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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of L’assommoir, by Émile Zola
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: L’assommoir
+
+Author: Émile Zola
+
+Release Date: July 27, 2003 [eBook #8600]
+[Last updated: September 15, 2022]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: John Bickers, Dagny and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK L’ASSOMMOIR ***
+
+
+
+
+L'ASSOMMOIR
+
+By Émile Zola
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+ CHAPTER I.
+ CHAPTER II.
+ CHAPTER III.
+ CHAPTER IV.
+ CHAPTER V.
+ CHAPTER VI.
+ CHAPTER VII.
+ CHAPTER VIII
+ CHAPTER IX
+ CHAPTER X
+ CHAPTER XI
+ CHAPTER XII
+ CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Gervaise had waited up for Lantier until two in the morning. Then,
+shivering from having remained in a thin loose jacket, exposed to the
+fresh air at the window, she had thrown herself across the bed, drowsy,
+feverish, and her cheeks bathed in tears.
+
+For a week past, on leaving the “Two-Headed Calf,” where they took
+their meals, he had sent her home with the children and never
+reappeared himself till late at night, alleging that he had been in
+search of work. That evening, while watching for his return, she
+thought she had seen him enter the dancing-hall of the “Grand-Balcony,”
+the ten blazing windows of which lighted up with the glare of a
+conflagration the dark expanse of the exterior Boulevards; and five or
+six paces behind him, she had caught sight of little Adele, a
+burnisher, who dined at the same restaurant, swinging her hands, as if
+she had just quitted his arm so as not to pass together under the
+dazzling light of the globes at the door.
+
+When, towards five o’clock, Gervaise awoke, stiff and sore, she broke
+forth into sobs. Lantier had not returned. For the first time he had
+slept away from home. She remained seated on the edge of the bed, under
+the strip of faded chintz, which hung from the rod fastened to the
+ceiling by a piece of string. And slowly, with her eyes veiled by
+tears, she glanced round the wretched lodging, furnished with a walnut
+chest of drawers, minus one drawer, three rush-bottomed chairs, and a
+little greasy table, on which stood a broken water-jug. There had been
+added, for the children, an iron bedstead, which prevented any one
+getting to the chest of drawers, and filled two-thirds of the room.
+Gervaise’s and Lantier’s trunk, wide open, in one corner, displayed its
+emptiness, and a man’s old hat right at the bottom almost buried
+beneath some dirty shirts and socks; whilst, against the walls, above
+the articles of furniture, hung a shawl full of holes, and a pair of
+trousers begrimed with mud, the last rags which the dealers in
+second-hand clothes declined to buy. In the centre of the mantel-piece,
+lying between two odd zinc candle-sticks, was a bundle of pink
+pawn-tickets. It was the best room of the hotel, the first floor room,
+looking on to the Boulevard.
+
+The two children were sleeping side by side, with their heads on the
+same pillow. Claude, aged eight years, was breathing quietly, with his
+little hands thrown outside the coverlet; while Etienne, only four
+years old, was smiling, with one arm round his brother’s neck. And
+bare-footed, without thinking to again put on the old shoes that had
+fallen on the floor, she resumed her position at the window, her eyes
+searching the pavements in the distance.
+
+The hotel was situated on the Boulevard de la Chapelle, to the left of
+the Barriere Poissonniere. It was a building of two stories high,
+painted a red, of the color of wine dregs, up to the second floor, and
+with shutters all rotted by the rain. Over a lamp with starred panes of
+glass, one could manage to read, between the two windows, the words,
+“Hotel Boncoeur, kept by Marsoullier,” painted in big yellow letters,
+several pieces of which the moldering of the plaster had carried away.
+The lamp preventing her seeing, Gervaise raised herself on tiptoe,
+still holding the handkerchief to her lips. She looked to the right,
+towards the Boulevard Rochechouart, where groups of butchers, in aprons
+smeared with blood, were hanging about in front of the
+slaughter-houses; and the fresh breeze wafted occasionally a stench of
+slaughtered beasts. Looking to the left, she scanned a long avenue that
+ended nearly in front of her, where the white mass of the Lariboisiere
+Hospital was then in course of construction. Slowly, from one end of
+the horizon to the other, she followed the octroi wall, behind which
+she sometimes heard, during night time, the shrieks of persons being
+murdered; and she searchingly looked into the remote angles, the dark
+corners, black with humidity and filth, fearing to discern there
+Lantier’s body, stabbed to death.
+
+She looked at the endless gray wall that surrounded the city with its
+belt of desolation. When she raised her eyes higher, she became aware
+of a bright burst of sunlight. The dull hum of the city’s awakening
+already filled the air. Craning her neck to look at the Poissonniere
+gate, she remained for a time watching the constant stream of men,
+horses, and carts which flooded down from the heights of Montmartre and
+La Chapelle, pouring between the two squat octroi lodges. It was like a
+herd of plodding cattle, an endless throng widened by sudden stoppages
+into eddies that spilled off the sidewalks into the street, a steady
+procession of laborers on their way back to work with tools slung over
+their back and a loaf of bread under their arm. This human inundation
+kept pouring down into Paris to be constantly swallowed up. Gervaise
+leaned further out at the risk of falling when she thought she
+recognized Lantier among the throng. She pressed the handkerchief
+tighter against her mouth, as though to push back the pain within her.
+
+The sound of a young and cheerful voice caused her to leave the window.
+
+“So the old man isn’t here, Madame Lantier?”
+
+“Why, no, Monsieur Coupeau,” she replied, trying to smile.
+
+Coupeau, a zinc-worker who occupied a ten franc room on the top floor,
+having seen the door unlocked, had walked in as friends will do.
+
+“You know,” he continued, “I’m now working over there in the hospital.
+What beautiful May weather, isn’t it? The air is rather sharp this
+morning.”
+
+And he looked at Gervaise’s face, red with weeping. When he saw that
+the bed had not been slept in, he shook his head gently; then he went
+to the children’s couch where they were sleeping, looking as rosy as
+cherubs, and, lowering his voice, he said,
+
+“Come, the old man’s not been home, has he? Don’t worry yourself,
+Madame Lantier. He’s very much occupied with politics. When they were
+voting for Eugene Sue the other day, he was acting almost crazy. He has
+very likely spent the night with some friends blackguarding crapulous
+Bonaparte.”
+
+“No, no,” she murmured with an effort. “You don’t think that. I know
+where Lantier is. You see, we have our little troubles like the rest of
+the world!”
+
+Coupeau winked his eye, to indicate he was not a dupe of this
+falsehood; and he went off, after offering to fetch her milk, if she
+did not care to go out: she was a good and courageous woman, and might
+count upon him on any day of trouble.
+
+As soon as he was gone, Gervaise again returned to the window. At the
+Barriere, the tramp of the drove still continued in the morning air:
+locksmiths in short blue blouses, masons in white jackets, house
+painters in overcoats over long smocks. From a distance the crowd
+looked like a chalky smear of neutral hue composed chiefly of faded
+blue and dingy gray. When one of the workers occasionally stopped to
+light his pipe the others kept plodding past him, without sparing a
+laugh or a word to a comrade. With cheeks gray as clay, their eyes were
+continually drawn toward Paris which was swallowing them one by one.
+
+At both corners of the Rue des Poissonniers however, some of the men
+slackened their pace as they neared the doors of the two wine-dealers
+who were taking down their shutters; and, before entering, they stood
+on the edge of the pavement, looking sideways over Paris, with no
+strength in their arms and already inclined for a day of idleness.
+Inside various groups were already buying rounds of drinks, or just
+standing around, forgetting their troubles, crowding up the place,
+coughing, spitting, clearing their throats with sip after sip.
+
+Gervaise was watching Pere Colombe’s wineshop to the left of the
+street, where she thought she had seen Lantier, when a stout woman,
+bareheaded and wearing an apron called to her from the middle of the
+roadway:
+
+“Hey, Madame Lantier, you’re up very early!”
+
+Gervaise leaned out. “Why! It’s you, Madame Boche! Oh! I’ve got a lot
+of work to-day!”
+
+“Yes, things don’t do themselves, do they?”
+
+The conversation continued between roadway and window. Madame Boche was
+concierge of the building where the “Two-Headed Calf” was on the ground
+floor. Gervaise had waited for Lantier more than once in the
+concierge’s lodge, so as not to be alone at table with all the men who
+ate at the restaurant. Madame Boche was going to a tailor who was late
+in mending an overcoat for her husband. She mentioned one of her
+tenants who had come in with a woman the night before and kept
+everybody awake past three in the morning. She looked at Gervaise with
+intense curiosity.
+
+“Is Monsieur Lantier, then, still in bed?” she asked abruptly.
+
+“Yes, he’s asleep,” replied Gervaise, who could not avoid blushing.
+
+Madame Boche saw the tears come into her eyes; and, satisfied no doubt,
+she turned to go, declaring men to be a cursed, lazy set. As she went
+off, she called back:
+
+“It’s this morning you go to the wash-house, isn’t it? I’ve something
+to wash, too. I’ll keep you a place next to me, and we can chat
+together.” Then, as if moved with sudden pity, she added:
+
+“My poor little thing, you had far better not remain there; you’ll take
+harm. You look quite blue with cold.”
+
+Gervaise still obstinately remained at the window during two mortal
+hours, till eight o’clock. Now all the shops had opened. Only a few
+work men were still hurrying along.
+
+The working girls now filled the boulevard: metal polishers, milliners,
+flower sellers, shivering in their thin clothing. In small groups they
+chattered gaily, laughing and glancing here and there. Occasionally
+there would be one girl by herself, thin, pale, serious-faced, picking
+her way along the city wall among the puddles and the filth.
+
+After the working girls, the office clerks came past, breathing upon
+their chilled fingers and munching penny rolls. Some of them are gaunt
+young fellows in ill-fitting suits, their tired eyes still fogged from
+sleep. Others are older men, stooped and tottering, with faces pale and
+drawn from long hours of office work and glancing nervously at their
+watches for fear of arriving late.
+
+In time the Boulevards settle into their usual morning quiet. Old folks
+come out to stroll in the sun. Tired young mothers in bedraggled skirts
+cuddle babies in their arms or sit on a bench to change diapers.
+Children run, squealing and laughing, pushing and shoving.
+
+Then Gervaise felt herself choking, dizzy with anguish, all hopes gone;
+it seemed to her that everything was ended, even time itself, and that
+Lantier would return no more. Her eyes vacantly wandered from the old
+slaughter-house, foul with butchery and with stench, to the new white
+hospital which, through the yawning openings of its ranges of windows,
+disclosed the naked wards, where death was preparing to mow. In front
+of her on the other side of the octroi wall the bright heavens dazzled
+her, with the rising sun which rose higher and higher over the vast
+awaking city.
+
+The young woman was seated on a chair, no longer crying, and with her
+hands abandoned on her lap, when Lantier quietly entered the room.
+
+“It’s you! It’s you!” she cried, rising to throw herself upon his neck.
+
+“Yes, it’s me. What of it?” he replied. “You are not going to begin any
+of your nonsense, I hope!”
+
+He had pushed her aside. Then, with a gesture of ill-humor he threw his
+black felt hat to the chest of drawers. He was a young fellow of
+twenty-six years of age, short and very dark, with a handsome figure,
+and slight moustaches which his hand was always mechanically twirling.
+He wore a workman’s overalls and an old soiled overcoat, which he had
+belted tightly at the waist, and he spoke with a strong Provencal
+accent.
+
+Gervaise, who had fallen back on her chair, gently complained, in short
+sentences: “I’ve not had a wink of sleep. I feared some harm had
+happened to you. Where have you been? Where did you spend the night?
+For heaven’s sake! Don’t do it again, or I shall go crazy. Tell me
+Auguste, where have you been?”
+
+“Where I had business, of course,” he returned shrugging his shoulders.
+“At eight o’clock, I was at La Glaciere, with my friend who is to start
+a hat factory. We sat talking late, so I preferred to sleep there. Now,
+you know, I don’t like being spied upon, so just shut up!”
+
+The young woman recommenced sobbing. The loud voices and the rough
+movements of Lantier, who upset the chairs, had awakened the children.
+They sat up in bed, half naked, disentangling their hair with their
+tiny hands, and, hearing their mother weep, they uttered terrible
+screams, crying also with their scarcely open eyes.
+
+“Ah! there’s the music!” shouted Lantier furiously. “I warn you, I’ll
+take my hook! And it will be for good, this time. You won’t shut up?
+Then, good morning! I’ll return to the place I’ve just come from.”
+
+He had already taken his hat from off the chest of drawers. But
+Gervaise threw herself before him, stammering: “No, no!”
+
+And she hushed the little ones’ tears with her caresses, smoothed their
+hair, and soothed them with soft words. The children, suddenly quieted,
+laughing on their pillow, amused themselves by punching each other. The
+father however, without even taking off his boots, had thrown himself
+on the bed looking worn out, his face bearing signs of having been up
+all night. He did not go to sleep, he lay with his eyes wide open,
+looking round the room.
+
+“It’s a mess here!” he muttered. And after observing Gervaise a moment,
+he malignantly added: “Don’t you even wash yourself now?”
+
+Gervaise was twenty-two, tall and slim with fine features, but she was
+already beginning to show the strain of her hard life. She seemed to
+have aged ten years from the hours of agonized weeping. Lantier’s mean
+remark made her mad.
+
+“You’re not fair,” she said spiritedly. “You well know I do all I can.
+It’s not my fault we find ourselves here. I would like to see you, with
+two children, in a room where there’s not even a stove to heat some
+water. When we arrived in Paris, instead of squandering your money, you
+should have made a home for us at once, as you promised.”
+
+“Listen!” Lantier exploded. “You cracked the nut with me; it doesn’t
+become you to sneer at it now!”
+
+Apparently not listening, Gervaise went on with her own thought. “If we
+work hard we can get out of the hole we’re in. Madame Fauconnier, the
+laundress on Rue Neuve, will start me on Monday. If you work with your
+friend from La Glaciere, in six months we will be doing well. We’ll
+have enough for decent clothes and a place we can call our own. But
+we’ll have to stick with it and work hard.”
+
+Lantier turned over towards the wall, looking greatly bored. Then
+Gervaise lost her temper.
+
+“Yes, that’s it, I know the love of work doesn’t trouble you much.
+You’re bursting with ambition, you want to be dressed like a gentleman.
+You don’t think me nice enough, do you, now that you’ve made me pawn
+all my dresses? Listen, Auguste, I didn’t intend to speak of it, I
+would have waited a bit longer, but I know where you spent the night; I
+saw you enter the ‘Grand-Balcony’ with that trollop Adele. Ah! you
+choose them well! She’s a nice one, she is! She does well to put on the
+airs of a princess! She’s been the ridicule of every man who frequents
+the restaurant.”
+
+At a bound Lantier sprang from the bed. His eyes had become as black as
+ink in his pale face. With this little man, rage blew like a tempest.
+
+“Yes, yes, of every man who frequents the restaurant!” repeated the
+young woman. “Madame Boche intends to give them notice, she and her
+long stick of a sister, because they’ve always a string of men after
+them on the staircase.”
+
+Lantier raised his fists; then, resisting the desire of striking her,
+he seized hold of her by the arms, shook her violently and sent her
+sprawling upon the bed of the children, who recommenced crying. And he
+lay down again, mumbling, like a man resolving on something that he
+previously hesitated to do:
+
+“You don’t know what you’ve done, Gervaise. You’ve made a big mistake;
+you’ll see.”
+
+For an instant the children continued sobbing. Their mother, who
+remained bending over the bed, held them both in her embrace, and kept
+repeating the same words in a monotonous tone of voice.
+
+“Ah! if it weren’t for you! My poor little ones! If it weren’t for you!
+If it weren’t for you!”
+
+Stretched out quietly, his eyes raised to the faded strip of chintz,
+Lantier no longer listened, but seemed to be buried in a fixed idea. He
+remained thus for nearly an hour, without giving way to sleep, in spite
+of the fatigue which weighed his eyelids down.
+
+He finally turned toward Gervaise, his face set hard in determination.
+She had gotten the children up and dressed and had almost finished
+cleaning the room. The room looked, as always, dark and depressing with
+its sooty black ceiling and paper peeling from the damp walls. The
+dilapidated furniture was always streaked and dirty despite frequent
+dustings. Gervaise, devouring her grief, trying to assume a look of
+indifference, hurried over her work.
+
+Lantier watched as she tidied her hair in front of the small mirror
+hanging near the window. While she washed herself he looked at her bare
+arms and shoulders. He seemed to be making comparisons in his mind as
+his lips formed a grimace. Gervaise limped with her right leg, though
+it was scarcely noticeable except when she was tired. To-day, exhausted
+from remaining awake all night, she was supporting herself against the
+wall and dragging her leg.
+
+Neither one spoke, they had nothing more to say. Lantier seemed to be
+waiting, while Gervaise kept busy and tried to keep her countenance
+expressionless. Finally, while she was making a bundle of the dirty
+clothes thrown in a corner, behind the trunk, he at length opened his
+lips and asked:
+
+“What are you doing there? Where are you going?”
+
+She did not answer at first. Then, when he furiously repeated his
+question, she made up her mind, and said:
+
+“I suppose you can see for yourself. I’m going to wash all this. The
+children can’t live in filth.”
+
+He let her pick up two or three handkerchiefs. And, after a fresh
+pause, he resumed: “Have you got any money?”
+
+At these words she stood up and looked him full in the face, without
+leaving go of the children’s dirty clothes, which she held in her hand.
+
+“Money! And where do you think I can have stolen any? You know well
+enough that I got three francs the day before yesterday on my black
+skirt. We’ve lunched twice off it, and money goes quick at the
+pork-butcher’s. No, you may be quite sure I’ve no money. I’ve four sous
+for the wash-house. I don’t have an extra income like some women.”
+
+He let this allusion pass. He had moved off the bed, and was passing in
+review the few rags hanging about the room. He ended by taking up the
+pair of trousers and the shawl, and searching the drawers, he added two
+chemises and a woman’s loose jacket to the parcel; then, he threw the
+whole bundle into Gervaise’s arms, saying:
+
+“Here, go and pop this.”
+
+“Don’t you want me to pop the children as well?” asked she. “Eh! If
+they lent on children, it would be a fine riddance!”
+
+She went to the pawn-place, however. When she returned at the end of
+half an hour, she laid a hundred sou piece on the mantel-shelf, and
+added the ticket to the others, between the two candlesticks.
+
+“That’s what they gave me,” said she. “I wanted six francs, but I
+couldn’t manage it. Oh! they’ll never ruin themselves. And there’s
+always such a crowd there!”
+
+Lantier did not pick up the five franc piece directly. He would rather
+that she got change, so as to leave her some of it. But he decided to
+slip it into his waistcoat pocket, when he noticed a small piece of ham
+wrapped up in paper, and the remains of a loaf on the chest of drawers.
+
+“I didn’t dare go to the milkwoman’s, because we owe her a week,”
+explained Gervaise. “But I shall be back early; you can get some bread
+and some chops whilst I’m away, and then we’ll have lunch. Bring also a
+bottle of wine.”
+
+He did not say no. Their quarrel seemed to be forgotten. The young
+woman was completing her bundle of dirty clothes. But when she went to
+take Lantier’s shirts and socks from the bottom of the trunk, he called
+to her to leave them alone.
+
+“Leave my things, d’ye hear? I don’t want ’em touched!”
+
+“What’s it you don’t want touched?” she asked, rising up. “I suppose
+you don’t mean to put these filthy things on again, do you? They must
+be washed.”
+
+She studied his boyishly handsome face, now so rigid that it seemed
+nothing could ever soften it. He angrily grabbed his things from her
+and threw them back into the trunk, saying:
+
+“Just obey me, for once! I tell you I won’t have ’em touched!”
+
+“But why?” she asked, turning pale, a terrible suspicion crossing her
+mind. “You don’t need your shirts now, you’re not going away. What can
+it matter to you if I take them?”
+
+He hesitated for an instant, embarrassed by the piercing glance she
+fixed upon him. “Why—why—” stammered he, “because you go and tell
+everyone that you keep me, that you wash and mend. Well! It worries me,
+there! Attend to your own business and I’ll attend to mine, washerwomen
+don’t work for dogs.”
+
+She supplicated, she protested she had never complained; but he roughly
+closed the trunk and sat down upon it, saying, “No!” to her face. He
+could surely do as he liked with what belonged to him! Then, to escape
+from the inquiring looks she leveled at him, he went and laid down on
+the bed again, saying that he was sleepy, and requesting her not to
+make his head ache with any more of her row. This time indeed, he
+seemed to fall asleep. Gervaise, for a while, remained undecided. She
+was tempted to kick the bundle of dirty clothes on one side, and to sit
+down and sew. But Lantier’s regular breathing ended by reassuring her.
+She took the ball of blue and the piece of soap remaining from her last
+washing, and going up to the little ones who were quietly playing with
+some old corks in front of the window, she kissed them, and said in a
+low voice:
+
+“Be very good, don’t make any noise; papa’s asleep.”
+
+When she left the room, Claude’s and Etienne’s gentle laughter alone
+disturbed the great silence beneath the blackened ceiling. It was ten
+o’clock. A ray of sunshine entered by the half open window.
+
+On the Boulevard, Gervaise turned to the left, and followed the Rue
+Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or. As she passed Madame Fauconnier’s shop, she
+slightly bowed her head. The wash-house she was bound for was situated
+towards the middle of the street, at the part where the roadway
+commenced to ascend.
+
+The rounded, gray contours of the three large zinc wash tanks, studded
+with rivets, rose above the flat-roofed building. Behind them was the
+drying room, a high second story, closed in on all sides by
+narrow-slatted lattices so that the air could circulate freely, and
+through which laundry could be seen hanging on brass wires. The steam
+engine’s smokestack exhaled puffs of white smoke to the right of the
+water tanks.
+
+Gervaise was used to puddles and did not bother to tuck her skirts up
+before making her way through the doorway, which was cluttered with
+jars of bleaching water. She was already acquainted with the mistress
+of the wash-house, a delicate little woman with red, inflamed eyes, who
+sat in a small glazed closet with account books in front of her, bars
+of soap on shelves, balls of blue in glass bowls, and pounds of soda
+done up in packets; and, as she passed, she asked for her beetle and
+her scouring-brush, which she had left to be taken care of the last
+time she had done her washing there. Then, after obtaining her number,
+she entered the wash-house.
+
+It was an immense shed, with large clear windows, and a flat ceiling,
+showing the beams supported on cast-iron pillars. Pale rays of light
+passed through the hot steam, which remained suspended like a milky
+fog. Smoke arose from certain corners, spreading about and covering the
+recesses with a bluish veil. A heavy moisture hung around, impregnated
+with a soapy odor, a damp insipid smell, continuous though at moments
+overpowered by the more potent fumes of the chemicals. Along the
+washing-places, on either side of the central alley, were rows of
+women, with bare arms and necks, and skirts tucked up, showing colored
+stockings and heavy lace-up shoes. They were beating furiously,
+laughing, leaning back to call out a word in the midst of the din, or
+stooping over their tubs, all of them brutal, ungainly, foul of speech,
+and soaked as though by a shower, with their flesh red and reeking.
+
+All around the women continuously flowed a river from hot-water buckets
+emptied with a sudden splash, cold-water faucets left dripping, soap
+suds spattering, and the dripping from rinsed laundry which was hung
+up. It splashed their feet and drained away across the sloping
+flagstones. The din of the shouting and the rhythmic beating was joined
+by the patter of steady dripping. It was slightly muffled by the
+moisture-soaked ceiling. Meanwhile, the steam engine could be heard as
+it puffed and snorted ceaselessly while cloaked in its white mist. The
+dancing vibration of its flywheel seemed to regulate the volume of the
+noisy turbulence.
+
+Gervaise passed slowly along the alley, looking to the right and left,
+carrying her laundry bundle under one arm, with one hip thrust high and
+limping more than usual. She was jostled by several women in the
+hubbub.
+
+“This way, my dear!” cried Madame Boche, in her loud voice. Then, when
+the young woman had joined her at the very end on the left, the
+concierge, who was furiously rubbing a dirty sock, began to talk
+incessantly, without leaving off her work. “Put your things there, I’ve
+kept your place. Oh, I sha’n’t be long over what I’ve got. Boche
+scarcely dirties his things at all. And you, you won’t be long either,
+will you? Your bundle’s quite a little one. Before twelve o’clock we
+shall have finished, and we can go off to lunch. I used to send my
+things to a laundress in the Rue Poulet, but she destroyed everything
+with her chlorine and her brushes; so now I do the washing myself. It’s
+so much saved; it only costs the soap. I say, you should have put those
+shirts to soak. Those little rascals of children, on my word! One would
+think their bodies were covered with soot.”
+
+Gervaise, having undone her bundle, was spreading out the little ones’
+shirts, and as Madame Boche advised her to take a pailful of lye, she
+answered, “Oh, no! warm water will do. I’m used to it.” She had sorted
+her laundry with several colored pieces to one side. Then, after
+filling her tub with four pails of cold water from the tap behind her,
+she plunged her pile of whites into it.
+
+“You’re used to it?” repeated Madame Boche. “You were a washerwoman in
+your native place, weren’t you, my dear?”
+
+Gervaise, with her sleeves pushed back, displayed the graceful arms of
+a young blonde, as yet scarcely reddened at the elbows, and started
+scrubbing her laundry. She spread a shirt out on the narrow rubbing
+board which was water-bleached and eroded by years of use. She rubbed
+soap into the shirt, turned it over, and soaped the other side. Before
+replying to Madame Boche she grasped her beetle and began to pound away
+so that her shouted phrases were punctuated with loud and rhythmic
+thumps.
+
+“Yes, yes, a washerwoman—When I was ten—That’s twelve years ago—We used
+to go to the river—It smelt nicer there than it does here—You should
+have seen, there was a nook under the trees, with clear running
+water—You know, at Plassans—Don’t you know Plassans?—It’s near
+Marseilles.”
+
+“How you go at it!” exclaimed Madame Boche, amazed at the strength of
+her blows. “You could flatten out a piece of iron with your little
+lady-like arms.”
+
+The conversation continued in a very high volume. At times, the
+concierge, not catching what was said, was obliged to lean forward. All
+the linen was beaten, and with a will! Gervaise plunged it into the tub
+again, and then took it out once more, each article separately, to rub
+it over with soap a second time and brush it. With one hand she held
+the article firmly on the plank; with the other, which grasped the
+short couch-grass brush, she extracted from the linen a dirty lather,
+which fell in long drips. Then, in the slight noise caused by the
+brush, the two women drew together, and conversed in a more intimate
+way.
+
+“No, we’re not married,” resumed Gervaise. “I don’t hide it. Lantier
+isn’t so nice for any one to care to be his wife. If it weren’t for the
+children! I was fourteen and he was eighteen when we had our first one.
+It happened in the usual way, you know how it is. I wasn’t happy at
+home. Old man Macquart would kick me in the tail whenever he felt like
+it, for no reason at all. I had to have some fun outside. We might have
+been married, but—I forget why—our parents wouldn’t consent.”
+
+She shook her hands, which were growing red in the white suds. “The
+water’s awfully hard in Paris.”
+
+Madame Boche was now washing only very slowly. She kept leaving off,
+making her work last as long as she could, so as to remain there, to
+listen to that story, which her curiosity had been hankering to know
+for a fortnight past. Her mouth was half open in the midst of her big,
+fat face; her eyes, which were almost at the top of her head, were
+gleaming. She was thinking, with the satisfaction of having guessed
+right.
+
+“That’s it, the little one gossips too much. There’s been a row.”
+
+Then, she observed out loud, “He isn’t nice, then?”
+
+“Don’t mention it!” replied Gervaise. “He used to behave very well in
+the country; but, since we’ve been in Paris, he’s been unbearable. I
+must tell you that his mother died last year and left him some
+money—about seventeen hundred francs. He would come to Paris, so, as
+old Macquart was forever knocking me about without warning, I consented
+to come away with him. We made the journey with two children. He was to
+set me up as a laundress, and work himself at his trade of a hatter. We
+should have been very happy; but, you see, Lantier’s ambitious and a
+spendthrift, a fellow who only thinks of amusing himself. In short,
+he’s not worth much. On arriving, we went to the Hotel Montmartre, in
+the Rue Montmartre. And then there were dinners, and cabs, and the
+theatre; a watch for himself and a silk dress for me, for he’s not
+unkind when he’s got the money. You understand, he went in for
+everything, and so well that at the end of two months we were cleaned
+out. It was then that we came to live at the Hotel Boncoeur, and that
+this horrible life began.”
+
+She interrupted herself. A lump had suddenly risen in her throat, and
+she could scarcely restrain her tears. She had finished brushing the
+things.
+
+“I must go and fetch my hot water,” she murmured.
+
+But Madame Boche, greatly disappointed at this break off in the
+disclosures, called to the wash-house boy, who was passing, “My little
+Charles, kindly get madame a pail of hot water; she’s in a hurry.”
+
+The youth took the bucket and brought it back filled. Gervaise paid
+him; it was a sou the pailful. She poured the hot water into the tub,
+and soaped the things a last time with her hands, leaning over them in
+a mass of steam, which deposited small beads of grey vapor in her light
+hair.
+
+“Here put some soda in, I’ve got some by me,” said the concierge,
+obligingly.
+
+And she emptied into Gervaise’s tub what remained of a bag of soda
+which she had brought with her. She also offered her some of the
+chemical water, but the young woman declined it; it was only good for
+grease and wine stains.
+
+“I think he’s rather a loose fellow,” resumed Madame Boche, returning
+to Lantier, but without naming him.
+
+Gervaise, bent almost double, her hands all shriveled, and thrust in
+amongst the clothes, merely tossed her head.
+
+“Yes, yes,” continued the other, “I have noticed several little
+things—” But she suddenly interrupted herself, as Gervaise jumped up,
+with a pale face, and staring wildly at her. Then she exclaimed, “Oh,
+no! I don’t know anything! He likes to laugh a bit, I think, that’s
+all. For instance, you know the two girls who lodge at my place, Adele
+and Virginie. Well, he larks about with ’em, but he just flirts for
+sport.”
+
+The young woman standing before her, her face covered with
+perspiration, the water dripping from her arms, continued to stare at
+her with a fixed and penetrating look. Then the concierge got excited,
+giving herself a blow on the chest, and pledging her word of honor, she
+cried:
+
+“I know nothing, I mean it when I say so!”
+
+Then calming herself, she added in a gentle voice, as if speaking to a
+person on whom loud protestations would have no effect, “I think he has
+a frank look about the eyes. He’ll marry you, my dear, I’m sure of it.”
+
+Gervaise wiped her forehead with her wet hand. Shaking her head again,
+she pulled another garment out of the water. Both of them kept silence
+for a moment. The wash-house was quieting down, for eleven o’clock had
+struck. Half of the washerwomen were perched on the edge of their tubs,
+eating sausages between slices of bread and drinking from open bottles
+of wine. Only housewives who had come to launder small bundles of
+family linen were hurrying to finish.
+
+Occasional beetle blows could still be heard amid the subdued laughter
+and gossip half-choked by the greedy chewing of jawbones. The steam
+engine never stopped. Its vibrant, snorting voice seemed to fill the
+entire hall, though not one of the women even heard it. It was like the
+breathing of the wash-house, its hot breath collecting under the
+ceiling rafters in an eternal floating mist.
+
+The heat was becoming intolerable. Through the tall windows on the left
+sunlight was streaming in, touching the steamy vapors with opalescent
+tints of soft pinks and grayish blues. Charles went from window to
+window, letting down the heavy canvas awnings. Then he crossed to the
+shady side to open the ventilators. He was applauded by cries and hand
+clapping and a rough sort of gaiety spread around. Soon even the last
+of the beetle-pounding stopped.
+
+With full mouths, the washerwomen could only make gestures. It became
+so quiet that the grating sound of the fireman shoveling coal into the
+engine’s firebox could be heard at regular intervals from far at the
+other end.
+
+Gervaise was washing her colored things in the hot water thick with
+lather, which she had kept for the purpose. When she had finished, she
+drew a trestle towards her and hung across it all the different
+articles; the drippings from which made bluish puddles on the floor;
+and she commenced rinsing. Behind her, the cold water tap was set
+running into a vast tub fixed to the ground, and across which were two
+wooden bars whereon to lay the clothes. High up in the air were two
+other bars for the things to finish dripping on.
+
+“We’re almost finished, and not a bad job,” said Madame Boche. “I’ll
+wait and help you wring all that.”
+
+“Oh! it’s not worth while; I’m much obliged though,” replied the young
+woman, who was kneading with her hands and sousing the colored things
+in some clean water. “If I’d any sheets, it would be another thing.”
+
+But she had, however, to accept the concierge’s assistance. They were
+wringing between them, one at each end, a woolen skirt of a washed-out
+chestnut color, from which dribbled a yellowish water, when Madame
+Boche exclaimed:
+
+“Why, there’s tall Virginie! What has she come here to wash, when all
+her wardrobe that isn’t on her would go into a pocket handkerchief?”
+
+Gervaise jerked her head up. Virginie was a girl of her own age, taller
+than she was, dark and pretty in spite of her face being rather long
+and narrow. She had on an old black dress with flounces, and a red
+ribbon round her neck; and her hair was done up carefully, the chignon
+being enclosed in a blue silk net. She stood an instant in the middle
+of the central alley, screwing up her eyes as though seeking someone;
+then, when she caught sight of Gervaise, she passed close to her,
+erect, insolent, and with a swinging gait, and took a place in the same
+row, five tubs away from her.
+
+“There’s a freak for you!” continued Madame Boche in a lower tone of
+voice. “She never does any laundry, not even a pair of cuffs. A
+seamstress who doesn’t even sew on a loose button! She’s just like her
+sister, the brass burnisher, that hussy Adele, who stays away from her
+job two days out of three. Nobody knows who their folks are or how they
+make a living. Though, if I wanted to talk . . . What on earth is she
+scrubbing there? A filthy petticoat. I’ll wager it’s seen some lovely
+sights, that petticoat!”
+
+Madame Boche was evidently trying to make herself agreeable to
+Gervaise. The truth was she often took a cup of coffee with Adele and
+Virginia, when the girls had any money. Gervaise did not answer, but
+hurried over her work with feverish hands. She had just prepared her
+blue in a little tub that stood on three legs. She dipped in the linen
+things, and shook them an instant at the bottom of the colored water,
+the reflection of which had a pinky tinge; and after wringing them
+lightly, she spread them out on the wooden bars up above. During the
+time she was occupied with this work, she made a point of turning her
+back on Virginie. But she heard her chuckles; she could feel her
+sidelong glances. Virginie appeared only to have come there to provoke
+her. At one moment, Gervaise having turned around, they both stared
+into each other’s faces.
+
+“Leave her alone,” whispered Madame Boche. “You’re not going to pull
+each other’s hair out, I hope. When I tell you there’s nothing to it!
+It isn’t her, anyhow!”
+
+At this moment, as the young woman was hanging up the last article of
+clothing, there was a sound of laughter at the door of the wash-house.
+
+“Here are two brats who want their mamma!” cried Charles.
+
+All the women leant forward. Gervaise recognized Claude and Etienne. As
+soon as they caught sight of her, they ran to her through the puddles,
+the heels of their unlaced shoes resounding on the flagstones. Claude,
+the eldest, held his little brother by the hand. The women, as they
+passed them, uttered little exclamations of affection as they noticed
+their frightened though smiling faces. And they stood there, in front
+of their mother, without leaving go of each other’s hands, and holding
+their fair heads erect.
+
+“Has papa sent you?” asked Gervaise.
+
+But as she stooped to tie the laces of Etienne’s shoes, she saw the key
+of their room on one of Claude’s fingers, with the brass number hanging
+from it.
+
+“Why, you’ve brought the key!” she said, greatly surprised. “What’s
+that for?”
+
+The child, seeing the key which he had forgotten on his finger,
+appeared to recollect, and exclaimed in his clear voice:
+
+“Papa’s gone away.”
+
+“He’s gone to buy the lunch, and told you to come here to fetch me?”
+
+Claude looked at his brother, hesitated, no longer recollecting. Then
+he resumed all in a breath: “Papa’s gone away. He jumped off the bed,
+he put all the things in the trunk, he carried the trunk down to a cab.
+He’s gone away.”
+
+Gervaise, who was squatting down, slowly rose to her feet, her face
+ghastly pale. She put her hands to her cheeks and temples, as though
+she felt her head was breaking; and she could find only these words,
+which she repeated twenty times in the same tone of voice:
+
+“Ah! good heavens!—ah! good heavens!—ah! good heavens!”
+
+Madame Boche, however, also questioned the child, quite delighted at
+the chance of hearing the whole story.
+
+“Come, little one, you must tell us just what happened. It was he who
+locked the door and who told you to bring the key, wasn’t it?” And,
+lowering her voice, she whispered in Claude’s ear: “Was there a lady in
+the cab?”
+
+The child again got confused. Then he recommenced his story in a
+triumphant manner: “He jumped off the bed, he put all the things in the
+trunk. He’s gone away.”
+
+Then, when Madame Boche let him go, he drew his brother in front of the
+tap, and they amused themselves by turning on the water. Gervaise was
+unable to cry. She was choking, leaning back against her tub, her face
+still buried in her hands. Brief shudders rocked her body and she
+wailed out long sighs while pressing her hands tighter against her
+eyes, as though abandoning herself to the blackness of desolation, a
+dark, deep pit into which she seemed to be falling.
+
+“Come, my dear, pull yourself together!” murmured Madame Boche.
+
+“If you only knew! If you only knew!” said she at length very faintly.
+“He sent me this morning to pawn my shawl and my chemises to pay for
+that cab.”
+
+And she burst out crying. The memory of the events of that morning and
+of her trip to the pawn-place tore from her the sobs that had been
+choking her throat. That abominable trip to the pawn-place was the
+thing that hurt most in all her sorrow and despair. Tears were
+streaming down her face but she didn’t think of using her handkerchief.
+
+“Be reasonable, do be quiet, everyone’s looking at you,” Madame Boche,
+who hovered round her, kept repeating. “How can you worry yourself so
+much on account of a man? You loved him, then, all the same, did you,
+my poor darling? A little while ago you were saying all sorts of things
+against him; and now you’re crying for him, and almost breaking your
+heart. Dear me, how silly we all are!”
+
+Then she became quite maternal.
+
+“A pretty little woman like you! Can it be possible? One may tell you
+everything now, I suppose. Well! You recollect when I passed under your
+window, I already had my suspicions. Just fancy, last night, when Adele
+came home, I heard a man’s footsteps with hers. So I thought I would
+see who it was. I looked up the staircase. The fellow was already on
+the second landing; but I certainly recognized Monsieur Lantier’s
+overcoat. Boche, who was on the watch this morning, saw him tranquilly
+nod adieu. He was with Adele, you know. Virginie has a situation now,
+where she goes twice a week. Only it’s highly imprudent all the same,
+for they’ve only one room and an alcove, and I can’t very well say
+where Virginie managed to sleep.”
+
+She interrupted herself an instant, turned round, and then resumed,
+subduing her loud voice:
+
+“She’s laughing at seeing you cry, that heartless thing over there. I’d
+stake my life that her washing’s all a pretence. She’s packed off the
+other two, and she’s come here so as to tell them how you take it.”
+
+Gervaise removed her hands from her face and looked. When she beheld
+Virginie in front of her, amidst three or four women, speaking low and
+staring at her, she was seized with a mad rage. Her arms in front of
+her, searching the ground, she stumbled forward a few paces. Trembling
+all over, she found a bucket full of water, grabbed it with both hands,
+and emptied it at Virginie.
+
+“The virago!” yelled tall Virginie.
+
+She had stepped back, and her boots alone got wet. The other women, who
+for some minutes past had all been greatly upset by Gervaise’s tears,
+jostled each other in their anxiety to see the fight. Some, who were
+finishing their lunch, got on the tops of their tubs. Others hastened
+forward, their hands smothered with soap. A ring was formed.
+
+“Ah! the virago!” repeated tall Virginie. “What’s the matter with her?
+She’s mad!”
+
+Gervaise, standing on the defensive, her chin thrust out, her features
+convulsed, said nothing, not having yet acquired the Paris gift of
+street gab. The other continued:
+
+“Get out! This girl’s tired of wallowing about in the country; she
+wasn’t twelve years old when the soldiers were at her. She even lost
+her leg serving her country. That leg’s rotting off.”
+
+The lookers-on burst out laughing. Virginie, seeing her success,
+advanced a couple of steps, drawing herself up to her full height, and
+yelling louder than ever:
+
+“Here! Come a bit nearer, just to see how I’ll settle you! Don’t you
+come annoying us here. Do I even know her, the hussy? If she’d wetted
+me, I’d have pretty soon shown her battle, as you’d have seen. Let her
+just say what I’ve ever done to her. Speak, you vixen; what’s been done
+to you?”
+
+“Don’t talk so much,” stammered Gervaise. “You know well enough. Some
+one saw my husband last night. And shut up, because if you don’t I’ll
+most certainly strangle you.”
+
+“Her husband! That’s a good one! As if cripples like her had husbands!
+If he’s left you it’s not my fault. Surely you don’t think I’ve stolen
+him, do you? He was much too good for you and you made him sick. Did
+you keep him on a leash? Has anyone here seen her husband? There’s a
+reward.”
+
+The laughter burst forth again. Gervaise contented herself with
+continually murmuring in a low tone of voice:
+
+“You know well enough, you know well enough. It’s your sister. I’ll
+strangle her—your sister.”
+
+“Yes, go and try it on with my sister,” resumed Virginie sneeringly.
+“Ah! it’s my sister! That’s very likely. My sister looks a trifle
+different to you; but what’s that to me? Can’t one come and wash one’s
+clothes in peace now? Just dry up, d’ye hear, because I’ve had enough
+of it!”
+
+But it was she who returned to the attack, after giving five or six
+strokes with her beetle, intoxicated by the insults she had been giving
+utterance to, and worked up into a passion. She left off and
+recommenced again, speaking in this way three times:
+
+“Well, yes! it’s my sister. There now, does that satisfy you? They
+adore each other. You should just see them bill and coo! And he’s left
+you with your children. Those pretty kids with scabs all over their
+faces! You got one of them from a gendarme, didn’t you? And you let
+three others die because you didn’t want to pay excess baggage on your
+journey. It’s your Lantier who told us that. Ah! he’s been telling some
+fine things; he’d had enough of you!”
+
+“You dirty jade! You dirty jade! You dirty jade!” yelled Gervaise,
+beside herself, and again seized with a furious trembling. She turned
+round, looking once more about the ground; and only observing the
+little tub, she seized hold of it by the legs, and flung the whole of
+the bluing at Virginie’s face.
+
+“The beast! She’s spoilt my dress!” cried the latter, whose shoulder
+was sopping wet and whose left hand was dripping blue. “Just wait, you
+wretch!”
+
+In her turn she seized a bucket, and emptied it over Gervaise. Then a
+formidable battle began. They both ran along the rows of tubs, seized
+hold of the pails that were full, and returned to dash the contents at
+each other’s heads. And each deluge was accompanied by a volley of
+words. Gervaise herself answered now:
+
+“There, you scum! You got it that time. It’ll help to cool you.”
+
+“Ah! the carrion! That’s for your filth. Wash yourself for once in your
+life.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I’ll wash the salt out of you, you cod!”
+
+“Another one! Brush your teeth, fix yourself up for your post to-night
+at the corner of the Rue Belhomme.”
+
+They ended by having to refill the buckets at the water taps,
+continuing to insult each other the while. The initial bucketfuls were
+so poorly aimed as to scarcely reach their targets, but they soon began
+to splash each other in earnest. Virginie was the first to receive a
+bucketful in the face. The water ran down, soaking her back and front.
+She was still staggering when another caught her from the side, hitting
+her left ear and drenching her chignon which then came unwound into a
+limp, bedraggled string of hair.
+
+Gervaise was hit first in the legs. One pail filled her shoes full of
+water and splashed up to her thighs. Two more wet her even higher. Soon
+both of them were soaked from top to bottom and it was impossible to
+count the hits. Their clothes were plastered to their bodies and they
+looked shrunken. Water was dripping everywhere as from umbrellas in a
+rainstorm.
+
+“They look jolly funny!” said the hoarse voice of one of the women.
+
+Everyone in the wash-house was highly amused. A good space was left to
+the combatants, as nobody cared to get splashed. Applause and jokes
+circulated in the midst of the sluice-like noise of the buckets emptied
+in rapid succession! On the floor the puddles were running one into
+another, and the two women were wading in them up to their ankles.
+Virginie, however, who had been meditating a treacherous move, suddenly
+seized hold of a pail of lye, which one of her neighbors had left there
+and threw it. The same cry arose from all. Everyone thought Gervaise
+was scalded; but only her left foot had been slightly touched. And,
+exasperated by the pain, she seized a bucket, without troubling herself
+to fill it this time, and threw it with all her might at the legs of
+Virginie, who fell to the ground. All the women spoke together.
+
+“She’s broken one of her limbs!”
+
+“Well, the other tried to cook her!”
+
+“She’s right, after all, the blonde one, if her man’s been taken from
+her!”
+
+Madame Boche held up her arms to heaven, uttering all sorts of
+exclamations. She had prudently retreated out of the way between two
+tubs; and the children, Claude and Etienne, crying, choking, terrified,
+clung to her dress with the continuous cry of “Mamma! Mamma!” broken by
+their sobs. When she saw Virginie fall she hastened forward, and tried
+to pull Gervaise away by her skirt, repeating the while,
+
+“Come now, go home! Be reasonable. On my word, it’s quite upset me.
+Never was such a butchery seen before.”
+
+But she had to draw back and seek refuge again between the two tubs,
+with the children. Virginie had just flown at Gervaise’s throat. She
+squeezed her round the neck, trying to strangle her. The latter freed
+herself with a violent jerk, and in her turn hung on to the other’s
+hair, as though she was trying to pull her head off. The battle was
+silently resumed, without a cry, without an insult. They did not seize
+each other round the body, they attacked each other’s faces with open
+hands and clawing fingers, pinching, scratching whatever they caught
+hold of. The tall, dark girl’s red ribbon and blue silk hair net were
+torn off. The body of her dress, giving way at the neck, displayed a
+large portion of her shoulder; whilst the blonde, half stripped, a
+sleeve gone from her loose white jacket without her knowing how, had a
+rent in her underlinen, which exposed to view the naked line of her
+waist. Shreds of stuff flew in all directions. It was from Gervaise
+that the first blood was drawn, three long scratches from the mouth to
+the chin; and she sought to protect her eyes, shutting them at every
+grab the other made, for fear of having them torn out. No blood showed
+on Virginie as yet. Gervaise aimed at her ears, maddened at not being
+able to reach them. At length she succeeded in seizing hold of one of
+the earrings—an imitation pear in yellow glass—which she pulled out and
+slit the ear, and the blood flowed.
+
+“They’re killing each other! Separate them, the vixens!” exclaimed
+several voices.
+
+The other women had drawn nearer. They formed themselves into two
+camps. Some were cheering the combatants on as the others were
+trembling and turning their heads away saying that it was making them
+sick. A large fight nearly broke out between the two camps as the women
+called each other names and brandished their fists threateningly. Three
+loud slaps rang out.
+
+Madame Boche, meanwhile, was trying to discover the wash-house boy.
+
+“Charles! Charles! Wherever has he got to?”
+
+And she found him in the front rank, looking on with his arms folded.
+He was a big fellow, with an enormous neck. He was laughing and
+enjoying the sight of the skin which the two women displayed. The
+little blonde was as fat as a quail. It would be fun if her chemise
+burst open.
+
+“Why,” murmured he, blinking his eye, “she’s got a strawberry birthmark
+under her arm.”
+
+“What! You’re there!” cried Madame Boche, as she caught sight of him.
+“Just come and help us separate them. You can easily separate them, you
+can!”
+
+“Oh, no! thank you, not if I know it,” said he coolly. “To get my eye
+scratched like I did the other day, I suppose! I’m not here for that
+sort of thing; I have enough to do without that. Don’t be afraid, a
+little bleeding does ’em good; it’ll soften ’em.”
+
+The concierge then talked of fetching the police; but the mistress of
+the wash-house, the delicate young woman with the red, inflamed eyes,
+would not allow her to do this. She kept saying:
+
+“No, no, I won’t; it’ll compromise my establishment.”
+
+The struggle on the ground continued. All on a sudden, Virginie raised
+herself up on her knees. She had just gotten hold of a beetle and held
+it on high. She had a rattle in her throat and in an altered voice, she
+exclaimed,
+
+“Here’s something that’ll settle you! Get your dirty linen ready!”
+
+Gervaise quickly thrust out her hand, and also seized a beetle, and
+held it up like a club; and she too spoke in a choking voice,
+
+“Ah! you want to wash. Let me get hold of your skin that I may beat it
+into dish-cloths!”
+
+For a moment they remained there, on their knees, menacing each other.
+Their hair all over their faces, their breasts heaving, muddy, swelling
+with rage, they watched one another, as they waited and took breath.
+Gervaise gave the first blow. Her beetle glided off Virginie’s
+shoulder, and she at once threw herself on one side to avoid the
+latter’s beetle, which grazed her hip. Then, warming to their work they
+struck at each other like washerwomen beating clothes, roughly, and in
+time. Whenever there was a hit, the sound was deadened, so that one
+might have thought it a blow in a tub full of water. The other women
+around them no longer laughed. Several had gone off saying that it
+quite upset them; those who remained stretched out their necks, their
+eyes lighted up with a gleam of cruelty, admiring the pluck displayed.
+Madame Boche had led Claude and Etienne away, and one could hear at the
+other end of the building the sound of their sobs, mingled with the
+sonorous shocks of the two beetles. But Gervaise suddenly yelled.
+Virginie had caught her a whack with all her might on her bare arm,
+just above the elbow. A large red mark appeared, the flesh at once
+began to swell. Then she threw herself upon Virginie, and everyone
+thought she was going to beat her to death.
+
+“Enough! Enough!” was cried on all sides.
+
+Her face bore such a terrible expression, that no one dared approach
+her. Her strength seemed to have increased tenfold. She seized Virginie
+round the waist, bent her down and pressed her face against the
+flagstones. Raising her beetle she commenced beating as she used to
+beat at Plassans, on the banks of the Viorne, when her mistress washed
+the clothes of the garrison. The wood seemed to yield to the flesh with
+a damp sound. At each whack a red weal marked the white skin.
+
+“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the boy Charles, opening his eyes to their full
+extent and gloating over the sight.
+
+Laughter again burst forth from the lookers-on, but soon the cry,
+“Enough! Enough!” recommenced. Gervaise heard not, neither did she
+tire. She examined her work, bent over it, anxious not to leave a dry
+place. She wanted to see the whole of that skin beaten, covered with
+contusions. And she talked, seized with a ferocious gaiety, recalling a
+washerwoman’s song,
+
+“Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
+Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub.
+Bang! Bang! Tries to wash her heart.
+Bang! Bang! Black with grief to part.”
+
+
+And then she resumed,
+
+“That’s for you, that’s for your sister.
+That’s for Lantier.
+When you next see them,
+You can give them that.
+Attention! I’m going to begin again.
+That’s for Lantier, that’s for your sister.
+That’s for you.
+Bang! Bang! Margot at her tub.
+Bang! Bang! Beating rub-a-dub—”
+
+
+The others were obliged to drag Virginie away from her. The tall, dark
+girl, her face bathed in tears and purple with shame, picked up her
+things and hastened away. She was vanquished. Gervaise slipped on the
+sleeve of her jacket again, and fastened up her petticoats. Her arm
+pained her a good deal, and she asked Madame Boche to place her bundle
+of clothes on her shoulder. The concierge referred to the battle, spoke
+of her emotions, and talked of examining the young woman’s person, just
+to see.
+
+“You may, perhaps, have something broken. I heard a tremendous blow.”
+
+But Gervaise wanted to go home. She made no reply to the pitying
+remarks and noisy ovation of the other women who surrounded her, erect
+in their aprons. When she was laden she gained the door, where the
+children awaited her.
+
+“Two hours, that makes two sous,” said the mistress of the wash-house,
+already back at her post in the glazed closet.
+
+Why two sous? She no longer understood that she was asked to pay for
+her place there. Then she gave the two sous; and limping very much
+beneath the weight of the wet clothes on her shoulder, the water
+dripping from off her, her elbow black and blue, her cheek covered with
+blood, she went off, dragging Claude and Etienne with her bare arms,
+whilst they trotted along on either side of her, still trembling, and
+their faces besmeared with their tears.
+
+Once she was gone, the wash-house resumed its roaring tumult. The
+washerwomen had eaten their bread and drunk their wine. Their faces
+were lit up and their spirits enlivened by the fight between Gervaise
+and Virginie.
+
+The long lines of tubs were astir again with the fury of thrashing
+arms, of craggy profiles, of marionettes with bent backs and slumping
+shoulders that twisted and jerked violently as though on hinges.
+Conversations went on from one end to the other in loud voices.
+Laughter and coarse remarks crackled through the ceaseless gurgling of
+the water. Faucets were sputtering, buckets spilling, rivulets flowing
+underneath the rows of washboards. Throughout the huge shed rising
+wisps of steam reflected a reddish tint, pierced here and there by
+disks of sunlight, golden globes that had leaked through holes in the
+awnings. The air was stiflingly warm and odorous with soap.
+
+Suddenly the hall was filled with a white mist. The huge copper lid of
+the lye-water kettle was rising mechanically along a notched shaft, and
+from the gaping copper hollow within its wall of bricks came whirling
+clouds of vapor. Meanwhile, at one side the drying machines were hard
+at work; within their cast-iron cylinders bundles of laundry were being
+wrung dry by the centrifugal force of the steam engine, which was still
+puffing, steaming, jolting the wash-house with the ceaseless labor of
+its iron limbs.
+
+When Gervaise turned into the entry of the Hotel Boncoeur, her tears
+again mastered her. It was a dark, narrow passage, with a gutter for
+the dirty water running alongside the wall; and the stench which she
+again encountered there caused her to think of the fortnight she had
+passed in the place with Lantier—a fortnight of misery and quarrels,
+the recollection of which was now a bitter regret. It seemed to bring
+her abandonment home to her.
+
+Upstairs the room was bare, in spite of the sunshine which entered
+through the open window. That blaze of light, that kind of dancing
+golden dust, exposed the lamentable condition of the blackened ceiling,
+and of the walls half denuded of paper, all the more. The only thing
+left hanging in the room was a woman’s small neckerchief, twisted like
+a piece of string. The children’s bedstead, drawn into the middle of
+the apartment, displayed the chest of drawers, the open drawers of
+which exposed their emptiness. Lantier had washed himself and had used
+up the last of the pomatum—two sous’ worth of pomatum in a playing
+card; the greasy water from his hands filled the basin. And he had
+forgotten nothing. The corner which until then had been filled by the
+trunk seemed to Gervaise an immense empty space. Even the little mirror
+which hung on the window-fastening was gone. When she made this
+discovery, she had a presentiment. She looked on the mantel-piece.
+Lantier had taken away the pawn tickets; the pink bundle was no longer
+there, between the two odd zinc candlesticks.
+
+She hung her laundry over the back of a chair and just stood there,
+gazing around at the furniture. She was so dulled and bewildered that
+she could no longer cry. She had only one sou left. Then, hearing
+Claude and Etienne laughing merrily by the window, their troubles
+already forgotten, she went to them and put her arms about them, losing
+herself for a moment in contemplation of that long gray avenue where,
+that very morning, she had watched the awakening of the working
+population, of the immense work-shop of Paris.
+
+At this hour immense heat was rising from the pavement and from all the
+furnaces in the factories, setting alight a reflecting oven over the
+city and beyond the octroi wall. Out upon this very pavement, into this
+furnace blast, she had been tossed, alone with her little ones. As she
+glanced up and down the boulevard, she was seized with a dull dread
+that her life would be fixed there forever, between a slaughter-house
+and a hospital.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Three weeks later, towards half-past eleven, one beautiful sunshiny
+day, Gervaise and Coupeau, the zinc-worker, were each partaking of a
+plum preserved in brandy, at “l’Assommoir” kept by Pere Colombe.
+Coupeau, who had been smoking a cigarette on the pavement, had
+prevailed on her to go inside as she returned from taking home a
+customer’s washing; and her big square laundress’s basket was on the
+floor beside her, behind the little zinc covered table.
+
+Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir was at the corner of Rue des Poissonniers
+and Boulevard de Rochechouart. The sign, in tall blue letters
+stretching from one end to the other said: Distillery. Two dusty
+oleanders planted in half casks stood beside the doorway. A long bar
+with its tin measuring cups was on the left as you entered. The large
+room was decorated with casks painted a gay yellow, bright with
+varnish, and gleaming with copper taps and hoops.
+
+On the shelves above the bar were liquor bottles, jars of fruit
+preserved in brandy, and flasks of all shapes. They completely covered
+the wall and were reflected in the mirror behind the bar as colorful
+spots of apple green, pale gold, and soft brown. The main feature of
+the establishment, however, was the distilling apparatus. It was at the
+rear, behind an oak railing in a glassed-in area. The customers could
+watch its functioning, long-necked still-pots, copper worms
+disappearing underground, a devil’s kitchen alluring to drink-sodden
+work men in search of pleasant dreams.
+
+L’Assommoir was nearly empty at the lunch hour. Pere Colombe, a heavy
+man of forty, was serving a ten year old girl who had asked him to
+place four sous’ worth of brandy into her cup. A shaft of sunlight came
+through the entrance to warm the floor which was always damp from the
+smokers’ spitting. From everything, the casks, the bar, the entire
+room, a liquorish odor arose, an alcoholic aroma which seemed to
+thicken and befuddle the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
+
+Coupeau was making another cigarette. He was very neat, in a short blue
+linen blouse and cap, and was laughing and showing his white teeth.
+With a projecting under jaw and a slightly snub nose, he had handsome
+chestnut eyes, and the face of a jolly dog and a thorough good fellow.
+His coarse curly hair stood erect. His skin still preserved the
+softness of his twenty-six years. Opposite to him, Gervaise, in a thin
+black woolen dress, and bareheaded, was finishing her plum which she
+held by the stalk between the tips of her fingers. They were close to
+the street, at the first of the four tables placed alongside the
+barrels facing the bar.
+
+When the zinc-worker had lit his cigarette, he placed his elbows on the
+table, thrust his face forward, and for an instant looked without
+speaking at the young woman, whose pretty fair face had that day the
+milky transparency of china. Then, alluding to a matter known to
+themselves alone, and already discussed between them, he simply asked
+in a low voice:
+
+“So it’s to be ‘no’? you say ‘no’?”
+
+“Oh! most decidedly ‘no’ Monsieur Coupeau,” quietly replied Gervaise
+with a smile. “I hope you’re not going to talk to me about that here.
+You know you promised me you would be reasonable. Had I known, I
+wouldn’t have let you treat me.”
+
+Coupeau kept silence, looking at her intently with a boldness. She sat
+still, at ease and friendly. At the end of a brief silence she added:
+
+“You can’t really mean it. I’m an old woman; I’ve a big boy eight years
+old. Whatever could we two do together?”
+
+“Why!” murmured Coupeau, blinking his eyes, “what the others do, of
+course, get married!”
+
+She made a gesture of feeling annoyed. “Oh! do you think it’s always
+pleasant? One can very well see you’ve never seen much of living. No,
+Monsieur Coupeau, I must think of serious things. Burdening oneself
+never leads to anything, you know! I’ve two mouths at home which are
+never tired of swallowing, I can tell you! How do you suppose I can
+bring up my little ones, if I only sit here talking indolently? And
+listen, besides that, my misfortune has been a famous lesson to me. You
+know I don’t care a bit about men now. They won’t catch me again for a
+long while.”
+
+She spoke with such cool objectivity that it was clear she had resolved
+this in her mind, turning it about thoroughly.
+
+Coupeau was deeply moved and kept repeating: “I feel so sorry for you.
+It causes me a great deal of pain.”
+
+“Yes, I know that,” resumed she, “and I am sorry, Monsieur Coupeau. But
+you mustn’t take it to heart. If I had any idea of enjoying myself,
+_mon Dieu!_, I would certainly rather be with you than anyone else.
+You’re a good boy and gentle. Only, where’s the use, as I’ve no
+inclination to wed? I’ve been for the last fortnight, now, at Madame
+Fauconnier’s. The children go to school. I’ve work, I’m contented. So
+the best is to remain as we are, isn’t it?”
+
+And she stooped down to take her basket.
+
+“You’re making me talk; they must be expecting me at the shop. You’ll
+easily find someone else prettier than I, Monsieur Coupeau, and who
+won’t have two boys to drag about with her.”
+
+He looked at the clock inserted in the frame-work of the mirror, and
+made her sit down again, exclaiming:
+
+“Don’t be in such a hurry! It’s only eleven thirty-five. I’ve still
+twenty-five minutes. You don’t have to be afraid that I shall do
+anything foolish; there’s the table between us. So you detest me so
+much that you won’t stay and have a little chat with me.”
+
+She put her basket down again, so as not to disoblige him; and they
+conversed like good friends. She had eaten her lunch before going out
+with the laundry. He had gulped down his soup and beef hurriedly to be
+able to wait for her. All the while she chatted amiably, Gervaise kept
+looking out the window at the activity on the street. It was now
+unusually crowded with the lunch time rush.
+
+Everywhere were hurried steps, swinging arms, and pushing elbows. Some
+late comers, hungry and angry at being kept extra long at the job,
+rushed across the street into the bakery. They emerged with a loaf of
+bread and went three doors farther to the Two-Headed Calf to gobble
+down a six-sou meat dish.
+
+Next door to the bakery was a grocer who sold fried potatoes and
+mussels cooked with parsley. A procession of girls went in to get hot
+potatoes wrapped in paper and cups of steaming mussels. Other pretty
+girls bought bunches of radishes. By leaning a bit, Gervaise could see
+into the sausage shop from which children issued, holding a fried chop,
+a sausage or a piece of hot blood pudding wrapped in greasy paper. The
+street was always slick with black mud, even in clear weather. A few
+laborers had already finished their lunch and were strolling aimlessly
+about, their open hands slapping their thighs, heavy from eating, slow
+and peaceful amid the hurrying crowd. A group formed in front of the
+door of l’Assommoir.
+
+“Say, Bibi-the-Smoker,” demanded a hoarse voice, “aren’t you going to
+buy us a round of _vitriol_?”
+
+Five laborers came in and stood by the bar.
+
+“Ah! Here’s that thief, Pere Colombe!” the voice continued. “We want
+the real old stuff, you know. And full sized glasses, too.”
+
+Pere Colombe served them as three more laborers entered. More blue
+smocks gathered on the street corner and some pushed their way into the
+establishment.
+
+“You’re foolish! You only think of the present,” Gervaise was saying to
+Coupeau. “Sure, I loved him, but after the disgusting way in which he
+left me—”
+
+They were talking of Lantier. Gervaise had not seen him again; she
+thought he was living with Virginie’s sister at La Glaciere, in the
+house of that friend who was going to start a hat factory. She had no
+thought of running after him. She had been so distressed at first that
+she had thought of drowning herself in the river. But now that she had
+thought about it, everything seemed to be for the best. Lantier went
+through money so fast, that she probably never could have raised her
+children properly. Oh, she’d let him see his children, all right, if he
+bothered to come round. But as far as she was concerned, she didn’t
+want him to touch her, not even with his finger tips.
+
+She told all this to Coupeau just as if her plan of life was well
+settled. Meanwhile, Coupeau never forgot his desire to possess her. He
+made a jest of everything she said, turning it into ribaldry and asking
+some very direct questions about Lantier. But he proceeded so gaily and
+which such a smile that she never thought of being offended.
+
+“So, you’re the one who beat him,” said he at length. “Oh! you’re not
+kind. You just go around whipping people.”
+
+She interrupted him with a hearty laugh. It was true, though, she had
+whipped Virginie’s tall carcass. She would have delighted in strangling
+someone on that day. She laughed louder than ever when Coupeau told her
+that Virginie, ashamed at having shown so much cowardice, had left the
+neighborhood. Her face, however, preserved an expression of childish
+gentleness as she put out her plump hands, insisting she wouldn’t even
+harm a fly.
+
+She began to tell Coupeau about her childhood at Plassans. She had
+never cared overmuch for men; they had always bored her. She was
+fourteen when she got involved with Lantier. She had thought it was
+nice because he said he was her husband and she had enjoyed playing a
+housewife. She was too soft-hearted and too weak. She always got
+passionately fond of people who caused her trouble later. When she
+loved a man, she wasn’t thinking of having fun in the present; she was
+dreaming about being happy and living together forever.
+
+And as Coupeau, with a chuckle, spoke of her two children, saying they
+hadn’t come from under a bolster, she slapped his fingers; she added
+that she was, no doubt made on the model of other women; women thought
+of their home, slaved to keep the place clean and tidy, and went to bed
+too tired at night not to go to sleep at once. Besides, she resembled
+her mother, a stout laboring woman who died at her work and who had
+served as beast of burden to old Macquart for more than twenty years.
+Her mother’s shoulders had been heavy enough to smash through doors,
+but that didn’t prevent her from being soft-hearted and madly attracted
+to people. And if she limped a little, she no doubt owed that to the
+poor woman, whom old Macquart used to belabor with blows. Her mother
+had told her about the times when Macquart came home drunk and brutally
+bruised her. She had probably been born with her lame leg as a result
+of one of those times.
+
+“Oh! it’s scarcely anything, it’s hardly perceptible,” said Coupeau
+gallantly.
+
+She shook her head; she knew well enough that it could be seen; at
+forty she would look broken in two. Then she added gently, with a
+slight laugh: “It’s a funny fancy of yours to fall in love with a
+cripple.”
+
+With his elbows still on the table, he thrust his face closer to hers
+and began complimenting her in rather dubious language as though to
+intoxicate her with his words. But she kept shaking her head “no,” and
+didn’t allow herself to be tempted although she was flattered by the
+tone of his voice. While listening, she kept looking out the window,
+seeming to be fascinated by the interesting crowd of people passing.
+
+The shops were now almost empty. The grocer removed his last panful of
+fried potatoes from the stove. The sausage man arranged the dishes
+scattered on his counter. Great bearded workmen were as playful as
+young boys, clumping along in their hobnailed boots. Other workmen were
+smoking, staring up into the sky and blinking their eyes. Factory bells
+began to ring in the distance, but the workers, in no hurry, relit
+their pipes. Later, after being tempted by one wineshop after another,
+they finally decided to return to their jobs, but were still dragging
+their feet.
+
+Gervaise amused herself by watching three workmen, a tall fellow and
+two short ones who turned to look back every few yards; they ended by
+descending the street, and came straight to Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir.
+
+“Ah, well,” murmured she, “there’re three fellows who don’t seem
+inclined for work!”
+
+“Why!” said Coupeau, “I know the tall one, it’s My-Boots, a comrade of
+mine.”
+
+Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir was now full. You had to shout to be heard.
+Fists often pounded on the bar, causing the glasses to clink. Everyone
+was standing, hands crossed over belly or held behind back. The
+drinking groups crowded close to one another. Some groups, by the
+casks, had to wait a quarter of an hour before being able to order
+their drinks of Pere Colombe.
+
+“Hallo! It’s that aristocrat, Young Cassis!” cried My-Boots, bringing
+his hand down roughly on Coupeau’s shoulder. “A fine gentleman, who
+smokes paper, and wears shirts! So we want to do the grand with our
+sweetheart; we stand her little treats!”
+
+“Shut up! Don’t bother me!” replied Coupeau, greatly annoyed.
+
+But the other added, with a chuckle, “Right you are! We know what’s
+what, my boy. Muffs are muffs, that’s all!”
+
+He turned his back after leering terribly as he looked at Gervaise. The
+latter drew back, feeling rather frightened. The smoke from the pipes,
+the strong odor of all those men, ascended in the air, already foul
+with the fumes of alcohol; and she felt a choking sensation in her
+throat, and coughed slightly.
+
+“Oh, what a horrible thing it is to drink!” said she in a low voice.
+
+And she related that formerly at Plassans she used to drink anisette
+with her mother. But on one occasion it nearly killed her, and that
+disgusted her with it; now, she could never touch any liqueurs.
+
+“You see,” added she, pointing to her glass, “I’ve eaten my plum; only
+I must leave the juice, because it would make me ill.”
+
+For himself, Coupeau couldn’t understand how anyone could drink glass
+after glass of cheap brandy. A brandied plum occasionally could not
+hurt, but as for cheap brandy, absinthe and the other strong stuff, no,
+not for him, no matter how much his comrades teased him about it. He
+stayed out on the sidewalk when his friends went into low
+establishments. Coupeau’s father had smashed his head open one day when
+he fell from the eaves of No. 25 on Rue Coquenard. He was drunk. This
+memory keeps Coupeau’s entire family from the drink. Every time Coupeau
+passed that spot, he thought he would rather lick up water from the
+gutter than accept a free drink in a bar. He would always say: “In our
+trade, you have to have steady legs.”
+
+Gervaise had taken up her basket again. She did not rise from her seat
+however, but held the basket on her knees, with a vacant look in her
+eyes and lost in thought, as though the young workman’s words had
+awakened within her far-off thoughts of existence. And she said again,
+slowly, and without any apparent change of manner:
+
+“_Mon Dieu_! I’m not ambitious; I don’t ask for much. My desire is to
+work in peace, always to have bread to eat and a decent place to sleep
+in, you know; with a bed, a table, and two chairs, nothing more. If I
+can, I’d like to raise my children to be good citizens. Also, I’d like
+not to be beaten up, if I ever again live with a man. It’s not my idea
+of amusement.” She pondered, thinking if there was anything else she
+wanted, but there wasn’t anything of importance. Then, after a moment
+she went on, “Yes, when one reaches the end, one might wish to die in
+one’s bed. For myself, having trudged through life, I should like to
+die in my bed, in my own home.”
+
+And she rose from her seat. Coupeau, who cordially approved her wishes,
+was already standing up, anxious about the time. But they did not leave
+yet. Gervaise was curious enough to go to the far end of the room for a
+look at the big still behind the oak railing. It was chugging away in
+the little glassed-in courtyard. Coupeau explained its workings to her,
+pointing at the different parts of the machinery, showing her the
+trickling of the small stream of limpid alcohol. Not a single gay puff
+of steam was coming forth from the endless coils. The breathing could
+barely be heard. It sounded muffled as if from underground. It was like
+a sombre worker, performing dark deeds in the bright daylight, strong
+but silent.
+
+My-Boots, accompanied by his two comrades, came to lean on the railing
+until they could get a place at the bar. He laughed, looking at the
+machine. _Tonnerre de Dieu_, that’s clever. There’s enough stuff in its
+big belly to last for weeks. He wouldn’t mind if they just fixed the
+end of the tube in his mouth, so he could feel the fiery spirits
+flowing down to his heels like a river. It would be better than the
+tiny sips doled out by Pere Colombe! His two comrades laughed with him,
+saying that My-Boots was quite a guy after all.
+
+The huge still continued to trickle forth its alcoholic sweat.
+Eventually it would invade the bar, flow out along the outer
+Boulevards, and inundate the immense expanse of Paris.
+
+Gervaise stepped back, shivering. She tried to smile as she said:
+
+“It’s foolish, but that still and the liquor gives me the creeps.”
+
+Then, returning to the idea she nursed of a perfect happiness, she
+resumed: “Now, ain’t I right? It’s much the nicest isn’t it—to have
+plenty of work, bread to eat, a home of one’s own, and to be able to
+bring up one’s children and to die in one’s bed?”
+
+“And never to be beaten,” added Coupeau gaily. “But I would never beat
+you, if you would only try me, Madame Gervaise. You’ve no cause for
+fear. I don’t drink and then I love you too much. Come, shall it be
+marriage? I’ll get you divorced and make you my wife.”
+
+He was speaking low, whispering at the back of her neck while she made
+her way through the crowd of men with her basket held before her. She
+kept shaking her head “no.” Yet she turned around to smile at him,
+apparently happy to know that he never drank. Yes, certainly, she would
+say “yes” to him, except she had already sworn to herself never to
+start up with another man. Eventually they reached the door and went
+out.
+
+When they left, l’Assommoir was packed to the door, spilling its hubbub
+of rough voices and its heavy smell of vitriol into the street.
+My-Boots could be heard railing at Pere Colombe, calling him a
+scoundrel and accusing him of only half filling his glass. He didn’t
+have to come in here. He’d never come back. He suggested to his
+comrades a place near the Barriere Saint-Denis where you drank good
+stuff straight.
+
+“Ah,” sighed Gervaise when they reached the sidewalk. “You can breathe
+out here. Good-bye, Monsieur Coupeau, and thank you. I must hurry now.”
+
+He seized her hand as she started along the boulevard, insisting, “Take
+a walk with me along Rue de la Goutte-d’Or. It’s not much farther for
+you. I’ve got to see my sister before going back to work. We’ll keep
+each other company.”
+
+In the end, Gervaise agreed and they walked beside each other along the
+Rue des Poissonniers, although she did not take his arm. He told her
+about his family. His mother, an old vest-maker, now had to do
+housekeeping because her eyesight was poor. Her birthday was the third
+of last month and she was sixty-two. He was the youngest. One of his
+sisters, a widow of thirty-six, worked in a flower shop and lived in
+the Batignolles section, on Rue des Moines. The other sister was thirty
+years old now. She had married a deadpan chainmaker named Lorilleux.
+That’s where he was going now. They lived in a big tenement on the left
+side. He ate with them in the evenings; it saved a bit for all of them.
+But he had been invited out this evening and he was going to tell her
+not to expect him.
+
+Gervaise, who was listening to him, suddenly interrupted him to ask,
+with a smile: “So you’re called ‘Young Cassis,’ Monsieur Coupeau?”
+
+“Oh!” replied he, “it’s a nickname my mates have given me because I
+generally drink ‘cassis’ when they force me to accompany them to the
+wineshop. It’s no worse to be called Young Cassis than My-Boots, is
+it?”
+
+“Of course not. Young Cassis isn’t an ugly name,” observed the young
+woman.
+
+And she questioned him about his work. He was still working there,
+behind the octroi wall at the new hospital. Oh! there was no want of
+work, he would not be finished there for a year at least. There were
+yards and yards of gutters!
+
+“You know,” said he, “I can see the Hotel Boncoeur when I’m up there.
+Yesterday you were at the window, and I waved my arms, but you didn’t
+notice me.”
+
+They had already gone about a hundred paces along the Rue de la
+Goutte-d’Or, when he stood still and raising his eyes, said:
+
+“That’s the house. I was born farther on, at No. 22. But this house is,
+all the same, a fine block of masonry! It’s as big as a barrack
+inside!”
+
+Gervaise looked up, examining the facade. On the street side, the
+tenement had five stories, each with fifteen windows, whose black
+shutters with their broken slats gave an air of desolation to the wide
+expanse of wall. Four shops occupied the ground floor. To the right of
+the entrance, a large, greasy hash house, and to the left, a coal
+dealer, a notions seller, and an umbrella merchant. The building
+appeared even larger than it was because it had on each side a small,
+low building which seemed to lean against it for support. This immense,
+squared-off building was outlined against the sky. Its unplastered side
+walls were as bare as prison walls, except for rows of roughly jutting
+stones which suggested jaws full of decayed teeth yawning vacantly.
+
+Gervaise was gazing at the entrance with interest. The high, arched
+doorway rose to the second floor and opened onto a deep porch, at the
+end of which could be seen the pale daylight of a courtyard. This
+entranceway was paved like the street, and down the center flowed a
+streamlet of pink-stained water.
+
+“Come in,” said Coupeau, “no one will eat you.”
+
+Gervaise wanted to wait for him in the street. However, she could not
+resist going through the porch as far as the concierge’s room on the
+right. And there, on the threshold, she raised her eyes. Inside, the
+building was six stories high, with four identical plain walls
+enclosing the broad central court. The drab walls were corroded by
+yellowish spots and streaked by drippings from the roof gutters. The
+walls went straight up to the eaves with no molding or ornament except
+the angles on the drain pipes at each floor. Here the sink drains added
+their stains. The glass window panes resembled murky water. Mattresses
+of checkered blue ticking were hanging out of several windows to air.
+Clothes lines stretched from other windows with family washing hanging
+to dry. On a third floor line was a baby’s diaper, still implanted with
+filth. This crowded tenement was bursting at the seams, spilling out
+poverty and misery through every crevice.
+
+Each of the four walls had, at ground level, a narrow entrance,
+plastered without a trace of woodwork. This opened into a vestibule
+containing a dirt-encrusted staircase which spiraled upward. They were
+each labeled with one of the first four letters of the alphabet painted
+on the wall.
+
+Several large work-shops with weather-blackened skylights were
+scattered about the court. Near the concierge’s room was the dyeing
+establishment responsible for the pink streamlet. Puddles of water
+infested the courtyard, along with wood shavings and coal cinders.
+Grass and weeds grew between the paving stones. The unforgiving
+sunlight seemed to cut the court into two parts. On the shady side was
+a dripping water tap with three small hens scratching for worms with
+their filth-smeared claws.
+
+Gervaise slowly gazed about, lowering her glance from the sixth floor
+to the paving stones, then raising it again, surprised at the vastness,
+feeling as it were in the midst of a living organ, in the very heart of
+a city, and interested in the house, as though it were a giant before
+her.
+
+“Is madame seeking for any one?” called out the inquisitive concierge,
+emerging from her room.
+
+The young woman explained that she was waiting for a friend. She
+returned to the street; then as Coupeau did not come, she went back to
+the courtyard seized with the desire to take another look. She did not
+think the house ugly. Amongst the rags hanging from the windows she
+discovered various cheerful touches—a wall-flower blooming in a pot, a
+cage of chirruping canaries, shaving-glasses shining like stars in the
+depth of the shadow. A carpenter was singing in his work-shop,
+accompanied by the whining of his plane. The blacksmith’s hammers were
+ringing rhythmically.
+
+In contrast to the apparent wretched poverty, at nearly every open
+window appeared the begrimed faces of laughing children. Women with
+peaceful faces could be seen bent over their sewing. The rooms were
+empty of men who had gone back to work after lunch. The whole tenement
+was tranquil except for the sounds from the work-shops below which
+served as a sort of lullaby that went on, unceasingly, always the same.
+
+The only thing she did not like was the courtyard’s dampness. She would
+want rooms at the rear, on the sunny side. Gervaise took a few more
+steps into the courtyard, inhaling the characteristic odor of the
+slums, comprised of dust and rotten garbage. But the sharp odor of the
+waste water from the dye shop was strong, and Gervaise thought it
+smelled better here than at the Hotel Boncoeur. She chose a window for
+herself, the one at the far left with a small window box planted with
+scarlet runners.
+
+“I’m afraid I’ve kept you waiting rather a long time,” said Coupeau,
+whom she suddenly heard close beside her. “They always make an awful
+fuss whenever I don’t dine with them, and it was worse than ever to-day
+as my sister had bought some veal.”
+
+And as Gervaise had slightly started with surprise, he continued
+glancing around in his turn:
+
+“You were looking at the house. It’s always all let from the top to the
+bottom. There are three hundred lodgers, I think. If I had any
+furniture, I would have secured a small room. One would be comfortable
+here, don’t you think so?”
+
+“Yes, one would be comfortable,” murmured Gervaise. “In our street at
+Plassans there weren’t near so many people. Look, that’s pretty—that
+window up on the fifth floor, with the scarlet runners.”
+
+The zinc-worker’s obstinate desire made him ask her once more whether
+she would or she wouldn’t. They could rent a place here as soon as they
+found a bed. She hurried out the arched entranceway, asking him not to
+start that subject again. There was as much chance of this building
+collapsing as there was of her sleeping under the same blanket with
+him. Still, when Coupeau left her in front of Madame Fauconnier’s shop,
+he was allowed to hold her hand for a moment.
+
+For a month the young woman and the zinc-worker were the best of
+friends. He admired her courage, when he beheld her half killing
+herself with work, keeping her children tidy and clean, and yet finding
+time at night to do a little sewing. Often other women were hopelessly
+messy, forever nibbling or gadding about, but she wasn’t like them at
+all. She was much too serious. Then she would laugh, and modestly
+defend herself. It was her misfortune that she had not always been
+good, having been with a man when only fourteen. Then too, she had
+often helped her mother empty a bottle of anisette. But she had learned
+a few things from experience. He was wrong to think of her as
+strong-willed; her will power was very weak. She had always let herself
+be pushed into things because she didn’t want to hurt someone’s
+feelings. Her one hope now was to live among decent people, for living
+among bad people was like being hit over the head. It cracks your
+skull. Whenever she thought of the future, she shivered. Everything she
+had seen in life so far, especially when a child, had given her lessons
+to remember.
+
+Coupeau, however, chaffed her about her gloomy thoughts, and brought
+back all her courage by trying to pinch her hips. She pushed him away
+from her, and slapped his hands, whilst he called out laughingly that,
+for a weak woman, she was not a very easy capture. He, who always joked
+about everything did not trouble himself regarding the future. One day
+followed another, that was all. There would always be somewhere to
+sleep and a bite to eat. The neighborhood seemed decent enough to him,
+except for a gang of drunkards that ought to be cleaned out of the
+gutters.
+
+Coupeau was not a bad sort of fellow. He sometimes had really sensible
+things to say. He was something of a dandy with his Parisian working
+man’s gift for banter, a regular gift of gab, and besides, he was
+attractive.
+
+They had ended by rendering each other all sorts of services at the
+Hotel Boncoeur. Coupeau fetched her milk, ran her errands, carried her
+bundles of clothes; often of an evening, as he got home first from
+work, he took the children for a walk on the exterior Boulevard.
+Gervaise, in return for his polite attentions, would go up into the
+narrow room at the top of the house where he slept, and see to his
+clothes, sewing buttons on his blue linen trousers, and mending his
+linen jackets. A great familiarity existed between them. She was never
+bored when he was around. The gay songs he sang amused her, and so did
+his continuous banter of jokes and jibes characteristic of the Paris
+streets, this being still new to her.
+
+On Coupeau’s side, this continual familiarity inflamed him more and
+more until it began to seriously bother him. He began to feel tense and
+uneasy. He continued with his foolish talk, never failing to ask her,
+“When will it be?” She understood what he meant and teased him. He
+would then come to visit her carrying his bedroom slippers, as if he
+were moving in. She joked about it and continued calmly without
+blushing at the allusions with which he was always surrounding her. She
+stood for anything from him as long as he didn’t get rough. She only
+got angry once when he pulled a strand of her hair while trying to
+force a kiss from her.
+
+Towards the end of June, Coupeau lost his liveliness. He became most
+peculiar. Gervaise, feeling uneasy at some of his glances, barricaded
+herself in at night. Then, after having sulked ever since the Sunday,
+he suddenly came on the Tuesday night about eleven o’clock and knocked
+at her room. She would not open to him; but his voice was so gentle and
+so trembling that she ended by removing the chest of drawers she had
+pushed against the door. When he entered, she thought he was ill; he
+looked so pale, his eyes were so red, and the veins on his face were
+all swollen. And he stood there, stuttering and shaking his head. No,
+no, he was not ill. He had been crying for two hours upstairs in his
+room; he wept like a child, biting his pillow so as not to be heard by
+the neighbors. For three nights past he had been unable to sleep. It
+could not go on like that.
+
+“Listen, Madame Gervaise,” said he, with a swelling in his throat and
+on the point of bursting out crying again; “we must end this, mustn’t
+we? We’ll go and get married. It’s what I want. I’ve quite made up my
+mind.”
+
+Gervaise showed great surprise. She was very grave.
+
+“Oh! Monsieur Coupeau,” murmured she, “whatever are you thinking of?
+You know I’ve never asked you for that. I didn’t care about it—that was
+all. Oh, no, no! it’s serious now; think of what you’re saying, I beg
+of you.”
+
+But he continued to shake his head with an air of unalterable
+resolution. He had already thought it all over. He had come down
+because he wanted to have a good night. She wasn’t going to send him
+back to weep again he supposed! As soon as she said “yes,” he would no
+longer bother her, and she could go quietly to bed. He only wanted to
+hear her say “yes.” They could talk it over on the morrow.
+
+“But I certainly can’t say ‘yes’ just like that,” resumed Gervaise. “I
+don’t want you to be able to accuse me later on of having incited you
+to do a foolish thing. You shouldn’t be so insistent, Monsieur Coupeau.
+You can’t really be sure that you’re in love with me. If you didn’t see
+me for a week, it might fade away. Sometimes men get married and then
+there’s day after day, stretching out into an entire lifetime, and they
+get pretty well bored by it all. Sit down there; I’m willing to talk it
+over at once.”
+
+Then until one in the morning, in the dark room and by the faint light
+of a smoky tallow candle which they forgot to snuff, they talked of
+their marriage, lowering their voices so as not to wake the two
+children, Claude and Etienne, who were sleeping, both heads on the same
+pillow. Gervaise kept pointing out the children to Coupeau, what a
+funny kind of dowry they were. She really shouldn’t burden him with
+them. Besides, what would the neighbors say? She’d feel ashamed for him
+because everyone knew about the story of her life and her lover. They
+wouldn’t think it decent if they saw them getting married barely two
+months later.
+
+Coupeau replied by shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t care about the
+neighbors! He never bothered about their affairs. So, there was Lantier
+before him, well, so what? What’s so bad about that? She hadn’t been
+constantly bringing men upstairs, as some women did, even rich ladies!
+The children would grow up, they’d raise them right. Never had he known
+before such a woman, such sound character, so good-hearted. Anyway, she
+could have been anything, a streetwalker, ugly, lazy and
+good-for-nothing, with a whole gang of dirty kids, and so what? He
+wanted her.
+
+“Yes, I want you,” he repeated, bringing his hand down on his knee with
+a continuos hammering. “You understand, I want you. There’s nothing to
+be said to that, is there?”
+
+Little by little, Gervaise gave way. Her emotions began to take control
+when faced with his encompassing desire. Still, with her hands in her
+lap and her face suffused with a soft sweetness, she hesitantly offered
+objections. From outside, through the half-open window, a lovely June
+night breathed in puffs of sultry air, disturbing the candle with its
+long wick gleaming red like a glowing coal. In the deep silence of the
+sleeping neighborhood the only sound was the infantile weeping of a
+drunkard lying in the middle of the street. Far away, in the back room
+of some restaurant, a violin was playing a dance tune for some late
+party.
+
+Coupeau was silent. Then, knowing she had no more arguments, he smiled,
+took hold of her hands and pulled her toward him. She was in one of
+those moments of weakness she so greatly mistrusted, persuaded at last,
+too emotionally stirred to refuse anything or to hurt anyone’s
+feelings. Coupeau didn’t realize that she was giving way. He held her
+wrists so tightly as to almost crush them. Together they breathed a
+long sigh that to both of them meant a partial satisfaction of their
+desire.
+
+“You’ll say ‘yes,’ won’t you,” asked he.
+
+“How you worry me!” she murmured. “You wish it? Well then, ‘yes.’ Ah!
+we’re perhaps doing a very foolish thing.”
+
+He jumped up, and, seizing her round the waist, kissed her roughly on
+the face, at random. Then, as this caress caused a noise, he became
+anxious, and went softly and looked at Claude and Etienne.
+
+“Hush, we must be careful,” said he in a whisper, “and not wake the
+children. Good-bye till to-morrow.”
+
+And he went back to his room. Gervaise, all in a tremble, remained
+seated on the edge of her bed, without thinking of undressing herself
+for nearly an hour. She was touched; she felt that Coupeau was very
+honorable; for at one moment she had really thought it was all over,
+and that he would forget her. The drunkard below, under the window, was
+now hoarsely uttering the plaintive cry of some lost animal. The violin
+in the distance had left off its saucy tune and was now silent.
+
+During the following days Coupeau sought to get Gervaise to call some
+evening on his sister in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or; but the young
+woman, who was very timid, showed a great dread of this visit to the
+Lorilleux. She knew that Coupeau had a lingering fear of that
+household, even though he certainly wasn’t dependent on his sister, who
+wasn’t even the oldest of the family. Mamma Coupeau would certainly
+give her consent at once, as she never refused her only son anything.
+The thing was that the Lorilleuxs were supposed to be earning ten
+francs a day or more and that gave them a certain authority. Coupeau
+would never dare to get married unless his wife was acceptable to them.
+
+“I have spoken to them of you, they know our plans,” explained he to
+Gervaise. “Come now! What a child you are! Let’s call on them this
+evening. I’ve warned you, haven’t I? You’ll find my sister rather
+stiff. Lorilleux, too, isn’t always very amiable. In reality they are
+greatly annoyed, because if I marry, I shall no longer take my meals
+with them, and it’ll be an economy the less. But that doesn’t matter,
+they won’t turn you out. Do this for me, it’s absolutely necessary.”
+
+These words only frightened Gervaise the more. One Saturday evening,
+however, she gave in. Coupeau came for her at half-past eight. She had
+dressed herself in a black dress, a crape shawl with yellow palms, and
+a white cap trimmed with a little cheap lace. During the six weeks she
+had been working, she had saved the seven francs for the shawl, and the
+two and a half francs for the cap; the dress was an old one cleaned and
+made up afresh.
+
+“They’re expecting you,” said Coupeau to her, as they went round by the
+Rue des Poissonniers. “Oh! they’re beginning to get used to the idea of
+my being married. They seem nice indeed, to-night. And you know if
+you’ve never seen gold chains made, it’ll amuse you to watch them. They
+just happen to have a pressing order for Monday.”
+
+“They’ve got gold in their room?” asked Gervaise.
+
+“I should think so; there’s some on the walls, on the floor, in fact
+everywhere.”
+
+They had passed the arched doorway and crossed the courtyard. The
+Lorilleuxs lived on the sixth floor, staircase B. Coupeau laughingly
+told her to hold the hand-rail tight and not to leave go of it. She
+looked up, and blinked her eyes, as she perceived the tall hollow tower
+of the staircase, lighted by three gas jets, one on every second
+landing; the last one, right up at the top looked like a star twinkling
+in a black sky, whilst the other two cast long flashes of light, of
+fantastic shapes, among the interminable windings of the stairs.
+
+“By Jove!” said the zinc-worker as he reached the first floor, smiling,
+“there’s a strong smell of onion soup. Someone’s having onion soup, I’m
+sure.”
+
+Staircase B, with its gray, dirty steps and hand-rail, its scratched
+walls and chipped plaster, was full of strong kitchen odors. Long
+corridors, echoing with noise, led away from each landing. Doors,
+painted yellow, gaped open, smeared black around the latch from dirty
+hands. A sink on each landing gave forth a fetid humidity, adding its
+stench to the sharp flavor of the cooking of onions. From the basement,
+all the way to the sixth floor, you could hear dishes clattering,
+saucepans being rinsed, pots being scraped and scoured.
+
+On the first floor Gervaise saw a half-opened door with the word
+“Designer” written on it in large letters. Inside were two men sitting
+by a table, the dishes cleared away from its oilcloth cover, arguing
+furiously amid a cloud of pipe smoke. The second and third floors were
+quieter, and through cracks in the woodwork only such sounds filtered
+as the rhythm of a cradle rocking, the stifled crying of a child, a
+woman’s voice sounding like the dull murmur of running water with no
+words distinct. Gervaise read the various signs on the doors giving the
+names of the occupants: “Madame Gaudron, wool-carder” and “Monsieur
+Madinier, cardboard boxes.” There was a fight in progress on the fourth
+floor: a stomping of feet that shook the floor, furniture banged
+around, a racket of curses and blows; but this did not bother the
+neighbors opposite, who were playing cards with their door opened wide
+to admit more air.
+
+When Gervaise reached the fifth floor, she had to stop to take a
+breath; she was not used to going up so high; that wall for ever
+turning, the glimpses she had of the lodgings following each other,
+made her head ache. Anyway, there was a family almost blocking the
+landing: the father washing the dishes over a small earthenware stove
+near the sink and the mother sitting with her back to the stair-rail
+and cleaning the baby before putting it to bed.
+
+Coupeau kept urging Gervaise along, and they finally reached the sixth
+floor. He encouraged her with a smile; they had arrived! She had been
+hearing a voice all the way up from the bottom and she was gazing
+upward, wondering where it could be coming from, a voice so clear and
+piercing that it had dominated all the other sounds. It came from a
+little old woman in an attic room who sang while putting dresses on
+cheap dolls. When a tall girl came by with a pail of water and entered
+a nearby apartment, Gervaise saw a tumbled bed on which a man was
+sprawled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. As the door closed behind her,
+Gervaise saw the hand-written card: “Mademoiselle Clemence, ironing.”
+
+Now that she had finally made it to the top, her legs weary and her
+breath short, Gervaise leaned over the railing to look down. Now it was
+the gaslight on the first floor which seemed a distant star at the
+bottom of a narrow well six stories deep. All the odors and all the
+murmurings of the immense variety of life within the tenement came up
+to her in one stifling breath that flushed her face as she hazarded a
+worried glance down into the gulf below.
+
+“We’re not there yet,” said Coupeau. “Oh! It’s quite a journey!”
+
+He had gone down a long corridor on the left. He turned twice, the
+first time also to the left, the second time to the right. The corridor
+still continued branching off, narrowing between walls full of
+crevices, with plaster peeling off, and lighted at distant intervals by
+a slender gas-jet; and the doors all alike, succeeded each other the
+same as the doors of a prison or a convent, and nearly all open,
+continued to display homes of misery and work, which the hot June
+evening filled with a reddish mist. At length they reached a small
+passage in complete darkness.
+
+“We’re here,” resumed the zinc-worker. “Be careful, keep to the wall;
+there are three steps.”
+
+And Gervaise carefully took another ten steps in the obscurity. She
+stumbled and then counted the three steps. But at the end of the
+passage Coupeau had opened a door, without knocking. A brilliant light
+spread over the tiled floor. They entered.
+
+It was a narrow apartment, and seemed as if it were the continuation of
+the corridor. A faded woolen curtain, raised up just then by a string,
+divided the place in two. The first part contained a bedstead pushed
+beneath an angle of the attic ceiling, a cast-iron stove still warm
+from the cooking of the dinner, two chairs, a table and a wardrobe, the
+cornice of which had had to be sawn off to make it fit in between the
+door and the bedstead. The second part was fitted up as a work-shop; at
+the end, a narrow forge with its bellows; to the right, a vise fixed to
+the wall beneath some shelves on which pieces of old iron lay
+scattered; to the left near the window, a small workman’s bench,
+encumbered with greasy and very dirty pliers, shears and microscopical
+saws, all very dirty and grimy.
+
+“It’s us!” cried Coupeau advancing as far as the woolen curtain.
+
+But no one answered at first. Gervaise, deeply affected, moved
+especially by the thought that she was about to enter a place full of
+gold, stood behind the zinc-worker, stammering and venturing upon nods
+of her head by way of bowing. The brilliant light, a lamp burning on
+the bench, a brazier full of coals flaring in the forge, increased her
+confusion still more. She ended however, by distinguishing Madame
+Lorilleux—little, red-haired and tolerably strong, pulling with all the
+strength of her short arms, and with the assistance of a big pair of
+pincers, a thread of black metal which she passed through the holes of
+a draw-plate fixed to the vise. Seated in front of the bench,
+Lorilleux, quite as small of stature, but more slender in the
+shoulders, worked with the tips of his pliers, with the vivacity of a
+monkey, at a labor so minute, that it was impossible to follow it
+between his scraggy fingers. It was the husband who first raised his
+head—a head with scanty locks, the face of the yellow tinge of old wax,
+long, and with an ailing expression.
+
+“Ah! it’s you; well, well!” murmured he. “We’re in a hurry you know.
+Don’t come into the work-room, you’d be in our way. Stay in the
+bedroom.”
+
+And he resumed his minute task, his face again in the reflection of a
+glass globe full of green-colored water, through which the lamp shed a
+circle of bright light over his work.
+
+“Take the chairs!” called out Madame Lorilleux in her turn. “It’s that
+lady, isn’t it? Very well, very well!”
+
+She had rolled the wire and she carried it to the forge, and then,
+reviving the fire of the brazier with a large wooden fan, she proceeded
+to temper the wire before passing it through the last holes of the
+draw-plate.
+
+Coupeau moved the chairs forward and seated Gervaise by the curtain.
+The room was so narrow that he could not sit beside her, so he sat
+behind her, leaning over her shoulder to explain the work in progress.
+Gervaise was intimidated by this strange reception and felt uneasy. She
+had a buzzing in her ears and couldn’t hear clearly. She thought the
+wife looked older than her thirty years and not very neat with her hair
+in a pigtail dangling down the back of her loosely worn wrapper. The
+husband, who was only a year older, appeared already an old man with
+mean, thin lips, as he sat there working in his shirt sleeves with his
+bare feet thrust into down at the heel slippers. Gervaise was dismayed
+by the smallness of the shop, the grimy walls, the rustiness of the
+tools, and the black soot spread all over what looked like the odds and
+ends of a scrap-iron peddler’s wares.
