him a few yards before her +on the sidewalk. He was dressed up, and constantly +looked himself over as he walked along. From time to +time he raised his trouser leg a little to see the polish on +his boots. She followed him. He went straight on +without looking back. She was not far behind him +when he reached Place Bréda. There was a woman +walking on the square beside the cabstand. Germinie +could see nothing of her but her back. Jupillon went +up to her and she turned: it was his cousin. They +began to walk side by side, up and down the square; +then they started through Rue Bréda toward Rue de +Navarin. There the girl took Jupillon's arm; she did +not lean on it at first, but little by little, as they proceeded, +she leaned toward him, with the movement of +a branch when it is bent, and drew closer and closer. +They walked slowly, so slowly that at times Germinie +was obliged to stop in order to keep at a safe distance +from them. They ascended Rue des Martyrs, passed +through Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, and went down +Rue Montholon. Jupillon was talking earnestly; the +cousin said nothing, but listened to Jupillon, and walked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +on with the absent-minded air of a woman smelling of a +bouquet, now and then darting a little vague glance on +one side or the other—the glance of a frightened child.</p> + +<p>When they reached Rue Lamartine, opposite the +Passage des Deux-Sœurs, they turned. Germinie had +barely time to throw herself in at a hall door. They +passed without seeing her. The little one was very serious +and walked slowly. Jupillon was talking into her ear. +They stopped for a moment; Jupillon gesticulated earnestly; +the girl stared fixedly at the pavement. Germinie +thought they were about to part; but they resumed +their walk together and made four or five turns, +passing back and forth by the end of the passage. At +last they turned in; Germinie darted from her hiding-place +and rushed after them. From the gateway of the +passage she saw the skirt of a dress disappear through +the door of a small furnished lodging-house, beside a +wine shop. She ran to the door, looked into the hall +and could see nothing. Thereupon all her blood rushed +to her head, with one thought, a single thought that her +lips kept repeating like an idiot: "Vitriol! vitriol! +vitriol!" And as her thoughts were instantly transformed +into the act of which she thought, and her +delirium transported her abruptly to the crime she contemplated, +she said to herself that she would go up the +stairs with the bottle well hidden under her shawl; she +would knock at the door very loud and continuously. +He would come at last and would open the door a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +crack. She would say nothing to him, not her name +even. She would go in without heeding him. She was +strong enough to kill him! and she would go to the +bed, to <i>her</i>! She would take her by the arm and say: +"Yes it's me—this is for your life!" And over her +face, her throat, her skin, over everything about her +that was youthful and attractive and that invited love, +Germinie watched the vitriol sear and seam and burn +and hiss, transforming her into a horrible object that +filled Germinie's heart to overflowing with joy! The +bottle was empty, and she laughed! And, in her +frightful dream, her body also dreaming, her feet began +to move. She walked unconsciously down the passage, +into the street and to a grocer's shop. Ten minutes she +stood motionless at the counter, with eyes that did not +see, the vacant, wandering eyes of one who has murder +in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, what do you want?" said the grocer's +wife testily, almost frightened by the bearing of this +woman who did not stir.</p> + +<p>"What do I want?" said Germinie. She was so +filled, so possessed with the thought of what she wanted +that she believed she had asked for vitriol. "What do +I want?"—She passed her hand across her forehead.—"Ah! +I don't know now."</p> + +<p>And she left the shop, stumbling as she went.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXIII</h2> + + +<p>In the torment of the life she was leading, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +she suffered the horrors of death and of unsatisfied passion, +Germinie, seeking to deaden her ghastly thoughts, +had remembered the glass she had taken from Adèle's +hand one morning, which gave her a whole day of +oblivion. From that day she had taken to drink. She +had begun with the little morning draughts to which the +maids of kept women are addicted. She had drunk +with this one and with that one. She had drunk with +men who came to breakfast at the creamery; she had +drunk with Adèle, who drank like a man and who took +a base delight in seeing this virtuous woman's maid +descend as low as herself.</p> + +<p>At first she had needed excitement, company, the +clinking of glasses, the encouragement of speech, the +inspiration of the challenge, in order to arouse the +desire to drink; but she had soon reached the point +where she drank alone. Then it was that she began to +carry home a half-filled glass under her apron and hide +it in a corner of the kitchen; that she had taken to +drinking those mixtures of white wine and brandy, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +which she would take draught upon draught until she +had found that for which she thirsted—sleep. For what +she craved was not the fevered brain, the happy confusion, +the living folly, the delirious, waking dream of +drunkenness; what she needed, what she sought was the +negative joy of sleep, Lethean, dreamless sleep, a leaden +sleep falling upon her like the blow of the sledge +upon the ox's head: and she found it in those compounds +which struck her down and stretched her out +face downward on the waxed cover of the kitchen +table.</p> + +<p>To sleep that overpowering sleep, to wallow, by day, +in that midnight darkness, had come to mean to her a +truce, deliverance from an existence that she had not the +courage to continue or to end. An overwhelming longing +for oblivion was all she felt when she awoke. The +hours of her life that she passed in possession of her +faculties, contemplating herself, examining her conscience, +looking on at her own shame, seemed to her so +execrable! She preferred to kill them. There was +nothing in the world but sleep to make her forget everything—the +congested sleep of intoxication, which lulls +its victim with the arms of Death.</p> + +<p>In that glass, from which she forced herself to drink, +and which she emptied in a sort of frenzy, her sufferings, +her sorrows, all her horrible present would be +drowned and disappear. In a half hour, her mind +would have ceased to think, her life would have ceased<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +to exist; nothing of her surroundings would have any +being for her, there would be no more time even, so far +as she was concerned. "I drink away my troubles!" +she said to a woman who told her that she would wreck +her health by drinking. And as, in the periods of reaction +that followed her debauches, there came to her a +more painful feeling of her own shame, a greater sense +of desolation and a fiercer detestation of her mistakes +and her sins, she sought stronger decoctions of alcohol, +more fiery brandy, and even drank pure absinthe, in +order to produce a more deathly lethargy, and to make +her more utterly oblivious to everything.</p> + +<p>She ended by attaining in this way whole half days +of unconsciousness, from which she emerged only half +awake, with benumbed intelligence, blunted perceptions, +hands that did things by force of habit, the +motions of a somnambulist, a body and a mind in which +thought, will, memory seemed still to retain the drowsiness +and vagueness of the confused waking hours of the +morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXIV</h2> + + +<p>Half an hour after the horrible meeting when—her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +mind having dabbled in crime as if with her fingers—she +had determined to disfigure her rival with vitriol and +had believed that she had done so, Germinie returned +to Rue de Laval with a bottle of brandy procured at +the grocer's.</p> + +<p>For two weeks she had been mistress of the apartment, +free to indulge her brutish appetite. Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil, who as a general rule hardly stirred from +her chair, had gone, strangely enough, to pass six weeks +with an old friend in the country; and she decided not +to take Germinie with her for fear of setting a bad +example to the other servants, and arousing their jealousy +of a maid who was accustomed to very light duties +and was treated on a different footing from themselves.</p> + +<p>Germinie went into mademoiselle's bedroom and +took no more time than was necessary to throw her +shawl and hat on the floor before she began to drink, +with the neck of the bottle between her teeth, pouring +down the liquid hurriedly until everything in the room +was whirling around her, and she remembered nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +of the day. Thereupon, staggering, feeling that she +was about to fall, she tried to throw herself on her mistress's +bed to sleep; but her dizziness threw her against +the night table. From that she fell to the floor and lay +without moving; she simply snored. But the blow was +so violent that during the night she had a miscarriage, +followed by one of those hemorrhages in which the life +often ebbs away. She tried to rise and go out on the +landing to call; she tried to stand up: she could not. +She felt that she was gliding on to death, entering its +portals and descending with gentle moderation. At +last, summoning all her strength for a final effort, she +dragged herself as far as the hall door; but it was +impossible for her to lift her head to the keyhole, +impossible to cry out. And she would have died where +she lay had not Adèle, as she was passing in the morning, +heard a groan, and, in her alarm, fetched a locksmith +to open the door, and afterward a midwife to +attend to the dying woman.</p> + +<p>When mademoiselle returned a month later, she +found Germinie up and about, but so weak that she was +constantly obliged to sit down, and so pale that she +seemed to have no blood left in her body. They told +her that she had had a hemorrhage of which she nearly +died: mademoiselle suspected nothing.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXV</h2> + + +<p>Germinie welcomed mademoiselle's return with melting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +caresses, wet with tears. Her affectionate manner +was like a sick child's; she had the same clinging gentleness, +the imploring expression, the melancholy of +timid, frightened suffering. She sought excuses for +touching her mistress with her white blue-veined hands. +She approached her with a sort of trembling and fervent +humility. Very often, as she sat facing her upon a stool, +and looked up at her with eyes like a dog's, she would +rise and go and kiss some part of her dress, then resume +her seat, and in a moment begin again.</p> + +<p>There was heart-rending entreaty in these caresses, +these kisses of Germinie's. Death, whose footsteps she +had heard approaching her as if it were a living person; +the hours of utter prostration, when, as she lay in her +bed, alone with herself, she had reviewed her whole +past life; the consciousness of the shame of all she had +concealed from Mademoiselle de Varandeuil; the fear of +a judgment of God, rising from the depths of her former +religious ideas; all the reproaches, all the apprehensions +that whisper in the ear of a dying agony had aroused a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +horrible dread in her conscience; and remorse,—the +remorse that she had never been able to put down,—was +now alive and crying aloud in her enfeebled, broken +body, as yet but partially restored to life, as yet scarcely +firm in the persuasion that it was alive.</p> + +<p>Germinie's was not one of those fortunate natures +that do wrong and leave the memory of it behind them, +and never feel a twinge of regret. She had not, like +Adèle, one of those vulgar material organizations, +which never allow themselves to be affected by any but +animal impulses. She was not blessed with one of those +consciences which escape suffering by virtue of mere +brutishness, or of that dense stupidity in which a +woman vegetates, sinning because she knows no better. +In her case, an unhealthy sensitiveness, a sort of cerebral +excitement, a disposition on the part of the brain +to be always on the alert, to work itself into a frenzy of +bitterness, anxiety and discontent with itself, a moral +sense that stood erect, as it were, after every one of her +backslidings, all the characteristics of a sensitive mind, +predestined to misfortune, united to torture her, and to +renew day after day, more openly and more cruelly in +her despair, the agony due to acts that would hardly +have caused such long-continued suffering in many +women in her station.</p> + +<p>Germinie yielded to the impulse of passion; but as soon +as she had yielded to it she despised herself. Even in +the excitement of pleasure she could not entirely forget<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +and lose herself. The image of mademoiselle always +arose before her, with her stern, motherly face. Germinie +did not become immodest in the same degree that +she abandoned herself to her passions and sank lower +and lower in vice. The degrading depths to which +she descended did not fortify her against her disgust and +horror of herself. Habit did not harden her. Her +defiled conscience rejected its defilement, struggled +fiercely in its shame, rent itself in its repentance and did +not for one second permit itself the full enjoyment of +vice, was never completely stunned by its fall.</p> + +<p>And so when mademoiselle, forgetting that she was a +servant, leaned over to her with the brusque familiarity +of tone and gesture that went straight to her heart, +Germinie, confused and overcome with blushing timidity, +was speechless and seemed bereft of sense under the +horrible torture caused by the consciousness of her own +unworthiness. She would fly from the room, she would +invent some pretext to escape from that affection which +she so shamefully betrayed, and which, when it touched +her, stirred her remorse to shuddering activity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXVI</h2> + + +<p>The miraculous part of this disorderly, abandoned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +life, this life of shame and misery, was that it did not +become known. Germinie allowed no trace of anything +to appear outside; she allowed nothing to rise to +her lips, nothing to be seen in her face, nothing to be +noticed in her manner, and the accursed background of +her existence remained hidden from her mistress.</p> + +<p>It had, indeed, sometimes occurred to mademoiselle +in a vague way that her maid had some secret, something +that she was concealing from her, something that +was obscure in her life. She had had moments of +doubt, of suspicion, an instinctive feeling of uneasiness, +confused glimpses of something wrong, a faint scent +that eluded her and vanished in the gloom. She had +thought at times that she had stumbled upon sealed, +unresponsive recesses in the girl's heart, upon a mystery, +upon some unlighted passage of her life. Again, at +times it had seemed to her that her maid's eyes did not +say what her mouth said. Involuntarily, she had remembered +a phrase that Germinie often repeated: "A +sin hidden, a sin half forgiven." But the thing that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +filled her thoughts above all else was amazement that +Germinie, despite the increase in her wages and the +little gifts that she gave her almost every day, never +purchased anything for her toilet, had no new dresses or +linen. Where did her money go? She had almost +admitted having withdrawn her eighteen hundred francs +from the savings bank. Mademoiselle ruminated over +it, then said to herself that that was the whole of her +maid's mystery; it was about money, she was short of +funds, doubtless on account of some obligations she had +entered into long ago for her family, and perhaps she +had been sending more money to "her <i>canaille</i> of a +brother-in-law." She was so kind-hearted and had so +little system! She had so little idea of the value of a +hundred-sou piece! That was all there was to it: +mademoiselle was sure of it; and as she knew the girl's +obstinate nature and had no hope of inducing her to +change her mind, she said nothing to her. If this explanation +did not fully satisfy mademoiselle, she attributed +what there was strange and mysterious in her maid's +behavior to her somewhat secretive nature, which retained +something of the characteristic distrust of the +peasant, who is jealous of her own petty affairs and +takes delight in burying a corner of her life away down +in her heart, as the villager hoards his sous in a woolen +stocking. Or else she persuaded herself that it was her +ill health, her state of continual suffering that was +responsible for her whims and her habit of dissimulation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +And her mind, in its interested search for motives, +stopped at that point, with the indolence and a little of +the selfishness of old people's minds, who, having an +instinctive dread of final results and of the real characters +of their acquaintances, prefer not to be too inquisitive +or to know too much. Who knows? Perhaps all +this mystery was nothing but a paltry matter, unworthy +to disturb or to interest her, some petty woman's quarrel. +She went to sleep thereupon, reassured, and ceased +to cudgel her brains.</p> + +<p>In truth, how could mademoiselle have guessed Germinie's +degradation and the horror of her secret! In +her most poignant suffering, in her wildest intoxication, +the unhappy creature retained the incredible strength +necessary to suppress and keep back everything. From +her passionate, overcharged nature, which found relief +so naturally in expansion, never a word escaped or a +syllable that cast a ray of light upon her secret. Mortification, +contempt, disappointment, self-sacrifice, the +death of her child, the treachery of her lover, the dying +agony of her love, all remained voiceless within her, as +if she stifled their cries by pressing her hands upon her +heart. Her rare attacks of weakness, when she seemed +to be struggling with pains that strangled her, the fierce, +feverish caresses lavished upon Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +the sudden paroxysms, as if she were trying to +give birth to something, always ended without words +and found relief in tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>Even illness, with its resulting weakness and enervation, +forced nothing from her. It could make no +impression on that heroic resolution to keep silent to the +end. Hysterical attacks extorted shrieks from her and +nothing but shrieks. When she was a girl she dreamed +aloud; she forced her dreams to cease speaking, she +closed the lips of her sleep. As mademoiselle might +have discovered from her breath that she had been drinking, +she ate shallots and garlic, and concealed the fumes +of liquor with their offensive odors. She even trained +her intoxication, her drunken torpor to awake at her +mistress's footstep, and remain awake in her presence.</p> + +<p>Thus she led, as it were, two lives. She was like two +women, and by dint of energy, adroitness and feminine +diplomacy, with a self-assurance that never failed her +even in the mental confusion caused by drink, she succeeded +in separating those two existences, in living them +both without mingling them, in never allowing the two +women that lived in her to be confounded with each +other, in continuing to be, with Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +the virtuous, respectable girl she had been, in +emerging from her orgies without carrying away the +taste of them, in displaying, when she left her lover, a +sort of old-maidish modesty, shocked by the scandalous +courses of other maids. She never uttered a word or +bore herself in a way to arouse a suspicion of her clandestine +life; nothing about her conveyed a hint as to +the way her nights were passed. When she placed her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +foot upon the door-mat outside Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's +apartments, when she approached her, when she +stood before her, she adopted the tone and the attitude, +even to a certain way of holding the dress, which relieve +a woman from so much as a suspicion of having aught +to do with men. She talked freely upon all subjects, as +if she had nothing to blush for. She spoke with bitterness +of the misdoings and shame of others, as if she +were herself beyond reproach. She joked with her +mistress about love, in a jovial, unembarrassed, indifferent +tone; to hear her you would have thought she was +talking of an old acquaintance of whom she had lost +sight. And in the eyes of all those who saw her only +as Mademoiselle de Varandeuil did and at her home, +there was a certain atmosphere of chastity about her +thirty-five years, the odor of stern, unimpeachable virtue, +peculiar to middle-aged maid-servants and plain women.</p> + +<p>And yet all this falsehood in the matter of appearances +was not hypocrisy in Germinie. It did not arise from +downright duplicity, from corrupt striving for effect: it +was her affection for mademoiselle that made her what +she was with her. She was determined at any price to +save her the grief of seeing her as she was, of going to +the bottom of her character. She deceived her solely +in order to retain her affection,—with a sort of respect; +and a feeling of veneration, almost of piety, stole into +the ghastly comedy she was playing, like the feeling a girl +has who lies to her mother in order not to rend her heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXVII</h2> + + +<p>To lie! nothing was left for her but that. She felt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +that it was an impossibility to draw back from her present +position. She did not even entertain the idea of an +attempt to escape from it, it seemed such a hopeless task, +she was so cowardly, so crushed and degraded, and she +felt that she was still so firmly bound to that man by all +sorts of vile, degrading chains, even by the contempt +that he no longer tried to conceal from her!</p> + +<p>Sometimes, as she reflected upon her plight, she was +dismayed. The simple ideas and terrors of the peasantry +recurred to her mind. And the superstitions of +her youth whispered to her that the man had cast a spell +upon her, that he had perhaps given her enchanted bread +to eat. Otherwise would she have been what she was? +Would she have felt, at the mere sight of him, that +thrill of emotion through her whole frame, that almost +brute-like sensation of the approach of a master? +Would she have felt her whole body, her mouth, her +arms, her loving and caressing gestures involuntarily go +out to him? Would she have belonged to him so absolutely? +Long and bitterly she dwelt upon all that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +should have cured her, rescued her: the man's disdain, +his insults, the degrading concessions he had forced +from her; and she was compelled to admit that there +had been nothing too precious for her to sacrifice to +him, and that for him she had swallowed the things she +loathed most bitterly. She tried to imagine the degree +of degradation to which her love would refuse to descend, +and she could conceive of none. He could do +what he chose with her, insult her, beat her, and she +would remain under his heel! She could not think of +herself as not belonging to him. She could not think +of herself without him. To have that man to love was +necessary to her existence; she derived warmth from +him, she lived by him, she breathed him. There seemed +to be no parallel case to hers among the women of her +condition whom she knew. No one of her comrades +carried into a <i>liaison</i> the intensity, the bitterness, the +torture, the enjoyment of suffering that she found in +hers. No one of them carried into it that which was +killing her and which she could not dispense with.