Complete Works of Emile Zola (655 page)

“And your prayer-book!” exclaimed Madame Josserand suddenly, in a voice of despair.

They were then in the carriages. Angèle was obliged to run up and fetch the prayer-book bound in white velvet. At last they started. All the household was there, the servants, the doorkeepers. Marie Pichon had come down with Lilitte, dressed as though for a walk; and the sight of the bride, looking so pretty and so beautifully dressed, brought tears to her eyes. Monsieur Gourd noticed that the people of the second floor alone had not come out of their apartments — curious tenants who always acted differently to others!

At Saint-Roch, the big double doors were opened wide. A red carpet covered the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; the May morning was very cold.

“Thirteen steps,” said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie when they had passed through the doorway. “It is not a good sign.”

As soon as the procession had entered the passage between the chairs, walking towards the chancel, where the tapers of the altar were shining like stars, the organs over the couples’ heads broke out into a song of joy. It was a warm pleasant church, with its big white windows, edged with yellow and pale blue, its red marble dados ornamenting the walls and pillars, its gilded pulpit supported by the four evangelists, and its side-chapels bright with gold and silver plate. Some paintings enlivened the vaulted roof. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ends of long cords. When the ladies passed over the broad gratings of the heating apparatus, the hot air penetrated their skirts.

“Are you sure you have the ring?” inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste, who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the altar.

He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever since she entered, she had been standing on tiptoe, searching the company with her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men, uncle Bachelard and Campardon, the bride’s witnesses, Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the bridegroom’s witnesses, and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was proud. But she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and she drew him behind a pillar, where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a look of bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. However, he bowed with an air of amiable obedience.

“It is settled,” whispered Madame Josserand in Valérie’s ear, returning and seating herself in one of the armchairs placed for the members of the family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. Monsieur Josserand, the Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also there.

The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, broken by big pants. There was quite a crush, the choir was filling up, and men remained standing in the aisles. The Abbé Mauduit had reserved to himself the joy of blessing the union of one of his dear penitents. When he appeared in his surplice, he exchanged a friendly smile with the congregation, every face there being familiar to him. Some voices commenced the
Veni Creator,
the organs resumed their song of triumph, and it was at this moment that Théophile discovered Octave, to the left of the chancel, standing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph.

His sister Clotilde tried to detain him.

“I cannot,” stammered he; “I will never submit to it.”

And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The
Veni Creator
continued. A few persons looked round.

Théophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agitation when planting himself before Octave that he was unable at first to say a word, vexed at being short and raising himself up on tiptoe.

“Sir,” said he at length, “I saw you yesterday with my wife — “

But the
Veni Creator
was just coming to an end, and he was quite scared on hearing the sound of his own voice. Moreover, Duveyrier, very much annoyed by the incident, tried to make him understand that the time was badly chosen for an explanation. The ceremony had now begun before the altar. After addressing an affecting exhortation to the bride and bridegroom, the priest took the wedding-ring to bless it.

“
Benedic, Domine Deus noster, annulum nuptialem hunc, quem nos in tuo nomine benedicimus
— “

Then Théophile plucked up courage to repeat his words in a low voice:

“Sir, you were in this church yesterday with my wife.”

Octave, still bewildered by what Madame Josserand had said to him, and without having thoroughly understood her, related the little story, however, in an easy sort of way.

“Yes, I did indeed meet Madame Vabre, and we went and looked at the repairs of the Calvary which my friend Campardon is directing.”

“You admit it,” stammered the husband, again overcome by fury, “you admit it — “

Duveyrier was obliged to slap him on the shoulder to calm him. The shrill voice of one of the boy choristers was responding:

“
Amen.”

“And you no doubt recognise this letter,” continued Théophile, offering a piece of paper to Octave.

“Come, not here!” said the counsellor, thoroughly scandalized. “You are going out of your mind, my dear fellow.”