+
+“And the gold?” asked Gervaise in a low voice.
+
+Her anxious glances searched the corners and sought amongst all that
+filth for the resplendence she had dreamt of. But Coupeau burst out
+laughing.
+
+“Gold?” said he; “why there’s some; there’s some more, and there’s some
+at your feet!”
+
+He pointed successively to the fine wire at which his sister was
+working, and to another roll of wire, similar to the ordinary iron
+wire, hanging against the wall close to the vise; then going down on
+all fours, he picked up, beneath the wooden screen which covered the
+tiled floor of the work-room, a piece of waste, a tiny fragment
+resembling the point of a rusty needle. But Gervaise protested; that
+couldn’t be gold, that blackish piece of metal as ugly as iron! He had
+to bite into the piece and show her the gleaming notch made by his
+teeth. Then he continued his explanations: the employers provided the
+gold wire, already alloyed; the craftsmen first pulled it through the
+draw-plate to obtain the correct size, being careful to anneal it five
+or six times to keep it from breaking. It required a steady, strong
+hand, and plenty of practice. His sister would not let her husband
+touch the wire-drawing since he was subject to coughing spells. She had
+strong arms for it; he had seen her draw gold to the fineness of a
+hair.
+
+Lorilleux, seized with a fit of coughing, almost doubled up on his
+stool. In the midst of the paroxysm, he spoke, and said in a choking
+voice, still without looking at Gervaise, as though he was merely
+mentioning the thing to himself:
+
+“I’m making the herring-bone chain.”
+
+Coupeau urged Gervaise to get up. She might draw nearer and see. The
+chainmaker consented with a grunt. He wound the wire prepared by his
+wife round a mandrel, a very thin steel rod. Then he sawed gently,
+cutting the wire the whole length of the mandrel, each turn forming a
+link, which he soldered. The links were laid on a large piece of
+charcoal. He wetted them with a drop of borax, taken from the bottom of
+a broken glass beside him; and he made them red-hot at the lamp beneath
+the horizontal flame produced by the blow-pipe. Then, when he had
+soldered about a hundred links he returned once more to his minute
+work, propping his hands against the edge of the _cheville_, a small
+piece of board which the friction of his hands had polished. He bent
+each link almost double with the pliers, squeezed one end close,
+inserted it in the last link already in place and then, with the aid of
+a point opened out again the end he had squeezed; and he did this with
+a continuous regularity, the links joining each other so rapidly that
+the chain gradually grew beneath Gervaise’s gaze, without her being
+able to follow, or well understand how it was done.
+
+“That’s the herring-bone chain,” said Coupeau. “There’s also the long
+link, the cable, the plain ring, and the spiral. But that’s the
+herring-bone. Lorilleux only makes the herring-bone chain.”
+
+The latter chuckled with satisfaction. He exclaimed, as he continued
+squeezing the links, invisible between his black finger-nails.
+
+“Listen to me, Young Cassis! I was making a calculation this morning. I
+commenced work when I was twelve years old, you know. Well! Can you
+guess how long a herring-bone chain I must have made up till to-day?”
+
+He raised his pale face, and blinked his red eye-lids.
+
+“Twenty-six thousand feet, do you hear? Two leagues! That’s something!
+A herring-bone chain two leagues long! It’s enough to twist round the
+necks of all the women of the neighborhood. And you know, it’s still
+increasing. I hope to make it long enough to reach from Paris to
+Versailles.”
+
+Gervaise had returned to her seat, disenchanted and thinking everything
+very ugly. She smiled to be polite to the Lorilleuxs. The complete
+silence about her marriage bothered her. It was the sole reason for her
+having come. The Lorilleuxs were treating her as some stranger brought
+in by Coupeau. When a conversation finally did get started, it
+concerned the building’s tenants. Madame Lorilleux asked her husband if
+he had heard the people on the fourth floor having a fight. They fought
+every day. The husband usually came home drunk and the wife had her
+faults too, yelling in the filthiest language. Then they spoke of the
+designer on the first floor, an uppity show-off with a mound of debts,
+always smoking, always arguing loudly with his friends. Monsieur
+Madinier’s cardboard business was barely surviving. He had let two girl
+workers go yesterday. The business ate up all his money, leaving his
+children to run around in rags. And that Madame Gaudron was pregnant
+again; this was almost indecent at her age. The landlord was going to
+evict the Coquets on the fifth floor. They owed nine months’ rent, and
+besides, they insisted on lighting their stove out on the landing. Last
+Saturday the old lady on the sixth floor, Mademoiselle Remanjou, had
+arrived just in time to save the Linguerlot child from being badly
+burned. Mademoiselle Clemence, one who took in ironing, well, she lived
+life as she pleased. She was so kind to animals though and had such a
+good heart that you couldn’t say anything against her. It was a pity, a
+fine girl like her, the company she kept. She’d be walking the streets
+before long.
+
+“Look, here’s one,” said Lorilleux to his wife, giving her the piece of
+chain he had been working on since his lunch. “You can trim it.” And he
+added, with the persistence of a man who does not easily relinquish a
+joke: “Another four feet and a half. That brings me nearer to
+Versailles.”
+
+Madame Lorilleux, after tempering it again, trimmed it by passing it
+through the regulating draw-plate. Then she put it in a little copper
+saucepan with a long handle, full of lye-water, and placed it over the
+fire of the forge. Gervaise, again pushed forward by Coupeau, had to
+follow this last operation. When the chain was thoroughly cleansed, it
+appeared a dull red color. It was finished, and ready to be delivered.
+
+“They’re always delivered like that, in their rough state,” the
+zinc-worker explained. “The polishers rub them afterwards with cloths.”
+
+Gervaise felt her courage failing her. The heat, more and more intense,
+was suffocating her. They kept the door shut, because Lorilleux caught
+cold from the least draught. Then as they still did not speak of the
+marriage, she wanted to go away and gently pulled Coupeau’s jacket. He
+understood. Besides, he also was beginning to feel ill at ease and
+vexed at their affectation of silence.
+
+“Well, we’re off,” said he. “We mustn’t keep you from your work.”
+
+He moved about for a moment, waiting, hoping for a word or some
+allusion or other. At length he decided to broach the subject himself.
+
+“I say, Lorilleux, we’re counting on you to be my wife’s witness.”
+
+The chainmaker pretended, with a chuckle, to be greatly surprised;
+whilst his wife, leaving her draw-plates, placed herself in the middle
+of the work-room.
+
+“So it’s serious then?” murmured he. “That confounded Young Cassis, one
+never knows whether he is joking or not.”
+
+“Ah! yes, madame’s the person involved,” said the wife in her turn, as
+she stared rudely at Gervaise. “_Mon Dieu!_ We’ve no advice to give
+you, we haven’t. It’s a funny idea to go and get married, all the same.
+Anyhow, it’s your own wish. When it doesn’t succeed, one’s only got
+oneself to blame, that’s all. And it doesn’t often succeed, not often,
+not often.”
+
+She uttered these last words slower and slower, and shaking her head,
+she looked from the young woman’s face to her hands, and then to her
+feet as though she had wished to undress her and see the very pores of
+her skin. She must have found her better than she expected.
+
+“My brother is perfectly free,” she continued more stiffly. “No doubt
+the family might have wished—one always makes projects. But things take
+such funny turns. For myself, I don’t want to have any unpleasantness.
+Had he brought us the lowest of the low, I should merely have said:
+‘Marry her and go to blazes!’ He was not badly off though, here with
+us. He’s fat enough; one can very well see he didn’t fast much; and he
+always found his soup hot right on time. I say, Lorilleux, don’t you
+think madame’s like Therese—you know who I mean, that woman who used to
+live opposite, and who died of consumption?”
+
+“Yes, there’s a certain resemblance,” replied the chainmaker.
+
+“And you’ve got two children, madame? Now, I must admit I said to my
+brother: ‘I can’t understand how you can want to marry a woman who’s
+got two children.’ You mustn’t be offended if I consult his interests;
+its only natural. You don’t look strong either. Don’t you think,
+Lorilleux, that madame doesn’t look very strong?”
+
+“No, no, she’s not strong.”
+
+They did not mention her leg; but Gervaise understood by their side
+glances, and the curling of their lips, that they were alluding to it.
+She stood before them, wrapped in her thin shawl with the yellow palms,
+replying in monosyllables, as though in the presence of her judges.
+Coupeau, seeing she was suffering, ended by exclaiming:
+
+“All that’s nothing to do with it. What you are talking about isn’t
+important. The wedding will take place on Saturday, July 29. I
+calculated by the almanac. Is it settled? Does it suit you?”
+
+“Oh, it’s all the same to us,” said his sister. “There was no necessity
+to consult us. I shan’t prevent Lorilleux being witness. I only want
+peace and quiet.”
+
+Gervaise, hanging her head, not knowing what to do with herself had put
+the toe of her boot through one of the openings in the wooden screen
+which covered the tiled floor of the work-room; then afraid of having
+disturbed something when she had withdrawn it, she stooped down and
+felt about with her hand. Lorilleux hastily brought the lamp, and he
+examined her fingers suspiciously.
+
+“You must be careful,” said he, “the tiny bits of gold stick to the
+shoes, and get carried away without one knowing it.”
+
+It was all to do with business. The employers didn’t allow a single
+speck for waste. He showed her the rabbit’s foot he used to brush off
+any flecks of gold left on the _cheville_ and the leather he kept on
+his lap to catch any gold that fell. Twice weekly the shop was swept
+out carefully, the sweepings collected and burned and the ashes sifted.
+This recovered up to twenty-five or thirty francs’ worth of gold a
+month.
+
+Madame Lorilleux could not take her eyes from Gervaise’s shoes.
+
+“There’s no reason to get angry,” murmured she with an amiable smile.
+“But, perhaps madame would not mind looking at the soles of her shoes.”
+
+And Gervaise, turning very red, sat down again, and holding up her feet
+showed that there was nothing clinging to them. Coupeau had opened the
+door, exclaiming: “Good-night!” in an abrupt tone of voice. He called
+to her from the corridor. Then she in her turn went off, after
+stammering a few polite words: she hoped to see them again, and that
+they would all agree well together. Both of the Lorilleux had already
+gone back to their work at the far end of their dark hole of a
+work-room. Madame Lorilleux, her skin reflecting the red glow from the
+bed of coals, was drawing on another wire, each effort swelling her
+neck and making the strained muscles stand out like taut cords. Her
+husband, hunched over beneath the greenish gleam of the globe was
+starting another length of chain, twisting each link with his pliers,
+pressing it on one side, inserting it into the next link above, opening
+it again with the pointed tool, continuously, mechanically, not wasting
+a motion, even to wipe the sweat from his face.
+
+When Gervaise emerged from the corridor on to the landing, she could
+not help saying, with tears in her eyes:
+
+“That doesn’t promise much happiness.”
+
+Coupeau shook his head furiously. He would get even with Lorilleux for
+that evening. Had anyone ever seen such a miserly fellow? To think that
+they were going to walk off with two or three grains of his gold dust!
+All the fuss they made was from pure avarice. His sister thought
+perhaps that he would never marry, so as to enable her to economize
+four sous on her dinner every day. However, it would take place all the
+same on July 29. He did not care a hang for them!
+
+Nevertheless, Gervaise still felt depressed. Tormented by a foolish
+fearfulness, she peered anxiously into every dark shadow along the
+stair-rail as she descended. It was dark and deserted at this hour, lit
+only by a single gas jet on the second floor. In the shadowy depths of
+the dark pit, it gave a spot of brightness, even with its flame turned
+so low. It was now silent behind the closed doors; the weary laborers
+had gone to sleep after eating. However, there was a soft laugh from
+Mademoiselle Clemence’s room and a ray of light shone through the
+keyhole of Mademoiselle Remanjou’s door. She was still busy cutting out
+dresses for the dolls. Downstairs at Madame Gaudron’s, a child was
+crying. The sinks on the landings smelled more offensive than ever in
+the midst of the darkness and stillness.
+
+In the courtyard, Gervaise turned back for a last look at the tenement
+as Coupeau called out to the concierge. The building seemed to have
+grown larger under the moonless sky. The drip-drip of water from the
+faucet sounded loud in the quiet. Gervaise felt that the building was
+threatening to suffocate her and a chill went through her body. It was
+a childish fear and she smiled at it a moment later.
+
+“Watch your step,” warned Coupeau.
+
+To get to the entrance, Gervaise had to jump over a wide puddle that
+had drained from the dye shop. The puddle was blue now, the deep blue
+of a summer sky. The reflections from the night light of the concierge
+sparkled in it like stars.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Gervaise did not want to have a wedding-party! What was the use of
+spending money? Besides, she still felt somewhat ashamed; it seemed to
+her quite unnecessary to parade the marriage before the whole
+neighborhood. But Coupeau cried out at that. One could not be married
+without having a feed. He did not care a button for the people of the
+neighborhood! Nothing elaborate, just a short walk and a rabbit ragout
+in the first eating-house they fancied. No music with dessert. Just a
+glass or two and then back home.
+
+The zinc-worker, chaffing and joking, at length got the young woman to
+consent by promising her that there should be no larks. He would keep
+his eye on the glasses, to prevent sunstrokes. Then he organized a sort
+of picnic at five francs a head, at the “Silver Windmill,” kept by
+Auguste, on the Boulevard de la Chapelle. It was a small cafe with
+moderate charges and had a dancing place in the rear, beneath the three
+acacias in the courtyard. They would be very comfortable on the first
+floor. During the next ten days, he got hold of guests in the house
+where his sister lived in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or—Monsieur Madinier,
+Mademoiselle Remanjou, Madame Gaudron and her husband. He even ended by
+getting Gervaise to consent to the presence of two of his
+comrades—Bibi-the-Smoker and My-Boots. No doubt My-Boots was a boozer;
+but then he had such a fantastic appetite that he was always asked to
+join those sort of gatherings, just for the sight of the caterer’s mug
+when he beheld that bottomless pit swallowing his twelve pounds of
+bread. The young woman on her side, promised to bring her employer
+Madame Fauconnier and the Boches, some very agreeable people. On
+counting, they found there would be fifteen to sit down to table, which
+was quite enough. When there are too many, they always wind up by
+quarrelling.
+
+Coupeau however, had no money. Without wishing to show off, he intended
+to behave handsomely. He borrowed fifty francs of his employer. Out of
+that, he first of all purchased the wedding-ring—a twelve franc gold
+wedding-ring, which Lorilleux procured for him at the wholesale price
+of nine francs. He then bought himself a frock coat, a pair of trousers
+and a waistcoat at a tailor’s in the Rue Myrrha, to whom he gave merely
+twenty-five francs on account; his patent leather shoes and his hat
+were still good enough. When he had put by the ten francs for his and
+Gervaise’s share of the feast—the two children not being charged for—he
+had exactly six francs left—the price of a low mass at the altar of the
+poor. He had no liking for those black crows, the priests. It would
+gripe him to pay his last six francs to keep their whistles wet;
+however, a marriage without a mass wasn’t a real marriage at all.
+
+Going to the church himself, he bargained for a whole hour with a
+little old priest in a dirty cassock who was as sharp at dealing as a
+push-cart peddler. Coupeau felt like boxing his ears. For a joke, he
+asked the priest if he didn’t have a second-hand mass that would do for
+a modest young couple. The priest, mumbling that God would take small
+pleasure in blessing their union, finally let him have his mass for
+five francs. Well after all, that meant twenty sous saved.
+
+Gervaise also wanted to look decent. As soon as the marriage was
+settled, she made her arrangements, worked extra time in the evenings,
+and managed to put thirty francs on one side. She had a great longing
+for a little silk mantle marked thirteen francs in the Rue du Faubourg
+Poissonniere. She treated herself to it, and then bought for ten francs
+off the husband of a washerwoman who had died in Madame Fauconnier’s
+house a blue woolen dress, which she altered to fit herself. With the
+seven francs remaining she procured a pair of cotton gloves, a rose for
+her cap, and some shoes for Claude, her eldest boy. Fortunately the
+youngsters’ blouses were passable. She spent four nights cleaning
+everything, and mending the smallest holes in her stockings and
+chemise.
+
+On Friday night, the eve of the great day, Gervaise and Coupeau had
+still a good deal of running about to do up till eleven o’clock, after
+returning home from work. Then before separating for the night they
+spent an hour together in the young woman’s room, happy at being about
+to be released from their awkward position. In spite of the fact that
+they had originally resolved not to put themselves out to impress the
+neighbors, they had ended by taking it seriously and working themselves
+till they were weary. By the time they said “Good-night,” they were
+almost asleep on their feet. They breathed a great sigh of relief now
+that everything was ready.
+
+Coupeau’s witnesses were to be Monsieur Madinier and Bibi-the-Smoker.
+They were counting on Lorilleux and Boche for Gervaise’s witnesses.
+They were to go quietly to the mayor’s office and the church, just the
+six of them, without a whole procession of people trailing behind them.
+The bridegroom’s two sisters had even declared that they would stay
+home, their presence not being necessary. Coupeau’s mother, however,
+had sobbed and wailed, threatening to go ahead of them and hide herself
+in some corner of the church, until they had promised to take her
+along. The meeting of the guests was set for one o’clock at the Silver
+Windmill. From there, they would go to Saint-Denis, going out by
+railroad and returning on foot along the highway in order to work up an
+appetite. The party promised to be quite all right.
+
+Saturday morning, while getting dressed, Coupeau felt a qualm of
+uneasiness in view of the single franc in his pocket. He began to think
+that it was a matter of ordinary courtesy to offer a glass of wine and
+a slice of ham to the witnesses while awaiting dinner. Also, there
+might be unforeseen expenses. So, after taking Claude and Etienne to
+stay with Madame Boche, who was to bring them to the dinner later that
+afternoon, he hurried over to the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or to borrow ten
+francs from Lorilleux. Having to do that griped him immensely as he
+could guess the attitude his brother-in-law would take. The latter did
+grumble a bit, but ended by lending him two five-franc pieces. However,
+Coupeau overheard his sister muttering under her breath, “This is a
+fine beginning.”
+
+The ceremony at the mayor’s was to take place at half-past ten. It was
+beautiful weather—a magnificent sun seemed to roast the streets. So as
+not to be stared at the bride and bridegroom, the old mother, and the
+four witnesses separated into two bands. Gervaise walked in front with
+Lorilleux, who gave her his arm; whilst Monsieur Madinier followed with
+mother Coupeau. Then, twenty steps behind on the opposite side of the
+way, came Coupeau, Boche, and Bibi-the-Smoker. These three were in
+black frock coats, walking erect and swinging their arms. Boche’s
+trousers were bright yellow. Bibi-the-Smoker didn’t have a waistcoat so
+he was buttoned up to the neck with only a bit of his cravat showing.
+The only one in a full dress suit was Monsieur Madinier and passers-by
+gazed at this well-dressed gentleman escorting the huge bulk of mother
+Coupeau in her green shawl and black bonnet with red ribbons.
+
+Gervaise looked very gay and sweet in her dress of vivid blue and with
+her new silk mantle fitted tightly to her shoulders. She listened
+politely to the sneering remarks of Lorilleux, who seemed buried in the
+depths of the immense overcoat he was wearing. From time to time,
+Gervaise would turn her head a little to smile brightly at Coupeau, who
+was rather uncomfortable under the hot sun in his new clothes.
+
+Though they walked very slowly, they arrived at the mayor’s quite half
+an hour too soon. And as the mayor was late, their turn was not reached
+till close upon eleven o’clock. They sat down on some chairs and waited
+in a corner of the apartment, looking by turns at the high ceiling and
+bare walls, talking low, and over-politely pushing back their chairs
+each time that one of the attendants passed. Yet among themselves they
+called the mayor a sluggard, saying he must be visiting his blonde to
+get a massage for his gout, or that maybe he’d swallowed his official
+sash.
+
+However, when the mayor did put in his appearance, they rose
+respectfully in his honor. They were asked to sit down again and they
+had to wait through three other marriages. The hall was crowded with
+the three bourgeois wedding parties: brides all in white, little girls
+with carefully curled hair, bridesmaids wearing wide sashes, an endless
+procession of ladies and gentlemen dressed in their best and looking
+very stylish.
+
+When at length they were called, they almost missed being married
+altogether, Bibi-the-Smoker having disappeared. Boche discovered him
+outside smoking his pipe. Well! They were a nice lot inside there to
+humbug people about like that, just because one hadn’t yellow kid
+gloves to shove under their noses! And the various formalities—the
+reading of the Code, the different questions to be put, the signing of
+all the documents—were all got through so rapidly that they looked at
+each other with an idea that they had been robbed of a good half of the
+ceremony. Gervaise, dizzy, her heart full, pressed her handkerchief to
+her lips. Mother Coupeau wept bitterly. All had signed the register,
+writing their names in big struggling letters with the exception of the
+bridegroom, who not being able to write, had put his cross. They each
+gave four sous for the poor. When an attendant handed Coupeau the
+marriage certificate, the latter, prompted by Gervaise who nudged his
+elbow, handed him another five sous.
+
+It was a fair walk from the mayor’s office in the town hall to the
+church. The men stopped along the way to have a beer. Mother Coupeau
+and Gervaise took cassis with water. Then they had to trudge along the
+long street where the sun glared straight down without the relief of
+shade.
+
+When they arrived at the church they were hurried along and asked if
+they came so late in order to make a mockery of religion. A priest came
+forward, his face pale and resentful from having to delay his lunch. An
+altar boy in a soiled surplice ran before him.
+
+The mass went very fast, with the priest turning, bowing his head,
+spreading out his arms, making all the ritual gestures in haste while
+casting sidelong glances at the group. Gervaise and Coupeau, before the
+altar, were embarrassed, not knowing when they should kneel or rise or
+seat themselves, expecting some indication from the attendant. The
+witnesses, not knowing what was proper, remained standing during the
+ceremony. Mother Coupeau was weeping again and shedding her tears into
+the missal she had borrowed from a neighbor.
+
+Meanwhile, the noon chimes had sounded and the church began to fill
+with noise from the shuffling feet of sacristans and the clatter of
+chairs being put back in place. The high altar was apparently being
+prepared for some special ceremony.
+
+Thus, in the depths of this obscure chapel, amid the floating dust, the
+surly priest placed his withered hands on the bared heads of Gervaise
+and Coupeau, blessing their union amid a hubbub like that of moving
+day. The wedding party signed another registry, this time in the
+sacristy, and then found themselves out in the bright sunlight before
+the church doors where they stood for a moment, breathless and confused
+from having been carried along at such a break-neck speed.
+
+“Voila!” said Coupeau with an embarrassed laugh. “Well, it sure didn’t
+take long. They shove it at you so; it’s like being at the painless
+dentist’s who doesn’t give you time to cry out. Here you get a painless
+wedding!”
+
+“Yes, it’s a quick job,” Lorilleux smirked. “In five minutes you’re
+tied together for the rest of your life. You poor Young Cassis, you’ve
+had it.”
+
+The four witnesses whacked Coupeau on the shoulders as he arched his
+back against the friendly blows. Meanwhile Gervaise was hugging and
+kissing mother Coupeau, her eyes moist, a smile lighting her face. She
+replied reassuringly to the old woman’s sobbing: “Don’t worry, I’ll do
+my best. I want so much to have a happy life. If it doesn’t work out it
+won’t be my fault. Anyhow, it’s done now. It’s up to us to get along
+together and do the best we can for each other.”
+
+After that they went straight to the Silver Windmill. Coupeau had taken
+his wife’s arm. They walked quickly, laughing as though carried away,
+quite two hundred steps ahead of the others, without noticing the
+houses or the passers-by, or the vehicles. The deafening noises of the
+faubourg sounded like bells in their ears. When they reached the
+wineshop, Coupeau at once ordered two bottles of wine, some bread and
+some slices of ham, to be served in the little glazed closet on the
+ground floor, without plates or table cloth, simply to have a snack.
+Then, noticing that Boche and Bibi-the-Smoker seemed to be very hungry,
+he had a third bottle brought, as well as a slab of brie cheese. Mother
+Coupeau was not hungry, being too choked up to be able to eat. Gervaise
+found herself very thirsty, and drank several large glasses of water
+with a small amount of wine added.
+
+“I’ll settle for this,” said Coupeau, going at once to the bar, where
+he paid four francs and five sous.
+
+It was now one o’clock and the other guests began to arrive. Madame
+Fauconnier, a fat woman, still good looking, first put in an
+appearance; she wore a chintz dress with a flowery pattern, a pink tie
+and a cap over-trimmed with flowers. Next came Mademoiselle Remanjou,
+looking very thin in the eternal black dress which she seemed to keep
+on even when she went to bed; and the two Gaudrons—the husband, like
+some heavy animal and almost bursting his brown jacket at the slightest
+movement, the wife, an enormous woman, whose figure indicated evident
+signs of an approaching maternity and whose stiff violet colored skirt
+still more increased her rotundity. Coupeau explained that they were
+not to wait for My-Boots; his comrade would join the party on the Route
+de Saint-Denis.
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Madame Lerat as she entered, “it’ll pour in torrents
+soon! That’ll be pleasant!”
+
+And she called everyone to the door of the wineshop to see the clouds
+as black as ink which were rising rapidly to the south of Paris. Madame
+Lerat, eldest of the Coupeaus, was a tall, gaunt woman who talked
+through her nose. She was unattractively dressed in a puce-colored robe
+that hung loosely on her and had such long dangling fringes that they
+made her look like a skinny poodle coming out of the water. She
+brandished her umbrella like a club. After greeting Gervaise, she said,
+“You’ve no idea. The heat in the street is like a slap on the face.
+You’d think someone was throwing fire at you.”
+
+Everyone agreed that they knew the storm was coming. It was in the air.
+Monsieur Madinier said that he had seen it as they were coming out of
+the church. Lorilleux mentioned that his corns were aching and he
+hadn’t been able to sleep since three in the morning. A storm was due.
+It had been much too hot for three days in a row.
+
+“Well, maybe it will just be a little mist,” Coupeau said several
+times, standing at the door and anxiously studying the sky. “Now we
+have to wait only for my sister. We’ll start as soon as she arrives.”
+
+Madame Lorilleux was late. Madame Lerat had stopped by so they could
+come together, but found her only beginning to get dressed. The two
+sisters had argued. The widow whispered in her brother’s ear, “I left
+her flat! She’s in a dreadful mood. You’ll see.”
+
+And the wedding party had to wait another quarter of an hour, walking
+about the wineshop, elbowed and jostled in the midst of the men who
+entered to drink a glass of wine at the bar. Now and again Boche, or
+Madame Fauconnier, or Bibi-the-Smoker left the others and went to the
+edge of the pavement, looking up at the sky. The storm was not passing
+over at all; a darkness was coming on and puffs of wind, sweeping along
+the ground, raised little clouds of white dust. At the first clap of
+thunder, Mademoiselle Remanjou made the sign of the cross. All the
+glances were anxiously directed to the clock over the looking-glass; it
+was twenty minutes to two.
+
+“Here it goes!” cried Coupeau. “It’s the angels who’re weeping.”
+
+A gush of rain swept the pavement, along which some women flew, holding
+down their skirts with both hands. And it was in the midst of this
+first shower that Madame Lorilleux at length arrived, furious and out
+of breath, and struggling on the threshold with her umbrella that would
+not close.
+
+“Did any one ever see such a thing?” she exclaimed. “It caught me just
+at the door. I felt inclined to go upstairs again and take my things
+off. I should have been wise had I done so. Ah! it’s a pretty wedding!
+I said how it would be. I wanted to put it off till next Saturday; and
+it rains because they wouldn’t listen to me! So much the better, so
+much the better! I wish the sky would burst!”
+
+Coupeau tried to pacify her without success. He wouldn’t have to pay
+for her dress if it was spoilt! She had on a black silk dress in which
+she was nearly choking, the bodice, too tight fitting, was almost
+bursting the button-holes, and was cutting her across the shoulders;
+while the skirt only allowed her to take very short steps in walking.
+However, the ladies present were all staring at her, quite overcome by
+her costume.
+
+She appeared not to notice Gervaise, who was sitting beside mother
+Coupeau. She asked her husband for his handkerchief. Then she went into
+a corner and very carefully wiped off the raindrops that had fallen on
+her silk dress.
+
+The shower had abruptly ceased. The darkness increased, it was almost
+like night—a livid night rent at times by large flashes of lightning.
+Bibi-the-Smoker said laughingly that it would certainly rain priests.
+Then the storm burst forth with extreme violence. For half an hour the
+rain came down in bucketsful, and the thunder rumbled unceasingly. The
+men standing up before the door contemplated the grey veil of the
+downpour, the swollen gutters, the splashes of water caused by the rain
+beating into the puddles. The women, feeling frightened, had sat down
+again, holding their hands before their eyes. They no longer conversed,
+they were too upset. A jest Boche made about the thunder, saying that
+St. Peter was sneezing up there, failed to raise a smile. But, when the
+thunder-claps became less frequent and gradually died away in the
+distance, the wedding guests began to get impatient, enraged against
+the storm, cursing and shaking their fists at the clouds. A fine and
+interminable rain now poured down from the sky which had become an ashy
+grey.
+
+“It’s past two o’clock,” cried Madame Lorilleux. “We can’t stop here
+for ever.”
+
+Mademoiselle Remanjou, having suggested going into the country all the
+same, even though they went no farther than the moat of the
+fortifications, the others scouted the idea: the roads would be in a
+nice state, one would not even be able to sit down on the grass;
+besides, it did not seem to be all over yet, there might perhaps be
+another downpour. Coupeau, who had been watching a workman, completely
+soaked, yet quietly walking along in the rain, murmured:
+
+“If that animal My-Boots is waiting for us on the Route de Saint-Denis,
+he won’t catch a sunstroke.”
+
+That made some of them laugh; but the general ill-humor increased. It
+was becoming ludicrous. They must decide on something unless they
+planned to sit there, staring at each other, until time for dinner. So
+for the next quarter of an hour, while the persistent rain continued,
+they tried to think of what to do. Bibi-the-Smoker suggested that they
+play cards. Boche slyly suggesting a most amusing game, the game of
+true confessions. Madame Gaudron thought of going to eat onion tarts on
+the Chaussee Clignancourt. Madame Lerat wanted to hear some stories.
+Gaudron said he wasn’t a bit put out and thought they were quite well
+off where they were, out of the downpour. He suggested sitting down to
+dinner immediately.
+
+There was a discussion after each proposal. Some said that this would
+put everybody to sleep or that that would make people think they were
+stupid. Lorilleux had to get his word in. He finally suggested a walk
+along the outer Boulevards to Pere Lachaise cemetery. They could visit
+the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. Madame Lorilleux exploded, no longer
+able to control herself. She was leaving, she was. Were they trying to
+make fun of her? She got all dressed up and came out in the rain. And
+for what? To be wasting time in a wineshop. No, she had had enough of
+this wedding party. She’d rather be in her own home. Coupeau and
+Lorilleux had to get between her and the door to keep her from leaving.
+She kept telling them, “Get out of my way! I am leaving, I tell you!”
+
+Lorilleux finally succeeded in calming her down. Coupeau went over to
+Gervaise, who had been sitting quietly in a corner with mother Coupeau
+and Madame Fauconnier.
+
+“You haven’t suggested anything,” he said to her.
+
+“Oh! Whatever they want,” she replied, laughing. “I don’t mind. We can
+go out or stay here.”
+
+She seemed aglow with contentment. She had spoken to each guest as they
+arrived. She spoke sensibly, in her soft voice, not getting into any
+disagreements. During the downpour, she had sat with her eyes wide
+open, watching the lightning as though she could see the future in the
+sudden flashes.
+
+Monsieur Madinier had up to this time not proposed anything. He was
+leaning against the bar, with the tails of his dress coat thrust apart,
+while he fully maintained the important air of an employer. He kept on
+expectorating, and rolled his big eyes about.
+
+“_Mon Dieu_!” said he, “we might go to the Museum.”
+
+And he stroked his chin, as he blinkingly consulted the other members
+of the party.
+
+“There are antiquities, pictures, paintings, a whole heap of things. It
+is very instructive. Perhaps you have never been there. Oh! it is quite
+worth seeing at least once in a while.”
+
+They looked at each other interrogatively. No, Gervaise had never been;
+Madame Fauconnier neither, nor Boche, nor the others. Coupeau thought
+he had been one Sunday, but he was not sure. They hesitated, however,
+when Madame Lorilleux, greatly impressed by Monsieur Madinier’s
+importance, thought the suggestion a very worthy and respectable one.
+As they were wasting the day, and were all dressed up, they might as
+well go somewhere for their own instruction. Everyone approved. Then,
+as it still rained a little, they borrowed some umbrellas from the
+proprietor of the wineshop, old blue, green, and brown umbrellas,
+forgotten by different customers, and started off to the Museum.
+
+The wedding party turned to the right, and descended into Paris along
+the Faubourg Saint-Denis. Coupeau and Gervaise again took the lead,
+almost running and keeping a good distance in front of the others.
+Monsieur Madinier now gave his arm to Madame Lorilleux, mother Coupeau
+having remained behind in the wineshop on account of her old legs. Then
+came Lorilleux and Madame Lerat, Boche and Madame Fauconnier,
+Bibi-the-Smoker and Mademoiselle Remanjou, and finally the two
+Gaudrons. They were twelve and made a pretty long procession on the
+pavement.
+
+“I swear to you, we had nothing to do with it,” Madame Lorilleux
+explained to Monsieur Madinier. “We don’t even know how they met, or,
+we know only too well, but that’s not for us to discuss. My husband
+even had to buy the wedding ring. We were scarcely out of bed this
+morning when he had to lend them ten francs. And, not a member of her
+family at her wedding, what kind of bride is that? She says she has a
+sister in Paris who works for a pork butcher. Why didn’t she invite
+her?” She stopped to point at Gervaise, who was limping awkwardly
+because of the slope of the pavement. “Just look at her. Clump-clump.”
+
+“Clump-clump” ran through the wedding procession. Lorilleux laughed
+under his breath, and said they ought to call her that, but Madame
+Fauconnier stood up for Gervaise. They shouldn’t make fun of her; she
+was neat as a pin and did a good job when there was washing to be done.
+
+When the wedding procession came out of the Faubourg Saint-Denis, they
+had to cross the boulevard. The street had been transformed into a
+morass of sticky mud by the storm. It had started to pour again and
+they had opened the assorted umbrellas. The women picked their way
+carefully through the mud, holding their skirts high as the men held
+the sorry-looking umbrellas over their heads. The procession stretched
+out the width of the street.
+
+“It’s a masquerade!” yelled two street urchins.
+
+People turned to stare. These couples parading across the boulevard
+added a splash of vivid color against the damp background. It was a
+parade of a strange medley of styles showing fancy used clothing such
+as constitute the luxury of the poor. The gentlemen’s hats caused the
+most merriment, old hats preserved for years in dark and dusty
+cupboards, in a variety of comical forms: tall ones, flattened ones,
+sharply peaked ones, hats with extraordinary brims, curled back or
+flat, too narrow or too wide. Then at the very end, Madame Gaudron came
+along with her bright dress over her bulging belly and caused the
+smiles of the audience to grow even wider. The procession made no
+effort to hasten its progress. They were, in fact, rather pleased to
+attract so much attention and admiration.
+
+“Look! Here comes the bride!” one of the urchins shouted, pointing to
+Madame Gaudron. “Oh! Isn’t it too bad! She must have swallowed
+something!”
+
+The entire wedding procession burst into laughter. Bibi-the-Smoker
+turned around and laughed. Madame Gaudron laughed the most of all. She
+wasn’t ashamed as she thought more than one of the women watching had
+looked at her with envy.
+
+They turned into the Rue de Clery. Then they took the Rue du Mail. On
+reaching the Place des Victoires, there was a halt. The bride’s left
+shoe lace had come undone, and as she tied it up again at the foot of
+the statue of Louis XIV., the couples pressed behind her waiting, and
+joking about the bit of calf of her leg that she displayed. At length,
+after passing down the Rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, they reached the
+Louvre.
+
+Monsieur Madinier politely asked to be their cicerone. It was a big
+place, and they might lose themselves; besides, he knew the best parts,
+because he had often come there with an artist, a very intelligent
+fellow from whom a large dealer bought designs to put on his cardboard
+boxes. Down below, when the wedding party entered the Assyrian Museum,
+a slight shiver passed through it. The deuce! It was not at all warm
+there; the hall would have made a capital cellar. And the couples
+slowly advanced, their chins raised, their eyes blinking, between the
+gigantic stone figures, the black marble gods, dumb in their hieratic
+rigidity, and the monstrous beasts, half cats and half women, with
+death-like faces, attenuated noses, and swollen lips. They thought all
+these things very ugly. The stone carvings of the present day were a
+great deal better. An inscription in Phoenician characters amazed them.
+No one could possibly have ever read that scrawl. But Monsieur
+Madinier, already up on the first landing with Madame Lorilleux, called
+to them, shouting beneath the vaulted ceiling:
+
+“Come along! They’re nothing, all those things! The things to see are
+on the first floor!”
+
+The severe barrenness of the staircase made them very grave. An
+attendant, superbly attired in a red waistcoat and a coat trimmed with
+gold lace, who seemed to be awaiting them on the landing, increased
+their emotion. It was with great respect, and treading as softly as
+possible, that they entered the French Gallery.
+
+Then, without stopping, their eyes occupied with the gilding of the
+frames, they followed the string of little rooms, glancing at the
+passing pictures too numerous to be seen properly. It would have
+required an hour before each, if they had wanted to understand it. What
+a number of pictures! There was no end to them. They must be worth a
+mint of money. Right at the end, Monsieur Madinier suddenly ordered a
+halt opposite the “Raft of the Medusa” and he explained the subject to
+them. All deeply impressed and motionless, they uttered not a word.
+When they started off again, Boche expressed the general feeling,
+saying it was marvellous.
+
+In the Apollo Gallery, the inlaid flooring especially astonished the
+party—a shining floor, as clear as a mirror, and which reflected the
+legs of the seats. Mademoiselle Remanjou kept her eyes closed, because
+she could not help thinking that she was walking on water. They called
+to Madame Gaudron to be careful how she trod on account of her
+condition. Monsieur Madinier wanted to show them the gilding and
+paintings of the ceiling; but it nearly broke their necks to look up
+above, and they could distinguish nothing. Then, before entering the
+Square Salon, he pointed to a window, saying:
+
+“That’s the balcony from which Charles IX. fired on the people.”
+
+He looked back to make sure the party was following. In the middle of
+the Salon Carre, he held up his hand. “There are only masterpieces
+here,” he said, in a subdued voice, as though in church. They went all
+around the room. Gervaise wanted to know about “The Wedding at Cana.”
+Coupeau paused to stare at the “Mona Lisa,” saying that she reminded
+him of one of his aunts. Boche and Bibi-the-Smoker snickered at the
+nudes, pointing them out to each other and winking. The Gaudrons looked
+at the “Virgin” of Murillo, he with his mouth open, she with her hands
+folded on her belly.
+
+When they had been all around the Salon, Monsieur Madinier wished them
+to go round it again, it was so worth while. He was very attentive to
+Madame Lorilleux, because of her silk dress; and each time that she
+questioned him he answered her gravely, with great assurance. She was
+curious about “Titian’s Mistress” because the yellow hair resembled her
+own. He told her it was “La Belle Ferronniere,” a mistress of Henry IV.
+about whom there had been a play at the Ambigu.
+
+Then the wedding party invaded the long gallery occupied by the Italian
+and Flemish schools. More paintings, always paintings, saints, men and
+women, with faces which some of them could understand, landscapes that
+were all black, animals turned yellow, a medley of people and things,
+the great mixture of the colors of which was beginning to give them all
+violent headaches. Monsieur Madinier no longer talked as he slowly
+headed the procession, which followed him in good order, with stretched
+necks and upcast eyes. Centuries of art passed before their bewildered
+ignorance, the fine sharpness of the early masters, the splendors of
+the Venetians, the vigorous life, beautiful with light, of the Dutch
+painters. But what interested them most were the artists who were
+copying, with their easels planted amongst the people, painting away
+unrestrainedly; an old lady, mounted on a pair of high steps, working a
+big brush over the delicate sky of an immense painting, struck them as
+something most peculiar.
+
+Slowly the word must have gone around that a wedding party was visiting
+the Louvre. Several painters came over with big smiles. Some visitors
+were so curious that they went to sit on benches ahead of the group in
+order to be comfortable while they watched them pass in review. Museum
+guards bit back comments. The wedding party was now quite weary and
+beginning to drag their feet.
+
+Monsieur Madinier was reserving himself to give more effect to a
+surprise that he had in store. He went straight to the “Kermesse” of
+Rubens; but still he said nothing. He contented himself with directing
+the others’ attention to the picture by a sprightly glance. The ladies
+uttered faint cries the moment they brought their noses close to the
+painting. Then, blushing deeply they turned away their heads. The men
+though kept them there, cracking jokes, and seeking for the coarser
+details.
+
+“Just look!” exclaimed Boche, “it’s worth the money. There’s one
+spewing, and another, he’s watering the dandelions; and that one—oh!
+that one. Ah, well! They’re a nice clean lot, they are!”
+
+“Let us be off,” said Monsieur Madinier, delighted with his success.
+“There is nothing more to see here.”
+
+They retraced their steps, passing again through the Salon Carre and
+the Apollo Gallery. Madame Lerat and Mademoiselle Remanjou complained,
+declaring that their legs could scarcely bear them. But the cardboard
+box manufacturer wanted to show Lorilleux the old jewelry. It was close
+by in a little room which he could find with his eyes shut. However, he
+made a mistake and led the wedding party astray through seven or eight
+cold, deserted rooms, only ornamented with severe looking-glass cases,
+containing numberless broken pots and hideous little figures.
+
+While looking for an exit they stumbled into the collection of
+drawings. It was immense. Through room after room they saw nothing
+interesting, just scribblings on paper that filled all the cases and
+covered the walls. They thought there was no end to these drawings.
+
+Monsieur Madinier, losing his head, not willing to admit that he did
+not know his way, ascended a flight of stairs, making the wedding party
+mount to the next floor. This time they traversed the Naval Museum,
+among models of instruments and cannons, plans in relief, and vessels
+as tiny as playthings. After going a long way, and walking for a
+quarter of an hour, the party came upon another staircase; and, having
+descended this, found itself once more surrounded by the drawings. Then
+despair took possession of them as they wandered at random through long
+halls, following Monsieur Madinier, who was furious and mopping the
+sweat from his forehead. He accused the government of having moved the
+doors around. Museum guards and visitors looked on with astonishment as
+the procession, still in a column of couples, passed by. They passed
+again through the Salon Carre, the French Gallery and then along the
+cases where minor Eastern divinities slumbered peacefully. It seemed
+they would never find their way out. They were getting tired and made a
+lot of noise.
+
+“Closing time! Closing time!” called out the attendants, in a loud tone
+of voice.
+
+And the wedding party was nearly locked in. An attendant was obliged to
+place himself at the head of it, and conduct it to a door. Then in the
+courtyard of the Louvre, when it had recovered its umbrellas from the
+cloakroom, it breathed again. Monsieur Madinier regained his assurance.
+He had made a mistake in not turning to the left, now he recollected
+that the jewelry was to the left. The whole party pretended to be very
+pleased at having seen all they had.
+
+Four o’clock was striking. There were still two hours to be employed
+before the dinner time, so it was decided they should take a stroll,
+just to occupy the interval. The ladies, who were very tired, would
+have preferred to sit down; but, as no one offered any refreshments,
+they started off, following the line of quays. There they encountered
+another shower and so sharp a one that in spite of the umbrellas, the
+ladies’ dresses began to get wet. Madame Lorilleux, her heart sinking
+within her each time a drop fell upon her black silk, proposed that
+they should shelter themselves under the Pont-Royal; besides if the
+others did not accompany her, she threatened to go all by herself. And
+the procession marched under one of the arches of the bridge. They were
+very comfortable there. It was, most decidedly a capital idea! The
+ladies, spreading their handkerchiefs over the paving-stones, sat down
+with their knees wide apart, and pulled out the blades of grass that
+grew between the stones with both hands, whilst they watched the dark
+flowing water as though they were in the country. The men amused
+themselves with calling out very loud, so as to awaken the echoes of
+the arch. Boche and Bibi-the-Smoker shouted insults into the air at the
+top of their voices, one after the other. They laughed uproariously
+when the echo threw the insults back at them. When their throats were
+hoarse from shouting, they made a game of skipping flat stones on the
+surface of the Seine.
+
+The shower had ceased but the whole party felt so comfortable that no
+one thought of moving away. The Seine was flowing by, an oily sheet
+carrying bottle corks, vegetable peelings, and other refuse that
+sometimes collected in temporary whirlpools moving along with the
+turbulent water. Endless traffic rumbled on the bridge overhead, the
+noisy bustle of Paris, of which they could glimpse only the rooftops to
+the left and right, as though they were in the bottom of a deep pit.
+
+Mademoiselle Remanjou sighed; if the leaves had been out this would
+have reminded her of a bend of the Marne where she used to go with a
+young man. It still made her cry to think of him.
+
+At last, Monsieur Madinier gave the signal for departure. They passed
+through the Tuileries gardens, in the midst of a little community of
+children, whose hoops and balls upset the good order of the couples.
+Then as the wedding party on arriving at the Place Vendome looked up at
+the column, Monsieur Madinier gallantly offered to treat the ladies to
+a view from the top. His suggestion was considered extremely amusing.
+Yes, yes, they would go up; it would give them something to laugh about
+for a long time. Besides, it would be full of interest for those
+persons who had never been higher than a cow pasture.
+
+“Do you think Clump-clump will venture inside there with her leg all
+out of place?” murmured Madame Lorilleux.
+
+“I’ll go up with pleasure,” said Madame Lerat, “but I won’t have any
+men walking behind me.”
+
+And the whole party ascended. In the narrow space afforded by the
+spiral staircase, the twelve persons crawled up one after the other,
+stumbling against the worn steps, and clinging to the walls. Then, when
+the obscurity became complete, they almost split their sides with
+laughing. The ladies screamed when the gentlemen pinched their legs.
+But they were weren’t stupid enough to say anything! The proper plan is
+to think that it is the mice nibbling at them. It wasn’t very serious;
+the men knew when to stop.
+
+Boche thought of a joke and everyone took it up. They called down to
+Madame Gaudron to ask her if she could squeeze her belly through. Just
+think! If she should get stuck there, she would completely block the
+passage, and how would they ever get out? They laughed so at the jokes
+about her belly that the column itself vibrated. Boche was now quite
+carried away and declared that they were growing old climbing up this
+chimney pipe. Was it ever coming to an end, or did it go right up to
+heaven? He tried to frighten the ladies by telling them the structure
+was shaking.
+
+Coupeau, meanwhile, said nothing. He was behind Gervaise, with his arm
+around her waist, and felt that she was everything perfect to him. When
+they suddenly emerged again into the daylight, he was just in the act
+of kissing her on the cheek.
+
+“Well! You’re a nice couple; you don’t stand on ceremony,” said Madame
+Lorilleux with a scandalized air.
+
+Bibi-the-Smoker pretended to be furious. He muttered between his teeth.
+“You made such a noise together! I wasn’t even able to count the
+steps.”
+
+But Monsieur Madinier was already up on the platform, pointing out the
+different monuments. Neither Madame Fauconnier nor Mademoiselle
+Remanjou would on any consideration leave the staircase. The thought of
+the pavement below made their blood curdle, and they contented
+themselves with glancing out of the little door. Madame Lerat, who was
+bolder, went round the narrow terrace, keeping close to the bronze
+dome; but, _mon Dieu_, it gave one a rude emotion to think that one
+only had to slip off. The men were a little paler than usual as they
+stared down at the square below. You would think you were up in
+mid-air, detached from everything. No, it wasn’t fun, it froze your
+very insides.
+
+Monsieur Madinier told them to raise their eyes and look straight into
+the distance to avoid feeling dizzy. He went on pointing out the
+Invalides, the Pantheon, Notre Dame and the Montmartre hill. Madame
+Lorilleux asked if they could see the place where they were to have
+dinner, the Silver Windmill on the Boulevard de la Chapelle. For ten
+minutes they tried to see it, even arguing about it. Everyone had their
+own idea where it was.
+
+“It wasn’t worth while coming up here to bite each other’s noses off,”
+said Boche, angrily as he turned to descend the staircase.
+
+The wedding party went down, unspeaking and sulky, awakening no other
+sound beyond that of shoes clanking on the stone steps. When it reached
+the bottom, Monsieur Madinier wished to pay; but Coupeau would not
+permit him, and hastened to place twenty-four sous into the keeper’s
+hand, two sous for each person. So they returned by the Boulevards and
+the Faubourg du Poissonniers. Coupeau, however, considered that their
+outing could not end like that. He bundled them all into a wineshop
+where they took some vermouth.
+
+The repast was ordered for six o’clock. At the Silver Windmill, they
+had been waiting for the wedding party for a good twenty minutes.
+Madame Boche, who had got a lady living in the same house to attend to
+her duties for the evening, was conversing with mother Coupeau in the
+first floor room, in front of the table, which was all laid out; and
+the two youngsters, Claude and Etienne, whom she had brought with her,
+were playing about beneath the table and amongst the chairs. When
+Gervaise, on entering caught sight of the little ones, whom she had not
+seen all the day, she took them on her knees, and caressed and kissed
+them.
+
+“Have they been good?” asked she of Madame Boche. “I hope they haven’t
+worried you too much.”
+
+And as the latter related the things the little rascals had done during
+the afternoon, and which would make one die with laughing, the mother
+again took them up and pressed them to her breast, seized with an
+overpowering outburst of maternal affection.
+
+“It’s not very pleasant for Coupeau, all the same,” Madame Lorilleux
+was saying to the other ladies, at the end of the room.
+
+Gervaise had kept her smiling peacefulness from the morning, but after
+the long walk she appeared almost sad at times as she watched her
+husband and the Lorilleuxs in a thoughtful way. She had the feeling
+that Coupeau was a little afraid of his sister. The evening before, he
+had been talking big, swearing he would put them in their places if
+they didn’t behave. However, she could see that in their presence he
+was hanging on their words, worrying when he thought they might be
+displeased. This gave the young bride some cause for worry about the
+future.
+
+They were now only waiting for My-Boots, who had not yet put in an
+appearance.
+
+“Oh! blow him!” cried Coupeau, “let’s begin. You’ll see, he’ll soon
+turn up, he’s got a hollow nose, he can scent the grub from afar. I say
+he must be amusing himself, if he’s still standing like a post on the
+Route de Saint-Denis!”
+
+Then the wedding party, feeling very lively, sat down making a great
+noise with the chairs. Gervaise was between Lorilleux and Monsieur
+Madinier, and Coupeau between Madame Fauconnier and Madame Lorilleux.
+The other guests seated themselves where they liked, because it always
+ended with jealousies and quarrels, when one settled their places for
+them. Boche glided to a seat beside Madame Lerat. Bibi-the-Smoker had
+for neighbors Mademoiselle Remanjou and Madame Gaudron. As for Madame
+Boche and mother Coupeau, they were right at the end of the table,
+looking after the children, cutting up their meat and giving them
+something to drink, but not much wine.
+
+“Does nobody say grace?” asked Boche, whilst the ladies arranged their
+skirts under the table-cloth, so as not to get them stained.
+
+But Madame Lorilleux paid no attention to such pleasantries. The
+vermicelli soup, which was nearly cold, was gulped down very quickly,
+their lips making a hissing noise against the spoons. Two waiters
+served at table, dressed in little greasy jackets and not over-clean
+white aprons. By the four open windows overlooking the acacias of the
+courtyard there entered the clear light of the close of a stormy day,
+with the atmosphere purified thereby though without sufficiently
+cooling it. The light reflected from the humid corner of trees tinged
+the haze-filled room with green and made leaf shadows dance along the
+table-cloth, from which came a vague aroma of dampness and mildew.
+
+Two large mirrors, one at each end of the room, seemed to stretch out
+the table. The heavy crockery with which it was set was beginning to
+turn yellow and the cutlery was scratched and grimed with grease. Each
+time a waiter came through the swinging doors from the kitchen a whiff
+of odorous burnt lard came with him.
+
+“Don’t all talk at once,” said Boche, as everyone remained silent with
+his nose in his plate.
+
+They were drinking the first glass of wine as their eyes followed two
+meat pies which the waiters were handing round when My-Boots entered
+the room.
+
+“Well, you’re a scurvy lot, you people!” said he. “I’ve been wearing my
+pins out for three hours waiting on that road, and a gendarme even came
+and asked me for my papers. It isn’t right to play such dirty tricks on
+a friend! You might at least have sent me word by a commissionaire. Ah!
+no, you know, joking apart, it’s too bad. And with all that, it rained
+so hard that I got my pickets full of water. Honor bright, you might
+still catch enough fish in ’em for a meal.”
+
+The others wriggled with laughter. That animal My-Boots was just a bit
+on; he had certainly already stowed away his two quarts of wine, merely
+to prevent his being bothered by all that frog’s liquor with which the
+storm had deluged his limbs.
+
+“Hallo! Count Leg-of-Mutton!” said Coupeau, “just go and sit yourself
+there, beside Madame Gaudron. You see you were expected.”
+
+Oh, he did not mind, he would soon catch the others up; and he asked
+for three helpings of soup, platefuls of vermicelli, in which he soaked
+enormous slices of bread. Then, when they had attacked the meat pies,
+he became the profound admiration of everyone at the table. How he
+stowed it away! The bewildered waiters helped each other to pass him
+bread, thin slices which he swallowed at a mouthful. He ended by losing
+his temper; he insisted on having a loaf placed on the table beside
+him. The landlord, very anxious, came for a moment and looked in at the
+door. The party, which was expecting him, again wriggled with laughter.
+It seemed to upset the caterer. What a rum card he was that My-Boots!
+One day he had eaten a dozen hard-boiled eggs and drank a dozen glasses
+of wine while the clock was striking twelve! There are not many who can
+do that. And Mademoiselle Remanjou, deeply moved, watched My-Boots chew
+whilst Monsieur Madinier, seeking for a word to express his almost
+respectful astonishment, declared that such a capacity was
+extraordinary.
+
+There was a brief silence. A waiter had just placed on the table a
+ragout of rabbits in a vast dish as deep as a salad-bowl. Coupeau, who
+liked fun, started another joke.
+
+“I say, waiter, that rabbit’s from the housetops. It still mews.”
+
+And in fact, a faint mew perfectly imitated seemed to issue from the
+dish. It was Coupeau who did that with his throat, without opening his
+lips; a talent which at all parties, met with decided success, so much
+so that he never ordered a dinner abroad without having a rabbit
+ragout. After that he purred. The ladies pressed their napkins to their
+mouths to try and stop their laughter. Madame Fauconnier asked for a
+head, she only liked that part. Mademoiselle Remanjou had a weakness
+for the slices of bacon. And as Boche said he preferred the little
+onions when they were nicely broiled, Madame Lerat screwed up her lips,
+and murmured:
+
+“I can understand that.”
+
+She was a dried up stick, living the cloistered life of a hard-working
+woman imprisoned within her daily routine, who had never had a man
+stick his nose into her room since the death of her husband; yet she
+had an obsession with double meanings and indecent allusions that were
+sometimes so far off the mark that only she understood them.
+
+As Boche leaned toward her and, in a whisper, asked for an explanation,
+she resumed:
+
+“Little onions, why of course. That’s quite enough, I think.”
+
+The general conversation was becoming grave. Each one was talking of
+his trade. Monsieur Madinier raved about the cardboard business. There
+were some real artists. For an example, he mentioned Christmas gift
+boxes, of which he’d seen samples that were marvels of splendor.
+
+Lorilleux sneered at this; he was extremely vain because of working
+with gold, feeling that it gave a sort of sheen to his fingers and his
+whole personality. “In olden times jewelers wore swords like
+gentlemen.” He often cited the case of Bernard Palissy, even though he
+really knew nothing about him.
+
+Coupeau told of a masterpiece of a weather vane made by one of his
+fellow workers which included a Greek column, a sheaf of wheat, a
+basket of fruit, and a flag, all beautifully worked out of nothing but
+strips of zinc shaped and soldered together.
+
+Madame Lerat showed Bibi-the-Smoker how to make a rose by rolling the
+handle of her knife between her bony fingers.
+
+All the while, their voices had been rising louder and louder,
+competing for attention. Shrill comments by Madame Fauconnier were
+heard. She complained about the girls who worked for her, especially a
+little apprentice who was nothing but a tart and had badly scorched
+some sheets the evening before.
+
+“You may talk,” Lorilleux cried, banging his fist down on the table,
+“but gold is gold.”
+
+And, in the midst of the silence caused by the statement of this fact,
+the only sound heard was Mademoiselle Remanjou’s shrill voice
+continuing:
+
+“Then I turn up the skirt and stitch it inside. I stick a pin in the
+head to keep the cap on, and that’s all; and they are sold for thirteen
+sous a piece.”
+
+She was explaining how she dressed her dolls to My-Boots, whose jaws
+were working slowly like grindstones. He did not listen, though he kept
+nodding his head, but looked after the waiters to prevent them removing
+any of the dishes he had not cleaned out. They had now finished a veal
+stew with green beans. The roast was brought in, two scrawny chickens
+resting on a bed of water cress which was limp from the warming oven.
+
+Outside, only the higher branches of the acacias were touched by the
+setting sun. Inside, the greenish reflected light was thickened by
+wisps of steam rising from the table, now messy with spilled wine and
+gravy and the debris of the dinner. Along the wall were dirty dishes
+and empty bottles which the waiters had piled there like a heap of
+refuse. It was so hot that the men took off their jackets and continued
+eating in their shirt sleeves.
+
+“Madame Boche, please don’t spread their butter so thick,” said
+Gervaise, who spoke but little, and who was watching Claude and Etienne
+from a distance.
+
+She got up from her seat, and went and talked for a minute while
+standing behind the little ones’ chairs. Children did not reason; they
+would eat all day long without refusing a single thing; and then she
+herself helped them to some chicken, a little of the breast. But mother
+Coupeau said they might, just for once in a while, risk an attack of
+indigestion. Madame Boche, in a low voice accused Boche of caressing
+Madame Lerat’s knees. Oh, he was a sly one, but he was getting a little
+too gay. She had certainly seen his hand disappear. If he did it again,
+drat him! she wouldn’t hesitate throwing a pitcher of water over his
+head.
+
+In the partial silence, Monsieur Madinier was talking politics. “Their
+law of May 31, is an abominable one. Now you must reside in a place for
+two years. Three millions of citizens are struck off the voting lists.
+I’ve been told that Bonaparte is, in reality, very much annoyed for he
+loves the people; he has given them proofs.”
+
+He was a republican; but he admired the prince on account of his uncle,
+a man the like of whom would never be seen again. Bibi-the-Smoker flew
+into a passion. He had worked at the Elysee; he had seen Bonaparte just
+as he saw My-Boots in front of him over there. Well that muff of a
+president was just like a jackass, that was all! It was said that he
+was going to travel about in the direction of Lyons; it would be a
+precious good riddance of bad rubbish if he fell into some hole and
+broke his neck. But, as the discussion was becoming too heated, Coupeau
+had to interfere.
+
+“Ah, well! How simple you all are to quarrel about politics. Politics
+are all humbug! Do such things exist for us? Let there be any one as
+king, it won’t prevent me earning my five francs a day, and eating and
+sleeping; isn’t that so? No, it’s too stupid to argue about!”
+
+Lorilleux shook his head. He was born on the same day as the Count of
+Chambord, the 29th of September, 1820. He was greatly struck with this
+coincidence, indulging himself in a vague dream, in which he
+established a connection between the king’s return to France and his
+own private fortunes. He never said exactly what he was expecting, but
+he led people to suppose that when that time arrived something
+extraordinarily agreeable would happen to him. So whenever he had a
+wish too great to be gratified, he would put it off to another time,
+when the king came back.
+
+“Besides,” observed he, “I saw the Count de Chambord one evening.”
+
+Every face was turned towards him.
+
+“It’s quite true. A stout man, in an overcoat, and with a good-natured
+air. I was at Pequignot’s, one of my friends who deals in furniture in
+the Grand Rue de la Chapelle. The Count of Chambord had forgotten his
+umbrella there the day before; so he came in, and just simply said,
+like this: ‘Will you please return me my umbrella?’ Well, yes, it was
+him; Pequignot gave me his word of honor it was.”
+
+Not one of the guests suggested the smallest doubt. They had now
+arrived at dessert and the waiters were clearing the table with much
+clattering of dishes. Madame Lorilleux, who up to then had been very
+genteel, very much the lady, suddenly let fly with a curse. One of the
+waiters had spilled something wet down her neck while removing a dish.
+This time her silk dress would be stained for sure. Monsieur Madinier
+had to examine her back, but he swore there was nothing to be seen.
+
+Two platters of cheese, two dishes of fruit, and a floating island
+pudding of frosted eggs in a deep salad-bowl had now been placed along
+the middle of the table. The pudding caused a moment of respectful
+attention even though the overdone egg whites had flattened on the
+yellow custard. It was unexpected and seemed very fancy.
+
+My-Boots was still eating. He had asked for another loaf. He finished
+what there was of the cheese; and, as there was some cream left, he had
+the salad-bowl passed to him, into which he sliced some large pieces of
+bread as though for a soup.
+
+“The gentleman is really remarkable,” said Monsieur Madinier, again
+giving way to his admiration.
+
+Then the men rose to get their pipes. They stood for a moment behind
+My-Boots, patting him on the back, and asking him if he was feeling
+better. Bibi-the-Smoker lifted him up in his chair; but _tonnerre de
+Dieu!_ the animal had doubled in weight. Coupeau joked that My-Boots
+was only getting started, that now he was going to settle down and
+really eat for the rest of the night. The waiters were startled and
+quickly vanished from sight.
+
+Boche, who had gone downstairs for a moment, came up to report the
+proprietor’s reaction. He was standing behind his bar, pale as death.
+His wife, dreadfully upset, was wondering if any bakeries were still
+open. Even the cat seemed deep in despair. This was as funny as could
+be, really worth the price of the dinner. It was impossible to have a
+proper dinner party without My-Boots, the bottomless pit. The other men
+eyed him with a brooding jealousy as they puffed on their pipes.
+Indeed, to be able to eat so much, you had to be very solidly built!
+
+“I wouldn’t care to be obliged to support you,” said Madame Gaudron.
+“Ah, no; you may take my word for that!”
+
+“I say, little mother, no jokes,” replied My-Boots, casting a side
+glance at his neighbor’s rotund figure. “You’ve swallowed more than I
+have.”
+
+The others applauded, shouting “Bravo!”—it was well answered. It was
+now pitch dark outside, three gas-jets were flaring in the room,
+diffusing dim rays in the midst of the tobacco-smoke. The waiters,
+after serving the coffee and the brandy, had removed the last piles of
+dirty plates. Down below, beneath the three acacias, dancing had
+commenced, a cornet-a-piston and two fiddles playing very loud, and
+mingling in the warm night air with the rather hoarse laughter of
+women.
+
+“We must have a punch!” cried My-Boots; “two quarts of brandy, lots of
+lemon, and a little sugar.”
+
+But Coupeau, seeing the anxious look on Gervaise’s face in front of
+him, got up from the table, declaring that there should be no more
+drink. They had emptied twenty-five quarts, a quart and a half to each
+person, counting the children as grown-up people; that was already too
+much. They had had a feed together in good fellowship, and without
+ceremony, because they esteemed each other, and wished to celebrate the
+event of the day amongst themselves. Everything had been very nice;
+they had had lots of fun. It wouldn’t do to get cockeyed drunk now, out
+of respect to the ladies. That was all he had to say, they had come
+together to toast a marriage and they had done so.
+
+Coupeau delivered the little speech with convincing sincerity and
+punctuated each phrase by placing his hand on his heart. He won
+whole-hearted approval from Lorilleux and Monsieur Madinier; but the
+other four men, especially My-Boots, were already well lit and sneered.
+They declared in hoarse drunken voices that they were thirsty and
+wanted drinks.
+
+“Those who’re thirsty are thirsty, and those who aren’t thirsty aren’t
+thirsty,” remarked My-Boots. “Therefore, we’ll order the punch. No one
+need take offence. The aristocrats can drink sugar-and-water.”
+
+And as the zinc-worker commenced another sermon, the other, who had
+risen on his legs, gave himself a slap, exclaiming:
+
+“Come, let’s have no more of that, my boy! Waiter, two quarts of your
+aged stuff!”
+
+So Coupeau said very well, only they would settle for the dinner at
+once. It would prevent any disputes. The well-behaved people did not
+want to pay for the drunkards; and it just happened that My-Boots,
+after searching in his pockets for a long time, could only produce
+three francs and seven sous. Well, why had they made him wait all that
+time on the Route de Saint-Denis? He could not let himself be drowned
+and so he had broken into his five-franc piece. It was the fault of the
+others, that was all! He ended by giving the three francs, keeping the
+seven sous for the morrow’s tobacco. Coupeau, who was furious, would
+have knocked him over had not Gervaise, greatly frightened, pulled him
+by his coat, and begged him to keep cool. He decided to borrow the two
+francs of Lorilleux, who after refusing them, lent them on the sly, for
+his wife would never have consented to his doing so.
+
+Monsieur Madinier went round with a plate. The spinster and the ladies
+who were alone—Madame Lerat, Madame Fauconnier, Mademoiselle
+Remanjou—discreetly placed their five-franc pieces in it first. Then
+the gentlemen went to the other end of the room, and made up the
+accounts. They were fifteen; it amounted therefore to seventy-five
+francs. When the seventy-five francs were in the plate, each man added
+five sous for the waiters. It took a quarter of an hour of laborious
+calculations before everything was settled to the general satisfaction.
+
+But when Monsieur Madinier, who wished to deal direct with the
+landlord, had got him to step up, the whole party became lost in
+astonishment on hearing him say with a smile that there was still
+something due to him. There were some extras; and, as the word “extras”
+was greeted with angry exclamations, he entered into
+details:—Twenty-five quarts of wine, instead of twenty, the number
+agreed upon beforehand; the frosted eggs, which he had added, as the
+dessert was rather scanty; finally, a quarter of a bottle of rum,
+served with the coffee, in case any one preferred rum. Then a
+formidable quarrel ensued. Coupeau, who was appealed to, protested
+against everything; he had never mentioned twenty quarts; as for the
+frosted eggs, they were included in the dessert, so much the worse for
+the landlord if he choose to add them without being asked to do so.
+There remained the rum, a mere nothing, just a mode of increasing the
+bill by putting on the table spirits that no one thought anything
+about.
+
+“It was on the tray with the coffee,” he cried; “therefore it goes with
+the coffee. Go to the deuce! Take your money, and never again will we
+set foot in your den!”
+
+“It’s six francs more,” repeated the landlord. “Pay me my six francs;
+and with all that I haven’t counted the four loaves that gentleman
+ate!”
+
+The whole party, pressing forward, surrounded him with furious gestures
+and a yelping of voices choking with rage. The women especially threw
+aside all reserve, and refused to add another centime. This was some
+wedding dinner! Mademoiselle Remanjou vowed she would never again
+attend such a party. Madame Fauconnier declared she had had a very
+disappointing meal; at home she could have had a finger-licking dish
+for only two francs. Madame Gaudron bitterly complained that she had
+been shoved down to the worst end of the table next to My-Boots who had
+ignored her. These parties never turned out well, one should be more
+careful whom one invites. Gervaise had taken refuge with mother Coupeau
+near one of the windows, feeling shamed as she realized that all these
+recriminations would fall back upon her.
+
+Monsieur Madinier ended by going down with the landlord. One could hear
+them arguing below. Then, when half an hour had gone by the cardboard
+box manufacturer returned; he had settled the matter by giving three
+francs. But the party continued annoyed and exasperated, constantly
+returning to the question of the extras. And the uproar increased from
+an act of vigor on Madame Boche’s part. She had kept an eye on Boche,
+and at length detected him squeezing Madame Lerat round the waist in a
+corner. Then, with all her strength, she flung a water pitcher, which
+smashed against the wall.
+
+“One can easily see that your husband’s a tailor, madame,” said the
+tall widow, with a curl of the lip, full of a double meaning. “He’s a
+petticoat specialist, even though I gave him some pretty hard kicks
+under the table.”
+
+The harmony of the evening was altogether upset. Everyone became more
+and more ill-tempered. Monsieur Madinier suggested some singing, but
+Bibi-the-Smoker, who had a fine voice, had disappeared some time
+before; and Mademoiselle Remanjou, who was leaning out of the window,
+caught sight of him under the acacias, swinging round a big girl who
+was bare-headed. The cornet-a-piston and two fiddles were playing “_Le
+Marchand de Moutarde_.” The party now began to break up. My-Boots and
+the Gaudrons went down to the dance with Boche sneaking along after
+them. The twirling couples could be seen from the windows. The night
+was still as though exhausted from the heat of the day. A serious
+conversation started between Lorilleux and Monsieur Madinier. The
+ladies examined their dresses carefully to see if they had been
+stained.
+
+Madame Lerat’s fringe looked as though it had been dipped in the
+coffee. Madame Fauconnier’s chintz dress was spotted with gravy. Mother
+Coupeau’s green shawl, fallen from off a chair, was discovered in a
+corner, rolled up and trodden upon. But it was Madame Lorilleux
+especially who became more ill-tempered still. She had a stain on the
+back of her dress; it was useless for the others to declare that she
+had not—she felt it. And, by twisting herself about in front of a
+looking-glass, she ended by catching a glimpse of it.
+
+“What did I say?” cried she. “It’s gravy from the fowl. The waiter
+shall pay for the dress. I will bring an action against him. Ah! this
+is a fit ending to such a day. I should have done better to have stayed
+in bed. To begin with, I’m off. I’ve had enough of their wretched
+wedding!”
+
+And she left the room in a rage, causing the staircase to shake beneath
+her heavy footsteps. Lorilleux ran after her. But all she would consent
+to was that she would wait five minutes on the pavement outside, if he
+wanted them to go off together. She ought to have left directly after
+the storm, as she wished to do. She would make Coupeau sorry for that
+day. Coupeau was dismayed when he heard how angry she was. Gervaise
+agreed to leave at once to avoid embarrassing him any more.
+
+There was a flurry of quick good-night kisses. Monsieur Madinier was to
+escort mother Coupeau home. Madame Boche would take Claude and Etienne
+with her for the bridal night. The children were sound asleep on
+chairs, stuffed full from the dinner. Just as the bridal couple and
+Lorilleux were about to go out the door, a quarrel broke out near the
+dance floor between their group and another group. Boche and My-Boots
+were kissing a lady and wouldn’t give her up to her escorts, two
+soldiers.
+
+It was scarcely eleven o’clock. On the Boulevard de la Chapelle, and in
+the entire neighborhood of the Goutte-d’Or, the fortnight’s pay, which
+fell due on that Saturday, produced an enormous drunken uproar. Madame
+Lorilleux was waiting beneath a gas-lamp about twenty paces from the
+Silver Windmill. She took her husband’s arm, and walked on in front
+without looking round, at such a rate, that Gervaise and Coupeau got
+quite out of breath in trying to keep up with them. Now and again they
+stepped off the pavement to leave room for some drunkard who had fallen
+there. Lorilleux looked back, endeavoring to make things pleasant.
+
+“We will see you as far as your door,” said he.
+
+But Madame Lorilleux, raising her voice, thought it a funny thing to
+spend one’s wedding night in such a filthy hole as the Hotel Boncoeur.
+Ought they not to have put their marriage off, and have saved a few
+sous to buy some furniture, so as to have had a home of their own on
+the first night? Ah! they would be comfortable, right up under the
+roof, packed into a little closet, at ten francs a month, where there
+was not even the slightest air.
+
+“I’ve given notice, we’re not going to use the room up at the top of
+the house,” timidly interposed Coupeau. “We are keeping Gervaise’s
+room, which is larger.”
+
+Madame Lorilleux forgot herself. She turned abruptly round.
+
+“That’s worse than all!” cried she. “You’re going to sleep in
+Clump-clump’s room.”
+
+Gervaise became quite pale. This nickname, which she received full in
+the face for the first time, fell on her like a blow. And she fully
+understood it, too, her sister-in-law’s exclamation: the Clump-clump’s
+room was the room in which she had lived for a month with Lantier,
+where the shreds of her past life still hung about. Coupeau did not
+understand this, but merely felt hurt at the harsh nickname.
+
+“You do wrong to christen others,” he replied angrily. “You don’t know
+perhaps, that in the neighborhood they call you Cow’s-Tail, because of
+your hair. There, that doesn’t please you, does it? Why should we not
+keep the room on the first floor? To-night the children won’t sleep
+there, and we shall be very comfortable.”
+
+Madame Lorilleux added nothing further, but retired into her dignity,
+horribly annoyed at being called Cow’s-Tail. To cheer up Gervaise,
+Coupeau squeezed her arm softly. He even succeeded in making her smile
+by whispering into her ear that they were setting up housekeeping with
+the grand sum of seven sous, three big two-sou pieces and one little
+sou, which he jingled in his pocket.
+
+When they reached the Hotel Boncoeur, the two couples wished each other
+good-night, with an angry air; and as Coupeau pushed the two women into
+each other’s arms, calling them a couple of ninnies, a drunken fellow,
+who seemed to want to go to the right, suddenly slipped to the left and
+came tumbling between them.
+
+“Why, it’s old Bazouge!” said Lorilleux. “He’s had his fill to-day.”
+
+Gervaise, frightened, squeezed up against the door of the hotel. Old
+Bazouge, an undertaker’s helper of some fifty years of age, had his
+black trousers all stained with mud, his black cape hooked on to his
+shoulder, and his black feather hat knocked in by some tumble he had
+taken.
+
+“Don’t be afraid, he’s harmless,” continued Lorilleux. “He’s a neighbor
+of ours—the third room in the passage before us. He would find himself
+in a nice mess if his people were to see him like this!”
+
+Old Bazouge, however, felt offended at the young woman’s evident
+terror.
+
+“Well, what!” hiccoughed he, “we ain’t going to eat any one. I’m as
+good as another any day, my little woman. No doubt I’ve had a drop!
+When work’s plentiful one must grease the wheels. It’s not you, nor
+your friends, who would have carried down the stiff ’un of forty-seven
+stone whom I and a pal brought from the fourth floor to the pavement,
+and without smashing him too. I like jolly people.”
+
+But Gervaise retreated further into the doorway, seized with a longing
+to cry, which spoilt her day of sober-minded joy. She no longer thought
+of kissing her sister-in-law, she implored Coupeau to get rid of the
+drunkard. Then Bazouge, as he stumbled about, made a gesture of
+philosophical disdain.
+
+“That won’t prevent you passing though our hands, my little woman.
+You’ll perhaps be glad to do so, one of these days. Yes, I know some
+women who’d be much obliged if we did carry them off.”
+
+And, as Lorilleux led him away, he turned around, and stuttered out a
+last sentence, between two hiccoughs.
+
+“When you’re dead—listen to this—when you’re dead, it’s for a long,
+long time.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+Then followed four years of hard work. In the neighborhood, Gervaise
+and Coupeau had the reputation of being a happy couple, living in
+retirement without quarrels, and taking a short walk regularly every
+Sunday in the direction of St. Ouen. The wife worked twelve hours a day
+at Madame Fauconnier’s, and still found means to keep their lodging as
+clean and bright as a new coined sou and to prepare the meals for all
+her little family, morning and evening. The husband never got drunk,
+brought his wages home every fortnight, and smoked a pipe at his window
+in the evening, to get a breath of fresh air before going to bed. They
+were frequently alluded to on account of their nice, pleasant ways; and
+as between them they earned close upon nine francs a day, it was
+reckoned that they were able to put by a good deal of money.
+
+However, during their first months together they had to struggle hard
+to get by. Their wedding had left them owing two hundred francs. Also,
+they detested the Hotel Boncoeur as they didn’t like the other
+occupants. Their dream was to have a home of their own with their own
+furniture. They were always figuring how much they would need and
+decided three hundred and fifty francs at least, in order to be able to
+buy little items that came up later.
+
+They were in despair at ever being able to collect such a large sum
+when a lucky chance came their way. An old gentleman at Plassans
+offered to take the older boy, Claude, and send him to an academy down
+there. The old man, who loved art, had previously been much impressed
+by Claude’s sketches. Claude had already begun to cost them quite a
+bit. Now, with only Etienne to support, they were able to accumulate
+the money in a little over seven months. One day they were finally able
+to buy their own furniture from a second-hand dealer on Rue Belhomme.
+Their hearts filled with happiness, they celebrated by walking home
+along the exterior Boulevards.
+
+They had purchased a bed, a night table, a chest of drawers with a
+marble top, a wardrobe, a round table covered with oilcloth, and six
+chairs. All were of dark mahogany. They also bought blankets, linen,
+and kitchen utensils that were scarcely used. It meant settling down
+and giving themselves a status in life as property owners, as persons
+to be respected.
+
+For two months past they had been busy seeking some new apartments. At
+first they wanted above everything to hire these in the big house of
+the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or. But there was not a single room to let
+there; so that they had to relinquish their old dream. To tell the
+truth, Gervaise was rather glad in her heart; the neighborhood of the
+Lorilleux almost door to door, frightened her immensely. Then, they
+looked about elsewhere. Coupeau, very properly did not wish to be far
+from Madame Fauconnier’s so that Gervaise could easily run home at any
+hour of the day. And at length they met with exactly what suited them,
+a large room with a small closet and a kitchen, in the Rue Neuve de la
+Goutte-d’Or, almost opposite the laundress’s. This was in a small
+two-story building with a very steep staircase. There were two
+apartments on the second floor, one to the left, the other to the
+right, The ground floor was occupied by a man who rented out carriages,
+which filled the sheds in the large stable yard by the street.
+
+Gervaise was delighted with this as it made her feel she was back in a
+country town. With no close neighbors there would be no gossip to worry
+about in this little corner. It reminded her of a small lane outside
+the ramparts of Plassans. She could even see her own window while
+ironing at the laundry by just tilting her head to the side.
+
+They took possession of their new abode at the April quarter. Gervaise
+was then eight months advanced. But she showed great courage, saying
+with a laugh that the baby helped her as she worked; she felt its
+influence growing within her and giving her strength. Ah, well! She
+just laughed at Coupeau whenever he wanted her to lie down and rest
+herself! She would take to her bed when the labor pains came. That
+would be quite soon enough as with another mouth to feed, they would
+have to work harder than ever.
+
+She made their new place bright and shiny before helping her husband
+install the furniture. She loved the furniture, polishing it and
+becoming almost heart-broken at the slightest scratch. Any time she
+knocked into the furniture while cleaning she would stop with a sudden
+shock as though she had hurt herself.
+
+The chest of drawers was especially dear to her. She thought it
+handsome, sturdy and most respectable-looking. The dream that she
+hadn’t dared to mention was to get a clock and put it right in the
+middle of the marble top. It would make a splendid effect. She probably
+would have bought one right away except for the expected baby.
+
+The couple were thoroughly enchanted with their new home. Etienne’s bed
+occupied the small closet, where there was still room to put another
+child’s crib. The kitchen was a very tiny affair and as dark as night,
+but by leaving the door wide open, one could just manage to see;
+besides, Gervaise had not to cook meals for thirty people, all she
+wanted was room to make her soup. As for the large room, it was their
+pride. The first thing in the morning, they drew the curtains of the
+alcove, white calico curtains; and the room was thus transformed into a
+dining-room, with the table in the centre, and the wardrobe and chest
+of drawers facing each other.
+
+They stopped up the chimney since it burned as much as fifteen sous of
+coal a day. A small cast-iron stove on the marble hearth gave them
+enough warmth on cold days for only seven sous. Coupeau had also done
+his best to decorate the walls. There was a large engraving showing a
+marshal of France on horseback with a baton in his hand. Family
+photographs were arranged in two rows on top of the chest of drawers on
+each side of an old holy-water basin in which they kept matches. Busts
+of Pascal and Beranger were on top of the wardrobe. It was really a
+handsome room.
+
+“Guess how much we pay here?” Gervaise would ask of every visitor she
+had.
+
+And whenever they guessed too high a sum, she triumphed and delighted
+at being so well suited for such a little money, cried:
+
+“One hundred and fifty francs, not a sou more! Isn’t it almost like
+having it for nothing!”
+
+The street, Rue Neuve de la Goutte d’Or, played an important part in
+their contentment. Gervaise’s whole life was there, as she traveled
+back and forth endlessly between her home and Madame Fauconnier’s
+laundry. Coupeau now went down every evening and stood on the doorstep
+to smoke his pipe. The poorly-paved street rose steeply and had no
+sidewalks. Toward Rue de la Goutte d’Or there were some gloomy shops
+with dirty windows. There were shoemakers, coopers, a run-down grocery,
+and a bankrupt cafe whose closed shutters were covered with posters. In
+the opposite direction, toward Paris, four-story buildings blocked the
+sky. Their ground floor shops were all occupied by laundries with one
+exception—a green-painted store front typical of a small-town
+hair-dresser. Its shop windows were full of variously colored flasks.
+It lighted up this drab corner with the gay brightness of its copper
+bowls which were always shining.
+
+The most pleasant part of the street was in between, where the
+buildings were fewer and lower, letting in more sunlight. The carriage
+sheds, the plant which manufactured soda water, and the wash-house
+opposite made a wide expanse of quietness. The muffled voices of the
+washerwomen and the rhythmic puffing of the steam engine seemed to
+deepen the almost religious silence. Open fields and narrow lanes
+vanishing between dark walls gave it the air of a country village.
+Coupeau, always amused by the infrequent pedestrians having to jump
+over the continuous streams of soapy water, said it reminded him of a
+country town where his uncle had taken him when he was five years old.
+Gervaise’s greatest joy was a tree growing in the courtyard to the left
+of their window, an acacia that stretched out a single branch and yet,
+with its meager foliage, lent charm to the entire street.
+
+It was on the last day of April that Gervaise was confined. The pains
+came on in the afternoon, towards four o’clock, as she was ironing a
+pair of curtains at Madame Fauconnier’s. She would not go home at once,
+but remained there wriggling about on a chair, and continuing her
+ironing every time the pain allowed her to do so; the curtains were
+wanted quickly and she obstinately made a point of finishing them.
+Besides, perhaps after all it was only a colic; it would never do to be
+frightened by a bit of a stomach-ache. But as she was talking of
+starting on some shirts, she became quite pale. She was obliged to
+leave the work-shop, and cross the street doubled in two, holding on to
+the walls. One of the workwomen offered to accompany her; she declined,
+but begged her to go instead for the midwife, close by, in the Rue de
+la Charbonniere. This was only a false alarm; there was no need to make
+a fuss. She would be like that no doubt all through the night. It was
+not going to prevent her getting Coupeau’s dinner ready as soon as she
+was indoors; then she might perhaps lie down on the bed a little, but
+without undressing. On the staircase she was seized with such a violent
+pain, that she was obliged to sit down on one of the stairs; and she
+pressed her two fists against her mouth to prevent herself from crying
+out, for she would have been ashamed to have been found there by any
+man, had one come up. The pain passed away; she was able to open her
+door, feeling relieved, and thinking that she had decidedly been
+mistaken. That evening she was going to make a stew with some neck
+chops. All went well while she peeled the potatoes. The chops were
+cooking in a saucepan when the pains returned. She mixed the gravy as
+she stamped about in front of the stove, almost blinded with her tears.
+If she was going to give birth, that was no reason why Coupeau should
+be kept without his dinner. At length the stew began to simmer on a
+fire covered with cinders. She went into the other room, and thought
+she would have time to lay the cloth at one end of the table. But she
+was obliged to put down the bottle of wine very quickly; she no longer
+had strength to reach the bed; she fell prostrate, and she had more
+pains on a mat on the floor. When the midwife arrived, a quarter of an
+hour later, she found mother and baby lying there on the floor.
+
+The zinc-worker was still employed at the hospital. Gervaise would not
+have him disturbed. When he came home at seven o’clock, he found her in
+bed, well covered up, looking very pale on the pillow, and the child
+crying, swathed in a shawl at its mother’s feet.
+
+“Ah, my poor wife!” said Coupeau, kissing Gervaise. “And I was joking
+only an hour ago, whilst you were crying with pain! I say, you don’t
+make much fuss about it—the time to sneeze and it’s all over.”
+
+She smiled faintly; then she murmured: “It’s a girl.”
+
+“Right!” the zinc-worker replied, joking so as to enliven her, “I
+ordered a girl! Well, now I’ve got what I wanted! You do everything I
+wish!” And, taking the child up in his arms, he continued: “Let’s have
+a look at you, miss! You’ve got a very black little mug. It’ll get
+whiter, never fear. You must be good, never run about the streets, and
+grow up sensible like your papa and mamma.”
+
+Gervaise looked at her daughter very seriously, with wide open eyes,
+slowly overshadowed with sadness, for she would rather have had a boy.
+Boys can talk care of themselves and don’t have to run such risks on
+the streets of Paris as girls do. The midwife took the infant from
+Coupeau. She forbade Gervaise to do any talking; it was bad enough
+there was so much noise around her.
+
+Then the zinc-worker said that he must tell the news to mother Coupeau
+and the Lorilleuxs, but he was dying with hunger, he must first of all
+have his dinner. It was a great worry to the invalid to see him have to
+wait on himself, run to the kitchen for the stew, eat it out of a soup
+plate, and not be able to find the bread. In spite of being told not to
+do so, she bewailed her condition, and fidgeted about in her bed. It
+was stupid of her not to have managed to set the cloth, the pains had
+laid her on her back like a blow from a bludgeon. Her poor old man
+would not think it kind of her to be nursing herself up there whilst he
+was dining so badly. At least were the potatoes cooked enough? She no
+longer remembered whether she had put salt in them.
+
+“Keep quiet!” cried the midwife.
+
+“Ah! if only you could stop her from wearing herself out!” said Coupeau
+with his mouth full. “If you were not here, I’d bet she’d get up to cut
+my bread. Keep on your back, you big goose! You mustn’t move about,
+otherwise it’ll be a fortnight before you’ll be able to stand on your
+legs. Your stew’s very good. Madame will eat some with me, won’t you,
+Madame?”
+
+The midwife declined; but she was willing to accept a glass of wine,
+because it had upset her, said she to find the poor woman with the baby
+on the mat. Coupeau at length went off to tell the news to his
+relations. Half an hour later he returned with all of them, mother
+Coupeau, the Lorilleuxs, and Madame Lerat, whom he had met at the
+latter’s.
+
+“I’ve brought you the whole gang!” cried Coupeau. “It can’t be helped!
+They wanted to see you. Don’t open your mouth, it’s forbidden. They’ll
+stop here and look at you without ceremony, you know. As for me, I’m
+going to make them some coffee, and of the right sort!”
+
+He disappeared into the kitchen. Mother Coupeau after kissing Gervaise,
+became amazed at the child’s size. The two other women also kissed the
+invalid on her cheeks. And all three, standing before the bed,
+commented with divers exclamations on the details of the confinement—a
+most remarkable confinement, just like having a tooth pulled, nothing
+more.
+
+Madame Lerat examined the baby all over, declared she was well formed,
+even added that she could grow up into an attractive woman. Noticing
+that the head had been squeezed into a point on top, she kneaded it
+gently despite the infant’s cries, trying to round it a bit. Madame
+Lorilleux grabbed the baby from her; that could be enough to give the
+poor little thing all sorts of vicious tendencies, meddling with it
+like that while her skull was still soft. She then tried to figure out
+who the baby resembled. This almost led to a quarrel. Lorilleux,
+peering over the women’s shoulders, insisted that the little girl
+didn’t look the least bit like Coupeau. Well, maybe a little around the
+nose, nothing more. She was her mother all over again, with big eyes
+like hers. Certainly there were no eyes like that in the Coupeau
+family.
+
+Coupeau, however, had failed to reappear. One could hear him in the
+kitchen struggling with the grate and the coffee-pot. Gervaise was
+worrying herself frightfully; it was not the proper thing for a man to
+make coffee; and she called and told him what to do, without listening
+to the midwife’s energetic “hush!”
+
+“Here we are!” said Coupeau, entering with the coffee-pot in his hand.
+“Didn’t I just have a bother with it! It all went wrong on purpose! Now
+we’ll drink out of glasses, won’t we? Because you know, the cups are
+still at the shop.”
+
+They seated themselves around the table, and the zinc-worker insisted
+on pouring out the coffee himself. It smelt very strong, it was none of
+that weak stuff. When the midwife had sipped hers up, she went off;
+everything was going on nicely, she was not required. If the young
+woman did not pass a good night they were to send for her on the
+morrow. She was scarcely down the staircase, when Madame Lorilleux
+called her a glutton and a good-for-nothing. She put four lumps of
+sugar in her coffee, and charged fifteen francs for leaving you with
+your baby all by yourself. But Coupeau took her part; he would
+willingly fork out the fifteen francs. After all those sort of women
+spent their youth in studying, they were right to charge a good price.
+
+It was then Lorilleux who got into a quarrel with Madame Lerat by
+maintaining that, in order to have a son, the head of the bed should be
+turned to the north. She shrugged her shoulders at such nonsense,
+offering another formula which consisted in hiding under the mattress,
+without letting your wife know, a handful of fresh nettles picked in
+bright sunlight.
+
+The table had been pushed over close to the bed. Until ten o’clock
+Gervaise lay there, smiling although she was only half awake. She was
+becoming more and more weary, her head turned sideways on the pillow.
+She no longer had the energy to venture a remark or a gesture. It
+seemed to her that she was dead, a very sweet death, from the depths of
+which she was happy to observe the others still in the land of the
+living. The thin cries of her baby daughter rose above the hum of heavy
+voices that were discussing a recent murder on Rue du Bon Puits, at the
+other end of La Chapelle.
+
+Then, as the visitors were thinking of leaving, they spoke of the
+christening. The Lorilleux had promised to be godfather and godmother;
+they looked very glum over the matter. However, if they had not been
+asked to stand they would have felt rather peculiar. Coupeau did not
+see any need for christening the little one; it certainly would not
+procure her an income of ten thousand francs, and besides she might
+catch a cold from it. The less one had to do with priests the better.
+But mother Coupeau called him a heathen. The Lorilleux, without going
+and eating consecrated bread in church, plumed themselves on their
+religious sentiments.
+
+“It shall be next Sunday, if you like,” said the chainmaker.
+
+And Gervaise having consented by a nod, everyone kissed her and told
+her to take good care of herself. They also wished the baby good-bye.
+Each one went and leant over the little trembling body with smiles and
+loving words as though she were able to understand. They called her
+Nana, the pet name for Anna, which was her godmother’s name.
+
+“Good night, Nana. Come be a good girl, Nana.”
+
+When they had at length gone off, Coupeau drew his chair close up to
+the bed and finished his pipe, holding Gervaise’s hand in his. He
+smoked slowly, deeply affected and uttering sentences between the
+puffs.
+
+“Well, old woman, they’ve made your head ache, haven’t they? You see I
+couldn’t prevent them coming. After all, it shows their friendship. But
+we’re better alone, aren’t we? I wanted to be alone like this with you.
+It has seemed such a long evening to me! Poor little thing, she’s had a
+lot to go through! Those shrimps, when they come out into the world,
+have no idea of the pain they cause. It must really almost be like
+being split in two. Where does it hurt the most, that I may kiss it and
+make it well?”
+
+He had carefully slid one of his big hands under her back, and now he
+drew her toward him, bending over to kiss her stomach through the
+covers, touched by a rough man’s compassion for the suffering of a
+woman in childbirth. He inquired if he was hurting her. Gervaise felt
+very happy, and answered him that it didn’t hurt any more at all. She
+was only worried about getting up as soon as possible, because there
+was no time to lie about now. He assured her that he’d be responsible
+for earning the money for the new little one. He would be a real bum if
+he abandoned her and the little rascal. The way he figured it, what
+really counted was bringing her up properly. Wasn’t that so?
+
+Coupeau did not sleep much that night. He covered up the fire in the
+stove. Every hour he had to get up to give the baby spoonfuls of
+lukewarm sugar and water. That did not prevent his going off to his
+work in the morning as usual. He even took advantage of his lunch-hour
+to make a declaration of the birth at the mayor’s. During this time
+Madame Boche, who had been informed of the event, had hastened to go
+and pass the day with Gervaise. But the latter, after ten hours of
+sleep, bewailed her position, saying that she already felt pains all
+over her through having been so long in bed. She would become quite ill
+if they did not let her get up. In the evening, when Coupeau returned
+home, she told him all her worries; no doubt she had confidence in
+Madame Boche, only it put her beside herself to see a stranger
+installed in her room, opening the drawers, and touching her things.
+
+On the morrow the concierge, on returning from some errand, found her
+up, dressed, sweeping and getting her husband’s dinner ready; and it
+was impossible to persuade her to go to bed again. They were trying to
+make a fool of her perhaps! It was all very well for ladies to pretend
+to be unable to move. When one was not rich one had no time for that
+sort of thing. Three days after her confinement she was ironing
+petticoats at Madame Fauconnier’s, banging her irons and all in a
+perspiration from the great heat of the stove.
+
+On the Saturday evening, Madame Lorilleux brought her presents for her
+godchild—a cup that cost thirty-five sous, and a christening dress,
+plaited and trimmed with some cheap lace, which she had got for six
+francs, because it was slightly soiled. On the morrow, Lorilleux, as
+godfather, gave the mother six pounds of sugar. They certainly did
+things properly! At the baptism supper which took place at the Coupeaus
+that evening, they did not come empty-handed. Lorilleux carried a
+bottle of fine wine under each arm and his wife brought a large custard
+pie from a famous pastry shop on Chaussee Clignancourt. But the
+Lorilleuxs made sure that the entire neighborhood knew they had spent
+twenty francs. As soon as Gervaise learned of their gossiping, furious,
+she stopped giving them credit for generosity.
+
+It was at the christening feast that the Coupeaus ended by becoming
+intimately acquainted with their neighbors on the opposite side of the
+landing. The other lodging in the little house was occupied by two
+persons, mother and son, the Goujets as they were called. Until then
+the two families had merely nodded to each other on the stairs and in
+the street, nothing more; the Coupeaus thought their neighbors seemed
+rather bearish. Then the mother, having carried up a pail of water for
+Gervaise on the morrow of her confinement, the latter had thought it
+the proper thing to invite them to the feast, more especially as she
+considered them very respectable people. And naturally, they there
+became well acquainted with each other.
+
+The Goujets came from the Departement du Nord. The mother mended lace;
+the son, a blacksmith, worked at an iron bolt factory. They had lived
+in their lodging for five years. Behind the quiet peacefulness of their
+life, a long standing sorrow was hidden. Goujet the father, one day
+when furiously drunk at Lille, had beaten a comrade to death with an
+iron bar and had afterwards strangled himself in prison with his
+handkerchief. The widow and child, who had come to Paris after their
+misfortune, always felt the tragedy hanging over their heads, and
+atoned for it by a strict honesty and an unvarying gentleness and
+courage. They had a certain amount of pride in their attitude and
+regarded themselves as better than other people.
+
+Madame Goujet, dressed in black as usual, her forehead framed in a
+nun’s hood, had a pale, calm, matronly face, as if the whiteness of the
+lace and the delicate work of her fingers had cast a glow of serenity
+over her. Goujet was twenty-three years old, huge, magnificently built,
+with deep blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and the strength of Hercules. His
+comrades at the shop called him “Golden Mouth” because of his handsome
+blonde beard.
+
+Gervaise at once felt a great friendship for these people. When she
+entered their home for the first time, she was amazed at the
+cleanliness of the lodging. There was no denying it, one might blow
+about the place without raising a grain of dust; and the tiled floor
+shone like a mirror. Madame Goujet made her enter her son’s room, just
+to see it. It was pretty and white like the room of a young girl; an
+iron bedstead with muslin curtains, a table, a washstand, and a narrow
+bookcase hanging against the wall. Then there were pictures all over
+the place, figures cut out, colored engravings nailed up with four
+tacks, and portraits of all kinds of persons taken from the illustrated
+papers.
+
+Madame Goujet said with a smile that her son was a big baby. He found
+that reading in the evening put him to sleep, so he amused himself
+looking at pictures. Gervaise spent an hour with her neighbor without
+noticing the passing of time. Madame Goujet had gone to sit by the
+window and work on her lace. Gervaise was fascinated by the hundreds of
+pins that held the lace, and she felt happy to be there, breathing in
+the good clean atmosphere of this home where such a delicate task
+enforced a sort of meditative silence.
+
+The Goujets were worth visiting. They worked long hours, and placed
+more than a quarter of their fortnight’s earnings in the savings-bank.
