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diff --git a/8600-0.txt b/8600-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef4ab40 --- /dev/null +++ b/8600-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16462 @@ +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 + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK L’ASSOMMOIR *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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