</p> + +<p>To herself she appeared an extraordinary creature, of +an exceptional nature, with the temperament of animals +whom ill-treatment binds the closer to their masters. +There were days when she did not know herself, and +when she wondered if she were still the same woman. +As she went over in her mind all the base deeds to which +Jupillon had induced her to stoop, she could not believe +that it was really she who had submitted to it. Had she,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +violent and impulsive as she knew herself to be, boiling +over with fiery passions, rebellious and hotheaded, exhibited +such docility and resignation? She had repressed +her wrath, forced back the murderous thoughts that had +crowded to her brain so many times! She had always +obeyed, always possessed her soul in patience, always +hung her head! She had forced her nature, her instincts, +her pride, her vanity, and more than all else, +her jealousy, the fierce passions of her heart, to crawl at +that man's feet! For the sake of keeping him she had +stooped to share him, to allow him to have mistresses, +to receive him from the hands of others, to seek a part +of his cheek on which his cousin had not kissed him! +And now, after all these sacrifices, with which she had +wearied him, she retained her hold upon him by a still +more distasteful sacrifice: she drew him to her by gifts, +she opened her purse to him to induce him to keep appointments +with her, she purchased his good-humor by +gratifying his whims and his caprices; she paid this brute, +who haggled over the price of his kisses and demanded +<i>pourboires</i> of love! And she lived from day to day in +constant dread of what the miserable villain would +demand of her on the morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXVIII</h2> + + +<p>"He must have twenty francs," Germinie mechanically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +repeated the sentence to herself several times, but +her thoughts did not go beyond the words she uttered. +The walk and the climb up five flights of stairs had made +her dizzy. She fell in a sitting posture on the greasy +couch in the kitchen, hung her head, and laid her arms +on the table. Her ears were ringing. Her ideas went +and came in a disorderly throng, stifling one another in +her brain, and of them all but one remained, more and +more distinct and persistent: "He must have twenty +francs! twenty francs! twenty francs!" And she looked +as if she expected to find them somewhere there, in the +fireplace, in the waste-basket, under the stove. Then +she thought of the people who owed her, of a German +maid who had promised to repay her more than a year +before. She rose and tied her capstrings. She no +longer said: "He must have twenty francs;" she said: +"I will get them."</p> + +<p>She went down to Adèle: "You haven't twenty +francs for a note that just came, have you? Mademoiselle +has gone out."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nothing here," said Adèle; "I gave madame my +last twenty francs last night to get her supper. The jade +hasn't come back yet. Will you have thirty sous?"</p> + +<p>She ran to the grocer's. It was Sunday, and three +o'clock in the afternoon: the grocer had closed his +shop.</p> + +<p>There were a number of people at the fruitwoman's; +she asked for four sous' worth of herbs.</p> + +<p>"I haven't any money," said she. She hoped that +the woman would say: "Do you want some?" Instead +of that, she said: "What an idea! as if I was afraid of +you!" There were other maids there, so she went out +without saying anything more.</p> + +<p>"Is there anything for us?" she said to the concierge. +"Ah! by the way, my Pipelet, you don't happen to +have twenty francs about you, do you? it will save my +going way up-stairs again."</p> + +<p>"Forty, if you want——"</p> + +<p>She breathed freely. The concierge went to a desk +at the back of the lodge. "<i>Sapristi!</i> my wife has +taken the key. Why! how pale you are!"</p> + +<p>"It isn't anything." And she rushed out into the +courtyard toward the door of the servant's staircase.</p> + +<p>This is what she thought as she went up-stairs: "There +are people who find twenty-franc pieces. He needed +them to-day, he told me. Mademoiselle gave me my +money not five days ago, and I can't ask her. After all, +what are twenty francs more or less to her? The grocer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +would surely have lent them to me. I had another +grocer on Rue Taitbout: he didn't close till evening +Sundays."</p> + +<p>She was in front of her own door. She leaned over +the rail of the other staircase, looked to see if anyone +was coming up, entered her room, went straight to +mademoiselle's bedchamber, opened the window and +breathed long and hard with her elbows on the window-sill. +Sparrows hastened to her from the neighboring +chimneys, thinking that she was going to toss bread to +them. She closed the window and glanced at the top +of the commode—first at a vein of marble, then at a +little sandal-wood box, then at the key—a small steel +key left in the lock. Suddenly there was a ringing in +her ears; she thought that the bell rang. She ran and +opened the door: there was no one there. She returned +with the certainty that she was alone, went to the +kitchen for a cloth and began to rub a mahogany armchair, +turning her back to the commode; but she could +still see the box, she could see it lying open, she could +see the coins at the right where mademoiselle kept her +gold, the papers in which she wrapped it, a hundred +francs in each;—her twenty francs were there! She +closed her eyes as if the light dazzled them. She felt +a dizziness in her conscience; but immediately her whole +being rose in revolt against her, and it seemed to her +as if her heart in its indignation rose to her throat. +In an instant the honor of her whole life stood erect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +between her hand and that key. Her upright, unselfish, +devoted past, twenty years of resistance to the evil +counsels and the corruption of that foul quarter, twenty +years of scorn for theft, twenty years in which her pocket +had not held back a sou from her employers, twenty +years of indifference to gain, twenty years in which +temptation had never come near her, her long maintained +and natural virtue, mademoiselle's confidence in +her—all these things came to her mind in a single +instant. Her youthful years clung to her and took +possession of her. From her family, from the memory +of her parents, from the unsullied reputation of her +wretched name, from the dead from whom she was +descended, there arose a murmur as of guardian angels +hovering about her. For one second she was saved.</p> + +<p>And then, insensibly, evil thoughts glided one by one +into her brain. She sought for subjects of bitterness, +for excuses for ingratitude to her mistress. She compared +with her own wages the wages of which the other +maids in the house boasted vaingloriously. She concluded +that mademoiselle was very fortunate to have her +in her service, and that she should have increased her +wages more since she had been with her.</p> + +<p>"And then," she suddenly asked herself, "why does +she leave the key in her box?" And she began to +reflect thereupon that the money in the box was not +used for living expenses, but had been laid aside by +mademoiselle to buy a velvet dress for a goddaughter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>—"Sleeping +money," she said to herself. She marshaled +her reasons with precipitation, as if to make it impossible +to discuss them. "And then, it's only for once. +She would lend them to me if I asked her. And I will +return them."</p> + +<p>She put out her hand and turned the key. She +stopped; it seemed to her that the intense silence round +about was listening to her and looking at her. She +raised her eyes: the mirror threw back her face at her. +Before that face, her own, she was afraid; she recoiled +in terror and shame as if before the face of her crime: +it was a thief's head that she had upon her shoulders!</p> + +<p>She fled into the corridor. Suddenly she turned +upon her heel, went straight to the box, turned the key, +put in her hand, fumbled under the hair trinkets and +souvenirs, felt in a roll of five louis and took out one +piece, closed the box and rushed into the kitchen. She +had the little coin in her hand and dared not look at it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XXXIX</h2> + + +<p>Then it was that Germinie's abasement and degradation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +began to be visible in her personal appearance, to make +her stupid and slovenly. A sort of drowsiness came +over her ideas. She was no longer keen and prompt +of apprehension. What she had read and what she had +learned seemed to escape her. Her memory, which +formerly retained everything, became confused and +unreliable. The sharp wit of the Parisian maid-servant +gradually vanished from her conversation, her retorts, +her laughter. Her face, once so animated, was no +longer lighted up by gleams of intelligence. In her +whole person you would have said that she had become +once more the stupid peasant girl that she was when she +came from her province, when she went to a stationer's +for gingerbread. She seemed not to understand. As +mademoiselle expressed it, she made faces like an idiot. +She was obliged to explain to her, to repeat two or three +times things that Germinie had always grasped on the +merest hint. She asked herself, when she saw how slow +and torpid she was, if somebody had not exchanged her +maid for another.—"Why, you're getting to be a perfect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +imbecile!" she would sometimes say to her testily. +She remembered the time when Germinie was so useful +about finding dates, writing an address on a card, telling +her what day they had put in the wood or broached +the cask of wine,—all of which were things that her +old brain could not remember. Now Germinie remembered +nothing. In the evening, when she went over +her accounts with mademoiselle, she could not think +what she had bought in the morning; she would say: +"Wait!" but she would simply pass her hand vaguely +across her brow; nothing would come to her mind. +Mademoiselle, to save her tired old eyes, had fallen into +the habit of having Germinie read the newspaper to +her; but she got to stumbling so and reading with so +little intelligence, that mademoiselle was compelled to +decline her services with thanks.</p> + +<p>As her faculties failed, she abandoned and neglected +her body in a like degree. She gave no thought to her +dress, nor to cleanliness even. In her indifference she +retained nothing of a woman's natural solicitude touching +her personal appearance; she did not dress decently. +She wore dresses spotted with grease and torn under the +arms, aprons in rags, worn stockings in shoes that were +out at heel. She allowed the cooking, the smoke, the +coal, the wax, to soil her hands and face and simply +wiped them as she would after dusting. Formerly she +had had the one coquettish and luxurious instinct of +poor women, a love for clean linen. No one in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +house had fresher caps than she. Her simple little +collars were always of that snowy whiteness that lights +up the skin so prettily and makes the whole person +clean. Now she wore frayed, dirty caps which looked +as if she had slept in them. She went without ruffles, +her collar made a band of filth against the skin of her +neck, and you felt that she was less clean beneath than +above. An odor of poverty, rank and musty, arose +from her. Sometimes it was so strong that Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil could not refrain from saying to her: +"Go and change your clothes, my girl—you smell of +the poor!"</p> + +<p>In the street she no longer looked as if she belonged +to any respectable person. She had not the appearance +of a virtuous woman's maid. She lost the aspect of a +servant who, by dint of displaying her self-esteem and +self-respect even in her garb, reflects in her person the +honor and the pride of her masters. From day to day +she sank nearer to the level of that abject, shameless +creature whose dress drags in the gutter—a dirty slattern.</p> + +<p>As she neglected herself, so she neglected everything +about her. She kept nothing in order, she did no cleaning +or washing. She allowed dirt and disorder to make +their way into the apartments, to invade mademoiselle's +own sanctum, with whose neatness mademoiselle was +formerly so well pleased and so proud. The dust collected +there, the spiders spun their webs behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +frames, the mirrors were as if covered with a veil; the +marble mantels, the mahogany furniture, lost their +lustre; moths flew up from the carpets which were +never shaken, worms ensconced themselves where the +brush and broom no longer came to disturb them; +neglect spread a film of dust over all the sleeping, +neglected objects that were formerly awakened and +enlivened every morning by the maid's active hand. A +dozen times mademoiselle had tried to spur Germinie's +self-esteem to action; but thereupon, for a whole day, +there was such a frantic scrubbing, accompanied by +such gusts of ill-humor, that mademoiselle would take +an oath never to try again. One day, however, she +made bold to write Germinie's name with her finger in +the dust on her mirror; Germinie did not forgive her +for a week. At last mademoiselle became resigned. +She hardly ventured to remark mildly, when she saw +that her maid was in good humor: "Confess, Germinie, +that the dust is very well treated with us!"</p> + +<p>To the wondering observations of the friends who +still came to see her and whom Germinie was forced to +admit, mademoiselle would reply, in a compassionate, +sympathetic tone: "Yes, it is filthy, I know! But +what can you expect? Germinie's sick, and I prefer +that she shouldn't kill herself." Sometimes, when Germinie +had gone out, she would venture to rub a cloth +over a commode or touch a frame with the duster, with +her gouty hands. She would do it hurriedly, afraid of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +being scolded, of having a scene, if the maid should +return and detect her.</p> + +<p>Germinie did almost no work; she barely served +mademoiselle's meals. She had reduced her mistress's +breakfast and dinner to the simplest dishes, those which +she could cook most easily and quickly. She made her +bed without raising the mattress, <i>à l'Anglaise</i>. The +servant that she had been was not to be recognized in +her, did not exist in her, except on the days when mademoiselle +gave a small dinner party, the number of covers +being always considerable on account of the party of +children invited. On those days Germinie emerged, as +if by enchantment, from her indolence and apathy, and, +putting forth a sort of feverish strength, she recovered +all her former energy in face of her ovens and the +lengthened table. And mademoiselle was dumfounded +to see her, all by herself, declining assistance and capable +of anything, prepare in a few hours a dinner for +half a score of persons, serve it and clear the table afterwards, +with the nimble hands and all the quick dexterity +of her youth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XL</h2> + + +<p>"No—not this time, no," said Germinie, rising from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +the foot of Jupillon's bed where she was sitting. +"There's no way. Why, you know perfectly well that +I haven't a sou—anything you can call a sou! You've +seen the stockings I wear, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>She lifted her skirt and showed him her stockings, all +full of holes and tied together with strings. "I haven't +a change of anything. Money? Why, I didn't even +have enough to give mademoiselle a few flowers on her +birthday. I bought her a bunch of violets for a sou! +Oh! yes, money, indeed! That last twenty francs—do +you know where I got them? I took them out of +mademoiselle's box! I've put them back. But that's +done with. I don't want any more of that kind of +thing. It will do for once. Where do you expect me +to get money now, just tell me that, will you? You +can't pawn your skin at the Mont-de-Piété—unless!—--But +as to doing anything of that sort again, never in +my life! Whatever else you choose, but no stealing! +I won't do it again. Oh! I know very well what you +will do. So much the worse!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well! have you worked yourself up enough?" said +Jupillon. "If you'd told me that about the twenty +francs, do you suppose I'd have taken it? I didn't +suppose you were as hard up as all that. I saw that you +went on as usual. I fancied it wouldn't put you out to +lend me a twenty-franc piece, and I'd have returned it +in a week or two with the others. But you don't say +anything? Oh! well, I'm done, I won't ask you for +any more. But that's no reason we should quarrel, as I +can see." And he added, with an indefinable glance at +Germinie: "Till Thursday, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Till Thursday!" said Germinie, desperately. She +longed to throw herself into Jupillon's arms, to ask his +pardon for her poverty, to say to him: "You see, I +can't do it!"</p> + +<p>She repeated: "Till Thursday!" and took her +leave.</p> + +<p>When, on Thursday, she knocked at the door of +Jupillon's apartment on the ground floor, she thought +she heard a man's hurried step at the other end of the +room. The door opened; before her stood Jupillon's +cousin with her hair in a net, wearing a red jacket and +slippers, and with the costume and bearing of a woman +who is at home in a man's house. Her belongings were +tossed about here and there: Germinie saw them on the +chairs she had paid for.</p> + +<p>"Whom does madame wish to see?" demanded the +cousin, impudently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Monsieur Jupillon?"</p> + +<p>"He has gone out."</p> + +<p>"I'll wait for him," said Germinie, and she attempted +to enter the other room.</p> + +<p>"You'll wait at the porter's lodge then;" and the +cousin barred the way.</p> + +<p>"When will he return?"</p> + +<p>"When the hens have teeth," said the girl, seriously, +and shut the door in her face.</p> + +<p>"Well! this is just what I expected of him," said +Germinie to herself, as she walked along the street. +The pavement seemed to give way beneath her trembling +legs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLI</h2> + + +<p>When she returned that evening from a christening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +dinner, which she had been unable to avoid attending, +mademoiselle heard talking in her room. She thought +that there was someone with Germinie, and, marveling +thereat, she opened the door. In the dim light shed by +an untrimmed, smoking candle she saw nothing at first; +but, upon looking more closely, she discovered her +maid lying in a heap at the foot of the bed.</p> + +<p>Germinie was talking in her sleep. She was talking +with a strange accent that caused emotion, almost fear. +The vague solemnity of supernatural things, a breath +from regions beyond this life, arose in the room, with +those words of sleep, involuntary, fugitive words, palpitating, +half-spoken, as if a soul without a body were +wandering about a dead man's lips. The voice was slow +and deep, and had a far-off sound, with long pauses of +heavy breathing, and words breathed forth like sighs, +with now and then a vibrating, painful note that went +to the heart,—a voice laden with mystery and with the +nervous tremor of the darkness, in which the sleeper +seemed to be groping for souvenirs of the past and passing +her hand over faces. "Oh! she loved me dearly,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +mademoiselle heard her say. "And if he had not died +we should be very happy now, shouldn't we? No! +no! But it's done, worse luck, and I don't want to tell +of it."</p> + +<p>The words were followed by a nervous contraction of +her features as if she sought to seize her secret on the +edge of her lips and force it back.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle, with something very like terror, leaned +over the poor, forlorn body, powerless to direct its own +acts, to which the past returned as a ghost returns to a +deserted house. She listened to the confessions that +were all ready to rush forth but were instinctively +checked, to the unconscious mind that spoke without +restraint, to the voice that did not hear itself. A sensation +of horror came over her: she felt as if she were +beside a dead body haunted by a dream.</p> + +<p>After a pause of some duration, and what seemed to +be a sort of conflict between the things that were present +in her mind, Germinie apparently turned her attention +to the circumstances of her present life. The +words that escaped her, disjointed, incoherent words, +were, as far as mademoiselle could understand them, +addressed to some person by way of reproach. And as +she talked on, her language became as unrecognizable +as her voice, which had taken on the tone and accent of +the dreamer. It rose above the woman, above her +ordinary style, above her daily expressions. It was the +language of the people, purified and transfigured by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +passion. Germinie accentuated words according to +their orthography; she uttered them with all their eloquence. +The sentences came from her mouth with +their proper rhythm, their heart-rending pathos and +their tears, as from the mouth of an admirable actress. +There were bursts of tenderness, interlarded with +shrieks; then there were outbreaks of rebellion, fierce +bursts of passion, and the most extraordinary, biting, +implacable irony, always merging into a paroxysm of +nervous laughter that repeated the same result and prolonged +it from echo to echo. Mademoiselle was confounded, +stupefied, and listened as at the theatre. +Never had she heard disdain hurled down from so lofty +a height, contempt so tear itself to tatters and gush +forth in laughter, a woman's words express such a fierce +thirst for vengeance against a man. She ransacked her +memory: such play of feature, such intonations, such a +dramatic and heart-rending voice as that voice of a consumptive +coughing away her life, she could not remember +since the days of Mademoiselle Rachel.</p> + +<p>At last Germinie awoke abruptly, her eyes filled with +the tears of her dream, and jumped down from the bed, +seeing that her mistress had returned. "Thanks," said +mademoiselle, "don't disturb yourself! Wallow about +on my bed all you please!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! mademoiselle," said Germinie, "I wasn't +lying where you put your head. I have made it nice +and warm for your feet."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Indeed! Suppose you tell me what you've been +dreaming? There was a man in it—you were having a +dispute with him——"</p> + +<p>"Dream?" said Germinie, "I don't remember."</p> + +<p>She silently set about undressing her mistress, trying +to recall her dream. When she had put her in bed, she +said, drawing near to her: "Ah! mademoiselle, won't +you give me a fortnight, for once, to go home? I +remember now."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLII</h2> + + +<p>Soon after this, mademoiselle was amazed to notice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +an entire change in her maid's manner and habits. Germinie +no longer had her sullen, savage moods, her outbreaks +of rebellion, her fits of muttering words expressive +of discontent. She suddenly threw off her indolence +and became once more an energetic worker. She +no longer passed hours in doing her marketing; she +seemed to avoid the street. She ceased to go out in the +evening; indeed, she hardly stirred from mademoiselle's +side, hovering about her and watching her from +the time she rose in the morning until she went to bed +at night, lavishing continuous, incessant, almost irritating +attentions upon her, never allowing her to rise or +even to put out her hand for anything, waiting upon her +and keeping watch of her as if she were a child. At +times mademoiselle was so worn out with her, so weary +of this constant fussing about her person, that she would +open her mouth to say: "Come, come! aren't you +almost ready to clear out!" But Germinie would look +up at her with a smile, a smile so sad and sweet that it +checked the impatient exclamation on the old maid's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +lips. And so she stayed on with her, going about with +a sort of fascinated, divinely stolid air, in the impassibility +of profound adoration, buried in almost idiotic +contemplation.</p> + +<p>At that period all the poor girl's affection turned to +mademoiselle. Her voice, her gestures, her eyes, her +silence, her thoughts, went out to her mistress with the +fervor of expiation, with the contrition of a prayer, the +rapt intensity of a cult. She loved her with all the +loving violence of her nature. She loved her with all +the deceptive ardor of her passion. She strove to give +her all that she had not given her, all that others had +taken from her. Every day her love clung more closely, +more devoutly, to the old maid, who was conscious of +being enveloped, embraced, agreeably warmed by the +heat from those two arms that were thrown about her +old age.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLIII</h2> + + +<p>But the past and its debts were still there, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +whispered to her every hour: "If mademoiselle knew!"