+In the neighborhood everyone nodded to them, everyone talked of their
+savings. Goujet never had a hole in his clothes, always went out in a
+clean short blue blouse, without a stain. He was very polite, and even
+a trifle timid, in spite of his broad shoulders. The washerwomen at the
+end of the street laughed to see him hold down his head when he passed
+them. He did not like their oaths, and thought it disgusting that women
+should be constantly uttering foul words. One day, however, he came
+home tipsy. Then Madame Goujet, for sole reproach, held his father’s
+portrait before him, a daub of a painting hidden away at the bottom of
+a drawer; and, ever since that lesson, Goujet never drank more than was
+good for him, without however, any hatred of wine, for wine is
+necessary to the workman. On Sundays he walked out with his mother, who
+took hold of his arm. He would generally conduct her to Vincennes; at
+other times they would go to the theatre. His mother remained his
+passion. He still spoke to her as though he were a little child.
+Square-headed, his skin toughened by the wielding of the heavy hammer,
+he somewhat resembled the larger animals: dull of intellect, though
+good-natured all the same.
+
+In the early days of their acquaintance, Gervaise embarrassed him
+immensely. Then in a few weeks he became accustomed to her. He watched
+for her that he might carry up her parcels, treated her as a sister,
+with an abrupt familiarity, and cut out pictures for her. One morning,
+however, having opened her door without knocking, he beheld her half
+undressed, washing her neck; and, for a week, he did not dare to look
+her in the face, so much so that he ended by making her blush herself.
+
+Young Cassis, with the casual wit of a born Parisian, called Golden
+Mouth a dolt. It was all right not to get drunk all the time or chase
+women, but still, a man must be a man, or else he might as well wear
+skirts. Coupeau teased him in front of Gervaise, accusing him of making
+up to all the women in the neighborhood. Goujet vigorously defended
+himself against the charge.
+
+But this didn’t prevent the two workingmen from becoming best of
+friends. They went off to work together in the mornings and sometimes
+had a glass of beer together on the way home.
+
+It eventually came about that Golden Mouth could render a service to
+Young Cassis, one of those favors that is remembered forever.
+
+It was the second of December. The zinc-worker decided, just for the
+fun of it, to go into the city and watch the rioting. He didn’t really
+care about the Republic, or Napoleon or anything like that, but he
+liked the smell of gunpowder and the sound of the rifles firing. He
+would have been arrested as a rioter if the blacksmith hadn’t turned up
+at the barricade at just that moment and helped him escape. Goujet was
+very serious as they walked back up the Rue du Faubourg Poissonniere.
+He was interested in politics and believed in the Republic. But he had
+never fired a gun because the common people were getting tired of
+fighting battles for the middle classes who always seemed to get the
+benefit of them.
+
+As they reached the top of the slope of the Rue du Faubourg
+Poissonniere, Goujet turned to look back at Paris and the mobs. After
+all, some day people would be sorry that they just stood by and did
+nothing. Coupeau laughed at this, saying you would be pretty stupid to
+risk your neck just to preserve the twenty-five francs a day for the
+lazybones in the Legislative Assembly. That evening the Coupeaus
+invited the Goujets to dinner. After desert Young Cassis and Golden
+Mouth kissed each other on the cheek. Their lives were joined till
+death.
+
+For three years the existence of the two families went on, on either
+side of the landing, without an event. Gervaise was able to take care
+of her daughter and still work most of the week. She was now a skilled
+worker on fine laundry and earned up to three francs a day. She decided
+to put Etienne, now nearly eight, into a small boarding-school on Rue
+de Chartres for five francs a week. Despite the expenses for the two
+children, they were able to save twenty or thirty francs each month.
+Once they had six hundred francs saved, Gervaise often lay awake
+thinking of her ambitious dream: she wanted to rent a small shop, hire
+workers, and go into the laundry business herself. If this effort
+worked, they would have a steady income from savings in twenty years.
+They could retire and live in the country.
+
+Yet she hesitated, saying she was looking for the right shop. She was
+giving herself time to think it over. Their savings were safe in the
+bank, and growing larger. So, in three years’ time she had only
+fulfilled one of her dreams—she had bought a clock. But even this
+clock, made of rosewood with twined columns and a pendulum of gilded
+brass, was being paid for in installments of twenty-two sous each
+Monday for a year. She got upset if Coupeau tried to wind it; she liked
+to be the only one to lift off the glass dome. It was under the glass
+dome, behind the clock, that she hid her bank book. Sometimes, when she
+was dreaming of her shop, she would stare fixedly at the clock, lost in
+thought.
+
+The Coupeaus went out nearly every Sunday with the Goujets. They were
+pleasant little excursions, sometimes to have some fried fish at
+Saint-Ouen, at others a rabbit at Vincennes, in the garden of some
+eating-house keeper without any grand display. The men drank sufficient
+to quench their thirst, and returned home as right as nine-pins, giving
+their arms to the ladies. In the evening before going to bed, the two
+families made up accounts and each paid half the expenses; and there
+was never the least quarrel about a sou more or less.
+
+The Lorilleuxs became jealous of the Goujets. It seemed strange to them
+to see Young Cassis and Clump-clump going places all the time with
+strangers instead of their own relations. But, that’s the way it was;
+some folks didn’t care a bit about their family. Now that they had
+saved a few sous, they thought they were really somebody. Madame
+Lorilleux was much annoyed to see her brother getting away from her
+influence and begin to continually run down Gervaise to everyone. On
+the other hand, Madame Lerat took the young wife’s side. Mother Coupeau
+tried to get along with everybody. She only wanted to be welcomed by
+all three of her children. Now that her eyesight was getting dimmer and
+dimmer she only had one regular house cleaning job but she was able to
+pick up some small jobs now and again.
+
+On the day on which Nana was three years old, Coupeau, on returning
+home in the evening, found Gervaise quite upset. She refused to talk
+about it; there was nothing at all the matter with her, she said. But,
+as she had the table all wrong, standing still with the plates in her
+hands, absorbed in deep reflection, her husband insisted upon knowing
+what was the matter.
+
+“Well, it is this,” she ended by saying, “the little draper’s shop in
+the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, is to let. I saw it only an hour ago, when
+going to buy some cotton. It gave me quite a turn.”
+
+It was a very decent shop, and in that big house where they dreamed of
+living in former days. There was the shop, a back room, and two other
+rooms to the right and left; in short, just what they required. The
+rooms were rather small, but well placed. Only, she considered they
+wanted too much; the landlord talked of five hundred francs.
+
+“So you’ve been over the place, and asked the price?” said Coupeau.
+
+“Oh! you know, only out of curiosity!” replied she, affecting an air of
+indifference. “One looks about, and goes in wherever there’s a bill
+up—that doesn’t bind one to anything. But that shop is altogether too
+dear. Besides, it would perhaps be foolish of me to set up in
+business.”
+
+However, after dinner, she again referred to the draper’s shop. She
+drew a plan of the place on the margin of a newspaper. And, little by
+little, she talked it over, measuring the corners, and arranging the
+rooms, as though she were going to move all her furniture in there on
+the morrow. Then Coupeau advised her to take it, seeing how she wanted
+to do so; she would certainly never find anything decent under five
+hundred francs; besides they might perhaps get a reduction. He knew
+only one objection to it and that was living in the same house as the
+Lorilleux, whom she could not bear.
+
+Gervaise declared that she wasn’t mad at anybody. So much did she want
+her own shop that she even spoke up for the Lorilleuxs, saying that
+they weren’t mean at heart and that she would be able to get along just
+fine with them. When they went to bed, Coupeau fell asleep immediately,
+but she stayed awake, planning how she could arrange the new place even
+though she hadn’t yet made up her mind completely.
+
+On the morrow, when she was alone, she could not resist removing the
+glass cover from the clock, and taking a peep at the savings-bank book.
+To think that her shop was there, in those dirty pages, covered with
+ugly writing! Before going off to her work, she consulted Madame
+Goujet, who highly approved her project of setting up in business for
+herself; with a husband like hers, a good fellow who did not drink, she
+was certain of getting on, and of not having her earnings squandered.
+At the luncheon hour Gervaise even called on the Lorilleuxs to ask
+their advice; she did not wish to appear to be doing anything unknown
+to the family. Madame Lorilleux was struck all of a heap. What!
+Clump-clump was going in for a shop now! And her heart bursting with
+envy, she stammered, and tried to pretend to be pleased: no doubt the
+shop was a convenient one—Gervaise was right in taking it. However,
+when she had somewhat recovered, she and her husband talked of the
+dampness of the courtyard, of the poor light of the rooms on the ground
+floor. Oh! it was a good place for rheumatism. Yet, if she had made up
+her mind to take it, their observations, of course, would not make her
+alter her decision.
+
+That evening Gervaise frankly owned with a laugh that she would have
+fallen ill if she had been prevented from having the shop.
+Nevertheless, before saying “it’s done!” she wished to take Coupeau to
+see the place, and try and obtain a reduction in the rent.
+
+“Very well, then, to-morrow, if you like,” said her husband. “You can
+come and fetch me towards six o’clock at the house where I’m working,
+in the Rue de la Nation, and we’ll call in at the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or
+on our way home.”
+
+Coupeau was then finishing the roofing of a new three-storied house. It
+so happened that on that day he was to fix the last sheets of zinc. As
+the roof was almost flat, he had set up his bench on it, a wide shutter
+supported on two trestles. A beautiful May sun was setting, giving a
+golden hue to the chimney-pots. And, right up at the top, against the
+clear sky, the workman was quietly cutting up his zinc with a big pair
+of shears, leaning over the bench, and looking like a tailor in his
+shop cutting out a pair of trousers. Close to the wall of the next
+house, his boy, a youngster of seventeen, thin and fair, was keeping
+the fire of the chafing dish blazing by the aid of an enormous pair of
+bellows, each puff of which raised a cloud of sparks.
+
+“Hi! Zidore, put in the irons!” cried Coupeau.
+
+The boy stuck the soldering irons into the midst of the charcoal, which
+looked a pale rose color in the daylight. Then he resumed blowing.
+Coupeau held the last sheet of zinc. It had to be placed at the edge of
+the roof, close to the gutter-pipe; there was an abrupt slant there,
+and the gaping void of the street opened beneath. The zinc-worker, just
+as though in his own home, wearing his list-shoes, advanced, dragging
+his feet, and whistling the air, “Oh! the little lambs.” Arrived in
+front of the opening, he let himself down, and then, supporting himself
+with one knee against the masonry of a chimney-stack, remained half-way
+out over the pavement below. One of his legs dangled. When he leant
+back to call that young viper, Zidore, he held on to a corner of the
+masonry, on account of the street beneath him.
+
+“You confounded dawdler! Give me the irons! It’s no use looking up in
+the air, you skinny beggar! The larks won’t tumble into your mouth
+already cooked!”
+
+But Zidore did not hurry himself. He was interested in the neighboring
+roofs, and in a cloud of smoke which rose from the other side of Paris,
+close to Grenelle; it was very likely a fire. However, he came and laid
+down on his stomach, his head over the opening, and he passed the irons
+to Coupeau. Then the latter commenced to solder the sheet. He squatted,
+he stretched, always managing to balance himself, sometimes seated on
+one side, at other times standing on the tip of one foot, often only
+holding on by a finger. He had a confounded assurance, the devil’s own
+cheek, familiar with danger, and braving it. It knew him. It was the
+street that was afraid, not he. As he kept his pipe in his mouth, he
+turned round every now and then to spit onto the pavement.
+
+“Look, there’s Madame Boche,” he suddenly exclaimed and called down to
+her. “Hi! Madame Boche.”
+
+He had just caught sight of the concierge crossing the road. She raised
+her head and recognised him, and a conversation ensued between them.
+She hid her hands under her apron, her nose elevated in the air. He,
+standing up now, his left arm passed round a chimney-pot, leant over.
+
+“Have you seen my wife?” asked he.
+
+“No, I haven’t,” replied the concierge. “Is she around here?”
+
+“She’s coming to fetch me. And are they all well at home?”
+
+“Why, yes, thanks; I’m the most ill, as you see. I’m going to the
+Chaussee Clignancourt to buy a small leg of mutton. The butcher near
+the Moulin-Rouge only charges sixteen sous.”
+
+They raised their voices, because a vehicle was passing. In the wide,
+deserted Rue de la Nation, their words, shouted out with all their
+might, had only caused a little old woman to come to her window; and
+this little old woman remained there leaning out, giving herself the
+treat of a grand emotion by watching that man on the roof over the way,
+as though she expected to see him fall, from one minute to another.
+
+“Well! Good evening,” cried Madame Boche. “I won’t disturb you.”
+
+Coupeau turned round, and took back the iron that Zidore was holding
+for him. But just as the concierge was moving off, she caught sight of
+Gervaise on the other side of the way, holding Nana by the hand. She
+was already raising her head to tell the zinc-worker, when the young
+woman closed her mouth by an energetic gesture, and, in a low voice, so
+as not to be heard up there, she told her of her fear: she was afraid,
+by showing herself suddenly, of giving her husband a shock which might
+make him lose his balance. During the four years, she had only been
+once to fetch him at his work. That day was the second time. She could
+not witness it, her blood turned cold when she beheld her old man
+between heaven and earth, in places where even the sparrows would not
+venture.
+
+“No doubt, it’s not pleasant,” murmured Madame Boche. “My husband’s a
+tailor, so I have none of these terrors.”
+
+“If you only knew, in the early days,” said Gervaise again, “I had
+frights from morning till night. I was always seeing him on a
+stretcher, with his head smashed. Now, I don’t think of it so much. One
+gets used to everything. Bread must be earned. All the same, it’s a
+precious dear loaf, for one risks one’s bones more than is fair.”
+
+And she left off speaking, hiding Nana in her skirt, fearing a cry from
+the little one. Very pale, she looked up in spite of herself. At that
+moment Coupeau was soldering the extreme edge of the sheet close to the
+gutter; he slid down as far as possible, but without being able to
+reach the edge. Then, he risked himself with those slow movements
+peculiar to workmen. For an instant he was immediately over the
+pavement, no long holding on, all absorbed in his work; and, from
+below, one could see the little white flame of the solder frizzling up
+beneath the carefully wielded iron. Gervaise, speechless, her throat
+contracted with anguish, had clasped her hands together, and held them
+up in mechanical gesture of prayer. But she breathed freely as Coupeau
+got up and returned back along the roof, without hurrying himself, and
+taking the time to spit once more into the street.
+
+“Ah! ah! so you’ve been playing the spy on me!” cried he, gaily, on
+beholding her. “She’s been making a stupid of herself, eh, Madame
+Boche? She wouldn’t call to me. Wait a bit, I shall have finished in
+ten minutes.”
+
+All that remained to do was to fix the top of the chimney—a mere
+nothing. The laundress and the concierge waited on the pavement,
+discussing the neighborhood, and giving an eye to Nana, to prevent her
+from dabbling in the gutter, where she wanted to look for little
+fishes; and the two women kept glancing up at the roof, smiling and
+nodding their heads, as though to imply that they were not losing
+patience. The old woman opposite had not left her window, had continued
+watching the man, and waiting.
+
+“Whatever can she have to look at, that old she-goat?” said Madame
+Boche. “What a mug she has!”
+
+One could hear the loud voice of the zinc-worker up above singing, “Ah!
+it’s nice to gather strawberries!” Bending over his bench, he was now
+artistically cutting out his zinc. With his compasses he traced a line,
+and he detached a large fan-shaped piece with the aid of a pair of
+curved shears; then he lightly bent this fan with his hammer into the
+form of a pointed mushroom. Zidore was again blowing the charcoal in
+the chafing-dish. The sun was setting behind the house in a brilliant
+rosy light, which was gradually becoming paler, and turning to a
+delicate lilac. And, at this quiet hour of the day, right up against
+the sky, the silhouettes of the two workmen, looking inordinately
+large, with the dark line of the bench, and the strange profile of the
+bellows, stood out from the limpid back-ground of the atmosphere.
+
+When the chimney-top was got into shape, Coupeau called out: “Zidore!
+The irons!”
+
+But Zidore had disappeared. The zinc-worker swore, and looked about for
+him, even calling him through the open skylight of the loft. At length
+he discovered him on a neighboring roof, two houses off. The young
+rogue was taking a walk, exploring the environs, his fair scanty locks
+blowing in the breeze, his eyes blinking as they beheld the immensity
+of Paris.
+
+“I say, lazy bones! Do you think you’re having a day in the country?”
+asked Coupeau, in a rage. “You’re like Monsieur Beranger, composing
+verses, perhaps! Will you give me those irons! Did any one ever see
+such a thing! Strolling about on the house-tops! Why not bring your
+sweetheart at once, and tell her of your love? Will you give me those
+irons? You confounded little shirker!”
+
+He finished his soldering, and called to Gervaise: “There, it’s done.
+I’m coming down.”
+
+The chimney-pot to which he had to fix the flue was in the middle of
+the roof. Gervaise, who was no longer uneasy, continued to smile as she
+followed his movements. Nana, amused all on a sudden by the view of her
+father, clapped her little hands. She had seated herself on the
+pavement to see the better up there.
+
+“Papa! Papa!” called she with all her might. “Papa! Just look!”
+
+The zinc-worker wished to lean forward, but his foot slipped. Then
+suddenly, stupidly, like a cat with its legs entangled, he rolled and
+descended the slight slope of the roof without being able to grab hold
+of anything.
+
+“_Mon Dieu_,” he cried in a choked voice.
+
+And he fell. His body described a gentle curve, turned twice over on
+itself, and came smashing into the middle of the street with the dull
+thud of a bundle of clothes thrown from on high.
+
+Gervaise, stupefied, her throat rent by one great cry, stood holding up
+her arms. Some passers-by hastened to the spot; a crowd soon formed.
+Madame Boche, utterly upset, her knees bending under her, took Nana in
+her arms, to hide her head and prevent her seeing. Meanwhile, the
+little old woman opposite quietly closed her window, as though
+satisfied.
+
+Four men ended by carrying Coupeau into a chemist’s, at the corner of
+the Rue des Poissonniers; and he remained there on a blanket, in the
+middle of the shop, whilst they sent to the Lariboisiere Hospital for a
+stretcher. He was still breathing.
+
+Gervaise, sobbing, was kneeling on the floor beside him, her face
+smudged with tears, stunned and unseeing. Her hands would reach to feel
+her husband’s limbs with the utmost gentleness. Then she would draw
+back as she had been warned not to touch him. But a few seconds later
+she would touch him to assure herself that he was still warm, feeling
+somehow that she was helping him.
+
+When the stretcher at length arrived, and they talked of starting for
+the hospital, she got up, saying violently:
+
+“No, no, not to the hospital! We live in the Rue Neuve de la
+Goutte-d’Or.”
+
+It was useless for them to explain to her that the illness would cost
+her a great deal of money, if she took her husband home. She
+obstinately repeated:
+
+“Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or; I will show you the house. What can it
+matter to you? I’ve got money. He’s my husband, isn’t he? He’s mine,
+and I want him at home.”
+
+And they had to take Coupeau to his own home. When the stretcher was
+carried through the crowd which was crushing up against the chemist’s
+shop, the women of the neighborhood were excitedly talking of Gervaise.
+She limped, the dolt, but all the same she had some pluck. She would be
+sure to save her old man; whilst at the hospital the doctors let the
+patients die who were very bad, so as not to have the bother of trying
+to cure them. Madame Boche, after taking Nana home with her, returned,
+and gave her account of the accident, with interminable details, and
+still feeling agitated with the emotion she had passed through.
+
+“I was going to buy a leg of mutton; I was there, I saw him fall,”
+repeated she. “It was all through the little one; he turned to look at
+her, and bang! Ah! good heavens! I never want to see such a sight
+again. However, I must be off to get my leg of mutton.”
+
+For a week Coupeau was very bad. The family, the neighbors, everyone,
+expected to see him turn for the worse at any moment. The doctor—a very
+expensive doctor, who charged five francs for each visit—apprehended
+internal injuries, and these words filled everyone with fear. It was
+said in the neighborhood that the zinc-worker’s heart had been injured
+by the shock. Gervaise alone, looking pale through her nights of
+watching, serious and resolute, shrugged her shoulders. Her old man’s
+right leg was broken, everyone knew that; it would be set for him, and
+that was all. As for the rest, the injured heart, that was nothing. She
+knew how to restore a heart with ceaseless care. She was certain of
+getting him well and displayed magnificent faith. She stayed close by
+him and caressed him gently during the long bouts of fever without a
+moment of doubt. She was on her feet continuously for a whole week,
+completely absorbed by her determination to save him. She forgot the
+street outside, the entire city, and even her own children. On the
+ninth day, the doctor finally said that Coupeau would live. Gervaise
+collapsed into a chair, her body limp from fatigue. That night she
+consented to sleep for two hours with her head against the foot of the
+bed.
+
+Coupeau’s accident had created quite a commotion in the family. Mother
+Coupeau passed the nights with Gervaise; but as early as nine o’clock
+she fell asleep on a chair. Every evening, on returning from work,
+Madame Lerat went a long round out of her way to inquire how her
+brother was getting on. At first the Lorilleuxs had called two or three
+times a day, offering to sit up and watch, and even bringing an
+easy-chair for Gervaise. Then it was not long before there were
+disputes as to the proper way to nurse invalids. Madame Lorilleux said
+that she had saved enough people’s lives to know how to go about it.
+She accused the young wife of pushing her aside, of driving her away
+from her own brother’s bed. Certainly that Clump-clump ought to be
+concerned about Coupeau’s getting well, for if she hadn’t gone to Rue
+de la Nation to disturb him at his job, he would never had fallen.
+Only, the way she was taking care of him, she would certainly finish
+him.
+
+When Gervaise saw that Coupeau was out of danger, she ceased guarding
+his bedside with so much jealous fierceness. Now, they could no longer
+kill him, and she let people approach without mistrust. The family
+invaded the room. The convalescence would be a very long one; the
+doctor had talked of four months. Then, during the long hours the
+zinc-worker slept, the Lorilleux talked of Gervaise as of a fool. She
+hadn’t done any good by having her husband at home. At the hospital
+they would have cured him twice as quickly. Lorilleux would have liked
+to have been ill, to have caught no matter what, just to show her that
+he did not hesitate for a moment to go to Lariboisiere. Madame
+Lorilleux knew a lady who had just come from there. Well! She had had
+chicken to eat morning and night.
+
+Again and again the two of them went over their estimate of how much
+four months of convalescence would cost; workdays lost, the doctor and
+the medicines, and afterward good wine and fresh meat. If the Coupeaus
+only used up their small savings, they would be very lucky indeed. They
+would probably have to go into debt. Well, that was to be expected and
+it was their business. They had no right to expect any help from the
+family, which couldn’t afford the luxury of keeping an invalid at home.
+It was just Clump-clump’s bad luck, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t she have
+done as others did and let her man be taken to hospital? This just
+showed how stuck up she was.
+
+One evening Madame Lorilleux had the spitefulness to ask Gervaise
+suddenly:
+
+“Well! And your shop, when are you going to take it?”
+
+“Yes,” chuckled Lorilleux, “the landlord’s still waiting for you.”
+
+Gervaise was astonished. She had completely forgotten the shop; but she
+saw the wicked joy of those people, at the thought that she would no
+longer be able to take it, and she was bursting with anger. From that
+evening, in fact, they watched for every opportunity to twit her about
+her hopeless dream. When any one spoke of some impossible wish, they
+would say that it might be realized on the day that Gervaise started in
+business, in a beautiful shop opening onto the street. And behind her
+back they would laugh fit to split their sides. She did not like to
+think such an unkind thing, but, really, the Lorilleuxs now seemed to
+be very pleased at Coupeau’s accident, as it prevented her setting up
+as a laundress in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or.
+
+Then she also wished to laugh, and show them how willingly she parted
+with the money for the sake of curing her husband. Each time she took
+the savings-bank book from beneath the glass clock-tower in their
+presence, she would say gaily:
+
+“I’m going out; I’m going to rent my shop.”
+
+She had not been willing to withdraw the money all at once. She took it
+out a hundred francs at a time, so as not to keep such a pile of gold
+and silver in her drawer; then, too, she vaguely hoped for some
+miracle, some sudden recovery, which would enable them not to part with
+the entire sum. At each journey to the savings-bank, on her return
+home, she added up on a piece of paper the money they had still left
+there. It was merely for the sake of order. Their bank account might be
+getting smaller all the time, yet she went on with her quiet smile and
+common-sense attitude, keeping the account straight. It was a
+consolation to be able to use this money for such a good purpose, to
+have had it when faced with their misfortune.
+
+While Coupeau was bed-ridden the Goujets were very kind to Gervaise.
+Madame Goujet was always ready to assist. She never went to shop
+without stopping to ask Gervaise if there was anything she needed,
+sugar or butter or salt. She always brought over hot bouillon on the
+evenings she cooked _pot au feu_. Sometimes, when Gervaise seemed to
+have too much to do, Madame Goujet helped her do the dishes, or cleaned
+the kitchen herself. Goujet took her water pails every morning and
+filled them at the tap on Rue des Poissonniers, saving her two sous a
+day. After dinner, if no family came to visit, the Goujets would come
+over to visit with the Coupeaus.
+
+Until ten o’clock, the blacksmith would smoke his pipe and watch
+Gervaise busy with her invalid. He would not speak ten words the entire
+evening. He was moved to pity by the sight of her pouring Coupeau’s tea
+and medicine into a cup, or stirring the sugar in it very carefully so
+as to make no sound with the spoon. It stirred him deeply when she
+would lean over Coupeau and speak in her soft voice. Never before had
+he known such a fine woman. Her limp increased the credit due her for
+wearing herself out doing things for her husband all day long. She
+never sat down for ten minutes, not even to eat. She was always running
+to the chemist’s. And then she would still keep the house clean, not
+even a speck of dust. She never complained, no matter how exhausted she
+became. Goujet developed a very deep affection for Gervaise in this
+atmosphere of unselfish devotion.
+
+One day he said to the invalid, “Well, old man, now you’re patched up
+again! I wasn’t worried about you. Your wife works miracles.”
+
+Goujet was supposed to be getting married. His mother had found a
+suitable girl, a lace-mender like herself, whom she was urging him to
+marry. He had agreed so as not to hurt her feelings and the wedding had
+been set for early September. Money had long since been saved to set
+them up in housekeeping. However, when Gervaise referred to his coming
+marriage, he shook his head, saying, “Not every woman is like you,
+Madame Coupeau. If all women were like you, I’d marry ten of them.”
+
+At the end of two months, Coupeau was able to get up. He did not go
+far, only from the bed to the window, and even then Gervaise had to
+support him. There he would sit down in the easy-chair the Lorilleuxs
+had brought, with his right leg stretched out on a stool. This joker,
+who used to laugh at the people who slipped down on frosty days, felt
+greatly put out by his accident. He had no philosophy. He had spent
+those two months in bed, in cursing, and in worrying the people about
+him. It was not an existence, really, to pass one’s life on one’s back,
+with a pin all tied up and as stiff as a sausage. Ah, he certainly knew
+the ceiling by heart; there was a crack, at the corner of the alcove,
+that he could have drawn with his eyes shut. Then, when he was made
+comfortable in the easy-chair, it was another grievance. Would he be
+fixed there for long, just like a mummy?
+
+Nobody ever passed along the street, so it was no fun to watch.
+Besides, it stank of bleach water all day. No, he was just growing old;
+he’d have given ten years of his life just to go see how the
+fortifications were getting along. He kept going on about his fate. It
+wasn’t right, what had happened to him. A good worker like him, not a
+loafer or a drunkard, he could have understood in that case.
+
+“Papa Coupeau,” said he, “broke his neck one day that he’d been
+boozing. I can’t say that it was deserved, but anyhow it was
+explainable. I had had nothing since my lunch, was perfectly quiet, and
+without a drop of liquor in my body; and yet I came to grief just
+because I wanted to turn round to smile at Nana! Don’t you think that’s
+too much? If there is a providence, it certainly arranges things in a
+very peculiar manner. I, for one, shall never believe in it.”
+
+And when at last he was able to use his legs, he retained a secret
+grudge against work. It was a handicraft full of misfortunes to pass
+one’s days, like the cats, on the roofs of the houses. The employers
+were no fools! They sent you to your death—being far too cowardly to
+venture themselves on a ladder—and stopped at home in safety at their
+fire-sides without caring a hang for the poorer classes; and he got to
+the point of saying that everyone ought to fix the zinc himself on his
+own house. _Mon Dieu_! It was the only fair way to do it! If you don’t
+want the rain to come in, do the work yourself. He regretted he hadn’t
+learned another trade, something more pleasant, something less
+dangerous, maybe cabinetmaking. It was really his father’s fault. Lots
+of fathers have the foolish habit of shoving their sons into their own
+line of work.
+
+For another two months Coupeau hobbled about on crutches. He had first
+of all managed to get as far as the street, and smoke his pipe in front
+of the door. Then he had managed to reach the exterior Boulevard,
+dragging himself along in the sunshine, and remaining for hours on one
+of the seats. Gaiety returned to him; his infernal tongue got sharper
+in these long hours of idleness. And with the pleasure of living, he
+gained there a delight in doing nothing, an indolent feeling took
+possession of his limbs, and his muscles gradually glided into a very
+sweet slumber. It was the slow victory of laziness, which took
+advantage of his convalescence to obtain possession of his body and
+unnerve him with its tickling. He regained his health, as thorough a
+banterer as before, thinking life beautiful, and not seeing why it
+should not last for ever.
+
+As soon as he could get about without the crutches, he made longer
+walks, often visiting construction jobs to see old comrades. He would
+stand with his arms folded, sneering and shaking his head, ridiculing
+the workers slaving at the job, stretching out his leg to show them
+what you got for wearing yourself out. Being able to stand about and
+mock others while they were working satisfied his spite against hard
+work. No doubt he’d have to go back to it, but he’d put it off as long
+as possible. He had a reason now to be lazy. Besides, it seemed good to
+him to loaf around like a bum!
+
+On the afternoons when Coupeau felt dull, he would call on the
+Lorilleuxs. The latter would pity him immensely, and attract him with
+all sorts of amiable attentions. During the first years following his
+marriage, he had avoided them, thanks to Gervaise’s influence. Now they
+regained their sway over him by twitting him about being afraid of his
+wife. He was no man, that was evident! The Lorilleuxs, however, showed
+great discretion, and were loud in their praise of the laundress’s good
+qualities. Coupeau, without as yet coming to wrangling, swore to the
+latter that his sister adored her, and requested that she would behave
+more amiably to her. The first quarrel which the couple had occurred
+one evening on account of Etienne. The zinc-worker had passed the
+afternoon with the Lorilleuxs. On arriving home, as the dinner was not
+quite ready, and the children were whining for their soup, he suddenly
+turned upon Etienne, and boxed his ears soundly. And during an hour he
+did not cease to grumble; the brat was not his; he did not know why he
+allowed him to be in the place; he would end by turning him out into
+the street. Up till then he had tolerated the youngster without all
+that fuss. On the morrow he talked of his dignity. Three days after, he
+kept kicking the little fellow, morning and evening, so much so that
+the child, whenever he heard him coming, bolted into the Goujets’ where
+the old lace-mender kept a corner of the table clear for him to do his
+lessons.
+
+Gervaise had for some time past, returned to work. She no longer had
+the trouble of looking under the glass cover of the clock; all the
+savings were gone; and she had to work hard, work for four, for there
+were four to feed now. She alone maintained them. Whenever she heard
+people pitying her, she at once found excuses for Coupeau. Recollect!
+He had suffered so much; it was not surprising if his disposition had
+soured! But it would pass off when his health returned. And if any one
+hinted that Coupeau seemed all right again, that he could very well
+return to work, she protested: No, no; not yet! She did not want to see
+him take to his bed again. They would allow her to know best what the
+doctor said, perhaps! It was she who prevented him returning to work,
+telling him every morning to take his time and not to force himself.
+She even slipped twenty sou pieces into his waistcoat pocket. Coupeau
+accepted this as something perfectly natural. He was always complaining
+of aches and pains so that she would coddle him. At the end of six
+months he was still convalescing.
+
+Now, whenever he went to watch others working, he was always ready to
+join his comrades in downing a shot. It wasn’t so bad, after all. They
+had their fun, and they never stayed more than five minutes. That
+couldn’t hurt anybody. Only a hypocrite would say he went in because he
+wanted a drink. No wonder they had laughed at him in the past. A glass
+of wine never hurt anybody. He only drank wine though, never brandy.
+Wine never made you sick, didn’t get you drunk, and helped you to live
+longer. Soon though, several times, after a day of idleness in going
+from one building job to another, he came home half drunk. On those
+occasions Gervaise pretended to have a terrible headache and kept their
+door closed so that the Goujets wouldn’t hear Coupeau’s drunken
+babblings.
+
+Little by little, the young woman lost her cheerfulness. Morning and
+evening she went to the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or to look at the shop,
+which was still to be let; and she would hide herself as though she
+were committing some childish prank unworthy of a grown-up person. This
+shop was beginning to turn her brain. At night-time, when the light was
+out she experienced the charm of some forbidden pleasure by thinking of
+it with her eyes open. She again made her calculations; two hundred and
+fifty francs for the rent, one hundred and fifty francs for utensils
+and moving, one hundred francs in hand to keep them going for a
+fortnight—in all five hundred francs at the very lowest figure. If she
+was not continually thinking of it aloud, it was for fear she should be
+suspected of regretting the savings swallowed up by Coupeau’s illness.
+She often became quite pale, having almost allowed her desire to escape
+her and catching back her words, quite confused as though she had been
+thinking of something wicked. Now they would have to work for four or
+five years before they would succeed in saving such a sum. Her regret
+was at not being able to start in business at once; she would have
+earned all the home required, without counting on Coupeau, letting him
+take months to get into the way of work again; she would no longer have
+been uneasy, but certain of the future and free from the secret fears
+which sometimes seized her when he returned home very gay and singing,
+and relating some joke of that animal My-Boots, whom he had treated to
+a drink.
+
+One evening, Gervaise being at home alone, Goujet entered, and did not
+hurry off again, according to his habit. He seated himself, and smoked
+as he watched her. He probably had something very serious to say; he
+thought it over, let it ripen without being able to put it into
+suitable words. At length, after a long silence, he appeared to make up
+his mind, and took his pipe out of his mouth to say all in a breath:
+
+“Madame Gervaise, will you allow me to lend you some money?”
+
+She was leaning over an open drawer, looking for some dish-cloths. She
+got up, her face very red. He must have seen her then, in the morning,
+standing in ecstacy before the shop for close upon ten minutes. He was
+smiling in an embarrassed way, as though he had made some insulting
+proposal. But she hastily refused. Never would she accept money from
+any one without knowing when she would be able to return it. Then also
+it was a question of too large an amount. And as he insisted, in a
+frightened manner, she ended by exclaiming:
+
+“But your marriage? I certainly can’t take the money you’ve been saving
+for your marriage!”
+
+“Oh, don’t let that bother you,” he replied, turning red in his turn.
+“I’m not going to be married now. That was just an idea, you know.
+Really, I would much sooner lend you the money.”
+
+Then they both held down their heads. There was something very pleasant
+between them to which they did not give expression. And Gervaise
+accepted. Goujet had told his mother. They crossed the landing, and
+went to see her at once. The lace-mender was very grave, and looked
+rather sad as she bent her face over her tambour-frame. She would not
+thwart her son, but she no longer approved Gervaise’s project; and she
+plainly told her why. Coupeau was going to the bad; Coupeau would
+swallow up her shop. She especially could not forgive the zinc-worker
+for having refused to learn to read during his convalescence. The
+blacksmith had offered to teach him, but the other had sent him to the
+right about, saying that learning made people get thin. This had almost
+caused a quarrel between the two workmen; each went his own way. Madame
+Goujet, however, seeing her big boy’s beseeching glances, behaved very
+kindly to Gervaise. It was settled that they would lend their neighbors
+five hundred francs; the latter were to repay the amount by
+installments of twenty francs a month; it would last as long as it
+lasted.
+
+“I say, the blacksmith’s sweet on you,” exclaimed Coupeau, laughing,
+when he heard what had taken place. “Oh, I’m quite easy; he’s too big a
+muff. We’ll pay him back his money. But, really, if he had to deal with
+some people, he’d find himself pretty well duped.”
+
+On the morrow the Coupeaus took the shop. All day long, Gervaise was
+running from Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d’Or. When the neighbors beheld her
+pass thus, nimble and delighted to the extent that she no longer
+limped, they said she must have undergone some operation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+It so happened that the Boches had left the Rue des Poissonniers at the
+April quarter, and were now taking charge of the great house in the Rue
+de la Goutte-d’Or. It was a curious coincidence, all the same! One
+thing that worried Gervaise who had lived so quietly in her lodgings in
+the Rue Neuve, was the thought of again being under the subjection of
+some unpleasant person, with whom she would be continually quarrelling,
+either on account of water spilt in the passage or of a door shut too
+noisily at night-time. Concierges are such a disagreeable class! But it
+would be a pleasure to be with the Boches. They knew one another—they
+would always get on well together. It would be just like members of the
+same family.
+
+On the day the Coupeaus went to sign their lease, Gervaise felt her
+heart swollen with pride as she passed through the high doorway. She
+was then at length going to live in that house as vast as a little
+town, with its interminable staircases, and passages as long and
+winding as streets. She was excited by everything: the gray walls with
+varicolored rugs hanging from windows to dry in the sun, the dingy
+courtyard with as many holes in its pavement as a public square, the
+hum of activity coming through the walls. She felt joy that she was at
+last about to realize her ambition. She also felt fear that she would
+fail and be crushed in the endless struggle against the poverty and
+starvation she could feel breathing down her neck. It seemed to her
+that she was doing something very bold, throwing herself into the midst
+of some machinery in motion, as she listened to the blacksmith’s
+hammers and the cabinetmakers’ planes, hammering and hissing in the
+depths of the work-shops on the ground floor. On that day the water
+flowing from the dyer’s under the entrance porch was a very pale apple
+green. She smilingly stepped over it; to her the color was a pleasant
+omen.
+
+The meeting with the landlord was to take place in the Boches’ room.
+Monsieur Marescot, a wealthy cutler of the Rue de la Paix, had at one
+time turned a grindstone through the streets. He was now stated to be
+worth several millions. He was a man of fifty-five, large and
+big-boned. Even though he now wore a decoration in his button-hole, his
+huge hands were still those of a former workingman. It was his joy to
+carry off the scissors and knives of his tenants, to sharpen them
+himself, for the fun of it. He often stayed for hours with his
+concierges, closed up in the darkness of their lodges, going over the
+accounts. That’s where he did all his business. He was now seated by
+Madame Boche’s kitchen table, listening to her story of how the
+dressmaker on the third floor, staircase A, had used a filthy word in
+refusing to pay her rent. He had had to work precious hard once upon a
+time. But work was the high road to everything. And, after counting the
+two hundred and fifty francs for the first two quarters in advance, and
+dropping them into his capacious pocket, he related the story of his
+life, and showed his decoration.
+
+Gervaise, however, felt rather ill at ease on account of the Boches’
+behavior. They pretended not to know her. They were most assiduous in
+their attentions to the landlord, bowing down before him, watching for
+his least words, and nodding their approval of them. Madame Boche
+suddenly ran out and dispersed a group of children who were paddling
+about in front of the cistern, the tap of which they had turned full
+on, causing the water to flow over the pavement; and when she returned,
+upright and severe in her skirts, crossing the courtyard and glancing
+slowly up at all the windows, as though to assure herself of the good
+behavior of the household, she pursed her lips in a way to show with
+what authority she was invested, now that she reigned over three
+hundred tenants. Boche again spoke of the dressmaker on the second
+floor; he advised that she should be turned out; he reckoned up the
+number of quarters she owed with the importance of a steward whose
+management might be compromised. Monsieur Marescot approved the
+suggestion of turning her out, but he wished to wait till the half
+quarter. It was hard to turn people out into the street, more
+especially as it did not put a sou into the landlord’s pocket. And
+Gervaise asked herself with a shudder if she too would be turned out
+into the street the day that some misfortune rendered her unable to
+pay.
+
+The concierge’s lodge was as dismal as a cellar, black from smoke and
+crowded with dark furniture. All the sunlight fell upon the tailor’s
+workbench by the window. An old frock coat that was being reworked lay
+on it. The Boches’ only child, a four-year-old redhead named Pauline,
+was sitting on the floor, staring quietly at the veal simmering on the
+stove, delighted with the sharp odor of cooking that came from the
+frying pan.
+
+Monsieur Marescot again held out his hand to the zinc-worker, when the
+latter spoke of the repairs, recalling to his mind a promise he had
+made to talk the matter over later on. But the landlord grew angry, he
+had never promised anything; besides, it was not usual to do any
+repairs to a shop. However, he consented to go over the place, followed
+by the Coupeaus and Boche. The little linen-draper had carried off all
+his shelves and counters; the empty shop displayed its blackened
+ceiling and its cracked wall, on which hung strips of an old yellow
+paper. In the sonorous emptiness of the place, there ensued a heated
+discussion. Monsieur Marescot exclaimed that it was the business of
+shopkeepers to embellish their shops, for a shopkeeper might wish to
+have gold put about everywhere, and he, the landlord, could not put out
+gold. Then he related that he had spent more than twenty thousand
+francs in fitting up his premises in the Rue de la Paix. Gervaise, with
+her woman’s obstinacy, kept repeating an argument which she considered
+unanswerable. He would repaper a lodging, would he not? Then, why did
+he not treat the shop the same as a lodging? She did not ask him for
+anything else—only to whitewash the ceiling, and put some fresh paper
+on the walls.
+
+Boche, all this while, remained dignified and impenetrable; he turned
+about and looked up in the air, without expressing an opinion. Coupeau
+winked at him in vain; he affected not to wish to take advantage of his
+great influence over the landlord. He ended, however, by making a
+slight grimace—a little smile accompanied by a nod of the head. Just
+then Monsieur Marescot, exasperated, and seemingly very unhappy, and
+clutching his fingers like a miser being despoiled of his gold, was
+giving way to Gervaise, promising to do the ceiling and repaper the
+shop on condition that she paid for half of the paper. And he hurried
+away declining to discuss anything further.
+
+Now that Boche was alone with the Coupeaus, the concierge became quite
+talkative and slapped them on the shoulders. Well, well, see what they
+had gotten. Without his help, they would never have gotten the
+concessions. Didn’t they notice how the landlord had looked to him out
+of the corner of his eye for advice and how he’d made up his mind
+suddenly when he saw Boche smile? He confessed to them confidentially
+that he was the real boss of the building. It was he who decided who
+got eviction notices and who could become tenants. He collected all the
+rents and kept them for a couple of weeks in his bureau drawer.
+
+That evening the Coupeaus, to express their gratitude to the Boches,
+sent them two bottles of wine as a present.
+
+The following Monday the workmen started doing up the shop. The
+purchasing of the paper turned out especially to be a very big affair.
+Gervaise wanted a grey paper with blue flowers, so as to enliven and
+brighten the walls. Boche offered to take her to the dealers, so that
+she might make her own selection. But the landlord had given him formal
+instructions not to go beyond the price of fifteen sous the piece. They
+were there an hour. The laundress kept looking in despair at a very
+pretty chintz pattern costing eighteen sous the piece, and thought all
+the other papers hideous. At length the concierge gave in; he would
+arrange the matter, and, if necessary, would make out there was a piece
+more used than was really the case. So, on her way home, Gervaise
+purchased some tarts for Pauline. She did not like being behindhand—one
+always gained by behaving nicely to her.
+
+The shop was to be ready in four days. The workmen were there three
+weeks. At first it was arranged that they should merely wash the paint.
+But this paint, originally maroon, was so dirty and so sad-looking,
+that Gervaise allowed herself to be tempted to have the whole of the
+frontage painted a light blue with yellow moldings. Then the repairs
+seemed as though they would last for ever. Coupeau, as he was still not
+working, arrived early each morning to see how things were going. Boche
+left the overcoat or trousers on which he was working to come and
+supervise. Both of them would stand and watch with their hands behind
+their backs, puffing on their pipes.
+
+The painters were very merry fellows who would often desert their work
+to stand in the middle of the shop and join the discussion, shaking
+their heads for hours, admiring the work already done. The ceiling had
+been whitewashed quickly, but the paint on the walls never seemed to
+dry in a hurry.
+
+Around nine o’clock the painters would arrive with their paint pots
+which they stuck in a corner. They would look around and then
+disappear. Perhaps they went to eat breakfast. Sometimes Coupeau would
+take everyone for a drink—Boche, the two painters and any of Coupeau’s
+friends who were nearby. This meant another afternoon wasted.
+
+Gervaise’s patience was thoroughly exhausted, when, suddenly,
+everything was finished in two days, the paint varnished, the paper
+hung, and the dirt all cleared away. The workmen had finished it off as
+though they were playing, whistling away on their ladders, and singing
+loud enough to deafen the whole neighborhood.
+
+The moving in took place at once. During the first few days Gervaise
+felt as delighted as a child. Whenever she crossed the road on
+returning from some errand, she lingered to smile at her home. From a
+distance her shop appeared light and gay with its pale blue signboard,
+on which the word “Laundress” was painted in big yellow letters, amidst
+the dark row of the other frontages. In the window, closed in behind by
+little muslin curtains, and hung on either side with blue paper to show
+off the whiteness of the linen, some shirts were displayed, with some
+women’s caps hanging above them on wires. She thought her shop looked
+pretty, being the same color as the heavens.
+
+Inside there was more blue; the paper, in imitation of a Pompadour
+chintz, represented a trellis overgrown with morning-glories. A huge
+table, taking up two-thirds of the room, was her ironing-table. It was
+covered with thick blanketing and draped with a strip of cretonne
+patterned with blue flower sprays that hid the trestles beneath.
+
+Gervaise was enchanted with her pretty establishment and would often
+seat herself on a stool and sigh with contentment, delighted with all
+the new equipment. Her first glance always went to the cast-iron stove
+where the irons were heated ten at a time, arranged over the heat on
+slanting rests. She would kneel down to look into the stove to make
+sure the apprentice had not put in too much coke.
+
+The lodging at the back of the shop was quite decent. The Coupeaus
+slept in the first room, where they also did the cooking and took their
+meals; a door at the back opened on to the courtyard of the house.
+Nana’s bed was in the right hand room, which was lighted by a little
+round window close to the ceiling. As for Etienne, he shared the left
+hand room with the dirty clothes, enormous bundles of which lay about
+on the floor. However, there was one disadvantage—the Coupeaus would
+not admit it at first—but the damp ran down the walls, and it was
+impossible to see clearly in the place after three o’clock in the
+afternoon.
+
+In the neighborhood the new shop produced a great sensation. The
+Coupeaus were accused of going too fast, and making too much fuss. They
+had, in fact, spent the five hundred francs lent by the Goujets in
+fitting up the shop and in moving, without keeping sufficient to live
+upon for a fortnight, as they had intended doing. The morning that
+Gervaise took down her shutters for the first time, she had just six
+francs in her purse. But that did not worry her, customers began to
+arrive, and things seemed promising. A week later on the Saturday,
+before going to bed, she remained two hours making calculations on a
+piece of paper, and she awoke Coupeau to tell him, with a bright look
+on her face, that there were hundreds and thousands of francs to be
+made, if they were only careful.
+
+“Ah, well!” said Madame Lorilleux all over the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or,
+“my fool of a brother is seeing some funny things! All that was wanting
+was that Clump-clump should go about so haughty. It becomes her well,
+doesn’t it?”
+
+The Lorilleuxs had declared a feud to the death against Gervaise. To
+begin with, they had almost died of rage during the time while the
+repairs were being done to the shop. If they caught sight of the
+painters from a distance, they would walk on the other side of the way,
+and go up to their rooms with their teeth set. A blue shop for that
+“nobody,” it was enough to discourage all honest, hard-working people!
+Besides, the second day after the shop opened the apprentice happened
+to throw out a bowl of starch just at the moment when Madame Lorilleux
+was passing. The zinc-worker’s sister caused a great commotion in the
+street, accusing her sister-in-law of insulting her through her
+employees. This broke off all relations. Now they only exchanged
+terrible glares when they encountered each other.
+
+“Yes, she leads a pretty life!” Madame Lorilleux kept saying. “We all
+know where the money came from that she paid for her wretched shop! She
+borrowed it from the blacksmith; and he springs from a nice family too!
+Didn’t the father cut his own throat to save the guillotine the trouble
+of doing so? Anyhow, there was something disreputable of that sort!”
+
+She bluntly accused Gervaise of flirting with Goujet. She lied—she
+pretended she had surprised them together one night on a seat on the
+exterior Boulevards. The thought of this liaison, of pleasures that her
+sister-in-law was no doubt enjoying, exasperated her still more,
+because of her own ugly woman’s strict sense of propriety. Every day
+the same cry came from her heart to her lips.
+
+“What does she have, that wretched cripple, for people to fall in love
+with her? Why doesn’t any one want me?”
+
+She busied herself in endless gossiping among the neighbors. She told
+them the whole story. The day the Coupeaus got married she turned up
+her nose at her. Oh, she had a keen nose, she could smell in advance
+how it would turn out. Then, Clump-clump pretended to be so sweet, what
+a hypocrite! She and her husband had only agreed to be Nana’s
+godparents for the sake of her brother. What a bundle it had cost, that
+fancy christening. If Clump-clump were on her deathbed she wouldn’t
+give her a glass of water, no matter how much she begged.
+
+She didn’t want anything to do with such a shameless baggage. Little
+Nana would always be welcome when she came up to see her godparents.
+The child couldn’t be blamed for her mother’s sins. But there was no
+use trying to tell Coupeau anything. Any real man in his situation
+would have beaten his wife and put a stop to it all. All they wanted
+was for him to insist on respect for his family. _Mon Dieu_! If she,
+Madame Lorilleux, had acted like that, Coupeau wouldn’t be so
+complacent. He would have stabbed her for sure with his shears.
+
+The Boches, however, who sternly disapproved of quarrels in their
+building, said that the Lorilleuxs were in the wrong. The Lorilleuxs
+were no doubt respectable persons, quiet, working the whole day long,
+and paying their rent regularly. But, really, jealousy had driven them
+mad. And they were mean enough to skin an egg, real misers. They were
+so stingy that they’d hide their bottle when any one came in, so as not
+to have to offer a glass of wine—not regular people at all.
+
+Gervaise had brought over cassis and soda water one day to drink with
+the Boches. When Madame Lorilleux went by, she acted out spitting
+before the concierge’s door. Well, after that when Madame Boche swept
+the corridors on Saturdays, she always left a pile of trash before the
+Lorilleuxs’ door.
+
+“It isn’t to be wondered at!” Madame Lorilleux would exclaim,
+“Clump-clump’s always stuffing them, the gluttons! Ah! they’re all
+alike; but they had better not annoy me! I’ll complain to the landlord.
+Only yesterday I saw that sly old Boche chasing after Madame Gaudron’s
+skirts. Just fancy! A woman of that age, and who has half a dozen
+children, too; it’s positively disgusting! If I catch them at anything
+of the sort again, I’ll tell Madame Boche, and she’ll give them both a
+hiding. It’ll be something to laugh at.”
+
+Mother Coupeau continued to visit the two houses, agreeing with
+everybody and even managing to get asked oftener to dinner, by
+complaisantly listening one night to her daughter and the next night to
+her daughter-in-law.
+
+However, Madame Lerat did not go to visit the Coupeaus because she had
+argued with Gervaise about a Zouave who had cut the nose of his
+mistress with a razor. She was on the side of the Zouave, saying it was
+evidence of a great passion, but without explaining further her
+thought. Then, she had made Madame Lorilleux even more angry by telling
+her that Clump-clump had called her “Cow Tail” in front of fifteen or
+twenty people. Yes, that’s what the Boches and all the neighbors called
+her now, “Cow Tail.”
+
+Gervaise remained calm and cheerful among all these goings-on. She
+often stood by the door of her shop greeting friends who passed by with
+a nod and a smile. It was her pleasure to take a moment between batches
+of ironing to enjoy the street and take pride in her own stretch of
+sidewalk.
+
+She felt that the Rue de la Goutte d’Or was hers, and the neighboring
+streets, and the whole neighborhood. As she stood there, with her
+blonde hair slightly damp from the heat of the shop, she would look
+left and right, taking in the people, the buildings, and the sky. To
+the left Rue de la Goutte d’Or was peaceful and almost empty, like a
+country town with women idling in their doorways. While, to the right,
+only a short distance away, Rue des Poissonniers had a noisy throng of
+people and vehicles.
+
+The stretch of gutter before her own shop became very important in her
+mind. It was like a wide river which she longed to see neat and clean.
+It was a lively river, colored by the dye shop with the most fanciful
+of hues which contrasted with the black mud beside it.
+
+Then there were the shops: a large grocery with a display of dried
+fruits protected by mesh nets; a shop selling work clothes which had
+white tunics and blue smocks hanging before it with arms that waved at
+the slightest breeze. Cats were purring on the counters of the fruit
+store and the tripe shop. Madame Vigouroux, the coal dealer next door,
+returned her greetings. She was a plump, short woman with bright eyes
+in a dark face who was always joking with the men while standing at her
+doorway. Her shop was decorated in imitation of a rustic chalet. The
+neighbors on the other side were a mother and daughter, the Cudorges.
+The umbrella sellers kept their door closed and never came out to
+visit.
+
+Gervaise always looked across the road, too, through the wide carriage
+entrance of the windowless wall opposite her, at the blacksmith’s
+forge. The courtyard was cluttered with vans and carts. Inscribed on
+the wall was the word “Blacksmith.”
+
+At the lower end of the wall between the small shops selling scrap iron
+and fried potatoes was a watchmaker. He wore a frock coat and was
+always very neat. His cuckoo clocks could be heard in chorus against
+the background noise of the street and the blacksmith’s rhythmic
+clanging.
+
+The neighborhood in general thought Gervaise very nice. There was, it
+is true, a good deal of scandal related regarding her; but everyone
+admired her large eyes, small mouth and beautiful white teeth. In short
+she was a pretty blonde, and had it not been for her crippled leg she
+might have ranked amongst the comeliest. She was now in her
+twenty-eighth year, and had grown considerably plumper. Her fine
+features were becoming puffy, and her gestures were assuming a pleasant
+indolence.
+
+At times she occasionally seemed to forget herself on the edge of a
+chair, whilst she waited for her iron to heat, smiling vaguely and with
+an expression of greedy joy upon her face. She was becoming fond of
+good living, everybody said so; but that was not a very grave fault,
+but rather the contrary. When one earns sufficient to be able to buy
+good food, one would be foolish to eat potato parings. All the more so
+as she continued to work very hard, slaving to please her customers,
+sitting up late at night after the place was closed, whenever there was
+anything urgent.
+
+She was lucky as all her neighbors said; everything prospered with her.
+She did the washing for all the house—M. Madinier, Mademoiselle
+Remanjou, the Boches. She even secured some of the customers of her old
+employer, Madame Fauconnier, Parisian ladies living in the Rue du
+Faubourg-Poissonniere. As early as the third week she was obliged to
+engage two workwomen, Madame Putois and tall Clemence, the girl who
+used to live on the sixth floor; counting her apprentice, that little
+squint-eyed Augustine, who was as ugly as a beggar’s behind, that made
+three persons in her employ. Others would certainly have lost their
+heads at such a piece of good fortune. It was excusable for her to
+slack a little on Monday after drudging all through the week. Besides,
+it was necessary to her. She would have had no courage left, and would
+have expected to see the shirts iron themselves, if she had not been
+able to dress up in some pretty thing.
+
+Gervaise was always so amiable, meek as a lamb, sweet as sugar. There
+wasn’t any one she disliked except Madame Lorilleux. While she was
+enjoying a good meal and coffee, she could be indulgent and forgive
+everybody saying: “We have to forgive each other—don’t we?—unless we
+want to live like savages.” Hadn’t all her dreams come true? She
+remembered her old dream: to have a job, enough bread to eat and a
+corner in which to sleep, to bring up her children, not to be beaten,
+and to die in her own bed. She had everything she wanted now and more
+than she had ever expected. She laughed, thinking of delaying dying in
+her own bed as long as possible.
+
+It was to Coupeau especially that Gervaise behaved nicely. Never an
+angry word, never a complaint behind her husband’s back. The
+zinc-worker had at length resumed work; and as the job he was engaged
+on was at the other side of Paris, she gave him every morning forty
+sous for his luncheon, his glass of wine and his tobacco. Only, two
+days out of every six, Coupeau would stop on the way, spend the forty
+sous in drink with a friend, and return home to lunch, with some
+cock-and-bull story. Once even he did not take the trouble to go far;
+he treated himself, My-Boots and three others to a regular
+feast—snails, roast meat, and some sealed bottles of wine—at the
+“Capuchin,” on the Barriere de la Chapelle. Then, as his forty sous
+were not sufficient, he had sent the waiter to his wife with the bill
+and the information that he was in pawn. She laughed and shrugged her
+shoulders. Where was the harm if her old man amused himself a bit? You
+must give men a long rein if you want to live peaceably at home. From
+one word to another, one soon arrived at blows. _Mon Dieu_! It was easy
+to understand. Coupeau still suffered from his leg; besides, he was led
+astray. He was obliged to do as the others did, or else he would be
+thought a cheap skate. And it was really a matter of no consequence. If
+he came home a bit elevated, he went to bed, and two hours afterwards
+he was all right again.
+
+It was now the warm time of the year. One June afternoon, a Saturday
+when there was a lot of work to get through, Gervaise herself had piled
+the coke into the stove, around which ten irons were heating, whilst a
+rumbling sound issued from the chimney. At that hour the sun was
+shining full on the shop front, and the pavement reflected the heat
+waves, causing all sorts of quaint shadows to dance over the ceiling,
+and that blaze of light which assumed a bluish tinge from the color of
+the paper on the shelves and against the window, was almost blinding in
+the intensity with which it shone over the ironing-table, like a golden
+dust shaken among the fine linen. The atmosphere was stifling. The shop
+door was thrown wide open, but not a breath of air entered; the clothes
+which were hung up on brass wires to dry, steamed and became as stiff
+as shavings in less than three quarters of an hour. For some little
+while past an oppressive silence had reigned in that furnace-like heat,
+interrupted only by the smothered sound of the banging down of the
+irons on the thick blanket covered with calico.
+
+“Ah, well!” said Gervaise, “it’s enough to melt one! We might have to
+take off our chemises.”
+
+She was sitting on the floor, in front of a basin, starching some
+things. Her sleeves were rolled up and her camisole was slipping down
+her shoulders. Little curls of golden hair were stuck to her skin by
+perspiration. She carefully dipped caps, shirt-fronts, entire
+petticoats, and the trimmings of women’s drawers into the milky water.
+Then she rolled the things up and placed them at the bottom of a square
+basket, after dipping her hand in a pail and shaking it over the
+portions of the shirts and drawers which she had not starched.
+
+“This basketful’s for you, Madame Putois,” she said. “Look sharp, now!
+It dries at once, and will want doing all over again in an hour.”
+
+Madame Putois, a thin little woman of forty-five, was ironing. Though
+she was buttoned up in an old chestnut-colored dress, there was not a
+drop of perspiration to be seen. She had not even taken her cap off, a
+black cap trimmed with green ribbons turned partly yellow. And she
+stood perfectly upright in front of the ironing-table, which was too
+high for her, sticking out her elbows, and moving her iron with the
+jerky evolutions of a puppet. On a sudden she exclaimed:
+
+“Ah, no! Mademoiselle Clemence, you mustn’t take your camisole off. You
+know I don’t like such indecencies. Whilst you’re about it, you’d
+better show everything. There’s already three men over the way stopping
+to look.”
+
+Tall Clemence called her an old beast between her teeth. She was
+suffocating; she might certainly make herself comfortable; everyone was
+not gifted with a skin as dry as touchwood. Besides no one could see
+anything; and she held up her arms, whilst her opulent bosom almost
+ripped her chemise, and her shoulders were bursting through the straps.
+At the rate she was going, Clemence was not likely to have any marrow
+left in her bones long before she was thirty years old. Mornings after
+big parties she was unable to feel the ground she trod upon, and fell
+asleep over her work, whilst her head and her stomach seemed as though
+stuffed full of rags. But she was kept on all the same, for no other
+workwoman could iron a shirt with her style. Shirts were her specialty.
+
+“This is mine, isn’t it?” she declared, tapping her bosom. “And it
+doesn’t bite; it hurts nobody!”
+
+“Clemence, put your wrapper on again,” said Gervaise. “Madame Putois is
+right, it isn’t decent. People will begin to take my house for what it
+isn’t.”
+
+So tall Clemence dressed herself again, grumbling the while. “_Mon
+Dieu!_ There’s prudery for you.”
+
+And she vented her rage on the apprentice, that squint-eyed Augustine
+who was ironing some stockings and handkerchiefs beside her. She
+jostled her and pushed her with her elbow; but Augustine who was of a
+surly disposition, and slyly spiteful in the way of an animal and a
+drudge, spat on the back of the other’s dress just out of revenge,
+without being seen. Gervaise, during this incident, had commenced a cap
+belonging to Madame Boche, which she intended to take great pains with.
+She had prepared some boiled starch to make it look new again. She was
+gently passing a little iron rounded at both ends over the inside of
+the crown of the cap, when a bony-looking woman entered the shop, her
+face covered with red blotches and her skirts sopping wet. It was a
+washerwoman who employed three assistants at the wash-house in the Rue
+de la Goutte-d’Or.
+
+“You’ve come too soon, Madame Bijard!” cried Gervaise. “I told you to
+call this evening. I’m too busy to attend to you now!”
+
+But as the washerwoman began lamenting and fearing that she would not
+be able to put all the things to soak that day, she consented to give
+her the dirty clothes at once. They went to fetch the bundles in the
+left hand room where Etienne slept, and returned with enormous armfuls
+which they piled up on the floor at the back of the shop. The sorting
+lasted a good half hour. Gervaise made heaps all round her, throwing
+the shirts in one, the chemises in another, the handkerchiefs, the
+socks, the dish-cloths in others. Whenever she came across anything
+belonging to a new customer, she marked it with a cross in red cotton
+thread so as to know it again. And from all this dirty linen which they
+were throwing about there issued an offensive odor in the warm
+atmosphere.
+
+“Oh! La, la. What a stench!” said Clemence, holding her nose.
+
+“Of course there is! If it were clean they wouldn’t send it to us,”
+quietly explained Gervaise. “It smells as one would expect it to,
+that’s all! We said fourteen chemises, didn’t we, Madame Bijard?
+Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—”
+
+And she continued counting aloud. Used to this kind of thing she
+evinced no disgust. She thrust her bare pink arms deep into the piles
+of laundry: shirts yellow with grime, towels stiff from dirty dish
+water, socks threadbare and eaten away by sweat. The strong odor which
+slapped her in the face as she sorted the piles of clothes made her
+feel drowsy. She seemed to be intoxicating herself with this stench of
+humanity as she sat on the edge of a stool, bending far over, smiling
+vaguely, her eyes slightly misty. It was as if her laziness was started
+by a kind of smothering caused by the dirty clothes which poisoned the
+air in the shop. Just as she was shaking out a child’s dirty diaper,
+Coupeau came in.
+
+“By Jove!” he stuttered, “what a sun! It shines full on your head!”
+
+The zinc-worker caught hold of the ironing-table to save himself from
+falling. It was the first time he had been so drunk. Until then he had
+sometimes come home slightly tipsy, but nothing more. This time,
+however, he had a black eye, just a friendly slap he had run up against
+in a playful moment. His curly hair, already streaked with grey, must
+have dusted a corner in some low wineshop, for a cobweb was hanging to
+one of his locks over the back of his neck. He was still as attractive
+as ever, though his features were rather drawn and aged, and his under
+jaw projected more; but he was always lively, as he would sometimes
+say, with a complexion to be envied by a duchess.
+
+“I’ll just explain it to you,” he resumed, addressing Gervaise.
+
+“It was Celery-Root, you know him, the bloke with a wooden leg. Well,
+as he was going back to his native place, he wanted to treat us. Oh! We
+were all right, if it hadn’t been for that devil of a sun. In the
+street everybody looks shaky. Really, all the world’s drunk!”
+
+And as tall Clemence laughed at his thinking that the people in the
+street were drunk, he was himself seized with an intense fit of gaiety
+which almost strangled him.
+
+“Look at them! The blessed tipplers! Aren’t they funny?” he cried. “But
+it’s not their fault. It’s the sun that’s causing it.”
+
+All the shop laughed, even Madame Putois, who did not like drunkards.
+That squint-eyed Augustine was cackling like a hen, suffocating with
+her mouth wide open. Gervaise, however, suspected Coupeau of not having
+come straight home, but of having passed an hour with the Lorilleuxs
+who were always filling his head with unpleasant ideas. When he swore
+he had not been near them she laughed also, full of indulgence and not
+even reproaching him with having wasted another day.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ What nonsense he does talk,” she murmured. “How does he
+manage to say such stupid things?” Then in a maternal tone of voice she
+added, “Now go to bed, won’t you? You see we’re busy; you’re in our
+way. That makes thirty-two handkerchiefs, Madame Bijard; and two more,
+thirty-four.”
+
+But Coupeau was not sleepy. He stood there wagging his body from side
+to side like the pendulum of a clock and chuckling in an obstinate and
+teasing manner. Gervaise, wanting to finish with Madame Bijard, called
+to Clemence to count the laundry while she made the list. Tall Clemence
+made a dirty remark about every item that she touched. She commented on
+the customers’ misfortunes and their bedroom adventures. She had a
+wash-house joke for every rip or stain that passed through her hands.
+Augustine pretended that she didn’t understand, but her ears were wide
+open. Madame Putois compressed her lips, thinking it a disgrace to say
+such things in front of Coupeau. It’s not a man’s business to have
+anything to do with dirty linen. It’s just not done among decent
+people.
+
+Gervaise, serious and her mind fully occupied with what she was about,
+did not seem to notice. As she wrote she gave a glance to each article
+as it passed before her, so as to recognize it; and she never made a
+mistake; she guessed the owner’s name just by the look or the color.
+Those napkins belonged to the Goujets, that was evident; they had not
+been used to wipe out frying-pans. That pillow-case certainly came from
+the Boches on account of the pomatum with which Madame Boche always
+smeared her things. There was no need to put your nose close to the
+flannel vests of Monsieur Madinier; his skin was so oily that it
+clogged up his woolens.
+
+She knew many peculiarities, the cleanliness of some, the ragged
+underclothes of neighborhood ladies who appeared on the streets in silk
+dresses; how many items each family soiled weekly; the way some
+people’s garments were always torn at the same spot. Oh, she had many
+tales to tell. For instance, the chemises of Mademoiselle Remanjou
+provided material for endless comments: they wore out at the top first
+because the old maid had bony, sharp shoulders; and they were never
+really dirty, proving that you dry up by her age, like a stick of wood
+out of which it’s hard to squeeze a drop of anything. It was thus that
+at every sorting of the dirty linen in the shop they undressed the
+whole neighborhood of the Goutte-d’Or.
+
+“Oh, here’s something luscious!” cried Clemence, opening another
+bundle.
+
+Gervaise, suddenly seized with a great repugnance, drew back.
+
+“Madame Gaudron’s bundle?” said she. “I’ll no longer wash for her, I’ll
+find some excuse. No, I’m not more particular than another. I’ve
+handled some most disgusting linen in my time; but really, that lot I
+can’t stomach. What can the woman do to get her things into such a
+state?”
+
+And she requested Clemence to look sharp. But the girl continued her
+remarks, thrusting the clothes sullenly about her, with complaints on
+the soiled caps she waved like triumphal banners of filth. Meanwhile
+the heaps around Gervaise had grown higher. Still seated on the edge of
+the stool, she was now disappearing between the petticoats and
+chemises. In front of her were the sheets, the table cloths, a
+veritable mass of dirtiness.
+
+She seemed even rosier and more languid than usual within this
+spreading sea of soiled laundry. She had regained her composure,
+forgetting Madame Gaudron’s laundry, stirring the various piles of
+clothing to make sure there had been no mistake in sorting. Squint-eyed
+Augustine had just stuffed the stove so full of coke that its cast-iron
+sides were bright red. The sun was shining obliquely on the window; the
+shop was in a blaze. Then, Coupeau, whom the great heat intoxicated all
+the more, was seized with a sudden fit of tenderness. He advanced
+towards Gervaise with open arms and deeply moved.
+
+“You’re a good wife,” he stammered. “I must kiss you.”
+
+But he caught his foot in the garments which barred the way and nearly
+fell.
+
+“What a nuisance you are!” said Gervaise without getting angry. “Keep
+still, we’re nearly done now.”
+
+No, he wanted to kiss her. He must do so because he loved her so much.
+Whilst he stuttered he tried to get round the heap of petticoats and
+stumbled against the pile of chemises; then as he obstinately persisted
+his feet caught together and he fell flat, his nose in the midst of the
+dish-cloths. Gervaise, beginning to lose her temper pushed him, saying
+that he was mixing all the things up. But Clemence and even Madame
+Putois maintained that she was wrong. It was very nice of him after
+all. He wanted to kiss her. She might very well let herself be kissed.
+
+“You’re lucky, you are, Madame Coupeau,” said Madame Bijard, whose
+drunkard of a husband, a locksmith, was nearly beating her to death
+each evening when he came in. “If my old man was like that when he’s
+had a drop, it would be a real pleasure!”
+
+Gervaise had calmed down and was already regretting her hastiness. She
+helped Coupeau up on his legs again. Then she offered her cheek with a
+smile. But the zinc-worker, without caring a button for the other
+people being present, seized her bosom.
+
+“It’s not for the sake of saying so,” he murmured; “but your dirty
+linen stinks tremendously! Still, I love you all the same, you know.”
+
+“Leave off, you’re tickling me,” cried she, laughing the louder. “What
+a great silly you are! How can you be so absurd?”
+
+He had caught hold of her and would not let her go. She gradually
+abandoned herself to him, dizzy from the slight faintness caused by the
+heap of clothes and not minding Coupeau’s foul-smelling breath. The
+long kiss they exchanged on each other’s mouths in the midst of the
+filth of the laundress’s trade was perhaps the first tumble in the slow
+downfall of their life together.
+
+Madame Bijard had meanwhile been tying the laundry up into bundles and
+talking about her daughter, Eulalie, who at two was as smart as a grown
+woman. She could be left by herself; she never cried or played with
+matches. Finally Madame Bijard took the laundry away a bundle at a
+time, her face splotched with purple and her tall form bent under the
+weight.
+
+“This heat is becoming unbearable, we’re roasting,” said Gervaise,
+wiping her face before returning to Madame Boche’s cap.
+
+They talked of boxing Augustine’s ears when they saw that the stove was
+red-hot. The irons, also, were getting in the same condition. She must
+have the very devil in her body! One could not turn one’s back a moment
+without her being up to some of her tricks. Now they would have to wait
+a quarter of an hour before they would be able to use their irons.
+Gervaise covered the fire with two shovelfuls of cinders. Then she
+thought to hang some sheets on the brass wires near the ceiling to
+serve as curtains to keep out the sunlight.
+
+Things were now better in the shop. The temperature was still high, but
+you could imagine it was cooler. Footsteps could still be heard outside
+but you were free to make yourself comfortable. Clemence removed her
+camisole again. Coupeau still refused to go to bed, so they allowed him
+to stay, but he had to promise to be quiet in a corner, for they were
+very busy.
+
+“Whatever has that vermin done with my little iron?” murmured Gervaise,
+speaking of Augustine.
+
+They were for ever seeking the little iron, which they found in the
+most out-of-the-way places, where the apprentice, so they said, hid it
+out of spite. Gervaise could now finish Madame Boche’s cap. First she
+roughly smoothed the lace, spreading it out with her hand, and then she
+straightened it up by light strokes of the iron. It had a very fancy
+border consisting of narrow puffs alternating with insertions of
+embroidery. She was working on it silently and conscientiously, ironing
+the puffs and insertions.
+
+Silence prevailed for a time. Nothing was to be heard except the soft
+thud of irons on the ironing pad. On both sides of the huge rectangular
+table Gervaise, her two employees, and the apprentice were bending
+over, slaving at their tasks with rounded shoulders, their arms moving
+incessantly. Each had a flat brick blackened by hot irons near her. A
+soup plate filled with clean water was on the middle of the table with
+a moistening rag and a small brush soaking in it.
+
+A bouquet of large white lilies bloomed in what had once been a
+brandied cherry jar. Its cluster of snowy flowers suggested a corner of
+a royal garden. Madame Putois had begun the basket that Gervaise had
+brought to her filled with towels, wrappers, cuffs and underdrawers.
+Augustine was dawdling with the stockings and washcloths, gazing into
+the air, seemingly fascinated by a large fly that was buzzing around.
+Clemence had done thirty-four men’s shirts so far that day.
+
+“Always wine, never spirits!” suddenly said the zinc-worker, who felt
+the necessity of making this declaration. “Spirits make me drunk, I’ll
+have none of them.”
+
+Clemence took an iron from the stove with her leather holder in which a
+piece of sheet iron was inserted, and held it up to her cheek to see
+how hot it was. She rubbed it on her brick, wiped it on a piece of rag
+hanging from her waist-band and started on her thirty-fifth shirt,
+first of all ironing the shoulders and the sleeves.
+
+“Bah! Monsieur Coupeau,” said she after a minute or two, “a little
+glass of brandy isn’t bad. It sets me going. Besides, the sooner you’re
+merry, the jollier it is. Oh! I don’t make any mistake; I know that I
+shan’t make old bones.”
+
+“What a nuisance you are with your funeral ideas!” interrupted Madame
+Putois who did not like hearing people talk of anything sad.
+
+Coupeau had arisen and was becoming angry thinking that he had been
+accused of drinking brandy. He swore on his own head and on the heads
+of his wife and child that there was not a drop of brandy in his veins.
+And he went up to Clemence and blew in her face so that she might smell
+his breath. Then he began to giggle because her bare shoulders were
+right under his nose. He thought maybe he could see more. Clemence,
+having folded over the back of the shirt and ironed it on both sides,
+was now working on the cuffs and collar. However, as he was shoving
+against her, he caused her to make a wrinkle, obliging her to reach for
+the brush soaking in the soup plate to smooth it out.
+
+“Madame,” said she, “do make him leave off bothering me.”
+
+“Leave her alone; it’s stupid of you to go on like that,” quietly
+observed Gervaise. “We’re in a hurry, do you hear?”
+
+They were in a hurry, well! What? It was not his fault. He was doing no
+harm. He was not touching, he was only looking. Was it no longer
+allowed to look at the beautiful things that God had made? All the
+same, she had precious fine arms, that artful Clemence! She might
+exhibit herself for two sous and nobody would have to regret his money.
+The girl allowed him to go on, laughing at these coarse compliments of
+a drunken man. And she soon commenced joking with him. He chuffed her
+about the shirts. So she was always doing shirts? Why yes, she
+practically lived in them. _Mon Dieu!_ She knew them pretty well.
+Hundreds and hundreds of them had passed through her hands. Just about
+every man in the neighborhood was wearing her handiwork on his body.
+Her shoulders were shaking with laughter through all this, but she
+managed to continue ironing.
+
+“That’s the banter!” said she, laughing harder than ever.
+
+That squint-eyed Augustine almost burst, the joke seemed to her so
+funny. The others bullied her. There was a brat for you who laughed at
+words she ought not to understand! Clemence handed her her iron; the
+apprentice finished up the irons on the stockings and the dish-cloths
+when they were not hot enough for the starched things. But she took
+hold of this one so clumsily that she made herself a cuff in the form
+of a long burn on the wrist. And she sobbed and accused Clemence of
+having burnt her on purpose. The latter who had gone to fetch a very
+hot iron for the shirt-front consoled her at once by threatening to
+iron her two ears if she did not leave off. Then she placed a piece of
+flannel under the front and slowly passed the iron over it giving the
+starch time to show up and dry. The shirt-front became as stiff and as
+shiny as cardboard.
+
+“By golly!” swore Coupeau, who was treading behind her with the
+obstinacy of a drunkard.
+
+He raised himself up with a shrill laugh that resembled a pulley in
+want of grease. Clemence, leaning heavily over the ironing-table, her
+wrists bent in, her elbows sticking out and wide apart was bending her
+neck in a last effort; and all her muscles swelled, her shoulders rose
+with the slow play of the muscles beating beneath the soft skin, her
+breasts heaved, wet with perspiration in the rosy shadow of the half
+open chemise. Then Coupeau thrust out his hands, trying to touch her
+bare flesh.
+
+“Madame! Madame!” cried Clemence, “do make him leave off! I shall go
+away if it continues. I won’t be intimated.”
+
+Gervaise glanced over just as her husband’s hands began to explore
+inside the chemise.
+
+“Really, Coupeau, you’re too foolish,” said she, with a vexed air, as
+though she were scolding a child who persisted in eating his jam
+without bread. “You must go to bed.”
+
+“Yes, go to bed, Monsieur Coupeau; it will be far better,” exclaimed
+Madame Putois.
+
+“Ah! Well,” stuttered he, without ceasing to chuckle, “you’re all
+precious particular! So one mustn’t amuse oneself now? Women, I know
+how to handle them; I’ll only kiss them, no more. One admires a lady,
+you know, and wants to show it. And, besides, when one displays one’s
+goods, it’s that one may make one’s choice, isn’t it? Why does the tall
+blonde show everything she’s got? It’s not decent.”
+
+And turning towards Clemence, he added: “You know, my lovely, you’re
+wrong to be to very insolent. If it’s because there are others here—”
+
+But he was unable to continue. Gervaise very calmly seized hold of him
+with one hand, and placed the other on his mouth. He struggled, just by
+way of a joke, whilst she pushed him to the back of the shop, towards
+the bedroom. He got his mouth free and said that he was willing to go
+to bed, but that the tall blonde must come and warm his feet.
+
+Then Gervaise could be heard taking off his shoes. She removed his
+clothes too, bullying him in a motherly way. He burst out laughing
+after she had removed his trousers and kicked about, pretending that
+she was tickling him. At last she tucked him in carefully like a child.
+Was he comfortable now? But he did not answer; he called to Clemence:
+
+“I say, my lovely, I’m here, and waiting for you!”
+
+When Gervaise went back into the shop, the squint-eyed Augustine was
+being properly chastised by Clemence because of a dirty iron that
+Madame Putois had used and which had caused her to soil a camisole.
+Clemence, in defending herself for not having cleaned her iron, blamed
+Augustine, swearing that it wasn’t hers, in spite of the spot of burned
+starch still clinging to the bottom. The apprentice, outraged at the
+injustice, openly spat on the front of Clemence’s dress, earning a slap
+for her boldness. Now, as Augustine went about cleaning the iron, she
+saved up her spit and each time she passed Clemence spat on her back
+and laughed to herself.
+
+Gervaise continued with the lace of Madame Boche’s cap. In the sudden
+calm which ensued, one could hear Coupeau’s husky voice issuing from
+the depths of the bedroom. He was still jolly, and was laughing to
+himself as he uttered bits of phrases.
+
+“How stupid she is, my wife! How stupid of her to put me to bed!
+Really, it’s too absurd, in the middle of the day, when one isn’t
+sleepy.”
+
+But, all on a sudden, he snored. Then Gervaise gave a sigh of relief,
+happy in knowing that he was at length quiet, and sleeping off his
+intoxication on two good mattresses. And she spoke out in the silence,
+in a slow and continuous voice, without taking her eyes off her work.
+
+“You see, he hasn’t his reason, one can’t be angry. Were I to be harsh
+with him, it would be of no use. I prefer to agree with him and get him
+to bed; then, at least, it’s over at once and I’m quiet. Besides, he
+isn’t ill-natured, he loves me very much. You could see that just a
+moment ago when he was desperate to give me a kiss. That’s quite nice
+of him. There are plenty of men, you know, who after drinking a bit
+don’t come straight home but stay out chasing women. Oh, he may fool
+around with the women in the shop, but it doesn’t lead to anything.
+Clemence, you mustn’t feel insulted. You know how it is when a man’s
+had too much to drink. He could do anything and not even remember it.”
+
+She spoke composedly, not at all angry, being quite used to Coupeau’s
+sprees and not holding them against him. A silence settled down for a
+while when she stopped talking. There was a lot of work to get done.
+They figured they would have to keep at it until eleven, working as
+fast as they could. Now that they were undisturbed, all of them were
+pounding away. Bare arms were moving back and forth, showing glimpses
+of pink among the whiteness of the laundry.
+
+More coke had been put into the stove and the sunlight slanted in
+between the sheets onto the stove. You could see the heat rising up
+through the rays of the sun. It became so stifling that Augustine ran
+out of spit and was forced to lick her lips. The room smelled of the
+heat and of the working women. The white lilies in the jar were
+beginning to fade, yet they still exuded a pure and strong perfume.
+Coupeau’s heavy snores were heard like the regular ticking of a huge
+clock, setting the tempo for the heavy labor in the shop.
+
+On the morrow of his carouses, the zinc-worker always had a headache, a
+splitting headache which kept him all day with his hair uncombed, his
+breath offensive, and his mouth all swollen and askew. He got up late
+on those days, not shaking the fleas off till about eight o’clock; and
+he would hang about the shop, unable to make up his mind to start off
+to his work. It was another day lost. In the morning he would complain
+that his legs bent like pieces of thread, and would call himself a
+great fool to guzzle to such an extent, as it broke one’s constitution.
+Then, too, there were a lot of lazy bums who wouldn’t let you go and
+you’d get to drinking more in spite of yourself. No, no, no more for
+him.
+
+After lunch he would always begin to perk up and deny that he had been
+really drunk the night before. Maybe just a bit lit up. He was rock
+solid and able to drink anything he wanted without even blinking an
+eye.
+
+When he had thoroughly badgered the workwomen, Gervaise would give him
+twenty sous to clear out. And off he would go to buy his tobacco at the
+“Little Civet,” in the Rue des Poissonniers, where he generally took a
+plum in brandy whenever he met a friend. Then, he spent the rest of the
+twenty sous at old Francois’s, at the corner of the Rue de la
+Goutte-d’Or, where there was a famous wine, quite young, which tickled
+your gullet. This was an old-fashioned place with a low ceiling. There
+was a smoky room to one side where soup was served. He would stay there
+until evening drinking because there was an understanding that he
+didn’t have to pay right away and they would never send the bill to his
+wife. Besides he was a jolly fellow, who would never do the least
+harm—a chap who loved a spree sure enough, and who colored his nose in
+his turn but in a nice manner, full of contempt for those pigs of men
+who have succumbed to alcohol, and whom one never sees sober! He always
+went home as gay and as gallant as a lark.
+
+“Has your lover been?” he would sometimes ask Gervaise by way of
+teasing her. “One never sees him now; I must go and rout him out.”
+
+The lover was Goujet. He avoided, in fact, calling too often for fear
+of being in the way, and also of causing people to talk. Yet he
+frequently found a pretext, such as bringing the washing; and he would
+pass no end of time on the pavement in front of the shop. There was a
+corner right at the back in which he liked to sit, without moving for
+hours, and smoke his short pipe. Once every ten days, in the evening
+after his dinner, he would venture there and take up his favorite
+position. And he was no talker, his mouth almost seemed sewn up, as he
+sat with his eyes fixed on Gervaise, and only removed his pipe to laugh
+at everything she said. When they were working late on a Saturday he
+would stay on, and appeared to amuse himself more than if he had gone
+to a theatre.
+
+Sometimes the women stayed in the shop ironing until three in the
+morning. A lamp hung from the ceiling and spread a brilliant light
+making the linen look like fresh snow. The apprentice would put up the
+shop shutters, but since these July nights were scorching hot, the door
+would be left open. The later the hour the more casual the women became
+with their clothes while trying to be comfortable. The lamplight
+flecked their rosy skin with gold specks, especially Gervaise who was
+so pleasantly rounded.
+
+On these nights Goujet would be overcome by the heat from the stove and
+the odor of linen steaming under the hot irons. He would drift into a
+sort of giddiness, his thinking slowed and his eyes obsessed by these
+hurrying women as their naked arms moved back and forth, working far
+into the night to have the neighborhood’s best clothes ready for
+Sunday.
+
+Everything around the laundry was slumbering, settled into sleep for
+the night. Midnight rang, then one o’clock, then two o’clock. There
+were no vehicles or pedestrians. In the dark and deserted street, only
+their shop door let out any light. Once in a while, footsteps would be
+heard and a man would pass the shop. As he crossed the path of light he
+would stretch his neck to look in, startled by the sound of the
+thudding irons, and carry with him the quick glimpse of bare-shouldered
+laundresses immersed in a rosy mist.
+
+Goujet, seeing that Gervaise did not know what to do with Etienne, and
+wishing to deliver him from Coupeau’s kicks, had engaged him to go and
+blow the bellows at the factory where he worked. The profession of
+bolt-maker, if not one to be proud of on account of the dirt of the
+forge and of the monotony of constantly hammering on pieces of iron of
+a similar kind, was nevertheless a well paid one, at which ten and even
+twelve francs a day could be earned. The youngster, who was then twelve
+years old, would soon be able to go in for it, if the calling was to
+his liking. And Etienne had thus become another link between the
+laundress and the blacksmith. The latter would bring the child home and
+speak of his good conduct. Everyone laughingly said that Goujet was
+smitten with Gervaise. She knew it, and blushed like a young girl, the
+flush of modesty coloring her cheeks with the bright tints of an apple.
+The poor fellow, he was never any trouble! He never made a bold gesture
+or an indelicate remark. You didn’t find many men like him. Gervaise
+didn’t want to admit it, but she derived a great deal of pleasure from
+being adored like this. Whenever a problem arose she thought
+immediately of the blacksmith and was consoled. There was never any
+awkward tension when they were alone together. They just looked at each
+other and smiled happily with no need to talk. It was a very sensible
+kind of affection.
+
+Towards the end of the summer, Nana quite upset the household. She was
+six years old and promised to be a thorough good-for-nothing. So as not
+to have her always under her feet her mother took her every morning to
+a little school in the Rue Polonceau kept by Mademoiselle Josse. She
+fastened her playfellows’ dresses together behind, she filled the
+school-mistress’s snuff-box with ashes, and invented other tricks much
+less decent which could not be mentioned. Twice Mademoiselle Josse
+expelled her and then took her back again so as not to lose the six
+francs a month. Directly lessons were over Nana avenged herself for
+having been kept in by making an infernal noise under the porch and in
+the courtyard where the ironers, whose ears could not stand the racket,
+sent her to play. There she would meet Pauline, the Boches’ daughter,
+and Victor, the son of Gervaise’s old employer—a big booby of ten who
+delighted in playing with very little girls. Madame Fauconnier who had
+not quarreled with the Coupeaus would herself send her son. In the
+house, too, there was an extraordinary swarm of brats, flights of
+children who rolled down the four staircases at all hours of the day
+and alighted on the pavement of the courtyard like troops of noisy
+pillaging sparrows. Madame Gaudron was responsible for nine of them,
+all with uncombed hair, runny noses, hand-me-down clothes, saggy
+stockings and ripped jackets. Another woman on the sixth floor had
+seven of them. This hoard that only got their faces washed when it
+rained were in all shapes and sizes, fat, thin, big and barely out of
+the cradle.
+
+Nana reigned supreme over this host of urchins; she ordered about girls
+twice her own size, and only deigned to relinquish a little of her
+power in favor of Pauline and Victor, intimate confidants who enforced
+her commands. This precious chit was for ever wanting to play at being
+mamma, undressing the smallest ones to dress them again, insisting on
+examining the others all over, messing them about and exercising the
+capricious despotism of a grown-up person with a vicious disposition.
+Under her leadership they got up tricks for which they should have been
+well spanked. The troop paddled in the colored water from the dyer’s
+and emerged from it with legs stained blue or red as high as the knees;
+then off it flew to the locksmith’s where it purloined nails and
+filings and started off again to alight in the midst of the carpenter’s
+shavings, enormous heaps of shavings, which delighted it immensely and
+in which it rolled head over heels exposing their behinds.
+
+The courtyard was her kingdom. It echoed with the clatter of little
+shoes as they stampeded back and forth with piercing cries. On some
+days the courtyard was too small for them and the troop would dash down
+into the cellar, race up a staircase, run along a corridor, then dash
+up another staircase and follow another corridor for hours. They never
+got tired of their yelling and clambering.
+
+“Aren’t they abominable, those little toads?” cried Madame Boche.
+“Really, people can have but very little to do to have time to get so
+many brats. And yet they complain of having no bread.”
+
+Boche said that children pushed up out of poverty like mushrooms out of
+manure. All day long his wife was screaming at them and chasing them
+with her broom. Finally she had to lock the door of the cellar when she
+learned from Pauline that Nana was playing doctor down there in the
+dark, viciously finding pleasure in applying remedies to the others by
+beating them with sticks.
+
+Well, one afternoon there was a frightful scene. It was bound to have
+come sooner or later. Nana had thought of a very funny little game. She
+had stolen one of Madame Boche’s wooden shoes from outside the
+concierge’s room. She tied a string to it and began dragging it about
+like a cart. Victor on his side had had the idea to fill it with potato
+parings. Then a procession was formed. Nana came first dragging the
+wooden shoe. Pauline and Victor walked on her right and left. Then the
+entire crowd of urchins followed in order, the big ones first, the
+little ones next, jostling one another; a baby in long skirts about as
+tall as a boot with an old tattered bonnet cocked on one side of its
+head, brought up the rear. And the procession chanted something sad
+with plenty of ohs! and ahs! Nana had said that they were going to play
+at a funeral; the potato parings represented the body. When they had
+gone the round of the courtyard, they recommenced. They thought it
+immensely amusing.
+
+“What can they be up to?” murmured Madame Boche, who emerged from her
+room to see, ever mistrustful and on the alert.
+
+And when she understood: “But it’s my shoe!” cried she furiously. “Ah,
+the rogues!”
+
+She distributed some smacks, clouted Nana on both cheeks and
+administered a kick to Pauline, that great goose who allowed the others
+to steal her mother’s shoe. It so happened that Gervaise was filling a
+bucket at the tap. When she beheld Nana, her nose bleeding and choking
+with sobs, she almost sprang at the concierge’s chignon. It was not
+right to hit a child as though it were an ox. One could have no heart,
+one must be the lowest of the low if one did so. Madame Boche naturally
+replied in a similar strain. When one had a beast of a girl like that
+one should keep her locked up. At length Boche himself appeared in the
+doorway to call his wife to come in and not to enter into so many
+explanations with a filthy thing like her. There was a regular quarrel.
+
+As a matter of fact things had not gone on very pleasantly between the
+Boches and the Coupeaus for a month past. Gervaise, who was of a very
+generous nature, was continually bestowing wine, broth, oranges and
+slices of cake on the Boches. One night she had taken the remains of an
+endive and beetroot salad to the concierge’s room, knowing that the
+latter would have done anything for such a treat. But on the morrow she
+became quite pale with rage on hearing Mademoiselle Remanjou relate how
+Madame Boche had thrown the salad away in the presence of several
+persons with an air of disgust and under the pretext that she, thank
+goodness, was not yet reduced to feeding on things which others had
+messed about. From that time Gervaise took no more presents to the
+Boches—nothing. Now the Boches seemed to think that Gervaise was
+stealing something which was rightfully theirs. Gervaise saw that she
+had made a mistake. If she hadn’t catered to them so much in the
+beginning, they wouldn’t have gotten into the habit of expecting it and
+might have remained on good terms with her.
+
+Now the concierge began to spread slander about Gervaise. There was a
+great fuss with the landlord, Monsieur Marescot, at the October rental
+period, because Gervaise was a day late with the rent. Madame Boche
+accused her of eating up all her money in fancy dishes. Monsieur
+Marescot charged into the laundry demanding to be paid at once. He
+didn’t even bother to remove his hat. The money was ready and was paid
+to him immediately. The Boches had now made up with the Lorilleuxs who
+now came and did their guzzling in the concierge’s lodge. They assured
+each other that they never would have fallen out if it hadn’t been for
+Clump-clump. She was enough to set mountains to fighting. Ah! the
+Boches knew her well now, they could understand how much the Lorilleuxs
+must suffer. And whenever she passed beneath the doorway they all
+affected to sneer at her.
+
+One day, Gervaise went up to see the Lorilleuxs in spite of this. It
+was with respect to mother Coupeau who was then sixty-seven years old.
+Mother Coupeau’s eyesight was almost completely gone. Her legs too were
+no longer what they used to be. She had been obliged to give up her
+last cleaning job and now threatened to die of hunger if assistance
+were not forthcoming. Gervaise thought it shameful that a woman of her
+age, having three children should be thus abandoned by heaven and
+earth. And as Coupeau refused to speak to the Lorilleuxs on the subject
+saying that she, Gervaise, could very well go and do so, the latter
+went up in a fit of indignation with which her heart was almost
+bursting.
+
+When she reached their door she entered without knocking. Nothing had
+been changed since the night when the Lorilleuxs, at their first
+meeting had received her so ungraciously. The same strip of faded
+woolen stuff separated the room from the workshop, a lodging like a gun
+barrel, and which looked as though it had been built for an eel. Right
+at the back Lorilleux, leaning over his bench, was squeezing together
+one by one the links of a piece of chain, whilst Madame Lorilleux,
+standing in front of the vise was passing a gold wire through the
+draw-plate. In the broad daylight the little forge had a rosy
+reflection.
+
+“Yes, it’s I!” said Gervaise. “I daresay you’re surprised to see me as
+we’re at daggers drawn. But I’ve come neither for you nor myself you
+may be quite sure. It’s for mother Coupeau that I’ve come. Yes, I have
+come to see if we’re going to let her beg her bread from the charity of
+others.”
+
+“Ah, well, that’s a fine way to burst in upon one!” murmured Madame
+Lorilleux. “One must have a rare cheek.”
+
+And she turned her back and resumed drawing her gold wire, affecting to
+ignore her sister-in-law’s presence. But Lorilleux raised his pale face
+and cried:
+
+“What’s that you say?”
+
+Then, as he had heard perfectly well, he continued:
+
+“More back-bitings, eh? She’s nice, mother Coupeau, to go and cry
+starvation everywhere! Yet only the day before yesterday she dined
+here. We do what we can. We haven’t got all the gold of Peru. Only if
+she goes about gossiping with others she had better stay with them, for
+we don’t like spies.”
+
+He took up the piece of chain and turned his back also, adding as
+though with regret:
+
+“When everyone gives five francs a month, we’ll give five francs.”
+
+Gervaise had calmed down and felt quite chilled by the wooden looking
+faces of the Lorilleux. She had never once set foot in their rooms
+without experiencing a certain uneasiness. With her eyes fixed on the
+floor, staring at the holes of the wooden grating through which the
+waste gold fell she now explained herself in a reasonable manner.
+Mother Coupeau had three children; if each one gave five francs it
+would only make fifteen francs, and really that was not enough, one
+could not live on it; they must at least triple the sum. But Lorilleux
+cried out. Where did she think he could steal fifteen francs a month?
+It was quite amusing, people thought he was rich simply because he had
+gold in his place. He began then to criticize mother Coupeau: she had
+to have her morning coffee, she took a sip of brandy now and then, she
+was as demanding as if she were rich. _Mon Dieu!_ Sure, everyone liked
+the good things of life. But if you’ve never saved a sou, you had to do
+what other folks did and do without. Besides, mother Coupeau wasn’t too
+old to work. She could see well enough when she was trying to pick a
+choice morsel from the platter. She was just an old spendthrift trying
+to get others to provide her with comforts. Even had he had the means,
+he would have considered it wrong to support any one in idleness.
+
+Gervaise remained conciliatory, and peaceably argued against all this
+bad reasoning. She tried to soften the Lorilleuxs. But the husband
+ended by no longer answering her. The wife was now at the forge
+scouring a piece of chain in the little, long-handled brass saucepan
+full of lye-water. She still affectedly turned her back, as though a
+hundred leagues away. And Gervaise continued speaking, watching them
+pretending to be absorbed in their labor in the midst of the black dust
+of the workshop, their bodies distorted, their clothes patched and
+greasy, both become stupidly hardened like old tools in the pursuit of
+their narrow mechanical task. Then suddenly anger again got the better
+of her and she exclaimed:
+
+“Very well, I’d rather it was so; keep your money! I’ll give mother
+Coupeau a home, do you hear? I picked up a cat the other evening, so I
+can at least do the same for your mother. And she shall be in want of
+nothing; she shall have her coffee and her drop of brandy! Good
+heavens! what a vile family!”
+
+At these words Madame Lorilleux turned round. She brandished the
+saucepan as though she was about to throw the lye-water in her
+sister-in-law’s face. She stammered with rage:
+
+“Be off, or I shall do you an injury! And don’t count on the five
+francs because I won’t give a radish! No, not a radish! Ah well, yes,
+five francs! Mother would be your servant and you would enjoy yourself
+with my five francs! If she goes to live with you, tell her this, she
+may croak, I won’t even send her a glass of water. Now off you go!
+Clear out!”