Octave unfolded the letter. The emotion had increased amongst the congregation. There were whisperings, and nudgings of elbows, and glancing over the tops of prayer-books; no one was now paying the least attention to the ceremony. The bride and bridegroom alone remained grave and stiff before the priest. Then Berthe, turning her head, caught sight of Théophile getting whiter and whiter as he addressed Octave; and, from that moment, her mind was absent — she kept casting bright side glances in the direction of the chapel of Saint-Joseph.

Meanwhile, the young man was reading in a low voice:

“My duck, what bliss yesterday! Tuesday next, in the confessional of the chapel of the Holy Angels.”

The priest, after having obtained from the bridegroom the “yes
”
of a serious man who signs nothing without reading it, had turned towards the bride.

“You promise and swear to be faithful to Monsieur Auguste Vabre in all things, like a true wife should be to her husband, in accordance with God’s commandment?”

But Berthe, having seen the letter, and full of the thought of the blows she was expecting would be given, was not listening, but was following the scene from beneath her veil. There was an awkward silence. At length she became aware that they were waiting for her.

“Yes, yes,” she hastily replied, in a happen-what-may manner.

The abbé followed the direction of her glance with surprise; and, guessing that something unusual was taking place in one of the aisles, he in his turn became singularly absent-minded. The story had now circulated; every one knew it. The ladies, pale and grave, did not withdraw their eyes from Octave. The men smiled in a discreetly waggish way. And, whilst Madame Josserand reassured Madame Duveyrier with slight shrugs of her shoulders, Valérie alone seemed to give all her attention to the wedding, beholding nothing else, as though overcome by emotion.

“My duck, what bliss yesterday — “ Octave read again, affecting intense surprise.

Then, returning the letter to the husband, he said:

“I do not understand it, sir. That writing is not mine. See for yourself.”

And taking from his pocket a note-book in which he wrote down his expenses, like the careful fellow he was, he showed it to Théophile.

“What! not your writing!” stammered the latter. “You are making a fool of me; it must be your writing.”

The priest had to make the sign of the cross on Berthe’s left hand. His eyes elsewhere, he mistook the hand and made it on the right one.

“
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

“
Amen,”
responded the boy chorister, also raising himself up to see.

In short, the scandal was prevented. Duveyrier proved to poor, bewildered Théophile that the letter could not have been written by Monsieur Mouret. It was almost a disappointment for the congregation. There were sighs, and a few hasty words exchanged. And when every one, still in a state of excitement, turned again towards the altar, Berthe and Auguste were man and wife, she without appearing to have been aware of what was going on, he not having missed a word the priest had uttered, giving his whole attention to the matter, only disturbed by his headache, which closed his left eye.

“The dear children!” said Monsieur Josserand, absorbed in mind and his voice trembling, to Monsieur Vabre, who ever since the commencement of the ceremony had been busy counting the lighted tapers, always making a mistake, and beginning his calculations over again.

But the organs again resounded in the nave, the Abbé Mauduit had reappeared in his chasuble, the choristers were commencing the mass, which was a musical mass of great pomp. Uncle Bachelard, who was going the round of the chapels, read the Latin inscriptions on the tombs, without understanding them; the Duke de Créquy’s particularly interested him. Trublot and Gueulin had rejoined Octave, to ascertain the particulars; and all three were chuckling behind the pulpit. Strains suddenly swelled like tempestuous winds, boy choristers walked about waving censers; then there were the sounds of a bell, followed by pauses, during which one could hear the priest mumbling at the altar.

Théophile could not remain still;
he stuck to Duveyrier, whom he harassed with his mad reflections, having lost ground, and not understanding how the gentleman of the meeting was not the gentleman of the letter. The rest of the congregation continued to watch his every gesture; the entire church, with its processions of priests, its Latin, its music, and its incense, excitedly discussed the incident. When, after the
Pater,
the Abbé Mauduit descended to bestow a final blessing upon the married couple, he glanced inquiringly at the great agitation of the faithful, the women’s excited faces, the men’s sly laughs, beneath the bright gay light from the windows, and in the midst of the substantial wealth of the nave and chapels.

“Admit nothing,” said Madame Josserand to Valérie, as the family moved towards the vestry after the mass.