</p> + +<p>She lived in the constant panic of a guilty woman, +trembling with dread from morning till night. There +was never a ring at the door that she did not say to +herself: "It has come at last!" Letters in a strange +handwriting filled her with anxiety. She would feel +of the wax with her fingers, bury the letters in her +pocket, hesitate about delivering them, and the moment +when mademoiselle unfolded the terrible paper and +scanned its contents with the inexpressive eye of elderly +people was as full of suspense to her as if she were +awaiting sentence of death. She felt that her secret and +her falsehood were in everybody's hand. The house +had seen her and might speak. The quarter knew her +as she was. Of all about her, there was no one but her +mistress whose esteem she could still steal.</p> + +<p>As she went in and out, the concierge looked at her +with a smile and a glance, that said: "I know." She +no longer dared to call him: "My Pipelet." When she +returned home he looked into her basket. "I am so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +fond of that!" his wife would say, when it contained +some tempting morsel. At night she would take down +what was left. She ate nothing herself. She ended by +supplying them with food.</p> + +<p>The whole street frightened her no less than the hall +and the porter's lodge. There was a face in every shop +that reflected her shame and commented on her sins. At +every step she had to purchase silence by groveling +humility. The dealers she had not been able to repay had +her in their clutches. If she said that anything was +too dear, she was reminded in a bantering way that they +were her masters, and that she must pay the price unless +she chose to be denounced. A jest or an allusion +drove the color from her cheeks. She was bound to +them, compelled to trade with them and to allow them +to empty her pockets as if they were accomplices. The +successor of Madame Jupillon, who had gone into the +grocery business at Bar-sur Aube,—the new <i>crémière</i>,—gave +her bad milk, and when she suggested that mademoiselle +complained about it, and that she was found +fault with every morning, the woman replied: "Much +you care for your mademoiselle!" And at the fish-stall, +if she smelt of a fish, and said: "This has been frozen," +the reply would be: "Bah! tell me next, will you, that +I let the moon shine on their gills, so's to make 'em +look fresh! So these are hard days for you, eh, my +duck?" Mademoiselle wanted her to go to the <i>Halle +Centrale</i> one day for her dinner, and she mentioned the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +fact in the fish-woman's presence. "Oho! yes, yes, to +the <i>Halle</i>! I'd like to see you go to the <i>Halle</i>!" And +she bestowed a glance upon her in which Germinie saw +a threat to send her account to her mistress. The grocer +sold her coffee that smelt of snuff, rotten prunes, dried +rice and old biscuit. If she ventured to remonstrate, +"Nonsense!" he would say; "an old customer like you +wouldn't want to make trouble for me. Don't I tell you +I give you good weight?" And he would coolly give +her false weight of the goods that she ordered, and that +he forced her to order.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLIV</h2> + + +<p>It was a very great trial to Germinie—a trial that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +sought, however—to have to pass through a street where +there was a school for young girls, when she went out +before dinner to buy an evening paper for mademoiselle. +She often happened to be at the door when the school +was dismissed; she tried to run away—and stood still.</p> + +<p>At first there would be a sound like that made by a +swarm of bees, a buzzing and humming, one of those +great outbursts of childish joy that wake the echoes in the +streets of Paris. From the dark and narrow passageway +leading to the schoolroom the children would rush forth +as if escaping from an open cage, and run about and +frolic in the sunlight. They would push and jostle one +another, and toss their empty baskets in the air. Then +some would call to one another and form little groups; +tiny hands would go forth to meet other tiny hands; +friends would take one another by the arm or put their +arms around one another's waists or necks, and walk +along nibbling at the same tart. Soon the whole band +would be in motion, walking slowly up the filthy street +with loitering step. The larger ones, ten years old at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +most, would stop and talk, like little women, at the +<i>portes cochères</i>. Others would stop to drink from their +luncheon bottles. The smaller ones would amuse themselves +by dipping the soles of their shoes in the gutter. +And there were some who made a headdress of a cabbage +leaf picked up from the ground,—a green cap sent +by the good God, beneath which the fresh young face +smiled brightly.</p> + +<p>Germinie would gaze at them all and walk along with +them; she would go in among them in order to feel the +rustling of their aprons. She could not take her eyes off +the little arms under which the school satchels leaped +about, the little pea-green dresses, the little black leggings, +the little legs in the little woolen stockings. In +her eyes there was a sort of divine light about all those +little flaxen heads, with the soft hair of the child Jesus. +A little stray lock upon a little neck, a bit of baby flesh +above a chemise or at the end of a sleeve—at times +she saw nothing but that; it was to her all the sunshine +of the street—and the sky!</p> + +<p>Gradually the troop dwindled away. Each street +took some children away to neighboring streets. The +school dispersed along the road. The gaiety of all the +tiny footsteps died away little by little. The little +dresses disappeared one by one. Germinie followed the +last, she attached herself to those who went the farthest.</p> + +<p>On one occasion, as she was walking along thus, +devouring with her eyes the memory of her daughter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +she was suddenly seized with a frenzied longing to +embrace something; she rushed at one of the little girls +and grasped her arm just as a kidnapper of children +would do. "Mamma! mamma!" the little one cried, +and wept as she pulled her arm away.</p> + +<p>Germinie fled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLV</h2> + + +<p>To Germinie all days were alike, equally gloomy and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +desolate. She had reached a point at last where she +expected nothing from chance and asked nothing from +the unforeseen. Her life seemed to her to be forever +encaged in her despair; it would always be the same +implacable thing, the same straight, monotonous road +to misfortune, the same dark path with death at the end. +In all the time to come there was no future for her.</p> + +<p>And yet, in the depths of despair in which she was +crouching, thoughts passed through her mind at times +which made her raise her head and look before her to a +point beyond the present. At times the illusion of a +last hope smiled upon her. It seemed to her that she +might even yet be happy, and that if certain things +should come to pass, she would be. Thereupon she +imagined that those things did happen. She arranged +incidents and catastrophes. She linked the impossible +to the impossible. She reconstructed the opportunities +of her life. And her fevered hope, setting about the +task of creating events according to her desire on the +horizon of the future, soon became intoxicated with the +insane vision of her suppositions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the delirious hope would gradually fade away. +She would tell herself that it was impossible, that nothing +of what she dreamed of could happen, and she +would sink back in her chair and think. After a +moment or two she would rise and walk, slowly and +uncertainly, to the fireplace, toy with the coffee-pot on +the mantelpiece, and at last decide to take it: she +would learn what the rest of her life was to be. Her +good fortune, her ill fortune, everything that was to +happen to her was there, in that fortune-telling device +of the woman of the people, on the plate on which she +was about to pour the coffee-grounds. She drained the +water from the grounds, waited a few minutes, breathed +upon them with the religious breath with which her lips, +as a child, touched the paten at the village church. +Then she leaned over them, with her head thrust forward, +terrifying in her immobility, with her eyes fixed +intently upon the black dust scattered in patches over +the plate. She sought what she had seen fortune-tellers +find in the granulations and the almost imperceptible +traces left by the coffee as it trickled away. She fatigued +her eyes by gazing at the innumerable little spots, and +deciphered shapes and letters and signs therein. She +put aside some grains with her finger in order to see +them more clearly and more sharply defined. She +turned the plate slowly in her hands, this way and that, +questioned its mystery on all sides, and hunted down, +within its circular rim, apparitions, images, rudiments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +of names, shadowy initials, resemblances to different +people, rough outlines of objects, omens in embryo, +symbols of trifles, which told her that she would be +<i>victorious</i>. She wanted to see these things and she +compelled herself to discover them. Under her tense +gaze the porcelain became alive with the visions of her +insomnia; her disappointments, her hatreds, the faces +she detested, arose gradually from the magic plate and +the designs drawn thereon by chance. By her side the +candle, which she forgot to snuff, gave forth an intermittent, +dying light: it sank lower and lower in the +silence, night came on apace, and Germinie, as if turned +to stone in her agony, always remained rooted there, +alone and face to face with her fear of the future, trying +to decipher in the dregs of the coffee the confused features +of her destiny, until she thought she could detect +a cross, beside a woman who resembled Jupillon's cousin—a +cross, that is to say, <i>a speedy death</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLVI</h2> + + +<p>The love which she lacked, and which it was her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +determination to deny herself, became the torment of +her life, incessant, abominable torture. She had to +defend herself against the fevers of her body and the +irritations from without, against the easily aroused +emotions and the indolent cowardice of her flesh, +against all the solicitations of nature by which she was +assailed. She had to contend with the heat of the day, +with the suggestions of the darkness, with the moist +warmth of stormy weather, with the breath of her past +and her memories, with the pictures suddenly thrown +upon the background of her mind, with the voices that +whispered caressingly in her ear, with the emotions that +sent a thrill of tenderness into her every limb.</p> + +<p>Weeks, months, years, the frightful temptation endured, +and she did not yield or take another lover. +Fearful of herself, she avoided man and fled from his +sight. She continued her domestic, unsocial habits, +always closeted with mademoiselle, or else above in her +own room. On Sundays she did not leave the house. +She had ceased to consort with the other maids in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +house, and, in order to occupy her time and forget herself, +she plunged into vast undertakings in the way of +sewing, or buried herself in sleep. When musicians +came into the courtyard she closed the windows in order +not to hear them: the sensuousness of music moved her +very soul.</p> + +<p>In spite of everything, she could not calm or cool her +passions. Her evil thoughts rekindled themselves, lived +and flourished upon themselves. At every moment the +fixed idea of desire arose from her whole being, became +throughout her body the fierce torment that +knows no end, that delirium of the senses, obsession,—the +obsession that nothing can dispel and that constantly +returns, the shameless, implacable obsession, +swarming with images, the obsession that brings love +close to the woman's every sense, that touches with it +her closed eyes, forces it smoking into her brain and +pours it, hot as fire, into her arteries!</p> + +<p>At length, the nervous exhaustion caused by these +constant assaults, the irritation of this painful continence, +began to disturb Germinie's faculties. She +fancied that she could see her temptations: a ghastly +hallucination brought the realization of her dreams near +to her senses. It happened that at certain moments the +things she saw in her room, the candlesticks, the legs of +the chairs, everything about her assumed impure appearances +and shapes. Obscenity arose from everything +before her eyes and approached her. At such times she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +would look at her kitchen clock, and would say, like a +condemned man whose body no longer belongs to himself: +"In five minutes I am going down into the street." +And when the five minutes had passed she would stay +where she was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLVII</h2> + + +<p>The time came at last in this life of torture when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +Germinie abandoned the conflict. Her conscience +yielded, her will succumbed, she bowed her head beneath +her destiny. All that remained to her of resolution, +energy, courage, vanished before the feeling, the +despairing conviction, of her powerlessness to save herself +from herself. She felt that she was being borne +along on a resistless current, that it was useless, almost +impious, to try to stop. That great power of the world +that causes suffering, the malevolent power that bears +the name of a god on the marble of the antique tragedies, +and is called <i>No Chance</i> on the tattooed brow of the +galley-slave—Fatality—was trampling upon her, and +Germinie lowered her head beneath its foot.</p> + +<p>When, in her hours of discouragement, the bitter +experiences of her past recurred to her memory, when +she followed, from her infancy, the links in the chain of +her deplorable existence, that long line of afflictions that +had followed her years and grown heavier with them; +all the incidents that had succeeded one another in her +life, as if by preconcerted arrangement on the part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +misery, without her having ever caught a glimpse of the +hand of the Providence of which she had heard so +much—she said to herself that she was one of those +miserable creatures who are destined from their birth to +an eternity of misery, one of those for whom happiness +was not made, and who know it only because they envy +it in others. She fed and nourished herself on that +thought, and by dint of yielding to the despair it +tended to produce, by dint of brooding over the unbroken +chain of her misfortunes and the endless succession +of her disappointments, she reached the point +where she looked upon the most trifling annoyances of +her life and her service as a part of the persecution of +her evil genius. A little money that she loaned and +that was not repaid, a counterfeit coin that was put off +upon her in a shop, an errand that she failed to perform +satisfactorily, a purchase in which she was cheated—all +these things were in her opinion due neither to her own +fault nor to chance. It was the sequel of what had +gone before. Life was in a conspiracy against her and +persecuted her everywhere, in everything, great and +small, from her daughter's death to bad groceries. +There were days when she broke everything she touched; +she thereupon imagined that she was accursed to her +finger-tips. Accursed! almost damned; she persuaded +herself that she was so in very truth, when she questioned +her body, when she probed her feelings. Did +she not feel, in the fire in her blood, in the appetite of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +her organs, in her passionate weakness, the spur of the +Fatality of Love, the mystery and obsession of a disease, +stronger than her modesty and her reason, having +already delivered her over to the shameful excesses of +passion, and destined—she had a presentiment that it +was so—to deliver her again in the same way?</p> + +<p>And so she had one sentence always in her mouth, a +sentence that was the refrain of her thought: "What +can you expect? I am unlucky. I have had no chance. +From the beginning nothing ever succeeded with me!" +She said it in the tone of a woman who has abandoned +hope. With the persuasion, every day more firm, that +she was born under an unlucky star, that she was in the +power of hatred and vengeance that were more powerful +than she, Germinie had come to be afraid of everything +that happens in ordinary life. She lived in that state of +cowardly unrest wherein the unexpected is dreaded as a +possible calamity, wherein a ring at the bell causes +alarm, wherein one turns a letter over and over, weighing +the mystery it contains, not daring to open it, +wherein the news you are about to hear, the mouth that +opens to speak to you, cause the perspiration to start +upon your temples. She was in that state of suspicion, +of shuddering fear, of trembling awe in face of destiny, +wherein misfortune sees naught but misfortune, and +wherein one would like to check the current of his +life so that it should not go forward whither all the +endeavors and the attacks of others are forcing it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last, by virtue of the tears she shed, she arrived at +that supreme disdain, that climax of suffering, where the +excess of pain seems a satire, where chagrin, exceeding +the utmost limits of human strength, exceeds its sensibility +as well, and the stricken heart, which no longer +feels the blows, says to the Heaven it defies: "Go on!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLVIII</h2> + + +<p>"Where are you going in that rig?" said Germinie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +one Sunday morning to Adèle, as she passed in grand +array along the corridor on the sixth floor, in front of +her open door.</p> + +<p>"Ah! there you are! I'm going to a swell wedding, +my dear! There's a crowd of us—big Marie, the <i>great +bully</i>, you know—Elisa, from 41, the two Badiniers, big +and little—and men, too! In the first place, there's +my <i>dealer in sudden death</i>. Yes, and—Oh! didn't +you know—my new flame, the master-at-arms of the +24th—and a friend of his, a painter, a real Father Joy. +We're going to Vincennes. Everyone carries something. +We shall dine on the grass—the men will pay +for the wine. And there'll be plenty of it, I promise +you!"</p> + +<p>"I'll go, too," said Germinie.</p> + +<p>"You? nonsense! you don't go to parties any more."</p> + +<p>"But I tell you I'll go," said Germinie, in a sharp, +decided tone. "Just give me time to tell mademoiselle +and put on a dress. If you'll wait I'll go and get half +a lobster."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>Half an hour later the two women left the house; they +skirted the city wall and found the rest of the party +sitting outside a café on Boulevard de la Chopinette. +After taking a glass of currant wine, they entered two +large cabs and rode away. When they arrived at the +fortress at Vincennes they alighted and the whole party +walked along the bank of the moat. As they were +passing under the wall of the fort, the master-at-arms' +friend, the painter, shouted to an artilleryman, who +was doing sentry duty beside a cannon: "Say! old +fellow, you'd rather drink one than stand guard over +it, eh?"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>"Isn't he funny?" said Adèle to Germinie, nudging +her with her elbow.</p> + +<p>Soon they were fairly in the forest of Vincennes.</p> + +<p>Narrow paths crossed and recrossed in every direction +on the hard, uneven, footprint-covered ground. In the +spaces between all these little roads there was here and +there a little grass, but down-trodden, withered, yellow, +dead grass, strewn about like bedding for cattle, its +straw-colored blades were everywhere mingled with +briars, amid the dull green of nettles. It was easily +recognizable as one of the rural spots to which the great +faubourgs resort on Sundays to loll about in the grass, +and which resemble a lawn trampled by a crowd after a +display of fireworks. Gnarled, misshapen trees were +scattered here and there; dwarf elms with gray trunks +covered with yellow, leprous-like spots and stripped of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +branches to a point higher than a man's head; scraggy +oaks, eaten by caterpillars so that their leaves were like +lacework. The verdure was scant and sickly and entirely +unshaded, the leaves above had a very unhealthy look; +the stunted, ragged, parched foliage made only faint +green lines against the sky. Clouds of dust from the +high-roads covered the bushes with a gray pall. Everything +had the wretched, impoverished aspect of trampled +vegetation that has no chance to breathe, the melancholy +effect of the grass at the barriers! Nature seemed to +sprout from beneath the pavements. No birds sang in +the trees, no insects hummed about the dusty ground; +the noise of the spring-carts stunned the birds; the +hand-organ put the rustling of the trees to silence; the +denizens of the street strolled about through the paths, +singing. Women's hats, fastened with four pins to a +handkerchief, were hanging from the trees; the red +plume of an artilleryman burst upon one at every moment +through the scanty leaves; dealers in honey rose +from the thickets; on the trampled greensward children +in blouses were cutting twigs, workingmen's families +idling their time away nibbling at <i>pleasure</i>, and little +urchins catching butterflies in their caps. It was a +forest after the pattern of the original Bois de Boulogne, +hot and dusty, a much-frequented and sadly-abused +promenade, one of those spots, avaricious of shade, to +which the common people flock to disport themselves +at the gates of great capitals—burlesque forests, filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +with corks, where you find slices of melon and skeletons +in the underbrush.</p> + +<p>The heat on this day was stifling; the sun was swimming +in clouds, shedding a veiled diffuse light that was +almost blinding to the eyes and that seemed to portend +a storm. The air was heavy and dead; nothing stirred; +the leaves and their tiny, meagre shadows did not move; +the forest seemed weary and crushed, as it were, beneath +the heavy sky. At rare intervals a breath of air from +the south passed lazily along, sweeping the ground, one +of those enervating, lifeless winds that blow upon the +senses and fan the breath of desire into a flame. With +no knowledge whence it came, Germinie felt over her +whole body a sensation like the tickling of the down +on a ripe peach against the skin.</p> + +<p>They went gayly along, with the somewhat excited +activity that the country air imparts to the common +people. The men ran, the women tripped after them +and caught them. They played at rolling on the grass. +There was a manifest longing to dance and climb trees; +the painter amused himself by throwing stones at the +loop-holes in the gateways of the fortress, and he never +missed his aim.</p> + +<p>At last they all sat down in a sort of clearing under a +clump of oaks, whose shadows were lengthening in the +setting sun. The men, lighting matches on the seats +of their trousers, began to smoke. The women chattered +and laughed and threw themselves backward in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +paroxysms of inane hilarity and noisy outbursts of +delight. Germinie alone did not speak or laugh. She +did not listen or look. Her eyes, beneath their lowered +lids, were fixed upon the toes of her boots. So engrossed +in thought was she that you would have said she was +totally oblivious to time and place. Lying at full +length on the grass, her head slightly raised by a hammock, +she made no other movement than to lay her +hands, palm downwards, on the grass beside her; in a +short time she would turn them on their backs and let +them lie in that position, seeking the coolness of the +earth to allay the fever of her flesh.</p> + +<p>"There's a lazybones! going to sleep?" said Adèle.</p> + +<p>Germinie opened wide her blazing eyes, without +answering, and until dinner maintained the same position, +the same silence, the same air of torpor, feeling +about her for places where her burning hands had not +rested.</p> + +<p>"Come, old girl!" said a woman's voice, "sing us +something."</p> + +<p>"Oh! no," Adèle replied, "I haven't got wind +enough before eating."</p> + +<p>Suddenly a great stone came hurtling through the air +and struck the ground near Germinie's head; at the +same moment she heard the painter's voice shouting: +"Don't be afraid! that's your chair."