+
+“What a monster of a woman!” said Gervaise violently slamming the door.
+
+On the morrow she brought mother Coupeau to live with her, putting her
+bed in the inner room where Nana slept. The moving did not take long,
+for all the furniture mother Coupeau had was her bed, an ancient walnut
+wardrobe which was put in the dirty-clothes room, a table, and two
+chairs. They sold the table and had the chairs recaned. From the very
+first the old lady took over the sweeping. She washed the dishes and
+made herself useful, happy to have settled her problem.
+
+The Lorilleux were furious enough to explode, especially since Madame
+Lerat was now back on good terms with the Coupeaus. One day the two
+sisters, the flower-maker and the chainmaker came to blows about
+Gervaise because Madame Lerat dared to express approval of the way she
+was taking care of their mother. When she noticed how this upset the
+other, she went on to remark that Gervaise had magnificent eyes, eyes
+warm enough to set paper on fire. The two of them commenced slapping
+each other and swore they never would see each other again. Nowadays
+Madame Lerat often spent her evenings in the shop, laughing to herself
+at Clemence’s spicy remarks.
+
+Three years passed by. There were frequent quarrels and
+reconciliations. Gervaise did not care a straw for the Lorilleux, the
+Boches and all the others who were not of her way of thinking. If they
+did not like it, they could forget it. She earned what she wished, that
+was her principal concern. The people of the neighborhood had ended by
+greatly esteeming her, for one did not find many customers so kind as
+she was, paying punctually, never caviling or higgling. She bought her
+bread of Madame Coudeloup, in the Rue des Poissonniers; her meat of
+stout Charles, a butcher in the Rue Polonceau; her groceries at
+Lehongre’s, in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, almost opposite her own shop.
+Francois, the wine merchant at the corner of the street, supplied her
+with wine in baskets of fifty bottles. Her neighbor Vigouroux, whose
+wife’s hips must have been black and blue, the men pinched her so much,
+sold coke to her at the same price as the gas company. And, in all
+truth, her tradespeople served her faithfully, knowing that there was
+everything to gain by treating her well.
+
+Besides, whenever she went out around the neighborhood, she was greeted
+everywhere. She felt quite at home. Sometimes she put off doing a
+laundry job just to enjoy being outdoors among her good friends. On
+days when she was too rushed to do her own cooking and had to go out to
+buy something already cooked, she would stop to gossip with her arms
+full of bowls. The neighbor she respected the most was still the
+watchmaker. Often she would cross the street to greet him in his tiny
+cupboard of a shop, taking pleasure in the gaiety of the little cuckoo
+clocks with their pendulums ticking away the hours in chorus.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+One afternoon in the autumn Gervaise, who had been taking some washing
+home to a customer in the Rue des Portes-Blanches, found herself at the
+bottom of the Rue des Poissonniers just as the day was declining. It
+had rained in the morning, the weather was very mild and an odor rose
+from the greasy pavement; and the laundress, burdened with her big
+basket, was rather out of breath, slow of step, and inclined to take
+her ease as she ascended the street with the vague preoccupation of a
+longing increased by her weariness. She would have liked to have had
+something to eat. Then, on raising her eyes she beheld the name of the
+Rue Marcadet, and she suddenly had the idea of going to see Goujet at
+his forge. He had no end of times told her to look in any day she was
+curious to see how iron was wrought. Besides in the presence of other
+workmen she would ask for Etienne, and make believe that she had merely
+called for the youngster.
+
+The factory was somewhere on this end of the Rue Marcadet, but she
+didn’t know exactly where and street numbers were often lacking on
+those ramshackle buildings separated by vacant lots. She wouldn’t have
+lived on this street for all the gold in the world. It was a wide
+street, but dirty, black with soot from factories, with holes in the
+pavement and deep ruts filled with stagnant water. On both sides were
+rows of sheds, workshops with beams and brickwork exposed so that they
+seemed unfinished, a messy collection of masonry. Beside them were
+dubious lodging houses and even more dubious taverns. All she could
+recall was that the bolt factory was next to a yard full of scrap iron
+and rags, a sort of open sewer spread over the ground, storing
+merchandise worth hundreds of thousands of francs, according to Goujet.
+
+The street was filled with a noisy racket. Exhaust pipes on roofs
+puffed out violent jets of steam; an automatic sawmill added a rhythmic
+screeching; a button factory shook the ground with the rumbling of its
+machines. She was looking up toward the Montmartre height, hesitant,
+uncertain whether to continue, when a gust of wind blew down a mass of
+sooty smoke that covered the entire street. She closed her eyes and
+held her breath. At that moment she heard the sound of hammers in
+cadence. Without realizing it, she had arrived directly in front of the
+bolt factory which she now recognized by the vacant lot beside it full
+of piles of scrap iron and old rags.
+
+She still hesitated, not knowing where to enter. A broken fence opened
+a passage which seemed to lead through the heaps of rubbish from some
+buildings recently pulled down. Two planks had been thrown across a
+large puddle of muddy water that barred the way. She ended by venturing
+along them, turned to the left and found herself lost in the depths of
+a strange forest of old carts, standing on end with their shafts in the
+air, and of hovels in ruins, the wood-work of which was still standing.
+Toward the back, stabbing through the half-light of sundown, a flame
+gleamed red. The clamor of the hammers had ceased. She was advancing
+carefully when a workman, his face blackened with coal-dust and wearing
+a goatee passed near her, casting a side-glance with his pale eyes.
+
+“Sir,” asked she, “it’s here is it not that a boy named Etienne works?
+He’s my son.”
+
+“Etienne, Etienne,” repeated the workman in a hoarse voice as he
+twisted himself about. “Etienne; no I don’t know him.”
+
+An alcoholic reek like that from old brandy casks issued from his
+mouth. Meeting a woman in this dark corner seemed to be giving the
+fellow ideas, and so Gervaise drew back saying:
+
+“But yet it’s here that Monsieur Goujet works, isn’t it?”
+
+“Ah! Goujet, yes!” said the workman; “I know Goujet! If you come for
+Goujet, go right to the end.”
+
+And turning round he called out at the top of his voice, which had a
+sound of cracked brass:
+
+“I say Golden-Mug, here’s a lady wants you!”
+
+But a clanging of iron drowned the cry! Gervaise went to the end. She
+reached a door and stretching out her neck looked in. At first she
+could distinguish nothing. The forge had died down, but there was still
+a little glow which held back the advancing shadows from its corner.
+Great shadows seemed to float in the air. At times black shapes passed
+before the fire, shutting off this last bit of brightness, silhouettes
+of men so strangely magnified that their arms and legs were indistinct.
+Gervaise, not daring to venture in, called from the doorway in a faint
+voice:
+
+“Monsieur Goujet! Monsieur Goujet!”
+
+Suddenly all became lighted up. Beneath the puff of the bellows a jet
+of white flame had ascended and the whole interior of the shed could be
+seen, walled in by wooden planks, with openings roughly plastered over,
+and brick walls reinforcing the corners. Coal-ash had painted the whole
+expanse a sooty grey. Spider webs hung from the beams like rags hung up
+to dry, heavy with the accumulated dust of years. On shelves along the
+walls, or hanging from nails, or tossed into corners, she saw rusty
+iron, battered implements and huge tools. The white flame flared
+higher, like an explosion of dazzling sunlight revealing the trampled
+dirt underfoot, where the polished steel of four anvils fixed on blocks
+took on a reflection of silver sprinkled with gold.
+
+Then Gervaise recognized Goujet in front of the forge by his beautiful
+yellow beard. Etienne was blowing the bellows. Two other workmen were
+there, but she only beheld Goujet and walked forward and stood before
+him.
+
+“Why it’s Madame Gervaise!” he exclaimed with a bright look on his
+face. “What a pleasant surprise.”
+
+But as his comrades appeared to be rather amused, he pushed Etienne
+towards his mother and resumed:
+
+“You’ve come to see the youngster. He behaves himself well, he’s
+beginning to get some strength in his wrists.”
+
+“Well!” she said, “it isn’t easy to find your way here. I thought I was
+going to the end of the world.”
+
+After telling about her journey, she asked why no one in the shop knew
+Etienne’s name. Goujet laughed and explained to her that everybody
+called him “Little Zouzou” because he had his hair cut short like that
+of a Zouave. While they were talking together Etienne stopped working
+the bellows and the flame of the forge dwindled to a rosy glow amid the
+gathering darkness. Touched by the presence of this smiling young
+woman, the blacksmith stood gazing at her.
+
+Then, as neither continued speaking, he seemed to recollect and broke
+the silence:
+
+“Excuse me, Madame Gervaise, I’ve something that has to be finished.
+You’ll stay, won’t you? You’re not in anybody’s way.”
+
+She remained. Etienne returned to the bellows. The forge was soon
+ablaze again with a cloud of sparks; the more so as the youngster,
+wanting to show his mother what he could do, was making the bellows
+blow a regular hurricane. Goujet, standing up watching a bar of iron
+heating, was waiting with the tongs in his hand. The bright glare
+illuminated him without a shadow—sleeves rolled back, shirt neck open,
+bare arms and chest. When the bar was at white heat he seized it with
+the tongs and cut it with a hammer on the anvil, in pieces of equal
+length, as though he had been gently breaking pieces of glass. Then he
+put the pieces back into the fire, from which he took them one by one
+to work them into shape. He was forging hexagonal rivets. He placed
+each piece in a tool-hole of the anvil, bent down the iron that was to
+form the head, flattened the six sides and threw the finished rivet
+still red-hot on to the black earth, where its bright light gradually
+died out; and this with a continuous hammering, wielding in his right
+hand a hammer weighing five pounds, completing a detail at every blow,
+turning and working the iron with such dexterity that he was able to
+talk to and look at those about him. The anvil had a silvery ring.
+Without a drop of perspiration, quite at his ease, he struck in a
+good-natured sort of a way, not appearing to exert himself more than on
+the evenings when he cut out pictures at home.
+
+“Oh! these are little rivets of twenty millimetres,” said he in reply
+to Gervaise’s questions. “A fellow can do his three hundred a day. But
+it requires practice, for one’s arm soon grows weary.”
+
+And when she asked him if his wrist did not feel stiff at the end of
+the day he laughed aloud. Did she think him a young lady? His wrist had
+had plenty of drudgery for fifteen years past; it was now as strong as
+the iron implements it had been so long in contact with. She was right
+though; a gentleman who had never forged a rivet or a bolt, and who
+would try to show off with his five pound hammer, would find himself
+precious stiff in the course of a couple of hours. It did not seem
+much, but a few years of it often did for some very strong fellows.
+During this conversation the other workmen were also hammering away all
+together. Their tall shadows danced about in the light, the red flashes
+of the iron that the fire traversed, the gloomy recesses, clouds of
+sparks darted out from beneath the hammers and shone like suns on a
+level with the anvils. And Gervaise, feeling happy and interested in
+the movement round the forge, did not think of leaving. She was going a
+long way round to get nearer to Etienne without having her hands burnt,
+when she saw the dirty and bearded workman, whom she had spoken to
+outside, enter.
+
+“So you’ve found him, madame?” asked he in his drunken bantering way.
+“You know, Golden-Mug, it’s I who told madame where to find you.”
+
+He was called Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, the brick
+of bricks, a dab hand at bolt forging, who wetted his iron every day
+with a pint and a half of brandy. He had gone out to have a drop,
+because he felt he wanted greasing to make him last till six o’clock.
+When he learnt that Little Zouzou’s real name was Etienne, he thought
+it very funny; and he showed his black teeth as he laughed. Then he
+recognized Gervaise. Only the day before he had had a glass of wine
+with Coupeau. You could speak to Coupeau about Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst; he would at once say: “He’s a jolly dog!” Ah!
+that joker Coupeau! He was one of the right sort; he stood treat
+oftener than his turn.
+
+“I’m awfully glad to know you’re his missus,” added he.
+
+“He deserves to have a pretty wife. Eh, Golden-Mug, madame is a fine
+woman, isn’t she?”
+
+He was becoming quite gallant, sidling up towards the laundress, who
+took hold of her basket and held it in front of her so as to keep him
+at a distance. Goujet, annoyed and seeing that his comrade was joking
+because of his friendship for Gervaise, called out to him:
+
+“I say, lazybones, what about the forty millimetre bolts? Do you think
+you’re equal to them now that you’ve got your gullet full, you
+confounded guzzler?”
+
+The blacksmith was alluding to an order for big bolts which
+necessitated two beaters at the anvil.
+
+“I’m ready to start at this moment, big baby!” replied Salted-Mouth,
+otherwise Drink-without-Thirst. “It sucks it’s thumb and thinks itself
+a man. In spite of your size I’m equal to you!”
+
+“Yes, that’s it, at once. Look sharp and off we go!”
+
+“Right you are, my boy!”
+
+They taunted each other, stimulated by Gervaise’s presence. Goujet
+placed the pieces of iron that had been cut beforehand in the fire,
+then he fixed a tool-hole of large bore on an anvil. His comrade had
+taken from against the wall two sledge-hammers weighing twenty pounds
+each, the two big sisters of the factory whom the workers called Fifine
+and Dedele. And he continued to brag, talking of a half-gross of rivets
+which he had forged for the Dunkirk lighthouse, regular jewels, things
+to be put in a museum, they were so daintily finished off. Hang it all,
+no! he did not fear competition; before meeting with another chap like
+him, you might search every factory in the capital. They were going to
+have a laugh; they would see what they would see.
+
+“Madame will be judge,” said he, turning towards the young woman.
+
+“Enough chattering,” cried Goujet. “Now then, Zouzou, show your muscle!
+It’s not hot enough, my lad.”
+
+But Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, asked: “So we strike
+together?”
+
+“Not a bit of it! each his own bolt, my friend!”
+
+This statement operated as a damper, and Goujet’s comrade, on hearing
+it, remained speechless, in spite of his boasting. Bolts of forty
+millimetres fashioned by one man had never before been seen; the more
+so as the bolts were to be round-headed, a work of great difficulty, a
+real masterpiece to achieve.
+
+The three other workmen came over, leaving their jobs, to watch. A
+tall, lean one wagered a bottle of wine that Goujet would be beaten.
+Meanwhile the two blacksmiths had chosen their sledge hammers with eyes
+closed, because Fifine weighed a half pound more than Dedele.
+Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, had the good luck to put
+his hand on Dedele; Fifine fell to Golden-Mug.
+
+While waiting for the iron to get hot enough, Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, again showing off, struck a pose before the anvil
+while casting side glances toward Gervaise. He planted himself solidly,
+tapping his feet impatiently like a man ready for a fight, throwing all
+his strength into practice swings with Dedele. _Mon Dieu!_ He was good
+at this; he could have flattened the Vendome column like a pancake.
+
+“Now then, off you go!” said Goujet, placing one of the pieces of iron,
+as thick as a girl’s wrist, in the tool-hole.
+
+Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, leant back, and swung
+Dedele round with both hands. Short and lean, with his goatee
+bristling, and with his wolf-like eyes glaring beneath his unkempt
+hair, he seemed to snap at each swing of the hammer, springing up from
+the ground as though carried away by the force he put into the blow. He
+was a fierce one, who fought with the iron, annoyed at finding it so
+hard, and he even gave a grunt whenever he thought he had planted a
+fierce stroke. Perhaps brandy did weaken other people’s arms, but he
+needed brandy in his veins, instead of blood. The drop he had taken a
+little while before had made his carcass as warm as a boiler; he felt
+he had the power of a steam-engine within him. And the iron seemed to
+be afraid of him this time; he flattened it more easily than if it had
+been a quid of tobacco. And it was a sight to see how Dedele waltzed!
+She cut such capers, with her tootsies in the air, just like a little
+dancer at the Elysee Montmartre, who exhibits her fine underclothes;
+for it would never do to dawdle, iron is so deceitful, it cools at
+once, just to spite the hammer. With thirty blows, Salted-Mouth,
+otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, had fashioned the head of his bolt. But
+he panted, his eyes were half out of his head, and got into a great
+rage as he felt his arms growing tired. Then, carried away by wrath,
+jumping about and yelling, he gave two more blows, just out of revenge
+for his trouble. When he took the bolt from the hole, it was deformed,
+its head being askew like a hunchback’s.
+
+“Come now! Isn’t that quickly beaten into shape?” said he all the same,
+with his self-confidence, as he presented his work to Gervaise.
+
+“I’m no judge, sir,” replied the laundress, reservedly.
+
+But she saw plainly enough the marks of Dedele’s last two kicks on the
+bolt, and she was very pleased. She bit her lips so as not to laugh,
+for now Goujet had every chance of winning.
+
+It was now Golden-Mug’s turn. Before commencing, he gave the laundress
+a look full of confident tenderness. Then he did not hurry himself. He
+measured his distance, and swung the hammer from on high with all his
+might and at regular intervals. He had the classic style, accurate,
+evenly balanced, and supple. Fifine, in his hands, did not cut capers,
+like at a dance-hall, but made steady, certain progress; she rose and
+fell in cadence, like a lady of quality solemnly leading some ancient
+minuet.
+
+There was no brandy in Golden-Mug’s veins, only blood, throbbing
+powerfully even into Fifine and controlling the job. That stalwart
+fellow! What a magnificent man he was at work. The high flame of the
+forge shone full on his face. His whole face seemed golden indeed with
+his short hair curling over his forehead and his splendid yellow beard.
+His neck was as straight as a column and his immense chest was wide
+enough for a woman to sleep across it. His shoulders and sculptured
+arms seemed to have been copied from a giant’s statue in some museum.
+You could see his muscles swelling, mountains of flesh rippling and
+hardening under the skin; his shoulders, his chest, his neck expanded;
+he seemed to shed light about him, becoming beautiful and all-powerful
+like a kindly god.
+
+He had now swung Fifine twenty times, his eyes always fixed on the
+iron, drawing a deep breath with each blow, yet showing only two great
+drops of sweat trickling down from his temples. He counted:
+“Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—” Calmly Fifine continued, like a
+noble lady dancing.
+
+“What a show-off!” jeeringly murmured Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst.
+
+Gervaise, standing opposite Goujet, looked at him with an affectionate
+smile. _Mon Dieu!_ What fools men are! Here these two men were,
+pounding on their bolts to pay court to her. She understood it. They
+were battling with hammer blows, like two big red roosters vying for
+the favors of a little white hen. Sometimes the human heart has
+fantastic ways of expressing itself. This thundering of Dedele and
+Fifine upon the anvil was for her, this forge roaring and overflowing
+was for her. They were forging their love before her, battling over
+her.
+
+To be honest, she rather enjoyed it. All women are happy to receive
+compliments. The mighty blows of Golden-Mug found echoes in her heart;
+they rang within her, a crystal-clear music in time with the throbbing
+of her pulse. She had the feeling that this hammering was driving
+something deep inside of her, something solid, something hard as the
+iron of the bolt.
+
+She had no doubt Goujet would win. Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, was much too ugly in his dirty tunic, jumping
+around like a monkey that had escaped from a zoo. She waited, blushing
+red, happy that the heat could explain the blush.
+
+Goujet was still counting.
+
+“And twenty-eight!” cried he at length, laying the hammer on the
+ground. “It’s finished; you can look.”
+
+The head of the bolt was clean, polished, and without a flaw, regular
+goldsmith’s work, with the roundness of a marble cast in a mold. The
+other men looked at it and nodded their heads; there was no denying it
+was lovely enough to be worshipped. Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, tried indeed to chuff; but it was no use, and
+ended by returning to his anvil, with his nose put out of joint.
+Gervaise had squeezed up against Goujet, as though to get a better
+view. Etienne having let go the bellows, the forge was once more
+becoming enveloped in shadow, like a brilliant red sunset suddenly
+giving way to black night. And the blacksmith and the laundress
+experienced a sweet pleasure in feeling this gloom surround them in
+that shed black with soot and filings, and where an odor of old iron
+prevailed. They could not have thought themselves more alone in the
+Bois de Vincennes had they met there in the depths of some copse. He
+took her hand as though he had conquered her.
+
+Outside, they scarcely exchanged a word. All he could find to say was
+that she might have taken Etienne away with her, had it not been that
+there was still another half-hour’s work to get through. When she
+started away he called her back, wanting a few more minutes with her.
+
+“Come along. You haven’t seen all the place. It’s quite interesting.”
+
+He led her to another shed where the owner was installing a new
+machine. She hesitated in the doorway, oppressed by an instinctive
+dread. The great hall was vibrating from the machines and black shadows
+filled the air. He reassured her with a smile, swearing that there was
+nothing to fear, only she should be careful not to let her skirts get
+caught in any of the gears. He went first and she followed into the
+deafening hubbub of whistling, amid clouds of steam peopled by human
+shadows moving busily.
+
+The passages were very narrow and there were obstacles to step over,
+holes to avoid, passing carts to move back from. She couldn’t
+distinguish anything clearly or hear what Goujet was saying.
+
+Gervaise looked up and stopped to stare at the leather belts hanging
+from the roof in a gigantic spider web, each strip ceaselessly
+revolving. The steam engine that drove them was hidden behind a low
+brick wall so that the belts seemed to be moving by themselves. She
+stumbled and almost fell while looking up.
+
+Goujet raised his voice with explanations. There were the tapping
+machines operated by women, which put threads on bolts and nuts. Their
+steel gears were shining with oil. She could follow the entire process.
+She nodded her head and smiled.
+
+She was still a little tense, however, feeling uneasy at being so small
+among these rough metalworkers. She jumped back more than once, her
+blood suddenly chilled by the dull thud of a machine.
+
+Goujet had stopped before one of the rivet machines. He stood there
+brooding, his head lowered, his gaze fixed. This machine forged forty
+millimetre rivets with the calm ease of a giant. Nothing could be
+simpler. The stoker took the iron shank from the furnace; the striker
+put it into the socket, where a continuous stream of water cooled it to
+prevent softening of the steel. The press descended and the bolt flew
+out onto the ground, its head as round as though cast in a mold. Every
+twelve hours this machine made hundreds of kilograms of bolts!
+
+Goujet was not a mean person, but there were moments when he wanted to
+take Fifine and smash this machine to bits because he was angry to see
+that its arms were stronger than his own. He reasoned with himself,
+telling himself that human flesh cannot compete with steel. But he was
+still deeply hurt. The day would come when machinery would destroy the
+skilled worker. Their day’s pay had already fallen from twelve francs
+to nine francs. There was talk of cutting it again. He stared at it,
+frowning, for three minutes without saying a word. His yellow beard
+seemed to bristle defiantly. Then, gradually an expression of
+resignation came over his face and he turned toward Gervaise who was
+clinging tightly to him and said with a sad smile:
+
+“Well! That machine would certainly win a contest. But perhaps it will
+be for the good of mankind in the long run.”
+
+Gervaise didn’t care a bit about the welfare of mankind. Smiling, she
+said to Goujet:
+
+“I like yours better, because they show the hand of an artist.”
+
+Hearing this gave him great happiness because he had been afraid that
+she might be scornful of him after seeing the machines. _Mon Dieu!_ He
+might be stronger than Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst,
+but the machines were stronger yet. When Gervaise finally took her
+leave, Goujet was so happy that he almost crushed her with a hug.
+
+The laundress went every Saturday to the Goujets to deliver their
+washing. They still lived in the little house in the Rue Neuve de la
+Goutte-d’Or. During the first year she had regularly repaid them twenty
+francs a month; so as not to jumble up the accounts, the washing-book
+was only made up at the end of each month, and then she added to the
+amount whatever sum was necessary to make the twenty francs, for the
+Goujets’ washing rarely came to more than seven or eight francs during
+that time. She had therefore paid off nearly half the sum owing, when
+one quarter day, not knowing what to do, some of her customers not
+having kept their promises, she had been obliged to go to the Goujets
+and borrow from them sufficient for her rent. On two other occasions
+she had also applied to them for the money to pay her workwomen, so
+that the debt had increased again to four hundred and twenty-five
+francs. Now, she no longer gave a halfpenny; she worked off the amount
+solely by the washing. It was not that she worked less, or that her
+business was not so prosperous. But something was going wrong in her
+home; the money seemed to melt away, and she was glad when she was able
+to make both ends meet. _Mon Dieu!_ What’s the use of complaining as
+long as one gets by. She was putting on weight and this caused her to
+become a bit lazy. She no longer had the energy that she had in the
+past. Oh well, there was always something coming in.
+
+Madame Goujet felt a motherly concern for Gervaise and sometimes
+reprimanded her. This wasn’t due to the money owed but because she
+liked her and didn’t want to see her get into difficulties. She never
+mentioned the debt. In short, she behaved with the utmost delicacy.
+
+The morrow of Gervaise’s visit to the forge happened to be the last
+Saturday of the month. When she reached the Goujets, where she made a
+point of going herself, her basket had so weighed on her arms that she
+was quite two minutes before she could get her breath. One would hardly
+believe how heavy clothes are, especially when there are sheets among
+them.
+
+“Are you sure you’ve brought everything?” asked Madame Goujet.
+
+She was very strict on that point. She insisted on having her washing
+brought home without a single article being kept back for the sake of
+order, as she said. She also required the laundress always to come on
+the day arranged and at the same hour; in that way there was no time
+wasted.
+
+“Oh! yes, everything is here,” replied Gervaise smiling. “You know I
+never leave anything behind.”
+
+“That’s true,” admitted Madame Goujet; “you’ve got into many bad habits
+but you’re still free of that one.”
+
+And while the laundress emptied her basket, laying the linen on the
+bed, the old woman praised her; she never burnt the things nor tore
+them like so many others did, neither did she pull the buttons off with
+the iron; only she used too much blue and made the shirt-fronts too
+stiff with starch.
+
+“Just look, it’s like cardboard,” continued she, making one crackle
+between her fingers. “My son does not complain, but it cuts his neck.
+To-morrow his neck will be all scratched when we return from
+Vincennes.”
+
+“No, don’t say that!” exclaimed Gervaise, quite grieved. “To look nice,
+shirts must be rather stiff, otherwise it’s as though one had a rag on
+one’s body. You should just see what the gentlemen wear. I do all your
+things myself. The workwomen never touch them and I assure you I take
+great pains. I would, if necessary, do everything over a dozen times,
+because it’s for you, you know.”
+
+She slightly blushed as she stammered out the last words. She was
+afraid of showing the great pleasure she took in ironing Goujet’s
+shirts. She certainly had no wicked thoughts, but she was none the less
+a little bit ashamed.
+
+“Oh! I’m not complaining of your work; I know it’s perfection,” said
+Madame Goujet. “For instance, you’ve done this cap splendidly, only you
+could bring out the embroidery like that. And the flutings are all so
+even. Oh! I recognize your hand at once. When you give even a
+dish-cloth to one of your workwomen I detect it at once. In future, use
+a little less starch, that’s all! Goujet does not care to look like a
+stylish gentleman.”
+
+She had taken out her notebook and was crossing off the various items.
+Everything was in order. She noticed that Gervaise was charging six
+sous for each bonnet. She protested, but had to agree that it was in
+line with present prices. Men’s shirts were five sous, women’s
+underdrawers four sous, pillow-cases a sou and a half, and aprons one
+sou. No, the prices weren’t high. Some laundresses charged a sou more
+for each item.
+
+Gervaise was now calling out the soiled clothes, as she packed them in
+her basket, for Madame Goujet to list. Then she lingered on,
+embarrassed by a request which she wished to make.
+
+“Madame Goujet,” she said at length, “if it does not inconvenience you,
+I would like to take the money for the month’s washing.”
+
+It so happened that that month was a very heavy one, the account they
+had made up together amounting to ten francs, seven sous. Madame Goujet
+looked at her a moment in a serious manner, then she replied:
+
+“My child, it shall be as you wish. I will not refuse you the money as
+you are in need of it. Only it’s scarcely the way to pay off your debt;
+I say that for your sake, you know. Really now, you should be careful.”
+
+Gervaise received the lecture with bowed head and stammering excuses.
+The ten francs were to make up the amount of a bill she had given her
+coke merchant. But on hearing the word “bill,” Madame Goujet became
+severer still. She gave herself as an example; she had reduced her
+expenditure ever since Goujet’s wages had been lowered from twelve to
+nine francs a day. When one was wanting in wisdom whilst young, one
+dies of hunger in one’s old age. But she held back and didn’t tell
+Gervaise that she gave her their laundry only in order to help her pay
+off the debt. Before that she had done all her own washing, and she
+would have to do it herself again if the laundry continued taking so
+much cash out of her pocket. Gervaise spoke her thanks and left quickly
+as soon as she had received the ten francs seven sous. Outside on the
+landing she was so relieved she wanted to dance. She was becoming used
+to the annoying, unpleasant difficulties caused by a shortage of money
+and preferred to remember not the embarrassment but the joy in escaping
+from them.
+
+It was also on that Saturday that Gervaise met with a rather strange
+adventure as she descended the Goujets’ staircase. She was obliged to
+stand up close against the stair-rail with her basket to make way for a
+tall bare-headed woman who was coming up, carrying in her hand a very
+fresh mackerel, with bloody gills, in a piece of paper. She recognized
+Virginie, the girl whose face she had slapped at the wash-house. They
+looked each other full in the face. Gervaise shut her eyes. She thought
+for a moment that she was going to be hit in the face with the fish.
+But no, Virginie even smiled slightly. Then, as her basket was blocking
+the staircase, the laundress wished to show how polite she, too, could
+be.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” she said.
+
+“You are completely excused,” replied the tall brunette.
+
+And they remained conversing together on the stairs, reconciled at once
+without having ventured on a single allusion to the past. Virginie,
+then twenty-nine years old, had become a superb woman of strapping
+proportions, her face, however, looking rather long between her two
+plaits of jet black hair. She at once began to relate her history just
+to show off. She had a husband now; she had married in the spring an
+ex-journeyman cabinetmaker, who recently left the army, and who had
+applied to be admitted into the police, because a post of that kind is
+more to be depended upon and more respectable. She had been out to buy
+the mackerel for him.
+
+“He adores mackerel,” said she. “We must spoil them, those naughty men,
+mustn’t we? But come up. You shall see our home. We are standing in a
+draught here.”
+
+After Gervaise had told of her own marriage and that she had formerly
+occupied the very apartment Virginie now had, Virginie urged her even
+more strongly to come up since it is always nice to visit a spot where
+one had been happy.
+
+Virginie had lived for five years on the Left Bank at Gros-Caillou.
+That was where she had met her husband while he was still in the army.
+But she got tired of it, and wanted to come back to the Goutte-d’Or
+neighborhood where she knew everyone. She had only been living in the
+rooms opposite the Goujets for two weeks. Oh! everything was still a
+mess, but they were slowly getting it in order.
+
+Then, still on the staircase, they finally told each other their names.
+
+“Madame Coupeau.”
+
+“Madame Poisson.”
+
+And from that time forth, they called each other on every possible
+occasion Madame Poisson and Madame Coupeau, solely for the pleasure of
+being madame, they who in former days had been acquainted when
+occupying rather questionable positions. However, Gervaise felt rather
+mistrustful at heart. Perhaps the tall brunette had made it up the
+better to avenge herself for the beating at the wash-house by
+concocting some plan worthy of a spiteful hypocritical creature.
+Gervaise determined to be upon her guard. For the time being, as
+Virginie behaved so nicely, she would be nice also.
+
+In the room upstairs, Poisson, the husband, a man of thirty-five, with
+a cadaverous-looking countenance and carroty moustaches and beard, was
+seated working at a table near the window. He was making little boxes.
+His only tools were a knife, a tiny saw the size of a nail file and a
+pot of glue. He was using wood from old cigar boxes, thin boards of
+unfinished mahogany upon which he executed fretwork and embellishments
+of extraordinary delicacy. All year long he worked at making the same
+size boxes, only varying them occasionally by inlay work, new designs
+for the cover, or putting compartments inside. He did not sell his
+work, he distributed it in presents to persons of his acquaintance. It
+was for his own amusement, a way of occupying his time while waiting
+for his appointment to the police force. It was all that remained with
+him from his former occupation of cabinetmaking.
+
+Poisson rose from his seat and politely bowed to Gervaise, when his
+wife introduced her as an old friend. But he was no talker; he at once
+returned to his little saw. From time to time he merely glanced in the
+direction of the mackerel placed on the corner of the chest of drawers.
+Gervaise was very pleased to see her old lodging once more. She told
+them whereabouts her own furniture stood, and pointed out the place on
+the floor where Nana had been born. How strange it was to meet like
+this again, after so many years! They never dreamed of running into
+each other like this and even living in the same rooms.
+
+Virginie added some further details. Her husband had inherited a little
+money from an aunt and he would probably set her up in a shop before
+long. Meanwhile she was still sewing. At length, at the end of a full
+half hour, the laundress took her leave. Poisson scarcely seemed to
+notice her departure. While seeing her to the door, Virginie promised
+to return the visit. And she would have Gervaise do her laundry. While
+Virginie was keeping her in further conversation on the landing,
+Gervaise had the feeling that she wanted to say something about Lantier
+and her sister Adele, and this notion upset her a bit. But not a word
+was uttered respecting those unpleasant things; they parted, wishing
+each other good-bye in a very amiable manner.
+
+“Good-bye, Madame Coupeau.”
+
+“Good-bye, Madame Poisson.”
+
+That was the starting point of a great friendship. A week later,
+Virginie never passed Gervaise’s shop without going in; and she
+remained there gossiping for hours together, to such an extent indeed
+that Poisson, filled with anxiety, fearing she had been run over, would
+come and seek her with his expressionless and death-like countenance.
+Now that she was seeing the dressmaker every day Gervaise became aware
+of a strange obsession. Every time Virginie began to talk Gervaise had
+the feeling Lantier was going to be mentioned. So she had Lantier on
+her mind throughout all of Virginie’s visits. This was silly because,
+in fact, she didn’t care a bit about Lantier or Adele at this time. She
+was quite certain that she had no curiosity as to what had happened to
+either of them. But this obsession got hold of her in spite of herself.
+Anyway, she didn’t hold it against Virginie, it wasn’t her fault,
+surely. She enjoyed being with her and looked forward to her visits.
+
+Meanwhile winter had come, the Coupeaus’ fourth winter in the Rue de la
+Goutte-d’Or. December and January were particularly cold. It froze hard
+as it well could. After New Year’s day the snow remained three weeks
+without melting. It did not interfere with work, but the contrary, for
+winter is the best season for the ironers. It was very pleasant inside
+the shop! There was never any ice on the window-panes like there was at
+the grocer’s and the hosier’s opposite. The stove was always stuffed
+with coke and kept things as hot as a Turkish bath. With the laundry
+steaming overhead you could almost imagine it was summer. You were
+quite comfortable with the doors closed and so much warmth everywhere
+that you were tempted to doze off with your eyes open. Gervaise laughed
+and said it reminded her of summer in the country. The street traffic
+made no noise in the snow and you could hardly hear the pedestrians who
+passed by. Only children’s voices were heard in the silence, especially
+the noisy band of urchins who had made a long slide in the gutter near
+the blacksmith’s shop.
+
+Gervaise would sometimes go over to the door, wipe the moisture from
+one of the panes with her hand, and look out to see what was happening
+to her neighborhood due to this extraordinary cold spell. Not one nose
+was being poked out of the adjacent shops. The entire neighborhood was
+muffled in snow. The only person she was able to exchange nods with was
+the coal-dealer next door, who still walked out bare-headed despite the
+severe freeze.
+
+What was especially enjoyable in this awful weather was to have some
+nice hot coffee in the middle of the day. The workwomen had no cause
+for complaint. The mistress made it very strong and without a grain of
+chicory. It was quite different to Madame Fauconnier’s coffee, which
+was like ditch-water. Only whenever mother Coupeau undertook to make
+it, it was always an interminable time before it was ready, because she
+would fall asleep over the kettle. On these occasions, when the
+workwomen had finished their lunch, they would do a little ironing
+whilst waiting for the coffee.
+
+It so happened that on the morrow of Twelfth-day half-past twelve
+struck and still the coffee was not ready. It seemed to persist in
+declining to pass through the strainer. Mother Coupeau tapped against
+the pot with a tea-spoon; and one could hear the drops falling slowly,
+one by one, and without hurrying themselves any the more.
+
+“Leave it alone,” said tall Clemence; “you’ll make it thick. To-day
+there’ll be as much to eat as to drink.”
+
+Tall Clemence was working on a man’s shirt, the plaits of which she
+separated with her finger-nail. She had caught a cold, her eyes were
+frightfully swollen and her chest was shaken with fits of coughing,
+which doubled her up beside the work-table. With all that she had not
+even a handkerchief round her neck and she was dressed in some cheap
+flimsy woolen stuff in which she shivered. Close by, Madame Putois,
+wrapped up in flannel muffled up to her ears, was ironing a petticoat
+which she turned round the skirt-board, the narrow end of which rested
+on the back of a chair; whilst a sheet laid on the floor prevented the
+petticoat from getting dirty as it trailed along the tiles. Gervaise
+alone occupied half the work-table with some embroidered muslin
+curtains, over which she passed her iron in a straight line with her
+arms stretched out to avoid making any creases. All on a sudden the
+coffee running through noisily caused her to raise her head. It was
+that squint-eyed Augustine who had just given it an outlet by thrusting
+a spoon through the strainer.
+
+“Leave it alone!” cried Gervaise. “Whatever is the matter with you?
+It’ll be like drinking mud now.”
+
+Mother Coupeau had placed five glasses on a corner of the work-table
+that was free. The women now left their work. The mistress always
+poured out the coffee herself after putting two lumps of sugar into
+each glass. It was the moment that they all looked forward to. On this
+occasion, as each one took her glass and squatted down on a little
+stool in front of the stove, the shop-door opened. Virginie entered,
+shivering all over.
+
+“Ah, my children,” said she, “it cuts you in two! I can no longer feel
+my ears. The cold is something awful!”
+
+“Why, it’s Madame Poisson!” exclaimed Gervaise. “Ah, well! You’ve come
+at the right time. You must have some coffee with us.”
+
+“On my word, I can’t say no. One feels the frost in one’s bones merely
+by crossing the street.”
+
+There was still some coffee left, luckily. Mother Coupeau went and
+fetched a sixth glass, and Gervaise let Virginie help herself to sugar
+out of politeness. The workwomen moved to give Virginie a small space
+close to the stove. Her nose was very red, she shivered a bit, pressing
+her hands which were stiff with cold around the glass to warm them. She
+had just come from the grocery store where you froze to death waiting
+for a quarter-pound of cheese and so she raved about the warmth of the
+shop. It felt so good on one’s skin. After warming up, she stretched
+out her long legs and the six of them relaxed together, supping their
+coffee slowly, surround by all the work still to be done. Mother
+Coupeau and Virginie were the only ones on chairs, the others, on low
+benches, seemed to be sitting on the floor. Squint-eyed Augustine had
+pulled over a corner of the cloth below the skirt, stretching herself
+out on it.
+
+No one spoke at first; all kept their noses in their glasses, enjoying
+their coffee.
+
+“It’s not bad, all the same,” declared Clemence.
+
+But she was seized with a fit of coughing, and almost choked. She leant
+her head against the wall to cough with more force.
+
+“That’s a bad cough you’ve got,” said Virginie. “Wherever did you catch
+it?”
+
+“One never knows!” replied Clemence, wiping her face with her sleeve.
+“It must have been the other night. There were two girls who were
+flaying each other outside the ‘Grand-Balcony.’ I wanted to see, so I
+stood there whilst the snow was falling. Ah, what a drubbing! It was
+enough to make one die with laughing. One had her nose almost pulled
+off; the blood streamed on the ground. When the other, a great long
+stick like me, saw the blood, she slipped away as quick as she could.
+And I coughed nearly all night. Besides that too, men are so stupid in
+bed, they don’t let you have any covers over you half the time.”
+
+“Pretty conduct that,” murmured Madame Putois. “You’re killing
+yourself, my girl.”
+
+“And if it pleases me to kill myself! Life isn’t so very amusing.
+Slaving all the blessed day long to earn fifty-five sous, cooking one’s
+blood from morning to night in front of the stove; no, you know, I’ve
+had enough of it! All the same though, this cough won’t do me the
+service of making me croak. It’ll go off the same way it came.”
+
+A short silence ensued. The good-for-nothing Clemence, who led riots in
+low dancing establishments, and shrieked like a screech-owl at work,
+always saddened everyone with her thoughts of death. Gervaise knew her
+well, and so merely said:
+
+“You’re never very gay the morning after a night of high living.”
+
+The truth was that Gervaise did not like this talk about women
+fighting. Because of the flogging at the wash-house it annoyed her
+whenever anyone spoke before her and Virginie of kicks with wooden
+shoes and of slaps in the face. It so happened, too, that Virginie was
+looking at her and smiling.
+
+“By the way,” she said quietly, “yesterday I saw some hair-pulling.
+They almost tore each other to pieces.”
+
+“Who were they?” Madame Putois inquired.
+
+“The midwife and her maid, you know, a little blonde. What a pest the
+girl is! She was yelling at her employer that she had got rid of a
+child for the fruit woman and that she was going to tell the police if
+she wasn’t paid to keep quiet. So the midwife slapped her right in the
+face and then the little blonde jumped on her and started scratching
+her and pulling her hair, really—by the roots. The sausage-man had to
+grab her to put a stop to it.”
+
+The workwomen laughed. Then they all took a sip of coffee.
+
+“Do you believe that she really got rid of a child?” Clemence asked.
+
+“Oh, yes! The rumor was all round the neighborhood,” Virginie answered.
+“I didn’t see it myself, you understand, but it’s part of the job. All
+midwives do it.”
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Madame Putois. “You have to be pretty stupid to put
+yourself in their hands. No thanks, you could be maimed for life. But
+there’s a sure way to do it. Drink a glass of holy water every evening
+and make the sign of the cross three times over your stomach with your
+thumb. Then your troubles will be over.”
+
+Everyone thought mother Coupeau was asleep, but she shook her head in
+protest. She knew another way and it was infallible. You had to eat a
+hard-cooked egg every two hours, and put spinach leaves on your loins.
+Squint-eyed Augustine set up a hen-cackling when she heard this. They
+had forgotten about her. Gervaise lifted up the petticoat that was
+being ironed and found her rolling on the floor with laughter. She
+jerked her upright. What was she laughing about? Was it right for her
+to be eavesdropping when older people were talking, the little goose?
+Anyway it was time for her to deliver the laundry to a friend of Madame
+Lerat at Les Batignolles. So Gervaise hung a basket on her arm and
+pushed her toward the door. Augustine went off, sobbing and sniveling,
+dragging her feet in the snow.
+
+Meanwhile mother Coupeau, Madame Putois and Clemence were discussing
+the effectiveness of hard-cooked eggs and spinach leaves. Then Virginie
+said softly:
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ you have a fight, and then you make it up, if you have a
+generous heart.” She leaned toward Gervaise with a smile and added,
+“Really, I don’t hold any grudge against you for that business at the
+wash-house. You remember it, don’t you?”
+
+This was what Gervaise had been dreading. She guessed that the subject
+of Lantier and Adele would now come up.
+
+Virginie had moved close to Gervaise so as not to be overheard by the
+others. Gervaise, lulled by the excessive heat, felt so limp that she
+couldn’t even summon the willpower to change the subject. She foresaw
+what the tall brunette would say and her heart was stirred with an
+emotion which she didn’t want to admit to herself.
+
+“I hope I’m not hurting your feelings,” Virginie continued. “Often I’ve
+had it on the tip of my tongue. But since we are now on the subject,
+word of honor, I don’t have any grudge against you.”
+
+She stirred her remaining coffee and then took a small sip. Gervaise,
+with her heart in her throat, wondered if Virginie had really forgiven
+her as completely as she said, for she seemed to observe sparks in her
+dark eyes.
+
+“You see,” Virginie went on, “you had an excuse. They played a really
+rotten, dirty trick on you. To be fair about it, if it had been me, I’d
+have taken a knife to her.”
+
+She drank another small sip, then added rapidly without a pause:
+
+“Anyway, it didn’t bring them happiness, _mon Dieu_! Not a bit of it.
+They went to live over at La Glaciere, in a filthy street that was
+always muddy. I went two days later to have lunch with them. I can tell
+you, it was quite a trip by bus. Well, I found them already fighting.
+Really, as I came in they were boxing each other’s ears. Fine pair of
+love birds! Adele isn’t worth the rope to hang her. I say that even if
+she is my own sister. It would take too long to relate all the nasty
+tricks she played on me, and anyhow, it’s between the two of us. As for
+Lantier—well, he’s no good either. He’d beat the hide off you for
+anything, and with his fist closed too. They fought all the time. The
+police even came once.”
+
+Virginie went on about other fights. Oh, she knew of things that would
+make your hair stand up. Gervaise listened in silence, her face pale.
+It was nearly seven years since she had heard a word about Lantier. She
+hadn’t realized what a strong curiosity she had as to what had become
+of the poor man, even though he had treated her badly. And she never
+would have believed that just the mention of his name could put such a
+glowing warmth in the pit of her stomach. She certainly had no reason
+to be jealous of Adele any more but she rejoiced to think of her body
+all bruised from the beatings. She could have listened to Virginie all
+night, but she didn’t ask any questions, not wanting to appear much
+interested.
+
+Virginie stopped to sip at her coffee. Gervaise, realizing that she was
+expected to say something, asked, with a pretence of indifference:
+
+“Are they still living at La Glaciere?”
+
+“No!” the other replied. “Didn’t I tell you? They separated last week.
+One morning, Adele moved out and Lantier didn’t chase after her.”
+
+“So they’re separated!” Gervaise exclaimed.
+
+“Who are you talking about?” Clemence asked, interrupting her
+conversation with mother Coupeau and Madame Putois.
+
+“Nobody you know,” said Virginie.
+
+She was looking at Gervaise carefully and could see that she was upset.
+She moved still closer, maliciously finding pleasure in bringing up
+these old stories. Of a sudden she asked Gervaise what she would do if
+Lantier came round here. Men were really such strange creatures, he
+might decide to return to his first love. This caused Gervaise to sit
+up very straight and dignified. She was a married woman; she would send
+Lantier off immediately. There was no possibility of anything further
+between them, not even a handshake. She would not even want to look
+that man in the face.
+
+“I know that Etienne is his son, and that’s a relationship that
+remains,” she said. “If Lantier wants to see his son, I’ll send the boy
+to him because you can’t stop a father from seeing his child. But as
+for myself, I don’t want him to touch me even with the tip of his
+finger. That is all finished.”
+
+Desiring to break off this conversation, she seemed to awake with a
+start and called out to the women:
+
+“You ladies! Do you think all these clothes are going to iron
+themselves? Get to work!”
+
+The workwomen, slow from the heat and general laziness, didn’t hurry
+themselves, but went right on talking, gossiping about other people
+they had known.
+
+Gervaise shook herself and got to her feet. Couldn’t earn money by
+sitting all day. She was the first to return to the ironing, but found
+that her curtains had been spotted by the coffee and she had to rub out
+the stains with a damp cloth. The other women were now stretching and
+getting ready to begin ironing.
+
+Clemence had a terrible attack of coughing as soon as she moved.
+Finally she was able to return to the shirt she had been doing. Madame
+Putois began to work on the petticoat again.
+
+“Well, good-bye,” said Virginie. “I only came out for a quarter-pound
+of Swiss cheese. Poisson must think I’ve frozen to death on the way.”
+
+She had only just stepped outside when she turned back to say that
+Augustine was at the end of the street, sliding on the ice with some
+urchins. The squint-eyed imp rushed in all red-faced and out of breath
+with snow all in her hair. She didn’t mind the scolding she received,
+merely saying that she hadn’t been able to walk fast because of the ice
+and then some brats threw snow at her.
+
+The afternoons were all the same these winter days. The laundry was the
+refuge for anyone in the neighborhood who was cold. There was an
+endless procession of gossiping women. Gervaise took pride in the
+comforting warmth of her shop and welcomed those who came in, “holding
+a salon,” as the Lorilleuxs and the Boches remarked meanly.
+
+Gervaise was always thoughtful and generous. Sometimes she even invited
+poor people in if she saw them shivering outside. A friendship sprang
+up with an elderly house-painter who was seventy. He lived in an attic
+room and was slowly dying of cold and hunger. His three sons had been
+killed in the war. He survived the best he could, but it had been two
+years since he had been able to hold a paint-brush in his hand.
+Whenever Gervaise saw Pere Bru walking outside, she would call him in
+and arrange a place for him close to the stove. Often she gave him some
+bread and cheese. Pere Bru’s face was as wrinkled as a withered apple.
+He would sit there, with his stooping shoulders and his white beard,
+without saying a word, just listening to the coke sputtering in the
+stove. Maybe he was thinking of his fifty years of hard work on high
+ladders, his fifty years spent painting doors and whitewashing ceilings
+in every corner of Paris.
+
+“Well, Pere Bru,” Gervaise would say, “what are you thinking of now?”
+
+“Nothing much. All sorts of things,” he would answer quietly.
+
+The workwomen tried to joke with him to cheer him up, saying he was
+worrying over his love affairs, but he scarcely listened to them before
+he fell back into his habitual attitude of meditative melancholy.
+
+Virginie now frequently spoke to Gervaise of Lantier. She seemed to
+find amusement in filling her mind with ideas of her old lover just for
+the pleasure of embarrassing her by making suggestions. One day she
+related that she had met him; then, as the laundress took no notice,
+she said nothing further, and it was only on the morrow that she added
+he had spoken about her for a long time, and with a great show of
+affection. Gervaise was much upset by these reports whispered in her
+ear in a corner of the shop. The mention of Lantier’s name always
+caused a worried sensation in the pit of her stomach. She certainly
+thought herself strong; she wished to lead the life of an industrious
+woman, because labor is the half of happiness. So she never considered
+Coupeau in this matter, having nothing to reproach herself with as
+regarded her husband, not even in her thoughts. But with a hesitating
+and suffering heart, she would think of the blacksmith. It seemed to
+her that the memory of Lantier—that slow possession which she was
+resuming—rendered her unfaithful to Goujet, to their unavowed love,
+sweet as friendship. She passed sad days whenever she felt herself
+guilty towards her good friend. She would have liked to have had no
+affection for anyone but him outside of her family. It was a feeling
+far above all carnal thoughts, for the signs of which upon her burning
+face Virginie was ever on the watch.
+
+As soon as spring came Gervaise often went and sought refuge with
+Goujet. She could no longer sit musing on a chair without immediately
+thinking of her first lover; she pictured him leaving Adele, packing
+his clothes in the bottom of their old trunk, and returning to her in a
+cab. The days when she went out, she was seized with the most foolish
+fears in the street; she was ever thinking she heard Lantier’s
+footsteps behind her. She did not dare turn round, but tremblingly
+fancied she felt his hands seizing her round the waist. He was, no
+doubt, spying upon her; he would appear before her some afternoon; and
+the bare idea threw her into a cold perspiration, because he would to a
+certainty kiss her on the ear, as he used to do in former days solely
+to tease her. It was this kiss which frightened her; it rendered her
+deaf beforehand; it filled her with a buzzing amidst which she could
+only distinguish the sound of her heart beating violently. So, as soon
+as these fears seized upon her, the forge was her only shelter; there,
+under Goujet’s protection, she once more became easy and smiling, as
+his sonorous hammer drove away her disagreeable reflections.
+
+What a happy time! The laundress took particular pains with the washing
+of her customer in the Rue des Portes-Blanches; she always took it home
+herself because that errand, every Friday, was a ready excuse for
+passing through the Rue Marcadet and looking in at the forge. The
+moment she turned the corner of the street she felt light and gay, as
+though in the midst of those plots of waste land surrounded by grey
+factories, she were out in the country; the roadway black with
+coal-dust, the plumage of steam over the roofs, amused her as much as a
+moss-covered path leading through masses of green foliage in a wood in
+the environs; and she loved the dull horizon, streaked by the tall
+factory-chimneys, the Montmartre heights, which hid the heavens from
+view, the chalky white houses pierced with the uniform openings of
+their windows. She would slacken her steps as she drew near, jumping
+over the pools of water, and finding a pleasure in traversing the
+deserted ins and outs of the yard full of old building materials. Right
+at the further end the forge shone with a brilliant light, even at
+mid-day. Her heart leapt with the dance of the hammers. When she
+entered, her face turned quite red, the little fair hairs at the nape
+of her neck flew about like those of a woman arriving at some lovers’
+meeting. Goujet was expecting her, his arms and chest bare, whilst he
+hammered harder on the anvil on those days so as to make himself heard
+at a distance. He divined her presence, and greeted her with a good
+silent laugh in his yellow beard. But she would not let him leave off
+his work; she begged him to take up his hammer again, because she loved
+him the more when he wielded it with his big arms swollen with muscles.
+She would go and give Etienne a gentle tap on the cheek, as he hung on
+to the bellows, and then remain for an hour watching the rivets.
+
+The two did not exchange a dozen words. They could not have more
+completely satisfied their love if alone in a room with the door
+double-locked. The snickering of Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, did not bother them in the least, for they no
+longer even heard him. At the end of a quarter of an hour she would
+begin to feel slightly oppressed; the heat, the powerful smell, the
+ascending smoke, made her dizzy, whilst the dull thuds of the hammers
+shook her from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Then she
+desired nothing more; it was her pleasure. Had Goujet pressed her in
+his arms it would not have procured her so sweet an emotion. She drew
+close to him that she might feel the wind raised by his hammer beat
+upon her cheek, and become, as it were, a part of the blow he struck.
+When the sparks made her soft hands smart, she did not withdraw them;
+on the contrary, she enjoyed the rain of fire which stung her skin. He
+for certain, divined the happiness which she tasted there; he always
+kept the most difficult work for the Fridays, so as to pay his court to
+her with all his strength and all his skill; he no longer spared
+himself at the risk of splitting the anvils in two, as he panted and
+his loins vibrated with the joy he was procuring her. All one
+spring-time their love thus filled Goujet with the rumbling of a storm.
+It was an idyll amongst giant-like labor in the midst of the glare of
+the coal fire, and of the shaking of the shed, the cracking carcass of
+which was black with soot. All that beaten iron, kneaded like red wax,
+preserved the rough marks of their love. When on the Fridays the
+laundress parted from Golden-Mug, she slowly reascended the Rue des
+Poissonniers, contented and tired, her mind and her body alike
+tranquil.
+
+Little by little, her fear of Lantier diminished; her good sense got
+the better of her. At that time she would still have led a happy life,
+had it not been for Coupeau, who was decidedly going to the bad. One
+day she just happened to be returning from the forge, when she fancied
+she recognized Coupeau inside Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir, in the act of
+treating himself to a round of vitriol in the company of My-Boots,
+Bibi-the-Smoker, and Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst. She
+passed quickly by, so as not to seem to be spying on them. But she
+glanced back; it was indeed Coupeau who was tossing his little glass of
+bad brandy down his throat with a gesture already familiar. He lied
+then; so he went in for brandy now! She returned home in despair; all
+her old dread of brandy took possession of her. She forgave the wine,
+because wine nourishes the workman; all kinds of spirit, on the
+contrary, were filth, poisons which destroyed in the workman the taste
+for bread. Ah! the government ought to prevent the manufacture of such
+horrid stuff!
+
+On arriving at the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, she found the whole house
+upset. Her workwomen had left the shop, and were in the courtyard
+looking up above. She questioned Clemence.
+
+“It’s old Bijard who’s giving his wife a hiding,” replied the ironer.
+“He was in the doorway, as drunk as a trooper, watching for her return
+from the wash-house. He whacked her up the stairs, and now he’s
+finishing her off up there in their room. Listen, can’t you hear her
+shrieks?”
+
+Gervaise hastened to the spot. She felt some friendship for her
+washer-woman, Madame Bijard, who was a very courageous woman. She had
+hoped to put a stop to what was going on. Upstairs, on the sixth floor
+the door of the room was wide open, some lodgers were shouting on the
+landing, whilst Madame Boche, standing in front of the door, was
+calling out:
+
+“Will you leave off? I shall send for the police; do you hear?”
+
+No one dared to venture inside the room, because it was known that
+Bijard was like a brute beast when he was drunk. As a matter of fact,
+he was scarcely ever sober. The rare days on which he worked, he placed
+a bottle of brandy beside his blacksmith’s vise, gulping some of it
+down every half hour. He could not keep himself going any other way. He
+would have blazed away like a torch if anyone had placed a lighted
+match close to his mouth.
+
+“But we mustn’t let her be murdered!” said Gervaise, all in a tremble.
+
+And she entered. The room, an attic, and very clean, was bare and cold,
+almost emptied by the drunken habits of the man, who took the very
+sheets from the bed to turn them into liquor. During the struggle the
+table had rolled away to the window, the two chairs, knocked over, had
+fallen with their legs in the air. In the middle of the room, on the
+tile floor, lay Madame Bijard, all bloody, her skirts, still soaked
+with the water of the wash-house, clinging to her thighs, her hair
+straggling in disorder. She was breathing heavily, with a rattle in her
+throat, as she muttered prolonged ohs! each time she received a blow
+from the heel of Bijard’s boot. He had knocked her down with his fists,
+and now he stamped upon her.
+
+“Ah, strumpet! Ah, strumpet! Ah strumpet!” grunted he in a choking
+voice, accompanying each blow with the word, taking a delight in
+repeating it, and striking all the harder the more he found his voice
+failing him.
+
+Then when he could no longer speak, he madly continued to kick with a
+dull sound, rigid in his ragged blue blouse and overalls, his face
+turned purple beneath his dirty beard, and his bald forehead streaked
+with big red blotches. The neighbors on the landing related that he was
+beating her because she had refused him twenty sous that morning.
+Boche’s voice was heard at the foot of the staircase. He was calling
+Madame Boche, saying:
+
+“Come down; let them kill each other, it’ll be so much scum the less.”
+
+Meanwhile, Pere Bru had followed Gervaise into the room. Between them
+they were trying to get him towards the door. But he turned round,
+speechless and foaming at the lips, and in his pale eyes the alcohol
+was blazing with a murderous glare. The laundress had her wrist
+injured; the old workman was knocked against the table. On the floor,
+Madame Bijard was breathing with greater difficulty, her mouth wide
+open, her eyes closed. Now Bijard kept missing her. He had madly
+returned to the attack, but blinded by rage, his blows fell on either
+side, and at times he almost fell when his kicks went into space. And
+during all this onslaught, Gervaise beheld in a corner of the room
+little Lalie, then four years old, watching her father murdering her
+mother. The child held in her arms, as though to protect her, her
+sister Henriette, only recently weaned. She was standing up, her head
+covered with a cotton cap, her face very pale and grave. Her large
+black eyes gazed with a fixedness full of thought and were without a
+tear.
+
+When at length Bijard, running against a chair, stumbled onto the tiled
+floor, where they left him snoring, Pere Bru helped Gervaise to raise
+Madame Bijard. The latter was now sobbing bitterly; and Lalie, drawing
+near, watched her crying, being used to such sights and already
+resigned to them. As the laundress descended the stairs, in the silence
+of the now quieted house, she kept seeing before her that look of this
+child of four, as grave and courageous as that of a woman.
+
+“Monsieur Coupeau is on the other side of the street,” called out
+Clemence as soon as she caught sight of her. “He looks awfully drunk.”
+
+Coupeau was just then crossing the street. He almost smashed a pane of
+glass with his shoulder as he missed the door. He was in a state of
+complete drunkenness, with his teeth clinched and his nose inflamed.
+And Gervaise at once recognized the vitriol of l’Assommoir in the
+poisoned blood which paled his skin. She tried to joke and get him to
+bed, the same as on the days when the wine had made him merry; but he
+pushed her aside without opening his lips, and raised his fist in
+passing as he went to bed of his own accord. He made Gervaise think of
+the other—the drunkard who was snoring upstairs, tired out by the blows
+he had struck. A cold shiver passed over her. She thought of the men
+she knew—of her husband, of Goujet, of Lantier—her heart breaking,
+despairing of ever being happy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Gervaise’s saint’s day fell on the 19th of June. On such occasions, the
+Coupeaus always made a grand display; they feasted till they were as
+round as balls, and their stomachs were filled for the rest of the
+week. There was a complete clear out of all the money they had. The
+moment there were a few sous in the house they went in gorging. They
+invented saints for those days which the almanac had not provided with
+any, just for the sake of giving themselves a pretext for gormandizing.
+Virginie highly commended Gervaise for stuffing herself with all sorts
+of savory dishes. When one has a husband who turns all he can lay hands
+on into drink, it’s good to line one’s stomach well, and not to let
+everything go off in liquids. Since the money would disappear anyway,
+surely it was better to pay it to the butcher. Gervaise used that
+excuse to justify overeating, saying it was Coupeau’s fault if they
+could no longer save a sou. She had grown considerably fatter, and she
+limped more than before because her leg, now swollen with fat, seemed
+to be getting gradually shorter.
+
+That year they talked about her saint’s day a good month beforehand.
+They thought of dishes and smacked their lips in advance. All the shop
+had a confounded longing to junket. They wanted a merry-making of the
+right sort—something out of the ordinary and highly successful. One
+does not have so many opportunities for enjoyment. What most troubled
+the laundress was to decide whom to invite; she wished to have twelve
+persons at table, no more, no less. She, her husband, mother Coupeau,
+and Madame Lerat, already made four members of the family. She would
+also have the Goujets and the Poissons. Originally, she had decided not
+to invite her workwomen, Madame Putois and Clemence, so as not to make
+them too familiar; but as the projected feast was being constantly
+spoken of in their presence, and their mouths watered, she ended by
+telling them to come. Four and four, eight, and two are ten. Then,
+wishing particularly to have twelve, she became reconciled with the
+Lorilleuxs, who for some time past had been hovering around her; at
+least it was agreed that the Lorilleuxs should come to dinner, and that
+peace should be made with glasses in hand. You really shouldn’t keep
+family quarrels going forever. When the Boches heard that a
+reconciliation was planned, they also sought to make up with Gervaise,
+and so they had to be invited to the dinner too. That would make
+fourteen, not counting the children. Never before had she given such a
+large dinner and the thought frightened and excited her at the same
+time.
+
+The saint’s day happened to fall on a Monday. It was a piece of luck.
+Gervaise counted on the Sunday afternoon to begin the cooking. On the
+Saturday, whilst the workwomen hurried with their work, there was a
+long discussion in the shop with the view of finally deciding upon what
+the feast should consist of. For three weeks past one thing alone had
+been chosen—a fat roast goose. There was a gluttonous look on every
+face whenever it was mentioned. The goose was even already bought.
+Mother Coupeau went and fetched it to let Clemence and Madame Putois
+feel its weight. And they uttered all kinds of exclamations; it looked
+such an enormous bird, with its rough skin all swelled out with yellow
+fat.
+
+“Before that there will be the pot-au-feu,” said Gervaise, “the soup
+and just a small piece of boiled beef, it’s always good. Then we must
+have something in the way of a stew.”
+
+Tall Clemence suggested rabbit, but they were always having that,
+everyone was sick of it. Gervaise wanted something more distinguished.
+Madame Putois having spoken of stewed veal, they looked at one another
+with broad smiles. It was a real idea, nothing would make a better
+impression than a veal stew.
+
+“And after that,” resumed Gervaise, “we must have some other dish with
+a sauce.”
+
+Mother Coupeau proposed fish. But the others made a grimace, as they
+banged down their irons. None of them liked fish; it was not a bit
+satisfying; and besides that it was full of bones. Squint-eyed
+Augustine, having dared to observe that she liked skate, Clemence shut
+her mouth for her with a good sound clout. At length the mistress
+thought of stewed pig’s back and potatoes, which restored the smiles to
+every countenance. Then Virginie entered like a puff of wind, with a
+strange look on her face.
+
+“You’ve come just at the right time!” exclaimed Gervaise. “Mother
+Coupeau, do show her the bird.”
+
+And mother Coupeau went a second time and fetched the goose, which
+Virginie had to take in her hands. She uttered no end of exclamations.
+By Jove! It was heavy! But she soon laid it down on the work-table,
+between a petticoat and a bundle of shirts. Her thoughts were
+elsewhere. She dragged Gervaise into the back-room.
+
+“I say, little one,” murmured she rapidly, “I’ve come to warn you.
+You’ll never guess who I just met at the corner of the street. Lantier,
+my dear! He’s hovering about on the watch; so I hastened here at once.
+It frightened me on your account, you know.”
+
+The laundress turned quite pale. What could the wretched man want with
+her? Coming, too, like that, just in the midst of the preparations for
+the feast. She had never had any luck; she could not even be allowed to
+enjoy herself quietly. But Virginie replied that she was very foolish
+to put herself out about it like that. Why! If Lantier dared to follow
+her about, all she had to do was to call a policeman and have him
+locked up. In the month since her husband had been appointed a
+policeman, Virginie had assumed rather lordly manners and talked of
+arresting everybody. She began to raise her voice, saying that she
+wished some passer-by would pinch her bottom so that she could take the
+fresh fellow to the police station herself and turn him over to her
+husband. Gervaise signaled her to be quiet since the workwomen were
+listening and led the way back into the shop, reopening the discussion
+about the dinner.
+
+“Now, don’t we need a vegetable?”
+
+“Why not peas with bacon?” said Virginie. “I like nothing better.”
+
+“Yes, peas with bacon.” The others approved. Augustine was so
+enthusiastic that she jabbed the poker into the stove harder than ever.
+
+By three o’clock on the morrow, Sunday, mother Coupeau had lighted
+their two stoves and also a third one of earthenware which they had
+borrowed from the Boches. At half-past three the pot-au-feu was boiling
+away in an enormous earthenware pot lent by the eating-house keeper
+next door, the family pot having been found too small. They had decided
+to cook the veal and the pig’s back the night before, since both of
+those dishes are better when reheated. But the cream sauce for the veal
+would not be prepared until just before sitting down for the feast.
+
+There was still plenty of work left for Monday: the soup, the peas with
+bacon, the roast goose. The inner room was lit by three fires. Butter
+was sizzling in the pans and emitting a sharp odor of burnt flour.
+
+Mother Coupeau and Gervaise, with white aprons tied on, were bustling
+all around, cleaning parsley, dashing for salt and pepper, turning the
+meat. They had sent Coupeau away so as not to have him underfoot, but
+they still had plenty of people looking in throughout the afternoon.
+The luscious smells from the kitchen had spread through the entire
+building so that neighboring ladies came into the shop on various
+pretexts, very curious to see what was being cooked.
+
+Virginie put in an appearance towards five o’clock. She had again seen
+Lantier; really, it was impossible to go down the street now without
+meeting him. Madame Boche also had just caught sight of him standing at
+the corner of the pavement with his head thrust forward in an
+uncommonly sly manner. Then Gervaise who had at that moment intended
+going for a sou’s worth of burnt onions for the pot-au-feu, began to
+tremble from head to foot and did not dare leave the house; the more
+so, as the concierge and the dressmaker put her into a terrible fright
+by relating horrible stories of men waiting for women with knives and
+pistols hidden beneath their overcoats. Well, yes! one reads of such
+things every day in the newspapers. When one of those scoundrels gets
+his monkey up on discovering an old love leading a happy life he
+becomes capable of everything. Virginie obligingly offered to run and
+fetch the burnt onions. Women should always help one another, they
+could not let that little thing be murdered. When she returned she said
+that Lantier was no longer there; he had probably gone off on finding
+he was discovered. In spite of that thought, he was the subject of
+conversation around the saucepans until night-time. When Madame Boche
+advised her to inform Coupeau, Gervaise became really terrified, and
+implored her not to say a word about it. Oh, yes, wouldn’t that be a
+nice situation! Her husband must have become suspicious already because
+for the last few days, at night, he would swear to himself and bang the
+wall with his fists. The mere thought that the two men might destroy
+each other because of her made her shudder. She knew that Coupeau was
+jealous enough to attack Lantier with his shears.
+
+While the four of them had been deep in contemplating this drama, the
+saucepans on the banked coals of the stoves had been quietly simmering.
+When mother Coupeau lifted the lids, the veal and the pig’s back were
+discreetly bubbling. The pot-au-feu was steadily steaming with
+snore-like sounds. Eventually each of them dipped a piece of bread into
+the soup to taste the bouillon.
+
+At length Monday arrived. Now that Gervaise was going to have fourteen
+persons at table, she began to fear that she would not be able to find
+room for them all. She decided that they should dine in the shop; and
+the first thing in the morning she took measurements so as to settle
+which way she should place the table. After that they had to remove all
+the clothes and take the ironing-table to pieces; the top of this laid
+on to some shorter trestles was to be the dining-table. But just in the
+midst of all this moving a customer appeared and made a scene because
+she had been waiting for her washing ever since the Friday; they were
+humbugging her, she would have her things at once. Then Gervaise tried
+to excuse herself and lied boldly; it was not her fault, she was
+cleaning out her shop, the workmen would not be there till the morrow;
+and she pacified her customer and got rid of her by promising to busy
+herself with her things at the earliest possible moment. Then, as soon
+as the woman had left, she showed her temper. Really, if you listened
+to all your customers, you’d never have time to eat. You could work
+yourself to death like a dog on a leash! Well! No matter who came in
+to-day, even if they offered one hundred thousand francs, she wouldn’t
+touch an iron on this Monday, because it was her turn to enjoy herself.
+
+The entire morning was spent in completing the purchases. Three times
+Gervaise went out and returned laden like a mule. But just as she was
+going to order wine she noticed that she had not sufficient money left.
+She could easily have got it on credit; only she could not be without
+money in the house, on account of the thousand little expenses that one
+is liable to forget. And mother Coupeau and she had lamented together
+in the back-room as they reckoned that they required at least twenty
+francs. How could they obtain them, those four pieces of a hundred sous
+each? Mother Coupeau who had at one time done the charring for a little
+actress of the Theatre des Batignolles, was the first to suggest the
+pawn-shop. Gervaise laughed with relief. How stupid she was not to have
+thought of it! She quickly folded her black silk dress upon a towel
+which she then pinned together. Then she hid the bundle under mother
+Coupeau’s apron, telling her to keep it very flat against her stomach,
+on account of the neighbors who had no need to know; and she went and
+watched at the door to see that the old woman was not followed. But the
+latter had only gone as far as the charcoal dealer’s when she called
+her back.
+
+“Mamma! Mamma!”
+
+She made her return to the shop, and taking her wedding-ring off her
+finger said:
+
+“Here, put this with it. We shall get all the more.”
+
+When mother Coupeau brought her twenty-five francs, she danced for joy.
+She would order an extra six bottles of wine, sealed wine to drink with
+the roast. The Lorilleuxs would be crushed.
+
+For a fortnight past it had been the Coupeaus’ dream to crush the
+Lorilleuxs. Was it not true that those sly ones, the man and his wife,
+a truly pretty couple, shut themselves up whenever they had anything
+nice to eat as though they had stolen it? Yes, they covered up the
+window with a blanket to hide the light and make believe that they were
+already asleep in bed. This stopped anyone from coming up, and so the
+Lorilleuxs could stuff everything down, just the two of them. They were
+even careful the next day not to throw the bones into the garbage so
+that no one would know what they had eaten. Madame Lorilleux would walk
+to the end of the street to toss them into a sewer opening. One morning
+Gervaise surprised her emptying a basket of oyster shells there. Oh,
+those penny-pinchers were never open-handed, and all their mean
+contrivances came from their desire to appear to be poor. Well, we’d
+show them, we’d prove to them that we weren’t mean.
+
+Gervaise would have laid her table in the street, had she been able to,
+just for the sake of inviting each passer-by. Money was not invented
+that it should be allowed to grow moldy, was it? It is pretty when it
+shines all new in the sunshine. She resembled them so little now, that
+on the days when she had twenty sous she arranged things to let people
+think that she had forty.
+
+Mother Coupeau and Gervaise talked of the Lorilleuxs whilst they laid
+the cloth about three o’clock. They had hung some big curtains at the
+windows; but as it was very warm the door was left open and the whole
+street passed in front of the little table. The two women did not place
+a decanter, or a bottle, or a salt-cellar, without trying to arrange
+them in such a way as to annoy the Lorilleuxs. They had arranged their
+seats so as to give them a full view of the superbly laid cloth, and
+they had reserved the best crockery for them, well knowing that the
+porcelain plates would create a great effect.
+
+“No, no, mamma,” cried Gervaise; “don’t give them those napkins! I’ve
+two damask ones.”
+
+“Ah, good!” murmured the old woman; “that’ll break their hearts, that’s
+certain.”
+
+And they smiled to each other as they stood up on either side of that
+big white table on which the fourteen knives and forks, placed all
+round, caused them to swell with pride. It had the appearance of the
+altar of some chapel in the middle of the shop.
+
+“That’s because they’re so stingy themselves!” resumed Gervaise. “You
+know they lied last month when the woman went about everywhere saying
+that she had lost a piece of gold chain as she was taking the work
+home. The idea! There’s no fear of her ever losing anything! It was
+simply a way of making themselves out very poor and of not giving you
+your five francs.”
+
+“As yet I’ve only seen my five francs twice,” said mother Coupeau.
+
+“I’ll bet next month they’ll concoct some other story. That explains
+why they cover their window up when they have a rabbit to eat. Don’t
+you see? One would have the right to say to them: ‘As you can afford a
+rabbit you can certainly give five francs to your mother!’ Oh! they’re
+just rotten! What would have become of you if I hadn’t taken you to
+live with us?”
+
+Mother Coupeau slowly shook her head. That day she was all against the
+Lorilleuxs, because of the great feast the Coupeaus were giving. She
+loved cooking, the little gossipings round the saucepans, the place
+turned topsy-turvy by the revels of saints’ days. Besides she generally
+got on pretty well with Gervaise. On other days when they plagued one
+another as happens in all families, the old woman grumbled saying she
+was wretchedly unfortunate in thus being at her daughter-in-law’s
+mercy. In point of fact she probably had some affection for Madame
+Lorilleux who after all was her daughter.
+
+“Ah!” continued Gervaise, “you wouldn’t be so fat, would you, if you
+were living with them? And no coffee, no snuff, no little luxuries of
+any sort! Tell me, would they have given you two mattresses to your
+bed?”
+
+“No, that’s very certain,” replied mother Coupeau. “When they arrive I
+shall place myself so as to have a good view of the door to see the
+faces they’ll make.”
+
+Thinking of the faces they would make gave them pleasure ahead of time.
+However, they couldn’t remain standing there admiring the table. The
+Coupeaus had lunched very late on just a bite or two, because the
+stoves were already in use, and because they did not want to dirty any
+dishes needed for the evening. By four o’clock the two women were
+working very hard. The huge goose was being cooked on a spit.
+Squint-eyed Augustine was sitting on a low bench solemnly basting the
+goose with a long-handled spoon. Gervaise was busy with the peas with
+bacon. Mother Coupeau, kept spinning around, a bit confused, waiting
+for the right time to begin reheating the pork and the veal.
+
+Towards five o’clock the guests began to arrive. First of all came the
+two workwomen, Clemence and Madame Putois, both in their Sunday best,
+the former in blue, the latter in black; Clemence carried a geranium,
+Madame Putois a heliotrope, and Gervaise, whose hands were just then
+smothered with flour, had to kiss each of them on both cheeks with her
+arms behind her back. Then following close upon their heels entered
+Virginie dressed like a lady in a printed muslin costume with a sash
+and a bonnet though she had only a few steps to come. She brought a pot
+of red carnations. She took the laundress in her big arms and squeezed
+her tight. At length Boche appeared with a pot of pansies and Madame
+Boche with a pot of mignonette; then came Madame Lerat with a
+balm-mint, the pot of which had dirtied her violet merino dress. All
+these people kissed each other and gathered together in the back-room
+in the midst of the three stoves and the roasting apparatus, which gave
+out a stifling heat. The noise from the saucepans drowned the voices. A
+dress catching in the Dutch oven caused quite an emotion. The smell of
+roast goose was so strong that it made their mouths water. And Gervaise
+was very pleasant, thanking everyone for their flowers without however
+letting that interfere with her preparing the thickening for the stewed
+veal at the bottom of a soup plate. She had placed the pots in the shop
+at one end of the table without removing the white paper that was round
+them. A sweet scent of flowers mingled with the odor of cooking.
+
+“Do you want any assistance?” asked Virginie. “Just fancy, you’ve been
+three days preparing all this feast and it will be gobbled up in no
+time.”
+
+“Well, you know,” replied Gervaise, “it wouldn’t prepare itself. No,
+don’t dirty your hands. You see everything’s ready. There’s only the
+soup to warm.”
+
+Then they all made themselves comfortable. The ladies laid their shawls
+and their caps on the bed and pinned up their skirts so as not to soil
+them. Boche sent his wife back to the concierge’s lodge until time to
+eat and had cornered Clemence in a corner trying to find out if she was
+ticklish. She was gasping for breath, as the mere thought of being
+tickled sent shivers through her. So as not to bother the cooks, the
+other ladies had gone into the shop and were standing against the wall
+facing the table. They were talking through the door though, and as
+they could not hear very well, they were continually invading the
+back-room and crowding around Gervaise, who would forget what she was
+doing to answer them.
+
+There were a few stories which brought sly laughter. When Virginie
+mentioned that she hadn’t eaten for two days in order to have more room
+for today’s feast, tall Clemence said that she had cleaned herself out
+that morning with an enema like the English do. Then Boche suggested a
+way of digesting the food quickly by squeezing oneself after each
+course, another English custom. After all, when you were invited to
+dinner, wasn’t it polite to eat as much as you could? Veal and pork and
+goose are placed out for the cats to eat. The hostess didn’t need to
+worry a bit, they were going to clean their plates so thoroughly that
+she wouldn’t have to wash them.
+
+All of them kept coming to smell the air above the saucepans and the
+roaster. The ladies began to act like young girls, scurrying from room
+to room and pushing each other.
+
+Just as they were all jumping about and shouting by way of amusement,
+Goujet appeared. He was so timid he scarcely dared enter, but stood
+still, holding a tall white rose-tree in his arms, a magnificent plant
+with a stem that reached to his face and entangled the flowers in his
+beard. Gervaise ran to him, her cheeks burning from the heat of the
+stoves. But he did not know how to get rid of his pot; and when she had
+taken it from his hands he stammered, not daring to kiss her. It was
+she who was obliged to stand on tip-toe and place her cheek against his
+lips; he was so agitated that even then he kissed her roughly on the
+eye almost blinding her. They both stood trembling.
+
+“Oh! Monsieur Goujet, it’s too lovely!” said she, placing the rose-tree
+beside the other flowers which it overtopped with the whole of its tuft
+of foliage.
+
+“Not at all, not at all!” repeated he, unable to say anything else.
+
+Then, after sighing deeply, he slightly recovered himself and stated
+that she was not to expect his mother; she was suffering from an attack
+of sciatica. Gervaise was greatly grieved; she talked of putting a
+piece of the goose on one side as she particularly wished Madame Goujet
+to have a taste of the bird. No one else was expected. Coupeau was no
+doubt strolling about in the neighborhood with Poisson whom he had
+called for directly after his lunch; they would be home directly, they
+had promised to be back punctually at six. Then as the soup was almost
+ready, Gervaise called to Madame Lerat, saying that she thought it was
+time to go and fetch the Lorilleuxs. Madame Lerat became at once very
+grave; it was she who had conducted all the negotiations and who had
+settled how everything should pass between the two families. She put
+her cap and shawl on again and went upstairs very stiffly in her
+skirts, looking very stately. Down below the laundress continued to
+stir her vermicelli soup without saying a word. The guests suddenly
+became serious and solemnly waited.
+
+It was Madame Lerat who appeared first. She had gone round by the
+street so as to give more pomp to the reconciliation. She held the
+shop-door wide open whilst Madame Lorilleux, wearing a silk dress,
+stopped at the threshold. All the guests had risen from their seats;
+Gervaise went forward and kissing her sister-in-law as had been agreed,
+said:
+
+“Come in. It’s all over, isn’t it? We’ll both be nice to each other.”
+
+And Madame Lorilleux replied:
+
+“I shall be only too happy if we’re so always.”
+
+When she had entered Lorilleux also stopped at the threshold and he
+likewise waited to be embraced before penetrating into the shop.
+Neither the one nor the other had brought a bouquet. They had decided
+not to do so as they thought it would look too much like giving way to
+Clump-clump if they carried flowers with them the first time they set
+foot in her home. Gervaise called to Augustine to bring two bottles of
+wine. Then, filling some glasses on a corner of the table, she called
+everyone to her. And each took a glass and drank to the good friendship
+of the family. There was a pause whilst the guests were drinking, the
+ladies raising their elbows and emptying their glasses to the last
+drop.
+
+“Nothing is better before soup,” declared Boche, smacking his lips.
+
+Mother Coupeau had placed herself opposite the door to see the faces
+the Lorilleuxs would make. She pulled Gervaise by the skirt and dragged
+her into the back-room. And as they both leant over the soup they
+conversed rapidly in a low voice.
+
+“Huh! What a sight!” said the old woman. “You couldn’t see them; but I
+was watching. When she caught sight of the table her face twisted
+around like that, the corners of her mouth almost touched her eyes; and
+as for him, it nearly choked him, he coughed and coughed. Now just look
+at them over there; they’ve no saliva left in their mouths, they’re
+chewing their lips.”
+
+“It’s quite painful to see people as jealous as that,” murmured
+Gervaise.
+
+Really the Lorilleuxs had a funny look about them. No one of course
+likes to be crushed; in families especially when the one succeeds, the
+others do not like it; that is only natural. Only one keeps it in, one
+does not make an exhibition of oneself. Well! The Lorilleuxs could not
+keep it in. It was more than a match for them. They squinted—their
+mouths were all on one side. In short it was so apparent that the other
+guests looked at them, and asked them if they were unwell. Never would
+they be able to stomach this table with its fourteen place-settings,
+its white linen table cloth, its slices of bread cut in advance, all in
+the style of a first-class restaurant. Mme. Lorilleux went around the
+table, surreptitiously fingering the table cloth, tortured by the
+thought that it was a new one.
+
+“Everything’s ready!” cried Gervaise as she reappeared with a smile,
+her arms bare and her little fair curls blowing over her temples.
+
+“If the boss would only come,” resumed the laundress, “we might begin.”
+
+“Ah, well!” said Madame Lorilleux, “the soup will be cold by then.
+Coupeau always forgets. You shouldn’t have let him go off.”
+
+It was already half-past six. Everything was burning now; the goose
+would be overdone. Then Gervaise, feeling quite dejected, talked of
+sending someone to all the wineshops in the neighborhood to find
+Coupeau. And as Goujet offered to go, she decided to accompany him.
+Virginie, anxious about her husband went also. The three of them,
+bareheaded, quite blocked up the pavement. The blacksmith who wore his
+frock-coat, had Gervaise on his left arm and Virginie on his right; he
+was doing the two-handled basket as he said; and it seemed to them such
+a funny thing to say that they stopped, unable to move their legs for
+laughing. They looked at themselves in the pork-butcher’s glass and
+laughed more than ever. Beside Goujet, all in black, the two women
+looked like two speckled hens—the dressmaker in her muslin costume,
+sprinkled with pink flowers, the laundress in her white cambric dress
+with blue spots, her wrists bare, and wearing round her neck a little
+grey silk scarf tied in a bow. People turned round to see them pass,
+looking so fresh and lively, dressed in their Sunday best on a week day
+and jostling the crowd which hung about the Rue des Poissonniers, on
+that warm June evening. But it was not a question of amusing
+themselves. They went straight to the door of each wineshop, looked in
+and sought amongst the people standing before the counter. Had that
+animal Coupeau gone to the Arc de Triomphe to get his dram? They had
+already done the upper part of the street, looking in at all the likely
+places; at the “Little Civet,” renowned for its preserved plums; at old
+mother Baquet’s, who sold Orleans wine at eight sous; at the
+“Butterfly,” the coachmen’s house of call, gentlemen who were not easy
+to please. But no Coupeau. Then as they were going down towards the
+Boulevard, Gervaise uttered a faint cry on passing the eating-house at
+the corner kept by Francois.
+
+“What’s the matter?” asked Goujet.
+
+The laundress no longer laughed. She was very pale, and laboring under
+so great an emotion that she had almost fallen. Virginie understood it
+all as she caught a sight of Lantier seated at one of Francois’s tables
+quietly dining. The two women dragged the blacksmith along.
+
+“My ankle twisted,” said Gervaise as soon as she was able to speak.
+
+At length they discovered Coupeau and Poisson at the bottom of the
+street inside Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir. They were standing up in the
+midst of a number of men; Coupeau, in a grey blouse, was shouting with
+furious gestures and banging his fists down on the counter. Poisson,
+not on duty that day and buttoned up in an old brown coat, was
+listening to him in a dull sort of way and without uttering a word,
+bristling his carroty moustaches and beard the while. Goujet left the
+women on the edge of the pavement, and went and laid his hand on the
+zinc-worker’s shoulder. But when the latter caught sight of Gervaise
+and Virginie outside he grew angry. Why was he badgered with such
+females as those? Petticoats had taken to tracking him about now! Well!
+He declined to stir, they could go and eat their beastly dinner all by
+themselves. To quiet him Goujet was obliged to accept a drop of
+something; and even then Coupeau took a fiendish delight in dawdling a
+good five minutes at the counter. When he at length came out he said to
+his wife:
+
+“I don’t like this. It’s my business where I go. Do you understand?”
+
+She did not answer. She was all in a tremble. She must have said
+something about Lantier to Virginie, for the latter pushed her husband
+and Goujet ahead, telling them to walk in front. The two women got on
+each side of Coupeau to keep him occupied and prevent him seeing
+Lantier. He wasn’t really drunk, being more intoxicated from shouting
+than from drinking. Since they seemed to want to stay on the left side,
+to tease them, he crossed over to the other side of the street.
+Worried, they ran after him and tried to block his view of the door of
+Francois’s. But Coupeau must have known that Lantier was there.
+Gervaise almost went out of her senses on hearing him grunt:
+
+“Yes, my duck, there’s a young fellow of our acquaintance inside there!
+You mustn’t take me for a ninny. Don’t let me catch you gallivanting
+about again with your side glances!”
+
+And he made use of some very coarse expressions. It was not him that
+she had come to look for with her bare elbows and her mealy mouth; it
+was her old beau. Then he was suddenly seized with a mad rage against
+Lantier. Ah! the brigand! Ah! the filthy hound! One or the other of
+them would have to be left on the pavement, emptied of his guts like a
+rabbit. Lantier, however, did not appear to notice what was going on
+and continued slowly eating some veal and sorrel. A crowd began to
+form. Virginie led Coupeau away and he calmed down at once as soon as
+he had turned the corner of the street. All the same they returned to
+the shop far less lively than when they left it.
+
+The guests were standing round the table with very long faces. The
+zinc-worker shook hands with them, showing himself off before the
+ladies. Gervaise, feeling rather depressed, spoke in a low voice as she
+directed them to their places. But she suddenly noticed that, as Madame
+Goujet had not come, a seat would remain empty—the one next to Madame
+Lorilleux.
+
+“We are thirteen!” said she, deeply affected, seeing in that a fresh
+omen of the misfortune with which she had felt herself threatened for
+some time past.
+
+The ladies already seated rose up looking anxious and annoyed. Madame
+Putois offered to retire because according to her it was not a matter
+to laugh about; besides she would not touch a thing, the food would do
+her no good. As to Boche, he chuckled. He would sooner be thirteen than
+fourteen; the portions would be larger, that was all.
+
+“Wait!” resumed Gervaise. “I can manage it.”
+
+And going out on to the pavement she called Pere Bru who was just then
+crossing the roadway. The old workman entered, stooping and stiff and
+his face without expression.
+
+“Seat yourself there, my good fellow,” said the laundress. “You won’t
+mind eating with us, will you?”
+
+He simply nodded his head. He was willing; he did not mind.
+
+“As well him as another,” continued she, lowering her voice. “He
+doesn’t often eat his fill. He will at least enjoy himself once more.
+We shall feel no remorse in stuffing ourselves now.”
+
+This touched Goujet so deeply that his eyes filled with tears. The
+others were also moved by compassion and said that it would bring them
+all good luck. However, Madame Lorilleux seemed unhappy at having the
+old man next to her. She cast glances of disgust at his work-roughened
+hands and his faded, patched smock, and drew away from him.
+
+Pere Bru sat with his head bowed, waiting. He was bothered by the
+napkin that was on the plate before him. Finally he lifted it off and
+placed it gently on the edge of the table, not thinking to spread it
+over his knees.
+
+Now at last Gervaise served the vermicelli soup; the guests were taking
+up their spoons when Virginie remarked that Coupeau had disappeared. He
+had perhaps returned to Pere Colombe’s. This time the company got
+angry. So much the worse! One would not run after him; he could stay in
+the street if he was not hungry; and as the spoons touched the bottom
+of the plates, Coupeau reappeared with two pots of flowers, one under
+each arm, a stock and a balsam. They all clapped their hands. He
+gallantly placed the pots, one on the right, the other on the left of
+Gervaise’s glass; then bending over and kissing her, he said:
+
+“I had forgotten you, my lamb. But in spite of that, we love each other
+all the same, especially on such a day as this.”
+
+“Monsieur Coupeau’s very nice this evening,” murmured Clemence in
+Boche’s ear. “He’s just got what he required, sufficient to make him
+amiable.”
+
+The good behavior of the master of the house restored the gaiety of the
+proceedings, which at one moment had been compromised. Gervaise, once
+more at her ease, was all smiles again. The guests finished their soup.
+Then the bottles circulated and they drank their first glass of wine,
+just a drop pure, to wash down the vermicelli. One could hear the
+children quarrelling in the next room. There were Etienne, Pauline,
+Nana and little Victor Fauconnier. It had been decided to lay a table
+for the four of them, and they had been told to be very good. That
+squint-eyed Augustine who had to look after the stoves was to eat off
+her knees.
+
+“Mamma! Mamma!” suddenly screamed Nana, “Augustine is dipping her bread
+in the Dutch oven!”
+
+The laundress hastened there and caught the squint-eyed one in the act
+of burning her throat in her attempts to swallow without loss of time a
+slice of bread soaked in boiling goose fat. She boxed her ears when the
+young monkey called out that it was not true. When, after the boiled
+beef, the stewed veal appeared, served in a salad-bowl, as they did not
+have a dish large enough, the party greeted it with a laugh.
+
+“It’s becoming serious,” declared Poisson, who seldom spoke.
+
+It was half-past seven. They had closed the shop door, so as not to be
+spied upon by the whole neighborhood; the little clockmaker opposite
+especially was opening his eyes to their full size and seemed to take
+the pieces from their mouths with such a gluttonous look that it almost
+prevented them from eating. The curtains hung before the windows
+admitted a great white uniform light which bathed the entire table with
+its symmetrical arrangement of knives and forks and its pots of flowers
+enveloped in tall collars of white paper; and this pale fading light,
+this slowly approaching dusk, gave to the party somewhat of an air of
+distinction. Virginie looked round the closed apartment hung with
+muslin and with a happy criticism declared it to be very cozy. Whenever
+a cart passed in the street the glasses jingled together on the table
+cloth and the ladies were obliged to shout out as loud as the men. But
+there was not much conversation; they all behaved very respectably and
+were very attentive to each other. Coupeau alone wore a blouse, because
+as he said one need not stand on ceremony with friends and besides
+which the blouse was the workman’s garb of honor. The ladies, laced up
+in their bodices, wore their hair in plaits greasy with pomatum in
+which the daylight was reflected; whilst the gentlemen, sitting at a
+distance from the table, swelled out their chests and kept their elbows
+wide apart for fear of staining their frock coats.
+
+Ah! thunder! What a hole they were making in the stewed veal! If they
+spoke little, they were chewing in earnest. The salad-bowl was becoming
+emptier and emptier with a spoon stuck in the midst of the thick
+sauce—a good yellow sauce which quivered like a jelly. They fished
+pieces of veal out of it and seemed as though they would never come to
+the end; the salad-bowl journeyed from hand to hand and faces bent over
+it as forks picked out the mushrooms. The long loaves standing against
+the wall behind the guests appeared to melt away. Between the mouthfuls
+one could hear the sound of glasses being replaced on the table. The
+sauce was a trifle too salty. It required four bottles of wine to drown
+that blessed stewed veal, which went down like cream, but which
+afterwards lit up a regular conflagration in one’s stomach. And before
+one had time to take a breath, the pig’s back, in the middle of a deep
+dish surrounded by big round potatoes, arrived in the midst of a cloud
+of smoke. There was one general cry. By Jove! It was just the thing!
+Everyone liked it. They would do it justice; and they followed the dish
+with a side glance as they wiped their knives on their bread so as to
+be in readiness. Then as soon as they were helped they nudged one
+another and spoke with their mouths full. It was just like butter!
+Something sweet and solid which one could feel run through one’s guts
+right down into one’s boots. The potatoes were like sugar. It was not a
+bit salty; only, just on account of the potatoes, it required a wetting
+every few minutes. Four more bottles were placed on the table. The
+plates were wiped so clean that they also served for the green peas and
+bacon. Oh! vegetables were of no consequence. They playfully gulped
+them down in spoonfuls. The best part of the dish was the small pieces
+of bacon just nicely grilled and smelling like horse’s hoof. Two
+bottles were sufficient for them.
+
+“Mamma! Mamma!” called out Nana suddenly, “Augustine’s putting her
+fingers in my plate!”
+
+“Don’t bother me! give her a slap!” replied Gervaise, in the act of
+stuffing herself with green peas.
+
+At the children’s table in the back-room, Nana was playing the role of
+lady of the house, sitting next to Victor and putting her brother
+Etienne beside Pauline so they could play house, pretending they were
+two married couples. Nana had served her guests very politely at first,
+but now she had given way to her passion for grilled bacon, trying to
+keep every piece for herself. While Augustine was prowling around the
+children’s table, she would grab the bits of bacon under the pretext of
+dividing them amongst the children. Nana was so furious that she bit
+Augustine on the wrist.
+
+“Ah! you know,” murmured Augustine, “I’ll tell your mother that after
+the veal you asked Victor to kiss you.”
+
+But all became quiet again as Gervaise and mother Coupeau came in to
+get the goose. The guests at the big table were leaning back in their
+chairs taking a breather. The men had unbuttoned their waistcoats, the
+ladies were wiping their faces with their napkins. The repast was, so
+to say, interrupted; only one or two persons, unable to keep their jaws
+still, continued to swallow large mouthfuls of bread, without even
+knowing that they were doing so. The others were waiting and allowing
+their food to settle while waiting for the main course. Night was
+slowly coming on; a dirty ashy grey light was gathering behind the
+curtains. When Augustine brought two lamps and placed one at each end
+of the table, the general disorder became apparent in the bright
+glare—the greasy forks and plates, the table cloth stained with wine
+and covered with crumbs. A strong stifling odor pervaded the room.
+Certain warm fumes, however, attracted all the noses in the direction
+of the kitchen.
+
+“Can I help you?” cried Virginie.
+
+She left her chair and passed into the inner room. All the women
+followed one by one. They surrounded the Dutch oven, and watched with
+profound interest as Gervaise and mother Coupeau tried to pull the bird
+out. Then a clamor arose, in the midst of which one could distinguish
+the shrill voices and the joyful leaps of the children. And there was a
+triumphal entry. Gervaise carried the goose, her arms stiff, and her
+perspiring face expanded in one broad silent laugh; the women walked
+behind her, laughing in the same way; whilst Nana, right at the end,
+raised herself up to see, her eyes open to their full extent. When the
+enormous golden goose, streaming with gravy, was on the table, they did
+not attack it at once. It was a wonder, a respectful wonderment, which
+for a moment left everyone speechless. They drew one another’s
+attention to it with winks and nods of the head. Golly! What a bird!
+
+“That one didn’t get fat by licking the walls, I’ll bet!” said Boche.
+
+Then they entered into details respecting the bird. Gervaise gave the
+facts. It was the best she could get at the poulterer’s in the Faubourg
+Poissonniers; it weighed twelve and a half pounds on the scales at the
+charcoal-dealer’s; they had burnt nearly half a bushel of charcoal in
+cooking it, and it had given three bowls full of drippings.
+
+Virginie interrupted her to boast of having seen it before it was
+cooked. “You could have eaten it just as it was,” she said, “its skin
+was so fine, like the skin of a blonde.” All the men laughed at this,
+smacking their lips. Lorilleux and Madame Lorilleux sniffed
+disdainfully, almost choking with rage to see such a goose on
+Clump-clump’s table.
+
+“Well! We can’t eat it whole,” the laundress observed. “Who’ll cut it
+up? No, no, not me! It’s too big; I’m afraid of it.”
+
+Coupeau offered his services. _Mon Dieu!_ it was very simple. You
+caught hold of the limbs, and pulled them off; the pieces were good all
+the same. But the others protested; they forcibly took possession of
+the large kitchen knife which the zinc-worker already held in his hand,
+saying that whenever he carved he made a regular graveyard of the
+platter. Finally, Madame Lerat suggested in a friendly tone:
+
+“Listen, it should be Monsieur Poisson; yes, Monsieur Poisson.”
