Complete Works of Emile Zola (683 page)

It was indeed Auguste, who had come up to have the explanation with his wife’s parents which he had been meditating since the day before. Monsieur Josserand, feeling jollier still, and more inclined for a little enjoyment than for office duties, was proposing a walk to his daughters, when Adèle came and announced Madame Berthe’s husband. It created quite a scare. The young woman turned pale.

“What! your husband?” said the father. “But he was at Lyons! Ah! you were not speaking the truth. There is some misfortune; for two days past I have seemed to feel it.”

And, as she rose from her seat, he detained her.

“Tell me, have you been quarrelling again? about money, is it not? Eh? perhaps because of the dowry, of the ten thousand francs we have not paid him?”

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” stammered Berthe, who released herself and fled.

Hortense also had risen. She ran after her sister, and both took refuge in her room. Their flying skirts left a breath of panic behind them, the father suddenly found himself alone at the table, in the middle of the silent dining-room. All the signs of illness returned to his countenance, a cadaverous, paleness, a desperate weariness of life. The hour which he dreaded, which he had been awaiting with shame, mingled with anguish, had arrived. His son-in-law was about to speak of the assurance; and he would have to own to the swindling expedient to which he had consented.

“Come in, come in, my dear Auguste,” said he in a choking tone of voice. “Berthe has just told me of your quarrel. I’m not very well, and they’ve been spoiling me. I regret immensely not being able to give you that money. I did wrong in promising, I know — “

He continued painfully, with the air of a guilty man making avowals. Auguste listened to him in surprise. He had been obtaining information, and knew all about the way he had been taken in with the assurance; but he would not have dared to demand the payment of the first ten thousand francs, for fear that the terrible Madame Josserand might first send him to old Vabre’s tomb to receive the ten thousand francs due from him. However, as the matter was named to him, he started on that. It was a first grievance.

“Yes, sir, I know all. You completely took me in with your lies. I don’t mind so much not having the money; but it’s the hypocrisy of the thing which exasperates me! Why all that nonsense about an assurance which did not exist?
Why give yourself such airs of tenderness and affection, by offering to advance sums which, according to you, you would not be entitled to receive till three years later? And you were not even blessed with a sou! Such behaviour has only one name in every country.”

Monsieur Josserand opened his mouth to exclaim: “It is not I; it is them!” But he was ashamed to accuse the family; he bowed his head, thus accepting the responsibility of the disgraceful action. Auguste continued:

“Moreover, every one was against me, even that Duveyrier behaved like a rascal, with his scoundrel of a notary; for I asked to have the assurance mentioned in the contract, as a guarantee, and I was made to shut up. Had I insisted, though, you would have been guilty of swindling. Yes, sir, swindling!”

At this accusation, the father, who was very pale, rose to his feet, and he was about to answer, to offer his labour, to purchase his daughter’s happiness with all of his existence that remained to him, when Madame Josserand, quite beside herself through Madame Dambreville’s obstinacy, no longer thinking of her old green silk dress, now splitting, through the heaving of her angry bosom, entered like a blast of wind.

“Eh? what?” cried she; “who talks of swindling? Is it you, sir? You would do better, sir, to go first to Père-Lachaise cemetery to see if it’s your father’s pay-day!”

Auguste had expected this, but he was all the same horribly annoyed. She went on, with head erect, and quite crushing in her audacity:

“We’ve got them, your ten thousand francs. Yes, they’re there in a drawer. But we will only give them you when Monsieur Vabre returns to give you the others. What a family! a gambler of a father who lets us all in, and a thief of a brother-in-law who pops the inheritance into his own pocket!”

“Thief! thief!” stammered Auguste, unable to contain himself any longer; “the thieves are here, madame!”

They both stood with heated countenances in front of each other. Monsieur Josserand, quite upset by all this wrangling, separated them. He beseeched them to be calm;
and, trembling all over, he was obliged to sit down again.

“Any how,” resumed the son-in-law after a pause, “I won’t have any strumpet in my home. Keep your money and keep your daughter. That is what I came up to tell you.”