</p> + +<p>One and all laid their handkerchiefs on the ground +by way of tablecloth. Eatables were produced from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +greasy papers. Bottles were uncorked and the wine +went round; the glasses were rested against tufts of grass, +and they fell to upon bits of pork and sausages, with +slices of bread for plates. The painter cut boats out of +paper to hold the salt, and imitated the orders shouted +out by waiters in a café. "<i>Boum! Pavillon! Servez!</i>" +he cried. The company gradually became animated. +The open air, the patches of blue sky, the food and +drink started the gayety of the table in full blast. +Hands approached one another, mouths met, coarse +remarks were whispered from one to another, shirt +sleeves crept around waists, and now and then energetic +embraces were attended by greedy, resounding kisses.</p> + +<p>Germinie drank, and said nothing. The painter, who +had taken his place by her side, felt decidedly chilly +and embarrassed beside his extraordinary neighbor, who +amused herself "so entirely inside." Suddenly he +began to beat a tattoo with his knife against his glass, +drowning the uproar of the party, and rose to his knees.</p> + +<p>"Mesdames!" said he, with the voice of a paroquet +that has sung too much, "here's the health of a man in +hard luck: myself! Perhaps it will bring me good +luck! Deserted, yes, mesdames; yes, I've been deserted! +I'm a widower! you know the kind of widower, +<i>razibus</i>! I was struck all of a heap. Not that I cared +much for her, but habit, that old villain, habit! The +fact is I'm as bored as a bed-bug in a watch spring. For +two weeks my life has been like a restaurant without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> +<i>pousse-café</i>! And when I love love as if it had made me! +No wife! That's what I call weaning a grown man! +that is to say, since I've known what it is, I take off my +hat to the curés: I feel very sorry for them, 'pon my +word! No wife! and there are so many of 'em! But I +can't walk about with a sign: <i>Vacant man to let. Inquire +within.</i> In the first place it would have to be +stamped by M'sieu le Préfet, and then, people are such +fools, it would draw a crowd! All of which, mesdames, +is intended to inform you, that if, among the people you +have the honor of knowing, there should happen to be +one who'd like to make an acquaintance—virtuous acquaintance—a +pretty little left-handed marriage—why +she needn't look any farther! I'm her man—Victor-Médéric +Gautruche! a home body, a genuine house-ivy +for sentiment! She has only to apply at my former +hotel, <i>La Clef de Sûreté</i>. And gay as a hunchback +who's just drowned his wife! Gautruche, called Gogo-la-Gaiété, +egad! A pretty fellow who knows what's +what, who doesn't beat about the bush, a good old body +who takes things easy and who won't give himself the +colic with that fishes' grog!" With that he took a bottle +of water that stood beside him and hurled it twenty +yards away. "Long live the walls! They're the same +to papa that the sky is to the good God! Gogo-la-Gaiété +paints them through the week and beats them on +Monday!<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> And with all that not jealous, not ugly, not +a wife-beater, but a real love of a man, who never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +harmed one of the fair sex in his life! If you want +physique, <i>parbleu</i>! I'm your man!"</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet and, drawing up his wavering +body, clad in an old blue coat with gilt buttons, to its +full height, removing his gray hat so as to show his perspiring, +polished, bald skull, and tossing his old plucked +<i>gamin's</i> head, he continued: "You see what it is! It +isn't a very attractive piece of property; it doesn't help +it to exhibit it. But it yields well, it's a little dilapidated, +but well put together. Dame! Here I am with my +little forty nine-years—no more hair than a billiard ball, +a witchgrass beard that would make good herb-tea, +foundations not too solid, feet as long as La Villette—and +with all the rest thin enough to take a bath in a musket-barrel. +There's the bill of lading! Pass the prospectus +along! If any woman wants all that in a lump—any +respectable person—not too young—who won't amuse +herself by painting me too yellow—you understand, I +don't ask for a Princess of Batignolles—why, sure as +you're born, I'm her man!"</p> + +<p>Germinie seized Gautruche's glass, half emptied it at a +draught and held out the side from which she had drunk +to him.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>At nightfall the party returned on foot. When they +reached the fortifications, Gautruche drew a large heart +with the point of his knife on the stone, and all the +names with the date were carved inside.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the evening Gautruche and Germinie were upon +the outer boulevards, near Barrière Rochechouart. Beside +a low house with these words, in a plaster panel: +<i>Madame Merlin</i>. <i>Dresses cut and tried on, two francs</i>, +they stopped at a stone staircase of three steps leading +into a dark passage, at the end of which shone the red +light of an Argand lamp. At the entrance to the passage, +these words were printed in black on a wooden +sign:</p> + +<div class="nanospace"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></div> +<div class="center"><i>Hotel of the Little Blue Hand.</i></div> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">XLIX</h2> + + +<p>Médérie Gautruche was one of the wenching, idling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +vagabond workmen who make their whole life a Monday. +Filled with the love of wine, his lips forever wet +with the last drop, his insides as thoroughly lined with +tartar as an old wine cask, he was one of those whom the +Burgundians graphically call <i>boyaux rouges</i>.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Always a +little tipsy, tipsy from yesterday when he had drunk nothing +to-day, he looked at life through the sunbeam in his +head. He smiled at his fate, he yielded to it with the +easy indifference of the drunkard, smiling vaguely from +the steps of the wineshop at things in general, at life and +the road that stretched away into the darkness. <i>Ennui</i>, +care, want, had gained no hold upon him; and if by +chance a grave or gloomy thought did come into his +mind, he turned his head away, uttered an exclamation +that sounded like <i>psitt</i>! which was his way of saying +<i>pshaw</i>! and, raising his right arm, caricaturing the +gesture of a Spanish dancer, he would toss his melancholy +over his shoulder to the devil. He had the +superb after-drinking philosophy, the jovial serenity, of +the bottle. He knew neither envy nor longing. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +dreams served him as a cashbox. For three sous he was +sure of a small glass of happiness; for twelve, of a bottle +of ideal bliss. Being content with everything, he liked +everything, and found food for laughter and entertainment +in everything. Nothing in the world seemed sad +to him—except a glass of water.</p> + +<p>With this drunkard's expansiveness, with the gayety +of his excellent health and his temperament, Gautruche +combined the characteristic gayety of his profession, the +good humor and the warm-heartedness of that free, +unfatiguing life, in the open air, between heaven and +earth, which seeks distraction in singing, and flings the +workmen's <i>blague</i> at passers-by, from its lofty perch +upon a ladder. He was a house-painter and did lettering. +He was the one man in Paris who would attack a +sign without a measure, with no other guide than a cord, +without outlining the letters in white; he was the only +one who could place each of the letters in position +inside of the frame of a placard, and, without losing an +instant in aligning them, dash off capitals off-hand. He +was also renowned for fantastic letters, capricious letters, +letters shaded in bronze or gold to imitate those cut in +stone. Thus he made fifteen to twenty francs on some +days. But as he drank it all up, he was not wealthy, +and he always had unpaid scores on the slate at the +wine-shops.</p> + +<p>He was a man brought up in the street. The street +had been his mother, his nurse and his school. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +street had given him his self-assurance, his ready tongue +and his wit. All that the keen mind of a man of the +people can pick up upon the pavements of Paris he had +picked up. All that falls from the upper to the lower +strata of a great city, the strainings and drippings, the +crumbs of ideas and information, the things that float +in the sensitive atmosphere and the brimming gutters, +the contact with the covers of books, bits of <i>feuilletons</i> +swallowed between two glasses, odds and ends of plays +heard on the boulevard, had endowed him with that +accidental intelligence which, though without education, +learns everything. He possessed an inexhaustible, imperturbable +store of talk. His words gushed forth +abundantly in original remarks, laughable images, the +metaphors that flow from the comic genius of crowds. +He had the natural picturesqueness of the unadulterated +farce. He was brimming over with amusing stories and +buffoonery, rich in the possession of the richest of all +repertories of house-painter's nonsense. Being a member +of divers of the low haunts called <i>lists</i>, he knew all +the new tunes and ballads, and he was never tired of +singing. He was amusing, in short, from head to foot. +And if you merely looked at him you laughed at him, +as at a comic actor.</p> + +<p>A man of his cheerful, hearty temperament suited +Germinie.</p> + +<p>Germinie was not a mere beast of burden with nothing +but her work in her head. She was not the servant,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +who stands like a post, with the frightened face and +doltish air of utter stupidity, when masters and mistresses +are talking in her presence. She, too, had cast off her +shell, fashioned herself and opened her mind to the education +of Paris. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, having +no occupation, and being interested after the manner +of old maids in what was going on in the quarter, had +long been in the habit of making Germinie tell her +what news she had gleaned, what she knew of the +tenants, all the gossip of the house and the street; and +this habit of narration, of talking with her mistress like +a sort of companion, of describing people and drawing +silhouettes of them, had eventually developed in her a +facility of animated description, of happy, unconscious +characterization, a piquancy and sometimes an acrimony +in her remarks that were most remarkable in the mouth +of a servant. She had progressed so far that she often +surprised Mademoiselle de Varandeuil by her quickness +of comprehension, her promptness at grasping things +only half said, her good fortune and facility in selecting +such words as good talkers use. She knew how to jest. +She understood a play upon words. She expressed herself +without <i>cuirs</i>,<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> and when there was a discussion concerning +orthography at the creamery, her opinion was +listened to with as much deference as that of the clerk +in the registry of deaths at the mayoralty who came +there to breakfast. She had also that background of +indiscriminate reading which women of her class have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +when they read at all. With the two or three kept +women in whose service she had been, she had passed +her nights devouring novels; since then she had continued +to read the <i>feuilletons</i> cut by her acquaintances +from the bottom of newspapers, and she had gathered +from them a vague idea of many things and of some of +the kings of France. She had retained enough of such +subjects to make her desire to talk of them with others. +Through a woman in the house who worked for an +author on the street, she often had tickets to the play; +when she came away she could remember the whole +play and the names of the actors she had seen on the +programme. She loved to buy ballads and one sou +novels, and read them.</p> + +<p>The air, the keen breath of Quartier Bréda, full of +the <i>verve</i> of the artist and the studio, of art and vice, +had sharpened these tastes of Germinie's mind and had +created in her new needs and demands. Long before +her disorderly life began, she had cut loose from the +virtuous companionship of decent women of her rank +and station, from the worthy creatures who were so +uninteresting and stupid. She had quitted the circle of +orderly, dull uprightness, of sleep-inducing conversations +around the tea-table under the auspices of the old +servants of mademoiselle's elderly acquaintances. She +had shunned the wearisome society of maids whom their +absorption in their employment and the fascination of +the savings bank rendered unendurably stupid. She had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +reached the point where, before accepting the companionship +of people, she must satisfy herself that they +possessed a degree of intelligence corresponding to her +own and were capable of understanding her. And now, +when she emerged from her fits of brutishness, when she +found her old self and was born again, in diversion and +pleasure, she must for her enjoyment have kindred +spirits of her own. She wanted men about her who +would make her laugh, noisy gayety, the spirituous wit +that intoxicated her with the wine that was poured into +her glass. And thus it was that she sank to the level of +the rascally Bohemia of the common people, uproarious, +maddening, intoxicating, like all Bohemias: thus it was +that she fell to the lot of a Gautruche.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">L</h2> + + +<p>As Germinie was returning to the house one morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +at daybreak, she heard, from the shadows of the <i>porte-cochère</i> +as it closed behind her, a voice cry: "Who's +that?" She ran to the servants' staircase, but found that +she was pursued, and as she turned a corner on the landing +the concierge seized her. As soon as he recognized +her, he said: "Oh! is it you? excuse me; don't be +frightened! What a giddy creature you are! It surprises +you to see me up so early, eh? It's on account +of the thieving that's going on these days in the cook's +bedroom on the second. Good-night to you! it's lucky +for you I don't tell all I know."</p> + +<p>A few days later Germinie learned through Adèle that +the husband of the cook who had been robbed said that +there was no need to look very far; that the thief was in +the house, and that he knew what he knew. Adèle +added that it was making a good deal of talk in the +street and that there were plenty of people who would +believe it and repeat it. Germinie became very indignant +and told her mistress all about it. Mademoiselle +was even more indignant than she, and, feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +personally outraged by the insult, wrote instantly to the +cook's mistress that she must put a stop at once to the +slanderous statements concerning a girl who had been +in her service twenty years, and for whom she would +answer as for herself. The cook was reprimanded. +Her husband in his wrath talked louder than ever. He +made a great outcry and for several days filled the house +with his project of going to the commissioner of police +and calling upon him to question Germinie as to where +she procured the money to start the <i>crémière's</i> son in +business, as to where she procured the money to purchase +a substitute for him, and how she paid the expenses +of the men she kept. For a whole week the +terrible threat hung over Germinie's head. At last the +thief was discovered and the threat fell to the ground. +But it had had its effect on the poor girl. It had done +all the injury it could do in that confused brain, where, +under the sudden, overpowering rush of the blood, her +reason was wavering and became overcast at the slightest +shock. It had overturned that brain which was so +prompt to go astray in fear or vexation, which lost so +quickly the faculty of good judgment, of discernment, +clear-sightedness and appreciation of its surroundings, +which exaggerated its troubles, which plunged into +foolish alarms, previsions of evil, despairing presentiments, +which looked upon its terrors as realities, and +was constantly lost in the pessimism of that species of +delirium, at the end of which it could find nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +but this ejaculation and this phrase: "Bah! I will kill +myself!"</p> + +<p>Throughout the week the fever in her brain caused her +to experience all the effects of the things she thought +might happen. By day and night she saw her shame +laid bare and made public; she saw her secret, her +cowardice, her wrong-doing, all that she carried about +with her concealed and sewn in her heart—she saw it +all uncovered, noised abroad, disclosed—disclosed to +mademoiselle! Her debts on Jupillon's account, augmented +by her debts for drink and for food for Gautruche, +by all that she purchased now on credit, her +debt to the concierge and the shopkeepers would soon +become known and ruin her! A cold shiver ran down +her back at the thought: she could feel mademoiselle +turning her away! Throughout the week she constantly +imagined herself standing before the commissioner +of police. Seven long days she brooded over +that word and that idea: the Law! the Law as it +appears to the imagination of the lower classes; something +terrible, indefinable, inevitable, which is everywhere, +and lurks in everyone's shadow; an omnipotent +source of calamity which appears vaguely in the judge's +black gown, between the police sergeant and the executioner, +with the hands of the gendarme and the arms of +the guillotine! She, who was subject to all the instinctive +terrors of the common people, and who often repeated +that she would much rather die than appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +before the court—she imagined herself seated in the +dock, between two gendarmes, in a court-room, surrounded +by all the unfamiliar paraphernalia of the Law, +her ignorance of which made them objects of terror to +her. Throughout the week her ears heard footsteps on +the stairs coming to arrest her!</p> + +<p>The shock was too violent for nerves as weak as hers. +The mental upheaval of that week of agony possessed +her with an idea that hitherto had only hovered about +her—the idea of suicide. She began to listen, with her +head in her hands, to the voice that spoke to her of +deliverance. She opened her ears to the sweet music of +death that we hear in the background of life like the fall +of mighty waters in the distance, dying away in space. +The temptations that speak to the discouraged heart of +the things that put an end to life so quickly and so +easily, of the means of quelling suffering with the hand, +pursued and solicited her. Her glance rested wistfully +upon all the things about her that could cure the disease +called life. She accustomed her fingers and her lips +to them. She touched them, handled them, drew them +near to her. She sought to test her courage upon them +and to obtain a foretaste of death. She would remain +for hours at her kitchen window with her eyes fixed on +the pavements in the courtyard down at the foot of the +five flights—pavements that she knew and could have +distinguished from others! As the daylight faded she +would lean farther out bending almost double over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> +ill-secured window-bar, hoping always that it would give +way and drag her down with it—praying that she might +die without having to make the desperate, voluntary +leap into space to which she no longer felt equal.</p> + +<p>"Why, you'll fall out!" said mademoiselle one day, +grasping her skirt impulsively in her alarm. "What +are you looking at down there in the courtyard?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! nothing—the pavements."</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name, are you crazy? How you +frightened me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! people don't fall that way," said Germinie in +a strange tone. "I tell you, mademoiselle, in order to +fall one must have a mighty longing to do it!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LI</h2> + + +<p>Germinie had not been able to induce Gautruche,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +who was haunted by a former mistress, to give her the +key to his room. When he had not returned she was +obliged to await his coming outside, in the cold, dark +street.</p> + +<p>At first she would walk back and forth in front of the +house. She would take twenty steps in one direction and +twenty in the other. Then, as if to prolong her period +of waiting, she would take a longer turn, and, going +farther and farther every time, would end by extending +her walk to both ends of the boulevard. Frequently +she walked thus for hours, shamefaced and mud-stained, +in the fog and darkness, amid the iniquitous and horrible +surroundings of an avenue near the barriers, where +darkness reigned. She followed the line of red-wine +shops, the naked arbors, the <i>cabaret</i> trellises supported +by dead trees such as we see in bear-pits, low, flat hovels +with curtainless windows cut at random in the walls, cap +factories where shirts are sold, and wicked-looking hotels +where a night's lodging may be had. She passed by +closed, hermetically-sealed shops, black with bankruptcy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +by fragments of condemned walls, by dark passageways +with iron gratings, by walled-up windows, by doors that +seemed to give admission to those abodes of murder, the +plan of which is handed to the jury at the assizes. As +she went on, there were gloomy little gardens, crooked +buildings, architecture in its most degraded form, tall, +mouldy <i>portes-cochères</i>, hedge-rows, within which could +be vaguely seen the uncanny whiteness of stones in the +darkness, corners of unfinished buildings from which +arose the stench of nitrification, walls disfigured by disgusting +placards and fragments of torn advertisements +by which they were spotted with loathsome publications +as by leprosy. From time to time, at a sharp turn in +the street, she would come upon lanes that seemed to +plunge into dark holes a few steps from their beginning, +and from which a blast of damp air came forth as from +a cellar; dark no-thoroughfares stood out against the +sky with the rigidity of a great wall; streets stretched +vaguely away in the distance, with the feeble gleam of +a lantern twinkling here and there at long intervals +upon the ghostly plaster fronts of the houses.</p> + +<p>Germinie would walk on and on. She would cover +all the territory where low debauchery fills its crop +on Mondays and finds its loves, between a hospital, +a slaughter-house, and a cemetery; Lariboisière, the +Abattoir and Montmartre.</p> + +<p>The people who passed that way—the workman returning +from Paris whistling; the workingwoman, her day's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +work ended, hurrying on with her hands under her armpits +to keep herself warm; the street-walker in her black +cap—would stare at her as they passed. Strange men +acted as if they recognized her; the light made her +ashamed. She would turn and run toward the other +end of the boulevard and follow the dark, deserted footway +along the city wall; but she was soon driven away +by horrible shadows of men and by brutally familiar +hands.</p> + +<p>She tried to go away; she insulted herself inwardly; +she called herself a cowardly wretch; she swore to herself +that each turn should be the last, that she would go +as far as a certain tree, and that was all; if he had not +returned, she would go away and put an end to the +whole thing. But she did not go; she walked on and +on; she waited, more consumed than ever, the longer +he delayed, with the mad desire to see him.</p> + +<p>At last, as the hours flew by and the boulevard became +empty, Germinie, exhausted, overdone with weariness, +would approach the houses. She would loiter from shop +to shop, she would go mechanically where gas was still +burning, and stand stupidly in the bright glare from the +shop windows. She welcomed the dazzling light in her +eyes, she tried to allay her impatience by benumbing it. +The objects to be seen through the perspiring windows +of the wine-shops—the cooking utensils, the bowls of +punch flanked by two empty bottles with sprigs of laurel +protruding from their necks, the show-cases in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +the liquors combined their varied colors in a single +beam, a cup filled with plated spoons—these things would +hold her attention for a long while. She would read +the old announcements of lottery drawings placarded +on the walls of a saloon, the advertisements of <i>gloria</i>—coffee +with brandy—the inscriptions in yellow letters: +<i>New wine, pure blood, 70 centimes.