+
+But, as the others did not appear to understand, she added in a more
+flattering manner still:
+
+“Why, yes, of course, it should be Monsieur Poisson, who’s accustomed
+to the use of arms.”
+
+And she passed the kitchen knife to the policeman. All round the table
+they laughed with pleasure and approval. Poisson bowed his head with
+military stiffness, and moved the goose before him. When he thrust the
+knife into the goose, which cracked, Lorilleux was seized with an
+outburst of patriotism.
+
+“Ah! if it was a Cossack!” he cried.
+
+“Have you ever fought with Cossacks, Monsieur Poisson?” asked Madame
+Boche.
+
+“No, but I have with Bedouins,” replied the policeman, who was cutting
+off a wing. “There are no more Cossacks.”
+
+A great silence ensued. Necks were stretched out as every eye followed
+the knife. Poisson was preparing a surprise. Suddenly he gave a last
+cut; the hind-quarter of the bird came off and stood up on end, rump in
+the air, making a bishop’s mitre. Then admiration burst forth. None
+were so agreeable in company as retired soldiers.
+
+The policeman allowed several minutes for the company to admire the
+bishop’s mitre and then finished cutting the slices and arranging them
+on the platter. The carving of the goose was now complete.
+
+When the ladies complained that they were getting rather warm, Coupeau
+opened the door to the street and the gaiety continued against the
+background of cabs rattling down the street and pedestrians bustling
+along the pavement. The goose was attacked furiously by the rested
+jaws. Boche remarked that just having to wait and watch the goose being
+carved had been enough to make the veal and pork slide down to his
+ankles.
+
+Then ensued a famous tuck-in; that is to say, not one of the party
+recollected ever having before run the risk of such a stomach-ache.
+Gervaise, looking enormous, her elbows on the table, ate great pieces
+of breast, without uttering a word, for fear of losing a mouthful, and
+merely felt slightly ashamed and annoyed at exhibiting herself thus, as
+gluttonous as a cat before Goujet. Goujet, however, was too busy
+stuffing himself to notice that she was all red with eating. Besides,
+in spite of her greediness, she remained so nice and good! She did not
+speak, but she troubled herself every minute to look after Pere Bru,
+and place some dainty bit on his plate. It was even touching to see
+this glutton take a piece of wing almost from her mouth to give it to
+the old fellow, who did not appear to be very particular, and who
+swallowed everything with bowed head, almost besotted from having
+gobbled so much after he had forgotten the taste of bread. The
+Lorilleuxs expended their rage on the roast goose; they ate enough to
+last them three days; they would have stowed away the dish, the table,
+the very shop, if they could have ruined Clump-clump by doing so. All
+the ladies had wanted a piece of the breast, traditionally the ladies’
+portion. Madame Lerat, Madame Boche, Madame Putois, were all picking
+bones; whilst mother Coupeau, who adored the neck, was tearing off the
+flesh with her two last teeth. Virginie liked the skin when it was
+nicely browned, and the other guests gallantly passed their skin to
+her; so much so, that Poisson looked at his wife severely, and bade her
+stop, because she had had enough as it was. Once already, she had been
+a fortnight in bed, with her stomach swollen out, through having eaten
+too much roast goose. But Coupeau got angry and helped Virginie to the
+upper part of a leg, saying that, by Jove’s thunder! if she did not
+pick it, she wasn’t a proper woman. Had roast goose ever done harm to
+anybody? On the contrary, it cured all complaints of the spleen. One
+could eat it without bread, like dessert. He could go on swallowing it
+all night without being the least bit inconvenienced; and, just to show
+off, he stuffed a whole drum-stick into his mouth. Meanwhile, Clemence
+had got to the end of the rump, and was sucking it with her lips,
+whilst she wriggled with laughter on her chair because Boche was
+whispering all sorts of smutty things to her. Ah, by Jove! Yes, there
+was a dinner! When one’s at it, one’s at it, you know; and if one only
+has the chance now and then, one would be precious stupid not to stuff
+oneself up to one’s ears. Really, one could see their sides puff out by
+degrees. They were cracking in their skins, the blessed gormandizers!
+With their mouths open, their chins besmeared with grease, they had
+such bloated red faces that one would have said they were bursting with
+prosperity.
+
+As for the wine, well, that was flowing as freely around the table as
+water flows in the Seine. It was like a brook overflowing after a
+rainstorm when the soil is parched. Coupeau raised the bottle high when
+pouring to see the red jet foam in the glass. Whenever he emptied a
+bottle, he would turn it upside down and shake it. One more dead
+solder! In a corner of the laundry the pile of dead soldiers grew
+larger and larger, a veritable cemetery of bottles onto which other
+debris from the table was tossed.
+
+Coupeau became indignant when Madame Putois asked for water. He took
+all the water pitchers from the table. Do respectable citizens ever
+drink water? Did she want to grow frogs in her stomach?
+
+Many glasses were emptied at one gulp. You could hear the liquid
+gurgling its way down the throats like rainwater in a drainpipe after a
+storm. One might say it was raining wine. _Mon Dieu!_ the juice of the
+grape was a remarkable invention. Surely the workingman couldn’t get
+along without his wine. Papa Noah must have planted his grapevine for
+the benefit of zinc-workers, tailors and blacksmiths. It brightened you
+up and refreshed you after a hard day’s work.
+
+Coupeau was in a high mood. He proclaimed that all the ladies present
+were very cute, and jingled the three sous in his pocket as if they had
+been five-franc pieces.
+
+Even Goujet, who was ordinarily very sober, had taken plenty of wine.
+Boche’s eyes were narrowing, those of Lorilleux were paling, and
+Poisson was developing expressions of stern severity on his soldierly
+face. All the men were as drunk as lords and the ladies had reached a
+certain point also, feeling so warm that they had to loosen their
+clothes. Only Clemence carried this a bit too far.
+
+Suddenly Gervaise recollected the six sealed bottles of wine. She had
+forgotten to put them on the table with the goose; she fetched them,
+and all the glasses were filled. Then Poisson rose, and holding his
+glass in the air, said:
+
+“I drink to the health of the missus.”
+
+All of them stood up, making a great noise with their chairs as they
+moved. Holding out their arms, they clinked glasses in the midst of an
+immense uproar.
+
+“Here’s to this day fifty years hence!” cried Virginie.
+
+“No, no,” replied Gervaise, deeply moved and smiling; “I shall be too
+old. Ah! a day comes when one’s glad to go.”
+
+Through the door, which was wide open, the neighborhood was looking on
+and taking part in the festivities. Passers-by stopped in the broad ray
+of light which shone over the pavement, and laughed heartily at seeing
+all these people stuffing away so jovially.
+
+The aroma from the roasted goose brought joy to the whole street. The
+clerks on the sidewalk opposite thought they could almost taste the
+bird. Others came out frequently to stand in front of their shops,
+sniffing the air and licking their lips. The little jeweler was unable
+to work, dizzy from having counted so many bottles. He seemed to have
+lost his head among his merry little cuckoo clocks.
+
+Yes, the neighbors were devoured with envy, as Coupeau said. But why
+should there be any secret made about the matter? The party, now fairly
+launched, was no longer ashamed of being seen at table; on the
+contrary, it felt flattered and excited at seeing the crowd gathered
+there, gaping with gluttony; it would have liked to have knocked out
+the shop-front and dragged the table into the road-way, and there to
+have enjoyed the dessert under the very nose of the public, and amidst
+the commotion of the thoroughfare. Nothing disgusting was to be seen in
+them, was there? Then there was no need to shut themselves in like
+selfish people. Coupeau, noticing the little clockmaker looked very
+thirsty, held up a bottle; and as the other nodded his head, he carried
+him the bottle and a glass. A fraternity was established in the street.
+They drank to anyone who passed. They called in any chaps who looked
+the right sort. The feast spread, extending from one to another, to the
+degree that the entire neighborhood of the Goutte-d’Or sniffed the
+grub, and held its stomach, amidst a rumpus worthy of the devil and all
+his demons. For some minutes, Madame Vigouroux, the charcoal-dealer,
+had been passing to and fro before the door.
+
+“Hi! Madame Vigouroux! Madame Vigouroux!” yelled the party.
+
+She entered with a broad grin on her face, which was washed for once,
+and so fat that the body of her dress was bursting. The men liked
+pinching her, because they might pinch her all over without ever
+encountering a bone. Boche made room for her beside him and reached
+slyly under the table to grab her knee. But she, being accustomed to
+that sort of thing, quietly tossed off a glass of wine, and related
+that all the neighbors were at their windows, and that some of the
+people of the house were beginning to get angry.
+
+“Oh, that’s our business,” said Madame Boche. “We’re the concierges,
+aren’t we? Well, we’re answerable for good order. Let them come and
+complain to us, we’ll receive them in a way they don’t expect.”
+
+In the back-room there had just been a furious fight between Nana and
+Augustine, on account of the Dutch oven, which both wanted to scrape
+out. For a quarter of an hour, the Dutch oven had rebounded over the
+tile floor with the noise of an old saucepan. Nana was now nursing
+little Victor, who had a goose-bone in his throat. She pushed her
+fingers under his chin, and made him swallow big lumps of sugar by way
+of a remedy. That did not prevent her keeping an eye on the big table.
+At every minute she came and asked for wine, bread, or meat, for
+Etienne and Pauline, she said.
+
+“Here! Burst!” her mother would say to her. “Perhaps you’ll leave us in
+peace now!”
+
+The children were scarcely able to swallow any longer, but they
+continued to eat all the same, banging their forks down on the table to
+the tune of a canticle, in order to excite themselves.
+
+In the midst of the noise, however, a conversation was going on between
+Pere Bru and mother Coupeau. The old fellow, who was ghastly pale in
+spite of the wine and the food, was talking of his sons who had died in
+the Crimea. Ah! if the lads had only lived, he would have had bread to
+eat every day. But mother Coupeau, speaking thickly, leant towards him
+and said:
+
+“Ah! one has many worries with children! For instance, I appear to be
+happy here, don’t I? Well! I cry more often than you think. No, don’t
+wish you still had your children.”
+
+Pere Bru shook his head.
+
+“I can’t get work anywhere,” murmured he. “I’m too old. When I enter a
+workshop the young fellows joke, and ask me if I polished Henri IV.’s
+boots. To-day it’s all over; they won’t have me anywhere. Last year I
+could still earn thirty sous a day painting a bridge. I had to lie on
+my back with the river flowing under me. I’ve had a bad cough ever
+since then. Now, I’m finished.”
+
+He looked at his poor stiff hands and added:
+
+“It’s easy to understand, I’m no longer good for anything. They’re
+right; were I in their place I should do the same. You see, the
+misfortune is that I’m not dead. Yes, it’s my fault. One should lie
+down and croak when one’s no longer able to work.”
+
+“Really,” said Lorilleux, who was listening, “I don’t understand why
+the Government doesn’t come to the aid of the invalids of labor. I was
+reading that in a newspaper the other day.”
+
+But Poisson thought it his duty to defend the Government.
+
+“Workmen are not soldiers,” declared he. “The Invalides is for
+soldiers. You must not ask for what is impossible.”
+
+Dessert was now served. In the centre of the table was a Savoy cake in
+the form of a temple, with a dome fluted with melon slices; and this
+dome was surmounted by an artificial rose, close to which was a silver
+paper butterfly, fluttering at the end of a wire. Two drops of gum in
+the centre of the flower imitated dew. Then, to the left, a piece of
+cream cheese floated in a deep dish; whilst in another dish to the
+right, were piled up some large crushed strawberries, with the juice
+running from them. However, there was still some salad left, some large
+coss lettuce leaves soaked with oil.
+
+“Come, Madame Boche,” said Gervaise, coaxingly, “a little more salad. I
+know how fond you are of it.”
+
+“No, no, thank you! I’ve already had as much as I can manage,” replied
+the concierge.
+
+The laundress turning towards Virginie, the latter put her finger in
+her mouth, as though to touch the food she had taken.
+
+“Really, I’m full,” murmured she. “There’s no room left. I couldn’t
+swallow a mouthful.”
+
+“Oh! but if you tried a little,” resumed Gervaise with a smile. “One
+can always find a tiny corner empty. Once doesn’t need to be hungry to
+be able to eat salad. You’re surely not going to let this be wasted?”
+
+“You can eat it to-morrow,” said Madame Lerat; “it’s nicer when its
+wilted.”
+
+The ladies sighed as they looked regretfully at the salad-bowl.
+Clemence related that she had one day eaten three bunches of
+watercresses at her lunch. Madame Putois could do more than that, she
+would take a coss lettuce and munch it up with some salt just as it was
+without separating the leaves. They could all have lived on salad,
+would have treated themselves to tubfuls. And, this conversation
+aiding, the ladies cleaned out the salad-bowl.
+
+“I could go on all fours in a meadow,” observed the concierge with her
+mouth full.
+
+Then they chuckled together as they eyed the dessert. Dessert did not
+count. It came rather late but that did not matter; they would nurse it
+all the same. When you’re that stuffed, you can’t let yourself be
+stopped by strawberries and cake. There was no hurry. They had the
+entire night if they wished. So they piled their plates with
+strawberries and cream cheese. Meanwhile the men lit their pipes. They
+were drinking the ordinary wine while they smoked since the special
+wine had been finished. Now they insisted that Gervaise cut the Savoy
+cake. Poisson got up and took the rose from the cake and presented it
+in his most gallant manner to the hostess amidst applause from the
+other guests. She pinned it over her left breast, near the heart. The
+silver butterfly fluttered with her every movement.
+
+“Well, look,” exclaimed Lorilleux, who had just made a discovery, “it’s
+your work-table that we’re eating off! Ah, well! I daresay it’s never
+seen so much work before!”
+
+This malicious joke had a great success. Witty allusions came from all
+sides. Clemence could not swallow a spoonful of strawberries without
+saying that it was another shirt ironed; Madame Lerat pretended that
+the cream cheese smelt of starch; whilst Madame Lorilleux said between
+her teeth that it was capital fun to gobble up the money so quickly on
+the very boards on which one had had so much trouble to earn it. There
+was quite a tempest of shouts and laughter.
+
+But suddenly a loud voice called for silence. It was Boche who,
+standing up in an affected and vulgar way, was commencing to sing “The
+Volcano of Love, or the Seductive Trooper.”
+
+A thunder of applause greeted the first verse. Yes, yes, they would
+sing songs! Everyone in turn. It was more amusing than anything else.
+And they all put their elbows on the table or leant back in their
+chairs, nodding their heads at the best parts and sipping their wine
+when they came to the choruses. That rogue Boche had a special gift for
+comic songs. He would almost make the water pitchers laugh when he
+imitated the raw recruit with his fingers apart and his hat on the back
+of his head. Directly after “The Volcano of Love,” he burst out into
+“The Baroness de Follebiche,” one of his greatest successes. When he
+reached the third verse he turned towards Clemence and almost murmured
+it in a slow and voluptuous tone of voice:
+
+“The baroness had people there,
+Her sisters four, oh! rare surprise;
+And three were dark, and one was fair;
+Between them, eight bewitching eyes.”
+
+
+Then the whole party, carried away, joined in the chorus. The men beat
+time with their heels, whilst the ladies did the same with their knives
+against their glasses. All of them singing at the top of their voices:
+
+“By Jingo! who on earth will pay
+A drink to the pa—to the pa—pa—?
+By Jingo! who on earth will pay
+A drink to the pa—to the pa—tro—o—l?”
+
+
+The panes of glass of the shop-front resounded, the singers’ great
+volume of breath agitated the muslin curtains. Whilst all this was
+going on, Virginie had already twice disappeared and each time, on
+returning, had leant towards Gervaise’s ear to whisper a piece of
+information. When she returned the third time, in the midst of the
+uproar, she said to her:
+
+“My dear, he’s still at Francois’s; he’s pretending to read the
+newspaper. He’s certainly meditating some evil design.”
+
+She was speaking of Lantier. It was him that she had been watching. At
+each fresh report Gervaise became more and more grave.
+
+“Is he drunk?” asked she of Virginie.
+
+“No,” replied the tall brunette. “He looks as though he had merely had
+what he required. It’s that especially which makes me anxious. Why does
+he remain there if he’s had all he wanted? _Mon Dieu!_ I hope nothing
+is going to happen!”
+
+The laundress, greatly upset, begged her to leave off. A profound
+silence suddenly succeeded the clamor. Madame Putois had just risen and
+was about to sing “The Boarding of the Pirate.” The guests, silent and
+thoughtful, watched her; even Poisson had laid his pipe down on the
+edge of the table the better to listen to her. She stood up to the full
+height of her little figure, with a fierce expression about her, though
+her face looked quite pale beneath her black cap; she thrust out her
+left fist with a satisfied pride as she thundered in a voice bigger
+than herself:
+
+“If the pirate audacious
+Should o’er the waves chase us,
+The buccaneer slaughter,
+Accord him no quarter.
+To the guns every man,
+And with rum fill each can!
+While these pests of the seas
+Dangle from the cross-trees.”
+
+
+That was something serious. By Jove! it gave one a fine idea of the
+real thing. Poisson, who had been on board ship nodded his head in
+approval of the description. One could see too that that song was in
+accordance with Madame Putois’s own feeling. Coupeau then told how
+Madame Putois, one evening on Rue Poulet, had slapped the face of four
+men who sought to attack her virtue.
+
+With the assistance of mother Coupeau, Gervaise was now serving the
+coffee, though some of the guests had not yet finished their Savoy
+cake. They would not let her sit down again, but shouted that it was
+her turn. With a pale face, and looking very ill at ease, she tried to
+excuse herself; she seemed so queer that someone inquired whether the
+goose had disagreed with her. She finally gave them “Oh! let me
+slumber!” in a sweet and feeble voice. When she reached the chorus with
+its wish for a sleep filled with beautiful dreams, her eyelids partly
+closed and her rapt gaze lost itself in the darkness of the street.
+
+Poisson stood next and with an abrupt bow to the ladies, sang a
+drinking song: “The Wines of France.” But his voice wasn’t very musical
+and only the final verse, a patriotic one mentioning the tricolor flag,
+was a success. Then he raised his glass high, juggled it a moment, and
+poured the contents into his open mouth.
+
+Then came a string of ballads; Madame Boche’s barcarolle was all about
+Venice and the gondoliers; Madame Lorilleux sang of Seville and the
+Andalusians in her bolero; whilst Lorilleux went so far as to allude to
+the perfumes of Arabia, in reference to the loves of Fatima the dancer.
+
+Golden horizons were opening up all around the heavily laden table. The
+men were smoking their pipes and the women unconsciously smiling with
+pleasure. All were dreaming they were far away.
+
+Clemence began to sing softly “Let’s Make a Nest” with a tremolo in her
+voice which pleased them greatly for it made them think of the open
+country, of songbirds, of dancing beneath an arbor, and of flowers. In
+short, it made them think of the Bois de Vincennes when they went there
+for a picnic.
+
+But Virginie revived the joking with “My Little Drop of Brandy.” She
+imitated a camp follower, with one hand on her hip, the elbow arched to
+indicate the little barrel; and with the other hand she poured out the
+brandy into space by turning her fist round. She did it so well that
+the party then begged mother Coupeau to sing “The Mouse.” The old woman
+refused, vowing that she did not know that naughty song. Yet she
+started off with the remnants of her broken voice; and her wrinkled
+face with its lively little eyes underlined the allusions, the terrors
+of Mademoiselle Lise drawing her skirts around her at the sight of a
+mouse. All the table laughed; the women could not keep their
+countenances, and continued casting bright glances at their neighbors;
+it was not indecent after all, there were no coarse words in it. All
+during the song Boche was playing mouse up and down the legs of the
+lady coal-dealer. Things might have gotten a bit out of line if Goujet,
+in response to a glance from Gervaise, had not brought back the
+respectful silence with “The Farewell of Abdul-Kader,” which he sang
+out loudly in his bass voice. The song rang out from his golden beard
+as if from a brass trumpet. All the hearts skipped a beat when he
+cried, “Ah, my noble comrade!” referring to the warrior’s black mare.
+They burst into applause even before the end.
+
+“Now, Pere Bru, it’s your turn!” said mother Coupeau. “Sing your song.
+The old ones are the best any day!”
+
+And everybody turned towards the old man, pressing him and encouraging
+him. He, in a state of torpor, with his immovable mask of tanned skin,
+looked at them without appearing to understand. They asked him if he
+knew the “Five Vowels.” He held down his head; he could not recollect
+it; all the songs of the good old days were mixed up in his head. As
+they made up their minds to leave him alone, he seemed to remember, and
+began to stutter in a cavernous voice:
+
+“Trou la la, trou la la,
+Trou la, trou la, trou la la!”
+
+
+His face assumed an animated expression, this chorus seemed to awake
+some far-off gaieties within him, enjoyed by himself alone, as he
+listened with a childish delight to his voice which became more and
+more hollow.
+
+“Say there, my dear,” Virginie came and whispered in Gervaise’s ear,
+“I’ve just been there again, you know. It worried me. Well! Lantier has
+disappeared from Francois’s.”
+
+“You didn’t meet him outside?” asked the laundress.
+
+“No, I walked quickly, not as if I was looking for him.”
+
+But Virginie raised her eyes, interrupted herself and heaved a
+smothered sigh.
+
+“Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ He’s there, on the pavement opposite; he’s looking
+this way.”
+
+Gervaise, quite beside herself, ventured to glance in the direction
+indicated. Some persons had collected in the street to hear the party
+sing. And Lantier was indeed there in the front row, listening and
+coolly looking on. It was rare cheek, everything considered. Gervaise
+felt a chill ascend from her legs to her heart, and she no longer dared
+to move, whilst old Bru continued:
+
+“Trou la la, trou la la,
+Trou la, trou la, trou la la!”
+
+
+“Very good. Thank you, my ancient one, that’s enough!” said Coupeau.
+“Do you know the whole of it? You shall sing it for us another day when
+we need something sad.”
+
+This raised a few laughs. The old fellow stopped short, glanced round
+the table with his pale eyes and resumed his look of a meditative
+animal. Coupeau called for more wine as the coffee was finished.
+Clemence was eating strawberries again. With the pause in singing, they
+began to talk about a woman who had been found hanging that morning in
+the building next door. It was Madame Lerat’s turn, but she required to
+prepare herself. She dipped the corner of her napkin into a glass of
+water and applied it to her temples because she was too hot. Then, she
+asked for a thimbleful of brandy, drank it, and slowly wiped her lips.
+
+“The ‘Child of God,’ shall it be?” she murmured, “the ‘Child of God.’”
+
+And, tall and masculine-looking, with her bony nose and her shoulders
+as square as a grenadier’s she began:
+
+“The lost child left by its mother alone
+Is sure of a home in Heaven above,
+God sees and protects it on earth from His throne,
+The child that is lost is the child of God’s love.”
+
+
+Her voice trembled at certain words, and dwelt on them in liquid notes;
+she looked out of the corner of her eyes to heaven, whilst her right
+hand swung before her chest or pressed against her heart with an
+impressive gesture. Then Gervaise, tortured by Lantier’s presence,
+could not restrain her tears; it seemed to her that the song was
+relating her own suffering, that she was the lost child, abandoned by
+its mother, and whom God was going to take under his protection.
+Clemence was now very drunk and she burst into loud sobbing and placed
+her head down onto the table in an effort to smother her gasps. There
+was a hush vibrant with emotion.
+
+The ladies had pulled out their handkerchiefs, and were drying their
+eyes, with their heads erect from pride. The men had bowed their heads
+and were staring straight before them, blinking back their tears.
+Poisson bit off the end of his pipe twice while gulping and gasping.
+Boche, with two large tears trickling down his face, wasn’t even
+bothering to squeeze the coal-dealer’s knee any longer. All these drunk
+revelers were as soft-hearted as lambs. Wasn’t the wine almost coming
+out of their eyes? When the refrain began again, they all let
+themselves go, blubbering into their plates.
+
+But Gervaise and Virginie could not, in spite of themselves, take their
+eyes off the pavement opposite. Madame Boche, in her turn, caught sight
+of Lantier and uttered a faint cry without ceasing to besmear her face
+with her tears. Then all three had very anxious faces as they exchanged
+involuntary signs. _Mon Dieu!_ if Coupeau were to turn round, if
+Coupeau caught sight of the other! What a butchery! What carnage! And
+they went on to such an extent that the zinc-worker asked them:
+
+“Whatever are you looking at?”
+
+He leant forward and recognized Lantier.
+
+“Damnation! It’s too much,” muttered he. “Ah! the dirty scoundrel—ah!
+the dirty scoundrel. No, it’s too much, it must come to an end.”
+
+And as he rose from his seat muttering most atrocious threats,
+Gervaise, in a low voice, implored him to keep quiet.
+
+“Listen to me, I implore you. Leave the knife alone. Remain where you
+are, don’t do anything dreadful.”
+
+Virginie had to take the knife which he had picked up off the table
+from him. But she could not prevent him leaving the shop and going up
+to Lantier.
+
+Those around the table saw nothing of this, so involved were they in
+weeping over the song as Madame Lerat sang the last verse. It sounded
+like a moaning wail of the wind and Madame Putois was so moved that she
+spilled her wine over the table. Gervaise remained frozen with fright,
+one hand tight against her lips to stifle her sobs. She expected at any
+moment to see one of the two men fall unconscious in the street.
+
+As Coupeau rushed toward Lantier, he was so astonished by the fresh air
+that he staggered, and Lantier, with his hands in his pockets, merely
+took a step to the side. Now the two men were almost shouting at each
+other, Coupeau calling the other a lousy pig and threatening to make
+sausage of his guts. They were shouting loudly and angrily and waving
+their arms violently. Gervaise felt faint and as it continued for a
+while, she closed her eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t hear any shouting and
+opened her eyes. The two men were chatting amiably together.
+
+Madame Lerat’s voice rose higher and higher, warbling another verse.
+
+Gervaise exchanged a glance with Madame Boche and Virginie. Was it
+going to end amicably then? Coupeau and Lantier continued to converse
+on the edge of the pavement. They were still abusing each other, but in
+a friendly way. As people were staring at them, they ended by strolling
+leisurely side by side past the houses, turning round again every ten
+yards or so. A very animated conversation was now taking place.
+Suddenly Coupeau appeared to become angry again, whilst the other was
+refusing something and required to be pressed. And it was the
+zinc-worker who pushed Lantier along and who forced him to cross the
+street and enter the shop.
+
+“I tell you, you’re quite welcome!” shouted he. “You’ll take a glass of
+wine. Men are men, you know. We ought to understand each other.”
+
+Madame Lerat was finishing the last chorus. The ladies were singing all
+together as they twisted their handkerchiefs.
+
+“The child that is lost is the child of God’s love.”
+
+The singer was greatly complimented and she resumed her seat affecting
+to be quite broken down. She asked for something to drink because she
+always put too much feeling into that song and she was constantly
+afraid of straining her vocal chords. Everyone at the table now had
+their eyes fixed on Lantier who, quietly seated beside Coupeau, was
+devouring the last piece of Savoy cake which he dipped in his glass of
+wine. With the exception of Virginie and Madame Boche none of the
+guests knew him. The Lorilleuxs certainly scented some underhand
+business, but not knowing what, they merely assumed their most
+conceited air. Goujet, who had noticed Gervaise’s emotion, gave the
+newcomer a sour look. As an awkward pause ensued Coupeau simply said:
+
+“A friend of mine.”
+
+And turning to his wife, added:
+
+“Come, stir yourself! Perhaps there’s still some hot coffee left.”
+
+Gervaise, feeling meek and stupid, looked at them one after the other.
+At first, when her husband pushed her old lover into the shop, she
+buried her head between her hands, the same as she instinctively did on
+stormy days at each clap of thunder. She could not believe it possible;
+the walls would fall in and crush them all. Then, when she saw the two
+sitting together peacefully, she suddenly accepted it as quite natural.
+A happy feeling of languor benumbed her, retained her all in a heap at
+the edge of the table, with the sole desire of not being bothered. _Mon
+Dieu!_ what is the use of putting oneself out when others do not, and
+when things arrange themselves to the satisfaction of everybody? She
+got up to see if there was any coffee left.
+
+In the back-room the children had fallen asleep. That squint-eyed
+Augustine had tyrannized over them all during the dessert, pilfering
+their strawberries and frightening them with the most abominable
+threats. Now she felt very ill, and was bent double upon a stool, not
+uttering a word, her face ghastly pale. Fat Pauline had let her head
+fall against Etienne’s shoulder, and he himself was sleeping on the
+edge of the table. Nana was seated with Victor on the rug beside the
+bedstead, she had passed her arm round his neck and was drawing him
+towards her; and, succumbing to drowsiness and with her eyes shut, she
+kept repeating in a feeble voice:
+
+“Oh! Mamma, I’m not well; oh! mamma, I’m not well.”
+
+“No wonder!” murmured Augustine, whose head was rolling about on her
+shoulders, “they’re drunk; they’ve been singing like grown up persons.”
+
+Gervaise received another blow on beholding Etienne. She felt as though
+she would choke when she thought of the youngster’s father being there
+in the other room, eating cake, and that he had not even expressed a
+desire to kiss the little fellow. She was on the point of rousing
+Etienne and of carrying him there in her arms. Then she again felt that
+the quiet way in which matters had been arranged was the best. It would
+not have been proper to have disturbed the harmony of the end of the
+dinner. She returned with the coffee-pot and poured out a glass of
+coffee for Lantier, who, by the way, did not appear to take any notice
+of her.
+
+“Now, it’s my turn,” stuttered Coupeau, in a thick voice. “You’ve been
+keeping the best for the last. Well! I’ll sing you ‘That Piggish
+Child.’”
+
+“Yes, yes, ‘That Piggish Child,’” cried everyone.
+
+The uproar was beginning again. Lantier was forgotten. The ladies
+prepared their glasses and their knives for accompanying the chorus.
+They laughed beforehand, as they looked at the zinc-worker, who
+steadied himself on his legs as he put on his most vulgar air.
+Mimicking the hoarse voice of an old woman, he sang:
+
+“When out of bed each morn I hop,
+I’m always precious queer;
+I send him for a little drop
+To the drinking-den that’s near.
+A good half hour or more he’ll stay,
+And that makes me so riled,
+He swigs it half upon his way:
+What a piggish child!”
+
+
+And the ladies, striking their glasses, repeated in chorus in the midst
+of a formidable gaiety:
+
+“What a piggish child!
+What a piggish child!”
+
+
+Even the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or itself joined in now. The whole
+neighborhood was singing “What a piggish child!” The little clockmaker,
+the grocery clerks, the tripe woman and the fruit woman all knew the
+song and joined in the chorus. The entire street seemed to be getting
+drunk on the odors from the Coupeau party. In the reddish haze from the
+two lamps, the noise of the party was enough to shut out the rumbling
+of the last vehicles in the street. Two policemen rushed over, thinking
+there was a riot, but on recognizing Poisson, they saluted him smartly
+and went away between the darkened buildings.
+
+Coupeau was now singing this verse:
+
+“On Sundays at Petite Villette,
+Whene’er the weather’s fine,
+We call on uncle, old Tinette,
+Who’s in the dustman line.
+To feast upon some cherry stones
+The young un’s almost wild,
+And rolls amongst the dust and bones,
+What a piggish child!
+What a piggish child!”
+
+
+Then the house almost collapsed, such a yell ascended in the calm warm
+night air that the shouters applauded themselves, for it was useless
+their hoping to be able to bawl any louder.
+
+Not one of the party could ever recollect exactly how the carouse
+terminated. It must have been very late, it’s quite certain, for not a
+cat was to be seen in the street. Possibly too, they had all joined
+hands and danced round the table. But all was submerged in a yellow
+mist, in which red faces were jumping about, with mouths slit from ear
+to ear. They had probably treated themselves to something stronger than
+wine towards the end, and there was a vague suspicion that some one had
+played them the trick of putting salt into the glasses. The children
+must have undressed and put themselves to bed. On the morrow, Madame
+Boche boasted of having treated Boche to a couple of clouts in a
+corner, where he was conversing a great deal too close to the
+charcoal-dealer; but Boche, who recollected nothing, said she must have
+dreamt it. Everyone agreed that it wasn’t very decent the way Clemence
+had carried on. She had ended by showing everything she had and then
+been so sick that she had completely ruined one of the muslin curtains.
+The men had at least the decency to go into the street; Lorilleux and
+Poisson, feeling their stomachs upset, had stumblingly glided as far as
+the pork-butcher’s shop. It is easy to see when a person has been well
+brought up. For instance, the ladies, Madame Putois, Madame Lerat, and
+Virginie, indisposed by the heat, had simply gone into the back-room
+and taken their stays off; Virginie had even desired to lie on the bed
+for a minute, just to obviate any unpleasant effects. Thus the party
+had seemed to melt away, some disappearing behind the others, all
+accompanying one another, and being lost sight of in the surrounding
+darkness, to the accompaniment of a final uproar, a furious quarrel
+between the Lorilleuxs, and an obstinate and mournful “trou la la, trou
+la la,” of old Bru’s. Gervaise had an idea that Goujet had burst out
+sobbing when bidding her good-bye; Coupeau was still singing; and as
+for Lantier, he must have remained till the end. At one moment even,
+she could still feel a breath against her hair, but she was unable to
+say whether it came from Lantier or if it was the warm night air.
+
+Since Madame Lerat didn’t want to return to Les Batignolles at such a
+late hour, they took one of the mattresses off the bed and spread it
+for her in a corner of the shop, after pushing back the table. She
+slept right there amid all the dinner crumbs. All night long, while the
+Coupeaus were sleeping, a neighbor’s cat took advantage of an open
+window and was crunching the bones of the goose with its sharp teeth,
+giving the bird its final resting place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+On the following Saturday Coupeau, who had not come home to dinner,
+brought Lantier with him towards ten o’clock. They had had some sheep’s
+trotters at Chez Thomas at Montmartre.
+
+“You mustn’t scold, wife,” said the zinc-worker. “We’re sober, as you
+can see. Oh! there’s no fear with him; he keeps one on the straight
+road.”
+
+And he related how they happened to meet in the Rue Rochechouart. After
+dinner Lantier had declined to have a drink at the “Black Ball,” saying
+that when one was married to a pretty and worthy little woman, one
+ought not to go liquoring-up at all the wineshops. Gervaise smiled
+slightly as she listened. Oh! she was not thinking of scolding, she
+felt too much embarrassed for that. She had been expecting to see her
+former lover again some day ever since their dinner party; but at such
+an hour, when she was about to go to bed, the unexpected arrival of the
+two men had startled her. Her hands were quivering as she pinned back
+the hair which had slid down her neck.
+
+“You know,” resumed Coupeau, “as he was so polite as to decline a drink
+outside, you must treat us to one here. Ah! you certainly owe us that!”
+
+The workwomen had left long ago. Mother Coupeau and Nana had just gone
+to bed. Gervaise, who had been just about to put up the shutters when
+they appeared, left the shop open and brought some glasses which she
+placed on a corner of the work-table with what was left of a bottle of
+brandy.
+
+Lantier remained standing and avoided speaking directly to her.
+However, when she served him, he exclaimed:
+
+“Only a thimbleful, madame, if you please.”
+
+Coupeau looked at them and then spoke his mind very plainly. They were
+not going to behave like a couple of geese he hoped! The past was past
+was it not? If people nursed grudges for nine and ten years together
+one would end by no longer seeing anybody. No, no, he carried his heart
+in his hand, he did! First of all, he knew who he had to deal with, a
+worthy woman and a worthy man—in short two friends! He felt easy; he
+knew he could depend upon them.
+
+“Oh! that’s certain, quite certain,” repeated Gervaise, looking on the
+ground and scarcely understanding what she said.
+
+“She is a sister now—nothing but a sister!” murmured Lantier in his
+turn.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ shake hands,” cried Coupeau, “and let those who don’t like
+it go to blazes! When one has proper feelings one is better off than
+millionaires. For myself I prefer friendship before everything because
+friendship is friendship and there’s nothing to beat it.”
+
+He dealt himself heavy blows on the chest, and seemed so moved that
+they had to calm him. They all three silently clinked glasses, and
+drank their drop of brandy. Gervaise was then able to look at Lantier
+at her ease; for on the night of her saint’s day, she had only seen him
+through a fog. He had grown more stout, his arms and legs seeming too
+heavy because of his small stature. His face was still handsome even
+though it was a little puffy now due to his life of idleness. He still
+took great pains with his narrow moustache. He looked about his actual
+age. He was wearing grey trousers, a heavy blue overcoat, and a round
+hat. He even had a watch with a silver chain on which a ring was
+hanging as a keepsake. He looked quite like a gentleman.
+
+“I’m off,” said he. “I live no end of a distance from here.”
+
+He was already on the pavement when the zinc-worker called him back to
+make him promise never to pass the door without looking in to wish them
+good day. Meanwhile Gervaise, who had quietly disappeared, returned
+pushing Etienne before her. The child, who was in his shirt-sleeves and
+half asleep, smiled as he rubbed his eyes. But when he beheld Lantier
+he stood trembling and embarrassed, and casting anxious glances in the
+direction of his mother and Coupeau.
+
+“Don’t you remember this gentleman?” asked the latter.
+
+The child held down his head without replying. Then he made a slight
+sign which meant that he did remember the gentleman.
+
+“Well! Then, don’t stand there like a fool; go and kiss him.”
+
+Lantier gravely and quietly waited. When Etienne had made up his mind
+to approach him, he stooped down, presented both his cheeks, and then
+kissed the youngster on the forehead himself. At this the boy ventured
+to look at his father; but all on a sudden he burst out sobbing and
+scampered away like a mad creature with his clothes half falling off
+him, whilst Coupeau angrily called him a young savage.
+
+“The emotion’s too much for him,” said Gervaise, pale and agitated
+herself.
+
+“Oh! he’s generally very gentle and nice,” exclaimed Coupeau. “I’ve
+brought him up properly, as you’ll see. He’ll get used to you. He must
+learn to know people. We can’t stay mad. We should have made up a long
+time ago for his sake. I’d rather have my head cut off than keep a
+father from seeing his own son.”
+
+Having thus delivered himself, he talked of finishing the bottle of
+brandy. All three clinked glasses again. Lantier showed no surprise,
+but remained perfectly calm. By way of repaying the zinc-worker’s
+politeness he persisted in helping him put up the shutters before
+taking his departure. Then rubbing his hands together to get rid of the
+dust on them, he wished the couple good-night.
+
+“Sleep well. I shall try and catch the last bus. I promise you I’ll
+look in again soon.”
+
+After that evening Lantier frequently called at the Rue de la
+Goutte-d’Or. He came when the zinc-worker was there, inquiring after
+his health the moment he passed the door and affecting to have solely
+called on his account. Then clean-shaven, his hair nicely combed and
+always wearing his overcoat, he would take a seat by the window and
+converse politely with the manners of an educated man. It was thus that
+the Coupeaus learnt little by little the details of his life. During
+the last eight years he had for a while managed a hat factory; and when
+they asked him why he had retired from it he merely alluded to the
+rascality of a partner, a fellow from his native place, a scoundrel who
+had squandered all the takings with women. His former position as an
+employer continued to affect his entire personality, like a title of
+nobility that he could not abandon. He was always talking of concluding
+a magnificent deal with some hatmakers who were going to set him up in
+business. While waiting for this he did nothing but stroll around all
+day like one of the idle rich. If anyone dared to mention a hat factory
+looking for workers, he smiled and said he was not interested in
+breaking his back working for others.
+
+A smart fellow like Lantier, according to Coupeau, knew how to take
+care of himself. He always looked prosperous and it took money to look
+thus. He must have some deal going. One morning Coupeau had seen him
+having his shoes shined on the Boulevard Montmartre. Lantier was very
+talkative about others, but the truth was that he told lies about
+himself. He would not even say where he lived, only that he was staying
+with a friend and there was no use in coming to see him because he was
+never in.
+
+It was now early November. Lantier would gallantly bring bunches of
+violets for Gervaise and the workwomen. He was now coming almost every
+day. He won the favor of Clemence and Madame Putois with his little
+attentions. At the end of the month they adored him. The Boches, whom
+he flattered by going to pay his respects in their concierge’s lodge,
+went into ecstasies over his politeness.
+
+As soon as the Lorilleuxs knew who he was, they howled at the impudence
+of Gervaise in bringing her former lover into her home. However, one
+day Lantier went to visit them and made such a good impression when he
+ordered a necklace for a lady of his acquaintance that they invited him
+to sit down. He stayed an hour and they were so charmed by his
+conversation that they wondered how a man of such distinction had ever
+lived with Clump-clump. Soon Lantier’s visits to the Coupeaus were
+accepted as perfectly natural; he was in the good graces of everyone
+along the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or. Goujet was the only one who remained
+cold. If he happened to be there when Lantier arrived, he would leave
+at once as he didn’t want to be obliged to be friendly to him.
+
+In the midst, however, of all this extraordinary affection for Lantier,
+Gervaise lived in a state of great agitation for the first few weeks.
+She felt that burning sensation in the pit of her stomach which
+affected her on the day when Virginie first alluded to her past life.
+Her great fear was that she might find herself without strength, if he
+came upon her all alone one night and took it into his head to kiss
+her. She thought of him too much; she was for ever thinking of him. But
+she gradually became calmer on seeing him behave so well, never looking
+her in the face, never even touching her with the tips of his fingers
+when no one was watching. Then Virginie, who seemed to read within her,
+made her ashamed of all her wicked thoughts. Why did she tremble? Once
+could not hope to come across a nicer man. She certainly had nothing to
+fear now. And one day the tall brunette maneuvered in such a way as to
+get them both into a corner, and to turn the conversation to the
+subject of love. Lantier, choosing his words, declared in a grave voice
+that his heart was dead, that for the future he wished to consecrate
+his life solely for his son’s happiness. Every evening he would kiss
+Etienne on the forehead, yet he was apt to forget him in teasing back
+and forth with Clemence. And he never mentioned Claude who was still in
+the south. Gervaise began to feel at ease. Lantier’s actual presence
+overshadowed her memories, and seeing him all the time, she no longer
+dreamed about him. She even felt a certain repugnance at the thought of
+their former relationship. Yes, it was over. If he dared to approach
+her, she’d box his ears, or even better, she’d tell her husband. Once
+again her thoughts turned to Goujet and his affection for her.
+
+One morning Clemence reported that the previous night, at about eleven
+o’clock, she had seen Monsieur Lantier with a woman. She told about it
+maliciously and in coarse terms to see how Gervaise would react. Yes,
+Monsieur Lantier was on the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette with a blonde and
+she followed them. They had gone into a shop where the worn-out and
+used-up woman had bought some shrimps. Then they went to the Rue de La
+Rochefoucauld. Monsieur Lantier had waited on the pavement in front of
+the house while his lady friend went in alone. Then she had beckoned to
+him from the window to join her.
+
+No matter how Clemence went on with the story Gervaise went on
+peacefully ironing a white dress. Sometimes she smiled faintly. These
+southerners, she said, are all crazy about women; they have to have
+them no matter what, even if they come from a dung heap. When Lantier
+came in that evening, Gervaise was amused when Clemence teased him
+about the blonde. He seemed to feel flattered that he had been seen.
+_Mon Dieu!_ she was just an old friend, he explained. He saw her from
+time to time. She was quite stylish. He mentioned some of her former
+lovers, among them a count, an important merchant and the son of a
+lawyer. He added that a bit of playing around didn’t mean a thing, his
+heart was dead. In the end Clemence had to pay a price for her
+meanness. She certainly felt Lantier pinching her hard two or three
+times without seeming to do so. She was also jealous because she didn’t
+reek of musk like that boulevard work-horse.
+
+When spring came, Lantier, who was now quite one of the family, talked
+of living in the neighborhood, so as to be nearer his friends. He
+wanted a furnished room in a decent house. Madame Boche, and even
+Gervaise herself went searching about to find it for him. They explored
+the neighboring streets. But he was always too difficult to please; he
+required a big courtyard, a room on the ground floor; in fact, every
+luxury imaginable. And then every evening, at the Coupeaus’, he seemed
+to measure the height of the ceilings, study the arrangement of the
+rooms, and covet a similar lodging. Oh, he would never have asked for
+anything better, he would willingly have made himself a hole in that
+warm, quiet corner. Then each time he wound up his inspection with
+these words:
+
+“By Jove! you are comfortably situated here.”
+
+One evening, when he had dined there, and was making the same remark
+during the dessert, Coupeau, who now treated him most familiarly,
+suddenly exclaimed:
+
+“You must stay here, old boy, if it suits you. It’s easily arranged.”
+
+And he explained that the dirty-clothes room, cleaned out, would make a
+nice apartment. Etienne could sleep in the shop, on a mattress on the
+floor, that was all.
+
+“No, no,” said Lantier, “I cannot accept. It would inconvenience you
+too much. I know that it’s willingly offered, but we should be too warm
+all jumbled up together. Besides, you know, each one likes his liberty.
+I should have to go through your room, and that wouldn’t be exactly
+funny.”
+
+“Ah, the rogue!” resumed the zinc-worker, choking with laughter,
+banging his fist down on the table, “he’s always thinking of something
+smutty! But, you joker, we’re of an inventive turn of mind! There’re
+two windows in the room, aren’t there? Well, we’ll knock one out and
+turn it into a door. Then, you understand you come in by way of the
+courtyard, and we can even stop up the other door, if we like. Thus
+you’ll be in your home, and we in ours.”
+
+A pause ensued. At length the hatter murmured:
+
+“Ah, yes, in that manner perhaps we might. And yet no, I should be too
+much in your way.”
+
+He avoided looking at Gervaise. But he was evidently waiting for a word
+from her before accepting. She was very much annoyed at her husband’s
+idea; not that the thought of seeing Lantier living with them wounded
+her feelings, or made her particularly uneasy, but she was wondering
+where she would be able to keep the dirty clothes. Coupeau was going on
+about the advantages of the arrangement. Their rent, five hundred
+francs, had always been a bit steep. Their friend could pay twenty
+francs a month for a nicely furnished room and it would help them with
+the rent. He would be responsible for fixing up a big box under their
+bed that would be large enough to hold all the dirty clothes. Gervaise
+still hesitated. She looked toward mother Coupeau for guidance. Lantier
+had won over mother Coupeau months ago by bringing her gum drops for
+her cough.
+
+“You would certainly not be in our way,” Gervaise ended by saying. “We
+could so arrange things—”
+
+“No, no, thanks,” repeated the hatter. “You’re too kind; it would be
+asking too much.”
+
+Coupeau could no longer restrain himself. Was he going to continue
+making objections when they told him it was freely offered? He would be
+obliging them. There, did he understand? Then in an excited tone of
+voice he yelled:
+
+“Etienne! Etienne!”
+
+The youngster had fallen asleep on the table. He raised his head with a
+start.
+
+“Listen, tell him that you wish it. Yes, that gentleman there. Tell him
+as loud as you can: ‘I wish it!’”
+
+“I wish it!” stuttered Etienne, his voice thick with sleep.
+
+Everyone laughed. But Lantier resumed his grave and impressive air. He
+squeezed Coupeau’s hand across the table as he said:
+
+“I accept. It’s in all good fellowship on both sides, is it not? Yes, I
+accept for the child’s sake.”
+
+The next day when the landlord, Monsieur Marescot, came to spend an
+hour with the Boches, Gervaise mentioned the matter to him. He refused
+angrily at first. Then, after a careful inspection of the premises,
+particularly gazing upward to verify that the upper floors would not be
+weakened, he finally granted permission on condition there would be no
+expense to him. He had the Coupeaus sign a paper saying they would
+restore everything to its original state on the expiration of the
+lease.
+
+Coupeau brought in some friends of his that very evening—a mason, a
+carpenter and a painter. They would do this job in the evenings as a
+favor to him. Still, installing the door and cleaning up the room cost
+over one hundred francs, not counting the wine that kept the work
+going. Coupeau told his friends he’d pay them something later, out of
+the rent from his tenant.
+
+Then the furniture for the room had to be sorted out. Gervaise left
+mother Coupeau’s wardrobe where it was, and added a table and two
+chairs taken from her own room. She had to buy a washing-stand and a
+bed with mattress and bedclothes, costing one hundred and thirty
+francs, which she was to pay off at ten francs a month. Although
+Lantier’s twenty francs would be used to pay off these debts for ten
+months, there would be a nice little profit later.
+
+It was during the early days of June that the hatter moved in. The day
+before, Coupeau had offered to go with him and fetch his box, to save
+him the thirty sous for a cab. But the other became quite embarrassed,
+saying that the box was too heavy, as though he wished up to the last
+moment to hide the place where he lodged. He arrived in the afternoon
+towards three o’clock. Coupeau did not happen to be in. And Gervaise,
+standing at the shop door became quite pale on recognizing the box
+outside the cab. It was their old box, the one with which they had
+journeyed from Plassans, all scratched and broken now and held together
+by cords. She saw it return as she had often dreamt it would and it
+needed no great stretch of imagination to believe that the same cab,
+that cab in which that strumpet of a burnisher had played her such a
+foul trick, had brought the box back again. Meanwhile Boche was giving
+Lantier a helping hand. The laundress followed them in silence and
+feeling rather dazed. When they had deposited their burden in the
+middle of the room she said for the sake of saying something:
+
+“Well! That’s a good thing finished, isn’t it?”
+
+Then pulling herself together, seeing that Lantier, busy in undoing the
+cords was not even looking at her, she added:
+
+“Monsieur Boche, you must have a drink.”
+
+And she went and fetched a quart of wine and some glasses.
+
+Just then Poisson passed along the pavement in uniform. She signaled to
+him, winking her eye and smiling. The policeman understood perfectly.
+When he was on duty and anyone winked their eye to him it meant a glass
+of wine. He would even walk for hours up and down before the laundry
+waiting for a wink. Then so as not to be seen, he would pass through
+the courtyard and toss off the liquor in secret.
+
+“Ah! ah!” said Lantier when he saw him enter, “it’s you, Badingue.”
+
+He called him Badingue for a joke, just to show how little he cared for
+the Emperor. Poisson put up with it in his stiff way without one
+knowing whether it really annoyed him or not. Besides the two men,
+though separated by their political convictions, had become very good
+friends.
+
+“You know that the Emperor was once a policeman in London,” said Boche
+in his turn. “Yes, on my word! He used to take the drunken women to the
+station-house.”
+
+Gervaise had filled three glasses on the table. She would not drink
+herself, she felt too sick at heart, but she stood there longing to see
+what the box contained and watching Lantier remove the last cords.
+Before raising the lid Lantier took his glass and clinked it with the
+others.
+
+“Good health.”
+
+“Same to you,” replied Boche and Poisson.
+
+The laundress filled the glasses again. The three men wiped their lips
+on the backs of their hands. And at last the hatter opened the box. It
+was full of a jumble of newspapers, books, old clothes and underlinen,
+in bundles. He took out successively a saucepan, a pair of boots, a
+bust of Ledru-Rollin with the nose broken, an embroidered shirt and a
+pair of working trousers. Gervaise could smell the odor of tobacco and
+that of a man whose linen wasn’t too clean, one who took care only of
+the outside, of what people could see.
+
+The old hat was no longer in the left corner. There was a pincushion
+she did not recognize, doubtless a present from some woman. She became
+calmer, but felt a vague sadness as she continued to watch the objects
+that appeared, wondering if they were from her time or from the time of
+others.
+
+“I say, Badingue, do you know this?” resumed Lantier.
+
+He thrust under his nose a little book printed at Brussels. “The Amours
+of Napoleon III.,” Illustrated with engravings. It related, among other
+anecdotes, how the Emperor had seduced a girl of thirteen, the daughter
+of a cook; and the picture represented Napoleon III., bare-legged, and
+also wearing the grand ribbon of the Legion of Honor, pursuing a little
+girl who was trying to escape his lust.
+
+“Ah! that’s it exactly!” exclaimed Boche, whose slyly ridiculous
+instincts felt flattered by the sight. “It always happens like that!”
+
+Poisson was seized with consternation, and he could not find a word to
+say in the Emperor’s defense. It was in a book, so he could not deny
+it. Then, Lantier, continuing to push the picture under his nose in a
+jeering way, he extended his arms and exclaimed:
+
+“Well, so what?”
+
+Lantier didn’t reply. He busied himself arranging his books and
+newspapers on a shelf in the wardrobe. He seemed upset not to have a
+small bookshelf over his table, so Gervaise promised to get him one. He
+had “The History of Ten Years” by Louis Blanc (except for the first
+volume), Lamartine’s “The Girondins” in installments, “The Mysteries of
+Paris” and “The Wandering Jew” by Eugene Sue, and a quantity of
+booklets on philosophic and humanitarian subjects picked up from used
+book dealers.
+
+His newspapers were his prized possessions, a collection made over a
+number of years. Whenever he read an article in a cafe that seemed to
+him to agree with his own ideas, he would buy that newspaper and keep
+it. He had an enormous bundle of them, papers of every date and every
+title, piled up in no discernable order. He patted them and said to the
+other two:
+
+“You see that? No one else can boast of having anything to match it.
+You can’t imagine all that’s in there. I mean, if they put into
+practice only half the ideas, it would clean up the social order
+overnight. That would be good medicine for your Emperor and all his
+stool pigeons.”
+
+The policeman’s red mustache and beard began to bristle on his pale
+face and he interrupted:
+
+“And the army, tell me, what are you going to do about that?”
+
+Lantier flew into a passion. He banged his fists down on the newspapers
+as he yelled:
+
+“I require the suppression of militarism, the fraternity of peoples. I
+require the abolition of privileges, of titles, and of monopolies. I
+require the equality of salaries, the division of benefits, the
+glorification of the protectorate. All liberties, do you hear? All of
+them! And divorce!”
+
+“Yes, yes, divorce for morality!” insisted Boche.
+
+Poisson had assumed a majestic air.
+
+“Yet if I won’t have your liberties, I’m free to refuse them,” he
+answered.
+
+Lantier was choking with passion.
+
+“If you don’t want them—if you don’t want them—” he replied. “No,
+you’re not free at all! If you don’t want them, I’ll send you off to
+Devil’s Island. Yes, Devil’s Island with your Emperor and all the rats
+of his crew.”
+
+They always quarreled thus every time they met. Gervaise, who did not
+like arguments, usually interfered. She roused herself from the torpor
+into which the sight of the box, full of the stale perfume of her past
+love, had plunged her, and she drew the three men’s attention to the
+glasses.
+
+“Ah! yes,” said Lantier, becoming suddenly calm and taking his glass.
+“Good health!”
+
+“Good health!” replied Boche and Poisson, clinking glasses with him.
+
+Boche, however, was moving nervously about, troubled by an anxiety as
+he looked at the policeman out of the corner of his eye.
+
+“All this between ourselves, eh, Monsieur Poisson?” murmured he at
+length. “We say and show you things to show off.”
+
+But Poisson did not let him finish. He placed his hand upon his heart,
+as though to explain that all remained buried there. He certainly did
+not go spying about on his friends. Coupeau arriving, they emptied a
+second quart. Then the policeman went off by way of the courtyard and
+resumed his stiff and measured tread along the pavement.
+
+At the beginning of the new arrangement, the entire routine of the
+establishment was considerably upset. Lantier had his own separate
+room, with his own entrance and his own key. However, since they had
+decided not to close off the door between the rooms, he usually came
+and went through the shop. Besides, the dirty clothes were an
+inconvenience to Gervaise because her husband never made the case he
+had promised and she had to tuck the dirty laundry into any odd corner
+she could find. They usually ended up under the bed and this was not
+very pleasant on warm summer nights. She also found it a nuisance
+having to make up Etienne’s bed every evening in the shop. When her
+employees worked late, the lad had to sleep in a chair until they
+finished.
+
+Goujet had mentioned sending Etienne to Lille where a machinist he knew
+was looking for apprentices. As the boy was unhappy at home and eager
+to be out on his own, Gervaise seriously considered the proposal. Her
+only fear was that Lantier would refuse. Since he had come to live with
+them solely to be near his son, surely he wouldn’t want to lose him
+only two weeks after he moved in. However he approved whole-heartedly
+when she timidly broached the matter to him. He said that young men
+needed to see a bit of the country. The morning that Etienne left
+Lantier made a speech to him, kissed him and ended by saying:
+
+“Never forget that a workingman is not a slave, and that whoever is not
+a workingman is a lazy drone.”
+
+The household was now able to get into the new routine. Gervaise became
+accustomed to having dirty laundry lying all around. Lantier was
+forever talking of important business deals. Sometimes he went out,
+wearing fresh linen and neatly combed. He would stay out all night and
+on his return pretend that he was completely exhausted because he had
+been discussing very serious matters. Actually he was merely taking
+life easy. He usually slept until ten. In the afternoons he would take
+a walk if the weather was nice. If it was raining, he would sit in the
+shop reading his newspaper. This atmosphere suited him. He always felt
+at his ease with women and enjoyed listening to them.
+
+Lantier first took his meals at Francois’s, at the corner of the Rue
+des Poissonniers. But of the seven days in the week he dined with the
+Coupeaus on three or four; so much so that he ended by offering to
+board with them and to pay them fifteen francs every Saturday. From
+that time he scarcely ever left the house, but made himself completely
+at home there. Morning to night he was in the shop, even giving orders
+and attending to customers.
+
+Lantier didn’t like the wine from Francois’s, so he persuaded Gervaise
+to buy her wine from Vigouroux, the coal-dealer. Then he decided that
+Coudeloup’s bread was not baked to his satisfaction, so he sent
+Augustine to the Viennese bakery in the Faubourg Poissonniers for their
+bread. He changed from the grocer Lehongre but kept the butcher, fat
+Charles, because of his political opinions. After a month he wanted all
+the cooking done with olive oil. Clemence joked that with a Provencal
+like him you could never wash out the oil stains. He wanted his omelets
+fried on both sides, as hard as pancakes. He supervised mother
+Coupeau’s cooking, wanting his steaks cooked like shoe leather and with
+garlic on everything. He got angry if she put herbs in the salad.
+
+“They’re just weeds and some of them might be poisonous,” he declared.
+His favorite soup was made with over-boiled vermicelli. He would pour
+in half a bottle of olive oil. Only he and Gervaise could eat this
+soup, the others being too used to Parisian cooking.
+
+Little by little Lantier also came to mixing himself up in the affairs
+of the family. As the Lorilleuxs always grumbled at having to part with
+the five francs for mother Coupeau, he explained that an action could
+be brought against them. They must think that they had a set of fools
+to deal with! It was ten francs a month which they ought to give! And
+he would go up himself for the ten francs so boldly and yet so amiably
+that the chainmaker never dared refuse them. Madame Lerat also gave two
+five-franc pieces now. Mother Coupeau could have kissed Lantier’s
+hands. He was, moreover, the grand arbiter in all the quarrels between
+the old woman and Gervaise. Whenever the laundress, in a moment of
+impatience, behaved roughly to her mother-in-law and the latter went
+and cried on her bed, he hustled them about and made them kiss each
+other, asking them if they thought themselves amusing with their bad
+tempers.
+
+And Nana, too; she was being brought up badly, according to his idea.
+In that he was right, for whenever the father spanked the child, the
+mother took her part, and if the mother, in her turn, boxed her ears,
+the father made a disturbance. Nana delighted at seeing her parents
+abuse each other, and knowing that she was forgiven beforehand, was up
+to all kinds of tricks. Her latest mania was to go and play in the
+blacksmith shop opposite; she would pass the entire day swinging on the
+shafts of the carts; she would hide with bands of urchins in the
+remotest corners of the gray courtyard, lighted up with the red glare
+of the forge; and suddenly she would reappear, running and shouting,
+unkempt and dirty and followed by the troop of urchins, as though a
+sudden clash of the hammers had frightened the ragamuffins away.
+Lantier alone could scold her; and yet she knew perfectly well how to
+get over him. This tricky little girl of ten would walk before him like
+a lady, swinging herself about and casting side glances at him, her
+eyes already full of vice. He had ended by undertaking her education:
+he taught her to dance and to talk patois.
+
+A year passed thus. In the neighborhood it was thought that Lantier had
+a private income, for this was the only way to account for the
+Coupeaus’ grand style of living. No doubt Gervaise continued to earn
+money; but now that she had to support two men in doing nothing, the
+shop certainly could not suffice; more especially as the shop no longer
+had so good a reputation, customers were leaving and the workwomen were
+tippling from morning till night. The truth was that Lantier paid
+nothing, neither for rent nor board. During the first months he had
+paid sums on account, then he had contented himself with speaking of a
+large amount he was going to receive, with which later on he would pay
+off everything in a lump sum. Gervaise no longer dared ask him for a
+centime. She had the bread, the wine, the meat, all on credit. The
+bills increased everywhere at the rate of three and four francs a day.
+She had not paid a sou to the furniture dealer nor to the three
+comrades, the mason, the carpenter and the painter. All these people
+commenced to grumble, and she was no longer greeted with the same
+politeness at the shops.
+
+She was as though intoxicated by a mania for getting into debt; she
+tried to drown her thoughts, ordered the most expensive things, and
+gave full freedom to her gluttony now that she no longer paid for
+anything; she remained withal very honest at heart, dreaming of earning
+from morning to night hundreds of francs, though she did not exactly
+know how, to enable her to distribute handfuls of five-franc pieces to
+her tradespeople. In short, she was sinking, and as she sank lower and
+lower she talked of extending her business. Instead she went deeper
+into debt. Clemence left around the middle of the summer because there
+was no longer enough work for two women and she had not been paid in
+several weeks.
+
+During this impending ruin, Coupeau and Lantier were, in effect,
+devouring the shop and growing fat on the ruin of the establishment. At
+table they would challenge each other to take more helpings and slap
+their rounded stomachs to make more room for dessert.
+
+The great subject of conversation in the neighborhood was as to whether
+Lantier had really gone back to his old footing with Gervaise. On this
+point opinions were divided. According to the Lorilleuxs, Clump-clump
+was doing everything she could to hook Lantier again, but he would no
+longer have anything to do with her because she was getting old and
+faded and he had plenty of younger girls that were prettier. On the
+other hand, according to the Boches, Gervaise had gone back to her
+former mate the very first night, just as soon as poor Coupeau had gone
+to sleep. The picture was not pretty, but there were a lot of worse
+things in life, so folks ended by accepting the threesome as altogether
+natural. In fact, they thought them rather nice since there were never
+any fights and the outward decencies remained. Certainly if you stuck
+your nose into some of the other neighborhood households you could
+smell far worse things. So what if they slept together like a nice
+little family. It never kept the neighbors awake. Besides, everyone was
+still very much impressed by Lantier’s good manners. His charm helped
+greatly to keep tongues from wagging. Indeed, when the fruit dealer
+insisted to the tripe seller that there had been no intimacies, the
+latter appeared to feel that this was really too bad, because it made
+the Coupeaus less interesting.
+
+Gervaise was quite at her ease in this matter, and not much troubled
+with these thoughts. Things reached the point that she was accused of
+being heartless. The family did not understand why she continued to
+bear a grudge against the hatter. Madame Lerat now came over every
+evening. She considered Lantier as utterly irresistible and said that
+most ladies would be happy to fall into his arms. Madame Boche declared
+that her own virtue would not be safe if she were ten years younger.
+There was a sort of silent conspiracy to push Gervaise into the arms of
+Lantier, as if all the women around her felt driven to satisfy their
+own longings by giving her a lover. Gervaise didn’t understand this
+because she no longer found Lantier seductive. Certainly he had changed
+for the better. He had gotten a sort of education in the cafes and
+political meetings but she knew him well. She could pierce to the
+depths of his soul and she found things there that still gave her the
+shivers. Well, if the others found him so attractive, why didn’t they
+try it themselves. In the end she suggested this one day to Virginie
+who seemed the most eager. Then, to excite Gervaise, Madame Lerat and
+Virginie told her of the love of Lantier and tall Clemence. Yes, she
+had not noticed anything herself; but as soon as she went out on an
+errand, the hatter would bring the workgirl into his room. Now people
+met them out together; he probably went to see her at her own place.
+
+“Well,” said the laundress, her voice trembling slightly, “what can it
+matter to me?”
+
+She looked straight into Virginie’s eyes. Did this woman still have it
+in for her?
+
+Virginie replied with an air of innocence:
+
+“It can’t matter to you, of course. Only, you ought to advise him to
+break off with that girl, who is sure to cause him some
+unpleasantness.”
+
+The worst of it was that Lantier, feeling himself supported by public
+opinion, changed altogether in his behavior towards Gervaise. Now,
+whenever he shook hands with her, he held her fingers for a minute
+between his own. He tried her with his glance, fixing a bold look upon
+her, in which she clearly read that he wanted her. If he passed behind
+her, he dug his knees into her skirt, or breathed upon her neck. Yet he
+waited a while before being rough and openly declaring himself. But one
+evening, finding himself alone with her, he pushed her before him
+without a word, and viewed her all trembling against the wall at the
+back of the shop, and tried to kiss her. It so chanced that Goujet
+entered just at that moment. Then she struggled and escaped. And all
+three exchanged a few words, as though nothing had happened. Goujet,
+his face deadly pale, looked on the ground, fancying that he had
+disturbed them, and that she had merely struggled so as not to be
+kissed before a third party.
+
+The next day Gervaise moved restlessly about the shop. She was
+miserable and unable to iron even a single handkerchief. She only
+wanted to see Goujet and explain to him how Lantier happened to have
+pinned her against the wall. But since Etienne had gone to Lille, she
+had hesitated to visit Goujet’s forge where she felt she would be
+greeted by his fellow workers with secret laughter. This afternoon,
+however, she yielded to the impulse. She took an empty basket and went
+out under the pretext of going for the petticoats of her customer on
+Rue des Portes-Blanches. Then, when she reached Rue Marcadet, she
+walked very slowly in front of the bolt factory, hoping for a lucky
+meeting. Goujet must have been hoping to see her, too, for within five
+minutes he came out as if by chance.
+
+“You have been on an errand,” he said, smiling. “And now you are on
+your way home.”
+
+Actually Gervaise had her back toward Rue des Poissonniers. He only
+said that for something to say. They walked together up toward
+Montmartre, but without her taking his arm. They wanted to get a bit
+away from the factory so as not to seem to be having a rendezvous in
+front of it. They turned into a vacant lot between a sawmill and a
+button factory. It was like a small green meadow. There was even a goat
+tied to a stake.
+
+“It’s strange,” remarked Gervaise. “You’d think you were in the
+country.”
+
+They went to sit under a dead tree. Gervaise placed the laundry basket
+by her feet.
+
+“Yes,” Gervaise said, “I had an errand to do, and so I came out.”
+
+She felt deeply ashamed and was afraid to try to explain. Yet she
+realized that they had come here to discuss it. It remained a
+troublesome burden.
+
+Then, all in a rush, with tears in her eyes, she told him of the death
+that morning of Madame Bijard, her washerwoman. She had suffered
+horrible agonies.
+
+“Her husband caused it by kicking her in the stomach,” she said in a
+monotone. “He must have damaged her insides. _Mon Dieu!_ She was in
+agony for three days with her stomach all swelled up. Plenty of
+scoundrels have been sent to the galleys for less than that, but the
+courts won’t concern themselves with a wife-beater. Especially since
+the woman said she had hurt herself falling. She wanted to save him
+from the scaffold, but she screamed all night long before she died.”
+
+Goujet clenched his hands and remained silent.
+
+“She weaned her youngest only two weeks ago, little Jules,” Gervaise
+went on. “That’s lucky for the baby, he won’t have to suffer. Still,
+there’s the child Lalie and she has two babies to look after. She isn’t
+eight yet, but she’s already sensible. Her father will beat her now
+even more than before.”
+
+Goujet gazed at her silently. Then, his lips trembling:
+
+“You hurt me yesterday, yes, you hurt me badly.”
+
+Gervaise turned pale and clasped her hands as he continued:
+
+“I thought it would happen. You should have told me, you should have
+trusted me enough to confess what was happening, so as not to leave me
+thinking that—”
+
+Goujet could not finish the sentence. Gervaise stood up, realizing that
+he thought she had gone back with Lantier as the neighbors asserted.
+Stretching her arms toward him, she cried:
+
+“No, no, I swear to you. He was pushing against me, trying to kiss me,
+but his face never even touched mine. It’s true, and that was the first
+time he tried. Oh, I swear on my life, on the life of my children, oh,
+believe me!”
+
+Goujet was shaking his head. Gervaise said slowly:
+
+“Monsieur Goujet, you know me well. You know that I do not lie. On my
+word of honor, it never happened, and it never will, do you understand?
+Never! I’d be the lowest of the low if it ever happened, and I wouldn’t
+deserve the friendship of an honest man like you.”
+
+She seemed so sincere that he took her hand and made her sit down
+again. He could breathe freely; his heart rejoiced. This was the first
+time he had ever held her hand like this. He pressed it in his own and
+they both sat quietly for a time.
+
+“I know your mother doesn’t like me,” Gervaise said in a low voice.
+“Don’t bother to deny it. We owe you so much money.”
+
+He squeezed her hand tightly. He didn’t want to talk of money. Finally
+he said:
+
+“I’ve been thinking of something for a long time. You are not happy
+where you are. My mother tells me things are getting worse for you.
+Well, then, we can go away together.”
+
+She didn’t understand at first and stared at him, startled by this
+sudden declaration of a love that he had never mentioned.
+
+Finally she asked:
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“We’ll get away from here,” he said, looking down at the ground. “We’ll
+go live somewhere else, in Belgium, if you wish. With both of us
+working, we would soon be very comfortable.”
+
+Gervaise flushed. She thought she would have felt less shame if he had
+taken her in his arms and kissed her. Goujet was an odd fellow,
+proposing to elope, just the way it happens in novels. Well, she had
+seen plenty of workingmen making up to married women, but they never
+took them even as far as Saint-Denis.
+
+“Ah, Monsieur Goujet,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.
+
+“Don’t you see?” he said. “There would only be the two of us. It annoys
+me having others around.”
+
+Having regained her self-possession, however, she refused his proposal.
+
+“It’s impossible, Monsieur Goujet. It would be very wrong. I’m a
+married woman and I have children. We’d soon regret it. I know you care
+for me, and I care for you also, too much to let you do anything
+foolish. It’s much better to stay just as we are. We have respect for
+each other and that’s a lot. It’s been a comfort to me many times. When
+people in our situation stay on the straight, it is better in the end.”
+
+He nodded his head as he listened. He agreed with her and was unable to
+offer any arguments. Suddenly he pulled her into his arms and kissed
+her, crushing her. Then he let her go and said nothing more about their
+love. She wasn’t angry. She felt they had earned that small moment of
+pleasure.
+
+Goujet now didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he went around
+picking dandelions and tossing them into her basket. This amused him
+and gradually soothed him. Gervaise was becoming relaxed and cheerful.
+When they finally left the vacant lot they walked side by side and
+talked of how much Etienne liked being at Lille. Her basket was full of
+yellow dandelions.
+
+Gervaise, at heart, did not feel as courageous when with Lantier as she
+said. She was, indeed, perfectly resolved not to hear his flattery,
+even with the slightest interest; but she was afraid, if ever he should
+touch her, of her old cowardice, of that feebleness and gloominess into
+which she allowed herself to glide, just to please people. Lantier,
+however, did not avow his affection. He several times found himself
+alone with her and kept quiet. He seemed to think of marrying the
+tripe-seller, a woman of forty-five and very well preserved. Gervaise
+would talk of the tripe-seller in Goujet’s presence, so as to set his
+mind at ease. She would say to Virginie and Madame Lerat, whenever they
+were singing the hatter’s praises, that he could very well do without
+her admiration, because all the women of the neighborhood were smitten
+with him.
+
+Coupeau went braying about everywhere that Lantier was a friend and a
+true one. People might jabber about them; he knew what he knew and did
+not care a straw for their gossip, for he had respectability on his
+side. When they all three went out walking on Sundays, he made his wife
+and the hatter walk arm-in-arm before him, just by way of swaggering in
+the street; and he watched the people, quite prepared to administer a
+drubbing if anyone had ventured on the least joke. It was true that he
+regarded Lantier as a bit of a high flyer. He accused him of avoiding
+hard liquor and teased him because he could read and spoke like an
+educated man. Still, he accepted him as a regular comrade. They were
+ideally suited to each other and friendship between men is more
+substantial than love for a woman.
+
+Coupeau and Lantier were forever going out junketing together. Lantier
+would now borrow money from Gervaise—ten francs, twenty francs at a
+time, whenever he smelt there was money in the house. Then on those
+days he would keep Coupeau away from his work, talk of some distant
+errand and take him with him. Then seated opposite to each other in the
+corner of some neighboring eating house, they would guzzle fancy dishes
+which one cannot get at home and wash them down with bottles of
+expensive wine. The zinc-worker would have preferred to booze in a less
+pretentious place, but he was impressed by the aristocratic tastes of
+Lantier, who would discover on the bill of fare dishes with the most
+extraordinary names.
+
+It was hard to understand a man so hard to please. Maybe it was from
+being a southerner. Lantier didn’t like anything too rich and argued
+about every dish, sending back meat that was too salty or too peppery.
+He hated drafts. If a door was left open, he complained loudly. At the
+same time, he was very stingy, only giving the waiter a tip of two sous
+for a meal of seven or eight francs. He was treated with respect in
+spite of that.
+
+The pair were well known along the exterior boulevards, from
+Batignolles to Belleville. They would go to the Grand Rue des
+Batignolles to eat tripe cooked in the Caen style. At the foot of
+Montmartre they obtained the best oysters in the neighborhood at the
+“Town of Bar-le-Duc.” When they ventured to the top of the height as
+far as the “Galette Windmill” they had a stewed rabbit. The “Lilacs,”
+in the Rue des Martyrs, had a reputation for their calf’s head, whilst
+the restaurant of the “Golden Lion” and the “Two Chestnut Trees,” in
+the Chaussee Clignancourt, served them stewed kidneys which made them
+lick their lips. Usually they went toward Belleville where they had
+tables reserved for them at some places of such excellent repute that
+you could order anything with your eyes closed. These eating sprees
+were always surreptitious and the next day they would refer to them
+indirectly while playing with the potatoes served by Gervaise. Once
+Lantier brought a woman with him to the “Galette Windmill” and Coupeau
+left immediately after dessert.
+
+One naturally cannot both guzzle and work; so that ever since the
+hatter was made one of the family, the zinc-worker, who was already
+pretty lazy, had got to the point of never touching a tool. When tired
+of doing nothing, he sometimes let himself be prevailed upon to take a
+job. Then his comrade would look him up and chaff him unmercifully when
+he found him hanging to his knotty cord like a smoked ham, and he would
+call to him to come down and have a glass of wine. And that settled it.
+The zinc-worker would send the job to blazes and commence a booze which
+lasted days and weeks. Oh, it was a famous booze—a general review of
+all the dram shops of the neighborhood, the intoxication of the morning
+slept off by midday and renewed in the evening; the goes of “vitriol”
+succeeded one another, becoming lost in the depths of the night, like
+the Venetian lanterns of an illumination, until the last candle
+disappeared with the last glass! That rogue of a hatter never kept on
+to the end. He let the other get elevated, then gave him the slip and
+returned home smiling in his pleasant way. He could drink a great deal
+without people noticing it. When one got to know him well one could
+only tell it by his half-closed eyes and his overbold behavior to
+women. The zinc-worker, on the contrary, became quite disgusting, and
+could no longer drink without putting himself into a beastly state.
+
+Thus, towards the beginning of November, Coupeau went in for a booze
+which ended in a most dirty manner, both for himself and the others.
+The day before he had been offered a job. This time Lantier was full of
+fine sentiments; he lauded work, because work ennobles a man. In the
+morning he even rose before it was light, for he gravely wished to
+accompany his friend to the workshop, honoring in him the workman
+really worthy of the name. But when they arrived before the “Little
+Civet,” which was just opening, they entered to have a plum in brandy,
+only one, merely to drink together to the firm observance of a good
+resolution. On a bench opposite the counter, and with his back against
+the wall, Bibi-the-Smoker was sitting smoking with a sulky look on his
+face.
+
+“Hallo! Here’s Bibi having a snooze,” said Coupeau. “Are you down in
+the dumps, old bloke?”
+
+“No, no,” replied the comrade, stretching his arm. “It’s the employers
+who disgust me. I sent mine to the right about yesterday. They’re all
+toads and scoundrels.”
+
+Bibi-the-Smoker accepted a plum. He was, no doubt, waiting there on
+that bench for someone to stand him a drink. Lantier, however, took the
+part of the employers; they often had some very hard times, as he who
+had been in business himself well knew. The workers were a bad lot,
+forever getting drunk! They didn’t take their work seriously. Sometimes
+they quit in the middle of a job and only returned when they needed
+something in their pockets. Then Lantier would switch his attack to the
+employers. They were nasty exploiters, regular cannibals. But he could
+sleep with a clear conscience as he had always acted as a friend to his
+employees. He didn’t want to get rich the way others did.
+
+“Let’s be off, my boy,” he said, speaking to Coupeau. “We must be going
+or we shall be late.”
+
+Bibi-the-Smoker followed them, swinging his arms. Outside the sun was
+scarcely rising, the pale daylight seemed dirtied by the muddy
+reflection of the pavement; it had rained the night before and it was
+very mild. The gas lamps had just been turned out; the Rue des
+Poissonniers, in which shreds of night rent by the houses still
+floated, was gradually filling with the dull tramp of the workmen
+descending towards Paris. Coupeau, with his zinc-worker’s bag slung
+over his shoulder, walked along in the imposing manner of a fellow who
+feels in good form for a change. He turned round and asked:
+
+“Bibi, do you want a job. The boss told me to bring a pal if I could.”
+
+“No thanks,” answered Bibi-the-Smoker; “I’m purging myself. You should
+ask My-Boots. He was looking for something yesterday. Wait a minute.
+My-Boots is most likely in there.”
+
+And as they reached the bottom of the street they indeed caught sight
+of My-Boots inside Pere Colombe’s. In spite of the early hour
+l’Assommoir was flaring, the shutters down, the gas lighted. Lantier
+stood at the door, telling Coupeau to make haste, because they had only
+ten minutes left.
+
+“What! You’re going to work for that rascal Bourguignon?” yelled
+My-Boots, when the zinc-worker had spoken to him. “You’ll never catch
+me in his hutch again! No, I’d rather go till next year with my tongue
+hanging out of my mouth. But, old fellow, you won’t stay three days,
+and it’s I who tell you so.”
+
+“Really now, is it such a dirty hole?” asked Coupeau anxiously.
+
+“Oh, it’s about the dirtiest. You can’t move there. The ape’s for ever
+on your back. And such queer ways too—a missus who always says you’re
+drunk, a shop where you mustn’t spit. I sent them to the right about
+the first night, you know.”
+
+“Good; now I’m warned. I shan’t stop there for ever. I’ll just go this
+morning to see what it’s like; but if the boss bothers me, I’ll catch
+him up and plant him upon his missus, you know, bang together like two
+fillets of sole!”
+
+Then Coupeau thanked his friend for the useful information and shook
+his hand. As he was about to leave, My-Boots cursed angrily. Was that
+lousy Bourguignon going to stop them from having a drink? Weren’t they
+free any more? He could well wait another five minutes. Lantier came in
+to share in the round and they stood together at the counter. My-Boots,
+with his smock black with dirt and his cap flattened on his head had
+recently been proclaimed king of pigs and drunks after he had eaten a
+salad of live beetles and chewed a piece of a dead cat.
+
+“Say there, old Borgia,” he called to Pere Colombe, “give us some of
+your yellow stuff, first class mule’s wine.”
+
+And when Pere Colombe, pale and quiet in his blue-knitted waistcoat,
+had filled the four glasses, these gentlemen tossed them off, so as not
+to let the liquor get flat.
+
+“That does some good when it goes down,” murmured Bibi-the-Smoker.
+
+The comic My-Boots had a story to tell. He was so drunk on the Friday
+that his comrades had stuck his pipe in his mouth with a handful of
+plaster. Anyone else would have died of it; he merely strutted about
+and puffed out his chest.
+
+“Do you gentlemen require anything more?” asked Pere Colombe in his
+oily voice.
+
+“Yes, fill us up again,” said Lantier. “It’s my turn.”
+
+Now they were talking of women. Bibi-the-Smoker had taken his girl to
+an aunt’s at Montrouge on the previous Sunday. Coupeau asked for the
+news of the “Indian Mail,” a washerwoman of Chaillot who was known in
+the establishment. They were about to drink, when My-Boots loudly
+called to Goujet and Lorilleux who were passing by. They came just to
+the door, but would not enter. The blacksmith did not care to take
+anything. The chainmaker, pale and shivering, held in his pocket the
+gold chains he was going to deliver; and he coughed and asked them to
+excuse him, saying that the least drop of brandy would nearly make him
+split his sides.
+
+“There are hypocrites for you!” grunted My-Boots. “I bet they have
+their drinks on the sly.”
+
+And when he had poked his nose in his glass he attacked Pere Colombe.
+
+“Vile druggist, you’ve changed the bottle! You know it’s no good your
+trying to palm your cheap stuff off on me.”
+
+The day had advanced; a doubtful sort of light lit up l’Assommoir,
+where the landlord was turning out the gas. Coupeau found excuses for
+his brother-in-law who could not stand drink, which after all was no
+crime. He even approved Goujet’s behavior for it was a real blessing
+never to be thirsty. And as he talked of going off to his work Lantier,
+with his grand air of a gentleman, sharply gave him a lesson. One at
+least stood one’s turn before sneaking off; one should not leave one’s
+friends like a mean blackguard, even when going to do one’s duty.
+
+“Is he going to badger us much longer about his work?” cried My-Boots.
+
+“So this is your turn, sir?” asked Pere Colombe of Coupeau.
+
+The latter paid. But when it came to Bibi-the-Smoker’s turn he
+whispered to the landlord who refused with a shake of the head.
+My-Boots understood, and again set to abusing the old Jew Colombe.
+What! A rascal like him dared to behave in that way to a comrade!
+Everywhere else one could get drink on tick! It was only in such low
+boozing-dens that one was insulted! The landlord remained calm, leaning
+his big fists on the edge of the counter. He politely said:
+
+“Lend the gentleman some money—that will be far simpler.”
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ Yes, I’ll lend him some,” yelled My-Boots. “Here! Bibi,
+throw this money in his face, the limb of Satan!”
+
+Then, excited and annoyed at seeing Coupeau with his bag slung over his
+shoulder, he continued speaking to the zinc-worker:
+
+“You look like a wet-nurse. Drop your brat. It’ll give you a
+hump-back.”
+
+Coupeau hesitated an instant; and then, quietly, as though he had only
+made up his mind after considerable reflection, he laid his bag on the
+ground saying:
+
+“It’s too late now. I’ll go to Bourguignon’s after lunch. I’ll tell him
+that the missus was ill. Listen, Pere Colombe, I’ll leave my tools
+under this seat and I’ll call for them at twelve o’clock.”
+
+Lantier gave his blessing to this arrangement with an approving nod.
+Labor was necessary, yes, but when you’re with good friends, courtesy
+comes first. Now the four had five hours of idleness before them. They
+were full of noisy merriment. Coupeau was especially relieved. They had
+another round and then went to a small bar that had a billiard table.
+
+At first Lantier turned up his nose at this establishment because it
+was rather shabby. So much liquor had been spilled on the billiard
+table that the balls stuck to it. Once the game got started though,
+Lantier recovered his good humor and began to flaunt his extraordinary
+knack with a cue.
+
+When lunch time came Coupeau had an idea. He stamped his feet and
+cried:
+
+“We must go and fetch Salted-Mouth. I know where he’s working. We’ll
+take him to Mere Louis’ to have some pettitoes.”
+
+The idea was greeted with acclamation. Yes, Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, was no doubt in want of some pettitoes. They
+started off. Coupeau took them to the bolt factory in the Rue Marcadet.
+As they arrived a good half hour before the time the workmen came out,
+the zinc-worker gave a youngster two sous to go in and tell
+Salted-Mouth that his wife was ill and wanted him at once. The
+blacksmith made his appearance, waddling in his walk, looking very
+calm, and scenting a tuck-out.
+
+“Ah! you jokers!” said he, as soon as he caught sight of them hiding in
+a doorway. “I guessed it. Well, what are we going to eat?”
+
+At mother Louis’, whilst they sucked the little bones of the pettitoes,
+they again fell to abusing the employers. Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, related that they had a most pressing order to
+execute at the shop. Oh! the ape was pleasant for the time being. One
+could be late, and he would say nothing; he no doubt considered himself
+lucky when one turned up at all. At any rate, no boss would dare to
+throw Salted-Mouth out the door, because you couldn’t find lads of his
+capacity any more. After the pettitoes they had an omelet. When each of
+them had emptied his bottle, Mere Louis brought out some Auvergne wine,
+thick enough to cut with a knife. The party was really warming up.
+
+“What do you think is the ape’s latest idea?” cried Salted-Mouth at
+dessert. “Why, he’s been and put a bell up in his shed! A bell! That’s
+good for slaves. Ah, well! It can ring to-day! They won’t catch me
+again at the anvil! For five days past I’ve been sticking there; I may
+give myself a rest now. If he deducts anything, I’ll send him to
+blazes.”
+
+“I,” said Coupeau, with an air of importance, “I’m obliged to leave
+you; I’m off to work. Yes, I promised my wife. Amuse yourselves; my
+spirit you know remains with my pals.”
+
+The others chuffed him. But he seemed so decided that they all
+accompanied him when he talked of going to fetch his tools from Pere
+Colombe’s. He took his bag from under the seat and laid it on the
+ground before him whilst they had a final drink. But at one o’clock the
+party was still standing drinks. Then Coupeau, with a bored gesture
+placed the tools back again under the seat. They were in his way; he
+could not get near the counter without stumbling against them. It was
+too absurd; he would go to Bourguignon’s on the morrow. The other four,
+who were quarrelling about the question of salaries, were not at all
+surprised when the zinc-worker, without any explanation, proposed a
+little stroll on the Boulevard, just to stretch their legs. They didn’t
+go very far. They seemed to have nothing to say to each other out in
+the fresh air. Without even consulting each other with so much as a
+nudge, they slowly and instinctively ascended the Rue des Poissonniers,
+where they went to Francois’s and had a glass of wine out of the
+bottle. Lantier pushed his comrades inside the private room at the
+back; it was a narrow place with only one table in it, and was
+separated from the shop by a dull glazed partition. He liked to do his
+drinking in private rooms because it seemed more respectable. Didn’t
+they like it here? It was as comfortable as being at home. You could
+even take a nap here without being embarrassed. He called for the
+newspaper, spread it out open before him, and looked through it,
+frowning the while. Coupeau and My-Boots had commenced a game of
+piquet. Two bottles of wine and five glasses were scattered about the
+table.
+
+They emptied their glasses. Then Lantier read out loud:
+
+“A frightful crime has just spread consternation throughout the Commune
+of Gaillon, Department of Seine-et-Marne. A son has killed his father
+with blows from a spade in order to rob him of thirty sous.”
+
+They all uttered a cry of horror. There was a fellow whom they would
+have taken great pleasure in seeing guillotined! No, the guillotine was
+not enough; he deserved to be cut into little pieces. The story of an
+infanticide equally aroused their indignation; but the hatter, highly
+moral, found excuses for the woman, putting all the wrong on the back
+of her husband; for after all, if some beast of a man had not put the
+wretched woman into the way of bleak poverty, she could not have
+drowned it in a water closet.
+
+They were most delighted though by the exploit of a Marquis who, coming
+out of a dance hall at two in the morning, had defended himself against
+an attack by three blackguards on the Boulevard des Invalides. Without
+taking off his gloves, he had disposed of the first two villains by
+ramming his head into their stomachs, and then had marched the third
+one off to the police. What a man! Too bad he was a noble.
+
+“Listen to this now,” continued Lantier. “Here’s some society news: ‘A
+marriage is arranged between the eldest daughter of the Countess de
+Bretigny and the young Baron de Valancay, aide-de-camp to His Majesty.
+The wedding trousseau will contain more than three hundred thousand
+francs’ worth of lace.”
+
+“What’s that to us?” interrupted Bibi-the-Smoker. “We don’t want to
+know the color of her mantle. The girl can have no end of lace;
+nevertheless she’ll see the folly of loving.”
+
+As Lantier seemed about to continue his reading, Salted-Mouth,
+otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, took the newspaper from him and sat
+upon it, saying:
+
+“Ah! no, that’s enough! This is all the paper is good for.”
+
+Meanwhile, My-Boots, who had been looking at his hand, triumphantly
+banged his fist down on the table. He scored ninety-three.
+
+“I’ve got the Revolution!” he exulted.
+
+“You’re out of luck, comrade,” the others told Coupeau.
+
+They ordered two fresh bottles. The glasses were filled up again as
+fast as they were emptied, the booze increased. Towards five o’clock it
+began to get disgusting, so much so that Lantier kept very quiet,
+thinking of how to give the others the slip; brawling and throwing the
+wine about was no longer his style. Just then Coupeau stood up to make
+the drunkard’s sign of the cross. Touching his head he pronounced
+Montpernasse, then Menilmonte as he brought his hand to his right
+shoulder, Bagnolet giving himself a blow in the chest, and wound up by
+saying stewed rabbit three times as he hit himself in the pit of the
+stomach. Then the hatter took advantage of the clamor which greeted the
+performance of this feat and quietly made for the door. His comrades
+did not even notice his departure. He had already had a pretty good
+dose. But once outside he shook himself and regained his
+self-possession; and he quietly made for the shop, where he told
+Gervaise that Coupeau was with some friends.
+
+Two days passed by. The zinc-worker had not returned. He was reeling
+about the neighborhood, but no one knew exactly where. Several persons,
+however, stated that they had seen him at mother Baquet’s, at the
+“Butterfly,” and at the “Little Old Man with a Cough.” Only some said
+that he was alone, whilst others affirmed that he was in the company of
+seven or eight drunkards like himself. Gervaise shrugged her shoulders
+in a resigned sort of way. _Mon Dieu!_ She just had to get used to it.
+She never ran about after her old man; she even went out of her way if
+she caught sight of him inside a wineshop, so as to not anger him; and
+she waited at home till he returned, listening at night-time to hear if
+he was snoring outside the door. He would sleep on a rubbish heap, or
+on a seat, or in a piece of waste land, or across a gutter. On the
+morrow, after having only badly slept off his booze of the day before,
+he would start off again, knocking at the doors of all the consolation
+dealers, plunging afresh into a furious wandering, in the midst of nips
+of spirits, glasses of wine, losing his friends and then finding them
+again, going regular voyages from which he returned in a state of
+stupor, seeing the streets dance, the night fall and the day break,
+without any other thought than to drink and sleep off the effects
+wherever he happened to be. When in the latter state, the world was
+ended so far as he was concerned. On the second day, however, Gervaise
+went to Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir to find out something about him; he
+had been there another five times, they were unable to tell her
+anything more. All she could do was to take away his tools which he had
+left under a seat.
+
+In the evening Lantier, seeing that the laundress seemed very worried,
+offered to take her to a music-hall, just by way of passing a pleasant
+hour or two. She refused at first, she was in no mood for laughing.
+Otherwise she would not have said, “No,” for the hatter made the
+proposal in too straightforward a manner for her to feel any mistrust.
+He seemed to feel for her in quite a paternal way. Never before had
+Coupeau slept out two nights running. So that in spite of herself, she
+would go every ten minutes to the door, with her iron in her hand, and
+look up and down the street to see if her old man was coming.
+
+It might be that Coupeau had broken a leg, or fallen under a wagon and
+been crushed and that might be good riddance to bad rubbish. She saw no
+reason for cherishing in her heart any affection for a filthy character
+like him, but it was irritating, all the same, to have to wonder every
+night whether he would come in or not. When it got dark, Lantier again
+suggested the music-hall, and this time she accepted. She decided it
+would be silly to deny herself a little pleasure when her husband had
+been out on the town for three days. If he wasn’t coming in, then she
+might as well go out herself. Let the entire dump burn up if it felt
+like it. She might even put a torch to it herself. She was getting
+tired of the boring monotony of her present life.
+
+They ate their dinner quickly. Then, when she went off at eight
+o’clock, arm-in-arm with the hatter, Gervaise told mother Coupeau and
+Nana to go to bed at once. The shop was shut and the shutters up. She
+left by the door opening into the courtyard and gave Madame Boche the
+key, asking her, if her pig of a husband came home, to have the
+kindness to put him to bed. The hatter was waiting for her under the
+big doorway, arrayed in his best and whistling a tune. She had on her
+silk dress. They walked slowly along the pavement, keeping close to
+each other, lighted up by the glare from the shop windows which showed
+them smiling and talking together in low voices.
+
+The music-hall was in the Boulevard de Rochechouart. It had originally
+been a little cafe and had been enlarged by means of a kind of wooden
+shed erected in the courtyard. At the door a string of glass globes
+formed a luminous porch. Tall posters pasted on boards stood upon the
+ground, close to the gutter.
+
+“Here we are,” said Lantier. “To-night, first appearance of
+Mademoiselle Amanda, serio-comic.”
+
+Then he caught sight of Bibi-the-Smoker, who was also reading the
+poster. Bibi had a black eye; some punch he had run up against the day
+before.
+
+“Well! Where’s Coupeau?” inquired the hatter, looking about. “Have you,
+then, lost Coupeau?”
+
+“Oh! long ago, since yesterday,” replied the other. “There was a bit of
+a free-for-all on leaving mother Baquet’s. I don’t care for fisticuffs.
+We had a row, you know, with mother Baquet’s pot-boy, because he wanted
+to make us pay for a quart twice over. Then I left. I went and had a
+bit of a snooze.”
+
+He was still yawning; he had slept eighteen hours at a stretch. He was,
+moreover, quite sobered, with a stupid look on his face, and his jacket
+smothered with fluff; for he had no doubt tumbled into bed with his
+clothes on.
+
+“And you don’t know where my husband is, sir?” asked the laundress.
+
+“Well, no, not a bit. It was five o’clock when we left mother Baquet’s.
+That’s all I know about it. Perhaps he went down the street. Yes, I
+fancy now that I saw him go to the ‘Butterfly’ with a coachman. Oh! how
+stupid it is! Really, we deserve to be shot.”
+
+Lantier and Gervaise spent a very pleasant evening at the music-hall.
+At eleven o’clock when the place closed, they strolled home without
+hurrying themselves. The cold was quite sharp. People seemed to be in
+groups. Some of the girls were giggling in the darkness as their men
+pressed close to them. Lantier was humming one of Mademoiselle Amanda’s
+songs. Gervaise, with her head spinning from too much drink, hummed the
+refrain with him. It had been very warm at the music-hall and the two
+drinks she had had, along with all the smoke, had upset her stomach a
+bit. She had been quite impressed with Mademoiselle Amanda. She
+wouldn’t dare to appear in public wearing so little, but she had to
+admit that the lady had lovely skin.
+
+“Everyone’s asleep,” said Gervaise, after ringing three times without
+the Boches opening the door.
+
+At length the door opened, but inside the porch it was very dark, and
+when she knocked at the window of the concierge’s room to ask for her
+key, the concierge, who was half asleep, pulled out some rigmarole
+which she could make nothing of at first. She eventually understood
+that Poisson, the policeman, had brought Coupeau home in a frightful
+state, and that the key was no doubt in the lock.
+
+“The deuce!” murmured Lantier, when they had entered, “whatever has he
+been up to here? The stench is abominable.”
+
+There was indeed a most powerful stench. As Gervaise went to look for
+matches, she stepped into something messy. After she succeeded in
+lighting a candle, a pretty sight met their eyes. Coupeau appeared to
+have disgorged his very insides. The bed was splattered all over, so
+was the carpet, and even the bureau had splashes on its sides. Besides
+that, he had fallen from the bed where Poisson had probably thrown him,
+and was snoring on the floor in the midst of the filth like a pig
+wallowing in the mire, exhaling his foul breath through his open mouth.
+His grey hair was straggling into the puddle around his head.
+
+“Oh! the pig! the pig!” repeated Gervaise, indignant and exasperated.
+“He’s dirtied everything. No, a dog wouldn’t have done that, even a
+dead dog is cleaner.”
+
+They both hesitated to move, not knowing where to place their feet.
+Coupeau had never before come home and put the bedroom into such a
+shocking state. This sight was a blow to whatever affection his wife
+still had for him. Previously she had been forgiving and not seriously
+offended, even when he had been blind drunk. But this made her sick; it
+was too much. She wouldn’t have touched Coupeau for the world, and just
+the thought of this filthy bum touching her caused a repugnance such as
+she might have felt had she been required to sleep beside the corpse of
+someone who had died from a terrible disease.
+
+“Oh, I must get into that bed,” murmured she. “I can’t go and sleep in
+the street. Oh! I’ll crawl into it foot first.”
+
+She tried to step over the drunkard, but had to catch hold of a corner
+of the chest of drawers to save herself from slipping in the mess.