“You are changing the subject,” quietly observed the mother. “Very well, we will discuss the fresh one.”

But the father, too weak to rise, surveyed them with a frightened air. He no longer understood what they were talking about. Who was the strumpet? Then when, on listening to them, he learnt that it was his daughter, something gave way within him — there was a gaping wound, through which the rest of his life slowly ebbed away. Good heavens! was his child to be the cause of his death? Was he to be punished for all his weakness through her, whom he had not known how to bring up? The idea that she was in debt, and continually quarrelling with her husband, was already the bane of his old age, and made him endure all the torments of his own life over again. And now she had descended to adultery, to that last degree of woman’s wickedness, which roused the worthy man’s simple, honest indignation. Speechless and icy cold, he listened to the quarrel of the other two.

“I told you she would deceive me!” cried Auguste with an air of indignant triumph.

“And I answered that you were doing everything to lead to such a result!” declared Madame Josserand victoriously. “Oh! I do not pretend that Berthe is right; what she has done is simply idiotic; and she won’t lose anything by waiting. I shall let her know what I think of it. But, however, as she is not present, I can state the fact, you alone are guilty.”

“What! I guilty?”

“Undoubtedly, my dear fellow. You don’t know how to deal with women. Here’s an instance! Do you even deign to come to my Tuesday receptions?
No, you perhaps put in an appearance three times during the season, and then only stay half-an-hour. Though one may have headaches, one should be polite. Oh! of course, it’s no great crime; any how it judges you, you don’t know how to live.”

Her voice hissed with a slowly gathered rancour; for, on marrying her daughter, she had above all counted on her son-in-law to fill her drawing-room. And he brought no one, he did not even come himself; it was the end of one of her dreams, she would never be able to struggle against the Duveyriers’ choruses.

“However,” added she ironically, “I force no one to come and amuse himself in my home.”

“The truth is, it is not very amusing there,” replied he, out of all patience.

This threw her into a towering rage.

“That’s it, insult away! Learn, sir, that I might have all the high life of Paris if I wished, and that I was not looking to you to help me to keep my rank in society!”

There was no longer any question of Berthe, the adultery had disappeared before this personal quarrel. Monsieur Josserand continued to listen to them, as though he were tossing about in the midst of some nightmare. It was not possible, his daughter could not have caused him this grief; and he ended by painfully rising again from his seat and going, without saying a word, in search of Berthe. Directly she was there, she would throw herself into Auguste’s arms, and then everything would be explained and forgotten. He found her in the midst of a quarrel with Hortense, who was urging her to implore her husband’s forgiveness, having already had enough of her, and being unwilling to share her room any longer. The young woman resisted, yet she ended by following her father. As they returned to the dining-room, where the breakfast cups were still scattered over the table, Madame Josserand was exclaiming:

“No, on my word of honour! I don’t pity you.”

On catching sight of Berthe she stopped speaking, and again retired into her stern majesty. When his wife appeared before him, Auguste made a gesture of protest, as though to remove her from his path.

“Come,” said Monsieur Josserand in his gentle and trembling voice, “what is the matter with you all?
I can’t make it out; you will drive me mad with all your quarrelling. Your husband is mistaken, is he not, my child? You will explain things to him. You must have a little consideration for your old parents. Embrace each other, now come, do it for my sake.”

Berthe, who would all the same have kissed Auguste, stood there awkwardly, and half-choked by her dressing-gown, on seeing him draw back with an air of tragical repugnance.

“What! you refuse to, my darling?” continued the father. “You should take the first step. And you, my dear boy, encourage her, be indulgent.”

The husband at length gave free vent to his anger.

“Encourage her, not if I know it! I found her in her chemise, sir! and with that man! Do you take me for a fool, that you wish me to kiss her! In her chemise, sir!”

Monsieur Josserand stood lost, in amazement. Then he caught hold of Berthe’s arm.

“You say nothing; can it be true? On your knees, then!”

But Auguste had reached the door. He was hastening away.