</i> For a whole quarter +of an hour she would stand staring into a back room +containing a man in a blouse sitting on a stool by a table, +a stove-pipe, a slate, and two black tea-boards against the +wall. Her fixed, vacant stare would rest, through the +reddish mist, upon the dark forms of shoemakers leaning +over their benches. It fell and lingered heedlessly +upon a counter that was being washed, upon hands that +were counting the receipts of the day, upon a tunnel +or jug that was being scoured with sandstone. She had +ceased to think. She would simply stand there, nailed +to the spot and growing weaker and weaker, feeling her +courage vanish from the mere weariness of standing on +her feet, seeing things only through a sort of film as in +a swoon, hearing the noise made by the muddy cabs +rolling over the wet pavements only as a buzzing in her +ears, ready to fall and compelled again and again to lean +against the wall for support.</p> + +<p>In her then condition of prostration and illness, with +that semi-hallucination of vertigo that made her so timid +of crossing the Seine and impelled her to cling to the +bridge railings, it happened that, on certain evenings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +when it rained, these fits of weakness that she had upon +the outer boulevard assumed the terrors of a nightmare. +When the light from the lanterns, trembling in misty +vapor, cast its varying, flickering reflection on the damp +ground; when the pavements, the sidewalks, the earth, +seemed to melt away and disappear under the rain, and +there was no appearance of solidity anywhere in the +aqueous darkness, the wretched creature, almost mad +with fatigue, would fancy that she could see a flood +rising in the gutter. A mirage of terror would show her +suddenly the water all about her, and creeping constantly +nearer to her. She would close her eyes, not +daring to move, fearing to feel her feet slip from under +her; she would begin to weep, and would weep on until +someone passed by and offered to escort her to the +<i>Hotel of the Little Blue Hand</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LII</h2> + + +<p>She would then ascend the stairs; that was her last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +place of refuge. She would fly from the rain and snow +and cold, from fear, despair, and fatigue. She would go +up and sit on the top step against Gautruche's closed +doors; she would draw her shawl and skirts closely +about her in order to leave room for those who went +and came up that long steep ladder, and would draw +back as far as possible into the corner in order that +her shame might fill but little space on the narrow +landing.</p> + +<p>From the open doors the odor of unventilated closets, +of families heaped together in a single room, the exhalations +of unhealthy trades, the dense, greasy fumes of +cooking done in chafing-dishes on the floor, the stench +of rags and the faint damp smell of clothes drying in +the house, came forth and filled the hall. The broken-paned +window behind Germinie wafted to her nostrils +the fetid stench of a leaden pipe in which the whole +house emptied its refuse and its filth. Her stomach rose +in revolt every moment at a puff of infection; she was +obliged to take from her pocket a phial of melissa water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +that she always carried, and swallow a mouthful of it to +avoid being ill.</p> + +<p>But the staircase had its passers, too: honest workmen's +wives went up with a bushel of charcoal, or a pint +of wine for supper. Their feet would rub against her +as they passed, and as they went farther up, Germinie +would feel their scornful glances resting upon her and +falling upon her with more crushing force at every floor. +The children—little girls in <i>fanchons</i> who flitted up the +dark stairway and brightened it as if with flowers, little +girls in whom she saw, as she so often saw in dreams, +her own little one, living and grown to girlhood—she +saw them stop and look at her with wide open eyes that +seemed to recoil from her; then the little creatures would +turn and run breathlessly up-stairs, and, when they were +well out of reach, would lean over the rail until they +almost fell, and hurl impure jests at her, the insults of +the children of the common people. Insulting words, +poured out upon her by those rosebud mouths, wounded +Germinie more deeply than all else. She would half +rise for an instant; then, overwhelmed by shame, +resigning herself to her fate, she would fall back into +her corner, and, pulling her shawl over her head in +order to bury herself therein out of sight, she would sit +like a dead woman, crushed, inert, insensible, cowering +over her own shadow, like a bundle tossed on the +floor which everyone might tread upon—having no +control of her faculties, dead to everything except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +the footsteps that she was listening for—and that did +not come.</p> + +<p>At last, after long hours, hours that she could not +count, she would fancy that she heard a stumbling walk +in the street; then a vinous voice would mount the stairs, +stammering "<i>Canaille!</i> <i>canaille</i> of a saloon-keeper!—you +sold me the kind of wine that goes to my head!"</p> + +<p>It was he.</p> + +<p>And almost every day the same scene was enacted.</p> + +<p>"Ah! there y'are, my Germinie," he would say as +his eyes fell upon her. "It's like this—I'll tell you all +about it. I'm a little bit under water." And, as he +put the key in the lock: "I'll tell you all about it. It +isn't my fault."</p> + +<p>He would enter the room, kick aside a turtle-dove +with mangy wings that limped forward to greet him, +and close the door. "It wasn't me, d'ye see. It was +Paillon, you know Paillon? that little round fellow, fat +as a mad dog. Well, it was him, 'pon my honor. He +insisted on paying for a sixteen-sous bottle for me. He +offered to treat me, and I <i>proffered</i> him thanks. Thereupon +we naturally <i>consoled</i><a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> our coffee; when you're +consoled, you console! and as one thing led to another, +we fell upon each other! There was a very devil of a +carnage! The proof of it is that that gallows-bird of a +saloon-keeper threw us out-o'-doors like lobster shells!"</p> + +<p>Germinie, during the explanation, would have lighted +the candle, stuck in a yellow copper candlestick. By<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +its flickering light the dirty paper on the walls could be +seen, covered with caricatures from <i>Charivari</i>, torn +from the paper and pasted on the wall.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're a love!" Gautruche would exclaim, +as he saw her place a cold fowl and two bottles of wine +on the table. "For I must tell you all I've had in my +stomach to-day—a plate of wretched soup—that's all. +Ah! it must have taken a stout master-at-arms to put +that fellow's eyes out!"</p> + +<p>And he would begin to eat. Germinie would sit with +her elbows on the table, watching him and drinking, +and her glance would grow dark.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Pshaw! all the négresses are dead,"<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> Gautruche +would say at last, as he drained the bottles one by one. +"Put the children to bed!"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Thereupon terrible, fierce, abhorrent outbursts of passion +would ensue between those two strange creatures, +savage ardor followed by savage satiety, frantic storms +of lust, caresses that were impregnated with the fierce +brutality of wine, kisses that seemed to seek the blood +beneath the skin, like the tongue of a wild beast, and at +the end, utter exhaustion that swallowed them up and +left their bodies like corpses.</p> + +<p>Germinie plunged into these debauches with—what +shall I say?—delirium, madness, desperation, a sort of +supreme frenzy. Her ungovernable passions turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +against themselves, and, going beyond their natural +appetites, forced themselves to suffer. Satiety exhausted +them without extinguishing them; and, overpassing the +widest limits of excess, they excited themselves to self-torture. +In the poor creature's paroxysms of excitement, +her brain, her nerves, the imagination of her +maddened body, no longer sought pleasure in pleasure, +but something sharper, keener, and more violent: pain +in pleasure. And the words "to die" constantly +escaped from her compressed lips, as if she were invoking +death in an undertone and seeking to embrace it in +the agonies of love.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, in the night, she would suddenly sit up +on the edge of the bed, rest her bare feet on the cold +floor, and remain there, wild-eyed, listening to the +things that breathe in a sleeping-chamber. And little +by little the obscurity of the place and hour seemed to +envelop her. She seemed to herself to fall and writhe +helplessly in the blind unconsciousness of the night. +Her will became as naught. All sorts of black things, +that seemed to have wings and voices, beat against her +temples. The ghastly temptations that afford madness +a vague glimpse of crime caused a red light, the flash +of murder, to pass before her eyes, close at hand; and +hands placed against her back pushed her toward the +table where the knives lay. She would close her eyes +and move one foot; then fear would lay hold of her +and she would cling to the bedclothes; and at last she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +would turn around, fall back upon the bed, and go to +sleep beside the man she had been tempted to murder; +why? she had no idea; for nothing—for the sake of +killing!</p> + +<p>And so, until daybreak, in that wretched furnished +lodging, the fierce struggle of those fatal passions would +continue, while the poor maimed, limping dove, the +infirm bird of Venus, nesting in one of Gautruche's old +shoes, would utter now and then, awakened by the noise, +a frightened coo.</p> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<a name="i308" id="i308"></a><img src="images/ichlii.png" width="198" height="42" alt="Chapter LII + +Sometimes, in the night, she would suddenly sit up +on the edge of the bed, rest her bare feet on the cold +floor, and remain there, wild-eyed, listening to the +things that breathe in a sleeping-chamber. The ghastly +temptations that afford madness a vague glimpse of crime +caused a red light, the flash of murder, to pass before +her eyes, close at hand; and hands placed against her +back pushed her toward the table where the knives lay." title="" /></div> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;" /> +<div class="caption"><i>Sometimes, in the night, she would suddenly sit up +on the edge of the bed, rest her bare feet on the cold +floor, and remain there, wild-eyed, listening to the +things that breathe in a sleeping-chamber. The ghastly +temptations that afford madness a vague glimpse of crime +caused a red light, the flash of murder, to pass before +her eyes, close at hand; and hands placed against her +back pushed her toward the table where the knives lay.</i></div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<img src="images/i308.jpg" width="413" height="595" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LIII</h2> + + +<p>In those days Gautruche became a little disgusted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +with drinking. He felt the first pangs of the disease of +the liver that had long been lurking in his heated, alcoholized +blood, under his brick-red cheek bones. The +horrible pains that gnawed at his side, and twisted the +cords of his stomach for a whole week, caused him to +reflect. There came to his mind, together with divers +resolutions inspired by prudence, certain almost sentimental +ideas of the future. He said to himself that he +must put a little more water into his life, if he wanted +to live to old age. While he lay writhing in bed and +tying himself into knots, with his knees up to his chin +to lessen the pain, he looked about at his den, the four +walls within which he passed his nights, to which he +brought his drunken body home in the evening, and +from which he fled into the daylight in the morning; +and he thought about making a real home for himself. +He dreamed of a room, where he could keep a wife, a +wife who would make him a good stew, look after him +if he were ill, straighten out his affairs, keep his linen in +order, prevent him from beginning a new score at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +wine-shop; a wife, in short, who would combine all the +useful qualities of a housekeeper, and who, in addition, +would not be a stupid fool, but would understand him +and laugh with him. Such a wife was all found: Germinie +was the very one. She probably had a little +hoard, a few sous laid by during the time she had been +in her old mistress's service; and with what he earned +they could "grub along" in comfort. He had no +doubt of her consent; he was sure beforehand that she +would accept his proposition. More than that, her +scruples, if she had any, would not hold out against the +prospect of marriage which he proposed to exhibit to +her at the end of their <i>liaison</i>.</p> + +<p>One Monday she had come to his room as usual.</p> + +<p>"Say, Germinie," he began, "what would you say +to this, eh? A good room—not like this box—a real +room, with a closet—at Montmartre, and two windows, +no less! Rue de l'Empereur—with a view an Englishman +would give five thousand francs to carry away with +him. Something first-class, bright, and cheerful, you +know, a place where you could stay all day without +hating yourself. Because, I tell you I'm beginning to +have enough of moving about here and there just to +change fleas. And that isn't all, either: I'm tired of +being cooped up in furnished lodgings, I'm tired of +being all alone. Friends don't make society. They +fall on you like flies in your glass when you're to pay, +and then, there you are! In the first place, I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +propose to drink any more, honor bright! no more for +me, you'll see! You understand I don't intend to use +myself up in this life, not if I know myself. Not by +any means! Attention! We mustn't let drink get the +better of us. It seemed to me those days as if I'd been +swallowing corkscrews. And I've no desire to knock at +the monument just yet. Well, to go from the thread to +the needle, this is what I thought: I'll make the proposition +to Germinie. I'll treat myself to a little furniture. +You've got what you have in your room. You +know I'm not much of a shirker, I haven't a lazy +bone in my body where work's concerned. And then +we might look to not always be working for others: we +might take a lodging-house for country thieves. If you +had a little something put aside, that would help. We +would join forces in genteel fashion, and have ourselves +straightened out some day before the mayor. That's +not such a bad scheme, is it, old girl, eh? And you'll +leave your old lady this time, won't you, for your dear +old Gautruche?"</p> + +<p>Germinie, who had listened to him with her head thrust +forward and her chin resting on the palm of her hand, +threw herself back with a burst of strident laughter.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! ha! You thought—and you have the +face to tell me so!—you thought I'd leave her! Mademoiselle? +Did you really think so? You're a fool, +you know! Why, you might have thousands and hundred +thousands, you might be stuffed with gold, do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +hear? all stuffed with it. You're joking, aren't you? +Mademoiselle? Why, don't you know? haven't I ever +told you? I would like to see her die and these hands +not be there to close her eyes! I'd like to see it! +Come now, really, did you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Damnation! I imagined, from the way you acted +with me, I thought you cared more for me than that—that +you loved me, in fact!" exclaimed the painter, disconcerted +by the terrible, stinging irony of Germinie's +words.</p> + +<p>"Ah! you thought that, too—that I loved you!" +And, as if she were suddenly uprooting from the depths +of her heart the remorse and suffering of her passions, +she continued: "Well, yes! I do love you—I love you +as you love me! just as much! and that's all! I love +you as one loves something that is close at hand—that +one makes use of because it is there! I am used to you +as one gets used to an old dress and wears it again and +again. That's how I love you! How do you suppose +I should care for you? I'd like you to tell me what +difference it can make to me whether it's you or another? +For, after all, what have you been to me more than any +other man would be? In the first place, you took me. +Well? Is that enough to make me love you? What +have you done, then, to attach me to you, will you be +kind enough to tell me? Have you ever sacrificed a +glass of wine to me? Have you even so much as taken +pity on me when I was tramping about in the mud and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +snow at the risk of my life? Oh! yes! And what did +people say to me and spit out in my face so that my +blood boiled from one end of my body to the other! +You never troubled your head about all the insults I've +swallowed waiting for you! Look you! I've been +wanting to tell you all this for a long time—it's been +choking me. Tell me," she continued, with a ghastly +smile, "do you flatter yourself you've driven me wild +with your physical beauty, with your hair, which you've +lost, with that head of yours? Hardly! I took you—I'd +have taken anyone, it didn't matter who! It was +one of the times when I had to have someone! At +those times I don't know anything or see anything. +I'm not myself at all. I took you because it was a hot +day!"</p> + +<p>She paused an instant.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Gautruche, "iron me on all the +seams. Don't mind me as long as your hand's in."</p> + +<p>"So?" continued Germinie, "how enchanted you +imagined I was going to be to take up with you! You +said to yourself: 'The good-natured fool! she'll be +glad of the chance! And all I shall have to do will be +to promise to marry her. She'll throw up her place. +She'll leave her mistress in the lurch.' The idea! +Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, who has no one but me! +Ah! you don't know anything about such things. You +wouldn't understand if I should tell you. Mademoiselle, +who is everything to me! Why, since my mother died,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> +I've had nobody but her, never been treated kindly by +anybody but her! Who beside her ever said to me +when I was unhappy: 'Are you unhappy?' And, when +I was sick: 'Don't you feel well?' No one! There's +been no one but her to take care of me, to care what +became of me. God! and you talk of loving on +account of what there is between us! Ah! mademoiselle +has loved me! Yes, loved me! And I'm +dying of it, do you know? of having become such a +miserable creature as I am, a——" She said the word. +"And of deceiving her, of stealing her affection, of +allowing her still to love me as her daughter! Ah! if +she should ever learn anything—but, no fear of that, it +won't be long. There's one woman who would make a +pretty leap out of a fifth-story window, as true as God is +my master! But fancy—you are not my heart, you are +not my life, you are only my pleasure. But I did have +a man. Ah! I don't know whether I loved him! but +you could have torn me to pieces for him without a +word from me. In short, he was the man that made me +what I am. Well, d'ye see, when my passion for him +was at its hottest, when I breathed only as he wished me +to, when I was mad over him and would have let him +walk on my stomach if he'd wanted to—even then, if +mademoiselle had been sick, if she had motioned to me +with her little finger, I'd have gone back to her. Yes, I +would have left him for her! I tell you I would have +left him!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In that case—if that's the way things stand, my +dear—if you're so fond of your old lady as that, I have +only one piece of advice to give you: you'd better not +leave your good lady, d'ye see!"</p> + +<p>"That's my dismissal, is it?" said Germinie, rising.</p> + +<p>"Faith! it's very like it."</p> + +<p>"Well! adieu. That suits me!"</p> + +<p>She went straight to the door, and left the room +without a word.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LIV</h2> + + +<p>After this rupture Germinie fell where she was sure to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +fall, below shame, below nature itself. Lower and lower +the unhappy, passionate creature fell, until she wallowed +in the gutter. She took up the lovers whose passions +are exhausted in one night, those whom she passed or +met on the street, those whom chance throws in the +way of a wandering woman. She had no need to give +herself time for the growth of desire: her caprice was +fierce and sudden, kindled instantly. Pouncing greedily +upon the first comer, she hardly looked at him and +could not have recognized him. Beauty, youth, the +physical qualities of a lover, in which the passion of the +most degraded woman seeks to realize a base ideal, as it +were—none of those things tempted her now or touched +her. In all men her eyes saw nothing but man: the +individual mattered naught to her. The last indication +of decency and of human feeling in debauchery,—preference, +selection,—and even that which represents all +that prostitutes retain of conscience and personality,—disgust, +even disgust,—she had lost!</p> + +<p>And she wandered about the streets at night, with the +furtive, stealthy gait of wild beasts prowling in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> +shadow in quest of food. As if unsexed, she made the +advances, she solicited brutes, she took advantage of +drunkenness, and men yielded to her. She walked +along, peering on every side, approaching every shadowy +corner where impurity might lurk under cover of the +darkness and solitude, where hands were waiting to +swoop down upon a shawl. Belated pedestrians saw her +by the light of the street lanterns, an ill-omened, shuddering +phantom, gliding along, almost crawling, bent +double, slinking by in the shadow, with that appearance +of illness and insanity and of utter aberration which +sets the thoughtful man's heart and the physician's mind +at work on the brink of deep abysses of melancholy.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LV</h2> + + +<p>One evening when she was prowling about Rue du<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +Rocher, as she passed a wine-shop at the corner of Rue +de Labarde, she noticed the back of a man who was +drinking at the bar: it was Jupillon.</p> + +<p>She stopped short, turned toward the street with her +back against the door of the wine-shop, and waited. +The light in the shop was behind her, her shoulders +against the bars, and there she stood motionless, her +skirt gathered up in one hand in front, and her other +hand falling listlessly at her side. She resembled a +statue of darkness seated on a milestone. In her attitude +there was an air of stern determination and the +necessary patience to wait there forever. The passers-by, +the carriages, the street—she saw them all indistinctly +and as if they were far away. The tow-horse, waiting +to assist in drawing the omnibuses up the hill,—a white +horse, he was,—stood in front of her, worn out and +motionless, sleeping on his feet, with his head and forefeet +in the bright light from the door: she did not see +him. There was a dense fog. It was one of those vile, +detestable Parisian nights when it seems as if the water +that falls had become mud before falling. The gutter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +rose and flowed about her feet. She remained thus half +an hour without moving, with her back to the light and +her face in the shadow, a threatening, desperate, forbidding +creature, like a statue of Fatality erected by +Darkness at a wine-shop door!</p> + +<p>At last Jupillon came out. She stood before him +with folded arms.</p> + +<p>"My money?" she said. Her face was that of a +woman who has ceased to possess a conscience, for +whom there is no God, no police, no assizes, no +scaffold—nothing!</p> + +<p>Jupillon felt that his customary <i>blague</i> was arrested +in his throat.</p> + +<p>"Your money?" he repeated; "your money ain't +lost. But I must have time. Just now, you see, work +ain't very plenty. That shop business of mine came to +grief a long while ago, you know. But in three months' +time, I promise. Are you pretty well?