+Coupeau completely blocked the way to the bed. Then, Lantier, who
+laughed to himself on seeing that she certainly could not sleep on her
+own pillow that night, took hold of her hand, saying, in a low and
+angry voice:
+
+“Gervaise, he is a pig.”
+
+She understood what he meant and pulled her hand free. She sighed to
+herself, and, in her bewilderment, addressed him familiarly, as in the
+old days.
+
+“No, leave me alone, Auguste. Go to your own bed. I’ll manage somehow
+to lie at the foot of the bed.”
+
+“Come, Gervaise, don’t be foolish,” resumed he. “It’s too abominable;
+you can’t remain here. Come with me. He won’t hear us. What are you
+afraid of?”
+
+“No,” she replied firmly, shaking her head vigorously. Then, to show
+that she would remain where she was, she began to take off her clothes,
+throwing her silk dress over a chair. She was quickly in only her
+chemise and petticoat. Well, it was her own bed. She wanted to sleep in
+her own bed and made two more attempts to reach a clean corner of the
+bed.
+
+Lantier, having no intention of giving up, whispered things to her.
+
+What a predicament she was in, with a louse of a husband that prevented
+her from crawling under her own blankets and a low skunk behind her
+just waiting to take advantage of the situation to possess her again.
+She begged Lantier to be quiet. Turning toward the small room where
+Nana and mother Coupeau slept, she listened anxiously. She could hear
+only steady breathing.
+
+“Leave me alone, Auguste,” she repeated. “You’ll wake them. Be
+sensible.”
+
+Lantier didn’t answer, but just smiled at her. Then he began to kiss
+her on the ear just as in the old days.
+
+Gervaise felt like sobbing. Her strength deserted her; she felt a great
+buzzing in her ears, a violent tremor passed through her. She advanced
+another step forward. And she was again obliged to draw back. It was
+not possible, the disgust was too great. She felt on the verge of
+vomiting herself. Coupeau, overpowered by intoxication, lying as
+comfortably as though on a bed of down, was sleeping off his booze,
+without life in his limbs, and with his mouth all on one side. The
+whole street might have entered and laughed at him, without a hair of
+his body moving.
+
+“Well, I can’t help it,” she faltered. “It’s his own fault. _Mon Dieu!_
+He’s forcing me out of my own bed. I’ve no bed any longer. No, I can’t
+help it. It’s his own fault.”
+
+She was trembling so she scarcely knew what she was doing. While
+Lantier was urging her into his room, Nana’s face appeared at one of
+the glass panes in the door of the little room. The young girl, pale
+from sleep, had awakened and gotten out of bed quietly. She stared at
+her father lying in his vomit. Then, she stood watching until her
+mother disappeared into Lantier’s room. She watched with the intensity
+and the wide-open eyes of a vicious child aflame with curiosity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+That winter mother Coupeau nearly went off in one of her coughing fits.
+Each December she could count on her asthma keeping her on her back for
+two and three weeks at a time. She was no longer fifteen, she would be
+seventy-three on Saint-Anthony’s day. With that she was very rickety,
+getting a rattling in her throat for nothing at all, though she was
+plump and stout. The doctor said she would go off coughing, just time
+enough to say: “Good-night, the candle’s out!”
+
+When she was in her bed mother Coupeau became positively unbearable. It
+is true though that the little room in which she slept with Nana was
+not at all gay. There was barely room for two chairs between the beds.
+The wallpaper, a faded gray, hung loose in long strips. The small
+window near the ceiling let in only a dim light. It was like a cavern.
+At night, as she lay awake, she could listen to the breathing of the
+sleeping Nana as a sort of distraction; but in the day-time, as there
+was no one to keep her company from morning to night, she grumbled and
+cried and repeated to herself for hours together, as she rolled her
+head on the pillow:
+
+“Good heavens! What a miserable creature I am! Good heavens! What a
+miserable creature I am! They’ll leave me to die in prison, yes, in
+prison!”
+
+As soon as anyone called, Virginie or Madame Boche, to ask after her
+health, she would not reply directly, but immediately started on her
+list of complaints: “Oh, I pay dearly for the food I eat here. I’d be
+much better off with strangers. I asked for a cup of tisane and they
+brought me an entire pot of hot water. It was a way of saying that I
+drank too much. I brought Nana up myself and she scurries away in her
+bare feet every morning and I never see her again all day. Then at
+night she sleeps so soundly that she never wakes up to ask me if I’m in
+pain. I’m just a nuisance to them. They’re waiting for me to die. That
+will happen soon enough. I don’t even have a son any more; that
+laundress has taken him from me. She’d beat me to death if she wasn’t
+afraid of the law.”
+
+Gervaise was indeed rather hasty at times. The place was going to the
+dogs, everyone’s temper was getting spoilt and they sent each other to
+the right about for the least word. Coupeau, one morning that he had a
+hangover, exclaimed: “The old thing’s always saying she’s going to die,
+and yet she never does!” The words struck mother Coupeau to the heart.
+They frequently complained of how much she cost them, observing that
+they would save a lot of money when she was gone.
+
+When at her worst that winter, one afternoon, when Madame Lorilleux and
+Madame Lerat had met at her bedside, mother Coupeau winked her eye as a
+signal to them to lean over her. She could scarcely speak. She rather
+hissed than said in a low voice:
+
+“It’s becoming indecent. I heard them last night. Yes, Clump-clump and
+the hatter. And they were kicking up such a row together! Coupeau’s too
+decent for her.”
+
+And she related in short sentences, coughing and choking between each,
+that her son had come home dead drunk the night before. Then, as she
+was not asleep, she was easily able to account for all the noises, of
+Clump-clump’s bare feet tripping over the tiled floor, the hissing
+voice of the hatter calling her, the door between the two rooms gently
+closed, and the rest. It must have lasted till daylight. She could not
+tell the exact time, because, in spite of her efforts, she had ended by
+falling into a dose.
+
+“What’s most disgusting is that Nana might have heard everything,”
+continued she. “She was indeed restless all the night, she who usually
+sleeps so sound. She tossed about and kept turning over as though there
+had been some lighted charcoal in her bed.”
+
+The other two women did not seem at all surprised.
+
+“Of course!” murmured Madame Lorilleux, “it probably began the very
+first night. But as it pleases Coupeau, we’ve no business to interfere.
+All the same, it’s not very respectable.”
+
+“As for me,” declared Madame Lerat through clenched teeth, “if I’d been
+there, I’d have thrown a fright into them. I’d have shouted something,
+anything. A doctor’s maid told me once that the doctor had told her
+that a surprise like that, at a certain moment, could strike a woman
+dead. If she had died right there, that would have been well, wouldn’t
+it? She would have been punished right where she had sinned.”
+
+It wasn’t long until the entire neighborhood knew that Gervaise visited
+Lantier’s room every night. Madame Lorilleux was loudly indignant,
+calling her brother a poor fool whose wife had shamed him. And her poor
+mother, forced to live in the midst of such horrors. As a result, the
+neighbors blamed Gervaise. Yes, she must have led Lantier astray; you
+could see it in her eyes. In spite of the nasty gossip, Lantier was
+still liked because he was always so polite. He always had candy or
+flowers to give the ladies. _Mon Dieu!_ Men shouldn’t be expected to
+push away women who threw themselves at them. There was no excuse for
+Gervaise. She was a disgrace. The Lorilleuxs used to bring Nana up to
+their apartment in order to find out more details from her, their
+godchild. But Nana would put on her expression of innocent stupidity
+and lower her long silky eyelashes to hide the fire in her eyes as she
+replied.
+
+In the midst of this general indignation, Gervaise lived quietly on,
+feeling tired out and half asleep. At first she considered herself very
+sinful and felt a disgust for herself. When she left Lantier’s room she
+would wash her hands and scrub herself as if trying to get rid of an
+evil stain. If Coupeau then tried to joke with her, she would fly into
+a passion, and run and shiveringly dress herself in the farthest corner
+of the shop; neither would she allow Lantier near her soon after her
+husband had kissed her. She would have liked to have changed her skin
+as she changed men. But she gradually became accustomed to it. Soon it
+was too much trouble to scrub herself each time. Her thirst for
+happiness led her to enjoy as much as she could the difficult
+situation. She had always been disposed to make allowances for herself,
+so why not for others? She only wanted to avoid causing trouble. As
+long as the household went along as usual, there was nothing to
+complain about.
+
+Then, after all, she could not be doing anything to make Coupeau stop
+drinking; matters were arranged so easily to the general satisfaction.
+One is generally punished if one does what is not right. His
+dissoluteness had gradually become a habit. Now it was as regular an
+affair as eating and drinking. Each time Coupeau came home drunk, she
+would go to Lantier’s room. This was usually on Mondays, Tuesdays and
+Wednesdays. Sometimes on other nights, if Coupeau was snoring too
+loudly, she would leave in the middle of the night. It was not that she
+cared more for Lantier, but just that she slept better in his room.
+
+Mother Coupeau never dared speak openly of it. But after a quarrel,
+when the laundress had bullied her, the old woman was not sparing in
+her allusions. She would say that she knew men who were precious fools
+and women who were precious hussies, and she would mutter words far
+more biting, with the sharpness of language pertaining to an old
+waistcoat-maker. The first time this had occurred Gervaise looked at
+her straight in the face without answering. Then, also avoiding going
+into details, she began to defend herself with reasons given in a
+general sort of way. When a woman had a drunkard for a husband, a pig
+who lived in filth, that woman was to be excused if she sought for
+cleanliness elsewhere. Once she pointed out that Lantier was just as
+much her husband as Coupeau was. Hadn’t she known him since she was
+fourteen and didn’t she have children by him?
+
+Anyway, she’d like to see anyone make trouble for her. She wasn’t the
+only one around the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or. Madame Vigouroux, the
+coal-dealer had a merry dance from morning to night. Then there was the
+grocer’s wife, Madame Lehongre with her brother-in-law. _Mon Dieu!_
+What a slob of a fellow. He wasn’t worth touching with a shovel. Even
+the neat little clockmaker was said to have carried on with his own
+daughter, a streetwalker. Ah, the entire neighborhood. Oh, she knew
+plenty of dirt.
+
+One day when mother Coupeau was more pointed than usual in her
+observations, Gervaise had replied to her, clinching her teeth:
+
+“You’re confined to your bed and you take advantage of it. Listen!
+You’re wrong. You see that I behave nicely to you, for I’ve never
+thrown your past life into your teeth. Oh! I know all about it. No,
+don’t cough. I’ve finished what I had to say. It’s only to request you
+to mind your own business, that’s all!”
+
+The old woman almost choked. On the morrow, Goujet having called about
+his mother’s washing when Gervaise happened to be out, mother Coupeau
+called him to her and kept him some time seated beside her bed. She
+knew all about the blacksmith’s friendship, and had noticed that for
+some time past he had looked dismal and wretched, from a suspicion of
+the melancholy things that were taking place. So, for the sake of
+gossiping, and out of revenge for the quarrel of the day before, she
+bluntly told him the truth, weeping and complaining as though
+Gervaise’s wicked behavior did her some special injury. When Goujet
+quitted the little room, he leant against the wall, almost stifling
+with grief. Then, when the laundress returned home, mother Coupeau
+called to her that Madame Goujet required her to go round with her
+clothes, ironed or not; and she was so animated that Gervaise, seeing
+something was wrong, guessed what had taken place and had a
+presentiment of the unpleasantness which awaited her.
+
+Very pale, her limbs already trembling, she placed the things in a
+basket and started off. For years past she had not returned the Goujets
+a sou of their money. The debt still amounted to four hundred and
+twenty-five francs. She always spoke of her embarrassments and received
+the money for the washing. It filled her with shame, because she seemed
+to be taking advantage of the blacksmith’s friendship to make a fool of
+him. Coupeau, who had now become less scrupulous, would chuckle and say
+that Goujet no doubt had fooled around with her a bit, and had so paid
+himself. But she, in spite of the relations she had fallen into with
+Coupeau, would indignantly ask her husband if he already wished to eat
+of that sort of bread. She would not allow anyone to say a word against
+Goujet in her presence; her affection for the blacksmith remained like
+a last shred of her honor. Thus, every time she took the washing home
+to those worthy people, she felt a spasm of her heart the moment she
+put a foot on their stairs.
+
+“Ah! it’s you, at last!” said Madame Goujet sharply, on opening the
+door to her. “When I’m in want of death, I’ll send you to fetch him.”
+
+Gervaise entered, greatly embarrassed, not even daring to mutter an
+excuse. She was no longer punctual, never came at the time arranged,
+and would keep her customers waiting for days on end. Little by little
+she was giving way to a system of thorough disorder.
+
+“For a week past I’ve been expecting you,” continued the lace-mender.
+“And you tell falsehoods too; you send your apprentice to me with all
+sorts of stories; you are then busy with my things, you will deliver
+them the same evening, or else you’ve had an accident, the bundle’s
+fallen into a pail of water. Whilst all this is going on, I waste my
+time, nothing turns up, and it worries me exceedingly. No, you’re most
+unreasonable. Come, what have you in your basket? Is everything there
+now? Have you brought me the pair of sheets you’ve been keeping back
+for a month past, and the chemise which was missing the last time you
+brought home the washing?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” murmured Gervaise, “I have the chemise. Here it is.”
+
+But Madame Goujet cried out. That chemise was not hers, she would have
+nothing to do with it. Her things were changed now; it was too bad!
+Only the week before, there were two handkerchiefs which hadn’t her
+mark on them. It was not to her taste to have clothes coming from no
+one knew where. Besides that, she liked to have her own things.
+
+“And the sheets?” she resumed. “They’re lost, aren’t they? Well! Woman,
+you must see about them, for I insist upon having them to-morrow
+morning, do you hear?”
+
+There was a silence which particularly bothered Gervaise when she
+noticed that the door to Goujet’s room was open. If he was in there, it
+was most annoying that he should hear these just criticisms. She made
+no reply, meekly bowing her head, and placing the laundry on the bed as
+quickly as possible.
+
+Matters became worse when Madame Goujet began to look over the things,
+one by one. She took hold of them and threw them down again saying:
+
+“Ah! you don’t get them up nearly so well as you used to do. One can’t
+compliment you every day now. Yes, you’ve taken to mucking your
+work—doing it in a most slovenly way. Just look at this shirt-front,
+it’s scorched, there’s the mark of the iron on the plaits; and the
+buttons have all been torn off. I don’t know how you manage it, but
+there’s never a button left on anything. Oh! now, here’s a petticoat
+body which I shall certainly not pay you for. Look there! The dirt’s
+still on it, you’ve simply smoothed it over. So now the things are not
+even clean!”
+
+She stopped whilst she counted the different articles. Then she
+exclaimed:
+
+“What! This is all you’ve brought? There are two pairs of stockings,
+six towels, a table-cloth, and several dish-cloths short. You’re
+regularly trifling with me, it seems! I sent word that you were to
+bring me everything, ironed or not. If your apprentice isn’t here on
+the hour with the rest of the things, we shall fall out, Madame
+Coupeau, I warn you.”
+
+At this moment Goujet coughed in his room. Gervaise slightly started.
+_Mon Dieu!_ How she was treated before him. And she remained standing
+in the middle of the rooms, embarrassed and confused and waiting for
+the dirty clothes; but after making up the account Madame Goujet had
+quietly returned to her seat near the window, and resumed the mending
+of a lace shawl.
+
+“And the dirty things?” timidly inquired the laundress.
+
+“No, thank you,” replied the old woman, “there will be no laundry this
+week.”
+
+Gervaise turned pale. She was no longer to have the washing. Then she
+quite lost her head; she was obliged to sit down on a chair, for her
+legs were giving way under her. She did not attempt to vindicate
+herself. All that she would find to say was:
+
+“Is Monsieur Goujet ill?”
+
+Yes, he was not well. He had been obliged to come home instead of
+returning to the forge, and he had gone to lie down on his bed to get a
+rest. Madame Goujet talked gravely, wearing her black dress as usual
+and her white face framed in her nun-like coif. The pay at the forge
+had been cut again. It was now only seven francs a day because the
+machines did so much of the work. This forced her to save money every
+way she could. She would do her own washing from now on. It would
+naturally have been very helpful if the Coupeaus had been able to
+return her the money lent them by her son; but she was not going to set
+the lawyers on them, as they were unable to pay. As she was talking
+about the debt, Gervaise lowered her eyes in embarrassment.
+
+“All the same,” continued the lace-maker, “by pinching yourselves a
+little you could manage to pay it off. For really now, you live very
+well; and spend a great deal, I’m sure. If you were only to pay off ten
+francs a month—”
+
+She was interrupted by the sound of Goujet’s voice as he called:
+
+“Mamma! Mamma!”
+
+And when she returned to her seat, which was almost immediately, she
+changed the conversation. The blacksmith had doubtless begged her not
+to ask Gervaise for money; but in spite of herself she again spoke of
+the debt at the expiration of five minutes. Oh! She had foreseen long
+ago what was now happening. Coupeau was drinking all that the laundry
+business brought in and dragging his wife down with him. Her son would
+never have loaned the money if he had only listened to her. By now he
+would have been married, instead of miserably sad with only unhappiness
+to look forward to for the rest of his life. She grew quite stern and
+angry, even accusing Gervaise of having schemed with Coupeau to take
+advantage of her foolish son. Yes, some women were able to play the
+hypocrite for years, but eventually the truth came out.
+
+“Mamma! Mamma!” again called Goujet, but louder this time.
+
+She rose from her seat and when she returned she said, as she resumed
+her lace mending:
+
+“Go in, he wishes to see you.”
+
+Gervaise, all in a tremble left the door open. This scene filled her
+with emotion because it was like an avowal of their affection before
+Madame Goujet. She again beheld the quiet little chamber, with its
+narrow iron bedstead, and papered all over with pictures, the whole
+looking like the room of some girl of fifteen. Goujet’s big body was
+stretched on the bed. Mother Coupeau’s disclosures and the things his
+mother had been saying seemed to have knocked all the life out of his
+limbs. His eyes were red and swollen, his beautiful yellow beard was
+still wet. In the first moment of rage he must have punched away at his
+pillow with his terrible fists, for the ticking was split and the
+feathers were coming out.
+
+“Listen, mamma’s wrong,” said he to the laundress in a voice that was
+scarcely audible. “You owe me nothing. I won’t have it mentioned
+again.”
+
+He had raised himself up and was looking at her. Big tears at once
+filled his eyes.
+
+“Do you suffer, Monsieur Goujet?” murmured she. “What is the matter
+with you? Tell me!”
+
+“Nothing, thanks. I tired myself with too much work yesterday. I will
+rest a bit.”
+
+Then, his heart breaking, he could not restrain himself and burst out:
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ It was never to be—never. You swore it.
+And now it is—it is! Ah, it pains me too much, leave me!”
+
+And with his hand he gently and imploringly motioned to her to go. She
+did not draw nearer to the bed. She went off as he requested her to,
+feeling stupid, unable to say anything to soothe him. When in the other
+room she took up her basket; but she did not go home. She stood there
+trying to find something to say. Madame Goujet continued her mending
+without raising her head. It was she who at length said:
+
+“Well! Good-night; send me back my things and we will settle up
+afterwards.”
+
+“Yes, it will be best so—good-night,” stammered Gervaise.
+
+She took a last look around the neatly arranged room and thought as she
+shut the door that she seemed to be leaving some part of her better
+self behind. She plodded blindly back to the laundry, scarcely knowing
+where she was going.
+
+When Gervaise arrived, she found mother Coupeau out of her bed, sitting
+on a chair by the stove. Gervaise was too tired to scold her. Her bones
+ached as though she had been beaten and she was thinking that her life
+was becoming too hard to bear. Surely a quick death was the only escape
+from the pain in her heart.
+
+After this, Gervaise became indifferent to everything. With a vague
+gesture of her hand she would send everybody about their business. At
+each fresh worry she buried herself deeper in her only pleasure, which
+was to have her three meals a day. The shop might have collapsed. So
+long as she was not beneath it, she would have gone off willingly
+without a chemise to her back. And the little shop was collapsing, not
+suddenly, but little by little, morning and evening. One by one the
+customers got angry, and sent their washing elsewhere. Monsieur
+Madinier, Mademoiselle Remanjou, the Boches themselves had returned to
+Madame Fauconnier, where they could count on great punctuality. One
+ends by getting tired of asking for a pair of stockings for three weeks
+straight, and of putting on shirts with grease stains dating from the
+previous Sunday. Gervaise, without losing a bite, wished them a
+pleasant journey, and spoke her mind about them, saying that she was
+precious glad she would no longer have to poke her nose into their
+filth. The entire neighborhood could quit her; that would relieve her
+of the piles of stinking junk and give her less work to do.
+
+Now her only customers were those who didn’t pay regularly, the
+street-walkers, and women like Madame Gaudron, whose laundry smelled so
+bad that not one of the laundresses on the Rue Neuve would take it. She
+had to let Madame Putois go, leaving only her apprentice, squint-eyed
+Augustine, who seemed to grow more stupid as time passed. Frequently
+there was not even enough work for the two of them and they sat on
+stools all afternoon doing nothing.
+
+Whilst idleness and poverty entered, dirtiness naturally entered also.
+One would never have recognised that beautiful blue shop, the color of
+heaven, which had once been Gervaise’s pride. Its window-frames and
+panes, which were never washed, were covered from top to bottom with
+the splashes of the passing vehicles. On the brass rods in the windows
+were displayed three grey rags left by customers who had died in the
+hospital. And inside it was more pitiable still; the dampness of the
+clothes hung up at the ceiling to dry had loosed all the wallpaper; the
+Pompadour chintz hung in strips like cobwebs covered with dust; the big
+stove, broken and in holes from the rough use of the poker, looked in
+its corner like the stock in trade of a dealer in old iron; the
+work-table appeared as though it had been used by a regiment, covered
+as it was with wine and coffee stains, sticky with jam, greasy from
+spilled gravy.
+
+Gervaise was so at ease among it all that she never even noticed the
+shop was getting filthy. She became used to it all, just as she got
+used to wearing torn skirts and no longer washing herself carefully.
+The disorder was like a warm nest.
+
+Her own ease was her sole consideration; she did not care a pin for
+anything else. The debts, though still increasing, no longer troubled
+her. Her honesty gradually deserted her; whether she would be able to
+pay or not was altogether uncertain, and she preferred not to think
+about it. When her credit was stopped at one shop, she would open an
+account at some other shop close by. She was in debt all over the
+neighborhood, she owed money every few yards. To take merely the Rue de
+la Goutte-d’Or, she no longer dared pass in front of the grocer’s, nor
+the charcoal-dealer’s, nor the greengrocer’s; and this obliged her,
+whenever she required to be at the wash-house, to go round by the Rue
+des Poissonniers, which was quite ten minutes out of her way. The
+tradespeople came and treated her as a swindler. One evening the dealer
+from whom she had purchased Lantier’s furniture made a scene in the
+street. Scenes like this upset her at the time, but were soon forgotten
+and never spoiled her appetite. What a nerve to bother her like that
+when she had no money to pay. They were all robbers anyway and it
+served them right to have to wait. Well, she’d have to go bankrupt, but
+she didn’t intend to fret about it now.
+
+Meanwhile mother Coupeau had recovered. For another year the household
+jogged along. During the summer months there was naturally a little
+more work—the white petticoats and the cambric dresses of the
+street-walkers of the exterior Boulevard. The catastrophe was slowly
+approaching; the home sank deeper into the mire every week; there were
+ups and downs, however—days when one had to rub one’s stomach before
+the empty cupboard, and others when one ate veal enough to make one
+burst. Mother Coupeau was for ever being seen in the street, hiding
+bundles under her apron, and strolling in the direction of the
+pawn-place in the Rue Polonceau. She strutted along with the air of a
+devotee going to mass; for she did not dislike these errands; haggling
+about money amused her; this crying up of her wares like a second-hand
+dealer tickled the old woman’s fancy for driving hard bargains. The
+clerks knew her well and called her “Mamma Four Francs,” because she
+always demanded four francs when they offered three, on bundles no
+bigger than two sous’ worth of butter.
+
+At the start, Gervaise took advantage of good weeks to get things back
+from the pawn-shops, only to put them back again the next week. Later
+she let things go altogether, selling her pawn tickets for cash.
+
+One thing alone gave Gervaise a pang—it was having to pawn her clock to
+pay an acceptance for twenty francs to a bailiff who came to seize her
+goods. Until then, she had sworn rather to die of hunger than to part
+with her clock. When mother Coupeau carried it away in a little
+bonnet-box, she sunk on to a chair, without a particle of strength left
+in her arms, her eyes full of tears, as though a fortune was being torn
+from her. But when mother Coupeau reappeared with twenty-five francs,
+the unexpected loan, the five francs profit consoled her; she at once
+sent the old woman out again for four sous’ worth of brandy in a glass,
+just to toast the five-franc piece.
+
+The two of them would often have a drop together, when they were on
+good terms with each other. Mother Coupeau was very successful at
+bringing back a full glass hidden in her apron pocket without spilling
+a drop. Well, the neighbors didn’t need to know, did they. But the
+neighbors knew perfectly well. This turned the neighborhood even more
+against Gervaise. She was devouring everything; a few more mouthfuls
+and the place would be swept clean.
+
+In the midst of this general demolishment, Coupeau continued to
+prosper. The confounded tippler was as well as well could be. The sour
+wine and the “vitriol” positively fattened him. He ate a great deal,
+and laughed at that stick Lorilleux, who accused drink of killing
+people, and answered him by slapping himself on the stomach, the skin
+of which was so stretched by the fat that it resembled the skin of a
+drum. He would play him a tune on it, the glutton’s vespers, with rolls
+and beats loud enough to have made a quack’s fortune. Lorilleux,
+annoyed at not having any fat himself, said that it was soft and
+unhealthy. Coupeau ignored him and went on drinking more and more,
+saying it was for his health’s sake.
+
+His hair was beginning to turn grey and his face to take on the
+drunkard’s hue of purplish wine. He continued to act like a mischievous
+child. Well, it wasn’t his concern if there was nothing about the place
+to eat. When he went for weeks without work he became even more
+difficult.
+
+Still, he was always giving Lantier friendly slaps on the back. People
+swore he had no suspicion at all. Surely something terrible would
+happen if he ever found out. Madame Lerat shook her head at this. His
+sister said she had known of husbands who didn’t mind at all.
+
+Lantier wasn’t wasting away either. He took great care of himself,
+measuring his stomach by the waist-band of his trousers, with the
+constant dread of having to loosen the buckle or draw it tighter; for
+he considered himself just right, and out of coquetry neither desired
+to grow fatter nor thinner. That made him hard to please in the matter
+of food, for he regarded every dish from the point of view of keeping
+his waist as it was. Even when there was not a sou in the house, he
+required eggs, cutlets, light and nourishing things. Since he was
+sharing the lady of the house, he considered himself to have a half
+interest in everything and would pocket any franc pieces he saw lying
+about. He kept Gervaise running here and there and seemed more at home
+than Coupeau. Nana was his favorite because he adored pretty little
+girls, but he paid less and less attention to Etienne, since boys,
+according to him, ought to know how to take care of themselves. If
+anyone came to see Coupeau while he was out, Lantier, in shirt sleeves
+and slippers, would come out of the back room with the bored expression
+of a husband who has been disturbed, saying he would answer for Coupeau
+as it was all the same.
+
+Between these two gentlemen, Gervaise had nothing to laugh about. She
+had nothing to complain of as regards her health, thank goodness! She
+was growing too fat. But two men to coddle was often more than she
+could manage. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ one husband is already too much for a
+woman! The worst was that they got on very well together, the rogues.
+They never quarreled; they would chuckle in each other’s faces, as they
+sat of an evening after dinner, their elbows on the table; they would
+rub up against one another all the live-long day, like cats which seek
+and cultivate their pleasure. The days when they came home in a rage,
+it was on her that they vented it. Go it! hammer away at the animal!
+She had a good back; it made them all the better friends when they
+yelled together. And it never did for her to give them tit-for-tat. In
+the beginning, whenever one of them yelled at her, she would appeal to
+the other, but this seldom worked. Coupeau had a foul mouth and called
+her horrible things. Lantier chose his insults carefully, but they
+often hurt her even more.
+
+But one can get used to anything. Soon their nasty remarks and all the
+wrongs done her by these two men slid off her smooth skin like water
+off a duck’s back. It was even easier to have them angry, because when
+they were in good moods they bothered her too much, never giving her
+time to get a bonnet ironed.
+
+Yes, Coupeau and Lantier were wearing her out. The zinc-worker, sure
+enough, lacked education; but the hatter had too much, or at least he
+had education in the same way that dirty people have a white shirt,
+with uncleanliness underneath it. One night, she dreamt that she was on
+the edge of a wall; Coupeau was knocking her into it with a blow of his
+fist, whilst Lantier was tickling her in the ribs to make her fall
+quicker. Well! That resembled her life. It was no surprise if she was
+becoming slipshod. The neighbors weren’t fair in blaming her for the
+frightful habits she had fallen into. Sometimes a cold shiver ran
+through her, but things could have been worse, so she tried to make the
+best of it. Once she had seen a play in which the wife detested her
+husband and poisoned him for the sake of her lover. Wasn’t it more
+sensible for the three of them to live together in peace? In spite of
+her debts and poverty she thought she was quite happy and could live in
+peace if only Coupeau and Lantier would stop yelling at her so much.
+
+Towards the autumn, unfortunately, things became worse. Lantier
+pretended he was getting thinner, and pulled a longer face over the
+matter every day. He grumbled at everything, sniffed at the dishes of
+potatoes—a mess he could not eat, he would say, without having the
+colic. The least jangling now turned to quarrels, in which they accused
+one another of being the cause of all their troubles, and it was a
+devil of a job to restore harmony before they all retired for the
+night.
+
+Lantier sensed a crisis coming and it exasperated him to realise that
+this place was already so thoroughly cleaned out that he could see the
+day coming when he’d have to take his hat and seek elsewhere for his
+bed and board. He had become accustomed to this little paradise where
+he was nicely treated by everybody. He should have blamed himself for
+eating himself out of house and home, but instead he blamed the
+Coupeaus for letting themselves be ruined in less than two years. He
+thought Gervaise was too extravagant. What was going to happen to them
+now?
+
+One evening in December they had no dinner at all. There was not a
+radish left. Lantier, who was very glum, went out early, wandering
+about in search of some other den where the smell of the kitchen would
+bring a smile to one’s face. He would now remain for hours beside the
+stove wrapt in thought. Then, suddenly, he began to evince a great
+friendship for the Poissons. He no longer teased the policeman and even
+went so far as to concede that the Emperor might not be such a bad
+fellow after all. He seemed to especially admire Virginie. No doubt he
+was hoping to board with them. Virginie having acquainted him with her
+desire to set up in some sort of business, he agreed with everything
+she said, and declared that her idea was a most brilliant one. She was
+just the person for trade—tall, engaging and active. Oh! she would make
+as much as she liked. The capital had been available for some time,
+thanks to an inheritance from an aunt. Lantier told her of all the
+shopkeepers who were making fortunes. The time was right for it; you
+could sell anything these days. Virginie, however, hesitated; she was
+looking for a shop that was to be let, she did not wish to leave the
+neighborhood. Then Lantier would take her into corners and converse
+with her in an undertone for ten minutes at a time. He seemed to be
+urging her to do something in spite of herself; and she no longer said
+“no,” but appeared to authorize him to act. It was as a secret between
+them, with winks and words rapidly exchanged, some mysterious
+understanding which betrayed itself even in their handshakings.
+
+From this moment the hatter would covertly watch the Coupeaus whilst
+eating their dry bread, and becoming very talkative again, would deafen
+them with his continual jeremiads. All day long Gervaise moved in the
+midst of that poverty which he so obligingly spread out. _Mon Dieu!_ he
+wasn’t thinking of himself; he would go on starving with his friends as
+long as they liked. But look at it with common sense. They owed at
+least five hundred francs in the neighborhood. Besides which, they were
+two quarters’ rent behind with the rent, which meant another two
+hundred and fifty francs; the landlord, Monsieur Marescot, even spoke
+of having them evicted if they did not pay him by the first of January.
+Finally the pawn-place had absorbed everything, one could not have got
+together three francs’ worth of odds and ends, the clearance had been
+so complete; the nails remained in the walls and that was all and
+perhaps there were two pounds of them at three sous the pound.
+Gervaise, thoroughly entangled in it all, her nerves quite upset by
+this calculation, would fly into a passion and bang her fists down upon
+the table or else she would end by bursting into tears like a fool. One
+night she exclaimed:
+
+“I’ll be off to-morrow! I prefer to put the key under the door and to
+sleep on the pavement rather than continue to live in such frights.”
+
+“It would be wiser,” said Lantier slyly, “to get rid of the lease if
+you could find someone to take it. When you are both decided to give up
+the shop—”
+
+She interrupted him more violently:
+
+“At once, at once! Ah! it’ll be a good riddance!”
+
+Then the hatter became very practical. On giving up the lease one would
+no doubt get the new tenant to be responsible for the two overdue
+quarters. And he ventured to mention the Poissons, he reminded them
+that Virginie was looking for a shop; theirs would perhaps suit her. He
+remembered that he had heard her say she longed for one just like it.
+But when Virginie’s name was mentioned the laundress suddenly regained
+her composure. We’ll see how things go along. When you’re angry you
+always talk of quitting, but it isn’t so easy when you just stop to
+think about it.
+
+During the following days it was in vain that Lantier harped upon the
+subject. Gervaise replied that she had seen herself worse off and had
+pulled through. How would she be better off when she no longer had her
+shop? That would not put bread into their mouths. She would, on the
+contrary, engage some fresh workwomen and work up a fresh connection.
+
+Lantier made the mistake of mentioning Virginie again. This stirred
+Gervaise into furious obstinacy. No! Never! She had always had her
+suspicions of what was in Virginie’s heart. Virginie only wanted to
+humiliate her. She would rather turn it over to the first woman to come
+in from the street than to that hypocrite who had been waiting for
+years to see her fail. Yes, Virginie still had in mind that fight in
+the wash-house. Well, she’d be wiser to forget about it, unless she
+wanted another one now.
+
+In the face of this flow of angry retorts, Lantier began by attacking
+Gervaise. He called her stupid and stuck-up. He even went so far as to
+abuse Coupeau, accusing him of not knowing how to make his wife respect
+his friend. Then, realising that passion would compromise everything,
+he swore that he would never again interest himself in the affairs of
+other people, for one always got more kicks than thanks; and indeed he
+appeared to have given up all idea of talking them into parting with
+the lease, but he was really watching for a favorable opportunity of
+broaching the subject again and of bringing the laundress round to his
+views.
+
+January had now arrived; the weather was wretched, both damp and cold.
+Mother Coupeau, who had coughed and choked all through December, was
+obliged to take to her bed after Twelfth-night. It was her annuity,
+which she expected every winter. This winter though, those around her
+said she’d never come out of her bedroom except feet first. Indeed, her
+gaspings sounded like a death rattle. She was still fat, but one eye
+was blind and one side of her face was twisted. The doctor made one
+call and didn’t return again. They kept giving her tisanes and going to
+check on her every hour. She could no longer speak because her
+breathing was so difficult.
+
+One Monday evening, Coupeau came home totally drunk. Ever since his
+mother was in danger, he had lived in a continual state of deep
+emotion. When he was in bed, snoring soundly, Gervaise walked about the
+place for a while. She was in the habit of watching over mother Coupeau
+during a part of the night. Nana had showed herself very brave, always
+sleeping beside the old woman, and saying that if she heard her dying,
+she would wake everyone. Since the invalid seemed to be sleeping
+peacefully this night, Gervaise finally yielded to the appeals of
+Lantier to come into his room for a little rest. They only kept a
+candle alight, standing on the ground behind the wardrobe. But towards
+three o’clock Gervaise abruptly jumped out of bed, shivering and
+oppressed with anguish. She thought she had felt a cold breath pass
+over her body. The morsel of candle had burnt out; she tied on her
+petticoats in the dark, all bewildered, and with feverish hands. It was
+not till she got into the little room, after knocking up against the
+furniture, that she was able to light a small lamp. In the midst of the
+oppressive silence of night, the zinc-worker’s snores alone sounded as
+two grave notes. Nana, stretched on her back, was breathing gently
+between her pouting lips. And Gervaise, holding down the lamp which
+caused big shadows to dance about the room, cast the light on mother
+Coupeau’s face, and beheld it all white, the head lying on the
+shoulder, the eyes wide open. Mother Coupeau was dead.
+
+Gently, without uttering a cry, icy cold yet prudent, the laundress
+returned to Lantier’s room. He had gone to sleep again. She bent over
+him and murmured:
+
+“Listen, it’s all over, she’s dead.”
+
+Heavy with sleep, only half awake, he grunted at first:
+
+“Leave me alone, get into bed. We can’t do her any good if she’s dead.”
+
+Then he raised himself on his elbow and asked:
+
+“What’s the time?”
+
+“Three o’clock.”
+
+“Only three o’clock! Get into bed quick. You’ll catch cold. When it’s
+daylight, we’ll see what’s to be done.”
+
+But she did not listen to him, she dressed herself completely. Bundling
+himself in the blankets, Lantier muttered about how stubborn women
+were. What was the hurry to announce a death in the house? He was
+irritated at having his sleep spoiled by such gloomy matters.
+
+Meanwhile, Gervaise had moved her things back into her own room. Then
+she felt free to sit down and cry, no longer fearful of being caught in
+Lantier’s room. She had been fond of mother Coupeau and felt a deep
+sorrow at her loss. She sat, crying by herself, her sobs loud in the
+silence, but Coupeau never stirred. She had spoken to him and even
+shaken him and finally decided to let him sleep. He would be more of a
+nuisance if he woke up.
+
+On returning to the body, she found Nana sitting up in bed rubbing her
+eyes. The child understood, and with her vicious urchin’s curiosity,
+stretched out her neck to get a better view of her grandmother; she
+said nothing but she trembled slightly, surprised and satisfied in the
+presence of this death which she had been promising herself for two
+days past, like some nasty thing hidden away and forbidden to children;
+and her young cat-like eyes dilated before that white face all
+emaciated at the last gasp by the passion of life, she felt that
+tingling in her back which she felt behind the glass door when she
+crept there to spy on what was no concern of chits like her.
+
+“Come, get up,” said her mother in a low voice. “You can’t remain
+here.”
+
+She regretfully slid out of bed, turning her head round and not taking
+her eyes off the corpse. Gervaise was much worried about her, not
+knowing where to put her till day-time. She was about to tell her to
+dress herself, when Lantier, in his trousers and slippers, rejoined
+her. He could not get to sleep again, and was rather ashamed of his
+behavior. Then everything was arranged.
+
+“She can sleep in my bed,” murmured he. “She’ll have plenty of room.”
+
+Nana looked at her mother and Lantier with her big, clear eyes and put
+on her stupid air, the same as on New Year’s day when anyone made her a
+present of a box of chocolate candy. And there was certainly no need
+for them to hurry her. She trotted off in her night-gown, her bare feet
+scarcely touching the tiled floor; she glided like a snake into the
+bed, which was still quite warm, and she lay stretched out and buried
+in it, her slim body scarcely raising the counterpane. Each time her
+mother entered the room she beheld her with her eyes sparkling in her
+motionless face—not sleeping, not moving, very red with excitement, and
+appearing to reflect on her own affairs.
+
+Lantier assisted Gervaise in dressing mother Coupeau—and it was not an
+easy matter, for the body was heavy. One would never have thought that
+that old woman was so fat and so white. They put on her stockings, a
+white petticoat, a short linen jacket and a white cap—in short, the
+best of her linen. Coupeau continued snoring, a high note and a low
+one, the one sharp, the other flat. One could almost have imagined it
+to be church music accompanying the Good Friday ceremonies. When the
+corpse was dressed and properly laid out on the bed, Lantier poured
+himself out a glass of wine, for he felt quite upset. Gervaise searched
+the chest of drawers to find a little brass crucifix which she had
+brought from Plassans, but she recollected that mother Coupeau had, in
+all probability, sold it herself. They had lighted the stove, and they
+passed the rest of the night half asleep on chairs, finishing the
+bottle of wine that had been opened, worried and sulking, as though it
+was their own fault.
+
+Towards seven o’clock, before daylight, Coupeau at length awoke. When
+he learnt his loss he at first stood still with dry eyes, stuttering
+and vaguely thinking that they were playing him some joke. Then he
+threw himself on the ground and went and knelt beside the corpse. His
+kissed it and wept like a child, with such a copious flow of tears that
+he quite wetted the sheet with wiping his cheeks. Gervaise had
+recommenced sobbing, deeply affected by her husband’s grief, and the
+best of friends with him again. Yes, he was better at heart than she
+thought he was. Coupeau’s despair mingled with a violent pain in his
+head. He passed his fingers through his hair. His mouth was dry, like
+on the morrow of a booze, and he was still a little drunk in spite of
+his ten hours of sleep. And, clenching his fist, he complained aloud.
+_Mon Dieu!_ she was gone now, his poor mother, whom he loved so much!
+Ah! what a headache he had; it would settle him! It was like a wig of
+fire! And now they were tearing out his heart! No, it was not just of
+fate thus to set itself against one man!
+
+“Come, cheer up, old fellow,” said Lantier, raising him from the
+ground; “you must pull yourself together.”
+
+He poured him out a glass of wine, but Coupeau refused to drink.
+
+“What’s the matter with me? I’ve got copper in my throat. It’s mamma.
+When I saw her I got a taste of copper in my mouth. Mamma! _Mon Dieu!_
+mamma, mamma!”
+
+And he recommenced crying like a child. Then he drank the glass of
+wine, hoping to put out the flame searing his breast. Lantier soon
+left, using the excuse of informing the family and filing the necessary
+declaration at the town hall. Really though, he felt the need of fresh
+air, and so he took his time, smoking cigarettes and enjoying the
+morning air. When he left Madame Lerat’s house, he went into a dairy
+place on Les Batignolles for a cup of hot coffee and remained there an
+hour, thinking things over.
+
+Towards nine o’clock the family were all united in the shop, the
+shutters of which were kept up. Lorilleux did not cry. Moreover he had
+some pressing work to attend to, and he returned almost directly to his
+room, after having stalked about with a face put on for the occasion.
+Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat embraced the Coupeaus and wiped their
+eyes, from which a few tears were falling. But Madame Lorilleux, after
+giving a hasty glance round the death chamber, suddenly raised her
+voice to say that it was unheard of, that one never left a lighted lamp
+beside a corpse; there should be a candle, and Nana was sent to
+purchase a packet of tall ones. Ah, well! It made one long to die at
+Clump-clump’s, she laid one out in such a fine fashion! What a fool,
+not even to know what to do with a corpse! Had she then never buried
+anyone in her life? Madame Lerat had to go to the neighbors and borrow
+a crucifix; she brought one back which was too big, a cross of black
+wood with a Christ in painted cardboard fastened to it, which covered
+the whole of mother Coupeau’s chest, and seemed to crush her under its
+weight. Then they tried to obtain some holy water, but no one had any,
+and it was again Nana who was sent to the church to bring some back in
+a bottle. In practically no time the tiny room presented quite another
+appearance; on a little table a candle was burning beside a glass full
+of holy water into which a sprig of boxwood was dipped. Now, if anyone
+came, it would at least look decent. And they arranged the chairs in a
+circle in the shop for receiving people.
+
+Lantier only returned at eleven o’clock. He had been to the
+undertaker’s for information.
+
+“The coffin is twelve francs,” said he. “If you desire a mass, it will
+be ten francs more. Then there’s the hearse, which is charged for
+according to the ornaments.”
+
+“Oh! it’s quite unnecessary to be fancy,” murmured Madame Lorilleux,
+raising her head in a surprised and anxious manner. “We can’t bring
+mamma to life again, can we? One must do according to one’s means.”
+
+“Of course, that’s just what I think,” resumed the hatter. “I merely
+asked the prices to guide you. Tell me what you desire; and after lunch
+I will give the orders.”
+
+They were talking in lowered voices. Only a dim light came into the
+room through the cracks in the shutters. The door to the little room
+stood half open, and from it came the deep silence of death. Children’s
+laughter echoed in the courtyard. Suddenly they heard the voice of
+Nana, who had escaped from the Boches to whom she had been sent. She
+was giving commands in her shrill voice and the children were singing a
+song about a donkey.
+
+Gervaise waited until it was quiet to say:
+
+“We’re not rich certainly; but all the same we wish to act decently. If
+mother Coupeau has left us nothing, it’s no reason for pitching her
+into the ground like a dog. No; we must have a mass, and a hearse with
+a few ornaments.”
+
+“And who will pay for them?” violently inquired Madame Lorilleux. “Not
+we, who lost some money last week; and you either, as you’re stumped.
+Ah! you ought, however, to see where it has led you, this trying to
+impress people!”
+
+Coupeau, when consulted, mumbled something with a gesture of profound
+indifference, and then fell asleep again on his chair. Madame Lerat
+said that she would pay her share. She was of Gervaise’s opinion, they
+should do things decently. Then the two of them fell to making
+calculations on a piece of paper: in all, it would amount to about
+ninety francs, because they decided, after a long discussion, to have a
+hearse ornamented with a narrow scallop.
+
+“We’re three,” concluded the laundress. “We’ll give thirty francs each.
+It won’t ruin us.”
+
+But Madame Lorilleux broke out in a fury.
+
+“Well! I refuse, yes, I refuse! It’s not for the thirty francs. I’d
+give a hundred thousand, if I had them, and if it would bring mamma to
+life again. Only, I don’t like vain people. You’ve got a shop, you only
+dream of showing off before the neighborhood. We don’t fall in with it,
+we don’t. We don’t try to make ourselves out what we are not. Oh! you
+can manage it to please yourself. Put plumes on the hearse if it amuses
+you.”
+
+“No one asks you for anything,” Gervaise ended by answering. “Even
+though I should have to sell myself, I’ll not have anything to reproach
+myself with. I’ve fed mother Coupeau without your help, and I can
+certainly bury her without your help also. I already once before gave
+you a bit of my mind; I pick up stray cats, I’m not likely to leave
+your mother in the mire.”
+
+Then Madame Lorilleux burst into tears and Lantier had to prevent her
+from leaving. The argument became so noisy that Madame Lerat felt she
+had to go quietly into the little room and glance tearfully at her dead
+mother, as though fearing to find her awake and listening. Just at this
+moment the girls playing in the courtyard, led by Nana, began singing
+again.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ how those children grate on one’s nerves with their
+singing!” said Gervaise, all upset and on the point of sobbing with
+impatience and sadness. Turning to the hatter, she said:
+
+“Do please make them leave off, and send Nana back to the concierge’s
+with a kick.”
+
+Madame Lerat and Madame Lorilleux went away to eat lunch, promising to
+return. The Coupeaus sat down to eat a bite without much appetite,
+feeling hesitant about even raising a fork. After lunch Lantier went to
+the undertaker’s again with the ninety francs. Thirty had come from
+Madame Lerat and Gervaise had run, with her hair all loose, to borrow
+sixty francs from Goujet.
+
+Several of the neighbors called in the afternoon, mainly out of
+curiosity. They went into the little room to make the sign of the cross
+and sprinkle some holy water with the boxwood sprig. Then they sat in
+the shop and talked endlessly about the departed. Mademoiselle Remanjou
+had noticed that her right eye was still open. Madame Gaudron
+maintained that she had a fine complexion for her age. Madame
+Fauconnier kept repeating that she had seen her having coffee only
+three days earlier.
+
+Towards evening the Coupeaus were beginning to have had enough of it.
+It was too great an affliction for a family to have to keep a corpse so
+long a time. The government ought to have made a new law on the
+subject. All through another evening, another night, and another
+morning—no! it would never come to an end. When one no longer weeps,
+grief turns to irritation; is it not so? One would end by misbehaving
+oneself. Mother Coupeau, dumb and stiff in the depths of the narrow
+chamber, was spreading more and more over the lodging and becoming
+heavy enough to crush the people in it. And the family, in spite of
+itself, gradually fell into the ordinary mode of life, and lost some
+portion of its respect.
+
+“You must have a mouthful with us,” said Gervaise to Madame Lerat and
+Madame Lorilleux, when they returned. “We’re too sad; we must keep
+together.”
+
+They laid the cloth on the work-table. Each one, on seeing the plates,
+thought of the feastings they had had on it. Lantier had returned.
+Lorilleux came down. A pastry-cook had just brought a meat pie, for the
+laundress was too upset to attend to any cooking. As they were taking
+their seats, Boche came to say that Monsieur Marescot asked to be
+admitted, and the landlord appeared, looking very grave, and wearing a
+broad decoration on his frock-coat. He bowed in silence and went
+straight to the little room, where he knelt down. All the family,
+leaving the table, stood up, greatly impressed. Monsieur Marescot,
+having finished his devotions, passed into the shop and said to the
+Coupeaus:
+
+“I have come for the two quarters’ rent that’s overdue. Are you
+prepared to pay?”
+
+“No, sir, not quite,” stammered Gervaise, greatly put out at hearing
+this mentioned before the Lorilleuxs. “You see, with the misfortune
+which has fallen upon us—”
+
+“No doubt, but everyone has their troubles,” resumed the landlord,
+spreading out his immense fingers, which indicated the former workman.
+“I am very sorry, but I cannot wait any longer. If I am not paid by the
+morning after to-morrow, I shall be obliged to have you put out.”
+
+Gervaise, struck dumb, imploringly clasped her hands, her eyes full of
+tears. With an energetic shake of his big bony head, he gave her to
+understand that supplications were useless. Besides, the respect due to
+the dead forbade all discussion. He discreetly retired, walking
+backwards.
+
+“A thousand pardons for having disturbed you,” murmured he. “The
+morning after to-morrow; do not forget.”
+
+And as on withdrawing he again passed before the little room, he
+saluted the corpse a last time through the wide open door by devoutly
+bending his knee.
+
+They began eating and gobbled the food down very quickly, so as not to
+seem to be enjoying it, only slowing down when they reached the
+dessert. Occasionally Gervaise or one of the sisters would get up,
+still holding her napkin, to look into the small room. They made plenty
+of strong coffee to keep them awake through the night. The Poissons
+arrived about eight and were invited for coffee.
+
+Then Lantier, who had been watching Gervaise’s face, seemed to seize an
+opportunity that he had been waiting for ever since the morning. In
+speaking of the indecency of landlords who entered houses of mourning
+to demand their money, he said:
+
+“He’s a Jesuit, the beast, with his air of officiating at a mass! But
+in your place, I’d just chuck up the shop altogether.”
+
+Gervaise, quite worn out and feeling weak and nervous, gave way and
+replied:
+
+“Yes, I shall certainly not wait for the bailiffs. Ah! it’s more than I
+can bear—more than I can bear.”
+
+The Lorilleuxs, delighted at the idea that Clump-clump would no longer
+have a shop, approved the plan immensely. One could hardly conceive the
+great cost a shop was. If she only earned three francs working for
+others she at least had no expenses; she did not risk losing large sums
+of money. They repeated this argument to Coupeau, urging him on; he
+drank a great deal and remained in a continuous fit of sensibility,
+weeping all day by himself in his plate. As the laundress seemed to be
+allowing herself to be convinced, Lantier looked at the Poissons and
+winked. And tall Virginie intervened, making herself most amiable.
+
+“You know, we might arrange the matter between us. I would relieve you
+of the rest of the lease and settle your matter with the landlord. In
+short, you would not be worried nearly so much.”
+
+“No thanks,” declared Gervaise, shaking herself as though she felt a
+shudder pass over her. “I’ll work; I’ve got my two arms, thank heaven!
+to help me out of my difficulties.”
+
+“We can talk about it some other time,” the hatter hastened to put in.
+“It’s scarcely the thing to do so this evening. Some other time—in the
+morning for instance.”
+
+At this moment, Madame Lerat, who had gone into the little room,
+uttered a faint cry. She had had a fright because she had found the
+candle burnt out. They all busied themselves in lighting another; they
+shook their heads, saying that it was not a good sign when the light
+went out beside a corpse.
+
+The wake commenced. Coupeau had gone to lie down, not to sleep, said
+he, but to think; and five minutes afterwards he was snoring. When they
+sent Nana off to sleep at the Boches’ she cried; she had been looking
+forward ever since the morning to being nice and warm in her good
+friend Lantier’s big bed. The Poissons stayed till midnight. Some hot
+wine had been made in a salad-bowl because the coffee affected the
+ladies’ nerves too much. The conversation became tenderly effusive.
+Virginie talked of the country: she would like to be buried at the
+corner of a wood with wild flowers on her grave. Madame Lerat had
+already put by in her wardrobe the sheet for her shroud, and she kept
+it perfumed with a bunch of lavender; she wished always to have a nice
+smell under her nose when she would be eating the dandelions by the
+roots. Then, with no sort of transition, the policeman related that he
+had arrested a fine girl that morning who had been stealing from a
+pork-butcher’s shop; on undressing her at the commissary of police’s
+they had found ten sausages hanging round her body. And Madame
+Lorilleux having remarked, with a look of disgust, that she would not
+eat any of those sausages, the party burst into a gentle laugh. The
+wake became livelier, though not ceasing to preserve appearances.
+
+But just as they were finishing the hot wine a peculiar noise, a dull
+trickling sound, issued from the little room. All raised their heads
+and looked at each other.
+
+“It’s nothing,” said Lantier quietly, lowering his voice. “She’s
+emptying.”
+
+The explanation caused the others to nod their heads in a reassured
+way, and they replaced their glasses on the table.
+
+When the Poissons left for home, Lantier left also, saying he would
+sleep with a friend and leave his bed for the ladies in case they
+wanted to take turns napping. Lorilleux went upstairs to bed. Gervaise
+and the two sisters arranged themselves by the stove where they huddled
+together close to the warmth, talking quietly. Coupeau was still
+snoring.
+
+Madame Lorilleux was complaining that she didn’t have a black dress and
+asked Gervaise about the black skirt they had given mother Coupeau on
+her saint’s day. Gervaise went to look for it. Madame Lorilleux then
+wanted some of the old linen and mentioned the bed, the wardrobe, and
+the two chairs as she looked around for other odds and ends. Madame
+Lerat had to serve as peace maker when a quarrel nearly broke out. She
+pointed out that as the Coupeaus had cared for their mother, they
+deserved to keep the few things she had left. Soon they were all dozing
+around the stove.
+
+The night seemed terribly long to them. Now and again they shook
+themselves, drank some coffee and stretched their necks in the
+direction of the little room, where the candle, which was not to be
+snuffed, was burning with a dull red flame, flickering the more because
+of the black soot on the wick. Towards morning, they shivered, in spite
+of the great heat of the stove. Anguish, and the fatigue of having
+talked too much was stifling them, whilst their mouths were parched,
+and their eyes ached. Madame Lerat threw herself on Lantier’s bed, and
+snored as loud as a man; whilst the other two, their heads falling
+forward, and almost touching their knees, slept before the fire. At
+daybreak, a shudder awoke them. Mother Coupeau’s candle had again gone
+out; and as, in the obscurity, the dull trickling sound recommenced,
+Madame Lorilleux gave the explanation of it anew in a loud voice, so as
+to reassure herself:
+
+“She’s emptying,” repeated she, lighting another candle.
+
+The funeral was to take place at half-past ten. A nice morning to add
+to the night and the day before! Gervaise, though without a sou, said
+she would have given a hundred francs to anybody who would have come
+and taken mother Coupeau away three hours sooner. No, one may love
+people, but they are too great a weight when they are dead; and the
+more one has loved them, the sooner one would like to be rid of their
+bodies.
+
+The morning of a funeral is, fortunately, full of diversions. One has
+all sorts of preparations to make. To begin with, they lunched. Then it
+happened to be old Bazouge, the undertaker’s helper, who lived on the
+sixth floor, who brought the coffin and the sack of bran. He was never
+sober, the worthy fellow. At eight o’clock that day, he was still
+lively from the booze of the day before.
+
+“This is for here, isn’t it?” asked he.
+
+And he laid down the coffin, which creaked like a new box. But as he
+was throwing the sack of bran on one side, he stood with a look of
+amazement in his eyes, his mouth opened wide, on beholding Gervaise
+before him.
+
+“Beg pardon, excuse me. I’ve made a mistake,” stammered he. “I was told
+it was for you.”
+
+He had already taken up the sack again, and the laundress was obliged
+to call to him:
+
+“Leave it alone, it’s for here.”
+
+“Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ Now I understand!” resumed he, slapping his thigh.
+“It’s for the old lady.”
+
+Gervaise had turned quite pale. Old Bazouge had brought the coffin for
+her. By way of apology, he tried to be gallant, and continued:
+
+“I’m not to blame, am I? It was said yesterday that someone on the
+ground floor had passed away. Then I thought—you know, in our business,
+these things enter by one ear and go out by the other. All the same, my
+compliments to you. As late as possible, eh? That’s best, though life
+isn’t always amusing; ah! no, by no means.”
+
+As Gervaise listened to him, she draw back, afraid he would grab her
+and take her away in the box. She remembered the time before, when he
+had told her he knew of women who would thank him to come and get them.
+Well, she wasn’t ready yet. _Mon Dieu!_ The thought sent chills down
+her spine. Her life may have been bitter, but she wasn’t ready to give
+it up yet. No, she would starve for years first.
+
+“He’s abominably drunk,” murmured she, with an air of disgust mingled
+with dread. “They at least oughtn’t to send us tipplers. We pay dear
+enough.”
+
+Then he became insolent, and jeered:
+
+“See here, little woman, it’s only put off until another time. I’m
+entirely at your service, remember! You’ve only to make me a sign. I’m
+the ladies’ consoler. And don’t spit on old Bazouge, because he’s held
+in his arms finer ones than you, who let themselves be tucked in
+without a murmur, very pleased to continue their by-by in the dark.”
+
+“Hold your tongue, old Bazouge!” said Lorilleux severely, having
+hastened to the spot on hearing the noise, “such jokes are highly
+improper. If we complained about you, you would get the sack. Come, be
+off, as you’ve no respect for principles.”
+
+Bazouge moved away, but one could hear him stuttering as he dragged
+along the pavement:
+
+“Well! What? Principles! There’s no such thing as principles, there’s
+no such thing as principles—there’s only common decency!”
+
+At length ten o’clock struck. The hearse was late. There were already
+several people in the shop, friends and neighbors—Monsieur Madinier,
+My-Boots, Madame Gaudron, Mademoiselle Remanjou; and every minute, a
+man’s or a woman’s head was thrust out of the gaping opening of the
+door between the closed shutters, to see if that creeping hearse was in
+sight. The family, all together in the back room, was shaking hands.
+Short pauses occurred interrupted by rapid whisperings, a tiresome and
+feverish waiting with sudden rushes of skirts—Madame Lorilleux who had
+forgotten her handkerchief, or else Madame Lerat who was trying to
+borrow a prayer-book. Everyone, on arriving, beheld the open coffin in
+the centre of the little room before the bed; and in spite of oneself,
+each stood covertly studying it, calculating that plump mother Coupeau
+would never fit into it. They all looked at each other with this
+thought in their eyes, though without communicating it. But there was a
+slight pushing at the front door. Monsieur Madinier, extending his
+arms, came and said in a low grave voice:
+
+“Here they are!”
+
+It was not the hearse though. Four helpers entered hastily in single
+file, with their red faces, their hands all lumpy like persons in the
+habit of moving heavy things, and their rusty black clothes worn and
+frayed from constant rubbing against coffins. Old Bazouge walked first,
+very drunk and very proper. As soon as he was at work he found his
+equilibrium. They did not utter a word, but slightly bowed their heads,
+already weighing mother Coupeau with a glance. And they did not dawdle;
+the poor old woman was packed in, in the time one takes to sneeze. A
+young fellow with a squint, the smallest of the men, poured the bran
+into the coffin and spread it out. The tall and thin one spread the
+winding sheet over the bran. Then, two at the feet and two at the head,
+all four took hold of the body and lifted it. Mother Coupeau was in the
+box, but it was a tight fit. She touched on every side.
+
+The undertaker’s helpers were now standing up and waiting; the little
+one with the squint took the coffin lid, by way of inviting the family
+to bid their last farewell, whilst Bazouge had filled his mouth with
+nails and was holding the hammer in readiness. Then Coupeau, his two
+sisters and Gervaise threw themselves on their knees and kissed the
+mamma who was going away, weeping bitterly, the hot tears falling on
+and streaming down the stiff face now cold as ice. There was a
+prolonged sound of sobbing. The lid was placed on, and old Bazouge
+knocked the nails in with the style of a packer, two blows for each;
+and they none of them listened any longer to their own weeping in that
+din, which resembled the noise of furniture being repaired. It was
+over. The time for starting had arrived.
+
+“What a fuss to make at such a time!” said Madame Lorilleux to her
+husband as she caught sight of the hearse before the door.
+
+The hearse was creating quite a revolution in the neighborhood. The
+tripe-seller called to the grocer’s men, the little clockmaker came out
+on to the pavement, the neighbors leant out of their windows; and all
+these people talked about the scallop with its white cotton fringe. Ah!
+the Coupeaus would have done better to have paid their debts. But as
+the Lorilleuxs said, when one is proud it shows itself everywhere and
+in spite of everything.
+
+“It’s shameful!” Gervaise was saying at the same moment, speaking of
+the chainmaker and his wife. “To think that those skinflints have not
+even brought a bunch of violets for their mother!”
+
+The Lorilleuxs, true enough, had come empty-handed. Madame Lerat had
+given a wreath of artificial flowers. And a wreath of immortelles and a
+bouquet bought by the Coupeaus were also placed on the coffin. The
+undertaker’s helpers had to give a mighty heave to lift the coffin and
+carry it to the hearse. It was some time before the procession was
+formed. Coupeau and Lorilleux, in frock coats and with their hats in
+their hands, were chief mourners. The first, in his emotion which two
+glasses of white wine early in the morning had helped to sustain, clung
+to his brother-in-law’s arm, with no strength in his legs, and a
+violent headache. Then followed the other men—Monsieur Madinier, very
+grave and all in black; My-Boots, wearing a great-coat over his blouse;
+Boche, whose yellow trousers produced the effect of a petard; Lantier,
+Gaudron, Bibi-the-Smoker, Poisson and others. The ladies came next—in
+the first row Madame Lorilleux, dragging the deceased’s skirt, which
+she had altered; Madame Lerat, hiding under a shawl her hastily got-up
+mourning, a gown with lilac trimmings; and following them, Virginie,
+Madame Gaudron, Madame Fauconnier, Mademoiselle Remanjou and the rest.
+When the hearse started and slowly descended the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or,
+amidst signs of the cross and heads bared, the four helpers took the
+lead, two in front, the two others on the right and left. Gervaise had
+remained behind to close the shop. She left Nana with Madame Boche and
+ran to rejoin the procession, whilst the child, firmly held by the
+concierge under the porch, watched with a deeply interested gaze her
+grandmother disappear at the end of the street in that beautiful
+carriage.
+
+At the moment when Gervaise caught up with the procession, Goujet
+arrived from another direction. He nodded to her so sympathetically
+that she was reminded of how unhappy she was, and began to cry again as
+Goujet took his place with the men.
+
+The ceremony at the church was soon got through. The mass dragged a
+little, though, because the priest was very old. My-Boots and
+Bibi-the-Smoker preferred to remain outside on account of the
+collection. Monsieur Madinier studied the priests all the while, and
+communicated his observations to Lantier. Those jokers, though so glib
+with their Latin, did not even know a word of what they were saying.
+They buried a person just in the same way that they would have baptized
+or married him, without the least feeling in their heart.
+
+Happily, the cemetery was not far off, the little cemetery of La
+Chapelle, a bit of a garden which opened on to the Rue Marcadet. The
+procession arrived disbanded, with stampings of feet and everybody
+talking of his own affairs. The hard earth resounded, and many would
+have liked to have moved about to keep themselves warm. The gaping hole
+beside which the coffin was laid was already frozen over, and looked
+white and stony, like a plaster quarry; and the followers, grouped
+round little heaps of gravel, did not find it pleasant standing in such
+piercing cold, whilst looking at the hole likewise bored them. At
+length a priest in a surplice came out of a little cottage. He
+shivered, and one could see his steaming breath at each _de profundis_
+that he uttered. At the final sign of the cross he bolted off, without
+the least desire to go through the service again. The sexton took his
+shovel, but on account of the frost, he was only able to detach large
+lumps of earth, which beat a fine tune down below, a regular
+bombardment of the coffin, an enfilade of artillery sufficient to make
+one think the wood was splitting. One may be a cynic; nevertheless that
+sort of music soon upsets one’s stomach. The weeping recommenced. They
+moved off, they even got outside, but they still heard the detonations.
+My-Boots, blowing on his fingers, uttered an observation aloud.
+
+“_Tonnerre de Dieu!_ poor mother Coupeau won’t feel very warm!”
+
+“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the zinc-worker to the few friends who
+remained in the street with the family, “will you permit us to offer
+you some refreshments?”
+
+He led the way to a wine shop in the Rue Marcadet, the “Arrival at the
+Cemetery.” Gervaise, remaining outside, called Goujet, who was moving
+off, after again nodding to her. Why didn’t he accept a glass of wine?
+He was in a hurry; he was going back to the workshop. Then they looked
+at each other a moment without speaking.
+
+“I must ask your pardon for troubling you about the sixty francs,” at
+length murmured the laundress. “I was half crazy, I thought of you—”
+
+“Oh! don’t mention it; you’re fully forgiven,” interrupted the
+blacksmith. “And you know, I am quite at your service if any misfortune
+should overtake you. But don’t say anything to mamma, because she has
+her ideas, and I don’t wish to cause her annoyance.”
+
+She gazed at him. He seemed to her such a good man, and sad-looking,
+and so handsome. She was on the verge of accepting his former proposal,
+to go away with him and find happiness together somewhere else. Then an
+evil thought came to her. It was the idea of borrowing the six months’
+back rent from him.
+
+She trembled and resumed in a caressing tone of voice:
+
+“We’re still friends, aren’t we?”
+
+He shook his head as he answered:
+
+“Yes, we’ll always be friends. It’s just that, you know, all is over
+between us.”
+
+And he went off with long strides, leaving Gervaise bewildered,
+listening to his last words which rang in her ears with the clang of a
+big bell. On entering the wine shop, she seemed to hear a hollow voice
+within her which said, “All is over, well! All is over; there is
+nothing more for me to do if all is over!” Sitting down, she swallowed
+a mouthful of bread and cheese, and emptied a glass full of wine which
+she found before her.
+
+The wine shop was a single, long room with a low ceiling occupied by
+two large tables on which loaves of bread, large chunks of Brie cheese
+and bottles of wine were set out. They ate informally, without a
+tablecloth. Near the stove at the back the undertaker’s helpers were
+finishing their lunch.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_” exclaimed Monsieur Madinier, “we each have our time. The
+old folks make room for the young ones. Your lodging will seem very
+empty to you now when you go home.”
+
+“Oh! my brother is going to give notice,” said Madame Lorilleux
+quickly. “That shop’s ruined.”
+
+They had been working upon Coupeau. Everyone was urging him to give up
+the lease. Madame Lerat herself, who had been on very good terms with
+Lantier and Virginie for some time past, and who was tickled with the
+idea that they were a trifle smitten with each other, talked of
+bankruptcy and prison, putting on the most terrified airs. And
+suddenly, the zinc-worker, already overdosed with liquor, flew into a
+passion, his emotion turned to fury.
+
+“Listen,” cried he, poking his nose in his wife’s face; “I intend that
+you shall listen to me! Your confounded head will always have its own
+way. But, this time, I intend to have mine, I warn you!”
+
+“Ah! well,” said Lantier, “one never yet brought her to reason by fair
+words; it wants a mallet to drive it into her head.”
+
+For a time they both went on at her. Meanwhile, the Brie was quickly
+disappearing and the wine bottles were pouring like fountains. Gervaise
+began to weaken under this persistent pounding. She answered nothing,
+but hurried herself, her mouth ever full, as though she had been very
+hungry. When they got tired, she gently raised her head and said:
+
+“That’s enough, isn’t it? I don’t care a straw for the shop! I want no
+more of it. Do you understand? It can go to the deuce! All is over!”
+
+Then they ordered some more bread and cheese and talked business. The
+Poissons took the rest of the lease and agreed to be answerable for the
+two quarters’ rent overdue. Boche, moreover, pompously agreed to the
+arrangement in the landlord’s name. He even then and there let a
+lodging to the Coupeaus—the vacant one on the sixth floor, in the same
+passage as the Lorilleuxs’ apartment. As for Lantier, well! He would
+like to keep his room, if it did not inconvenience the Poissons. The
+policeman bowed; it did not inconvenience him at all; friends always
+get on together, in spite of any difference in their political ideas.
+And Lantier, without mixing himself up any more in the matter, like a
+man who has at length settled his little business, helped himself to an
+enormous slice of bread and cheese; he leant back in his chair and ate
+devoutly, his blood tingling beneath his skin, his whole body burning
+with a sly joy, and he blinked his eyes to peep first at Gervaise, and
+then at Virginie.
+
+“Hi! Old Bazouge!” called Coupeau, “come and have a drink. We’re not
+proud; we’re all workers.”
+
+The four undertaker’s helpers, who had started to leave, came back to
+raise glasses with the group. They thought that the lady had weighed
+quite a bit and they had certainly earned a glass of wine. Old Bazouge
+gazed steadily at Gervaise without saying a word. It made her feel
+uneasy though and she got up and left the men who were beginning to
+show signs of being drunk. Coupeau began to sob again, saying he was
+feeling very sad.
+
+That evening when Gervaise found herself at home again, she remained in
+a stupefied state on a chair. It seemed to her that the rooms were
+immense and deserted. Really, it would be a good riddance. But it was
+certainly not only mother Coupeau that she had left at the bottom of
+the hole in the little garden of the Rue Marcadet. She missed too many
+things, most likely a part of her life, and her shop, and her pride of
+being an employer, and other feelings besides, which she had buried on
+that day. Yes, the walls were bare, and her heart also; it was a
+complete clear out, a tumble into the pit. And she felt too tired; she
+would pick herself up again later on if she could.
+
+At ten o’clock, when undressing, Nana cried and stamped. She wanted to
+sleep in mother Coupeau’s bed. Her mother tried to frighten her; but
+the child was too precocious. Corpses only filled her with a great
+curiosity; so that, for the sake of peace, she was allowed to lie down
+in mother Coupeau’s place. She liked big beds, the chit; she spread
+herself out and rolled about. She slept uncommonly well that night in
+the warm and pleasant feather bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+The Coupeaus’ new lodging was on the sixth floor, staircase B. After
+passing Mademoiselle Remanjou’s door, you took the corridor to the
+left, and then turned again further along. The first door was for the
+apartment of the Bijards. Almost opposite, in an airless corner under a
+small staircase leading to the roof, was where Pere Bru slept. Two
+doors further was Bazouge’s room and the Coupeaus were opposite him,
+overlooking the court, with one room and a closet. There were only two
+more doors along the corridor before reaching that of the Lorilleuxs at
+the far end.
+
+A room and a closet, no more. The Coupeaus perched there now. And the
+room was scarcely larger than one’s hand. And they had to do everything
+in there—eat, sleep, and all the rest. Nana’s bed just squeezed into
+the closet; she had to dress in her father and mother’s room, and her
+door was kept open at night-time so that she should not be suffocated.
+There was so little space that Gervaise had left many things in the
+shop for the Poissons. A bed, a table, and four chairs completely
+filled their new apartment but she didn’t have the courage to part with
+her old bureau and so it blocked off half the window. This made the
+room dark and gloomy, especially since one shutter was stuck shut.
+Gervaise was now so fat that there wasn’t room for her in the limited
+window space and she had to lean sideways and crane her neck if she
+wanted to see the courtyard.
+
+During the first few days, the laundress would continually sit down and
+cry. It seemed to her too hard, not being able to move about in her
+home, after having been used to so much room. She felt stifled; she
+remained at the window for hours, squeezed between the wall and the
+drawers and getting a stiff neck. It was only there that she could
+breathe freely. However, the courtyard inspired rather melancholy
+thoughts. Opposite her, on the sunny side, she would see that same
+window she had dreamed about long ago where the spring brought scarlet
+vines. Her own room was on the shady side where pots of mignonette died
+within a week. Oh, this wasn’t at all the sort of life she had dreamed
+of. She had to wallow in filth instead of having flowers all about her.
+
+On leaning out one day, Gervaise experienced a peculiar sensation: she
+fancied she beheld herself down below, near the concierge’s room under
+the porch, her nose in the air, and examining the house for the first
+time; and this leap thirteen years backwards caused her heart to throb.
+The courtyard was a little dingier and the walls more stained,
+otherwise it hadn’t changed much. But she herself felt terribly changed
+and worn. To begin with, she was no longer below, her face raised to
+heaven, feeling content and courageous and aspiring to a handsome
+lodging. She was right up under the roof, among the most wretched, in
+the dirtiest hole, the part that never received a ray of sunshine. And
+that explained her tears; she could scarcely feel enchanted with her
+fate.
+
+However, when Gervaise had grown somewhat used to it, the early days of
+the little family in their new home did not pass off so badly. The
+winter was almost over, and the trifle of money received for the
+furniture sold to Virginie helped to make things comfortable. Then with
+the fine weather came a piece of luck, Coupeau was engaged to work in
+the country at Etampes; and he was there for nearly three months
+without once getting drunk, cured for a time by the fresh air. One has
+no idea what a quench it is to the tippler’s thirst to leave Paris
+where the very streets are full of the fumes of wine and brandy. On his
+return he was as fresh as a rose, and he brought back in his pocket
+four hundred francs with which they paid the two overdue quarters’ rent
+at the shop that the Poissons had become answerable for, and also the
+most pressing of their little debts in the neighborhood. Gervaise thus
+opened two or three streets through which she had not passed for a long
+time.
+
+She had naturally become an ironer again. Madame Fauconnier was quite
+good-hearted if you flattered her a bit, and she was happy to take
+Gervaise back, even paying her the same three francs a day as her best
+worker. This was out of respect for her former status as an employer.
+The household seemed to be getting on well and Gervaise looked forward
+to the day when all the debts would be paid. Hard work and economy
+would solve all their money troubles. Unfortunately, she dreamed of
+this in the warm satisfaction of the large sum earned by her husband.
+Soon, she said that the good things never lasted and took things as
+they came.
+
+What the Coupeaus most suffered from at that time was seeing the
+Poissons installing themselves at their former shop. They were not
+naturally of a particularly jealous disposition, but people aggravated
+them by purposely expressing amazement in their presence at the
+embellishments of their successors. The Boches and the Lorilleuxs
+especially, never tired. According to them, no one had ever seen so
+beautiful a shop. They were also continually mentioning the filthy
+state in which the Poissons had found the premises, saying that it had
+cost thirty francs for the cleaning alone.
+
+After much deliberation, Virginie had decided to open a shop
+specializing in candies, chocolate, coffee and tea. Lantier had advised
+this, saying there was much money to be made from such delicacies. The
+shop was stylishly painted black with yellow stripes. Three carpenters
+worked for eight days on the interior, putting up shelves, display
+cases and counters. Poisson’s small inheritance must have been almost
+completely used, but Virginie was ecstatic. The Lorilleuxs and the
+Boches made sure that Gervaise did not miss a single improvement and
+chuckled to themselves while watching her expression.
+
+There was also a question of a man beneath all this. It was reported
+that Lantier had broken off with Gervaise. The neighborhood declared
+that it was quite right. In short, it gave a moral tone to the street.
+And all the honor of the separation was accorded to the crafty hatter
+on whom all the ladies continued to dote. Some said that she was still
+crazy about him and he had to slap her to make her leave him alone. Of
+course, no one told the actual truth. It was too simple and not
+interesting enough.
+
+Actually Lantier climbed to the sixth floor to see her whenever he felt
+the impulse. Mademoiselle Remanjou had often seen him coming out of the
+Coupeaus’ at odd hours.
+
+The situation was even more complicated by neighborhood gossip linking
+Lantier and Virginie. The neighbors were a bit too hasty in this also;
+he had not even reached the stage of buttock-pinching with her. Still,
+the Lorilleuxs delighted in talking sympathetically to Gervaise about
+the affair between Lantier and Virginie. The Boches maintained they had
+never seen a more handsome couple. The odd thing in all this was that
+the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or seemed to have no objection to this new
+arrangement which everyone thought was progressing nicely. Those who
+had been so harsh to Gervaise were now quite lenient toward Virginie.
+
+Gervaise had previously heard numerous reports about Lantier’s affairs
+with all sorts of girls on the street and they had bothered her so
+little that she hadn’t even felt enough resentment to break off the
+affair. However, this new intrigue with Virginie wasn’t quite so easy
+to accept because she was sure that the two of them were just out to
+spite her. She hid her resentment though to avoid giving any
+satisfaction to her enemies. Mademoiselle Remanjou thought that
+Gervaise had words with Lantier over this because one afternoon she
+heard the sound of a slap. There was certainly a quarrel because
+Lantier stopped speaking to Gervaise for a couple of weeks, but then he
+was the first one to make up and things seemed to go along the same as
+before.
+
+Coupeau found all this most amusing. The complacent husband who had
+been blind to his own situation laughed heartily at Poisson’s
+predicament. Then Coupeau even teased Gervaise. Her lovers always
+dropped her. First the blacksmith and now the hatmaker. The trouble was
+that she got involved with undependable trades. She should take up with
+a mason, a good solid man. He said such things as if he were joking,
+but they upset Gervaise because his small grey eyes seemed to be boring
+right into her.
+
+On evenings when Coupeau became bored being alone with his wife up in
+their tiny hole under the roof, he would go down for Lantier and invite
+him up. He thought their dump was too dreary without Lantier’s company
+so he patched things up between Gervaise and Lantier whenever they had
+a falling out.
+
+In the midst of all this Lantier put on the most consequential airs. He
+showed himself both paternal and dignified. On three successive
+occasions he had prevented a quarrel between the Coupeaus and the
+Poissons. The good understanding between the two families formed a part
+of his contentment. Thanks to the tender though firm glances with which
+he watched over Gervaise and Virginie, they always pretended to
+entertain a great friendship for each other. He reigned over both
+blonde and brunette with the tranquillity of a pasha, and fattened on
+his cunning. The rogue was still digesting the Coupeaus when he already
+began to devour the Poissons. Oh, it did not inconvenience him much! As
+soon as one shop was swallowed, he started on a second. It was only men
+of his sort who ever have any luck.
+
+It was in June of that year that Nana was confirmed. She was then
+nearly thirteen years old, as tall as an asparagus shoot run to seed,
+and had a bold, impudent air about her. The year before she had been
+sent away from the catechism class on account of her bad behavior; and
+the priest had only allowed her to join it this time through fear of
+losing her altogether, and of casting one more heathen onto the street.
+Nana danced for joy as she thought of the white dress. The Lorilleuxs,
+being godfather and godmother, had promised to provide it, and took
+care to let everyone in the house know of their present. Madame Lerat
+was to give the veil and the cap, Virginie the purse, and Lantier the
+prayer-book; so that the Coupeaus looked forward to the ceremony
+without any great anxiety. Even the Poissons, wishing to give a
+house-warming, chose this occasion, no doubt on the hatter’s advice.
+They invited the Coupeaus and the Boches, whose little girl was also
+going to be confirmed. They provided a leg of mutton and trimmings for
+the evening in question.
+
+It so happened that on the evening before, Coupeau returned home in a
+most abominable condition, just as Nana was lost in admiration before
+the presents spread out on the top of the chest of drawers. The Paris
+atmosphere was getting the better of him again; and he fell foul of his
+wife and child with drunken arguments and disgusting language which no
+one should have uttered at such a time. Nana herself was beginning to
+get hold of some very bad expressions in the midst of the filthy
+conversations she was continually hearing. On the days when there was a
+row, she would often call her mother an old camel and a cow.
+
+“Where’s my food?” yelled the zinc-worker. “I want my soup, you couple
+of jades! There’s females for you, always thinking of finery! I’ll sit
+on the gee-gaws, you know, if I don’t get my soup!”
+
+“He’s unbearable when he’s drunk,” murmured Gervaise, out of patience;
+and turning towards him, she exclaimed:
+
+“It’s warming up, don’t bother us.”
+
+Nana was being modest, because she thought it nice on such a day. She
+continued to look at the presents on the chest of drawers, affectedly
+lowering her eyelids and pretending not to understand her father’s
+naughty words. But the zinc-worker was an awful plague on the nights
+when he had had too much. Poking his face right against her neck, he
+said:
+
+“I’ll give you white dresses! So the finery tickles your fancy. They
+excite your imagination. Just you cut away from there, you ugly little
+brat! Move your hands about, bundle them all into a drawer!”
+
+Nana, with bowed head, did not answer a word. She had taken up the
+little tulle cap and was asking her mother how much it cost. And as
+Coupeau thrust out his hand to seize hold of the cap, it was Gervaise
+who pushed him aside exclaiming:
+
+“Do leave the child alone! She’s very good, she’s doing no harm.”
+
+Then the zinc-worker let out in real earnest.
+
+“Ah! the viragos! The mother and daughter, they make the pair. It’s a
+nice thing to go to church just to leer at the men. Dare to say it
+isn’t true, little slattern! I’ll dress you in a sack, just to disgust
+you, you and your priests. I don’t want you to be taught anything worse
+than you know already. _Mon Dieu!_ Just listen to me, both of you!”
+
+At this Nana turned round in a fury, whilst Gervaise had to spread out
+her arms to protect the things which Coupeau talked of tearing. The
+child looked her father straight in the face; then, forgetting the
+modest bearing inculcated by her confessor, she said, clinching her
+teeth: “Pig!”
+
+As soon as the zinc-worker had had his soup he went off to sleep. On
+the morrow he awoke in a very good humor. He still felt a little of the
+booze of the day before but only just sufficient to make him amiable.
+He assisted at the dressing of the child, deeply affected by the white
+dress and finding that a mere nothing gave the little vermin quite the
+look of a young lady.
+
+The two families started off together for the church. Nana and Pauline
+walked first, their prayer-books in their hands and holding down their
+veils on account of the wind; they did not speak but were bursting with
+delight at seeing people come to their shop-doors, and they smiled
+primly and devoutly every time they heard anyone say as they passed
+that they looked very nice. Madame Boche and Madame Lorilleux lagged
+behind, because they were interchanging their ideas about Clump-clump,
+a gobble-all, whose daughter would never have been confirmed if the
+relations had not found everything for her; yes, everything, even a new
+chemise, out of respect for the holy altar. Madame Lorilleux was rather
+concerned about the dress, calling Nana a dirty thing every time the
+child got dust on her skirt by brushing against the store fronts.
+
+At church Coupeau wept all the time. It was stupid but he could not
+help it. It affected him to see the priest holding out his arms and all
+the little girls, looking like angels, pass before him, clasping their
+hands; and the music of the organ stirred up his stomach and the
+pleasant smell of the incense forced him to sniff, the same as though
+someone had thrust a bouquet of flowers into his face. In short he saw
+everything cerulean, his heart was touched. Anyway, other sensitive
+souls around him were wetting their handkerchiefs. This was a beautiful
+day, the most beautiful of his life. After leaving the church, Coupeau
+went for a drink with Lorilleux, who had remained dry-eyed.
+
+That evening the Poissons’ house-warming was very lively. Friendship
+reigned without a hitch from one end of the feast to the other. When
+bad times arrive one thus comes in for some pleasant evenings, hours
+during which sworn enemies love each other. Lantier, with Gervaise on
+his left and Virginie on his right, was most amiable to both of them,
+lavishing little tender caresses like a cock who desires peace in his
+poultry-yard. But the queens of the feast were the two little ones,
+Nana and Pauline, who had been allowed to keep on their things; they
+sat bolt upright through fear of spilling anything on their white
+dresses and at every mouthful they were told to hold up their chins so
+as to swallow cleanly. Nana, greatly bored by all this fuss, ended by
+slobbering her wine over the body of her dress, so it was taken off and
+the stains were at once washed out in a glass of water.
+
+Then at dessert the children’s future careers were gravely discussed.
+
+Madame Boche had decided that Pauline would enter a shop to learn how
+to punch designs on gold and silver. That paid five or six francs a
+day. Gervaise didn’t know yet because Nana had never indicated any
+preference.
+
+“In your place,” said Madame Lerat, “I would bring Nana up as an
+artificial flower-maker. It is a pleasant and clean employment.”
+
+“Flower-makers?” muttered Lorilleux. “Every one of them might as well
+walk the streets.”
+
+“Well, what about me?” objected Madame Lerat, pursing her lips. “You’re
+certainly not very polite. I assure you that I don’t lie down for
+anyone who whistles.”
+
+Then all the rest joined together in hushing her. “Madame Lerat! Oh,
+Madame Lerat!” By side glances they reminded her of the two girls,
+fresh from communion, who were burying their noses in their glasses to
+keep from laughing out loud. The men had been very careful, for
+propriety’s sake, to use only suitable language, but Madame Lerat
+refused to follow their example. She flattered herself on her command
+of language, as she had often been complimented on the way she could
+say anything before children, without any offence to decency.
+
+“Just you listen, there are some very fine women among the
+flower-makers!” she insisted. “They’re just like other women and they
+show good taste when they choose to commit a sin.”
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_” interrupted Gervaise, “I’ve no dislike for artificial
+flower-making. Only it must please Nana, that’s all I care about; one
+should never thwart children on the question of a vocation. Come Nana,
+don’t be stupid; tell me now, would you like to make flowers?”
+
+The child was leaning over her plate gathering up the cake crumbs with
+her wet finger, which she afterwards sucked. She did not hurry herself.
+She grinned in her vicious way.
+
+“Why yes, mamma, I should like to,” she ended by declaring.
+
+Then the matter was at once settled. Coupeau was quite willing that
+Madame Lerat should take the child with her on the morrow to the place
+where she worked in the Rue du Caire. And they all talked very gravely
+of the duties of life. Boche said that Nana and Pauline were women now
+that they had partaken of communion. Poisson added that for the future
+they ought to know how to cook, mend socks and look after a house.
+Something was even said of their marrying, and of the children they
+would some day have. The youngsters listened, laughing to themselves,
+elated by the thought of being women. What pleased them the most was
+when Lantier teased them, asking if they didn’t already have little
+husbands. Nana eventually admitted that she cared a great deal for
+Victor Fauconnier, son of her mother’s employer.
+
+“Ah well,” said Madame Lorilleux to the Boches, as they were all
+leaving, “she’s our goddaughter, but as they’re going to put her into
+artificial flower-making, we don’t wish to have anything more to do
+with her. Just one more for the boulevards. She’ll be leading them a
+merry chase before six months are over.”
+
+On going up to bed, the Coupeaus agreed that everything had passed off
+well and that the Poissons were not at all bad people. Gervaise even
+considered the shop was nicely got up. She was surprised to discover
+that it hadn’t pained her at all to spend an evening there. While Nana
+was getting ready for bed she contemplated her white dress and asked
+her mother if the young lady on the third floor had had one like it
+when she was married last month.
+
+This was their last happy day. Two years passed by, during which they
+sank deeper and deeper. The winters were especially hard for them. If
+they had bread to eat during the fine weather, the rain and cold came
+accompanied by famine, by drubbings before the empty cupboard, and by
+dinner-hours with nothing to eat in the little Siberia of their larder.
+Villainous December brought numbing freezing spells and the black
+misery of cold and dampness.
+
+The first winter they occasionally had a fire, choosing to keep warm
+rather than to eat. But the second winter, the stove stood mute with
+its rust, adding a chill to the room, standing there like a cast-iron
+gravestone. And what took the life out of their limbs, what above all
+utterly crushed them was the rent. Oh! the January quarter, when there
+was not a radish in the house and old Boche came up with the bill! It
+was like a bitter storm, a regular tempest from the north. Monsieur
+Marescot then arrived the following Saturday, wrapped up in a good warm
+overcoat, his big hands hidden in woolen gloves; and he was for ever
+talking of turning them out, whilst the snow continued to fall outside,
+as though it were preparing a bed for them on the pavement with white
+sheets. To have paid the quarter’s rent they would have sold their very
+flesh. It was the rent which emptied the larder and the stove.
+
+No doubt the Coupeaus had only themselves to blame. Life may be a hard
+fight, but one always pulls through when one is orderly and
+economical—witness the Lorilleuxs, who paid their rent to the day, the
+money folded up in bits of dirty paper. But they, it is true, led a
+life of starved spiders, which would disgust one with hard work. Nana
+as yet earned nothing at flower-making; she even cost a good deal for
+her keep. At Madame Fauconnier’s Gervaise was beginning to be looked
+down upon. She was no longer so expert. She bungled her work to such an
+extent that the mistress had reduced her wages to two francs a day, the
+price paid to the clumsiest bungler. But she was still proud, reminding
+everyone of her former status as boss of her own shop. When Madame
+Fauconnier hired Madame Putois, Gervaise was so annoyed at having to
+work beside her former employee that she stayed away for two weeks.
+
+As for Coupeau, he did perhaps work, but in that case he certainly made
+a present of his labor to the Government, for since the time he
+returned from Etampes Gervaise had never seen the color of his money.
+She no longer looked in his hands when he came home on paydays. He
+arrived swinging his arms, his pockets empty, and often without his
+handkerchief; well, yes, he had lost his rag, or else some rascally
+comrade had sneaked it. At first he always fibbed; there was a donation
+to charity, or some money slipped through the hole in his pocket, or he
+paid off some imaginary debts. Later, he didn’t even bother to make up
+anything. He had nothing left because it had all gone into his stomach.
+
+Madame Boche suggested to Gervaise that she go to wait for him at the
+shop exit. This rarely worked though, because Coupeau’s comrades would
+warn him and the money would disappear into his shoe or someone else’s
+pocket.
+
+Yes, it was their own fault if every season found them lower and lower.
+But that’s the sort of thing one never tells oneself, especially when
+one is down in the mire. They accused their bad luck; they pretended
+that fate was against them. Their home had become a regular shambles
+where they wrangled the whole day long. However, they had not yet come
+to blows, with the exception of a few impulsive smacks, which somehow
+flew about at the height of their quarrels. The saddest part of the
+business was that they had opened the cage of affection; all their
+better feelings had taken flight, like so many canaries. The genial
+warmth of father, mother and child, when united together and wrapped up
+in each other, deserted them, and left them shivering, each in his or
+her own corner. All three—Coupeau, Gervaise and Nana—were always in the
+most abominable tempers, biting each other’s noses off for nothing at
+all, their eyes full of hatred; and it seemed as though something had
+broken the mainspring of the family, the mechanism which, with happy
+people, causes hearts to beat in unison. Ah! it was certain Gervaise
+was no longer moved as she used to be when she saw Coupeau at the edge
+of a roof forty or fifty feet above the pavement. She would not have
+pushed him off herself, but if he had fallen accidentally, in truth it
+would have freed the earth of one who was of but little account. The
+days when they were more especially at enmity she would ask him why he
+didn’t come back on a stretcher. She was awaiting it. It would be her
+good luck they were bringing back to her. What use was he—that
+drunkard? To make her weep, to devour all she possessed, to drive her
+to sin. Well! Men so useless as he should be thrown as quickly as
+possible into the hole and the polka of deliverance be danced over
+them. And when the mother said “Kill him!” the daughter responded
+“Knock him on the head!” Nana read all of the reports of accidents in
+the newspapers, and made reflections that were unnatural for a girl.
+Her father had such good luck an omnibus had knocked him down without
+even sobering him. Would the beggar never croak?
+
+In the midst of her own poverty Gervaise suffered even more because
+other families around her were also starving to death. Their corner of
+the tenement housed the most wretched. There was not a family that ate
+every day.
+
+Gervaise felt the most pity for Pere Bru in his cubbyhole under the
+staircase where he hibernated. Sometimes he stayed on his bed of straw
+without moving for days. Even hunger no longer drove him out since
+there was no use taking a walk when no one would invite him to dinner.
+Whenever he didn’t show his face for several days, the neighbors would
+push open his door to see if his troubles were over. No, he was still
+alive, just barely. Even Death seemed to have neglected him. Whenever
+Gervaise had any bread she gave him the crusts. Even when she hated all
+men because of her husband, she still felt sincerely sorry for Pere
+Bru, the poor old man. They were letting him starve to death because he
+could no longer hold tools in his hand.
+
+The laundress also suffered a great deal from the close neighborhood of
+Bazouge, the undertaker’s helper. A simple partition, and a very thin
+one, separated the two rooms. He could not put his fingers down his
+throat without her hearing it. As soon as he came home of an evening
+she listened, in spite of herself, to everything he did. His black
+leather hat laid with a dull thud on the chest of drawers, like a
+shovelful of earth; the black cloak hung up and rustling against the
+walls like the wings of some night bird; all the black toggery flung
+into the middle of the room and filling it with the trappings of
+mourning. She heard him stamping about, felt anxious at the least
+movement, and was quite startled if he knocked against the furniture or
+rattled any of his crockery. This confounded drunkard was her
+preoccupation, filling her with a secret fear mingled with a desire to
+know. He, jolly, his belly full every day, his head all upside down,
+coughed, spat, sang “Mother Godichon,” made use of many dirty
+expressions and fought with the four walls before finding his bedstead.
+And she remained quite pale, wondering what he could be doing in there.
+She imagined the most atrocious things. She got into her head that he
+must have brought a corpse home, and was stowing it away under his
+bedstead. Well! the newspapers had related something of the kind—an
+undertaker’s helper who collected the coffins of little children at his
+home, so as to save himself trouble and to make only one journey to the
+cemetery.
+
+For certain, directly Bazouge arrived, a smell of death seemed to
+permeate the partition. One might have thought oneself lodging against
+the Pere Lachaise cemetery, in the midst of the kingdom of moles. He
+was frightful, the animal, continually laughing all by himself, as
+though his profession enlivened him. Even when he had finished his
+rumpus and had laid himself on his back, he snored in a manner so
+extraordinary that it caused the laundress to hold her breath. For
+hours she listened attentively, with an idea that funerals were passing
+through her neighbor’s room.
+
+The worst was that, in spite of her terrors, something incited Gervaise
+to put her ear to the wall, the better to find out what was taking
+place. Bazouge had the same effect on her as handsome men have on good
+women: they would like to touch them. Well! if fear had not kept her
+back, Gervaise would have liked to have handled death, to see what it
+was like. She became so peculiar at times, holding her breath,
+listening attentively, expecting to unravel the secret through one of
+Bazouge’s movements, that Coupeau would ask her with a chuckle if she
+had a fancy for that gravedigger next door. She got angry and talked of
+moving, the close proximity of this neighbor was so distasteful to her;
+and yet, in spite of herself, as soon as the old chap arrived, smelling
+like a cemetery, she became wrapped again in her reflections, with the
+excited and timorous air of a wife thinking of passing a knife through
+the marriage contract. Had he not twice offered to pack her up and
+carry her off with him to some place where the enjoyment of sleep is so
+great, that in a moment one forgets all one’s wretchedness? Perhaps it
+was really very pleasant. Little by little the temptation to taste it
+became stronger. She would have liked to have tried it for a fortnight
+or a month. Oh! to sleep a month, especially in winter, the month when
+the rent became due, when the troubles of life were killing her! But it
+was not possible—one must sleep forever, if one commences to sleep for
+an hour; and the thought of this froze her, her desire for death
+departed before the eternal and stern friendship which the earth
+demanded.
+
+However, one evening in January she knocked with both her fists against
+the partition. She had passed a frightful week, hustled by everyone,
+without a sou, and utterly discouraged. That evening she was not at all
+well, she shivered with fever, and seemed to see flames dancing about
+her. Then, instead of throwing herself out of the window, as she had at
+one moment thought of doing, she set to knocking and calling:
+
+“Old Bazouge! Old Bazouge!”
+
+The undertaker’s helper was taking off his shoes and singing, “There
+were three lovely girls.” He had probably had a good day, for he seemed
+even more maudlin than usual.
+
+“Old Bazouge! Old Bazouge!” repeated Gervaise, raising her voice.
+
+Did he not hear her then? She was ready to give herself at once; he
+might come and take her on his neck, and carry her off to the place
+where he carried his other women, the poor and the rich, whom he
+consoled. It pained her to hear his song, “There were three lovely
+girls,” because she discerned in it the disdain of a man with too many
+sweethearts.
+
+“What is it? what is it?” stuttered Bazouge; “who’s unwell? We’re
+coming, little woman!”
+
+But the sound of this husky voice awoke Gervaise as though from a
+nightmare. And a feeling of horror ascended from her knees to her
+shoulders at the thought of seeing herself lugged along in the old
+fellow’s arms, all stiff and her face as white as a china plate.
+
+“Well! is there no one there now?” resumed Bazouge in silence. “Wait a
+bit, we’re always ready to oblige the ladies.”
+
+“It’s nothing, nothing,” said the laundress at length in a choking
+voice. “I don’t require anything, thanks.”