In the vestry, the married couple and their witnesses first of all wrote their signatures. They were kept waiting, however, by Campardon, who had taken some ladies to inspect the works at the Calvary, at the end of the choir, behind a wooden hoarding. He at length arrived, and, apologising, proceeded to cover the register with a big flourish. The Abbé Mauduit had wished to honour the two families by handing round the pen himself, and pointing out with his finger the place where each one was to sign; and he smiled with his air of amiable, worldly tolerance in the centre of the grave apartment, the woodwork of which retained a continual odour of incense.

“Well! mademoiselle,” said Campardon to Hortense, “does not all this make you long to be doing the same?”

Then he regretted his want of tact. Hortense, who was the elder sister, bit her lips. She was expecting to have a decisive answer from Verdier that evening at the ball, for she had been pressing him to choose between her and his creature. Therefore she replied in an unpleasant tone of voice:

“I have plenty of time.Whenever I think proper.”

And, turning her back on the architect, she attacked her brother Léon, who had only just arrived, late as usual.

“You are nice! papa and mamma are very pleased. Not even able to be in time when one of your sisters is being married! We were expecting you at least with Madame Dambreville.”

“Madame Dambreville does what she pleases,” said the young man curtly, “and I do what I can.”

A coolness had arisen between them. Léon considered that she was keeping him too long for her own use, and was weary of a connection the burden of which he had accepted in the sole hope of its leading to some grand marriage; and for a fortnight past he had been requesting her to keep her promises. Madame Dambreville, carried away by a passion of love, had even complained to Madame Josserand of what she termed her son’s crotchets. And the latter wished to scold him, reproaching him with having neither affection nor regard for his family, as he made a point of missing the most solemn ceremonies. But he gave some explanations in his young democrat’s supercilious voice; spoke of unexpected work for the deputy whose secretary he was, a conference he had had to prepare, all sorts of things he had had to do, as well as visits to pay of the greatest importance.

“Yet a marriage is so soon settled!” said Madame Dambreville, without thinking of her words, and bestowing on him an imploring look to soften him.

“Not always!” retorted he, harshly.

And he went and kissed Berthe, then shook his new brother-in-law’s hand, whilst Madame Dambreville turned pale with anguish, drawing herself up in her costume of the colour of dead leaves and smiling vaguely towards the persons who entered.

It was the procession of friends, of simple acquaintances, of all the guests gathered together in the church, which now passed through the vestry. The newly-married couple, standing up, were continually distributing hand-shakes, and invariably with the same embarrassed and delighted air. The Josserands and the Duveyriers were not always able to go through the introductions. At times they looked at each other in surprise, for Bachelard had brought persons whom nobody knew and who talked too loud. Little by little everything gave way to confusion;
there was quite a crush, hands were held out over the heads, young girls squeezed between potbellied gentlemen, left pieces of their white skirts on the legs of these fathers, these brothers, these uncles, still sweating with some vice, enfranchised in a quiet neighbourhood. Away from the crowd, Gueulin and Trublot were relating to Octave how Clarisse had almost been caught by Duveyrier the night before, and had now resigned herself to smothering him with caresses, so as to shut his eyes.

“Hallo!” murmured Gueulin, “he is kissing the bride; it must smell nice.”

The congregation, however, had gradually dispersed. Only the relations and the intimate friends remained. The story of Théophile’s misfortune had continued to circulate, amidst the hand-shakes and the compliments; in fact, after the stereotyped phrases exchanged for the occasion, nothing else was talked about. Madame Hédouin, who had just heard the story, looked at Valérie with the surprise of a woman whose virtue is her very health. No doubt the Abbé Mauduit had also been made acquainted with the matter, for his curiosity appeared to be satisfied, and he displayed more unction than usual, amidst the hidden frailties of his flock. Another gaping wound, suddenly bleeding, over which he would have to throw the mantle of religion! And he took Théophile aside for a minute, and talked to him discreetly of forgiving injuries and of the Almighty’s impenetrable designs, seeking above all to stifle scandal, enveloping those present in a gesture of pity and despair, as though to hide their shame from heaven itself.