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Canaille!</i> Ah! I've got you now! Ah! you'd +sneak away, would you? But it was you, my curse! it +was you who made me what I am, brigand! robber! +sneak! It was you."</p> + +<p>Germinie hurled these words in his face, pushing +against him, forcing him back, pressing her body against +his. She seemed to be rubbing against the blows that +she invited and provoked, and as she leaned toward +him thus, she cried: "Come, strike me! What, then, +must I say to you to make you strike me?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had ceased to think. She did not know what she +wanted; she simply felt that she needed to be struck. +There had come upon her an instinctive, irrational +desire to be maltreated, bruised, made to suffer in her +flesh, to experience a violent shock, a sharp pain that +would put a stop to what was going on in her brain. +She could think of nothing but blows to bring matters +to a crisis. After the blows, she saw, with the lucidity of +an hallucination, all sorts of things come to pass,—the +guard arriving, the gendarmes from the post, the commissioner! +the commissioner to whom she could tell +everything, her story, her misfortunes, how the man +before her had abused her and what he had cost her! +Her heart collapsed in anticipation at the thought of +emptying itself, with shrieks and tears, of everything +with which it was bursting.</p> + +<p>"Come, strike me!" she repeated, still advancing +upon Jupillon, who tried to slink away, and, as he +retreated, tossed caressing words to her as you do to a +dog that does not recognize you and seems inclined to +bite. A crowd was beginning to collect about them.</p> + +<p>"Come, old harridan, don't bother monsieur!" exclaimed +a police officer, grasping Germinie by the arm +and swinging her around roughly. Under that brutal +insult from the hand of the law, Germinie's knees +wavered: she thought she should faint. Then she was +afraid, and fled in the middle of the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LVI</h2> + + +<p>Passion is subject to the most insensate reactions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +the most inexplicable revivals. The accursed love that +Germinie believed to have been killed by all the wounds +and blows Jupillon had inflicted upon it came to life +once more. She was dismayed to find it in her heart +when she returned home. The mere sight of the man, +his proximity for those few moments, the sound of his +voice, the act of breathing the air that he breathed, +were enough to turn her heart back to him and relegate +her to the past.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all that had happened, she had never +been able to tear Jupillon's image altogether from her +heart: its roots were still imbedded there. He was her +first love. She belonged to him against her own will by +all the weaknesses of memory, by all the cowardice of +habit. Between them there were all the bonds of torture +that hold a woman fast forever,—sacrifice, suffering, +degradation. He owned her, body and soul, because he +had outraged her conscience, trampled upon her illusions, +made her life a martyrdom. She belonged to +him, belonged to him forever, as to the author of all her +sorrows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + +<p>And that shock, that scene which should have caused +her to think with horror of ever meeting him again, +rekindled in her the frenzied desire to meet him again. +Her passion seized her again in its full force. The +thought of Jupillon filled her mind so completely that it +purified her. She abruptly called a halt in the vagabondage +of her passions: she determined to belong thenceforth +to no one, as that was the only method by which +she could still belong to him.</p> + +<p>She began to spy upon him, to make a study of his +usual hours for going out, the streets he passed through, +the places that he visited. She followed him to Batignolles, +to his new quarters, walked behind him, content +to put her foot where he had put his, to be guided by +his steps, to see him now and then, to notice a gesture +that he made, to snatch one of his glances. That was +all: she dared not speak to him; she kept at some distance +behind, like a lost dog, happy not to be driven +away with kicks.</p> + +<p>For weeks and weeks she made herself thus the man's +shadow, a humble, timid shadow that shrank back and +moved away a few steps when it thought it was in danger +of being seen; then drew nearer again with faltering +steps, and, at an impatient movement from the man, +stopped once more, as if asking pardon.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she waited at the door of a house which +he entered, caught him up again when he came out +and escorted him home, always at a distance, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> +speaking to him, with the air of a beggar begging for +crumbs and thankful for what she was allowed to pick +up. Then she would listen at the shutters of the +ground-floor apartment in which he lived, to ascertain +if he was alone, if there was anybody there.</p> + +<p>When he had a woman on his arm, although she +suffered keenly, she was the more persistent in following +him. She went where they went to the end. She +entered the public gardens and ballrooms behind them. +She walked within sound of their laughter and their +words, tore her heart to tatters looking at them and +listening to them, and stood at their backs with every +jealous instinct of her nature bleeding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LVII</h2> + + +<p>It was November. For three or four days Germinie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +had not fallen in with Jupillon. She went to hover +about his lodgings, watching for him. When she reached +the street on which he lived, she saw a broad beam of +light struggling out through the closed shutters. She +approached and heard bursts of laughter, the clinking of +glasses, women's voices, then a song and one voice, that +of the woman whom she hated with all the hatred of her +heart, whom she would have liked to see lying dead +before her, and whose death she had so often sought to +discover in the coffee-grounds,—the cousin!</p> + +<p>She glued her ear to the shutter, breathing in what +they said, absorbed in the torture of listening to them, +pasturing her famished heart upon suffering. It was a +cold, rainy winter's night. She did not feel the cold or +rain. All her senses were engaged in listening. The +voice she detested seemed at times to grow faint and +die away beneath kisses, and the notes it sang died in her +throat as if stifled by lips placed upon the song. The +hours passed. Germinie was still at her post. She did +not think of going away. She waited, with no knowledge +of what she was waiting for. It seemed to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +that she must remain there always, until the end. The +rain fell faster. The water from a broken gutter overhead +beat down upon her shoulders. Great drops glided +down her neck. An icy shiver ran up and down her +back. The water dripped from her dress to the ground. +She did not notice it. She was conscious of no pain in +any of her limbs except the pain that flowed from her +heart.</p> + +<p>Well on toward morning there was a movement in +the house, and footsteps approached the door. Germinie +ran and hid in a recess in the wall some steps away, and +from there saw a woman come out, escorted by a young +man. As she watched them walk away, she felt something +soft and warm on her hands that frightened her at +first; it was a dog licking her, a great dog that she had +held in her lap many an evening, when he was a puppy, +in the <i>crémière's</i> back shop.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Molosse!" Jupillon shouted impatiently +twice or thrice in the darkness.</p> + +<p>The dog barked, ran back, returned and gamboled +about her, and at last entered the house. The door +closed. The voices and singing lured Germinie back to +her former position against the shutter, and there she +remained, drenched by the rain, allowing herself to be +drenched, as she listened and listened, till morning, till +daybreak, till the hour when the masons on their way to +work, with their dinner loaf under their arms, began to +laugh at her as they passed.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LVIII</h2> + + +<p>Two or three days after that night in the rain, Germinie's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> +features were distorted with pain, her skin was +like marble and her eyes blazing. She said nothing, +made no complaints, but went about her work as usual.</p> + +<p>"Here! girl, look at me a moment," said mademoiselle, +and she led her abruptly to the window. +"What does all this mean? this look of a dead woman +risen from the grave? Come, tell me honestly, are you +sick? My God! how hot your hands are!"</p> + +<p>She grasped her wrist, and in a moment threw it +down.</p> + +<p>"What a silly slut! you're in a burning fever! And +you keep it to yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Why no, mademoiselle," Germinie stammered. "I +think it's nothing but a bad cold. I went to sleep the +other evening with my kitchen window open."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you're a good one!" retorted mademoiselle; +"you might be dying and you'd never as much as say: +'Ouf!' Wait."</p> + +<p>She put on her spectacles, and hastily moving her +arm-chair to a small table by the fireplace, she wrote +a few lines in her bold hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here," said she, folding the note, "you will do +me the favor to give this to your friend Adèle and +have her send the concierge with it. And now to +bed you go!"</p> + +<p>But Germinie refused to go to bed. It was not worth +while. She would not tire herself. She would sit down +all day. Besides, the worst of her sickness was over; +she was getting better already. And then it always +killed her to stay in bed.</p> + +<p>The doctor, summoned by mademoiselle's note, came +in the evening. He examined Germinie, and ordered +the application of croton oil. The trouble in the chest +was of such a nature that he could say nothing about it +until he had observed the effect of his remedies.</p> + +<p>He returned a few days later, sent Germinie to bed +and sounded her chest for a long while.</p> + +<p>"It's a most extraordinary thing," he said to mademoiselle, +when he went downstairs; "she has had +pleurisy upon her and hasn't kept her bed for a +moment! Is she made of iron, in Heaven's name? +Oh! the energy of some women! How old is she?"</p> + +<p>"Forty-one."</p> + +<p>"Forty-one! Oh! it's not possible. Are you sure? +She looks fully fifty."</p> + +<p>"Ah! as to that, she looks as old as you please. +What can you expect? Never in good health,—always +sick, disappointment, sorrow,—and a disposition that +can't help tormenting itself."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Forty-one years old! it's amazing!" the physician +repeated.</p> + +<p>After a moment's reflection, he continued:</p> + +<p>"So far as you know, is there any hereditary lung +trouble in her family? Has she had any relatives who +have died young?"</p> + +<p>"She lost a sister by pleurisy; but she was older. +She was forty-eight, I think."</p> + +<p>The doctor had become very grave. "However, the +lung is getting freer," he said, in an encouraging tone. +"But it is absolutely necessary that she should have +rest. And send her to me once a week. Let her come +and see me. And let her take a pleasant day for it,—a +bright, sunny day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LIX</h2> + + +<p>Mademoiselle talked and prayed and implored and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +scolded to no purpose: she could not induce Germinie +to lay aside her work for a few days. Germinie would +not even listen to the suggestion that she should have +an assistant to do the heavier work. She declared that +it was useless, impossible; that she could never endure +the thought of another woman approaching her, waiting +upon her, attending to her wants; that it would give +her a fever simply to think of such a thing as she lay in +bed; that she was not dead yet; and she begged that she +might be allowed to go on as usual, so long as she could +put one foot before the other. She said it in such an +affectionate tone, her eyes were so beseeching, her feeble +voice was so humble and so passionate in making the +request, that mademoiselle had not the courage to force +her to accept an assistant. She simply called her a +"blockhead," who believed, like all country-people, +that a few days in bed means death.</p> + +<p>Keeping on her feet, with an apparent improvement +due to the physician's energetic treatment, Germinie +continued to make mademoiselle's bed, accepting her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> +assistance to turn the mattresses. She also continued to +prepare her food, and that was an especially distasteful +task to her.</p> + +<p>When she was preparing mademoiselle's breakfast +and dinner, she felt as if she should die in her kitchen, +one of the wretched little kitchens common in great +cities, which are the cause of so much pulmonary trouble +in women. The embers that she kindled, and from +which a thread of suffocating smoke slowly arose, began +to stir her stomach to revolt; soon the charcoal that +she bought from the charcoal dealer next door, strong +Paris charcoal, full of half-charred wood, enveloped her +in its stifling odor. The dirty, smoking funnel, the low +chimney-piece poured back into her lungs the corroding +heat of the waist-high oven. She suffocated, she felt +the fiery heat of all her blood surge upward to her +face and cause red blotches to appear on her forehead. +Her head whirled. In the half-asphyxiated condition +of laundresses who pass back and forth through +the vapor of their charcoal stoves, she would rush to +the window and draw a few breaths of the icy outside +air.</p> + +<p>She had other motives for suffering on her feet, for +keeping constantly about her work despite her increasing +weakness, than the repugnance of country-people to +take to their beds, or her fierce, jealous determination +that no one but herself should attend to mademoiselle's +needs: she had a constant terror of denunciation, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> +might accompany the installation of a new servant. It +was absolutely necessary that she should be there, to +keep watch on mademoiselle and prevent anyone from +coming near her. It was necessary, too, that she should +show herself, that the quarter should see her, and that +she should not appear to her creditors with the aspect +of a dead woman. She must make a pretence of being +strong, she must assume a cheerful, lively demeanor, she +must impart confidence to the whole street with the +doctor's studied words, with a hopeful air, and with +the promise not to die. She must appear at her best in +order to reassure her debtors and to prevent apprehensions +on the subject of money from ascending the stairs +and applying to mademoiselle.</p> + +<p>She acted up to her part in this horrible, but necessary, +comedy. She was absolutely heroic in the way she +made her whole body lie,—in drawing up her enfeebled +form to its full height as she passed the shops, whose +proprietors' eyes were upon her; in quickening her +trailing footsteps; in rubbing her cheeks with a rough +towel before going out in order to bring back the color +of blood to them; in covering the pallor of her disease +and her death-mask with rouge.</p> + +<p>Despite the terrible cough that racked her sleepless +nights, despite her stomach's loathing for food, she +passed the whole winter conquering and overcoming +her own weakness and struggling with the ups and +downs of her disease.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span></p> + +<p>At every visit that he made, the doctor told mademoiselle +that he was unable to find that any of her maid's +vital organs were seriously diseased. The lungs were a +little ulcerated near the top; but people recovered from +that. "But her body seems worn out, thoroughly worn +out," he said again and again, in a sad tone, with an +almost embarrassed manner that impressed mademoiselle. +And he always had something to say, at the end +of his visit, about a change of air—about the country.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LX</h2> + + +<p>When August arrived, the doctor had nothing but that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> +to advise or prescribe—the country. Notwithstanding +the repugnance of elderly people to move, to change +their abode and the habits and regular hours of their +life; despite her domestic nature and the sort of pang +that she felt at being torn from her hearthstone, mademoiselle +decided to take Germinie into the country. +She wrote to the <i>chick's</i> daughter, who lived, with a +brood of children, on a small estate in a village of +Brie, and who had been, for many years, begging her +to pay her a long visit. She requested her hospitality +for a month or six weeks for herself and her sick +maid.</p> + +<p>They set out. Germinie was delighted. On their +arrival she felt decidedly better. For some days her +disease seemed to be diverted by the change. But the +weather that summer was very uncertain, with much +rain, sudden changes, and high winds. Germinie had +a chill, and mademoiselle soon heard again, overhead, +just above the room in which she slept, the frightful +cough that had been so painful and hard to bear at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +Paris. There were hurried paroxysms of coughing that +seemed almost to strangle her; spasms that would break +off for a moment, then begin again; and the pauses +caused the ear and the heart to experience a nervous, +anxious anticipation of what was certain to come next, +and always did come,—racking and tearing, dying +away again, but still vibrating in the ear, even when it +had ceased: never silent, never willing to have done.</p> + +<p>And yet Germinie rose from those horrible nights with +an energy and activity that amazed mademoiselle and at +times reassured her. She was out of bed as early as anybody +in the house. One morning, at five o'clock, she +went with the man-servant in a <i>char-à-banc</i> to a mill-pond +three leagues away, for fish; at another time she +dragged herself to the saint's day ball, with the maids +from the house, and did not return until they did, at +daybreak. She worked all the time; assisted the servants. +She was always sitting on the edge of a chair, +in a corner of the kitchen, doing something with her +fingers. Mademoiselle was obliged to force her to go +out, to drive her into the garden to sit. Then Germinie +would sit on the green bench, with her umbrella over her +head, and the sun in her skirts and on her feet. Hardly +moving, she would forget herself utterly as she inhaled the +light and air and warmth, passionately and with a sort +of feverish joy. Her distended lips would part to admit +the fresh, clear air. Her eyes burned, but did not move; +and in the light shadow of the silk umbrella her gaunt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> +wasted, haggard face stared vacantly into space like an +amorous death's head.</p> + +<p>Weary as she was at night, no persuasion could induce +her to retire before her mistress. She insisted upon +being at hand to undress her. Seated by her side, she +would rise from time to time to wait upon her as best +she could, assist her to take off a petticoat, then sit down +again, collect her strength for a moment, rise again, and +insist upon doing something for her. Mademoiselle had +to force her to sit down and order her to keep quiet. +And all the time that the evening toilet lasted she had +always upon her lips the same tiresome chatter about +the servants of the house.</p> + +<p>"Why, mademoiselle, you haven't an idea of the eyes +they make at each other when they think no one sees +them—the cook and the man—I mean. They keep quiet +when I am by; but the other day I surprised them +in the bakery. They were kissing, fancy! Luckily +madame here don't suspect it."</p> + +<p>"Ah! there you are again with your tale-bearing! +Why, good God!" mademoiselle would exclaim, "what +difference does it make to you whether they <i>coo</i> or don't +<i>coo</i>? They're kind to you, aren't they? That's all +that's necessary."</p> + +<p>"Oh! very kind, mademoiselle; as far as that's concerned +I haven't a word to say. Marie got up in the +night last night to give me some water—and as for him, +when there's any dessert left, it's always for me. Oh!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +he's very polite to me—in fact, Marie don't like it very +well that he thinks so much about me. You understand, +mademoiselle——"</p> + +<p>"Come, come! go to bed with all your nonsense!" +said her mistress sharply, sad, and annoyed as well, to +find such a keen interest in others' love-affairs in one +so ill.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXI</h2> + + +<p>When they returned from the country, the doctor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> +after examining Germinie, said to Mademoiselle: "It +has been very rapid, very rapid. The left lung is entirely +gone. The right has begun to be affected at the +top, and I fear that there is more or less difficulty all +through it. She's a dead woman. She may live six +weeks, two months at most."</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven!" said Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +"everyone I have ever loved will go before me! Tell +me, must I wait until everybody has gone?"</p> + +<p>"Have you thought of placing her in some institution?" +said the doctor, after a moment's silence. +"You can't keep her here. It's too great a burden, +too great a grief for you to have her with you," he +added, at a gesture from mademoiselle.</p> + +<p>"No, monsieur, no, I haven't thought of it. Oh! +yes, I am likely to send her away. Why you must have +seen, monsieur: that girl isn't a maid, she isn't a servant +in my eyes; she's like the family I never had! +What would you have me say to her: 'Be off with you +now!' Ah! I never suffered so much before on account<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +of not being rich and having a wretched four-sou apartment +like this. I, mention such a thing to her! why, +it's impossible! And where could she go? To the +Maison Dubois? Oh! yes, to the Dubois! She went +there once to see the maid I had before, who died +there. You might as well kill her! The hospital, +then? No, not there; I don't choose to have her +die in that place!"</p> + +<p>"Good God, mademoiselle, she'll be a hundred times +better off there than here. I would get her admitted +at Lariboisière, during the term of service of a doctor +who is a friend of mine. I would recommend her to +an intern, who is under great obligations to me. She +would have a very excellent Sister to nurse her in the +hall to which I would have her sent. If necessary, she +could have a private room. But I am sure she would +prefer to be in a common room. It's the essential +thing to do, you see, mademoiselle. She can't stay in +that chamber up there. You know what these horrible +servants' quarters are. Indeed, it's my opinion that +the health authorities ought to compel the landlords to +show common humanity in that direction; it's an outrage! +The cold weather is coming; there's no fireplace; +with the window and the roof it will be like an +ice-house. You see she still keeps about. She has a +marvelous stock of courage, prodigious nervous vitality. +But, in spite of everything, the bed will claim her in +a few days,—she won't get up again. Come, listen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +to reason, mademoiselle. Let me speak to her, will +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, not yet. I must get used to the idea. And +then, when I see her around me I imagine she isn't +going to die so quickly as all that. There's time +enough. Later, we'll see about it,—yes, later."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, mademoiselle, if I venture to say to +you that you are quite capable of making yourself sick +nursing her."</p> + +<p>"I? Oh! as for me!" And Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil made a gesture indicating that her life was +of no consequence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXII</h2> + + +<p>Amid Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's desperate anxiety<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +concerning her maid's health, she became conscious of +a strange feeling, a sort of fear in the presence of the +new, unfamiliar, mysterious creature that sickness had +made of Germinie. Mademoiselle had a sense of discomfort +beside that hollow, ghostly face, which was +almost unrecognizable in its implacable rigidity, and +which seemed to return to itself, to recover consciousness, +only furtively, by fits and starts, in the effort to +produce a pallid smile. The old woman had seen +many people die; her memories of many painful years +recalled the expressions of many dear, doomed faces, of +many faces that were sad and desolate and grief-stricken +in death; but no face of all those she remembered had +ever assumed, as the end drew near, that distressing +expression of a face retiring within itself and closing +the doors.