Complete Works of Emile Zola (654 page)

“Rue d’Enghien,” said they to the driver. “You must pay yourself. Search him.”

The marriage contract was signed on the Thursday before Maître Renaudin, notary in the Rue de Grammont. At the moment of starting, there had been another awful row at the Josserands’, the father having, in a supreme revolt, made the mother responsible for the lie they had forced him to countenance;
and they had once more cast their families in each other’s teeth. How did they expect him to earn another ten thousand francs every six months?
The obligation was driving him mad. Uncle Bachelard, who was there, kept placing his hand on his heart, full of fresh promises, now that he had so managed that he would not have to part with a sou, and overflowing with affection, and swearing that he would never leave his little Berthe in an awkward position. But the father, in his exasperation, had merely shrugged his shoulders, asking Bachelard if he really took him for a fool.

At the notary’s, however, the reading of the contract, drawn up from notes furnished by Duveyrier, slightly calmed Monsieur Josserand. There was no mention of the insurance; moreover, the first instalment of ten thousand francs was only to fall due six months after the marriage. They would thus have some breathing time. Auguste, who was listening very attentively, allowed some signs of impatience to escape him. He looked at smiling Berthe, at the Josserands, at Duveyrier, and he ended by venturing to speak of the insurance, as a guarantee which he thought it only logical should be mentioned. Then they all looked at him with surprise; whatever for? it was perfectly understood; and they signed quickly, Maître Renaudin, an amiable young man, holding his tongue as he handed the pen to the ladies. Not till they were outside did Madame Duveyrier express her surprise. No one had ever spoken of an insurance; the dowry of fifty thousand francs was to have been paid by uncle Bachelard. But Madame Josserand, in the calmest way, denied having mentioned her brother’s name in connection with such a trumpery sum. It was his whole fortune that the uncle was going to leave to Berthe.

On the evening of that day, a cab came to fetch Saturnin away. His mother had declared that it was too dangerous for him to be at the ceremony. One could not cast loose a madman who talked of spitting people in the midst of a wedding-party; and Monsieur Josserand, broken-hearted, had been obliged to apply for the admission of the poor fellow into the Asile des Moulineaux, kept by Doctor Chassagne. The cab was brought under the porch at twilight. Saturnin came down holding Berthe’s hand, and thinking he was going with her into the country. But when he was inside the cab, he struggled furiously, breaking the windows and thrusting his bloody fists through them. And Monsieur Josserand returned upstairs weeping, all upset by this departure in the dark, his ears ringing with the wretched creature’s yells, mingled with the cracking of the whip and the gallop of the horse.

During dinner, as tears again came to his eyes at the sight of Saturnin’s empty chair, his wife, not understanding, exclaimed:

“Come, that is enough, sir, is it not?
I trust you are not going to assist at your daughter’s marriage with that funereal-looking face. Listen! on all I hold most holy, on my father’s grave, her uncle will pay the first ten thousand francs. I will answer for it! He pledged me his oath he would, when we were leaving the notary’s.”

Monsieur Josserand did not even reply. He passed the night in addressing wrappers. At daylight, in the chill of the morning, he finished his second thousand, and had earned six francs. Several times he had raised his head, as he had a habit of doing, to listen if Saturnin were not moving in his room near by. Then the thought of Berthe renewed his ardour for work. Poor child! she would have liked to have been dressed in white moire. However, with six francs she could add a few more flowers to her bridal bouquet.

CHAPTER VIII

The marriage before the mayor had taken place on the Thursday. On the Saturday morning, as early as a quarter past ten, some ladies were already waiting in the Josserands’ drawing-room, the religious ceremony being fixed for eleven o’clock, at Saint-Roch. There were Madame Juzeur, always in black silk; Madame Dambreville, tightly laced in a costume of the colour of dead leaves; and Madame Duveyrier, dressed very simply in pale blue. All three were conversing in low tones amongst the scattered chairs; whilst Madame Josserand was finishing dressing Berthe in the adjoining room, assisted by the servant and the two bridesmaids, Hortense and little Campardon.