+
+She remained anxious, listening to old Bazouge grumbling himself to
+sleep, afraid to stir for fear he would think he heard her knocking
+again.
+
+In her corner of misery, in the midst of her cares and the cares of
+others, Gervaise had, however, a beautiful example of courage in the
+home of her neighbors, the Bijards. Little Lalie, only eight years old
+and no larger than a sparrow, took care of the household as competently
+as a grown person. The job was not an easy one because she had two
+little tots, her brother Jules and her sister Henriette, aged three and
+five, to watch all day long while sweeping and cleaning.
+
+Ever since Bijard had killed his wife with a kick in the stomach, Lalie
+had become the little mother of them all. Without saying a word, and of
+her own accord, she filled the place of one who had gone, to the extent
+that her brute of a father, no doubt to complete the resemblance, now
+belabored the daughter as he had formerly belabored the mother.
+Whenever he came home drunk, he required a woman to massacre. He did
+not even notice that Lalie was quite little; he would not have beaten
+some old trollop harder. Little Lalie, so thin it made you cry, took it
+all without a word of complaint in her beautiful, patient eyes. Never
+would she revolt. She bent her neck to protect her face and stifled her
+sobs so as not to alarm the neighbors. When her father got tired of
+kicking her, she would rest a bit until she got her strength back and
+then resume her work. It was part of her job, being beaten daily.
+
+Gervaise entertained a great friendship for her little neighbor. She
+treated her as an equal, as a grown-up woman of experience. It must be
+said that Lalie had a pale and serious look, with the expression of an
+old girl. One might have thought her thirty on hearing her speak. She
+knew very well how to buy things, mend the clothes, attend to the home,
+and she spoke of the children as though she had already gone through
+two or three nurseries in her time. It made people smile to hear her
+talk thus at eight years old; and then a lump would rise in their
+throats, and they would hurry away so as not to burst out crying.
+Gervaise drew the child towards her as much as she could, gave her all
+she could spare of food and old clothing. One day as she tried one of
+Nana’s old dresses on her, she almost choked with anger on seeing her
+back covered with bruises, the skin off her elbow, which was still
+bleeding, and all her innocent flesh martyred and sticking to her
+bones. Well! Old Bazouge could get a box ready; she would not last long
+at that rate! But the child had begged the laundress not to say a word.
+She would not have her father bothered on her account. She took his
+part, affirming that he would not have been so wicked if it had not
+been for the drink. He was mad, he did not know what he did. Oh! she
+forgave him, because one ought to forgive madmen everything.
+
+From that time Gervaise watched and prepared to interfere directly she
+heard Bijard coming up the stairs. But on most of the occasions she
+only caught some whack for her trouble. When she entered their room in
+the day-time, she often found Lalie tied to the foot of the iron
+bedstead; it was an idea of the locksmith’s, before going out, to tie
+her legs and her body with some stout rope, without anyone being able
+to find out why—a mere whim of a brain diseased by drink, just for the
+sake, no doubt, of maintaining his tyranny over the child when he was
+no longer there. Lalie, as stiff as a stake, with pins and needles in
+her legs, remained whole days at the post. She once even passed a night
+there, Bijard having forgotten to come home. Whenever Gervaise, carried
+away by her indignation, talked of unfastening her, she implored her
+not to disturb the rope, because her father became furious if he did
+not find the knots tied the same way he had left them. Really, it
+wasn’t so bad, it gave her a rest. She smiled as she said this though
+her legs were swollen and bruised. What upset her the most was that she
+couldn’t do her work while tied to the bed. She could watch the
+children though, and even did some knitting, so as not to entirely
+waste the time.
+
+The locksmith had thought of another little game too. He heated sous in
+the frying pan, then placed them on a corner of the mantle-piece; and
+he called Lalie, and told her to fetch a couple of pounds of bread. The
+child took up the sous unsuspectingly, uttered a cry and threw them on
+the ground, shaking her burnt hand. Then he flew into a fury. Who had
+saddled him with such a piece of carrion? She lost the money now! And
+he threatened to beat her to a jelly if she did not pick the sous up at
+once. When the child hesitated she received the first warning, a clout
+of such force that it made her see thirty-six candles. Speechless and
+with two big tears in the corners of her eyes, she would pick up the
+sous and go off, tossing them in the palm of her hand to cool them.
+
+No, one could never imagine the ferocious ideas which may sprout from
+the depths of a drunkard’s brain. One afternoon, for instance, Lalie
+having made everything tidy was playing with the children. The window
+was open, there was a draught, and the wind blowing along the passage
+gently shook the door.
+
+“It’s Monsieur Hardy,” the child was saying. “Come in, Monsieur Hardy.
+Pray have the kindness to walk in.”
+
+And she curtsied before the door, she bowed to the wind. Henriette and
+Jules, behind her, also bowed, delighted with the game and splitting
+their sides with laughing, as though being tickled. She was quite rosy
+at seeing them so heartily amused and even found some pleasure in it on
+her own account, which generally only happened to her on the
+thirty-sixth day of each month.
+
+“Good day, Monsieur Hardy. How do you do, Monsieur Hardy?”
+
+But a rough hand pushed open the door, and Bijard entered. Then the
+scene changed. Henriette and Jules fell down flat against the wall;
+whilst Lalie, terrified, remained standing in the very middle of the
+curtsey. The locksmith held in his hand a big waggoner’s whip, quite
+new, with a long white wooden handle, and a leather thong, terminating
+with a bit of whip-cord. He placed the whip in the corner against the
+bed and did not give the usual kick to the child who was already
+preparing herself by presenting her back. A chuckle exposed his
+blackened teeth and he was very lively, very drunk, his red face
+lighted up by some idea that amused him immensely.
+
+“What’s that?” said he. “You’re playing the deuce, eh, you confounded
+young hussy! I could hear you dancing about from downstairs. Now then,
+come here! Nearer and full face. I don’t want to sniff you from behind.
+Am I touching you that you tremble like a mass of giblets? Take my
+shoes off.”
+
+Lalie turned quite pale again and, amazed at not receiving her usual
+drubbing, took his shoes off. He had seated himself on the edge of the
+bed. He lay down with his clothes on and remained with his eyes open,
+watching the child move about the room. She busied herself with one
+thing and another, gradually becoming bewildered beneath his glance,
+her limbs overcome by such a fright that she ended by breaking a cup.
+Then, without getting off the bed, he took hold of the whip and showed
+it to her.
+
+“See, little chickie, look at this. It’s a present for you. Yes, it’s
+another fifty sous you’ve cost me. With this plaything I shall no
+longer be obliged to run after you, and it’ll be no use you getting
+into the corners. Will you have a try? Ah! you broke a cup! Now then,
+gee up! Dance away, make your curtsies to Monsieur Hardy!”
+
+He did not even raise himself but lay sprawling on his back, his head
+buried in his pillow, making the big whip crack about the room with the
+noise of a postillion starting his horses. Then, lowering his arm he
+lashed Lalie in the middle of the body, encircling her with the whip
+and unwinding it again as though she were a top. She fell and tried to
+escape on her hands and knees; but lashing her again he jerked her to
+her feet.
+
+“Gee up, gee up!” yelled he. “It’s the donkey race! Eh, it’ll be fine
+of a cold morning in winter. I can lie snug without getting cold or
+hurting my chilblains and catch the calves from a distance. In that
+corner there, a hit, you hussy! And in that other corner, a hit again!
+And in that one, another hit. Ah! if you crawl under the bed I’ll whack
+you with the handle. Gee up, you jade! Gee up! Gee up!”
+
+A slight foam came to his lips, his yellow eyes were starting from
+their black orbits. Lalie, maddened, howling, jumped to the four
+corners of the room, curled herself up on the floor and clung to the
+walls; but the lash at the end of the big whip caught her everywhere,
+cracking against her ears with the noise of fireworks, streaking her
+flesh with burning weals. A regular dance of the animal being taught
+its tricks. This poor kitten waltzed. It was a sight! Her heels in the
+air like little girls playing at skipping, and crying “Father!” She was
+all out of breath, rebounding like an india-rubber ball, letting
+herself be beaten, unable to see or any longer to seek a refuge. And
+her wolf of a father triumphed, calling her a virago, asking her if she
+had had enough and whether she understood sufficiently that she was in
+future to give up all hope of escaping from him.
+
+But Gervaise suddenly entered the room, attracted by the child’s howls.
+On beholding such a scene she was seized with a furious indignation.
+
+“Ah! you brute of a man!” cried she. “Leave her alone, you brigand!
+I’ll put the police on to you.”
+
+Bijard growled like an animal being disturbed, and stuttered:
+
+“Mind your own business a bit, Limper. Perhaps you’d like me to put
+gloves on when I stir her up. It’s merely to warm her, as you can
+plainly see—simply to show her that I’ve a long arm.”
+
+And he gave a final lash with the whip which caught Lalie across the
+face. The upper lip was cut, the blood flowed. Gervaise had seized a
+chair, and was about to fall on to the locksmith; but the child held
+her hands towards her imploringly, saying that it was nothing and that
+it was all over. She wiped away the blood with the corner of her apron
+and quieted the babies, who were sobbing bitterly, as though they had
+received all the blows.
+
+Whenever Gervaise thought of Lalie, she felt she had no right to
+complain for herself. She wished she had as much patient courage as the
+little girl who was only eight years old and had to endure more than
+the rest of the women on their staircase put together. She had seen
+Lalie living on stale bread for months and growing thinner and weaker.
+Whenever she smuggled some remnants of meat to Lalie, it almost broke
+her heart to see the child weeping silently and nibbling it down only
+by little bits because her throat was so shrunken. Gervaise looked on
+Lalie as a model of suffering and forgiveness and tried to learn from
+her how to suffer in silence.
+
+In the Coupeau household the vitriol of l’Assommoir was also commencing
+its ravages. Gervaise could see the day coming when her husband would
+get a whip like Bijard’s to make her dance.
+
+Yes, Coupeau was spinning an evil thread. The time was past when a
+drink would make him feel good. His unhealthy soft fat of earlier years
+had melted away and he was beginning to wither and turn a leaden grey.
+He seemed to have a greenish tint like a corpse putrefying in a pond.
+He no longer had a taste for food, not even the most beautifully
+prepared stew. His stomach would turn and his decayed teeth refuse to
+touch it. A pint a day was his daily ration, the only nourishment he
+could digest. When he awoke in the mornings he sat coughing and
+spitting up bile for at least a quarter of an hour. It never failed,
+you might as well have the basin ready. He was never steady on his pins
+till after his first glass of consolation, a real remedy, the fire of
+which cauterized his bowels; but during the day his strength returned.
+At first he would feel a tickling sensation, a sort of pins-and-needles
+in his hands and feet; and he would joke, relating that someone was
+having a lark with him, that he was sure his wife put horse-hair
+between the sheets. Then his legs would become heavy, the tickling
+sensation would end by turning into the most abominable cramps, which
+gripped his flesh as though in a vise. That though did not amuse him so
+much. He no longer laughed; he stopped suddenly on the pavement in a
+bewildered way with a ringing in his ears and his eyes blinded with
+sparks. Everything appeared to him to be yellow; the houses danced and
+he reeled about for three seconds with the fear of suddenly finding
+himself sprawling on the ground. At other times, while the sun was
+shining full on his back, he would shiver as though iced water had been
+poured down his shoulders. What bothered him the most was a slight
+trembling of both his hands; the right hand especially must have been
+guilty of some crime, it suffered from so many nightmares. _Mon Dieu!_
+was he then no longer a man? He was becoming an old woman! He furiously
+strained his muscles, he seized hold of his glass and bet that he would
+hold it perfectly steady as with a hand of marble; but in spite of his
+efforts the glass danced about, jumped to the right, jumped to the left
+with a hurried and regular trembling movement. Then in a fury he
+emptied it into his gullet, yelling that he would require dozens like
+it, and afterwards he undertook to carry a cask without so much as
+moving a finger. Gervaise, on the other hand, told him to give up drink
+if he wished to cease trembling, and he laughed at her, emptying quarts
+until he experienced the sensation again, flying into a rage and
+accusing the passing omnibuses of shaking up his liquor.
+
+In the month of March Coupeau returned home one evening soaked through.
+He had come with My-Boots from Montrouge, where they had stuffed
+themselves full of eel soup, and he had received the full force of the
+shower all the way from the Barriere des Fourneaux to the Barriere
+Poissonniere, a good distance. During the night he was seized with a
+confounded fit of coughing. He was very flushed, suffering from a
+violent fever and panting like a broken bellows. When the Boches’
+doctor saw him in the morning and listened against his back he shook
+his head, and drew Gervaise aside to advise her to have her husband
+taken to the hospital. Coupeau was suffering from pneumonia.
+
+Gervaise did not worry herself, you may be sure. At one time she would
+have been chopped into pieces before trusting her old man to the
+saw-bones. After the accident in the Rue de la Nation she had spent
+their savings in nursing him. But those beautiful sentiments don’t last
+when men take to wallowing in the mire. No, no; she did not intend to
+make a fuss like that again. They might take him and never bring him
+back; she would thank them heartily. Yet, when the litter arrived and
+Coupeau was put into it like an article of furniture, she became all
+pale and bit her lips; and if she grumbled and still said it was a good
+job, her heart was no longer in her words. Had she but ten francs in
+her drawer she would not have let him go.
+
+She accompanied him to the Lariboisiere Hospital, saw the nurses put
+him to bed at the end of a long hall, where the patients in a row,
+looking like corpses, raised themselves up and followed with their eyes
+the comrade who had just been brought in. It was a veritable death
+chamber. There was a suffocating, feverish odor and a chorus of
+coughing. The long hall gave the impression of a small cemetery with
+its double row of white beds looking like an aisle of marble tombs.
+When Coupeau remained motionless on his pillow, Gervaise left, having
+nothing to say, nor anything in her pocket that could comfort him.
+
+Outside, she turned to look up at the monumental structure of the
+hospital and recalled the days when Coupeau was working there, putting
+on the zinc roof, perched up high and singing in the sun. He wasn’t
+drinking in those days. She used to watch for him from her window in
+the Hotel Boncoeur and they would both wave their handkerchiefs in
+greeting. Now, instead of being on the roof like a cheerful sparrow, he
+was down below. He had built his own place in the hospital where he had
+come to die. _Mon Dieu!_ It all seemed so far way now, that time of
+young love.
+
+On the day after the morrow, when Gervaise called to obtain news of
+him, she found the bed empty. A Sister of Charity told her that they
+had been obliged to remove her husband to the Asylum of Sainte-Anne,
+because the day before he had suddenly gone wild. Oh! a total
+leave-taking of his senses; attempts to crack his skull against the
+wall; howls which prevented the other patients from sleeping. It all
+came from drink, it seemed. Gervaise went home very upset. Well, her
+husband had gone crazy. What would it be like if he came home? Nana
+insisted that they should leave him in the hospital because he might
+end by killing both of them.
+
+Gervaise was not able to go to Sainte-Anne until Sunday. It was a
+tremendous journey. Fortunately, the omnibus from the Boulevard
+Rochechouart to La Glaciere passed close to the asylum. She went down
+the Rue de la Sante, buying two oranges on her way, so as not to arrive
+empty-handed. It was another monumental building, with grey courtyards,
+interminable corridors and a smell of rank medicaments, which did not
+exactly inspire liveliness. But when they had admitted her into a cell
+she was quite surprised to see Coupeau almost jolly. He was just then
+seated on the throne, a spotlessly clean wooden case, and they both
+laughed at her finding him in this position. Well, one knows what an
+invalid is. He squatted there like a pope with his cheek of earlier
+days. Oh! he was better, as he could do this.
+
+“And the pneumonia?” inquired the laundress.
+
+“Done for!” replied he. “They cured it in no time. I still cough a
+little, but that’s all that is left of it.”
+
+Then at the moment of leaving the throne to get back into his bed, he
+joked once more. “It’s lucky you have a strong nose and are not
+bothered.”
+
+They laughed louder than ever. At heart they felt joyful. It was by way
+of showing their contentment without a host of phrases that they thus
+joked together. One must have had to do with patients to know the
+pleasure one feels at seeing all their functions at work again.
+
+When he was back in bed she gave him the two oranges and this filled
+him with emotion. He was becoming quite nice again ever since he had
+had nothing but tisane to drink. She ended by venturing to speak to him
+about his violent attack, surprised at hearing him reason like in the
+good old times.
+
+“Ah, yes,” said he, joking at his own expense; “I talked a precious lot
+of nonsense! Just fancy, I saw rats and ran about on all fours to put a
+grain of salt under their tails. And you, you called to me, men were
+trying to kill you. In short, all sorts of stupid things, ghosts in
+broad daylight. Oh! I remember it well, my noodle’s still solid. Now
+it’s over, I dream a bit when I’m asleep. I have nightmares, but
+everyone has nightmares.”
+
+Gervaise remained with him until the evening. When the house surgeon
+came, at the six o’clock inspection, he made him spread his hands; they
+hardly trembled at all, scarcely a quiver at the tips of the fingers.
+However, as night approached, Coupeau was little by little seized with
+uneasiness. He twice sat up in bed looking on the ground and in the
+dark corners of the room. Suddenly he thrust out an arm and appeared to
+crush some vermin against the wall.
+
+“What is it?” asked Gervaise, frightened.
+
+“The rats! The rats!” murmured he.
+
+Then, after a pause, gliding into sleep, he tossed about, uttering
+disconnected phrases.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ they’re tearing my skin!—Oh! the filthy beasts!—Keep
+steady! Hold your skirts right round you! beware of the dirty bloke
+behind you!—_Mon Dieu!_ she’s down and the scoundrels
+laugh!—Scoundrels! Blackguards! Brigands!”
+
+He dealt blows into space, caught hold of his blanket and rolled it
+into a bundle against his chest, as though to protect the latter from
+the violence of the bearded men whom he beheld. Then, an attendant
+having hastened to the spot, Gervaise withdrew, quite frozen by the
+scene.
+
+But when she returned a few days later, she found Coupeau completely
+cured. Even the nightmares had left him; he could sleep his ten hours
+right off as peacefully as a child and without stirring a limb. So his
+wife was allowed to take him away. The house surgeon gave him the usual
+good advice on leaving and advised him to follow it. If he recommenced
+drinking, he would again collapse and would end by dying. Yes, it
+solely depended upon himself. He had seen how jolly and healthy one
+could become when one did not get drunk. Well, he must continue at home
+the sensible life he had led at Sainte-Anne, fancy himself under lock
+and key and that dram-shops no longer existed.
+
+“The gentleman’s right,” said Gervaise in the omnibus which was taking
+them back to the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or.
+
+“Of course he’s right,” replied Coupeau.
+
+Then, after thinking a minute, he resumed:
+
+“Oh! you know, a little glass now and again can’t kill a man; it helps
+the digestion.”
+
+And that very evening he swallowed a glass of bad spirit, just to keep
+his stomach in order. For eight days he was pretty reasonable. He was a
+great coward at heart; he had no desire to end his days in the Bicetre
+mad-house. But his passion got the better of him; the first little
+glass led him, in spite of himself, to a second, to a third and to a
+fourth, and at the end of a fortnight, he had got back to his old
+ration, a pint of vitriol a day. Gervaise, exasperated, could have
+beaten him. To think that she had been stupid enough to dream once more
+of leading a worthy life, just because she had seen him at the asylum
+in full possession of his good sense! Another joyful hour had flown,
+the last one no doubt! Oh! now, as nothing could reclaim him, not even
+the fear of his near death, she swore she would no longer put herself
+out; the home might be all at sixes and sevens, she did not care any
+longer; and she talked also of leaving him.
+
+Then hell upon earth recommenced, a life sinking deeper into the mire,
+without a glimmer of hope for something better to follow. Nana,
+whenever her father clouted her, furiously asked why the brute was not
+at the hospital. She was awaiting the time when she would be earning
+money, she would say, to treat him to brandy and make him croak
+quicker. Gervaise, on her side, flew into a passion one day that
+Coupeau was regretting their marriage. Ah! she had brought him her
+saucy children; ah! she had got herself picked up from the pavement,
+wheedling him with rosy dreams! _Mon Dieu!_ he had a rare cheek! So
+many words, so many lies. She hadn’t wished to have anything to do with
+him, that was the truth. He had dragged himself at her feet to make her
+give way, whilst she was advising him to think well what he was about.
+And if it was all to come over again, he would hear how she would just
+say “no!” She would sooner have an arm cut off. Yes, she’d had a lover
+before him; but a woman who has had a lover, and who is a worker, is
+worth more than a sluggard of a man who sullies his honor and that of
+his family in all the dram-shops. That day, for the first time, the
+Coupeaus went in for a general brawl, and they whacked each other so
+hard that an old umbrella and the broom were broken.
+
+Gervaise kept her word. She sank lower and lower; she missed going to
+her work oftener, spent whole days in gossiping, and became as soft as
+a rag whenever she had a task to perform. If a thing fell from her
+hands, it might remain on the floor; it was certainly not she who would
+have stooped to pick it up. She took her ease about everything, and
+never handled a broom except when the accumulation of filth almost
+brought her to the ground. The Lorilleuxs now made a point of holding
+something to their noses whenever they passed her room; the stench was
+poisonous, said they. Those hypocrites slyly lived at the end of the
+passage, out of the way of all these miseries which filled the corner
+of the house with whimpering, locking themselves in so as not to have
+to lend twenty sou pieces. Oh! kind-hearted folks, neighbors awfully
+obliging! Yes, you may be sure! One had only to knock and ask for a
+light or a pinch of salt or a jug of water, one was certain of getting
+the door banged in one’s face. With all that they had vipers’ tongues.
+They protested everywhere that they never occupied themselves with
+other people. This was true whenever it was a question of assisting a
+neighbor; but they did so from morning to night, directly they had a
+chance of pulling any one to pieces. With the door bolted and a rug
+hung up to cover the chinks and the key-hole, they would treat
+themselves to a spiteful gossip without leaving their gold wire for a
+moment.
+
+The fall of Clump-clump in particular kept them purring like pet cats.
+Completely ruined! Not a sou remaining. They smiled gleefully at the
+small piece of bread she would bring back when she went shopping and
+kept count of the days when she had nothing at all to eat. And the
+clothes she wore now. Disgusting rags! That’s what happened when one
+tried to live high.
+
+Gervaise, who had an idea of the way in which they spoke of her, would
+take her shoes off, and place her ear against their door; but the rug
+over the door prevented her from hearing much. She was heartily sick of
+them; she continued to speak to them, to avoid remarks, though
+expecting nothing but unpleasantness from such nasty persons, but no
+longer having strength even to give them as much as they gave her,
+passed the insults off as a lot of nonsense. And besides she only
+wanted her own pleasure, to sit in a heap twirling her thumbs, and only
+moving when it was a question of amusing herself, nothing more.
+
+One Saturday Coupeau had promised to take her to the circus. It was
+well worth while disturbing oneself to see ladies galloping along on
+horses and jumping through paper hoops. Coupeau had just finished a
+fortnight’s work, he could well spare a couple of francs; and they had
+also arranged to dine out, just the two of them, Nana having to work
+very late that evening at her employer’s because of some pressing
+order. But at seven o’clock there was no Coupeau; at eight o’clock it
+was still the same. Gervaise was furious. Her drunkard was certainly
+squandering his earnings with his comrades at the dram-shops of the
+neighborhood. She had washed a cap and had been slaving since the
+morning over the holes of an old dress, wishing to look decent. At
+last, towards nine o’clock, her stomach empty, her face purple with
+rage, she decided to go down and look for Coupeau.
+
+“Is it your husband you want?” called Madame Boche, on catching sight
+of Gervaise looking very glum. “He’s at Pere Colombe’s. Boche has just
+been having some cherry brandy with him.”
+
+Gervaise uttered her thanks and stalked stiffly along the pavement with
+the determination of flying at Coupeau’s eyes. A fine rain was falling
+which made the walk more unpleasant still. But when she reached
+l’Assommoir, the fear of receiving the drubbing herself if she badgered
+her old man suddenly calmed her and made her prudent. The shop was
+ablaze with the lighted gas, the flames of which were as brilliant as
+suns, and the bottles and jars illuminated the walls with their colored
+glass. She stood there an instant stretching her neck, her eyes close
+to the window, looking between two bottle placed there for show,
+watching Coupeau who was right at the back; he was sitting with some
+comrades at a little zinc table, all looking vague and blue in the
+tobacco smoke; and, as one could not hear them yelling, it created a
+funny effect to see them gesticulating with their chins thrust forward
+and their eyes starting out of their heads. Good heavens! Was it really
+possible that men could leave their wives and their homes to shut
+themselves up thus in a hole where they were choking?
+
+The rain trickled down her neck; she drew herself up and went off to
+the exterior Boulevard, wrapped in thought and not daring to enter. Ah!
+well Coupeau would have welcomed her in a pleasant way, he who objected
+to be spied upon! Besides, it really scarcely seemed to her the proper
+place for a respectable woman. Twice she went back and stood before the
+shop window, her eyes again riveted to the glass, annoyed at still
+beholding those confounded drunkards out of the rain and yelling and
+drinking. The light of l’Assommoir was reflected in the puddles on the
+pavement, which simmered with little bubbles caused by the downpour. At
+length she thought she was too foolish, and pushing open the door, she
+walked straight up to the table where Coupeau was sitting. After all it
+was her husband she came for, was it not? And she was authorized in
+doing so, because he had promised to take her to the circus that
+evening. So much the worse! She had no desire to melt like a cake of
+soap out on the pavement.
+
+“Hullo! It’s you, old woman!” exclaimed the zinc-worker, half choking
+with a chuckle. “Ah! that’s a good joke. Isn’t it a good joke now?”
+
+All the company laughed. Gervaise remained standing, feeling rather
+bewildered. Coupeau appeared to her to be in a pleasant humor, so she
+ventured to say:
+
+“You remember, we’ve somewhere to go. We must hurry. We shall still be
+in time to see something.”
+
+“I can’t get up, I’m glued, oh! without joking,” resumed Coupeau, who
+continued laughing. “Try, just to satisfy yourself; pull my arm with
+all your strength; try it! harder than that, tug away, up with it! You
+see it’s that louse Pere Colombe who’s screwed me to his seat.”
+
+Gervaise had humored him at this game, and when she let go of his arm,
+the comrades thought the joke so good that they tumbled up against one
+another, braying and rubbing their shoulders like donkeys being
+groomed. The zinc-worker’s mouth was so wide with laughter that you
+could see right down his throat.
+
+“You great noodle!” said he at length, “you can surely sit down a
+minute. You’re better here than splashing about outside. Well, yes; I
+didn’t come home as I promised, I had business to attend to. Though you
+may pull a long face, it won’t alter matters. Make room, you others.”
+
+“If madame would accept my knees she would find them softer than the
+seat,” gallantly said My-Boots.
+
+Gervaise, not wishing to attract attention, took a chair and sat down
+at a short distance from the table. She looked at what the men were
+drinking, some rotgut brandy which shone like gold in the glasses; a
+little of it had dropped upon the table and Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst, dipped his finger in it whilst conversing and
+wrote a woman’s name—“Eulalie”—in big letters. She noticed that
+Bibi-the-Smoker looked shockingly jaded and thinner than a
+hundred-weight of nails. My-Boot’s nose was in full bloom, a regular
+purple Burgundy dahlia. They were all quite dirty, their beards stiff,
+their smocks ragged and stained, their hands grimy with dirt. Yet they
+were still quite polite.
+
+Gervaise noticed a couple of men at the bar. They were so drunk that
+they were spilling the drink down their chins when they thought they
+were wetting their whistles. Fat Pere Colombe was calmly serving round
+after round.
+
+The atmosphere was very warm, the smoke from the pipes ascended in the
+blinding glare of the gas, amidst which it rolled about like dust,
+drowning the customers in a gradually thickening mist; and from this
+cloud there issued a deafening and confused uproar, cracked voices,
+clinking of glasses, oaths and blows sounding like detonations. So
+Gervaise pulled a very wry face, for such a sight is not funny for a
+woman, especially when she is not used to it; she was stifling, with a
+smarting sensation in her eyes, and her head already feeling heavy from
+the alcoholic fumes exhaled by the whole place. Then she suddenly
+experienced the sensation of something more unpleasant still behind her
+back. She turned round and beheld the still, the machine which
+manufactured drunkards, working away beneath the glass roof of the
+narrow courtyard with the profound trepidation of its hellish cookery.
+Of an evening, the copper parts looked more mournful than ever, lit up
+only on their rounded surface with one big red glint; and the shadow of
+the apparatus on the wall at the back formed most abominable figures,
+bodies with tails, monsters opening their jaws as though to swallow
+everyone up.
+
+“Listen, mother Talk-too-much, don’t make any of your grimaces!” cried
+Coupeau. “To blazes, you know, with all wet blankets! What’ll you
+drink?”
+
+“Nothing, of course,” replied the laundress. “I haven’t dined yet.”
+
+“Well! that’s all the more reason for having a glass; a drop of
+something sustains one.”
+
+But, as she still retained her glum expression, My-Boots again did the
+gallant.
+
+“Madame probably likes sweet things,” murmured he.
+
+“I like men who don’t get drunk,” retorted she, getting angry. “Yes, I
+like a fellow who brings home his earnings, and who keeps his word when
+he makes a promise.”
+
+“Ah! so that’s what upsets you?” said the zinc-worker, without ceasing
+to chuckle. “Yes, you want your share. Then, big goose, why do you
+refuse a drink? Take it, it’s so much to the good.”
+
+She looked at him fixedly, in a grave manner, a wrinkle marking her
+forehead with a black line. And she slowly replied:
+
+“Why, you’re right, it’s a good idea. That way, we can drink up the
+coin together.”
+
+Bibi-the-Smoker rose from his seat to fetch her a glass of anisette.
+She drew her chair up to the table. Whilst she was sipping her
+anisette, a recollection suddenly flashed across her mind, she
+remembered the plum she had taken with Coupeau, near the door, in the
+old days, when he was courting her. At that time, she used to leave the
+juice of fruits preserved in brandy. And now, here was she going back
+to liqueurs. Oh! she knew herself well, she had not two thimblefuls of
+will. One would only have had to have given her a walloping across the
+back to have made her regularly wallow in drink. The anisette even
+seemed to be very good, perhaps rather too sweet and slightly
+sickening. She went on sipping as she listened to Salted-Mouth,
+otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, tell of his affair with fat Eulalie, a
+fish peddler and very shrewd at locating him. Even if his comrades
+tried to hide him, she could usually sniff him out when he was late.
+Just the night before she had slapped his face with a flounder to teach
+him not to neglect going to work. Bibi-the-Smoker and My-Boots nearly
+split their sides laughing. They slapped Gervaise on the shoulder and
+she began to laugh also, finding it amusing in spite of herself. They
+then advised her to follow Eulalie’s example and bring an iron with her
+so as to press Coupeau’s ears on the counters of the wineshops.
+
+“Ah, well, no thanks,” cried Coupeau as he turned upside down the glass
+his wife had emptied. “You pump it out pretty well. Just look, you
+fellows, she doesn’t take long over it.”
+
+“Will madame take another?” asked Salted-Mouth, otherwise
+Drink-without-Thirst.
+
+No, she had had enough. Yet she hesitated. The anisette had slightly
+bothered her stomach. She should have taken straight brandy to settle
+her digestion.
+
+She cast side glances at the drunkard manufacturing machine behind her.
+That confounded pot, as round as the stomach of a tinker’s fat wife,
+with its nose that was so long and twisted, sent a shiver down her
+back, a fear mingled with a desire. Yes, one might have thought it the
+metal pluck of some big wicked woman, of some witch who was discharging
+drop by drop the fire of her entrails. A fine source of poison, an
+operation which should have been hidden away in a cellar, it was so
+brazen and abominable! But all the same she would have liked to have
+poked her nose inside it, to have sniffed the odor, have tasted the
+filth, though the skin might have peeled off her burnt tongue like the
+rind off an orange.
+
+“What’s that you’re drinking?” asked she slyly of the men, her eyes
+lighted up by the beautiful golden color of their glasses.
+
+“That, old woman,” answered Coupeau, “is Pere Colombe’s camphor. Don’t
+be silly now and we’ll give you a taste.”
+
+And when they had brought her a glass of the vitriol, the rotgut, and
+her jaws had contracted at the first mouthful, the zinc-worker resumed,
+slapping his thighs:
+
+“Ha! It tickles your gullet! Drink it off at one go. Each glassful
+cheats the doctor of six francs.”
+
+At the second glass Gervaise no longer felt the hunger which had been
+tormenting her. Now she had made it up with Coupeau, she no longer felt
+angry with him for not having kept his word. They would go to the
+circus some other day; it was not so funny to see jugglers galloping
+about on horses. There was no rain inside Pere Colombe’s and if the
+money went in brandy, one at least had it in one’s body; one drank it
+bright and shining like beautiful liquid gold. Ah! she was ready to
+send the whole world to blazes! Life was not so pleasant after all,
+besides it seemed some consolation to her to have her share in
+squandering the cash. As she was comfortable, why should she not
+remain? One might have a discharge of artillery; she did not care to
+budge once she had settled in a heap. She nursed herself in a pleasant
+warmth, her bodice sticking to her back, overcome by a feeling of
+comfort which benumbed her limbs. She laughed all to herself, her
+elbows on the table, a vacant look in her eyes, highly amused by two
+customers, a fat heavy fellow and a tiny shrimp, seated at a
+neighboring table, and kissing each other lovingly. Yes, she laughed at
+the things to see in l’Assommoir, at Pere Colombe’s full moon face, a
+regular bladder of lard, at the customers smoking their short clay
+pipes, yelling and spitting, and at the big flames of gas which lighted
+up the looking-glasses and the bottles of liqueurs. The smell no longer
+bothered her, on the contrary it tickled her nose, and she thought it
+very pleasant. Her eyes slightly closed, whilst she breathed very
+slowly, without the least feeling of suffocation, tasting the enjoyment
+of the gentle slumber which was overcoming her. Then, after her third
+glass, she let her chin fall on her hands; she now only saw Coupeau and
+his comrades, and she remained nose to nose with them, quite close, her
+cheeks warmed by their breath, looking at their dirty beards as though
+she had been counting the hairs. My-Boots drooled, his pipe between his
+teeth, with the dumb and grave air of a dozing ox. Bibi-the-Smoker was
+telling a story—the manner in which he emptied a bottle at a draught,
+giving it such a kiss that one instantly saw its bottom. Meanwhile
+Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, had gone and fetched the
+wheel of fortune from the counter, and was playing with Coupeau for
+drinks.
+
+“Two hundred! You’re lucky; you get high numbers every time!”
+
+The needle of the wheel grated, and the figure of Fortune, a big red
+woman placed under glass, turned round and round until it looked like a
+mere spot in the centre, similar to a wine stain.
+
+“Three hundred and fifty! You must have been inside it, you confounded
+lascar! Ah! I shan’t play any more!”
+
+Gervaise amused herself with the wheel of fortune. She was feeling
+awfully thirsty, and calling My-Boots “my child.” Behind her the
+machine for manufacturing drunkards continued working, with its murmur
+of an underground stream; and she despaired of ever stopping it, of
+exhausting it, filled with a sullen anger against it, feeling a longing
+to spring upon the big still as upon some animal, to kick it with her
+heels and stave in its belly. Then everything began to seem all mixed
+up. The machine seemed to be moving itself and she thought she was
+being grabbed by its copper claws, and that the underground stream was
+now flowing over her body.
+
+Then the room danced round, the gas-jets seemed to shoot like stars.
+Gervaise was drunk. She heard a furious wrangle between Salted-Mouth,
+otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, and that rascal Pere Colombe. There was
+a thief of a landlord who wanted one to pay for what one had not had!
+Yet one was not at a gangster’s hang-out. Suddenly there was a
+scuffling, yells were heard and tables were upset. It was Pere Colombe
+who was turning the party out without the least hesitation, and in the
+twinkling of an eye. On the other side of the door they blackguarded
+him and called him a scoundrel. It still rained and blew icy cold.
+Gervaise lost Coupeau, found him and then lost him again. She wished to
+go home; she felt the shops to find her way. This sudden darkness
+surprised her immensely. At the corner of the Rue des Poissonniers, she
+sat down in the gutter thinking she was at the wash-house. The water
+which flowed along caused her head to swim, and made her very ill. At
+length she arrived, she passed stiffly before the concierge’s room
+where she perfectly recognized the Lorilleuxs and the Poissons seated
+at the table having dinner, and who made grimaces of disgust on
+beholding her in that sorry state.
+
+She never remembered how she had got up all those flights of stairs.
+Just as she was turning into the passage at the top, little Lalie, who
+heard her footsteps, hastened to meet her, opening her arms
+caressingly, and saying, with a smile:
+
+“Madame Gervaise, papa has not returned. Just come and see my little
+children sleeping. Oh! they look so pretty!”
+
+But on beholding the laundress’ besotted face, she tremblingly drew
+back. She was acquainted with that brandy-laden breath, those pale
+eyes, that convulsed mouth. Then Gervaise stumbled past without
+uttering a word, whilst the child, standing on the threshold of her
+room, followed her with her dark eyes, grave and speechless.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+Nana was growing up and becoming wayward. At fifteen years old she had
+expanded like a calf, white-skinned and very fat; so plump, indeed, you
+might have called her a pincushion. Yes, such she was—fifteen years
+old, full of figure and no stays. A saucy magpie face, dipped in milk,
+a skin as soft as a peach skin, a funny nose, pink lips and eyes
+sparkling like tapers, which men would have liked to light their pipes
+at. Her pile of fair hair, the color of fresh oats, seemed to have
+scattered gold dust over her temples, freckle-like as it were, giving
+her brow a sunny crown. Ah! a pretty doll, as the Lorilleuxs say, a
+dirty nose that needed wiping, with fat shoulders, which were as fully
+rounded and as powerful as those of a full-grown woman. Nana no longer
+needed to stuff wads of paper into her bodice, her breasts were grown.
+She wished they were larger though, and dreamed of having breasts like
+a wet-nurse.
+
+What made her particularly tempting was a nasty habit she had of
+protruding the tip of her tongue between her white teeth. No doubt on
+seeing herself in the looking-glasses she had thought she was pretty
+like this; and so, all day long, she poked her tongue out of her mouth,
+in view of improving her appearance.
+
+“Hide your lying tongue!” cried her mother.
+
+Coupeau would often get involved, pounding his fist, swearing and
+shouting:
+
+“Make haste and draw that red rag inside again!”
+
+Nana showed herself very coquettish. She did not always wash her feet,
+but she bought such tight boots that she suffered martyrdom in St.
+Crispin’s prison; and if folks questioned her when she turned purple
+with pain, she answered that she had the stomach ache, so as to avoid
+confessing her coquetry. When bread was lacking at home it was
+difficult for her to trick herself out. But she accomplished miracles,
+brought ribbons back from the workshop and concocted toilettes—dirty
+dresses set off with bows and puffs. The summer was the season of her
+greatest triumphs. With a cambric dress which had cost her six francs
+she filled the whole neighborhood of the Goutte-d’Or with her fair
+beauty. Yes, she was known from the outer Boulevards to the
+Fortifications, and from the Chaussee de Clignancourt to the Grand Rue
+of La Chapelle. Folks called her “chickie,” for she was really as
+tender and as fresh-looking as a chicken.
+
+There was one dress which suited her perfectly, a white one with pink
+dots. It was very simple and without a frill. The skirt was rather
+short and revealed her ankles. The sleeves were deeply slashed and
+loose, showing her arms to the elbow. She pinned the neck back into a
+wide V as soon as she reached a dark corner of the staircase to avoid
+getting her ears boxed by her father for exposing the snowy whiteness
+of her throat and the golden shadow between her breasts. She also tied
+a pink ribbon round her blond hair.
+
+Sundays she spent the entire day out with the crowds and loved it when
+the men eyed her hungrily as they passed. She waited all week long for
+these glances. She would get up early to dress herself and spend hours
+before the fragment of mirror that was hung over the bureau. Her mother
+would scold her because the entire building could see her through the
+window in her chemise as she mended her dress.
+
+Ah! she looked cute like that said father Coupeau, sneering and jeering
+at her, a real Magdalene in despair! She might have turned “savage
+woman” at a fair, and have shown herself for a penny. Hide your meat,
+he used to say, and let me eat my bread! In fact, she was adorable,
+white and dainty under her overhanging golden fleece, losing temper to
+the point that her skin turned pink, not daring to answer her father,
+but cutting her thread with her teeth with a hasty, furious jerk, which
+shook her plump but youthful form.
+
+Then immediately after breakfast she tripped down the stairs into the
+courtyard. The entire tenement seemed to be resting sleepily in the
+peacefulness of a Sunday afternoon. The workshops on the ground floor
+were closed. Gaping windows revealed tables in some apartments that
+were already set for dinner, awaiting families out working up an
+appetite by strolling along the fortifications.
+
+Then, in the midst of the empty, echoing courtyard, Nana, Pauline and
+other big girls engaged in games of battledore and shuttlecock. They
+had grown up together and were now becoming queens of their building.
+Whenever a man crossed the court, flutelike laugher would arise, and
+then starched skirts would rustle like the passing of a gust of wind.
+
+The games were only an excuse for them to make their escape. Suddenly
+stillness fell upon the tenement. The girls had glided out into the
+street and made for the outer Boulevards. Then, linked arm-in-arm
+across the full breadth of the pavement, they went off, the whole six
+of them, clad in light colors, with ribbons tied around their bare
+heads. With bright eyes darting stealthy glances through their
+partially closed eyelids, they took note of everything, and constantly
+threw back their necks to laugh, displaying the fleshy part of their
+chins. They would swing their hips, or group together tightly, or
+flaunt along with awkward grace, all for the purpose of calling
+attention to the fact that their forms were filling out.
+
+Nana was in the centre with her pink dress all aglow in the sunlight.
+She gave her arm to Pauline, whose costume, yellow flowers on a white
+ground, glared in similar fashion, dotted as it were with little
+flames. As they were the tallest of the band, the most woman-like and
+most unblushing, they led the troop and drew themselves up with breasts
+well forward whenever they detected glances or heard complimentary
+remarks. The others extended right and left, puffing themselves out in
+order to attract attention. Nana and Pauline resorted to the
+complicated devices of experienced coquettes. If they ran till they
+were out of breath, it was in view of showing their white stockings and
+making the ribbons of their chignons wave in the breeze. When they
+stopped, pretending complete breathlessness, you would certainly spot
+someone they knew quite near, one of the young fellows of the
+neighborhood. This would make them dawdle along languidly, whispering
+and laughing among themselves, but keeping a sharp watch through their
+downcast eyelids.
+
+They went on these strolls of a Sunday mainly for the sake of these
+chance meetings. Tall lads, wearing their Sunday best, would stop them,
+joking and trying to catch them round their waists. Pauline was forever
+running into one of Madame Gaudron’s sons, a seventeen-year-old
+carpenter, who would treat her to fried potatoes. Nana could spot
+Victor Fauconnier, the laundress’s son and they would exchange kisses
+in dark corners. It never went farther than that, but they told each
+other some tall tales.
+
+Then when the sun set, the great delight of these young hussies was to
+stop and look at the mountebanks. Conjurors and strong men turned up
+and spread threadbare carpets on the soil of the avenue. Loungers
+collected and a circle formed whilst the mountebank in the centre tried
+his muscles under his faded tights. Nana and Pauline would stand for
+hours in the thickest part of the crowd. Their pretty, fresh frocks
+would get crushed between great-coats and dirty work smocks. In this
+atmosphere of wine and sweat they would laugh gaily, finding amusement
+in everything, blooming naturally like roses growing out of a dunghill.
+The only thing that vexed them was to meet their fathers, especially
+when the latter had been drinking. So they watched and warned one
+another.
+
+“Look, Nana,” Pauline would suddenly cry out, “here comes father
+Coupeau!”
+
+“Well, he’s drunk too. Oh, dear,” said Nana, greatly bothered. “I’m
+going to beat it, you know. I don’t want him to give me a wallop.
+Hullo! How he stumbles! Good Lord, if he could only break his neck!”
+
+At other times, when Coupeau came straight up to her without giving her
+time to run off, she crouched down, made herself small and muttered:
+“Just you hide me, you others. He’s looking for me, and he promised
+he’d knock my head off if he caught me hanging about.”
+
+Then when the drunkard had passed them she drew herself up again, and
+all the others followed her with bursts of laughter. He’ll find her—he
+will—he won’t! It was a true game of hide and seek. One day, however,
+Boche had come after Pauline and caught her by both ears, and Coupeau
+had driven Nana home with kicks.
+
+Nana was now a flower-maker and earned forty sous a day at Titreville’s
+place in the Rue du Caire, where she had served as apprentice. The
+Coupeaus had kept her there so that she might remain under the eye of
+Madame Lerat, who had been forewoman in the workroom for ten years. Of
+a morning, when her mother looked at the cuckoo clock, off she went by
+herself, looking very pretty with her shoulders tightly confined in her
+old black dress, which was both too narrow and too short; and Madame
+Lerat had to note the hour of her arrival and tell it to Gervaise. She
+was allowed twenty minutes to go from the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or to the
+Rue du Caire, and it was enough, for these young hussies have the legs
+of racehorses. Sometimes she arrived exactly on time but so breathless
+and flushed that she must have covered most of the distance at a run
+after dawdling along the way. More often she was a few minutes late.
+Then she would fawn on her aunt all day, hoping to soften her and keep
+her from telling. Madame Lerat understood what it was to be young and
+would lie to the Coupeaus, but she also lectured Nana, stressing the
+dangers a young girl runs on the streets of Paris. _Mon Dieu!_ she
+herself was followed often enough!
+
+“Oh! I watch, you needn’t fear,” said the widow to the Coupeaus. “I
+will answer to you for her as I would for myself. And rather than let a
+blackguard squeeze her, why I’d step between them.”
+
+The workroom at Titreville’s was a large apartment on the first floor,
+with a broad work-table standing on trestles in the centre. Round the
+four walls, the plaster of which was visible in parts where the dirty
+yellowish-grey paper was torn away, there were several stands covered
+with old cardboard boxes, parcels and discarded patterns under a thick
+coating of dust. The gas had left what appeared to be like a daub of
+soot on the ceiling. The two windows opened so wide that without
+leaving the work-table the girls could see the people walking past on
+the pavement over the way.
+
+Madame Lerat arrived the first, in view of setting an example. Then for
+a quarter of an hour the door swayed to and fro, and all the workgirls
+scrambled in, perspiring with tumbled hair. One July morning Nana
+arrived the last, as very often happened. “Ah, me!” she said, “it won’t
+be a pity when I have a carriage of my own.” And without even taking
+off her hat, one which she was weary of patching up, she approached the
+window and leant out, looking to the right and the left to see what was
+going on in the street.
+
+“What are you looking at?” asked Madame Lerat, suspiciously. “Did your
+father come with you?”
+
+“No, you may be sure of that,” answered Nana coolly. “I’m looking at
+nothing—I’m seeing how hot it is. It’s enough to make anyone, having to
+run like that.”
+
+It was a stifling hot morning. The workgirls had drawn down the
+Venetian blinds, between which they could spy out into the street; and
+they had at last begun working on either side of the table, at the
+upper end of which sat Madame Lerat. They were eight in number, each
+with her pot of glue, pincers, tools and curling stand in front of her.
+On the work-table lay a mass of wire, reels, cotton wool, green and
+brown paper, leaves and petals cut out of silk, satin or velvet. In the
+centre, in the neck of a large decanter, one flower-girl had thrust a
+little penny nosegay which had been fading on her breast since the day
+before.
+
+“Oh, I have some news,” said a pretty brunette named Leonie as she
+leaned over her cushion to crimp some rose petals. “Poor Caroline is
+very unhappy about that fellow who used to wait for her every evening.”
+
+“Ah!” said Nana, who was cutting thin strips of green paper. “A man who
+cheats on her every day!”
+
+Madame Lerat had to display severity over the muffled laughter. Then
+Leonie whispered suddenly:
+
+“Quiet. The boss!”
+
+It was indeed Madame Titreville who entered. The tall thin woman
+usually stayed down in the shop. The girls were quite in awe of her
+because she never joked with them. All the heads were now bent over the
+work in diligent silence. Madame Titreville slowly circled the
+work-table. She told one girl her work was sloppy and made her do the
+flower over. Then she stalked out as stiffly as she had come in.
+
+The complaining and low laughter began again.
+
+“Really, young ladies!” said Madame Lerat, trying to look more severe
+than ever. “You will force me to take measures.”
+
+The workgirls paid no attention to her. They were not afraid of her.
+She was too easy-going because she enjoyed being surrounded by these
+young girls whose zest for life sparkled in their eyes. She enjoyed
+taking them aside to hear their confidences about their lovers. She
+even told their fortunes with cards whenever a corner of the work-table
+was free. She was only offended by coarse expressions. As long as you
+avoided those you could say what you pleased.
+
+To tell the truth, Nana perfected her education in nice style in the
+workroom! No doubt she was already inclined to go wrong. But this was
+the finishing stroke—associating with a lot of girls who were already
+worn out with misery and vice. They all hobnobbed and rotted together,
+just the story of the baskets of apples when there are rotten ones
+among them. They maintained a certain propriety in public, but the smut
+flowed freely when they got to whispering together in a corner.
+
+For inexperienced girls like Nana, there was an undesirable atmosphere
+around the workshop, an air of cheap dance halls and unorthodox
+evenings brought in by some of the girls. The laziness of mornings
+after a gay night, the shadows under the eyes, the lounging, the hoarse
+voices, all spread an odor of dark perversion over the work-table which
+contrasted sharply with the brilliant fragility of the artificial
+flowers. Nana eagerly drank it all in and was dizzy with joy when she
+found herself beside a girl who had been around. She always wanted to
+sit next to big Lisa, who was said to be pregnant, and she kept
+glancing curiously at her neighbor as though expecting her to swell up
+suddenly.
+
+“It’s hot enough to make one stifle,” Nana said, approaching a window
+as if to draw the blind farther down; but she leant forward and again
+looked out both to the right and left.
+
+At the same moment Leonie, who was watching a man stationed at the foot
+of the pavement over the way, exclaimed, “What’s that old fellow about?
+He’s been spying here for the last quarter of an hour.”
+
+“Some tom cat,” said Madame Lerat. “Nana, just come and sit down! I
+told you not to stand at the window.”
+
+Nana took up the stems of some violets she was rolling, and the whole
+workroom turned its attention to the man in question. He was a
+well-dressed individual wearing a frock coat and he looked about fifty
+years old. He had a pale face, very serous and dignified in expression,
+framed round with a well trimmed grey beard. He remained for an hour in
+front of a herbalist’s shop with his eyes fixed on the Venetian blinds
+of the workroom. The flower-girls indulged in little bursts of laughter
+which died away amid the noise of the street, and while leaning
+forward, to all appearance busy with their work, they glanced askance
+so as not to lose sight of the gentleman.
+
+“Ah!” remarked Leonie, “he wears glasses. He’s a swell. He’s waiting
+for Augustine, no doubt.”
+
+But Augustine, a tall, ugly, fair-haired girl, sourly answered that she
+did not like old men; whereupon Madame Lerat, jerking her head,
+answered with a smile full of underhand meaning:
+
+“That is a great mistake on your part, my dear; the old ones are more
+affectionate.”
+
+At this moment Leonie’s neighbor, a plump little body, whispered
+something in her ear and Leonie suddenly threw herself back on her
+chair, seized with a fit of noisy laughter, wriggling, looking at the
+gentleman and then laughing all the louder. “That’s it. Oh! that’s it,”
+she stammered. “How dirty that Sophie is!”
+
+“What did she say? What did she say?” asked the whole workroom, aglow
+with curiosity.
+
+Leonie wiped the tears from her eyes without answering. When she became
+somewhat calmer, she began curling her flowers again and declared, “It
+can’t be repeated.”
+
+The others insisted, but she shook her head, seized again with a gust
+of gaiety. Thereupon Augustine, her left-hand neighbor, besought her to
+whisper it to her; and finally Leonie consented to do so with her lips
+close to Augustine’s ear. Augustine threw herself back and wriggled
+with convulsive laughter in her turn. Then she repeated the phrase to a
+girl next to her, and from ear to ear it traveled round the room amid
+exclamations and stifled laughter. When they were all of them
+acquainted with Sophie’s disgusting remark they looked at one another
+and burst out laughing together although a little flushed and confused.
+Madame Lerat alone was not in the secret and she felt extremely vexed.
+
+“That’s very impolite behavior on your part, young ladies,” said she.
+“It is not right to whisper when other people are present. Something
+indecent no doubt! Ah! that’s becoming!”
+
+She did not dare go so far as to ask them to pass Sophie’s remark on to
+her although she burned to hear it. So she kept her eyes on her work,
+amusing herself by listening to the conversation. Now no one could make
+even an innocent remark without the others twisting it around and
+connecting it with the gentleman on the sidewalk. Madame Lerat herself
+once sent them into convulsions of laughter when she said,
+“Mademoiselle Lisa, my fire’s gone out. Pass me yours.”
+
+“Oh! Madame Lerat’s fire’s out!” laughed the whole shop.
+
+They refused to listen to any explanation, but maintained they were
+going to call in the gentleman outside to rekindle Madame Lerat’s fire.
+
+However, the gentleman over the way had gone off. The room grew calmer
+and the work was carried on in the sultry heat. When twelve o’clock
+struck—meal-time—they all shook themselves. Nana, who had hastened to
+the window again, volunteered to do the errands if they liked. And
+Leonie ordered two sous worth of shrimps, Augustine a screw of fried
+potatoes, Lisa a bunch of radishes, Sophie a sausage. Then as Nana was
+doing down the stairs, Madame Lerat, who found her partiality for the
+window that morning rather curious, overtook her with her long legs.
+
+“Wait a bit,” said she. “I’ll go with you. I want to buy something
+too.”
+
+But in the passage below she perceived the gentleman, stuck there like
+a candle and exchanging glances with Nana. The girl flushed very red,
+whereupon her aunt at once caught her by the arm and made her trot over
+the pavement, whilst the individual followed behind. Ah! so the tom cat
+had come for Nana. Well, that _was_ nice! At fifteen years and a half
+to have men trailing after her! Then Madame Lerat hastily began to
+question her. _Mon Dieu!_ Nana didn’t know; he had only been following
+her for five days, but she could not poke her nose out of doors without
+stumbling on men. She believed he was in business; yes, a manufacturer
+of bone buttons. Madame Lerat was greatly impressed. She turned round
+and glanced at the gentleman out of the corner of her eye.
+
+“One can see he’s got a deep purse,” she muttered. “Listen to me,
+kitten; you must tell me everything. You have nothing more to fear
+now.”
+
+Whilst speaking they hastened from shop to shop—to the pork butcher’s,
+the fruiterer’s, the cook-shop; and the errands in greasy paper were
+piled up in their hands. Still they remained amiable, flouncing along
+and casting bright glances behind them with gusts of gay laughter.
+Madame Lerat herself was acting the young girl, on account of the
+button manufacturer who was still following them.
+
+“He is very distinguished looking,” she declared as they returned into
+the passage. “If he only has honorable views—”
+
+Then, as they were going up the stairs she suddenly seemed to remember
+something. “By the way, tell me what the girls were whispering to each
+other—you know, what Sophie said?”
+
+Nana did not make any ceremony. Only she caught Madame Lerat by the
+hand, and caused her to descend a couple of steps, for, really, it
+wouldn’t do to say it aloud, not even on the stairs. When she whispered
+it to her, it was so obscene that Madame Lerat could only shake her
+head, opening her eyes wide, and pursing her lips. Well, at least her
+curiosity wasn’t troubling her any longer.
+
+From that day forth Madame Lerat regaled herself with her niece’s first
+love adventure. She no longer left her, but accompanied her morning and
+evening, bringing her responsibility well to the fore. This somewhat
+annoyed Nana, but all the same she expanded with pride at seeing
+herself guarded like a treasure; and the talk she and her aunt indulged
+in in the street with the button manufacturer behind them flattered
+her, and rather quickened her desire for new flirtations. Oh! her aunt
+understood the feelings of the heart; she even compassionated the
+button manufacturer, this elderly gentleman, who looked so respectable,
+for, after all, sentimental feelings are more deeply rooted among
+people of a certain age. Still she watched. And, yes, he would have to
+pass over her body before stealing her niece.
+
+One evening she approached the gentleman, and told him, as straight as
+a bullet, that his conduct was most improper. He bowed to her politely
+without answering, like an old satyr who was accustomed to hear parents
+tell him to go about his business. She really could not be cross with
+him, he was too well mannered.
+
+Then came lectures on love, allusions to dirty blackguards of men, and
+all sorts of stories about hussies who had repented of flirtations,
+which left Nana in a state of pouting, with eyes gleaming brightly in
+her pale face.
+
+One day, however, in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere the button
+manufacturer ventured to poke his nose between the aunt and the niece
+to whisper some things which ought not to have been said. Thereupon
+Madame Lerat was so frightened that she declared she no longer felt
+able to handle the matter and she told the whole business to her
+brother. Then came another row. There were some pretty rumpuses in the
+Coupeaus’ room. To begin with, the zinc-worker gave Nana a hiding. What
+was that he learnt? The hussy was flirting with old men. All right.
+Only let her be caught philandering out of doors again, she’d be done
+for; he, her father, would cut off her head in a jiffy. Had the like
+ever been seen before! A dirty nose who thought of beggaring her
+family! Thereupon he shook her, declaring in God’s name that she’d have
+to walk straight, for he’d watch her himself in future. He now looked
+her over every night when she came in, even going so far as to sniff at
+her and make her turn round before him.
+
+One evening she got another hiding because he discovered a mark on her
+neck that he maintained was the mark of a kiss. Nana insisted it was a
+bruise that Leonie had given her when they were having a bit of a
+rough-house. Yet at other times her father would tease her, saying she
+was certainly a choice morsel for men. Nana began to display the sullen
+submissiveness of a trapped animal. She was raging inside.
+
+“Why don’t you leave her alone?” repeated Gervaise, who was more
+reasonable. “You will end by making her wish to do it by talking to her
+about it so much.”
+
+Ah! yes, indeed, she did wish to do it. She itched all over, longing to
+break loose and gad all the time, as father Coupeau said. He insisted
+so much on the subject that even an honest girl would have fired up.
+Even when he was abusing her, he taught her a few things she did not
+know as yet, which, to say the least was astonishing. Then, little by
+little she acquired some singular habits. One morning he noticed her
+rummaging in a paper bag and rubbing something on her face. It was rice
+powder, which she plastered on her delicate satin-like skin with
+perverse taste. He caught up the paper bag and rubbed it over her face
+violently enough to graze her skin and called her a miller’s daughter.
+On another occasion she brought some ribbon home, to do up her old
+black hat which she was so ashamed of. He asked her in a furious voice
+where she had got those ribbons from. Had she earned them by lying on
+her back or had she bagged them somewhere? A hussy or a thief, and
+perhaps both by now?
+
+More than once he found her with some pretty little doodad. She had
+found a little interlaced heart in the street on Rue d’Aboukir. Her
+father crushed the heart under his foot, driving her to the verge of
+throwing herself at him to ruin something of his. For two years she had
+been longing for one of those hearts, and now he had smashed it! This
+was too much, she was reaching the end of the line with him.
+
+Coupeau was often in the wrong in the manner in which he tried to rule
+Nana. His injustice exasperated her. She at last left off attending the
+workshop and when the zinc-worker gave her a hiding, she declared she
+would not return to Titreville’s again, for she was always placed next
+to Augustine, who must have swallowed her feet to have such a foul
+breath. Then Coupeau took her himself to the Rue du Caire and requested
+the mistress of the establishment to place her always next to
+Augustine, by way of punishment. Every morning for a fortnight he took
+the trouble to come down from the Barriere Poissonniere to escort Nana
+to the door of the flower shop. And he remained for five minutes on the
+footway, to make sure that she had gone in. But one morning while he
+was drinking a glass with a friend in a wineshop in the Rue
+Saint-Denis, he perceived the hussy darting down the street. For a
+fortnight she had been deceiving him; instead of going into the
+workroom, she climbed a story higher, and sat down on the stairs,
+waiting till he had gone off. When Coupeau began casting the blame on
+Madame Lerat, the latter flatly replied that she would not accept it.
+She had told her niece all she ought to tell her, to keep her on her
+guard against men, and it was not her fault if the girl still had a
+liking for the nasty beasts. Now, she washed her hands of the whole
+business; she swore she would not mix up in it, for she knew what she
+knew about scandalmongers in her own family, yes, certain persons who
+had the nerve to accuse her of going astray with Nana and finding an
+indecent pleasure in watching her take her first misstep. Then Coupeau
+found out from the proprietress that Nana was being corrupted by that
+little floozie Leonie, who had given up flower-making to go on the
+street. Nana was being tempted by the jingle of cash and the lure of
+adventure on the streets.
+
+In the tenement in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, Nana’s old fellow was
+talked about as a gentleman everyone was acquainted with. Oh! he
+remained very polite, even a little timid, but awfully obstinate and
+patient, following her ten paces behind like an obedient poodle.
+Sometimes, indeed, he ventured into the courtyard. One evening, Madame
+Gaudron met him on the second floor landing, and he glided down
+alongside the balusters with his nose lowered and looking as if on
+fire, but frightened. The Lorilleuxs threatened to move out if that
+wayward niece of theirs brought men trailing in after her. It was
+disgusting. The staircase was full of them. The Boches said that they
+felt sympathy for the old gentleman because he had fallen for a tramp.
+He was really a respectable businessman, they had seen his button
+factory on the Boulevard de la Villette. He would be an excellent catch
+for a decent girl.
+
+For the first month Nana was greatly amused with her old flirt. You
+should have seen him always dogging her—a perfect great nuisance, who
+followed far behind, in the crowd, without seeming to do so. And his
+legs! Regular lucifers. No more moss on his pate, only four straight
+hairs falling on his neck, so that she was always tempted to ask him
+where his hairdresser lived. Ah! what an old gaffer, he was comical and
+no mistake, nothing to get excited over.
+
+Then, on finding him always behind her, she no longer thought him so
+funny. She became afraid of him and would have called out if he had
+approached her. Often, when she stopped in front of a jeweler’s shop,
+she heard him stammering something behind her. And what he said was
+true; she would have liked to have had a cross with a velvet neck-band,
+or a pair of coral earrings, so small you would have thought they were
+drops of blood.
+
+More and more, as she plodded through the mire of the streets, getting
+splashed by passing vehicles and being dazzled by the magnificence of
+the window displays, she felt longings that tortured her like hunger
+pangs, yearnings for better clothes, for eating in restaurants, for
+going to the theatre, for a room of her own with nice furniture. Right
+at those moments, it never failed that her old gentleman would come up
+to whisper something in her ear. Oh, if only she wasn’t afraid of him,
+how readily she would have taken up with him.
+
+When the winter arrived, life became impossible at home. Nana had her
+hiding every night. When her father was tired of beating her, her
+mother smacked her to teach her how to behave. And there were
+free-for-alls; as soon as one of them began to beat her, the other took
+her part, so that all three of them ended by rolling on the floor in
+the midst of the broken crockery. And with all this, there were short
+rations and they shivered with cold. Whenever the girl bought anything
+pretty, a bow or a pair of buttons, her parents confiscated the
+purchase and drank what they could get for it. She had nothing of her
+own, excepting her allowance of blows, before coiling herself up
+between the rags of a sheet, where she shivered under her little black
+skirt, which she stretched out by way of a blanket. No, that cursed
+life could not continue; she was not going to leave her skin in it. Her
+father had long since ceased to count for her; when a father gets drunk
+like hers did, he isn’t a father, but a dirty beast one longs to be rid
+of. And now, too, her mother was doing down the hill in her esteem. She
+drank as well. She liked to go and fetch her husband at Pere Colombe’s,
+so as to be treated; and she willingly sat down, with none of the air
+of disgust that she had assumed on the first occasion, draining glasses
+indeed at one gulp, dragging her elbows over the table for hours and
+leaving the place with her eyes starting out of her head.
+
+When Nana passed in front of l’Assommoir and saw her mother inside,
+with her nose in her glass, fuddled in the midst of the disputing men,
+she was seized with anger; for youth which has other dainty thoughts
+uppermost does not understand drink. On these evenings it was a pretty
+sight. Father drunk, mother drunk, a hell of a home that stunk with
+liquor, and where there was no bread. To tell the truth, a saint would
+not have stayed in the place. So much the worse if she flew the coop
+one of these days; her parents would have to say their _mea culpa_, and
+own that they had driven her out themselves.
+
+One Saturday when Nana came home she found her father and her mother in
+a lamentable condition. Coupeau, who had fallen across the bed was
+snoring. Gervaise, crouching on a chair was swaying her head, with her
+eyes vaguely and threateningly staring into vacancy. She had forgotten
+to warm the dinner, the remains of a stew. A tallow dip which she
+neglected to snuff revealed the shameful misery of their hovel.
+
+“It’s you, shrimp?” stammered Gervaise. “Ah, well, your father will
+take care of you.”
+
+Nana did not answer, but remained pale, looking at the cold stove, the
+table on which no plates were laid, the lugubrious hovel which this
+pair of drunkards invested with the pale horror of their callousness.
+She did not take off her hat but walked round the room; then with her
+teeth tightly set, she opened the door and went out.
+
+“You are doing down again?” asked her mother, who was unable even to
+turn her head.
+
+“Yes; I’ve forgotten something. I shall come up again. Good evening.”
+
+And she did not return. On the morrow when the Coupeaus were sobered
+they fought together, reproaching each other with being the cause of
+Nana’s flight. Ah! she was far away if she were running still! As
+children are told of sparrows, her parents might set a pinch of salt on
+her tail, and then perhaps they would catch her. It was a great blow,
+and crushed Gervaise, for despite the impairment of her faculties, she
+realized perfectly well that her daughter’s misconduct lowered her
+still more; she was alone now, with no child to think about, able to
+let herself sink as low as she could fall. She drank steadily for three
+days. Coupeau prowled along the exterior Boulevards without seeing Nana
+and then came home to smoke his pipe peacefully. He was always back in
+time for his soup.
+
+In this tenement, where girls flew off every month like canaries whose
+cages are left open, no one was astonished to hear of the Coupeaus’
+mishap. But the Lorilleuxs were triumphant. Ah! they had predicted that
+the girl would reward her parents in this fashion. It was deserved; all
+artificial flower-girls went that way. The Boches and the Poissons also
+sneered with an extraordinary display and outlay of grief. Lantier
+alone covertly defended Nana. _Mon Dieu!_ said he, with his puritanical
+air, no doubt a girl who so left her home did offend her parents; but,
+with a gleam in the corner of his eyes, he added that, dash it! the
+girl was, after all, too pretty to lead such a life of misery at her
+age.
+
+“Do you know,” cried Madame Lorilleux, one day in the Boches’ room,
+where the party were taking coffee; “well, as sure as daylight,
+Clump-clump sold her daughter. Yes she sold her, and I have proof of
+it! That old fellow, who was always on the stairs morning and night,
+went up to pay something on account. It stares one in the face. They
+were seen together at the Ambigu Theatre—the young wench and her old
+tom cat. Upon my word of honor, they’re living together, it’s quite
+plain.”
+
+They discussed the scandal thoroughly while finishing their coffee.
+Yes, it was quite possible. Soon most of the neighborhood accepted the
+conclusion that Gervaise had actually sold her daughter.
+
+Gervaise now shuffled along in her slippers, without caring a rap for
+anyone. You might have called her a thief in the street, she wouldn’t
+have turned round. For a month past she hadn’t looked at Madame
+Fauconnier’s; the latter had had to turn her out of the place to avoid
+disputes. In a few weeks’ time she had successively entered the service
+of eight washerwomen; she only lasted two or three days in each place
+before she got the sack, so badly did she iron the things entrusted to
+her, careless and dirty, her mind failing to such a point that she
+quite forgot her own craft. At last realizing her own incapacity she
+abandoned ironing; and went out washing by the day at the wash-house in
+the Rue Neuve, where she still jogged on, floundering about in the
+water, fighting with filth, reduced to the roughest but simplest work,
+a bit lower on the down-hill slopes. The wash-house scarcely beautified
+her. A real mud-splashed dog when she came out of it, soaked and
+showing her blue skin. At the same time she grew stouter and stouter,
+despite her frequent dances before the empty sideboard, and her leg
+became so crooked that she could no longer walk beside anyone without
+the risk of knocking him over, so great indeed was her limp.
+
+Naturally enough when a woman falls to this point all her pride leaves
+her. Gervaise had divested herself of all her old self-respect,
+coquetry and need of sentiment, propriety and politeness. You might
+have kicked her, no matter where, she did not feel kicks for she had
+become too fat and flabby. Lantier had altogether neglected her; he no
+longer escorted her or even bothered to give her a pinch now and again.
+She did not seem to notice this finish of a long liaison slowly spun
+out, and ending in mutual insolence. It was a chore the less for her.
+Even Lantier’s intimacy with Virginie left her quite calm, so great was
+her indifference now for all that she had been so upset about in the
+past. She would even have held a candle for them now.
+
+Everyone was aware that Virginie and Lantier were carrying on. It was
+much too convenient, especially with Poisson on duty every other night.
+Lantier had thought of himself when he advised Virginie to deal in
+dainties. He was too much of a Provincial not to adore sugared things;
+and in fact he would have lived off sugar candy, lozenges, pastilles,
+sugar plums and chocolate. Sugared almonds especially left a little
+froth on his lips so keenly did they tickle his palate. For a year he
+had been living only on sweetmeats. He opened the drawers and stuffed
+himself whenever Virginie asked him to mind the shop. Often, when he
+was talking in the presence of five or six other people, he would take
+the lid off a jar on the counter, dip his hand into it and begin to
+nibble at something sweet; the glass jar remained open and its contents
+diminished. People ceased paying attention to it, it was a mania of his
+so he had declared. Besides, he had devised a perpetual cold, an
+irritation of the throat, which he always talked of calming.
+
+He still did not work, for he had more and more important schemes than
+ever in view. He was contriving a superb invention—the umbrella hat, a
+hat which transformed itself into an umbrella on your head as soon as a
+shower commenced to fall; and he promised Poisson half shares in the
+profit of it, and even borrowed twenty franc pieces of him to defray
+the cost of experiments. Meanwhile the shop melted away on his tongue.
+All the stock-in-trade followed suit down to the chocolate cigars and
+pipes in pink caramel. Whenever he was stuffed with sweetmeats and
+seized with a fit of tenderness, he paid himself with a last lick on
+the groceress in a corner, who found him all sugar with lips which
+tasted like burnt almonds. Such a delightful man to kiss! He was
+positively becoming all honey. The Boches said he merely had to dip a
+finger into his coffee to sweeten it.
+
+Softened by this perpetual dessert, Lantier showed himself paternal
+towards Gervaise. He gave her advice and scolded her because she no
+longer liked to work. Indeed! A woman of her age ought to know how to
+turn herself round. And he accused her of having always been a glutton.
+Nevertheless, as one ought to hold out a helping hand, even to folks
+who don’t deserve it, he tried to find her a little work. Thus he had
+prevailed upon Virginie to let Gervaise come once a week to scrub the
+shop and the rooms. That was the sort of thing she understood and on
+each occasion she earned her thirty sous. Gervaise arrived on the
+Saturday morning with a pail and a scrubbing brush, without seeming to
+suffer in the least at having to perform a dirty, humble duty, a
+charwoman’s work in the dwelling-place where she had reigned as the
+beautiful fair-haired mistress. It was a last humiliation, the end of
+her pride.
+
+One Saturday she had a hard job of it. It had rained for three days and
+the customers seemed to have brought all the mud of the neighborhood
+into the shop on the soles of their boots. Virginie was at the counter
+doing the grand, with her hair well combed, and wearing a little white
+collar and a pair of lace cuffs. Beside her, on the narrow seat covered
+with red oil-cloth, Lantier did the dandy, looking for the world as if
+he were at home, as if he were the real master of the place, and from
+time to time he carelessly dipped his hand into a jar of peppermint
+drops, just to nibble something sweet according to his habit.
+
+“Look here, Madame Coupeau!” cried Virginie, who was watching the
+scrubbing with compressed lips, “you have left some dirt over there in
+the corner. Scrub that rather better please.”
+
+Gervaise obeyed. She returned to the corner and began to scrub again.
+She bent double on her knees in the midst of the dirty water, with her
+shoulders protruding, her arms stiff and purple with cold. Her old
+skirt, fairly soaked, stuck to her figure. And there on the floor she
+looked a dirty, ill-combed drab, the rents in her jacket showing her
+puffy form, her fat, flabby flesh which heaved, swayed and floundered
+about as she went about her work; and all the while she perspired to
+such a point that from her moist face big drops of sweat fell on to the
+floor.
+
+“The more elbow grease one uses, the more it shines,” said Lantier,
+sententiously, with his mouth full of peppermint drops.
+
+Virginie, who sat back with the demeanor of a princess, her eyes partly
+open, was still watching the scrubbing, and indulging in remarks. “A
+little more on the right there. Take care of the wainscot. You know I
+was not very well pleased last Saturday. There were some stains left.”
+
+And both together, the hatter and the groceress assumed a more
+important air, as if they had been on a throne whilst Gervaise dragged
+herself through the black mud at their feet. Virginie must have enjoyed
+herself, for a yellowish flame darted from her cat’s eyes, and she
+looked at Lantier with an insidious smile. At last she was revenged for
+that hiding she had received at the wash-house, and which she had never
+forgotten.
+
+Whenever Gervaise ceased scrubbing, a sound of sawing could be heard
+from the back room. Through the open doorway, Poisson’s profile stood
+out against the pale light of the courtyard. He was off duty that day
+and was profiting by his leisure time to indulge in his mania for
+making little boxes. He was seated at a table and was cutting out
+arabesques in a cigar box with extraordinary care.
+
+“Say, Badingue!” cried Lantier, who had given him this surname again,
+out of friendship. “I shall want that box of yours as a present for a
+young lady.”
+
+Virginie gave him a pinch and he reached under the counter to run his
+fingers like a creeping mouse up her leg.
+
+“Quite so,” said the policeman. “I was working for you, Auguste, in
+view of presenting you with a token of friendship.”
+
+“Ah, if that’s the case, I’ll keep your little memento!” rejoined
+Lantier with a laugh. “I’ll hang it round my neck with a ribbon.”
+
+Then suddenly, as if this thought brought another one to his memory,
+“By the way,” he cried, “I met Nana last night.”
+
+This news caused Gervaise such emotion that she sunk down in the dirty
+water which covered the floor of the shop.
+
+“Ah!” she muttered speechlessly.
+
+“Yes; as I was going down the Rue des Martyrs, I caught sight of a girl
+who was on the arm of an old fellow in front of me, and I said to
+myself: I know that shape. I stepped faster and sure enough found
+myself face to face with Nana. There’s no need to pity her, she looked
+very happy, with her pretty woolen dress on her back, a gold cross and
+an awfully pert expression.”
+
+“Ah!” repeated Gervaise in a husky voice.
+
+Lantier, who had finished the pastilles, took some barley-sugar out of
+another jar.
+
+“She’s sneaky,” he resumed. “She made a sign to me to follow her, with
+wonderful composure. Then she left her old fellow somewhere in a
+cafe—oh a wonderful chap, the old bloke, quite used up!—and she came
+and joined me under the doorway. A pretty little serpent, pretty, and
+doing the grand, and fawning on you like a little dog. Yes, she kissed
+me, and wanted to have news of everyone—I was very pleased to meet
+her.”
+
+“Ah!” said Gervaise for the third time. She drew herself together, and
+still waited. Hadn’t her daughter had a word for her then? In the
+silence Poisson’s saw could be heard again. Lantier, who felt gay, was
+sucking his barley-sugar, and smacking his lips.
+
+“Well, if _I_ saw her, I should go over to the other side of the
+street,” interposed Virginie, who had just pinched the hatter again
+most ferociously. “It isn’t because you are there, Madame Coupeau, but
+your daughter is rotten to the core. Why, every day Poisson arrests
+girls who are better than she is.”
+
+Gervaise said nothing, nor did she move; her eyes staring into space.
+She ended by jerking her head to and fro, as if in answer to her
+thoughts, whilst the hatter, with a gluttonous mien, muttered:
+
+“Ah, a man wouldn’t mind getting a bit of indigestion from that sort of
+rottenness. It’s as tender as chicken.”
+
+But the grocer gave him such a terrible look that he had to pause and
+quiet her with some delicate attention. He watched the policeman, and
+perceiving that he had his nose lowered over his little box again, he
+profited of the opportunity to shove some barley-sugar into Virginie’s
+mouth. Thereupon she laughed at him good-naturedly and turned all her
+anger against Gervaise.
+
+“Just make haste, eh? The work doesn’t do itself while you remain stuck
+there like a street post. Come, look alive, I don’t want to flounder
+about in the water till night time.”
+
+And she added hatefully in a lower tone: “It isn’t my fault if her
+daughter’s gone and left her.”
+
+No doubt Gervaise did not hear. She had begun to scrub the floor again,
+with her back bent and dragging herself along with a frog-like motion.
+She still had to sweep the dirty water out into the gutter, and then do
+the final rinsing.
+
+After a pause, Lantier, who felt bored, raised his voice again: “Do you
+know, Badingue,” he cried, “I met your boss yesterday in the Rue de
+Rivoli. He looked awfully down in the mouth. He hasn’t six months’ life
+left in his body. Ah! after all, with the life he leads—”
+
+He was talking about the Emperor. The policeman did not raise his eyes,
+but curtly answered: “If you were the Government you wouldn’t be so
+fat.”
+
+“Oh, my dear fellow, if I were the Government,” rejoined the hatter,
+suddenly affecting an air of gravity, “things would go on rather
+better, I give you my word for it. Thus, their foreign policy—why, for
+some time past it has been enough to make a fellow sweat. If I—I who
+speak to you—only knew a journalist to inspire him with my ideas.”
+
+He was growing animated, and as he had finished crunching his
+barley-sugar, he opened a drawer from which he took a number of
+jujubes, which he swallowed while gesticulating.
+
+“It’s quite simple. Before anything else, I should give Poland her
+independence again, and I should establish a great Scandinavian state
+to keep the Giant of the North at bay. Then I should make a republic
+out of all the little German states. As for England, she’s scarcely to
+be feared; if she budged ever so little I should send a hundred
+thousand men to India. Add to that I should send the Sultan back to
+Mecca and the Pope to Jerusalem, belaboring their backs with the butt
+end of a rifle. Eh? Europe would soon be clean. Come, Badingue, just
+look here.”
+
+He paused to take five or six jujubes in his hand. “Why, it wouldn’t
+take longer than to swallow these.”
+
+And he threw one jujube after another into his open mouth.
+
+“The Emperor has another plan,” said the policeman, after reflecting
+for a couple of minutes.
+
+“Oh, forget it,” rejoined the hatter. “We know what his plan is. All
+Europe is laughing at us. Every day the Tuileries footmen find your
+boss under the table between a couple of high society floozies.”
+
+Poisson rose to his feet. He came forward and placed his hand on his
+heart, saying: “You hurt me, Auguste. Discuss, but don’t involve
+personalities.”
+
+Thereupon Virginie intervened, bidding them stop their row. She didn’t
+care a fig for Europe. How could two men, who shared everything else,
+always be disputing about politics? For a minute they mumbled some
+indistinct words. Then the policeman, in view of showing that he
+harbored no spite, produced the cover of his little box, which he had
+just finished; it bore the inscription in marquetry: “To Auguste, a
+token of friendship.” Lantier, feeling exceedingly flattered, lounged
+back and spread himself out so that he almost sat upon Virginie. And
+the husband viewed the scene with his face the color of an old wall and
+his bleared eyes fairly expressionless; but all the same, at moments
+the red hairs of his moustaches stood up on end of their own accord in
+a very singular fashion, which would have alarmed any man who was less
+sure of his business than the hatter.
+
+This beast of a Lantier had the quiet cheek which pleases ladies. As
+Poisson turned his back he was seized with the idea of printing a kiss
+on Madame Poisson’s left eye. As a rule he was stealthily prudent, but
+when he had been disputing about politics he risked everything, so as
+to show the wife his superiority. These gloating caresses, cheekily
+stolen behind the policeman’s back, revenged him on the Empire which
+had turned France into a house of quarrels. Only on this occasion he
+had forgotten Gervaise’s presence. She had just finished rinsing and
+wiping the shop, and she stood near the counter waiting for her thirty
+sous. However, the kiss on Virginie’s eye left her perfectly calm, as
+being quite natural, and as part of a business she had no right to mix
+herself up in. Virginie seemed rather vexed. She threw the thirty sous
+on to the counter in front of Gervaise. The latter did not budge but
+stood there waiting, still palpitating with the effort she had made in
+scrubbing, and looking as soaked and as ugly as a dog fished out of the
+sewer.
+
+“Then she didn’t tell you anything?” she asked the hatter at last.
+
+“Who?” he cried. “Ah, yes; you mean Nana. No, nothing else. What a
+tempting mouth she has, the little hussy! Real strawberry jam!”
+
+Gervaise went off with her thirty sous in her hand. The holes in her
+shoes spat water forth like pumps; they were real musical shoes, and
+played a tune as they left moist traces of their broad soles along the
+pavement.
+
+In the neighborhood the feminine tipplers of her own class now related
+that she drank to console herself for her daughter’s misconduct. She
+herself, when she gulped down her dram of spirits on the counter,
+assumed a dramatic air, and tossed the liquor into her mouth, wishing
+it would “do” for her. And on the days when she came home boozed she
+stammered that it was all through grief. But honest folks shrugged
+their shoulders. They knew what that meant: ascribing the effects of
+the peppery fire of l’Assommoir to grief, indeed! At all events, she
+ought to have called it bottled grief. No doubt at the beginning she
+couldn’t digest Nana’s flight. All the honest feelings remaining in her
+revolted at the thought, and besides, as a rule a mother doesn’t like
+to have to think that her daughter, at that very moment, perhaps, is
+being familiarly addressed by the first chance comer. But Gervaise was
+already too stultified with a sick head and a crushed heart, to think
+of the shame for long. With her it came and went. She remained
+sometimes for a week together without thinking of her daughter, and
+then suddenly a tender or an angry feeling seized hold of her,
+sometimes when she had her stomach empty, at others when it was full, a
+furious longing to catch Nana in some corner, where she would perhaps
+have kissed her or perhaps have beaten her, according to the fancy of
+the moment.
+
+Whenever these thoughts came over her, Gervaise looked on all sides in
+the streets with the eyes of a detective. Ah! if she had only seen her
+little sinner, how quickly she would have brought her home again! The
+neighborhood was being turned topsy-turvy that year. The Boulevard
+Magenta and the Boulevard Ornano were being pierced; they were doing
+away with the old Barriere Poissonniere and cutting right through the
+outer Boulevard. The district could not be recognized. The whole of one
+side of the Rue des Poissonniers had been pulled down. From the Rue de
+la Goutte-d’Or a large clearing could now be seen, a dash of sunlight
+and open air; and in place of the gloomy buildings which had hidden the
+view in this direction there rose up on the Boulevard Ornano a perfect
+monument, a six-storied house, carved all over like a church, with
+clear windows, which, with their embroidered curtains, seemed
+symbolical of wealth. This white house, standing just in front of the
+street, illuminated it with a jet of light, as it were, and every day
+it caused discussions between Lantier and Poisson.
+
+Gervaise had several times had tidings of Nana. There are always ready
+tongues anxious to pay you a sorry compliment. Yes, she had been told
+that the hussy had left her old gentleman, just like the inexperienced
+girl she was. She had gotten along famously with him, petted, adored,
+and free, too, if she had only known how to manage the situation. But
+youth is foolish, and she had no doubt gone off with some young rake,
+no one knew exactly where. What seemed certain was that one afternoon
+she had left her old fellow on the Place de la Bastille, just for half
+a minute, and he was still waiting for her to return. Other persons
+swore they had seen her since, dancing on her heels at the “Grand Hall
+of Folly,” in the Rue de la Chapelle. Then it was that Gervaise took it
+into her head to frequent all the dancing places of the neighborhood.
+She did not pass in front of a public ball-room without going in.
+Coupeau accompanied her. At first they merely made the round of the
+room, looking at the drabs who were jumping about. But one evening, as
+they had some coin, they sat down and ordered a large bowl of hot wine
+in view of regaling themselves and waiting to see if Nana would turn
+up. At the end of a month or so they had practically forgotten her, but
+they frequented the halls for their own pleasure, liking to look at the
+dancers. They would remain for hours without exchanging a word, resting
+their elbows on the table, stultified amidst the quaking of the floor,
+and yet no doubt amusing themselves as they stared with pale eyes at
+the Barriere women in the stifling atmosphere and ruddy glow of the
+hall.
+
+It happened one November evening that they went into the “Grand Hall of
+Folly” to warm themselves. Out of doors a sharp wind cut you across the
+face. But the hall was crammed. There was a thundering big swarm
+inside; people at all the tables, people in the middle, people up
+above, quite an amount of flesh. Yes, those who cared for tripes could
+enjoy themselves. When they had made the round twice without finding a
+vacant table, they decided to remain standing and wait till somebody
+went off. Coupeau was teetering on his legs, in a dirty blouse, with an
+old cloth cap which had lost its peak flattened down on his head. And
+as he blocked the way, he saw a scraggy young fellow who was wiping his
+coat-sleeve after elbowing him.
+
+“Say!” cried Coupeau in a fury, as he took his pipe out of his black
+mouth. “Can’t you apologize? And you play the disgusted one? Just
+because a fellow wears a blouse!”
+
+The young man turned round and looked at the zinc-worker from head to
+foot.
+
+“I’ll just teach you, you scraggy young scamp,” continued Coupeau,
+“that the blouse is the finest garment out; yes! the garment of work.
+I’ll wipe you if you like with my fists. Did one ever hear of such a
+thing—a ne’er-do-well insulting a workman!”
+
+Gervaise tried to calm him, but in vain. He drew himself up in his
+rags, in full view, and struck his blouse, roaring: “There’s a man’s
+chest under that!”
+
+Thereupon the young man dived into the midst of the crowd, muttering:
+“What a dirty blackguard!”
+
+Coupeau wanted to follow and catch him. He wasn’t going to let himself
+be insulted by a fellow with a coat on. Probably it wasn’t even paid
+for! Some second-hand toggery to impress a girl with, without having to
+fork out a centime. If he caught the chap again, he’d bring him down on
+his knees and make him bow to the blouse. But the crush was too great;
+there was no means of walking. He and Gervaise turned slowly round the
+dancers; there were three rows of sightseers packed close together,
+whose faces lighted up whenever any of the dancers showed off. As
+Coupeau and Gervaise were both short, they raised themselves up on
+tiptoe, trying to see something besides the chignons and hats that were
+bobbing about. The cracked brass instruments of the orchestra were
+furiously thundering a quadrille, a perfect tempest which made the hall
+shake; while the dancers, striking the floor with their feet, raised a
+cloud of dust which dimmed the brightness of the gas. The heat was
+unbearable.
+
+“Look there,” said Gervaise suddenly.
+
+“Look at what?”
+
+“Why, at that velvet hat over there.”
+
+They raised themselves up on tiptoe. On the left hand there was an old
+black velvet hat trimmed with ragged feathers bobbing about—regular
+hearse’s plumes. It was dancing a devil of a dance, this hat—bouncing
+and whirling round, diving down and then springing up again. Coupeau
+and Gervaise lost sight of it as the people round about moved their
+heads, but then suddenly they saw it again, swaying farther off with
+such droll effrontery that folks laughed merely at the sight of this
+dancing hat, without knowing what was underneath it.
+
+“Well?” asked Coupeau.
+
+“Don’t you recognize that head of hair?” muttered Gervaise in a stifled
+voice. “May my head be cut off if it isn’t her.”
+
+With one shove the zinc-worker made his way through the crowd. _Mon
+Dieu!_ yes, it was Nana! And in a nice pickle too! She had nothing on
+her back but an old silk dress, all stained and sticky from having
+wiped the tables of boozing dens, and with its flounces so torn that
+they fell in tatters round about. Not even a bit of a shawl over her
+shoulders. And to think that the hussy had had such an attentive,
+loving gentleman, and had yet fallen to this condition, merely for the
+sake of following some rascal who had beaten her, no doubt!
+Nevertheless she had remained fresh and insolent, with her hair as
+frizzy as a poodle’s, and her mouth bright pink under that rascally hat
+of hers.
+
+“Just wait a bit, I’ll make her dance!” resumed Coupeau.
+
+Naturally enough, Nana was not on her guard. You should have seen how
+she wriggled about! She twisted to the right and to the left, bending
+double as if she were going to break herself in two, and kicking her
+feet as high as her partner’s face. A circle had formed about her and
+this excited her even more. She raised her skirts to her knees and
+really let herself go in a wild dance, whirling and turning, dropping
+to the floor in splits, and then jigging and bouncing.
+
+Coupeau was trying to force his way through the dancers and was
+disrupting the quadrille.
+
+“I tell you, it’s my daughter!” he cried; “let me pass.”
+
+Nana was now dancing backwards, sweeping the floor with her flounces,
+rounding her figure and wriggling it, so as to look all the more
+tempting. She suddenly received a masterly blow just on the right
+cheek. She raised herself up and turned quite pale on recognizing her
+father and mother. Bad luck and no mistake.
+
+“Turn him out!” howled the dancers.
+
+But Coupeau, who had just recognized his daughter’s cavalier as the
+scraggy young man in the coat, did not care a fig for what the people
+said.
+
+“Yes, it’s us,” he roared. “Eh? You didn’t expect it. So we catch you
+here, and with a whipper-snapper, too, who insulted me a little while
+ago!”
+
+Gervaise, whose teeth were tight set, pushed him aside, exclaiming,
+“Shut up. There’s no need of so much explanation.”
+
+And, stepping forward, she dealt Nana a couple of hearty cuffs. The
+first knocked the feathered hat on one side, and the second left a red
+mark on the girl’s white cheek. Nana was too stupefied either to cry or
+resist. The orchestra continued playing, the crowd grew angry and
+repeated savagely, “Turn them out! Turn them out!”
+
+“Come, make haste!” resumed Gervaise. “Just walk in front, and don’t
+try to run off. You shall sleep in prison if you do.”
+
+The scraggy young man had prudently disappeared. Nana walked ahead,
+very stiff and still stupefied by her bad luck. Whenever she showed the
+lest unwillingness, a cuff from behind brought her back to the
+direction of the door. And thus they went out, all three of them, amid
+the jeers and banter of the spectators, whilst the orchestra finished
+playing the finale with such thunder that the trombones seemed to be
+spitting bullets.
+
+The old life began again. After sleeping for twelve hours in her
+closet, Nana behaved very well for a week or so. She had patched
+herself a modest little dress, and wore a cap with the strings tied
+under her chignon. Seized indeed with remarkable fervor, she declared
+she would work at home, where one could earn what one liked without
+hearing any nasty work-room talk; and she procured some work and
+installed herself at a table, getting up at five o’clock in the morning
+on the first few days to roll her sprigs of violets. But when she had
+delivered a few gross, she stretched her arms and yawned over her work,
+with her hands cramped, for she had lost her knack of stem-rolling, and
+suffocated, shut up like this at home after allowing herself so much
+open air freedom during the last six months. Then the glue dried, the
+petals and the green paper got stained with grease, and the
+flower-dealer came three times in person to make a row and claim his
+spoiled materials.
+
+Nana idled along, constantly getting a hiding from her father, and
+wrangling with her mother morning and night—quarrels in which the two
+women flung horrible words at each other’s head. It couldn’t last; the
+twelfth day she took herself off, with no more luggage than her modest
+dress on her back and her cap perched over one ear. The Lorilleuxs, who
+had pursed their lips on hearing of her return and repentance, nearly
+died of laughter now. Second performance, eclipse number two, all
+aboard for the train for Saint-Lazare, the prison-hospital for
+streetwalkers! No, it was really too comical. Nana took herself off in
+such an amusing style. Well, if the Coupeaus wanted to keep her in the
+future, they must shut her up in a cage.
+
+In the presence of other people the Coupeaus pretended they were very
+glad to be rid of the girl, though in reality they were enraged.
+However, rage can’t last forever, and soon they heard without even
+blinking that Nana was seen in the neighborhood. Gervaise, who accused
+her of doing it to enrage them, set herself above the scandal; she
+might meet her daughter on the street, she said; she wouldn’t even
+dirty her hand to cuff her; yes, it was all over; she might have seen
+her lying in the gutter, dying on the pavement, and she would have
+passed by without even admitting that such a hussy was her own child.
+
+Nana meanwhile was enlivening the dancing halls of the neighborhood.
+She was known from the “Ball of Queen Blanche” to the “Great Hall of
+Folly.” When she entered the “Elysee-Montmartre,” folks climbed onto
+the tables to see her do the “sniffling crawfish” during the
+pastourelle. As she had twice been turned out of the “Chateau Rouge”
+hall, she walked outside the door waiting for someone she knew to
+escort her inside. The “Black Ball” on the outer Boulevard and the
+“Grand Turk” in the Rue des Poissonniers, were respectable places where
+she only went when she had some fine dress on. Of all the jumping
+places of the neighborhood, however, those she most preferred were the
+“Hermitage Ball” in a damp courtyard and “Robert’s Ball” in the Impasse
+du Cadran, two dirty little halls, lighted up with a half dozen oil
+lamps, and kept very informally, everyone pleased and everyone free, so
+much so that the men and their girls kissed each other at their ease,
+in the dances, without being disturbed. Nana had ups and downs, perfect
+transformations, now tricked out like a stylish woman and now all dirt.
+Ah! she had a fine life.
+
+On several occasions the Coupeaus fancied they saw her in some shady
+dive. They turned their backs and decamped in another direction so as
+not to be obliged to recognize her. They didn’t care to be laughed at
+by a whole dancing hall again for the sake of bringing such a dolt
+home. One night as they were going to bed, however, someone knocked at
+the door. It was Nana who matter-of-factly came to ask for a bed; and
+in what a state. _Mon Dieu!_ her head was bare, her dress in tatters,
+and her boots full of holes—such a toilet as might have led the police
+to run her in, and take her off to the Depot. Naturally enough she
+received a hiding, and then she gluttonously fell on a crust of stale
+bread and went to sleep, worn out, with the last mouthful between her
+teeth.
+
+Then this sort of life continued. As soon as she was somewhat recovered
+she would go off and not a sight or sound of her. Weeks or months would
+pass and she would suddenly appear with no explanation. The Coupeaus
+got used to these comings and goings. Well, as long as she didn’t leave
+the door open. What could you expect?
+
+There was only one thing that really bothered Gervaise. This was to see
+her daughter come home in a dress with a train and a hat covered with
+feathers. No, she couldn’t stomach this display. Nana might indulge in
+riotous living if she chose, but when she came home to her mother’s she
+ought to dress like a workgirl. The dresses with trains caused quite a
+sensation in the house; the Lorilleuxs sneered; Lantier, whose mouth
+sneered, turned the girl round to sniff at her delicious aroma; the
+Boches had forbidden Pauline to associate with this baggage in her
+frippery. And Gervaise was also angered by Nana’s exhausted slumber,
+when after one of her adventures, she slept till noon, with her chignon
+undone and still full of hair pins, looking so white and breathing so
+feebly that she seemed to be dead. Her mother shook her five or six
+times in the course of the morning, threatening to throw a jugful of
+water over her. The sight of this handsome lazy girl, half naked and
+besotted with wine, exasperated her, as she saw her lying there.
+Sometimes Nana opened an eye, closed it again, and then stretched
+herself out all the more.
+
+One day after reproaching her with the life she led and asking her if
+she had taken on an entire battalion of soldiers, Gervaise put her
+threat into execution to the extent of shaking her dripping hand over
+Nana’s body. Quite infuriated, the girl pulled herself up in the sheet,
+and cried out:
+
+“That’s enough, mamma. It would be better not to talk of men. You did
+as you liked, and now I do the same!”
+
+“What! What!” stammered the mother.
+
+“Yes, I never spoke to you about it, for it didn’t concern me; but you
+didn’t used to be very fussy. I often saw you when we lived at the shop
+sneaking off as soon as papa started snoring. So just shut up; you
+shouldn’t have set me the example.”
+
+Gervaise remained pale, with trembling hands, turning round without
+knowing what she was about, whilst Nana, flattened on her breast,
+embraced her pillow with both arms and subsided into the torpor of her
+leaden slumber.
+
+Coupeau growled, no longer sane enough to think of launching out a
+whack. He was altogether losing his mind. And really there was no need
+to call him an unprincipled father, for liquor had deprived him of all
+consciousness of good and evil.