</p> + +<p>Enveloped in her suffering, Germinie maintained her +savage, rigid, self-contained, impenetrable demeanor. +She was as immovable as bronze. Mademoiselle, as +she looked at her, asked herself what it could be that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> +she brooded over thus without moving; whether it was +her life rising in revolt, the dread of death, or a secret +remorse for something in her past. Nothing external +seemed to affect the sick woman. She was no longer +conscious of things about her. Her body became indifferent +to everything, did not ask to be relieved, seemed +not to desire to be cured. She complained of nothing, +found no pleasure or diversion in anything. Even her +longing for affection had left her. She no longer made +any motion to bestow or invite a caress, and every day +something human left her body, which seemed to be +turning to stone. Often she would bury herself in profound +silence that made one expect a heart-rending +shriek or word; but after glancing about the room, +she would say nothing and begin again to stare fixedly, +vacantly, at the same spot in space.</p> + +<p>When mademoiselle returned from the friend's house +with whom she dined, she would find Germinie in the +dark, sunk in an easy-chair with her legs stretched out +upon a chair, her head hanging forward on her breast, +and so profoundly absorbed that sometimes she did not +hear the door open. As she walked forward into the +room it seemed to Mademoiselle de Varandeuil as if +she were breaking in upon a ghastly <i>tête-à-tête</i> between +Disease and the Shadow of Death, wherein Germinie +was already seeking, in the terror of the Invisible, the +blindness of the grave and the darkness of death.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXIII</h2> + + +<p>Throughout the month of October, Germinie obstinately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> +refused to take to her bed. Each day, however, +she was weaker and more helpless than the day before. +She was hardly able to ascend the flight of stairs that +led to her sixth floor, dragging herself along by the +railing. One day she fell on the stairs: the other +servants picked her up and carried her to her chamber. +But that did not stop her; the next day she went downstairs +again, with the fitful gleam of strength that invalids +commonly have in the morning. She prepared mademoiselle's +breakfast, made a pretence of working, and +kept moving about the apartment, clinging to the chairs +and dragging herself along. Mademoiselle took pity on +her; she forced her to lie down on her own bed. Germinie +lay there half an hour, an hour, wide awake, not +speaking, but with her eyes open, fixed, and staring +into vacancy like the eyes of a person in severe pain.</p> + +<p>One morning she did not come down. Mademoiselle +climbed to the sixth floor, turned into a narrow corridor +in which the air was heavy with the odors from servants' +water-closets and at last reached Germinie's door,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> +No. 21. Germinie apologized for having compelled +her to come up. It was impossible for her to put her +feet out of the bed. She had terrible pains in her +bowels and they were badly swollen. She begged mademoiselle +to sit down a moment and, to make room for +her, removed the candlestick that stood on the chair at +the head of her bed.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle sat down and remained a few moments, +looking about the wretched room,—one of those where +the doctor has to lay his hat on the bed, and where +there is barely room to die! It was a small attic room, +without a chimney, with a scuttle window in the sloping +roof, which admitted the heat of summer and the cold +of winter. Old trunks, clothes bags, a foot-bath, and +the little iron bedstead on which Germinie's niece had +slept, were heaped up in a corner under the sloping +roof. The bed, one chair, a little disabled washstand +with a broken pitcher, comprised the whole of the furniture. +Above the bed, in an imitation violet-wood +frame, hung a daguerreotype of a man.</p> + +<p>The doctor came during the day. "Aha! peritonitis," +he said, when mademoiselle described Germinie's +condition.</p> + +<p>He went up to see the sick woman. "I am afraid," +he said, when he came down, "that there's an abscess +in the intestine communicating with an abscess in the +bladder. It's a serious case, very serious. You must +tell her not to move about much in her bed, to turn over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> +with great care. She might die suddenly in horrible +agony. I suggested to her to go to Lariboisière,—she +agreed at once. She seemed to have no repugnance at +all. But I don't know how she will bear the journey. +However, she has such an unlimited stock of energy; I +have never seen anything like it. To-morrow morning +you shall have the order of admission."</p> + +<p>When mademoiselle went up to Germinie's room +again, she found her smiling in her bed, gay as a lark +at the idea of going away.</p> + +<p>"It's a matter of six weeks at most, mademoiselle," +said she.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXIV</h2> + + +<p>At two o'clock the next day the doctor brought the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +order for her admission to Lariboisière. The invalid +was ready to start. Mademoiselle suggested that they +should send to the hospital for a litter. "Oh! no," +said Germinie, hastily, "I should think I was dead." +She was thinking of her debts; she must show herself +to her creditors on the street, alive, and on her feet to +the last!</p> + +<p>She got out of bed. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +assisted her to put on her petticoat and her dress. As +soon as she left her bed, all signs of life disappeared +from her face, the flush from her complexion: it seemed +as if earth suddenly took the place of blood under her +skin. She went down the steep servants' stairway, +clinging to the baluster, and reached her mistress's +apartments. She sat down in an arm-chair near the +window in the dining-room. She insisted upon putting +on her stockings without assistance, and as she pulled +them on with her poor trembling hands, the fingers +striking against one another, she afforded a glimpse of +her legs, which were so thin as to make one shudder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +The housekeeper, meanwhile, was putting together in +a bundle a little linen, a glass, a cup, and a pewter +plate, which she wished to carry with her. When that +was done, Germinie looked about her for a moment; +she cast one last glance around the room, a glance +that seemed to long to take everything away with her. +Then, as her eyes rested on the door through which +the housekeeper had just gone out, she said to mademoiselle: +"At all events I leave a good woman with +you."</p> + +<p>She rose. The door closed noisily behind her, as if +to say adieu, and, supported by Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +who almost carried her, she went down the five +flights of the main stairway. At every landing she +paused to take breath. In the vestibule she found the +concierge, who had brought her a chair. She fell into +it. The vulgar fellow laughingly promised her that +she would be well in six weeks. She moved her head +slightly as she said <i>yes</i>, a muffled <i>yes</i>.</p> + +<p>She was in the cab, beside her mistress. It was an +uncomfortable cab and jolted over the pavements. She +sat forward on the seat to avoid the concussion of the +jolting, and clung to the door with her hand. She +watched the houses pass, but did not speak. When they +reached the hospital gate, she refused to be carried. +"Can you walk as far as that?" said the concierge, +pointing to the reception-room some sixty feet distant. +She made an affirmative sign and walked: it was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> +dead woman walking, because she was determined to +walk!</p> + +<p>At last she reached the great hall, cold and stiff and +clean and bare and horrible, with a circle of wooden +benches around the waiting litter. Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil led her to a straw chair near a glazed door. +A clerk opened the door, asked Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +Germinie's name and age, and wrote for a quarter +of an hour, covering ten or more sheets of paper with a +religious emblem at the top. That done, Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil kissed her and turned to go; she saw an +attendant take her under the arms, then she saw no +more, but turned and fled, and, throwing herself upon +the cushions of the cab, she burst into sobs and gave +vent to all the tears with which her heart had been +suffocated for an hour past. The driver on his box was +amazed to hear such violent weeping.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXV</h2> + + +<p>On the visiting day, Thursday, mademoiselle started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> +at half-past twelve to go and see Germinie. It was her +purpose to be at her bedside at the moment the doors +were thrown open, at one o'clock precisely. As she +rode through the streets she had passed through four +days before, she remembered the ghastly ride of Monday. +It seemed to her as if she were incommoding a +sick person in the cab, of which she was the only occupant, +and she sat close in the corner in order to make +room for the memory of Germinie. In what condition +should she find her? Should she find her at all? +Suppose her bed should be empty?</p> + +<p>The cab passed through a narrow street filled with +orange carts, and with women sitting on the sidewalk +offering biscuit for sale in baskets. There was something +unspeakably wretched and dismal in this open-air +display of fruit and cakes,—the delicacies of the +dying, the <i>viaticum</i> of invalids, craved by feverish +mouths, longed for by the death-agony,—which workingmen's +hands, black with toil, purchase as they pass, +to carry to the hospital and offer death a tempting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> +morsel. Children carried them with sober faces, almost +reverentially, and without touching them, as if they +understood.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped before the gate of the courtyard. +It was five minutes to one. There was a long line of +women crowding about the gate, women with their +working clothes on, sorrowful, depressed and silent. +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil took her place in the line, +went forward with the others and was admitted: they +searched her. She inquired for Salle Sainte-Joséphine, +and was directed to the second wing on the second +floor. She found the hall and the bed, No. 14, which +was, as she had been told, one of the last at the right. +Indeed, she was guided thither, as it were, from the +farther end of the hall, by Germinie's smile—the +smile of a sick person in a hospital at an unexpected +visit, which says, so gently, as soon as you enter the +room: "Here I am."</p> + +<p>She leaned over the bed. Germinie tried to push her +away with a gesture of humility and the shamefacedness +of a servant.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Germinie, "the time dragged terribly +yesterday. I imagined it was Thursday and I longed so +for you."</p> + +<p>"My poor girl! How are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm getting on finely now—the swelling in +my bowels has all gone. I have only three weeks to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> +stay here, mademoiselle, you'll see. They talk about a +month or six weeks, but I know better. And I'm very +comfortable here, I don't mind it at all. I sleep all +night now. My! but I was thirsty, when you brought +me here Monday! They wouldn't give me wine and +water."</p> + +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<a name="i356" id="i356"></a><img src="images/ichlxv.png" width="180" height="40" alt="Chapter LXV + +One and all, after a moment's conversation, leaned +over Germinie to kiss her, and with every kiss Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil could hear an indistinct murmur +as of words exchanged; a whispered question from those +who kissed, a hasty reply from her who was kissed." title="" /></div> +<hr style="width: 4%; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;" /> +<div class="caption"><i>One and all, after a moment's conversation, leaned +over Germinie to kiss her, and with every kiss Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil could hear an indistinct murmur +as of words exchanged; a whispered question from those +who kissed, a hasty reply from her who was kissed.</i></div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<div class="image"> +<img src="images/i356.jpg" width="401" height="580" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<p>"What have you there to drink?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! what I had at home—lime-water. Would you +mind pouring me out some, mademoiselle? their pewter +things are so heavy!"</p> + +<p>She raised herself with one arm by the aid of the +little stick that hung over the middle of the bed, and +putting out the other thin, trembling arm, left bare +by the sleeve falling back from it, she took the glass +mademoiselle held out to her, and drank.</p> + +<p>"There," said she when she had done, and she +placed both her arms outside the bed, on the coverlid.</p> + +<p>"What a pity that I have to put you out in this way, +my poor demoiselle!" she continued. "Things must +be in a horribly dirty state at home!"</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about that."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence. A faint smile came +to Germinie's lips. "I am sailing under false colors," +she said, lowering her voice; "I have confessed so as +to get well."</p> + +<p>Then she moved her head on the pillow in order to +bring her mouth nearer to Mademoiselle de Varandeuil's +ear:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are tales to tell here. I have a funny neighbor +yonder." She indicated with a glance and a movement +of her shoulder the patient to whom her back was +turned. "There's a man who comes here to see her. +He talked to her an hour yesterday. I heard them say +they'd had a child. She has left her husband. He was +like a madman, the man was, when he was talking to +her."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, Germinie's face lighted up as if she +were still full of the scene of the day before, still stirred +up and feverish with jealousy, so near death as she was, +because she had heard love spoken of beside her!</p> + +<p>Suddenly her expression changed. A woman came +toward her bed. She seemed embarrassed when she +saw Mademoiselle de Varandeuil. After a few moments, +she kissed Germinie, and hurriedly withdrew as another +woman came up. The new-comer did the same, kissed +Germinie and at once took her leave. After the women +a man came; then another woman. One and all, after +a moment's conversation, leaned over Germinie to kiss +her, and with every kiss Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +could hear an indistinct murmur as of words exchanged; +a whispered question from those who kissed, +a hasty reply from her who was kissed.</p> + +<p>"Well!" she said to Germinie, "I hope you are +well taken care of!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes," Germinie answered in a peculiar tone, +"they take excellent care of me!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had lost the animation that she displayed at the +beginning of the visit. The little blood that had +mounted to her cheeks remained there in one spot +only. Her face seemed closed; it was cold and deaf, +like a wall. Her drawn-in lips were sealed, as it were. +Her features were concealed beneath the veil of infinite +dumb agony. There was nothing caressing or eloquent +in her staring eyes, absorbed as they were and filled with +one fixed thought. You would have said that all exterior +signs of her ideas were drawn within her by an +irresistible power of concentration, by a last supreme +effort of her will, and that her whole being was clinging +in desperation to a sorrow that drew everything +to itself.</p> + +<p>The visitors she had just received were the grocer, +the fish-woman, the butter woman and the laundress—all +her debts, incarnate! The kisses were the kisses of +her creditors, who came to keep on the scent of their +claims and to extort money from her death-agony!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXVI</h2> + + +<p>Mademoiselle had just risen on Saturday morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> +She was making a little package of four jars of Bar preserves, +which she intended to carry to Germinie the +next day, when she heard low voices, a colloquy between +the housekeeper and the concierge in the reception +room. Almost immediately the door opened and +the concierge came in.</p> + +<p>"Sad news, mademoiselle," he said.</p> + +<p>And he handed her a letter he had in his hand; it +bore the stamp of the Lariboisière hospital: Germinie +was dead; she died at seven o'clock that morning.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle took the letter; she saw only the letters +that said: "Dead! dead!" And they repeated the +word: "Dead! dead!" to no purpose, for she could +not believe it. As is always the case with a person of +whose death one learns abruptly, Germinie appeared to +her instinct with life, and her body, which was no +more, seemed to stand before her with the awe-inspiring +presence of a ghost. Dead! She should never see her +more! So there was no longer a Germinie on earth! +Dead! She was dead! And the person she should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> +hear henceforth moving about in the kitchen would not +be she; somebody else would open the door for her, +somebody else would potter about her room in the +morning! "Germinie!" she cried at last, in the tone +with which she was accustomed to call her; then, collecting +her thoughts: "Machine! creature! What's +your name?" she cried, savagely, to the bewildered +housekeeper. "My dress—I must go there."</p> + +<p>She was so taken by surprise by this sudden fatal termination +of the disease, that she could not accustom her +mind to the thought. She could hardly realize that +sudden, secret, vague death, of which her only knowledge +was derived from a scrap of paper. Was Germinie +really dead? Mademoiselle asked herself the +question with the doubt of persons who have lost a dear +one far away, and, not having seen her die, do not +admit that she is dead. Was she not still alive the last +time she saw her? How could it have happened? How +could she so suddenly have become a thing good for +nothing except to be put under ground? Mademoiselle +dared not think about it, and yet she kept on thinking. +The mystery of the death-agony, of which she knew +nothing, attracted and terrified her. The anxious interest +of her affection turned to her maid's last hours, and +she tried gropingly to take away the veil and repel the +feeling of horror. Then she was seized with an irresistible +longing to know everything, to witness, with the +help of what might be told her, what she had not seen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> +She felt that she must know if Germinie had spoken before +she died,—if she had expressed any desire, spoken +of any last wishes, uttered one of those sentences which +are the final outcry of life.</p> + +<p>When she reached Lariboisière, she passed the concierge,—a +stout man reeking with life as one reeks with +wine,—passed through the corridors where pallid convalescents +were gliding hither and thither, and rang at a +door, veiled with white curtains, at the extreme end of +the hospital. The door was opened: she found herself +in a parlor, lighted by two windows, where a plaster cast +of the Virgin stood upon an altar, between two views of +Vesuvius, which seemed to shiver against the bare wall. +Behind her, through an open door, came the voices of +Sisters and little girls chattering together, a clamor of +youthful voices and fresh laughter, the natural gayety of +a cheery room where the sun frolics with children at play.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle asked to speak with the <i>mother</i> of Salle +Sainte-Joséphine. A short, half-deformed Sister, with a +kind, homely face, a face alight with the grace of God, +came in answer to her request. Germinie had died in +her arms. "She hardly suffered at all," the Sister told +mademoiselle; "she was sure that she was better; she +felt relieved; she was full of hope. About seven this +morning, just as her bed was being made, she suddenly +began vomiting blood, and passed away without knowing +that she was dying." The Sister added that she +had said nothing, asked for nothing, expressed no wish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mademoiselle rose, delivered from the horrible thoughts +she had had. Germinie had been spared all the tortures +of the death-agony that she had dreamed of. Mademoiselle +was grateful for that death by the hand of God +which gathers in the soul at a single stroke.</p> + +<p>As she was going away an attendant came to her +and said: "Will you be kind enough to identify the +body?"</p> + +<p><i>The body!</i> The words gave mademoiselle a terrible +shock. Without awaiting her reply, the attendant led +the way to a high yellow door, over which was written: +<i>Amphitheatre</i>. He knocked; a man in shirt sleeves, +with a pipe in his mouth, opened the door and bade +them wait a moment.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle waited. Her thoughts terrified her. +Her imagination was on the other side of that awful +door. She tried to anticipate what she was about to +see. And her mind was so filled with confused images, +with fanciful alarms, that she shuddered at the thought +of entering the room, of recognizing that disfigured +face among a number of others, if, indeed, she could +recognize it! And yet she could not tear herself +away; she said to herself that she should never see +her again!</p> + +<p>The man with the pipe opened the door: mademoiselle +saw nothing but a coffin, the lid of which extended +only to the neck, leaving Germinie's face uncovered, +with the eyes open, and the hair erect upon her head.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXVII</h2> + + +<p>Prostrated by the excitement and by this last spectacle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil took to her bed on +returning home, after she had given the concierge the +money for the purchase of a burial lot, and for the +burial. And when she was in bed the things she had +seen arose before her. The horrible dead body was +still beside her, the ghastly face framed by the coffin. +That never-to-be-forgotten face was engraved upon her +mind; beneath her closed eyelids she saw it and was +afraid of it. Germinie was there, with the distorted +features of one who has been murdered, with sunken +orbits and eyes that seemed to have withdrawn into +their holes! She was there with her mouth still distorted +by the vomiting that accompanied her last +breath! She was there with her hair, her terrible hair, +brushed back and standing erect upon her head!</p> + +<p>Her hair!—that haunted mademoiselle more persistently +than all the rest. The old maid thought, involuntarily, +of things that had come to her ears when +she was a child, of superstitions of the common people +stored away in the background of her memory; she asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +herself if she had not been told that dead people whose +hair is like that carry a crime with them to the grave. +And at times it was such hair as that that she saw upon +that head, the hair of crime, standing on end with terror +and stiffened with horror before the justice of Heaven, +like the hair of the condemned man before the scaffold +in La Grève!</p> + +<p>On Sunday mademoiselle was too ill to leave her bed. +On Monday she tried to rise and dress, in order to +attend the funeral; but she was attacked with faintness, +and was obliged to return to her bed.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXVIII</h2> + + +<p>"Well! is it all over?" said mademoiselle from her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> +bed, as the concierge entered her room about eleven +o'clock, on his return from the cemetery, with the +black coat and the sanctimonious manner suited to the +occasion.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mon Dieu</i>, yes, mademoiselle. Thank God! the +poor girl is out of pain."