“Oh! it is not that,” murmured Madame Duveyrier; “the family is honourable. But, I admit, I rather dreaded on my brother Auguste’s account the mother’s domineering spirit. One cannot be too careful, can one?
”

“No doubt,” said Madame Juzeur; “one not only marries the daughter, one often marries the mother as well, and it is very unpleasant when the latter interferes in the home.”

At this moment, the door of the inner room opened, and Angèle rushed out, exclaiming:

“A hook, at the bottom of the left hand drawer. Wait a moment.”

She flew across the drawing-room, returned and disappeared again, with her white skirt, fastened at the waist by a broad blue ribbon, following her like the foam in the wake of a ship.

“You are mistaken, I think,” resumed Madame Dambreville. “The mother is only too happy at being rid of her daughter. Her sole passion is her Tuesdays at home. Besides, she has still another victim.”

Madame Valérie now entered in a red costume of provoking singularity. She had come upstairs too quickly, fearing she was late.

“Théophile will never be ready,” said she to her sister-in-law. “You know, I sent Françoise about her business this morning, and he is looking everywhere for a tie. I left him in the midst of such confusion!”

“The question of health is also a very serious one,” continued Madame Dambreville.

“No doubt,” replied Madame Duveyrier. “We discreetly consulted Doctor Juillerat. It appears that the young girl is perfectly well formed. As for the mother, she has one of those surprising constitutions; and that partly helped to decide us, for nothing is more annoying than having infirm relatives to look after. Healthy relations are far better.”

“Especially,” said Madame Juzeur in her gentle voice, “when they will not leave anything behind them.”

Valérie had seated herself; but not knowing what the topic of conversation was, she asked, still out of breath:

“Eh? of whom are you speaking?
”

But the door again opened suddenly, and the sounds of a quarrel issued from the inner room.

“I tell you the box was left on the table.”

“It is not true, I saw it here just now.”

“Oh! you obstinate mule! Go and see for yourself.”

Hortense, also in white, and with a broad blue waistband, crossed the drawing-room, looking older, with her hard features and her yellow complexion, amidst the transparent paleness of the muslin. She returned in a fury with the bridal bouquet, which they had been passionately seeking for five minutes past in the disordered room.

“However, it is no use being too particular,” said Madame Dambreville, in conclusion, “one never marries as one would wish. The wisest thing is to make the best one can of it afterwards.”

This time Angèle and Hortense opened the folding-doors wide so that the bride should not catch her dress in anything; and Berthe appeared in a white silk dress, all gay with white flowers, with a white wreath, a white bouquet, and a white garland, which crossed the skirt, and was lost in the train in a shower of little white buds. She looked charming amidst all this whiteness, with her fresh complexion, her golden hair, her laughing eyes, and her candid mouth of an already enlightened girl.

“Oh! delicious!” exclaimed the ladies.

They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at their wits’ end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs which the wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, and fifteen hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, had been obliged to send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne’s to see Saturnin, to whom an aunt had just left three thousand francs; and Berthe, having obtained permission to take her brother out for a drive, by way of amusing him, had smothered him with caresses in the cab, and had then gone with him for a minute to the notary, who was unaware of the poor creature’s condition, and who had everything ready for his signature. The silk dress and the abundance of flowers surprised the ladies, who were reckoning up the cost whilst giving vent to their admiration.

“Perfect! in most exquisite taste!”

Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an unpleasant hue, which made her look taller and rounder than ever, with the majesty of a tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, called to Hortense to find her shawl, and vehemently forbade Berthe to sit down.

“Take care, you will crush your flowers!”

“Do not worry yourself,” said Clotilde, in her calm voice. “We have plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us.”

They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Théophile abruptly burst in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a piece of cord, and without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and bad teeth, was livid; his limbs, like an ailing child’s, were trembling with fury.

“What is the matter with you?”
asked his sister in amazement.

“The matter is — the matter is — “

But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a minute, choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being unable to give vent to his anger. Valérie looked at him, confused, and warned by a sort of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, without even noticing the bride and the other ladies around him.

“Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter in front of the wardrobe.”

He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His wife had turned pale. She realised the situation; and, to avoid the scandal of a public explanation, she passed into the room that Berthe had just left.

“Ah! well,” said she, simply, “I prefer to leave if he is going mad.”