+
+Now it was a settled thing. He wasn’t sober once in six months; then he
+was laid up and had to go into the Sainte-Anne hospital; a pleasure
+trip for him. The Lorilleuxs said that the Duke of Bowel-Twister had
+gone to visit his estates. At the end of a few weeks he left the
+asylum, repaired and set together again, and then he began to pull
+himself to bits once more, till he was down on his back and needed
+another mending. In three years he went seven times to Sainte-Anne in
+this fashion. The neighborhood said that his cell was kept ready for
+him. But the worst of the matter was that this obstinate tippler
+demolished himself more and more each time so that from relapse to
+relapse one could foresee the final tumble, the last cracking of this
+shaky cask, all the hoops of which were breaking away, one after the
+other.
+
+At the same time, he forgot to improve in appearance; a perfect ghost
+to look at! The poison was having terrible effects. By dint of imbibing
+alcohol, his body shrunk up like the embryos displayed in glass jars in
+chemical laboratories. When he approached a window you could see
+through his ribs, so skinny had he become. Those who knew his age, only
+forty years just gone, shuddered when he passed by, bent and unsteady,
+looking as old as the streets themselves. And the trembling of his
+hands increased, the right one danced to such an extent, that sometimes
+he had to take his glass between both fists to carry it to his lips.
+Oh! that cursed trembling! It was the only thing that worried his
+addled brains. You could hear him growling ferocious insults against
+those hands of his.
+
+This last summer, during which Nana usually came home to spend her
+nights, after she had finished knocking about, was especially bad for
+Coupeau. His voice changed entirely as if liquor had set a new music in
+his throat. He became deaf in one ear. Then in a few days his sight
+grew dim, and he had to clutch hold of the stair railings to prevent
+himself from falling. As for his health, he had abominable headaches
+and dizziness. All on a sudden he was seized with acute pains in his
+arms and legs; he turned pale; was obliged to sit down, and remained on
+a chair witless for hours; indeed, after one such attack, his arm
+remained paralyzed for the whole day. He took to his bed several times;
+he rolled himself up and hid himself under the sheet, breathing hard
+and continuously like a suffering animal. Then the strange scenes of
+Sainte-Anne began again. Suspicious and nervous, worried with a burning
+fever, he rolled about in a mad rage, tearing his blouse and biting the
+furniture with his convulsed jaws; or else he sank into a great state
+of emotion, complaining like a child, sobbing and lamenting because
+nobody loved him. One night when Gervaise and Nana returned home
+together they were surprised not to find him in his bed. He had laid
+the bolster in his place. And when they discovered him, hiding between
+the bed and the wall, his teeth were chattering, and he related that
+some men had come to murder him. The two women were obliged to put him
+to bed again and quiet him like a child.
+
+Coupeau knew only one remedy, to toss down a pint of spirits; a whack
+in his stomach, which set him on his feet again. This was how he
+doctored his gripes of a morning. His memory had left him long ago, his
+brain was empty; and he no sooner found himself on his feet than he
+poked fun at illness. He had never been ill. Yes, he had got to the
+point when a fellow kicks the bucket declaring that he’s quite well.
+And his wits were going a-wool-gathering in other respects too. When
+Nana came home after gadding about for six weeks or so he seemed to
+fancy she had returned from doing some errand in the neighborhood.
+Often when she was hanging on an acquaintance’s arm she met him and
+laughed at him without his recognizing her. In short, he no longer
+counted for anything; she might have sat down on him if she had been at
+a loss for a chair.
+
+When the first frosts came Nana took herself off once more under the
+pretence of going to the fruiterer’s to see if there were any baked
+pears. She scented winter and didn’t care to let her teeth chatter in
+front of the fireless stove. The Coupeaus had called her no good
+because they had waited for the pears. No doubt she would come back
+again. The other winter she had stayed away three weeks to fetch her
+father two sous’ worth of tobacco. But the months went by and the girl
+did not show herself. This time she must have indulged in a hard
+gallop. When June arrived she did not even turn up with the sunshine.
+Evidently it was all over, she had found a new meal ticket somewhere or
+other. One day when the Coupeaus were totally broke they sold Nana’s
+iron bedstead for six francs, which they drank together at Saint-Ouen.
+The bedstead had been in their way.
+
+One morning in July Virginie called to Gervaise, who was passing by,
+and asked her to lend a hand in washing up, for Lantier had entertained
+a couple of friends on the day before. And while Gervaise was cleaning
+up the plates and dishes, greasy with the traces of the spread, the
+hatter, who was still digesting in the shop, suddenly called out:
+
+“Say, I saw Nana the other day.”
+
+Virginie, who was seated at the counter looking very careworn in front
+of the jars and drawers which were already three parts emptied, jerked
+her head furiously. She restrained herself so as not to say too much,
+but really it was angering her. Lantier was seeing Nana often. Oh! she
+was by no means sure of him; he was a man to do much worse than that,
+when a fancy for a woman came into his head. Madame Lerat, very
+intimate just then with Virginie, who confided in her, had that moment
+entered the shop, and hearing Lantier’s remark, she pouted
+ridiculously, and asked:
+
+“What do you mean, you saw her?”
+
+“Oh, in the street here,” answered the hatter, who felt highly
+flattered, and began to laugh and twirl his moustaches. “She was in a
+carriage and I was floundering on the pavement. Really it was so, I
+swear it! There’s no use denying it, the young fellows of position who
+are on friendly terms with her are terribly lucky!”
+
+His eyes had brightened and he turned towards Gervaise who was standing
+in the rear of the shop wiping a dish.
+
+“Yes, she was in a carriage, and wore such a stylish dress! I didn’t
+recognise her, she looked so much like a lady of the upper set, with
+her white teeth and her face as fresh as a flower. It was she who waved
+her glove to me. She has caught a count, I believe. Oh! she’s launched
+for good. She can afford to do without any of us; she’s head over heels
+in happiness, the little beggar! What a love of a little kitten! No,
+you’ve no idea what a little kitten she is!”
+
+Gervaise was still wiping the same plate, although it had long since
+been clean and shiny. Virginie was reflecting, anxious about a couple
+of bills which fell due on the morrow and which she didn’t know how to
+pay; whilst Lantier, stout and fat, perspiring the sugar he fed off,
+ventured his enthusiasm for well-dressed little hussies. The shop,
+which was already three parts eaten up, smelt of ruin. Yes, there were
+only a few more burnt almonds to nibble, a little more barley-sugar to
+suck, to clean the Poissons’ business out. Suddenly, on the pavement
+over the way, he perceived the policeman, who was on duty, pass by all
+buttoned up with his sword dangling by his side. And this made him all
+the gayer. He compelled Virginie to look at her husband.
+
+“Dear me,” he muttered, “Badingue looks fine this morning! Just look,
+see how stiff he walks. He must have stuck a glass eye in his back to
+surprise people.”
+
+When Gervaise went back upstairs, she found Coupeau seated on the bed,
+in the torpid state induced by one of his attacks. He was looking at
+the window-panes with his dim expressionless eyes. She sat herself down
+on a chair, tired out, her hands hanging beside her dirty skirt; and
+for a quarter of an hour she remained in front of him without saying a
+word.
+
+“I’ve had some news,” she muttered at last. “Your daughter’s been seen.
+Yes, your daughter’s precious stylish and hasn’t any more need of you.
+She’s awfully happy, she is! Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ I’d give a great deal to
+be in her place.”
+
+Coupeau was still staring at the window-pane. But suddenly he raised
+his ravaged face, and stammered with an idiotic laugh:
+
+“Well, my little lamb, I’m not stopping you. You’re not yet so bad
+looking when you wash yourself. As folks say, however old a pot may be,
+it ends by finding its lid. And, after all, I wouldn’t care if it only
+buttered our bread.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+It must have been the Saturday after quarter day, something like the
+12th or 13th of January—Gervaise didn’t quite know. She was losing her
+wits, for it was centuries since she had had anything warm in her
+stomach. Ah! what an infernal week! A complete clear out. Two loaves of
+four pounds each on Tuesday, which had lasted till Thursday; then a dry
+crust found the night before, and finally not a crumb for thirty-six
+hours, a real dance before the cupboard! What did she know, by the way,
+what she felt on her back, was the frightful cold, a black cold, the
+sky as grimy as a frying-pan, thick with snow which obstinately refused
+to fall. When winter and hunger are both together in your guts, you may
+tighten your belt as much as you like, it hardly feeds you.
+
+Perhaps Coupeau would bring back some money in the evening. He said
+that he was working. Anything is possible, isn’t it? And Gervaise,
+although she had been caught many and many a time, had ended by relying
+on this coin. After all sorts of incidents, she herself couldn’t find
+as much as a duster to wash in the whole neighborhood; and even an old
+lady, whose rooms she did, had just given her the sack, charging her
+with swilling her liqueurs. No one would engage her, she was washed up
+everywhere; and this secretly suited her, for she had fallen to that
+state of indifference when one prefers to croak rather than move one’s
+fingers. At all events, if Coupeau brought his pay home they would have
+something warm to eat. And meanwhile, as it wasn’t yet noon, she
+remained stretched on the mattress, for one doesn’t feel so cold or so
+hungry when one is lying down.
+
+The bed was nothing but a pile of straw in a corner. Bed and bedding
+had gone, piece by piece, to the second-hand dealers of the
+neighborhood. First she had ripped open the mattress to sell handfuls
+of wool at ten sous a pound. When the mattress was empty she got thirty
+sous for the sack so as to be able to have coffee. Everything else had
+followed. Well, wasn’t the straw good enough for them?
+
+Gervaise bent herself like a gun-trigger on the heap of straw, with her
+clothes on and her feet drawn up under her rag of a skirt, so as to
+keep them warm. And huddled up, with her eyes wide open, she turned
+some scarcely amusing ideas over in her mind that morning. Ah! no, they
+couldn’t continue living without food. She no longer felt her hunger,
+only she had a leaden weight on her chest and her brain seemed empty.
+Certainly there was nothing gay to look at in the four corners of the
+hovel. A perfect kennel now, where greyhounds, who wear wrappers in the
+streets, would not even have lived in effigy. Her pale eyes stared at
+the bare walls. Everything had long since gone to “uncle’s.” All that
+remained were the chest of drawers, the table and a chair. Even the
+marble top of the chest of drawers and the drawers themselves, had
+evaporated in the same direction as the bedstead. A fire could not have
+cleaned them out more completely; the little knick-knacks had melted,
+beginning with the ticker, a twelve franc watch, down to the family
+photos, the frames of which had been bought by a woman keeping a
+second-hand store; a very obliging woman, by the way, to whom Gervaise
+carried a saucepan, an iron, a comb and who gave her five, three or two
+sous in exchange, according to the article; enough, at all events to go
+upstairs again with a bit of bread. But now there only remained a
+broken pair of candle snuffers, which the woman refused to give her
+even a sou for.
+
+Oh! if she could only have sold the rubbish and refuse, the dust and
+the dirt, how speedily she would have opened shop, for the room was
+filthy to behold! She only saw cobwebs in the corners and although
+cobwebs are good for cuts, there are, so far, no merchants who buy
+them. Then turning her head, abandoning the idea of doing a bit of
+trade, Gervaise gathered herself together more closely on her straw,
+preferring to stare through the window at the snow-laden sky, at the
+dreary daylight, which froze the marrow in her bones.
+
+What a lot of worry! Though, after all, what was the use of putting
+herself in such a state and puzzling her brains? If she had only been
+able to have a snooze. But her hole of a home wouldn’t go out of her
+mind. Monsieur Marescot, the landlord had come in person the day before
+to tell them that he would turn them out into the street if the two
+quarters’ rent now overdue were not paid during the ensuing week. Well,
+so he might, they certainly couldn’t be worse off on the pavement!
+Fancy this ape, in his overcoat and his woolen gloves, coming upstairs
+to talk to them about rent, as if they had had a treasure hidden
+somewhere!
+
+Just the same with that brute of a Coupeau, who couldn’t come home now
+without beating her; she wished him in the same place as the landlord.
+She sent them all there, wishing to rid herself of everyone, and of
+life too. She was becoming a real storehouse for blows. Coupeau had a
+cudgel, which he called his ass’s fan, and he fanned his old woman. You
+should just have seen him giving her abominable thrashings, which made
+her perspire all over. She was no better herself, for she bit and
+scratched him. Then they stamped about in the empty room and gave each
+other such drubbings as were likely to ease them of all taste for bread
+for good. But Gervaise ended by not caring a fig for these thwacks, not
+more than she did for anything else. Coupeau might celebrate Saint
+Monday for weeks altogether, go off on the spree for months at a time,
+come home mad with liquor, and seek to sharpen her as he said, she had
+grown accustomed to it, she thought him tiresome, but nothing more. It
+was on these occasions that she wished him somewhere else. Yes,
+somewhere, her beast of a man and the Lorilleuxs, the Boches, and the
+Poissons too; in fact, the whole neighborhood, which she had such
+contempt for. She sent all Paris there with a gesture of supreme
+carelessness, and was pleased to be able to revenge herself in this
+style.
+
+One could get used to almost anything, but still, it is hard to break
+the habit of eating. That was the one thing that really annoyed
+Gervaise, the hunger that kept gnawing at her insides. Oh, those
+pleasant little snacks she used to have. Now she had fallen low enough
+to gobble anything she could find.
+
+On special occasions, she would get waste scraps of meat from the
+butcher for four sous a pound. Blacked and dried out meat that couldn’t
+find a purchaser. She would mix this with potatoes for a stew. On other
+occasions, when she had some wine, she treated herself to a sop, a true
+parrot’s pottage. Two sous’ worth of Italian cheese, bushels of white
+potatoes, quarts of dry beans, cooked in their own juice, these also
+were dainties she was not often able to indulge in now. She came down
+to leavings from low eating dens, where for a sou she had a pile of
+fish-bones, mixed with the parings of moldy roast meat. She fell even
+lower—she begged a charitable eating-house keeper to give her his
+customers’ dry crusts, and she made herself a bread soup, letting the
+crusts simmer as long as possible on a neighbor’s fire. On the days
+when she was really hungry, she searched about with the dogs, to see
+what might be lying outside the tradespeople’s doors before the dustmen
+went by; and thus at times she came across rich men’s food, rotten
+melons, stinking mackerel and chops, which she carefully inspected for
+fear of maggots.
+
+Yes, she had come to this. The idea may be a repugnant one to
+delicate-minded folks, but if they hadn’t chewed anything for three
+days running, we should hardly see them quarreling with their stomachs;
+they would go down on all fours and eat filth like other people. Ah!
+the death of the poor, the empty entrails, howling hunger, the animal
+appetite that leads one with chattering teeth to fill one’s stomach
+with beastly refuse in this great Paris, so bright and golden! And to
+think that Gervaise used to fill her belly with fat goose! Now the
+thought of it brought tears to her eyes. One day, when Coupeau bagged
+two bread tickets from her to go and sell them and get some liquor, she
+nearly killed him with the blow of a shovel, so hungered and so enraged
+was she by this theft of a bit of bread.
+
+However, after a long contemplation of the pale sky, she had fallen
+into a painful doze. She dreamt that the snow-laden sky was falling on
+her, so cruelly did the cold pinch. Suddenly she sprang to her feet,
+awakened with a start by a shudder of anguish. _Mon Dieu!_ was she
+going to die? Shivering and haggard she perceived that it was still
+daylight. Wouldn’t the night ever come? How long the time seems when
+the stomach is empty! Hers was waking up in its turn and beginning to
+torture her. Sinking down on the chair, with her head bent and her
+hands between her legs to warm them, she began to think what they would
+have for dinner as soon as Coupeau brought the money home: a loaf, a
+quart of wine and two platefuls of tripe in the Lyonnaise fashion.
+Three o’clock struck by father Bazouge’s clock. Yes, it was only three
+o’clock. Then she began to cry. She would never have strength enough to
+wait until seven. Her body swayed backwards and forwards, she
+oscillated like a child nursing some sharp pain, bending herself double
+and crushing her stomach so as not to feel it. Ah! an accouchement is
+less painful than hunger! And unable to ease herself, seized with rage,
+she rose and stamped about, hoping to send her hunger to sleep by
+walking it to and fro like an infant. For half an hour or so, she
+knocked against the four corners of the empty room. Then, suddenly, she
+paused with a fixed stare. So much the worse! They might say what they
+liked; she would lick their feet if needs be, but she would go and ask
+the Lorilleuxs to lend her ten sous.
+
+At winter time, up these stairs of the house, the paupers’ stairs,
+there was a constant borrowing of ten sous and twenty sous, petty
+services which these hungry beggars rendered each other. Only they
+would rather have died than have applied to the Lorilleuxs, for they
+knew they were too tight-fisted. Thus Gervaise displayed remarkable
+courage in going to knock at their door. She felt so frightened in the
+passage that she experienced the sudden relief of people who ring a
+dentist’s bell.
+
+“Come in!” cried the chainmaker in a sour voice.
+
+How warm and nice it was inside. The forge was blazing, its white flame
+lighting up the narrow workroom, whilst Madame Lorilleux set a coil of
+gold wire to heat. Lorilleux, in front of his worktable, was perspiring
+with the warmth as he soldered the links of a chain together. And it
+smelt nice. Some cabbage soup was simmering on the stove, exhaling a
+steam which turned Gervaise’s heart topsy-turvy, and almost made her
+faint.
+
+“Ah! it’s you,” growled Madame Lorilleux, without even asking her to
+sit down. “What do you want?”
+
+Gervaise did not answer for a moment. She had recently been on fairly
+good terms with the Lorilleuxs, but she saw Boche sitting by the stove.
+He seemed very much at home, telling funny stories.
+
+“What do you want?” repeated Lorilleux.
+
+“You haven’t seen Coupeau?” Gervaise finally stammered at last. “I
+thought he was here.”
+
+The chainmakers and the concierge sneered. No, for certain, they hadn’t
+seen Coupeau. They didn’t stand treat often enough to interest Coupeau.
+Gervaise made an effort and resumed, stuttering:
+
+“It’s because he promised to come home. Yes, he’s to bring me some
+money. And as I have absolute need of something—”
+
+Silence followed. Madame Lorilleux was roughly fanning the fire of the
+stove; Lorilleux had lowered his nose over the bit of chain between his
+fingers, while Boche continued laughing, puffing out his face till it
+looked like the full moon.
+
+“If I only had ten sous,” muttered Gervaise, in a low voice.
+
+The silence persisted.
+
+“Couldn’t you lend me ten sous? Oh! I would return them to you this
+evening!”
+
+Madame Lorilleux turned round and stared at her. Here was a wheedler
+trying to get round them. To-day she asked them for ten sous, to-morrow
+it would be for twenty, and there would be no reason to stop. No,
+indeed; it would be a warm day in winter if they lent her anything.
+
+“But, my dear,” cried Madame Lorilleux. “You know very well that we
+haven’t any money! Look! There’s the lining of my pocket. You can
+search us. If we could, it would be with a willing heart, of course.”
+
+“The heart’s always there,” growled Lorilleux. “Only when one can’t,
+one can’t.”
+
+Gervaise looked very humble and nodded her head approvingly. However,
+she did not take herself off. She squinted at the gold, at the gold
+tied together hanging on the walls, at the gold wire the wife was
+drawing out with all the strength of her little arms, at the gold links
+lying in a heap under the husband’s knotty fingers. And she thought
+that the least bit of this ugly black metal would suffice to buy her a
+good dinner. The workroom was as dirty as ever, full of old iron, coal
+dust and sticky oil stains, half wiped away; but now, as Gervaise saw
+it, it seemed resplendent with treasure, like a money changer’s shop.
+And so she ventured to repeat softly: “I would return them to you,
+return them without fail. Ten sous wouldn’t inconvenience you.”
+
+Her heart was swelling with the effort she made not to own that she had
+had nothing to eat since the day before. Then she felt her legs give
+way. She was frightened that she might burst into tears, and she still
+stammered:
+
+“It would be kind of you! You don’t know. Yes, I’m reduced to that,
+good Lord—reduced to that!”
+
+Thereupon the Lorilleuxs pursed their lips and exchanged covert
+glances. So Clump-clump was begging now! Well, the fall was complete.
+But they did not care for that kind of thing by any means. If they had
+known, they would have barricaded the door, for people should always be
+on their guard against beggars—folks who make their way into apartments
+under a pretext and carry precious objects away with them; and
+especially so in this place, as there was something worth while
+stealing. One might lay one’s fingers no matter where, and carry off
+thirty or forty francs by merely closing the hands. They had felt
+suspicious several times already on noticing how strange Gervaise
+looked when she stuck herself in front of the gold. This time, however,
+they meant to watch her. And as she approached nearer, with her feet on
+the board, the chainmaker roughly called out, without giving any
+further answer to her question: “Look out, pest—take care; you’ll be
+carrying some scraps of gold away on the soles of your shoes. One would
+think you had greased them on purpose to make the gold stick to them.”
+
+Gervaise slowly drew back. For a moment she leant against a rack, and
+seeing that Madame Lorilleux was looking at her hands, she opened them
+and showed them, saying softly, without the least anger, like a fallen
+women who accepts anything:
+
+“I have taken nothing; you can look.”
+
+And then she went off, because the strong smell of the cabbage soup and
+the warmth of the workroom made her feel too ill.
+
+Ah! the Lorilleuxs did not detain her. Good riddance; just see if they
+opened the door to her again. They had seen enough of her face. They
+didn’t want other people’s misery in their rooms, especially when that
+misery was so well deserved. They reveled in their selfish delight at
+being seated so cozily in a warm room, with a dainty soup cooking.
+Boche also stretched himself, puffing with his cheeks still more and
+more, so much, indeed, that his laugh really became indecent. They were
+all nicely revenged on Clump-clump, for her former manners, her blue
+shop, her spreads, and all the rest. It had all worked out just as it
+should, proving where a love of showing-off would get you.
+
+“So that is the style now? Begging for ten sous,” cried Madame
+Lorilleux as soon as Gervaise had gone. “Wait a bit; I’ll lend her ten
+sous, and no mistake, to go and get drunk with.”
+
+Gervaise shuffled along the passage in her slippers, bending her back
+and feeling heavy. On reaching her door she did not open it—her room
+frightened her. It would be better to walk about, she would learn
+patience. As she passed by she stretched out her neck, peering into
+Pere Bru’s kennel under the stairs. There, for instance, was another
+one who must have a fine appetite, for he had breakfasted and dined by
+heart during the last three days. However, he wasn’t at home, there was
+only his hole, and Gervaise felt somewhat jealous, thinking that
+perhaps he had been invited somewhere. Then, as she reached the
+Bijards’ she heard Lalie moaning, and, as the key was in the lock as
+usual, she opened the door and went in.
+
+“What is the matter?” she asked.
+
+The room was very clean. One could see that Lalie had carefully swept
+it, and arranged everything during the morning. Misery might blow into
+the room as much as it liked, carry off the chattels and spread all the
+dirt and refuse about. Lalie, however, came behind and tidied
+everything, imparting, at least, some appearance of comfort within. She
+might not be rich, but you realized that there was a housewife in the
+place. That afternoon her two little ones, Henriette and Jules, had
+found some old pictures which they were cutting out in a corner. But
+Gervaise was greatly surprised to see Lalie herself in bed, looking
+very pale, with the sheet drawn up to her chin. In bed, indeed, then
+she must be seriously ill!
+
+“What is the matter with you?” inquired Gervaise, feeling anxious.
+
+Lalie no longer groaned. She slowly raised her white eyelids, and tried
+to compel her lips to smile, although they were convulsed by a shudder.
+
+“There’s nothing the matter with me,” she whispered very softly.
+“Really nothing at all.”
+
+Then, closing her eyes again, she added with an effort:
+
+“I made myself too tired during the last few days, and so I’m doing the
+idle; I’m nursing myself, as you see.”
+
+But her childish face, streaked with livid stains, assumed such an
+expression of anguish that Gervaise, forgetting her own agony, joined
+her hands and fell on her knees near the bed. For the last month she
+had seen the girl clinging to the walls for support when she went
+about, bent double indeed, by a cough which seemed to presage a coffin.
+Now the poor child could not even cough. She had a hiccough and drops
+of blood oozed from the corners of her mouth.
+
+“It’s not my fault if I hardly feel strong,” she murmured, as if
+relieved. “I’ve tired myself to-day, trying to put things to rights.
+It’s pretty tidy, isn’t it? And I wanted to clean the windows as well,
+but my legs failed me. How stupid! However, when one has finished one
+can go to bed.”
+
+She paused, then said, “Pray, see if my little ones are not cutting
+themselves with the scissors.”
+
+And then she relapsed into silence, trembling and listening to a heavy
+footfall which was approaching up the stairs. Suddenly father Bijard
+brutally opened the door. As usual he was far gone, and his eyes shone
+with the furious madness imparted by the vitriol he had swallowed. When
+he perceived Lalie in bed, he tapped on his thighs with a sneer, and
+took the whip from where it hung.
+
+“Ah! by blazes, that’s too much,” he growled, “we’ll soon have a laugh.
+So the cows lie down on their straw at noon now! Are you poking fun at
+me, you lazy beggar? Come, quick now, up you get!”
+
+And he cracked the whip over the bed. But the child beggingly replied:
+
+“Pray, papa, don’t—don’t strike me. I swear to you you will regret it.
+Don’t strike!”
+
+“Will you jump up?” he roared still louder, “or else I’ll tickle your
+ribs! Jump up, you little hound!”
+
+Then she softly said, “I can’t—do you understand? I’m going to die.”
+
+Gervaise had sprung upon Bijard and torn the whip away from him. He
+stood bewildered in front of the bed. What was the dirty brat talking
+about? Do girls die so young without even having been ill? Some excuse
+to get sugar out of him no doubt. Ah! he’d make inquiries, and if she
+lied, let her look out!
+
+“You will see, it’s the truth,” she continued. “As long as I could I
+avoided worrying you; but be kind now, and bid me good-bye, papa.”
+
+Bijard wriggled his nose as if he fancied she was deceiving him. And
+yet it was true she had a singular look, the serious mien of a grown up
+person. The breath of death which passed through the room in some
+measure sobered him. He gazed around like a man awakened from a long
+sleep, saw the room so tidy, the two children clean, playing and
+laughing. And then he sank on to a chair stammering, “Our little
+mother, our little mother.”
+
+Those were the only words he could find to say, and yet they were very
+tender ones to Lalie, who had never been much spoiled. She consoled her
+father. What especially worried her was to go off like this without
+having completely brought up the little ones. He would take care of
+them, would he not? With her dying breath she told him how they ought
+to be cared for and kept clean. But stultified, with the fumes of drink
+seizing hold of him again, he wagged his head, watching her with an
+uncertain stare as she was dying. All kind of things were touched in
+him, but he could find no more to say and he was too utterly burnt with
+liquor to shed a tear.
+
+“Listen,” resumed Lalie, after a pause. “We owe four francs and seven
+sous to the baker; you must pay that. Madame Gaudron borrowed an iron
+of ours, which you must get from her. I wasn’t able to make any soup
+this evening, but there’s some bread left and you can warm up the
+potatoes.”
+
+Till her last rattle, the poor kitten still remained the little mother.
+Surely she could never be replaced! She was dying because she had had,
+at her age, a true mother’s reason, because her breast was too small
+and weak for so much maternity. And if her ferocious beast of a father
+lost his treasure, it was his own fault. After kicking the mother to
+death, hadn’t he murdered the daughter as well? The two good angels
+would lie in the pauper’s grave and all that could be in store for him
+was to kick the bucket like a dog in the gutter.
+
+Gervaise restrained herself not to burst out sobbing. She extended her
+hands, desirous of easing the child, and as the shred of a sheet was
+falling, she wished to tack it up and arrange the bed. Then the dying
+girl’s poor little body was seen. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ what misery! What
+woe! Stones would have wept. Lalie was bare, with only the remnants of
+a camisole on her shoulders by way of chemise; yes, bare, with the
+grievous, bleeding nudity of a martyr. She had no flesh left; her bones
+seemed to protrude through the skin. From her ribs to her thighs there
+extended a number of violet stripes—the marks of the whip forcibly
+imprinted on her. A livid bruise, moreover, encircled her left arm, as
+if the tender limb, scarcely larger than a lucifer, had been crushed in
+a vise. There was also an imperfectly closed wound on her right leg,
+left there by some ugly blow and which opened again and again of a
+morning, when she went about doing her errands. From head to foot,
+indeed, she was but one bruise! Oh! this murdering of childhood; those
+heavy hands crushing this lovely girl; how abominable that such
+weakness should have such a weighty cross to bear! Again did Gervaise
+crouch down, no longer thinking of tucking in the sheet, but
+overwhelmed by the pitiful sight of this martyrdom; and her trembling
+lips seemed to be seeking for words of prayer.
+
+“Madame Coupeau,” murmured the child, “I beg you—”
+
+With her little arms she tried to draw up the sheet again, ashamed as
+it were for her father. Bijard, as stultified as ever, with his eyes on
+the corpse which was his own work, still wagged his head, but more
+slowly, like a worried animal might do.
+
+When she had covered Lalie up again, Gervaise felt she could not remain
+there any longer. The dying girl was growing weaker and ceased
+speaking; all that was left to her was her gaze—the dark look she had
+had as a resigned and thoughtful child and which she now fixed on her
+two little ones who were still cutting out their pictures. The room was
+growing gloomy and Bijard was working off his liquor while the poor
+girl was in her death agonies. No, no, life was too abominable! How
+frightful it was! How frightful! And Gervaise took herself off, and
+went down the stairs, not knowing what she was doing, her head
+wandering and so full of disgust that she would willingly have thrown
+herself under the wheels of an omnibus to have finished with her own
+existence.
+
+As she hastened on, growling against cursed fate, she suddenly found
+herself in front of the place where Coupeau pretended that he worked.
+Her legs had taken her there, and now her stomach began singing its
+song again, the complaint of hunger in ninety verses—a complaint she
+knew by heart. However, if she caught Coupeau as he left, she would be
+able to pounce upon the coin at once and buy some grub. A short hour’s
+waiting at the utmost; she could surely stay that out, though she had
+sucked her thumbs since the day before.
+
+She was at the corner of Rue de la Charbonniere and Rue de Chartres. A
+chill wind was blowing and the sky was an ugly leaden grey. The
+impending snow hung over the city but not a flake had fallen as yet.
+She tried stamping her feet to keep warm, but soon stopped as there was
+no use working up an appetite.
+
+There was nothing amusing about. The few passers-by strode rapidly
+along, wrapped up in comforters; naturally enough one does not care to
+tarry when the cold is nipping at your heels. However, Gervaise
+perceived four or five women who were mounting guard like herself
+outside the door of the zinc-works; unfortunate creatures of
+course—wives watching for the pay to prevent it going to the dram-shop.
+There was a tall creature as bulky as a gendarme leaning against the
+wall, ready to spring on her husband as soon as he showed himself. A
+dark little woman with a delicate humble air was walking about on the
+other side of the way. Another one, a fat creature, had brought her two
+brats with her and was dragging them along, one on either hand, and
+both of them shivering and sobbing. And all these women, Gervaise like
+the others, passed and repassed, exchanging glances, but without
+speaking to one another. A pleasant meeting and no mistake. They didn’t
+need to make friends to learn what number they lived at. They could all
+hang out the same sideboard, “Misery & Co.” It seemed to make one feel
+even colder to see them walk about in silence, passing each other in
+this terrible January weather.
+
+However, nobody as yet left the zinc-works. But presently one workman
+appeared, then two, and then three, but these were no doubt decent
+fellows who took their pay home regularly, for they jerked their heads
+significantly as they saw the shadows wandering up and down. The tall
+creature stuck closer than ever to the side of the door, and suddenly
+fell upon a pale little man who was prudently poking his head out. Oh!
+it was soon settled! She searched him and collared his coin. Caught, no
+more money, not even enough to pay for a dram! Then the little man,
+looking very vexed and cast down, followed his gendarme, weeping like a
+child. The workmen were still coming out; and as the fat mother with
+the two brats approached the door, a tall fellow, with a cunning look,
+who noticed her, went hastily inside again to warn her husband; and
+when the latter arrived he had stuffed a couple of cart wheels away,
+two beautiful new five franc pieces, one in each of his shoes. He took
+one of the brats on his arm, and went off telling a variety of lies to
+his old woman who was complaining. There were other workmen also,
+mournful-looking fellows, who carried in their clinched fists the pay
+for the three or five days’ work they had done during a fortnight, who
+reproached themselves with their own laziness, and took drunkards’
+oaths. But the saddest thing of all was the grief of the dark little
+woman, with the humble, delicate look; her husband, a handsome fellow,
+took himself off under her very nose, and so brutally indeed that he
+almost knocked her down, and she went home alone, stumbling past the
+shops and weeping all the tears in her body.
+
+At last the defile finished. Gervaise, who stood erect in the middle of
+the street, was still watching the door. The look-out seemed a bad one.
+A couple of workmen who were late appeared on the threshold, but there
+were still no signs of Coupeau. And when she asked the workmen if
+Coupeau wasn’t coming, they answered her, being up to snuff, that he
+had gone off by the back-door with Lantimeche. Gervaise understood what
+this meant. Another of Coupeau’s lies; she could whistle for him if she
+liked. Then shuffling along in her worn-out shoes, she went slowly down
+the Rue de la Charbonniere. Her dinner was going off in front of her,
+and she shuddered as she saw it running away in the yellow twilight.
+This time it was all over. Not a copper, not a hope, nothing but night
+and hunger. Ah! a fine night to kick the bucket, this dirty night which
+was falling over her shoulders!
+
+She was walking heavily up the Rue des Poissonniers when she suddenly
+heard Coupeau’s voice. Yes, he was there in the Little Civet, letting
+My-Boots treat him. That comical chap, My-Boots, had been cunning
+enough at the end of last summer to espouse in authentic fashion a lady
+who, although rather advanced in years, had still preserved
+considerable traces of beauty. She was a lady-of-the-evening of the Rue
+des Martyrs, none of your common street hussies. And you should have
+seen this fortunate mortal, living like a man of means, with his hands
+in his pockets, well clad and well fed. He could hardly be recognised,
+so fat had he grown. His comrades said that his wife had as much work
+as she liked among the gentlemen of her acquaintance. A wife like that
+and a country-house is all one can wish for to embellish one’s life.
+And so Coupeau squinted admiringly at My-Boots. Why, the lucky dog even
+had a gold ring on his little finger!
+
+Gervaise touched Coupeau on the shoulder just as he was coming out of
+the little Civet.
+
+“Say, I’m waiting; I’m hungry! I’ve got an empty stomach which is all I
+ever get from you.”
+
+But he silenced her in a capital style, “You’re hungry, eh? Well, eat
+your fist, and keep the other for to-morrow.”
+
+He considered it highly improper to do the dramatic in other people’s
+presence. What, he hadn’t worked, and yet the bakers kneaded bread all
+the same. Did she take him for a fool, to come and try to frighten him
+with her stories?
+
+“Do you want me to turn thief?” she muttered, in a dull voice.
+
+My-Boots stroked his chin in conciliatory fashion. “No, that’s
+forbidden,” said he. “But when a woman knows how to handle herself—”
+
+And Coupeau interrupted him to call out “Bravo!” Yes, a woman always
+ought to know how to handle herself, but his wife had always been a
+helpless thing. It would be her fault if they died on the straw. Then
+he relapsed into his admiration for My-Boots. How awfully fine he
+looked! A regular landlord; with clean linen and swell shoes! They were
+no common stuff! His wife, at all events, knew how to keep the pot
+boiling!
+
+The two men walked towards the outer Boulevard, and Gervaise followed
+them. After a pause, she resumed, talking behind Coupeau’s back: “I’m
+hungry; you know, I relied on you. You must find me something to
+nibble.”
+
+He did not answer, and she repeated, in a tone of despairing agony: “Is
+that all I get from you?”
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ I’ve no coin,” he roared, turning round in a fury. “Just
+leave me alone, eh? Or else I’ll hit you.”
+
+He was already raising his fist. She drew back, and seemed to make up
+her mind. “All right, I’ll leave you. I guess I can find a man.”
+
+The zinc-worker laughed at this. He pretended to make a joke of the
+matter, and strengthened her purpose without seeming to do so. That was
+a fine idea of hers, and no mistake! In the evening, by gaslight, she
+might still hook a man. He recommended her to try the Capuchin
+restaurant where one could dine very pleasantly in a small private
+room. And, as she went off along the Boulevard, looking pale and
+furious he called out to her: “Listen, bring me back some dessert. I
+like cakes! And if your gentleman is well dressed, ask him for an old
+overcoat. I could use one.”
+
+With these words ringing in her ears, Gervaise walked softly away. But
+when she found herself alone in the midst of the crowd, she slackened
+her pace. She was quite resolute. Between thieving and the other, well
+she preferred the other; for at all events she wouldn’t harm any one.
+No doubt it wasn’t proper. But what was proper and what was improper
+was sorely muddled together in her brain. When you are dying of hunger,
+you don’t philosophize, you eat whatever bread turns up. She had gone
+along as far as the Chaussee-Clignancourt. It seemed as if the night
+would never come. However, she followed the Boulevards like a lady who
+is taking a stroll before dinner. The neighborhood in which she felt so
+ashamed, so greatly was it being embellished, was now full of fresh
+air.
+
+Lost in the crowd on the broad footway, walking past the little plane
+trees, Gervaise felt alone and abandoned. The vistas of the avenues
+seemed to empty her stomach all the more. And to think that among this
+flood of people there were many in easy circumstances, and yet not a
+Christian who could guess her position, and slip a ten sous piece into
+her hand! Yes, it was too great and too beautiful; her head swam and
+her legs tottered under this broad expanse of grey sky stretched over
+so vast a space. The twilight had the dirty-yellowish tinge of Parisian
+evenings, a tint that gives you a longing to die at once, so ugly does
+street life seem. The horizon was growing indistinct, assuming a
+mud-colored tinge as it were. Gervaise, who was already weary, met all
+the workpeople returning home. At this hour of the day the ladies in
+bonnets and the well-dressed gentlemen living in the new houses mingled
+with the people, with the files of men and women still pale from
+inhaling the tainted atmosphere of workshops and workrooms. From the
+Boulevard Magenta and the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere, came bands of
+people, rendered breathless by their uphill walk. As the omnivans and
+the cabs rolled by less noiselessly among the vans and trucks returning
+home empty at a gallop, an ever-increasing swarm of blouses and blue
+vests covered the pavement. Commissionaires returned with their
+crotchets on their backs. Two workmen took long strides side by side,
+talking to each other in loud voices, with any amount of gesticulation,
+but without looking at one another; others who were alone in overcoats
+and caps walked along the curbstones with lowered noses; others again
+came in parties of five or six, following each other, with pale eyes
+and their hands in their pockets and not exchanging a word. Some still
+had their pipes, which had gone out between their teeth. Four masons
+poked their white faces out of the windows of a cab which they had
+hired between them, and on the roof of which their mortar-troughs
+rocked to and fro. House-painters were swinging their pots; a
+zinc-worker was returning laden with a long ladder, with which he
+almost poked people’s eyes out; whilst a belated plumber, with his box
+on his back, played the tune of “The Good King Dagobert” on his little
+trumpet. Ah! the sad music, a fitting accompaniment to the tread of the
+flock, the tread of the weary beasts of burden.
+
+Suddenly on raising her eyes she noticed the old Hotel Boncoeur in
+front of her. After being an all-night cafe, which the police had
+closed down, the little house was now abandoned; the shutters were
+covered with posters, the lantern was broken, and the whole building
+was rotting and crumbling away from top to bottom, with its smudgy
+claret-colored paint, quite moldy. The stationer’s and the
+tobacconist’s were still there. In the rear, over some low buildings,
+you could see the leprous facades of several five-storied houses
+rearing their tumble-down outlines against the sky. The “Grand Balcony”
+dancing hall no longer existed; some sugar-cutting works, which hissed
+continually, had been installed in the hall with the ten flaming
+windows. And yet it was here, in this dirty den—the Hotel Boncoeur—that
+the whole cursed life had commenced. Gervaise remained looking at the
+window of the first floor, from which hung a broken shutter, and
+recalled to mind her youth with Lantier, their first rows and the
+ignoble way in which he had abandoned her. Never mind, she was young
+then, and it all seemed gay to her, seen from a distance. Only twenty
+years. _Mon Dieu!_ and yet she had fallen to street-walking. Then the
+sight of the lodging house oppressed her and she walked up the
+Boulevard in the direction of Montmartre.
+
+The night was gathering, but children were still playing on the heaps
+of sand between the benches. The march past continued, the workgirls
+went by, trotting along and hurrying to make up for the time they had
+lost in looking in at the shop windows; one tall girl, who had stopped,
+left her hand in that of a big fellow, who accompanied her to within
+three doors of her home; others as they parted from each other, made
+appointments for the night at the “Great Hall of Folly” or the “Black
+Ball.” In the midst of the groups, piece-workmen went by, carrying
+their clothes folded under their arms. A chimney sweep, harnessed with
+leather braces, was drawing a cart along, and nearly got himself
+crushed by an omnibus. Among the crowd which was now growing scantier,
+there were several women running with bare heads; after lighting the
+fire, they had come downstairs again and were hastily making their
+purchases for dinner; they jostled the people they met, darted into the
+bakers’ and the pork butchers’, and went off again with all despatch,
+their provisions in their hands. There were little girls of eight years
+old, who had been sent out on errands, and who went along past the
+shops, pressing long loaves of four pounds’ weight, as tall as they
+were themselves, against their chests, as if these loaves had been
+beautiful yellow dolls; at times these little ones forgot themselves
+for five minutes or so, in front of some pictures in a shop window, and
+rested their cheeks against the bread. Then the flow subsided, the
+groups became fewer and farther between, the working classes had gone
+home; and as the gas blazed now that the day’s toil was over, idleness
+and amusement seemed to wake up.
+
+Ah! yes; Gervaise had finished her day! She was wearier even than all
+this mob of toilers who had jostled her as they went by. She might lie
+down there and croak, for work would have nothing more to do with her,
+and she had toiled enough during her life to say: “Whose turn now? I’ve
+had enough.” At present everyone was eating. It was really the end, the
+sun had blown out its candle, the night would be a long one. _Mon
+Dieu!_ To stretch one’s self at one’s ease and never get up again; to
+think one had put one’s tools by for good and that one could ruminate
+like a cow forever! That’s what is good, after tiring one’s self out
+for twenty years! And Gervaise, as hunger twisted her stomach, thought
+in spite of herself of the fete days, the spreads and the revelry of
+her life. Of one occasion especially, an awfully cold day, a mid-Lent
+Thursday. She had enjoyed herself wonderfully well. She was very
+pretty, fair-haired and fresh looking at that time. Her wash-house in
+the Rue Neuve had chosen her as queen in spite of her leg. And then
+they had had an outing on the boulevards in carts decked with greenery,
+in the midst of stylish people who ogled her. Real gentlemen put up
+their glasses as if she had been a true queen. In the evening there was
+a wonderful spread, and then they had danced till daylight. Queen; yes
+Queen! With a crown and a sash for twenty-four hours—twice round the
+clock! And now oppressed by hunger, she looked on the ground, as if she
+were seeking for the gutter in which she had let her fallen majesty
+tumble.
+
+She raised her eyes again. She was in front of the slaughter-houses
+which were being pulled down; through the gaps in the facade one could
+see the dark, stinking courtyards, still damp with blood. And when she
+had gone down the Boulevard again, she also saw the Lariboisiere
+Hospital, with its long grey wall, above which she could distinguish
+the mournful, fan-like wings, pierced with windows at even distances. A
+door in the wall filled the neighborhood with dread; it was the door of
+the dead in solid oak, and without a crack, as stern and as silent as a
+tombstone. Then to escape her thoughts, she hurried further down till
+she reached the railway bridge. The high parapets of riveted sheet-iron
+hid the line from view; she could only distinguish a corner of the
+station standing out against the luminous horizon of Paris, with a vast
+roof black with coal-dust. Through the clear space she could hear the
+engines whistling and the cars being shunted, in token of colossal
+hidden activity. Then a train passed by, leaving Paris, with puffing
+breath and a growing rumble. And all she perceived of this train was a
+white plume, a sudden gust of steam which rose above the parapet and
+then evaporated. But the bridge had shaken, and she herself seemed
+impressed by this departure at full speed. She turned round as if to
+follow the invisible engine, the noise of which was dying away.
+
+She caught a glimpse of open country through a gap between tall
+buildings. Oh, if only she could have taken a train and gone away, far
+away from this poverty and suffering. She might have started an
+entirely new life! Then she turned to look at the posters on the bridge
+sidings. One was on pretty blue paper and offered a fifty-franc reward
+for a lost dog. Someone must have really loved that dog!
+
+Gervaise slowly resumed her walk. In the smoky fog which was falling,
+the gas lamps were being lighted up; and the long avenues, which had
+grown bleak and indistinct, suddenly showed themselves plainly again,
+sparkling to their full length and piercing through the night, even to
+the vague darkness of the horizon. A great gust swept by; the widened
+spaces were lighted up with girdles of little flames, shining under the
+far-stretching moonless sky. It was the hour when, from one end of the
+Boulevard to the other, the dram-shops and the dancing-halls flamed
+gayly as the first glasses were merrily drunk and the first dance
+began. It was the great fortnightly pay-day, and the pavement was
+crowded with jostling revelers on the spree. There was a breath of
+merrymaking in the air—deuced fine revelry, but not objectionable so
+far. Fellows were filling themselves in the eating-houses; through the
+lighted windows you could see people feeding, with their mouths full
+and laughing without taking the trouble to swallow first. Drunkards
+were already installed in the wineshops, squabbling and gesticulating.
+And there was a cursed noise on all sides, voices shouting amid the
+constant clatter of feet on the pavement.
+
+“Say, are you coming to sip?” “Make haste, old man; I’ll pay for a
+glass of bottled wine.” “Here’s Pauline! Shan’t we just laugh!” The
+doors swung to and fro, letting a smell of wine and a sound of cornet
+playing escape into the open air. There was a gathering in front of
+Pere Colombe’s l’Assommoir, which was lighted up like a cathedral for
+high mass. _Mon Dieu!_ you would have said a real ceremony was going
+on, for several capital fellows, with rounded paunches and swollen
+cheeks, looking for all the world like professional choristers, were
+singing inside. They were celebrating Saint-Pay, of course—a very
+amiable saint, who no doubt keeps the cash box in Paradise. Only, on
+seeing how gaily the evening began, the retired petty tradesmen who had
+taken their wives out for a stroll wagged their heads, and repeated
+that there would be any number of drunken men in Paris that night. And
+the night stretched very dark, dead-like and icy, above this revelry,
+perforated only with lines of gas lamps extending to the four corners
+of heaven.
+
+Gervaise stood in front of l’Assommoir, thinking that if she had had a
+couple of sous she could have gone inside and drunk a dram. No doubt a
+dram would have quieted her hunger. Ah! what a number of drams she had
+drunk in her time! Liquor seemed good stuff to her after all. And from
+outside she watched the drunk-making machine, realizing that her
+misfortune was due to it, and yet dreaming of finishing herself off
+with brandy on the day she had some coin. But a shudder passed through
+her hair as she saw it was now almost dark. Well, the night time was
+approaching. She must have some pluck and sell herself coaxingly if she
+didn’t wish to kick the bucket in the midst of the general revelry.
+Looking at other people gorging themselves didn’t precisely fill her
+own stomach. She slackened her pace again and looked around her. There
+was a darker shade under the trees. Few people passed along, only folks
+in a hurry, who swiftly crossed the Boulevards. And on the broad, dark,
+deserted footway, where the sound of the revelry died away, women were
+standing and waiting. They remained for long intervals motionless,
+patient and as stiff-looking as the scrubby little plane trees; then
+they slowly began to move, dragging their slippers over the frozen
+soil, taking ten steps or so and then waiting again, rooted as it were
+to the ground. There was one of them with a huge body and insect-like
+arms and legs, wearing a black silk rag, with a yellow scarf over her
+head; there was another one, tall and bony, who was bareheaded and wore
+a servant’s apron; and others, too—old ones plastered up and young ones
+so dirty that a ragpicker would not have picked them up. However,
+Gervaise tried to learn what to do by imitating them; girlish-like
+emotion tightened her throat; she was hardly aware whether she felt
+ashamed or not; she seemed to be living in a horrible dream. For a
+quarter of an hour she remained standing erect. Men hurried by without
+even turning their heads. Then she moved about in her turn, and
+venturing to accost a man who was whistling with his hands in his
+pockets, she murmured, in a strangled voice:
+
+“Sir, listen a moment—”
+
+The man gave her a side glance and then went off, whistling all the
+louder.
+
+Gervaise grew bolder, and, with her stomach empty, she became absorbed
+in this chase, fiercely rushing after her dinner, which was still
+running away. She walked about for a long while, without thinking of
+the flight of time or of the direction she took. Around her the dark,
+mute women went to and fro under the trees like wild beasts in a cage.
+They stepped out of the shade like apparitions, and passed under the
+light of a gas lamp with their pale masks fully apparent; then they
+grew vague again as they went off into the darkness, with a white strip
+of petticoat swinging to and fro. Men let themselves be stopped at
+times, talked jokingly, and then started off again laughing. Others
+would quietly follow a woman to her room, discreetly, ten paces behind.
+There was a deal of muttering, quarreling in an undertone and furious
+bargaining, which suddenly subsided into profound silence. And as far
+as Gervaise went she saw these women standing like sentinels in the
+night. They seemed to be placed along the whole length of the
+Boulevard. As soon as she met one she saw another twenty paces further
+on, and the file stretched out unceasingly. Entire Paris was guarded.
+She grew enraged on finding herself disdained, and changing her place,
+she now perambulated between the Chaussee de Clignancourt and the Grand
+Rue of La Chapelle. All were beggars.
+
+“Sir, just listen.”
+
+But the men passed by. She started from the slaughter-houses, which
+stank of blood. She glanced on her way at the old Hotel Boncoeur, now
+closed. She passed in front of the Lariboisiere Hospital, and
+mechanically counted the number of windows that were illuminated with a
+pale quiet glimmer, like that of night-lights at the bedside of some
+agonizing sufferers. She crossed the railway bridge as the trains
+rushed by with a noisy rumble, rending the air in twain with their
+shrill whistling! Ah! how sad everything seemed at night-time! Then she
+turned on her heels again and filled her eyes with the sight of the
+same houses, doing this ten and twenty times without pausing, without
+resting for a minute on a bench. No; no one wanted her. Her shame
+seemed to be increased by this contempt. She went down towards the
+hospital again, and then returned towards the slaughter-houses. It was
+her last promenade—from the blood-stained courtyards, where animals
+were slaughtered, down to the pale hospital wards, where death
+stiffened the patients stretched between the sheets. It was between
+these two establishments that she had passed her life.
+
+“Sir, just listen.”
+
+But suddenly she perceived her shadow on the ground. When she
+approached a gas-lamp it gradually became less vague, till it stood out
+at last in full force—an enormous shadow it was, positively grotesque,
+so portly had she become. Her stomach, breast and hips, all equally
+flabby jostled together as it were. She walked with such a limp that
+the shadow bobbed almost topsy-turvy at every step she took; it looked
+like a real Punch! Then as she left the street lamp behind her, the
+Punch grew taller, becoming in fact gigantic, filling the whole
+Boulevard, bobbing to and fro in such style that it seemed fated to
+smash its nose against the trees or the houses. _Mon Dieu!_ how
+frightful she was! She had never realised her disfigurement so
+thoroughly. And she could not help looking at her shadow; indeed, she
+waited for the gas-lamps, still watching the Punch as it bobbed about.
+Ah! she had a pretty companion beside her! What a figure! It ought to
+attract the men at once! And at the thought of her unsightliness, she
+lowered her voice, and only just dared to stammer behind the
+passers-by:
+
+“Sir, just listen.”
+
+It was now getting quite late. Matters were growing bad in the
+neighborhood. The eating-houses had closed and voices, gruff with
+drink, could be heard disputing in the wineshops. Revelry was turning
+to quarreling and fisticuffs. A big ragged chap roared out, “I’ll knock
+yer to bits; just count yer bones.” A large woman had quarreled with a
+fellow outside a dancing place, and was calling him “dirty blackguard”
+and “lousy bum,” whilst he on his side just muttered under his breath.
+Drink seemed to have imparted a fierce desire to indulge in blows, and
+the passers-by, who were now less numerous, had pale contracted faces.
+There was a battle at last; one drunken fellow came down on his back
+with all four limbs raised in the air, whilst his comrade, thinking he
+had done for him, ran off with his heavy shoes clattering over the
+pavement. Groups of men sang dirty songs and then there would be long
+silences broken only by hiccoughs or the thud of a drunk falling down.
+
+Gervaise still hobbled about, going up and down, with the idea of
+walking forever. At times, she felt drowsy and almost went to sleep,
+rocked, as it were, by her lame leg; then she looked round her with a
+start, and noticed she had walked a hundred yards unconsciously. Her
+feet were swelling in her ragged shoes. The last clear thought that
+occupied her mind was that her hussy of a daughter was perhaps eating
+oysters at that very moment. Then everything became cloudy; and,
+albeit, she remained with open eyes, it required too great an effort
+for her to think. The only sensation that remained to her, in her utter
+annihilation, was that it was frightfully cold, so sharply, mortally
+cold, she had never known the like before. Why, even dead people could
+not feel so cold in their graves. With an effort she raised her head,
+and something seemed to lash her face. It was the snow, which had at
+last decided to fall from the smoky sky—fine thick snow, which the
+breeze swept round and round. For three days it had been expected and
+what a splendid moment it chose to appear.
+
+Woken up by the first gusts, Gervaise began to walk faster. Eager to
+get home, men were running along, with their shoulders already white.
+And as she suddenly saw one who, on the contrary, was coming slowly
+towards her under the trees, she approached him and again said: “Sir,
+just listen—”
+
+The man has stopped. But he did not seem to have heard her. He held out
+his hand, and muttered in a low voice: “Charity, if you please!”
+
+They looked at one another. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ They were reduced to
+this—Pere Bru begging, Madame Coupeau walking the streets! They
+remained stupefied in front of each other. They could join hands as
+equals now. The old workman had prowled about the whole evening, not
+daring to stop anyone, and the first person he accosted was as hungry
+as himself. Lord, was it not pitiful! To have toiled for fifty years
+and be obliged to beg! To have been one of the most prosperous
+laundresses in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or and to end beside the gutter!
+They still looked at one another. Then, without saying a word, they
+went off in different directions under the lashing snow.
+
+It was a perfect tempest. On these heights, in the midst of this open
+space, the fine snow revolved round and round as if the wind came from
+the four corners of heaven. You could not see ten paces off, everything
+was confused in the midst of this flying dust. The surroundings had
+disappeared, the Boulevard seemed to be dead, as if the storm had
+stretched the silence of its white sheet over the hiccoughs of the last
+drunkards. Gervaise still went on, blinded, lost. She felt her way by
+touching the trees. As she advanced the gas-lamps shone out amidst the
+whiteness like torches. Then, suddenly, whenever she crossed an open
+space, these lights failed her; she was enveloped in the whirling snow,
+unable to distinguish anything to guide her. Below stretched the
+ground, vaguely white; grey walls surrounded her, and when she paused,
+hesitating and turning her head, she divined that behind this icy veil
+extended the immense avenue with interminable vistas of gas-lamps—the
+black and deserted Infinite of Paris asleep.
+
+She was standing where the outer Boulevard meets the Boulevards Magenta
+and Ornano, thinking of lying down on the ground, when suddenly she
+heard a footfall. She began to run, but the snow blinded her, and the
+footsteps went off without her being able to tell whether it was to the
+right or to the left. At last, however, she perceived a man’s broad
+shoulders, a dark form which was disappearing amid the snow. Oh! she
+wouldn’t let this man get away. And she ran on all the faster, reached
+him, and caught him by the blouse: “Sir, sir, just listen.”
+
+The man turned round. It was Goujet.
+
+So now she had accosted Golden-Beard. But what had she done on earth to
+be tortured like this by Providence? It was the crowning blow—to
+stumble against Goujet, and be seen by her blacksmith friend, pale and
+begging, like a common street walker. And it happened just under a
+gas-lamp; she could see her deformed shadow swaying on the snow like a
+real caricature. You would have said she was drunk. _Mon Dieu!_ not to
+have a crust of bread, or a drop of wine in her body, and to be taken
+for a drunken women! It was her own fault, why did she booze? Goujet no
+doubt thought she had been drinking, and that she was up to some nasty
+pranks.
+
+He looked at her while the snow scattered daisies over his beautiful
+yellow beard. Then as she lowered her head and stepped back he detained
+her.
+
+“Come,” said he.
+
+And he walked on first. She followed him. They both crossed the silent
+district, gliding noiselessly along the walls. Poor Madame Goujet had
+died of rheumatism in the month of October. Goujet still resided in the
+little house in the Rue Neuve, living gloomily alone. On this occasion
+he was belated because he had sat up nursing a wounded comrade. When he
+had opened the door and lighted a lamp, he turned towards Gervaise, who
+had remained humbly on the threshold. Then, in a low voice, as if he
+were afraid his mother could still hear him, he exclaimed, “Come in.”
+
+The first room, Madame Goujet’s, was piously preserved in the state she
+had left it. On a chair near the window lay the tambour by the side of
+the large arm-chair, which seemed to be waiting for the old
+lace-worker. The bed was made, and she could have stretched herself
+beneath the sheets if she had left the cemetery to come and spend the
+evening with her child. There was something solemn, a perfume of
+honesty and goodness about the room.
+
+“Come in,” repeated the blacksmith in a louder tone.
+
+She went in, half frightened, like a disreputable woman gliding into a
+respectable place. He was quite pale, and trembled at the thought of
+ushering a woman like this into his dead mother’s home. They crossed
+the room on tip-toe, as if they were ashamed to be heard. Then when he
+had pushed Gervaise into his own room he closed the door. Here he was
+at home. It was the narrow closet she was acquainted with; a
+schoolgirl’s room, with the little iron bedstead hung with white
+curtains. On the walls the engravings cut out of illustrated newspapers
+had gathered and spread, and they now reached to the ceiling. The room
+looked so pure that Gervaise did not dare to advance, but retreated as
+far as she could from the lamp. Then without a word, in a transport as
+it were, he tried to seize hold of her and press her in his arms. But
+she felt faint and murmured: “Oh! _Mon Dieu!_ Oh, _mon Dieu!_”
+
+The fire in the stove, having been covered with coke-dust, was still
+alight, and the remains of a stew which Goujet had put to warm,
+thinking he should return to dinner, was smoking in front of the
+cinders. Gervaise, who felt her numbness leave her in the warmth of
+this room, would have gone down on all fours to eat out of the
+saucepan. Her hunger was stronger than her will; her stomach seemed
+rent in two; and she stooped down with a sigh. Goujet had realized the
+truth. He placed the stew on the table, cut some bread, and poured her
+out a glass of wine.
+
+“Thank you! Thank you!” said she. “Oh, how kind you are! Thank you!”
+
+She stammered; she could hardly articulate. When she caught hold of her
+fork she began to tremble so acutely that she let it fall again. The
+hunger that possessed her made her wag her head as if senile. She
+carried the food to her mouth with her fingers. As she stuffed the
+first potato into her mouth, she burst out sobbing. Big tears coursed
+down her cheeks and fell onto her bread. She still ate, gluttonously
+devouring this bread thus moistened by her tears, and breathing very
+hard all the while. Goujet compelled her to drink to prevent her from
+stifling, and her glass chinked, as it were, against her teeth.
+
+“Will you have some more bread?” he asked in an undertone.
+
+She cried, she said “no,” she said “yes,” she didn’t know. Ah! how nice
+and yet how painful it is to eat when one is starving.
+
+And standing in front of her, Goujet looked at her all the while; under
+the bright light cast by the lamp-shade he could see her well. How aged
+and altered she seemed! The heat was melting the snow on her hair and
+clothes, and she was dripping. Her poor wagging head was quite grey;
+there were any number of grey locks which the wind had disarranged. Her
+neck sank into her shoulders and she had become so fat and ugly you
+might have cried on noticing the change. He recollected their love,
+when she was quite rosy, working with her irons, and showing the
+child-like crease which set such a charming necklace round her throat.
+In those times he had watched her for hours, glad just to look at her.
+Later on she had come to the forge, and there they had enjoyed
+themselves whilst he beat the iron, and she stood by watching his
+hammer dance. How often at night, with his head buried in his pillow,
+had he dreamed of holding her in his arms.
+
+Gervaise rose; she had finished. She remained for a moment with her
+head lowered, and ill at ease. Then, thinking she detected a gleam in
+his eyes, she raised her hand to her jacket and began to unfasten the
+first button. But Goujet had fallen on his knees, and taking hold of
+her hands, he exclaimed softly:
+
+“I love you, Madame Gervaise; oh! I love you still, and in spite of
+everything, I swear it to you!”
+
+“Don’t say that, Monsieur Goujet!” she cried, maddened to see him like
+this at her feet. “No, don’t say that; you grieve me too much.”
+
+And as he repeated that he could never love twice in his life, she
+became yet more despairing.
+
+“No, no, I am too ashamed. For the love of God get up. It is my place
+to be on the ground.”
+
+He rose, he trembled all over and stammered: “Will you allow me to kiss
+you?”
+
+Overcome with surprise and emotion she could not speak, but she
+assented with a nod of the head. After all she was his; he could do
+what he chose with her. But he merely kissed her.
+
+“That suffices between us, Madame Gervaise,” he muttered. “It sums up
+all our friendship, does it not?”
+
+He had kissed her on the forehead, on a lock of her grey hair. He had
+not kissed anyone since his mother’s death. His sweetheart Gervaise
+alone remained to him in life. And then, when he had kissed her with so
+much respect, he fell back across his bed with sobs rising in his
+throat. And Gervaise could not remain there any longer. It was too sad
+and too abominable to meet again under such circumstances when one
+loved. “I love you, Monsieur Goujet,” she exclaimed. “I love you
+dearly, also. Oh! it isn’t possible you still love me. Good-bye,
+good-bye; it would smother us both; it would be more than we could
+stand.”
+
+And she darted through Madame Goujet’s room and found herself outside
+on the pavement again. When she recovered her senses she had rung at
+the door in the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or and Boche was pulling the string.
+The house was quite dark, and in the black night the yawning,
+dilapidated porch looked like an open mouth. To think that she had been
+ambitious of having a corner in this barracks! Had her ears been
+stopped up then, that she had not heard the cursed music of despair
+which sounded behind the walls? Since she had set foot in the place she
+had begun to go down hill. Yes, it must bring bad luck to shut oneself
+up in these big workmen’s houses; the cholera of misery was contagious
+there. That night everyone seemed to have kicked the bucket. She only
+heard the Boches snoring on the right-hand side, while Lantier and
+Virginie on the left were purring like a couple of cats who were not
+asleep, but have their eyes closed and feel warm. In the courtyard she
+fancied she was in a perfect cemetery; the snow paved the ground with
+white; the high frontages, livid grey in tint, rose up unlighted like
+ruined walls, and not a sigh could be heard. It seemed as if a whole
+village, stiffened with cold and hunger, were buried here. She had to
+step over a black gutter—water from the dye-works—which smoked and
+streaked the whiteness of the snow with its muddy course. It was the
+color of her thoughts. The beautiful light blue and light pink waters
+had long since flowed away.
+
+Then, whilst ascending the six flights of stairs in the dark, she could
+not prevent herself from laughing; an ugly laugh which hurt her. She
+recalled her ideal of former days: to work quietly, always have bread
+to eat and a tidy house to sleep in, to bring up her children, not to
+be beaten and to die in her bed. No, really, it was comical how all
+that was becoming realized! She no longer worked, she no longer ate,
+she slept on filth, her husband frequented all sorts of wineshops, and
+her husband drubbed her at all hours of the day; all that was left for
+her to do was to die on the pavement, and it would not take long if on
+getting into her room, she could only pluck up courage to fling herself
+out of the window. Was it not enough to make one think that she had
+hoped to earn thirty thousand francs a year, and no end of respect? Ah!
+really, in this life it is no use being modest; one only gets sat upon.
+Not even pap and a nest, that is the common lot.
+
+What increased her ugly laugh was the recollection of her grand hope of
+retiring into the country after twenty years passed in ironing. Well!
+she was on her way to the country. She was going to have her green
+corner in the Pere-Lachaise cemetery.
+
+When she entered the passage she was like a mad-woman. Her poor head
+was whirling round. At heart her great grief was at having bid the
+blacksmith an eternal farewell. All was ended between them; they would
+never see each other more. Then, besides that, all her other thoughts
+of misfortune pressed upon her, and almost caused her head to split. As
+she passed she poked her nose in at the Bijards’ and beheld Lalie dead,
+with a look of contentment on her face at having at last been laid out
+and slumbering forever. Ah, well! children were luckier than grown-up
+people. And, as a glimmer of light passed under old Bazouge’s door, she
+walked boldly in, seized with a mania for going off on the same journey
+as the little one.
+
+That old joker, Bazouge, had come home that night in an extraordinary
+state of gaiety. He had had such a booze that he was snoring on the
+ground in spite of the temperature, and that no doubt did not prevent
+him from dreaming something pleasant, for he seemed to be laughing from
+his stomach as he slept. The candle, which he had not put out, lighted
+up his old garments, his black cloak, which he had drawn over his knees
+as though it had been a blanket.
+
+On beholding him Gervaise uttered such a deep wailing that he awoke.
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ shut the door! It’s so cold! Ah! it’s you! What’s the
+matter? What do you want?”
+
+Then, Gervaise, stretching out her arms, no longer knowing what she
+stuttered, began passionately to implore him:
+
+“Oh! take me away! I’ve had enough; I want to go off. You mustn’t bear
+me any grudge. I didn’t know. One never knows until one’s ready. Oh,
+yes; one’s glad to go one day! Take me away! Take me away and I shall
+thank you!”
+
+She fell on her knees, all shaken with a desire which caused her to
+turn ghastly pale. Never before had she thus dragged herself at a man’s
+feet. Old Bazouge’s ugly mug, with his mouth all on one side and his
+hide begrimed with the dust of funerals, seemed to her as beautiful and
+resplendent as a sun. The old fellow, who was scarcely awake thought,
+however, that it was some sort of bad joke.
+
+“Look here,” murmured he, “no jokes!”
+
+“Take me away,” repeated Gervaise more ardently still. “You remember, I
+knocked one evening against the partition; then I said that it wasn’t
+true, because I was still a fool. But see! Give me your hands. I’m no
+longer frightened. Take me away to by-by; you’ll see how still I’ll be.
+Oh! sleep, that’s all I care for. Oh! I’ll love you so much!”
+
+Bazouge, ever gallant, thought that he ought not to be hasty with a
+lady who appeared to have taken such a fancy to him. She was falling to
+pieces, but all the same, what remained was very fine, especially when
+she was excited.
+
+“What you say is very true,” said he in a convinced manner. “I packed
+up three more to-day who would only have been too glad to have given me
+something for myself, could they but have got their hands to their
+pockets. But, little woman, it’s not so easily settled as all that—”
+
+“Take me away, take me away,” continued Gervaise, “I want to die.”
+
+“Ah! but there’s a little operation to be gone through beforehand—you
+know, glug!”
+
+And he made a noise in his throat, as though swallowing his tongue.
+Then, thinking it a good joke, he chuckled.
+
+Gervaise slowly rose to her feet. So he too could do nothing for her.
+She went to her room and threw herself on her straw, feeling stupid,
+and regretting she had eaten. Ah! no indeed, misery did not kill
+quickly enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+That night Coupeau went on a spree. Next day, Gervaise received ten
+francs from her son Etienne, who was a mechanic on some railway. The
+youngster sent her a few francs from time to time, knowing that they
+were not very well off at home. She made some soup, and ate it all
+alone, for that scoundrel Coupeau did not return on the morrow. On
+Monday he was still absent, and on Tuesday also. The whole week went
+by. Ah, it would be good luck if some woman took him in.
+
+On Sunday Gervaise received a printed document. It was to inform her
+that her husband was dying at the Sainte-Anne asylum.
+
+Gervaise did not disturb herself. He knew the way; he could very well
+get home from the asylum by himself. They had cured him there so often
+that they could once more do him the sorry service of putting him on
+his pins again. Had she not heard that very morning that for the week
+before Coupeau had been seen as round as a ball, rolling about
+Belleville from one dram shop to another in the company of My-Boots.
+Exactly so; and it was My-Boots, too, who stood treat. He must have
+hooked his missus’s stocking with all the savings gained at very hard
+work. It wasn’t clean money they had used, but money that could infect
+them with any manner of vile diseases. Well, anyway, they hadn’t
+thought to invite her for a drink. If you wanted to drink by yourself,
+you could croak by yourself.
+
+However, on Monday, as Gervaise had a nice little meal planned for the
+evening, the remains of some beans and a pint of wine, she pretended to
+herself that a walk would give her an appetite. The letter from the
+asylum which she had left lying on the bureau bothered her. The snow
+had melted, the day was mild and grey and on the whole fine, with just
+a slight keenness in the air which was invigorating. She started at
+noon, for her walk was a long one. She had to cross Paris and her bad
+leg always slowed her. With that the streets were crowded; but the
+people amused her; she reached her destination very pleasantly. When
+she had given her name, she was told a most astounding story to the
+effect that Coupeau had been fished out of the Seine close to the
+Pont-Neuf. He had jumped over the parapet, under the impression that a
+bearded man was barring his way. A fine jump, was it not? And as for
+finding out how Coupeau got to be on the Pont-Neuf, that was a matter
+he could not even explain himself.
+
+One of the keepers escorted Gervaise. She was ascending a staircase,
+when she heard howlings which made her shiver to her very bones.
+
+“He’s playing a nice music, isn’t he?” observed the keeper.
+
+“Who is?” asked she.
+
+“Why, your old man! He’s been yelling like that ever since the day
+before yesterday; and he dances, you’ll just see.”
+
+_Mon Dieu!_ what a sight! She stood as one transfixed. The cell was
+padded from the floor to the ceiling. On the floor there were two straw
+mats, one piled on top of the other; and in a corner were spread a
+mattress and a bolster, nothing more. Inside there Coupeau was dancing
+and yelling, his blouse in tatters and his limbs beating the air. He
+wore the mask of one about to die. What a breakdown! He bumped up
+against the window, then retired backwards, beating time with his arms
+and shaking his hands as though he were trying to wrench them off and
+fling them in somebody’s face. One meets with buffoons in low dancing
+places who imitate the delirium tremens, only they imitate it badly.
+One must see this drunkard’s dance if one wishes to know what it is
+like when gone through in earnest. The song also has its merits, a
+continuous yell worthy of carnival-time, a mouth wide open uttering the
+same hoarse trombone notes for hours together. Coupeau had the howl of
+a beast with a crushed paw. Strike up, music! Gentlemen, choose your
+partners!
+
+“_Mon Dieu!_ what is the matter with him? What is the matter with him?”
+repeated Gervaise, seized with fear.
+
+A house surgeon, a big fair fellow with a rosy countenance, and wearing
+a white apron, was quietly sitting taking notes. The case was a curious
+one; the doctor did not leave the patient.
+
+“Stay a while if you like,” said he to the laundress; “but keep quiet.
+Try and speak to him, he will not recognise you.”
+
+Coupeau indeed did not even appear to see his wife. She had only had a
+bad view of him on entering, he was wriggling about so much. When she
+looked him full in the face, she stood aghast. _Mon Dieu!_ was it
+possible he had a countenance like that, his eyes full of blood and his
+lips covered with scabs? She would certainly never have known him. To
+begin with, he was making too many grimaces, without saying why, his
+mouth suddenly out of all shape, his nose curled up, his cheeks drawn
+in, a perfect animal’s muzzle. His skin was so hot the air steamed
+around him; and his hide was as though varnished, covered with a heavy
+sweat which trickled off him. In his mad dance, one could see all the
+same that he was not at his ease, his head was heavy and his limbs
+ached.
+
+Gervaise drew near to the house surgeon, who was strumming a tune with
+the tips of his fingers on the back of his chair.
+
+“Tell me, sir, it’s serious then this time?”
+
+The house surgeon nodded his head without answering.
+
+“Isn’t he jabbering to himself? Eh! don’t you hear? What’s it about?
+
+“About things he sees,” murmured the young man. “Keep quiet, let me
+listen.”
+
+Coupeau was speaking in a jerky voice. A glimmer of amusement lit up
+his eyes. He looked on the floor, to the right, to the left, and turned
+about as though he had been strolling in the Bois de Vincennes,
+conversing with himself.
+
+“Ah! that’s nice, that’s grand! There’re cottages, a regular fair. And
+some jolly fine music! What a Balthazar’s feast! They’re smashing the
+crockery in there. Awfully swell! Now it’s being lit up; red balls in
+the air, and it jumps, and it flies! Oh! oh! what a lot of lanterns in
+the trees! It’s confoundedly pleasant! There’s water flowing
+everywhere, fountains, cascades, water which sings, oh! with the voice
+of a chorister. The cascades are grand!”
+
+And he drew himself up, as though the better to hear the delicious song
+of the water; he sucked in forcibly, fancying he was drinking the fresh
+spray blown from the fountains. But, little by little, his face resumed
+an agonized expression. Then he crouched down and flew quicker than
+ever around the walls of the cell, uttering vague threats.
+
+“More traps, all that! I thought as much. Silence, you set of
+swindlers! Yes, you’re making a fool of me. It’s for that that you’re
+drinking and bawling inside there with your viragoes. I’ll demolish
+you, you and your cottage! Damnation! Will you leave me in peace?”
+
+He clinched his fists; then he uttered a hoarse cry, stooping as he
+ran. And he stuttered, his teeth chattering with fright.
+
+“It’s so that I may kill myself. No, I won’t throw myself in! All that
+water means that I’ve no heart. No, I won’t throw myself in!”
+
+The cascades, which fled at his approach, advanced when he retired. And
+all of a sudden, he looked stupidly around him, mumbling, in a voice
+which was scarcely audible:
+
+“It isn’t possible, they set conjurers against me!”
+
+“I’m off, sir. I’ve got to go. Good-night!” said Gervaise to the house
+surgeon. “It upsets me too much; I’ll come again.”
+
+She was quite white. Coupeau was continuing his breakdown from the
+window to the mattress and from the mattress to the window, perspiring,
+toiling, always beating the same rhythm. Then she hurried away. But
+though she scrambled down the stairs, she still heard her husband’s
+confounded jig until she reached the bottom. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ how
+pleasant it was out of doors, one could breathe there!
+
+That evening everyone in the tenement was discussing Coupeau’s strange
+malady. The Boches invited Gervaise to have a drink with them, even
+though they now considered Clump-clump beneath them, in order to hear
+all the details. Madame Lorilleux and Madame Poisson were there also.
+Boche told of a carpenter he had known who had been a drinker of
+absinthe. The man shed his clothes, went out in the street and danced
+the polka until he died. That rather struck the ladies as comic, even
+though it was very sad.
+
+Gervaise got up in the middle of the room and did an imitation of
+Coupeau. Yes, that’s just how it was. Can anyone feature a man doing
+that for hours on end? If they didn’t believe they could go see for
+themselves.
+
+On getting up the next morning, Gervaise promised herself she would not
+return to the Sainte-Anne again. What use would it be? She did not want
+to go off her head also. However, every ten minutes, she fell to musing
+and became absent-minded. It would be curious though, if he were still
+throwing his legs about. When twelve o’clock struck, she could no
+longer resist; she started off and did not notice how long the walk
+was, her brain was so full of her desire to go and the dread of what
+awaited her.
+
+Oh! there was no need for her to ask for news. She heard Coupeau’s song
+the moment she reached the foot of the staircase. Just the same tune,
+just the same dance. She might have thought herself going up again
+after having only been down for a minute. The attendant of the day
+before, who was carrying some jugs of tisane along the corridor, winked
+his eye as he met her, by way of being amiable.
+
+“Still the same, then?” said she.
+
+“Oh! still the same!” he replied without stopping.
+
+She entered the room, but she remained near the door, because there
+were some people with Coupeau. The fair, rosy house surgeon was
+standing up, having given his chair to a bald old gentleman who was
+decorated and had a pointed face like a weasel. He was no doubt the
+head doctor, for his glance was as sharp and piercing as a gimlet. All
+the dealers in sudden death have a glance like that.
+
+No, really, it was not a pretty sight; and Gervaise, all in a tremble,
+asked herself why she had returned. To think that the evening before
+they accused her at the Boches’ of exaggerating the picture! Now she
+saw better how Coupeau set about it, his eyes wide open looking into
+space, and she would never forget it. She overheard a few words between
+the house surgeon and the head doctor. The former was giving some
+details of the night: her husband had talked and thrown himself about,
+that was what it amounted to. Then the bald-headed old gentleman, who
+was not very polite by the way, at length appeared to become aware of
+her presence; and when the house surgeon had informed him that she was
+the patient’s wife, he began to question her in the harsh manner of a
+commissary of the police.
+
+“Did this man’s father drink?”
+
+“Yes, sir; just a little like everyone. He killed himself by falling
+from a roof one day when he was tipsy.”
+
+“Did his mother drink?”
+
+“Well! sir, like everyone else, you know; a drop here, a drop there.
+Oh! the family is very respectable! There was a brother who died very
+young in convulsions.”
+
+The doctor looked at her with his piercing eye. He resumed in his rough
+voice:
+
+“And you, you drink too, don’t you?”
+
+Gervaise stammered, protested, and placed her hand upon her heart, as
+though to take her solemn oath.
+
+“You drink! Take care; see where drink leads to. One day or other you
+will die thus.”
+
+Then she remained close to the wall. The doctor had turned his back to
+her. He squatted down, without troubling himself as to whether his
+overcoat trailed in the dust of the matting; for a long while he
+studied Coupeau’s trembling, waiting for its reappearance, following it
+with his glance. That day the legs were going in their turn, the
+trembling had descended from the hands to the feet; a regular puppet
+with his strings being pulled, throwing his limbs about, whilst the
+trunk of his body remained as stiff as a piece of wood. The disease
+progressed little by little. It was like a musical box beneath the
+skin; it started off every three or four seconds and rolled along for
+an instant; then it stopped and then it started off again, just the
+same as the little shiver which shakes stray dogs in winter, when cold
+and standing in some doorway for protection. Already the middle of the
+body and the shoulders quivered like water on the point of boiling. It
+was a funny demolition all the same, going off wriggling like a girl
+being tickled.
+
+Coupeau, meanwhile, was complaining in a hollow voice. He seemed to
+suffer a great deal more than the day before. His broken murmurs
+disclosed all sorts of ailments. Thousands of pins were pricking him.
+He felt something heavy all about his body; some cold, wet animal was
+crawling over his thighs and digging its fangs into his flesh. Then
+there were other animals sticking to his shoulders, tearing his back
+with their claws.
+
+“I’m thirsty, oh! I’m thirsty!” groaned he continually.
+
+The house surgeon handed him a little lemonade from a small shelf;
+Coupeau seized the mug in both hands and greedily took a mouthful,
+spilling half the liquid over himself; but he spat it out at once with
+furious disgust, exclaiming:
+
+“Damnation! It’s brandy!”
+
+Then, on a sign from the doctor, the house surgeon tried to make him
+drink some water without leaving go of the bottle. This time he
+swallowed the mouthful, yelling as though he had swallowed fire.
+
+“It’s brandy; damnation! It’s brandy!”
+
+Since the night before, everything he had had to drink was brandy. It
+redoubled his thirst and he could no longer drink, because everything
+burnt him. They had brought him some broth, but they were evidently
+trying to poison him, for the broth smelt of vitriol. The bread was
+sour and moldy. There was nothing but poison around him. The cell stank
+of sulphur. He even accused persons of rubbing matches under his nose
+to infect him.
+
+All on a sudden he exclaimed:
+
+“Oh! the rats, there’re the rats now!”
+
+There were black balls that were changing into rats. These filthy
+animals got fatter and fatter, then they jumped onto the mattress and
+disappeared. There was also a monkey which came out of the wall, and
+went back into the wall, and which approached so near him each time,
+that he drew back through fear of having his nose bitten off. Suddenly
+there was another change, the walls were probably cutting capers, for
+he yelled out, choking with terror and rage:
+
+“That’s it, gee up! Shake me, I don’t care! Gee up! Tumble down! Yes,
+ring the bells, you black crows! Play the organ to prevent my calling
+the police. They’ve put a bomb behind the wall, the lousy scoundrels! I
+can hear it, it snorts, they’re going to blow us up! Fire! Damnation,
+fire! There’s a cry of fire! There it blazes. Oh, it’s getting lighter,
+lighter! All the sky’s burning, red fires, green fires, yellow fires.
+Hi! Help! Fire!”
+
+His cries became lost in a rattle. He now only mumbled disconnected
+words, foaming at the mouth, his chin wet with saliva. The doctor
+rubbed his nose with his finger, a movement no doubt habitual with him
+in the presence of serious cases. He turned to the house surgeon, and
+asked him in a low voice:
+
+“And the temperature, still the hundred degrees, is it not?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+The doctor pursed his lips. He continued there another two minutes, his
+eyes fixed on Coupeau. Then he shrugged his shoulders, adding:
+
+“The same treatment, broth, milk, lemonade, and the potion of extract
+of quinine. Do not leave him, and call me if necessary.”
+
+He went out and Gervaise followed him, to ask him if there was any
+hope. But he walked so stiffly along the corridor, that she did not
+dare approach him. She stood rooted there a minute, hesitating whether
+to return and look at her husband. The time she had already passed had
+been far from pleasant. As she again heard him calling out that the
+lemonade smelt of brandy, she hurried away, having had enough of the
+performance. In the streets, the galloping of the horses and the noise
+of the vehicles made her fancy that all the inmates of Saint-Anne were
+at her heels. And that the doctor had threatened her! Really, she
+already thought she had the complaint.
+
+In the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or the Boches and the others were naturally
+awaiting her. The moment she appeared they called her into the
+concierge’s room. Well! was old Coupeau still in the land of the
+living? _Mon Dieu!_ yes, he still lived. Boche seemed amazed and
+confounded; he had bet a bottle that old Coupeau would not last till
+the evening. What! He still lived! And they all exhibited their
+astonishment, and slapped their thighs. There was a fellow who lasted!
+Madame Lorilleux reckoned up the hours; thirty-six hours and
+twenty-four hours, sixty hours. _Sacre Dieu!_ already sixty hours that
+he had been doing the jig and screaming! Such a feat of strength had
+never been seen before. But Boche, who was upset that he had lost the
+bet, questioned Gervaise with an air of doubt, asking her if she was
+quite sure he had not filed off behind her back. Oh! no, he had no
+desire to, he jumped about too much. Then Boche, still doubting, begged
+her to show them again a little how he was acting, just so they could
+see. Yes, yes, a little more! The request was general! The company told
+her she would be very kind if she would oblige, for just then two
+neighbors happened to be there who had not been present the day before,
+and who had come down purposely to see the performance. The concierge
+called to everybody to make room, they cleared the centre of the
+apartment, pushing one another with their elbows, and quivering with
+curiosity. Gervaise, however, hung down her head. Really, she was
+afraid it might upset her. Desirous though of showing that she did not
+refuse for the sake of being pressed, she tried two or three little
+leaps; but she became quite queer, and stopped; on her word of honor,
+she was not equal to it! There was a murmur of disappointment; it was a
+pity, she imitated it perfectly. However, she could not do it, it was
+no use insisting! And when Virginie left to return to her shop, they
+forgot all about old Coupeau and began to gossip about the Poissons and
+their home, a real mess now. The day before, the bailiffs had been; the
+policeman was about to lose his place; as for Lantier, he was now
+making up to the daughter of the restaurant keeper next door, a fine
+woman, who talked of setting up as a tripe-seller. Ah! it was amusing,
+everyone already beheld a tripe-seller occupying the shop; after the
+sweets should come something substantial. And that blind Poisson! How
+could a man whose profession required him to be so smart fail to see
+what was going on in his own home? They stopped talking suddenly when
+they noticed that Gervaise was off in a corner by herself imitating
+Coupeau. Her hands and feet were jerking. Yes, they couldn’t ask for a
+better performance! Then Gervaise started as if waking from a dream and
+hurried away calling out good-night to everyone.
+
+On the morrow, the Boches saw her start off at twelve, the same as on
+the two previous days. They wished her a pleasant afternoon. That day
+the corridor at Sainte-Anne positively shook with Coupeau’s yells and
+kicks. She had not left the stairs when she heard him yelling:
+
+“What a lot of bugs!—Come this way again that I may squash you!—Ah!
+they want to kill me! ah! the bugs!—I’m a bigger swell than the lot of
+you! Clear out, damnation! Clear out.”
+
+For a moment she stood panting before the door. Was he then fighting
+against an army? When she entered, the performance had increased and
+was embellished even more than on previous occasions. Coupeau was a
+raving madman, the same as one sees at the Charenton mad-house! He was
+throwing himself about in the center of the cell, slamming his fists
+everywhere, on himself, on the walls, on the floor, and stumbling about
+punching empty space. He wanted to open the window, and he hid himself,
+defended himself, called, answered, produced all this uproar without
+the least assistance, in the exasperated way of a man beset by a mob of
+people. Then Gervaise understood that he fancied he was on a roof,
+laying down sheets of zinc. He imitated the bellows with his mouth, he
+moved the iron about in the fire and knelt down so as to pass his thumb
+along the edges of the mat, thinking that he was soldering it. Yes, his
+handicraft returned to him at the moment of croaking; and if he yelled
+so loud, if he fought on his roof, it was because ugly scoundrels were
+preventing him doing his work properly. On all the neighboring roofs
+were villains mocking and tormenting him. Besides that, the jokers were
+letting troops of rats loose about his legs. Ah! the filthy beasts, he
+saw them always! Though he kept crushing them, bringing his foot down
+with all his strength, fresh hordes of them continued passing, until
+they quite covered the roof. And there were spiders there too! He
+roughly pressed his trousers against his thigh to squash some big
+spiders which had crept up his leg. _Mon Dieu!_ he would never finish
+his day’s work, they wanted to destroy him, his employer would send him
+to prison. Then, whilst making haste, he suddenly imagined he had a
+steam-engine in his stomach; with his mouth wide open, he puffed out
+the smoke, a dense smoke which filled the cell and found an outlet by
+the window; and, bending forward, still puffing, he looked outside of
+the cloud of smoke as it unrolled and ascended to the sky, where it hid
+the sun.
+
+“Look!” cried he, “there’s the band of the Chaussee Clignancourt,
+disguised as bears with drums, putting on a show.”
+
+He remained crouching before the window, as though he had been watching
+a procession in a street, from some rooftop.
+
+“There’s the cavalcade, lions and panthers making grimaces—there’s
+brats dressed up as dogs and cats—there’s tall Clemence, with her wig
+full of feathers. Ah! _Mon Dieu!_ she’s turning head over heels; she’s
+showed everything—you’d better run, Duckie. Hey, the cops, leave her
+alone!—just you leave her alone—don’t shoot! Don’t shoot—”
+
+His voice rose, hoarse and terrified and he stooped down quickly,
+saying that the police and the military were below, men who were aiming
+at him with rifles. In the wall he saw the barrel of a pistol emerging,
+pointed at his breast. They had dragged the girl away.
+
+“Don’t shoot! _Mon Dieu!_ Don’t shoot!”
+
+Then, the buildings were tumbling down, he imitated the cracking of a
+whole neighborhood collapsing; and all disappeared, all flew off. But
+he had no time to take breath, other pictures passed with extraordinary
+rapidity. A furious desire to speak filled his mouth full of words
+which he uttered without any connection, and with a gurgling sound in
+his throat. He continued to raise his voice, louder and louder.
+
+“Hallow, it’s you? Good-day! No jokes! Don’t make me nuzzle your hair.”
+
+And he passed his hand before his face, he blew to send the hairs away.
+The house surgeon questioned him.
+
+“Who is it you see?”
+
+“My wife, of course!”
+
+He was looking at the wall, with his back to Gervaise. The latter had a
+rare fright, and she examined the wall, to see if she also could catch
+sight of herself there. He continued talking.
+
+“Now, you know, none of your wheedling—I won’t be tied down! You are
+pretty, you have got a fine dress. Where did you get the money for it,
+you cow? You’ve been at a party, camel! Wait a bit and I’ll do for you!
+Ah! you’re hiding your boy friend behind your skirts. Who is it? Stoop
+down that I may see. Damnation, it’s him again!”
+
+With a terrible leap, he went head first against the wall; but the
+padding softened the blow. One only heard his body rebounding onto the
+matting, where the shock had sent him.
+
+“Who is it you see?” repeated the house surgeon.
+
+“The hatter! The hatter!” yelled Coupeau.
+
+And the house surgeon questioning Gervaise, the latter stuttered
+without being able to answer, for this scene stirred up within her all
+the worries of her life. The zinc-worker thrust out his fists.
+
+“We’ll settle this between us, my lad. It’s full time I did for you!
+Ah, you coolly come, with that virago on your arm, to make a fool of me
+before everyone. Well! I’m going to throttle you—yes, yes, I! And
+without putting any gloves on either! I’ll stop your swaggering. Take
+that! And that! And that!”
+
+He hit about in the air viciously. Then a wild rage took possession of
+him. Having bumped against the wall in walking backwards, he thought he
+was being attacked from behind. He turned round, and fiercely hammered
+away at the padding. He sprang about, jumped from one corner to
+another, knocked his stomach, his back, his shoulder, rolled over, and
+picked himself up again. His bones seemed softened, his flesh had a
+sound like damp oakum. He accompanied this pretty game with atrocious
+threats, and wild and guttural cries. However the battle must have been
+going badly for him, for his breathing became quicker, his eyes were
+starting out of his head, and he seemed little by little to be seized
+with the cowardice of a child.
+
+“Murder! Murder! Be off with you both. Oh! you brutes, they’re
+laughing. There she is on her back, the virago! She must give in, it’s
+settled. Ah! the brigand, he’s murdering her! He’s cutting off her leg
+with his knife. The other leg’s on the ground, the stomach’s in two,
+it’s full of blood. Oh! _Mon Dieu!_ Oh! _Mon Dieu!_”
+
+And, covered with perspiration, his hair standing on end, looking a
+frightful object, he retired backwards, violently waving his arms, as
+though to send the abominable sight from him. He uttered two
+heart-rending wails, and fell flat on his back on the mattress, against
+which his heels had caught.
+
+“He’s dead, sir, he’s dead!” said Gervaise, clasping her hands.
+
+The house surgeon had drawn near, and was pulling Coupeau into the
+middle of the mattress. No, he was not dead. They had taken his shoes
+off. His bare feet hung off the end of the mattress and they were
+dancing all by themselves, one beside the other, in time, a little
+hurried and regular dance.
+
+Just then the head doctor entered. He had brought two of his
+colleagues—one thin, the other fat, and both decorated like himself.
+All three stooped down without saying a word, and examined the man all
+over; then they rapidly conversed together in a low voice. They had
+uncovered Coupeau from his thighs to his shoulders, and by standing on
+tiptoe Gervaise could see the naked trunk spread out. Well! it was
+complete. The trembling had descended from the arms and ascended from
+the legs, and now the trunk itself was getting lively!
+
+“He’s sleeping,” murmured the head doctor.
+
+And he called the two others’ attention to the man’s countenance.
+Coupeau, his eyes closed, had little nervous twinges which drew up all
+his face. He was more hideous still, thus flattened out, with his jaw
+projecting, and his visage deformed like a corpse’s that had suffered
+from nightmare; but the doctors, having caught sight of his feet, went
+and poked their noses over them, with an air of profound interest. The
+feet were still dancing. Though Coupeau slept the feet danced. Oh!
+their owner might snore, that did not concern them, they continued
+their little occupation without either hurrying or slackening. Regular
+mechanical feet, feet which took their pleasure wherever they found it.
+
+Gervaise having seen the doctors place their hands on her old man,
+wished to feel him also. She approached gently and laid a hand on his
+shoulder, and she kept it there a minute. _Mon Dieu!_ whatever was
+taking place inside? It danced down into the very depths of the flesh,
+the bones themselves must have been jumping. Quiverings, undulations,
+coming from afar, flowed like a river beneath the skin. When she
+pressed a little she felt she distinguished the suffering cries of the
+marrow. What a fearful thing, something was boring away like a mole! It
+must be the rotgut from l’Assommoir that was hacking away inside him.
+Well! his entire body had been soaked in it.
+
+The doctors had gone away. At the end of an hour Gervaise, who had
+remained with the house surgeon, repeated in a low voice:
+
+“He’s dead, sir; he’s dead!”
+
+But the house surgeon, who was watching the feet, shook his head. The
+bare feet, projecting beyond the mattress, still danced on. They were
+not particularly clean and the nails were long. Several more hours
+passed. All on a sudden they stiffened and became motionless. Then the
+house surgeon turned towards Gervaise, saying:
+
+“It’s over now.”
+
+Death alone had been able to stop those feet.
+
+When Gervaise got back to the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or she found at the
+Boches’ a number of women who were cackling in excited tones. She
+thought they were awaiting her to have the latest news, the same as the
+other days.
+
+“He’s gone,” said she, quietly, as she pushed open the door, looking
+tired out and dull.
+
+But no one listened to her. The whole building was topsy-turvy. Oh! a
+most extraordinary story. Poisson had caught his wife with Lantier.
+Exact details were not known, because everyone had a different version.
+However, he had appeared just when they were not expecting him. Some
+further information was given, which the ladies repeated to one another
+as they pursed their lips. A sight like that had naturally brought
+Poisson out of his shell. He was a regular tiger. This man, who talked
+but little and who always seemed to walk with a stick up his back, had
+begun to roar and jump about. Then nothing more had been heard. Lantier
+had evidently explained things to the husband. Anyhow, it could not
+last much longer, and Boche announced that the girl of the restaurant
+was for certain going to take the shop for selling tripe. That rogue of
+a hatter adored tripe.
+
+On seeing Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat arrive, Gervaise repeated,
+faintly:
+
+“He’s gone. _Mon Dieu!_ Four days’ dancing and yelling—”
+
+Then the two sisters could not do otherwise than pull out their
+handkerchiefs. Their brother had had many faults, but after all he was
+their brother. Boche shrugged his shoulders and said, loud enough to be
+heard by everyone:
+
+“Bah! It’s a drunkard the less.”
+
+From that day, as Gervaise often got a bit befuddled, one of the
+amusements of the house was to see her imitate Coupeau. It was no
+longer necessary to press her; she gave the performance gratis, her
+hands and feet trembling as she uttered little involuntary shrieks. She
+must have caught this habit at Sainte-Anne from watching her husband
+too long.
+
+Gervaise lasted in this state several months. She fell lower and lower
+still, submitting to the grossest outrages and dying of starvation a
+little every day. As soon as she had four sous she drank and pounded on
+the walls. She was employed on all the dirty errands of the
+neighborhood. Once they even bet her she wouldn’t eat filth, but she
+did it in order to earn ten sous. Monsieur Marescot had decided to turn
+her out of her room on the sixth floor. But, as Pere Bru had just been
+found dead in his cubbyhole under the staircase, the landlord had
+allowed her to turn into it. Now she roosted there in the place of Pere
+Bru. It was inside there, on some straw, that her teeth chattered,
+whilst her stomach was empty and her bones were frozen. The earth would
+not have her apparently. She was becoming idiotic. She did not even
+think of making an end of herself by jumping out of the sixth floor
+window on to the pavement of the courtyard below. Death had to take her
+little by little, bit by bit, dragging her thus to the end through the
+accursed existence she had made for herself. It was never even exactly
+known what she did die of. There was some talk of a cold, but the truth
+was she died of privation and of the filth and hardship of her ruined
+life. Overeating and dissoluteness killed her, according to the
+Lorilleuxs. One morning, as there was a bad smell in the passage, it
+was remembered that she had not been seen for two days, and she was
+discovered already green in her hole.
+
+It happened to be old Bazouge who came with the pauper’s coffin under
+his arm to pack her up. He was again precious drunk that day, but a
+jolly fellow all the same, and as lively as a cricket. When he
+recognized the customer he had to deal with he uttered several
+philosophical reflections, whilst performing his little business.
+
+“Everyone has to go. There’s no occasion for jostling, there’s room for
+everyone. And it’s stupid being in a hurry that just slows you up. All
+I want to do is to please everybody. Some will, others won’t. What’s
+the result? Here’s one who wouldn’t, then she would. So she was made to
+wait. Anyhow, it’s all right now, and faith! She’s earned it! Merrily,
+just take it easy.”
+
+And when he took hold of Gervaise in his big, dirty hands, he was
+seized with emotion, and he gently raised this woman who had had so
+great a longing for his attentions. Then, as he laid her out with
+paternal care at the bottom of the coffin, he stuttered between two
+hiccoughs:
+
+“You know—now listen—it’s me, Bibi-the-Gay, called the ladies’
+consoler. There, you’re happy now. Go by-by, my beauty!”
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
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