</p> + +<p>"Stay! I have no head to-day. Put the receipts and +the rest of the money on my table. We will settle our +accounts some other day."</p> + +<p>The concierge stood before her without moving or +evincing any purpose to go, shifting from one hand to +the other a blue velvet cap made from the dress of one +of his daughters. After a moment's reflection, he +decided to speak.</p> + +<p>"This burying is an expensive business, mademoiselle. +In the first place, there's——"</p> + +<p>"Who asked you to give the figures?" Mademoiselle +de Varandeuil interrupted, with the haughty air +of superb charity.</p> + +<p>The concierge continued: "And as I was saying, a +lot in the cemetery, which you told me to get, ain't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> +given away. It's no use for you to have a kind heart, +mademoiselle, you ain't any too rich,—everyone knows +that,—and I says to myself: 'Mademoiselle's going to +have no small amount to pay out, and I know mademoiselle, +she'll pay.' So it'll do no harm to economize +on that, eh? It'll be just so much saved. The other'll +be just as safe under ground. And then, what will give +her the most pleasure up yonder? Why, to know that +she isn't making things hard for anybody, the excellent +girl."</p> + +<p>"Pay? What?" said mademoiselle, out of patience +with the concierge's circumlocution.</p> + +<p>"Oh! that's of no account," he replied; "she was +very fond of you, all the same. And then, when she +was very sick, it wasn't the time. Oh! <i>Mon Dieu</i>, you +needn't put yourself out—there's no hurry about it—it's +money she owed a long while. See, this is it."</p> + +<p>He took a stamped paper from the inside pocket of +his coat.</p> + +<p>"I didn't want her to make a note,—she insisted."</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil seized the stamped paper +and saw at the foot:</p> + +<p style="margin-top: 2em;"><i>"I acknowledge the receipt of the above amount.</i></p> + +<div class="sc" style="margin-left: 10em; margin-bottom: 2em;">Germinie Lacerteux."</div> + +<p>It was a promise to pay three hundred francs in +monthly installments, which were to be endorsed on the +back.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's nothing there, you see," said the concierge, +turning the paper over.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil took off her spectacles. +"I will pay," she said.</p> + +<p>The concierge bowed. She glanced at him; he did +not move.</p> + +<p>"That is all, I hope?" she said, sharply.</p> + +<p>The concierge had his eyes fixed on a leaf in the +carpet. "That's all—unless——"</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle de Varandeuil had the same feeling of +terror as at the moment she passed through the door on +whose other side she was to see her maid's dead body.</p> + +<p>"But how does she owe all this?" she cried. "I +paid her good wages, I almost clothed her. Where +did her money go, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! there you are, mademoiselle. I should rather +not have told you,—but as well to-day as to-morrow. +And then, too, it's better that you should be warned; +when you know beforehand you can arrange matters. +There's an account with the poultry woman. The +poor girl owed a little everywhere; she didn't keep +things in very good shape these last few years. The +laundress left her book the last time she came. It +amounts to quite a little,—I don't know just how much. +It seems there's a note at the grocer's—an old note—it +goes back years. He'll bring you his book."</p> + +<p>"How much at the grocer's?"</p> + +<p>"Something like two hundred and fifty."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span></p> + +<p>All these disclosures, falling upon Mademoiselle de +Varandeuil, one after another, extorted exclamations of +stupefied surprise from her. Resting her elbow on her +pillow, she said nothing as the veil was torn away, bit +by bit, from this life, as its shameful features were +brought to light one by one.</p> + +<p>"Yes, about two hundred and fifty. There's a good +deal of wine, he tells me."</p> + +<p>"I have always had wine in the cellar."</p> + +<p>"The <i>crémière</i>," continued the concierge, without +heeding her remark, "that's no great matter,—some +seventy-five francs. It's for absinthe and brandy."</p> + +<p>"She drank!" cried Mademoiselle de Varandeuil, +everything made clear to her by those words.</p> + +<p>The concierge did not seem to hear.</p> + +<p>"You see, mademoiselle, knowing the Jupillons was +the death of her,—the young man especially. It wasn't +for herself that she did what she did. And the disappointment, +you see. She took to drink. She hoped to +marry him, I ought to say. She fitted up a room for +him. When they get to buying furniture the money +goes fast. She ruined herself,—think of it! It was +no use for me to tell her not to throw herself away by +drinking as she did. You don't suppose I was going to +tell you, when she came in at six o'clock in the morning! +It was the same with her child. Oh!" the concierge +added, in reply to mademoiselle's gesture, "it +was a lucky thing the little one died. Never mind, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> +can say she led a gay life—and a hard one. That's +why I say the common ditch. If I was you—she's +cost you enough, mademoiselle, all the time she's +been living on you. And you can leave her where +she is—with everybody else."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that's how it is! that's what she was! She +stole for men! she ran in debt! Ah! she did well +to die, the hussy! And I must pay! A child!—think +of that: the slut! Yes, indeed, she can rot where she +will! You have done well, Monsieur Henri. Steal! +She stole from me! In the ditch, parbleu! that's quite +good enough for her! To think that I let her keep all +my keys—I never kept any account. My God! That's +what comes of confidence. Well! here we are—I'll +pay—not on her account, but on my own. And I gave +her my best pair of sheets to be buried in! Ah! if +I'd known I'd have given you the kitchen dish-clout, +<i>mademoiselle how I am duped</i>!"</p> + +<p>And mademoiselle continued in this strain for some +moments until the words choked one another in her +throat and strangled her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXIX</h2> + + +<p>As a result of this scene, Mademoiselle de Varandeuil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> + +kept her bed a week, ill and raging, filled with indignation +that shook her whole body, overflowed through her +mouth, and tore from her now and again some coarse +insult which she would hurl with a shriek of rage at +her maid's vile memory. Night and day she was possessed +by the same fever of malediction, and even in +her dreams her attenuated limbs were convulsed with +wrath.</p> + +<p>Was it possible! Germinie! her Germinie! She +could think of nothing else. Debts!—a child!—all +sorts of shame! The degraded creature! She abhorred +her, she detested her. If she had lived she would have +denounced her to the police. She would have liked to +believe in hell so that she might be consigned to the +torments that await the dead. Her maid was such a +creature as that! A girl who had been in her service +twenty years! whom she had loaded down with benefits! +Drunkenness! she had sunk so low as that! +The horror that succeeds a bad dream came to mademoiselle, +and all the waves of loathing that flowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> +from her heart said: "Out upon the dead woman +whose life the grave vomited forth and whose filth it +cast out!"</p> + +<p>How she had deceived her! How the wretch had +pretended to love her! And to make her appear more +ungrateful and more despicable Mademoiselle de Varandeuil +recalled her manifestations of affection, her attentions, +her jealousies, which seemed a part of her adoration. +She saw her bending over her when she was ill. +She thought of her caresses. It was all a lie! Her devotion +was a lie! The delight with which she kissed her, +the love upon her lips, were lies! Mademoiselle told +herself over and over again, she persuaded herself that +it was so; and yet, little by little, from these reminiscences, +from these evocations of the past whose bitterness +she sought to make more bitter, from the far-off +sweetness of days gone by, there arose within her a first +sensation of pity.</p> + +<p>She drove away the thoughts that tended to allay her +wrath; but reflection brought them back. Thereupon +there came to her mind some things to which she had +paid no heed during Germinie's lifetime, trifles of +which the grave makes us take thought and upon +which death sheds light. She had a vague remembrance +of certain strange performances on the part of +her maid, of feverish effusions and frantic embraces, of +her throwing herself on her knees as if she were about +to make a confession, of movements of the lips as if a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> +secret were trembling on their verge. She saw, with +the eyes we have for those who are no more, Germinie's +wistful glances, her gestures and attitudes, the despairing +expression of her face. And now she realized that there +were deep wounds beneath, heart-rending pain, the torment +of her anguish and her repentance, the tears of +blood of her remorse, all sorts of suffering forced out +of sight throughout her life, and in her whole being a +Passion of shame that dared not ask forgiveness except +with silence!</p> + +<p>Then she would scold herself for the thought and call +herself an old fool. Her instinct of rigid uprightness, +the stern conscience and harsh judgment of a stainless +life, the things which cause a virtuous woman to +condemn a harlot and should have caused a saint like +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil to be without pity for her +servant—everything within her rebelled against a pardon. +The voice of justice, stifling her kindness of heart, +cried: "Never! never!" And she would expel Germinie's +infamous phantom with a pitiless gesture.</p> + +<p>There were times, indeed, when, in order to make +her condemnation and execration of her memory more +irrevocable, she would heap charges upon her and slander +her. She would add to the dead woman's horrible +list of sins. She would reproach Germinie for more +than was justly chargeable to her. She would attribute +crimes to her dark thoughts, murderous desires to her +impatient dreams. She would strive to think, she would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> +force herself to think, that she had desired her mistress's +death and had been awaiting it.</p> + +<p>But at that very moment, amid the blackest of her +thoughts and suppositions, a vision arose and stood in +a bright light before her. A figure approached, that +seemed to come to meet her glance, a figure against +which she could not defend herself, and which passed +through the hands with which she sought to force it +back. Mademoiselle de Varandeuil saw her dead maid +once more. She saw once more the face of which she +had caught a glimpse in the amphitheatre, the crucified +face, the tortured face to which the blood and agony of +a heart had mounted together. She saw it once more +with the faculty which the second sight of memory separates +from its surroundings. And that face, as it became +clearer to her, caused her less terror. It appeared to +her, divesting itself, as it were, of its fear-inspiring, horrifying +qualities. Suffering alone remained, but it was +the suffering of expiation, almost of prayer, the suffering +of a dead face that would like to weep. And as its expression +grew ever milder, mademoiselle came at last to +see in it a glance of supplication, of supplication that, +at last, compelled her pity. Insensibly there glided into +her reflections indulgent thoughts, suggestions of apology +that surprised herself. She asked herself if the poor girl +was as guilty as others, if she had deliberately chosen the +path of evil, if life, circumstances, the misfortune of her +body and her destiny, had not made her the creature she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> +had been, a creature of love and sorrow. Suddenly she +stopped: she was on the point of forgiving her!</p> + +<p>One morning she leaped out of bed.</p> + +<p>"Here! you—you other!" she cried to her housekeeper, +"the devil take your name! I can't remember +it. Give me my clothes, quick! I have to go out."</p> + +<p>"The idea, mademoiselle—just look at the roofs, +they're all white."</p> + +<p>"Well, it snows, that's all."</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, Mademoiselle de Varandeuil said +to the driver of the cab she had sent for:</p> + +<p>"Montmartre Cemetery!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2 class="chapter">LXX</h2> + + +<p>In the distance an enclosure wall extended, perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> +straight, as far as the eye could see. The thread of +snow that marked the outline of its coping gave it a +dirty, rusty color. In a corner at the left three leafless +trees reared their bare black branches against the sky. +They rustled sadly, with the sound of pieces of dead +wood stirred by the south wind. Above these trees, +behind the wall and close against it, arose the two arms +from which hung one of the last oil-lamps in Paris. A +few snow-covered roofs were scattered here and there; +beyond, the hill of Montmartre rose sharply, its white +shroud broken by oases of brown earth and sandy +patches. Low gray walls followed the slope, surmounted +by gaunt, stunted trees whose branches had a bluish tint +in the mist, as far as two black windmills. The sky was +of a leaden hue, with occasional cold, bluish streaks as +if ink had been applied with a brush! over Montmartre +there was a light streak, of a yellow color, like the Seine +water after heavy rains. Above that wintry beam the +wings of an invisible windmill turned and turned,—slow-moving +wings, unvarying in their movement, which +seemed to be turning for eternity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span></p> + +<p>In front of the wall, against which was planted a +thicket of dead cypresses, turned red by the frost, was a +vast tract of land upon which were two rows of crowded, +jostling overturned crosses, like two great funeral processions. +The crosses touched and pushed one another +and trod on one another's heels. They bent and fell +and collapsed in the ranks. In the middle there was a +sort of congestion which had caused them to bulge out +on both sides; you could see them lying—covered by +the snow and raising it into mounds with the thick wood +of which they were made—upon the paths, somewhat +trampled in the centre, that skirted the two long +files. The broken ranks undulated with the fluctuation +of a multitude, the disorder and wavering course +of a long march. The black crosses with their arms +outstretched assumed the appearance of ghosts and +persons in distress. The two disorderly columns +made one think of a human panic, a desperate, frightened +army. It was as if one were looking on at a +terrible rout.</p> + +<p>All the crosses were laden with wreaths, wreaths of +immortelles, wreaths of white paper with silver thread, +black wreaths with gold thread; but you could see them +beneath the snow, worn out, withered, ghastly things, +souvenirs, as it were, which the other dead would not +accept and which had been picked up in order to make +a little toilet for the crosses with gleanings from the +graves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the crosses had a name written in white; but +there were other names that were not even written on a +piece of wood,—a broken branch of a tree, stuck in the +ground, with an envelope tied around it—such tombstones +as that were to be seen there!</p> + +<p>On the left, where they were digging a trench for +a third row of crosses, the workman's shovel threw +black dirt into the air, which fell upon the white earth +around. Profound silence, the deaf silence of the snow, +enveloped everything, and but two sounds could be +heard; the dull sound made by the clods of earth and +the heavy sound of regular footsteps; an old priest +who was waiting there, his head enveloped in a black +cowl, dressed in a black gown and stole, and with a +dirty, yellow surplice, was trying to keep himself warm +by stamping his great galoches on the pavement of the +high road, in front of the crosses.</p> + +<p>Such was the common ditch in those days. That +tract of land, those crosses and that priest said this: +"Here sleeps the Death of the common people; this is +the poor man's end!"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>O Paris! thou art the heart of the world, thou art the +great city of humanity, the great city of charity and +brotherly love! Thou hast kindly intentions, old-fashioned +habits of compassion, theatres that give alms. +The poor man is thy citizen as well as the rich man. +Thy churches speak of Jesus Christ; thy laws speak of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> +equality; thy newspapers speak of progress; all thy governments +speak of the common people; and this is where +thou castest those who die in thy service, those who kill +themselves ministering to thy luxury, those who perish +in the noisome odors of thy factories, those who have +sweated their lives away working for thee, giving thee +thy prosperity, thy pleasures, thy splendors, those who +have furnished thy animation and thy noise, those who +have lengthened with the links of their lives the chain +of thy duration as a capital, those who have been the +crowd in thy streets and the common people of thy +grandeur. Each of thy cemeteries has a like shameful +corner, hidden in the angle of a wall, where thou makest +haste to bury them, and where thou castest dirt upon +them in such stingy clods, that one can see the ends of +their coffins protruding! One would say that thy +charity stops with their last breath, that thy only free +gift is the bed whereon they suffer, and that, when the +hospital can do no more for them, thou, who art so vast +and so superb, hast no place for them! Thou dost heap +them up, crowd them together and mingle them in +death, as thou didst mingle them in the death-agony +beneath the sheets of thy hospitals a hundred years +since! As late as yesterday thou hadst only that priest +on sentry duty, to throw a drop of paltry holy water on +every comer: not the briefest prayer! Even that symbol +of decency was lacking: God could not be disturbed +for so small a matter! And what the priest blesses is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> +always the same thing: a trench in which the pine boxes +strike against one another, where the dead enjoy no +privacy! Corruption there is common to all; no one +has his own, but each one has that of all the rest: the +worms are owned promiscuously! In the devouring soil +a Montfaucon hastens to make way for the Catacombs. +For the dead here have no more time than room to rot +in: the earth is taken from them before it has finished +with them! before their bones have assumed the color +and the ancient appearance, so to speak, of stone, +before the passing years have effaced the last trace of +humanity and the memory of a body! The excavation +is renewed when the earth is still themselves, when they +are the damp soil in which the mattock is buried. The +earth is loaned to them, you say? But it does not even +confine the odor of death! In summer, the wind that +passes over this scarcely-covered human charnel-house +wafts the unholy miasma to the city of the living. In +the scorching days of August the keepers deny admission +to the place: there are flies that bear upon them +the poison of the carrion, pestilential flies whose sting is +deadly!</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Mademoiselle arrived at this spot after passing the +wall that separates the lots sold in perpetuity from those +sold temporarily only. Following the directions given +her by a keeper, she walked along between the further +line of crosses and the newly-opened trench. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> +there she made her way over buried wreaths, over the +snowy pall, to a hole where the trench began. It was +covered over with old rotten planks and a sheet of +oxidized zinc on which a workman had thrown his blue +blouse. The earth sloped away behind them to the +bottom of the trench, where could be seen the sinister +outlines of three wooden coffins: there were one large +one and two smaller ones just behind. The crosses of +the past week, of the day before, of two days before, +extended in a line down the slope; they glided along, +plunged suddenly downward, and seemed to be taking +long strides as if they were in danger of being carried +over a precipice.</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle began to ascend the path by these +crosses, spelling out the dates and searching for the +names with her wretched eyes. She reached the crosses +of the 8th of November: that was the day before her +maid's death, and Germinie should be close by. There +were five crosses of the 9th of November, five crosses +huddled close together: Germinie was not in the crush. +Mademoiselle de Varandeuil went a little farther on, +to the crosses of the 10th, then to those of the 11th, +then to those of the 12th. She returned to the 8th, +and looked carefully around in all directions: there +was nothing, absolutely nothing,—Germinie had been +buried without a cross! Not even a bit of wood had +been placed in the ground by which to identify her +grave!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last the old lady dropped on her knees in the +snow, between two crosses, one of which bore the date +of the 9th and the other of the 10th of November. +All that remained of Germinie should be almost in that +spot. That ill-defined space was her ill-defined grave. +To pray over her body it was necessary to pray at random +between two dates,—as if the poor girl's destiny +had decreed that there should be no more room on +earth for her body than for her heart!</p> + + +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<hr /> + +<h2 class="chapter">NOTES</h2> +<hr style="width: 4.5%; margin-top: -1.5em;" /> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Canon</i> is the French word for cannon; it is also used in vulgar +parlance to mean a glass of wine drunk at the bar.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>Battre les murailles</i>—to beat the walls—has a slang meaning: +to be so drunk that you can't see, or can't lie down without holding +on.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Literally, <i>red bowels</i>—common slang for hard drinkers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> <i>Cuir</i> is an expression used to denote the error in speaking, +which consists—in French—in pronouncing a <i>t</i> for an <i>s</i>, and vice +versa at the end of words which are joined in pronunciation to the +next word: <i>e.g., il étai-z-à la campagne</i> for <i>il était à la campagne</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> In the slang vocabulary, to <i>console</i> one's coffee means to add +brandy to it.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> A <i>négresse</i> is a bottle of red wine, and, as applied to that article, +<i>morte</i> (dead) means empty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span></p></div> + + +<hr /> + +<div class="microspace"> </div> +<div class="image"><img src="images/i_illo.png" width="307" height="48" alt="List of Illustrations" title="" /></div> + +<h3>GERMINIE LACERTEUX</h3> +<hr style="width: 4.5%; margin-top: .5em;" /> + + +<div class="center"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="2" summary="list of illustrations" width="48%"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right' class="sc">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' class="sc">GERMINIE AND JUPILLON VISIT THEIR CHILD</td><td align='right'><i><a href="#frontis">Fronts.</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' class="sc">JUPILLON AND GERMINIE AT THE FORTIFICATIONS</td><td align='right'><a href="#i116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' class="sc">GERMINIE BRINGS MONEY FOR A SUBSTITUTE</td><td align='right'><a href="#i204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' class="sc">GERMINIE TEMPTED TO MURDER</td><td align='right'><a href="#i308">308</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' class="sc">GERMINIE AT LARIBOISIÈRE</td><td align='right'><a href="#i356">356</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> +<div class="minispace"> </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Germinie Lacerteux, by Edmond and Jules de Goncourt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GERMINIE LACERTEUX *** + +***** This file should be named 27711-h.htm or 27711-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/7/1/27711/ + +Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Meredith Bach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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