“Let me alone!” cried Théophile to Madame Duveyrier, who was trying to quiet him. “I intend to confound her. This time I have a proof, and there is no doubt, oh, no! It shall not pass off like that, for I know him — “

His sister had seized him by the arm, and squeezing it, shook him authoritatively.

“Hold your tongue! don’t you see where you are? This is not the proper time, understand!”

But he started off again:

“It is the proper time! I don’t care a hang for the others. So much the worse that it happens today! It will serve as a lesson to everyone.”

However, he lowered his voice, his strength failing him, he had dropped on to a chair, ready to burst into tears. An uncomfortable feeling had invaded the drawing-room. Madame Dambreville and Madame Juzeur had politely gone to the other end of the apartment, and pretended not to understand. Madame Josserand, greatly annoyed at an adventure, the scandal of which would cast a gloom over the wedding, had passed into the bedroom to cheer up Valérie. As for Berthe, who was studying her wreath before the looking-glass, she had not heard anything. Therefore, she questioned Hortense in a low voice. They whispered together; the latter indicated Théophile with a glance, and added some explanations, whilst pretending to arrange the fall of the veil.

“Ah!” simply said the bride, with a chaste and amused look, her eyes fixed on the husband, without the least sign of confusion in her halo of white flowers.

Clotilde softly asked her brother for particulars. Madame Josserand reappeared, exchanged a few words with her, and then returned to the adjoining room. It was an exchange of diplomatic notes. The husband accused Octave, that counter-jumper, whom he would chastise in church, if he dared to come there. He swore he had seen him the previous day with his wife on the steps of Saint-Roch; he had had a doubt before, but now he was sure of it — everything tallied, the height, the walk. Yes, madame invented luncheons with lady friends, or else she went inside Saint-Roch with Camille, through the same door as everyone, as though to say her prayers; then, leaving the child with the woman who let out the chairs, she would make off with her gentleman by the old way, a dirty passage, where no one would have gone to look for her. However, Valérie had smiled on hearing Octave’s name mentioned; never with that one, she pledged her oath to Madame Josserand, with nobody at all for the matter of that, she added, but less with him than with anyone else; and, this time, with truth on her side, she in her turn talked of confounding her husband, by proving to him that the note was no more in Octave’s handwriting than that Octave was the gentleman of Saint-Roch. Madame Josserand listened to her, studying her with her experienced glance, and solely preoccupied with finding some means of helping her to deceive Théophile. And she gave her the very best advice.

“Leave all to me, don’t move in the matter. As he chooses, it shall be Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. There is no harm in being seen on the steps of a church with Monsieur Mouret, is there? The letter alone is compromising. You will triumph when our young friend shows him a couple of lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just the same as I say. You understand, I don’t intend to let him spoil such a day as this.”

When she returned into the room with Valérie, who was greatly affected, Théophile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking voice:

“I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you assure me it would scarcely be proper, on account of this wedding. But I cannot be answerable for what may take place at church. If the counter-jumper comes and beards me there, in the midst of my own family, I will exterminate them one after the other.”

Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye shrunk up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading for three days past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his father and his brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch his bride. There was a little jostling, for they had ended by being late. Two of the ladies, Madame Duveyrier and Madame Dambreville, had to help Madame Josserand put on her shawl; it was an immense tapestry shawl, with a yellow ground, which she continued to wear on great occasions, though it had long ago passed out of fashion, and which draped her so amply and so strikingly that she quite revolutionized the streets through which she passed. They had still to wait for Monsieur Josserand, who was looking under the furniture for a stud swept away the day before with the dust. At length he appeared, stammering excuses, looking bewildered, yet happy, and he led the way downstairs, tightly pressing Berthe’s arm beneath his own. Behind them came Auguste and Madame Josserand. Then followed the rest of the company at hap-hazard, disturbing the grave silence of the vestibule with the buzz of their conversation. Théophile had seized hold of Duveyrier, whose dignity he upset with his story; and he poured his complaints into his ear, requesting advice, whilst in front of them Valérie, quite recovered, and very modest in her attitude, received Madame Juzeur’s tender encouragements without appearing to notice her husband’s terrible looks.