“Your comedies are useless! they don’t take me in! Don’t try to shove her on my shoulders again, I’ve had her once too often. You hear me, never again! I would sooner go to law about it. Pass her on to some one else, if she’s in your way. And, besides, you’re no better than she is!”

He waited till he was in the anteroom, and then further relieved himself by shouting out these last words:

“Yes, when one makes a strumpet of one’s daughter, one should not push her into a respectable man’s arms!”

The outer door banged, and a profound silence ensued. Berthe had mechanically gone back to her seat at the table, lowering her eyes, and looking at the coffee dregs in the bottom of her cup; whilst her mother sharply walked about, carried away by the tempest of her violent emotions. The father, utterly worn out, and with a face as white as that of a corpse, had sat down all by himself at the other end of the room, against the wall An odour of rancid butter, butter of inferior quality purposely bought at the Halles, quite infected the apartment.

“Now that that vulgar person has gone,” said Madame Josserand,
“
one may be able to hear oneself speak. Ah! sir, these are the results of your incapacity. Do you at length acknowledge your errors?
think you that such quarrels would be picked with either of the brothers Bernheim, with one of the owners of the Saint-Joseph glass works?
No, you cannot think so. If you had listened to me, if you had simply pocketed your employers, that vulgar person would have been at our feet, for he evidently only wants money. Have money and people will respect you, sir. It is better to create envy than pity. Whenever I have had twenty sous, I have always said that I had forty. But you, sir, you don’t care if I go out barefooted, you have disgracefully deceived your wife and your daughters in dragging them through this beggar’s existence. Oh! do not deny it, it is the cause of all our misfortunes!”

Monsieur Josserand, with a lifeless look in his eyes, had not even stirred. She had stopped before him, with an enraged desire for a row; then, seeing he did not move, she continued to pace the room.

“Yes, yes, be disdainful. You know it will not affect me much. And we will see if you will again dare to speak ill of my relations after all that yours have done. Uncle Bachelard is quite a star? my sister is most polite! Listen, do you wish to know my opinion?
well! it is that if my father had not died, you would have killed him. As for your father — “

Monsieur Josserand’s face became whiter than ever as he remarked:

“I beseech you, Eléonore. I abandon my father to you, and also all my relations. Only, I beseech you, let me be. I do not feel well.”

Berthe, taking pity on him, raised her head.

“Do leave him alone, mamma,” said she.

So, turning towards her daughter, Madame Josserand resumed more violently than ever:

“I’ve been keeping you for the last, you won’t lose by waiting! Yes, ever since yesterday I’ve been bottling it up. But, I warn you, I can no longer keep it in — I can no longer keep it in. With that counter-jumper, I can scarcely believe it! Have you, then, lost all pride?
I thought that you were making use of him, that you were just sufficiently amiable to cause him to interest himself in the business downstairs; and I assisted you, I encouraged him. In short, tell me what advantage you saw in it all?”

“None whatever,” stammered the young woman.

“Then why did you take up with him? It was even more stupid than wicked.”

“How absurd you are, mamma: one can never explain such things.”

Madame Josserand was again walking about.

“Ah! you can’t explain! Well! but you ought to be able to! There is not the slightest shadow of sense in misbehaving oneself like that, and it is this which exasperates me! Did I ever tell you to deceive your husband?
did I ever deceive your father?
He is here, ask him. Let him say if he ever caught me with any other man.”

Her pace slackened and became quite majestic; and she slapped herself on her green bodice, driving her breasts back under her arms.

“Nothing, not a fault, not the least forgetfulness, even in thought. My life has been a chaste one. Yet God knows what I have had to put up with from your father! I have had every excuse; many women would have avenged themselves. But I had some sense, and that saved me. Therefore, as you see, he has not a word to say against me. He remains there on his chair without being able to make a single complaint. I have right on my side, I am virtuous. Ah! you big ninny, you have no idea how stupid you have been!”

And she doctorally gave a lecture on morality in its bearings to adultery. Was not Auguste now in a position to act the master to her?
She had supplied him with a terrible weapon. Even if they lived together again, she could never have the least argument with him, without being shut up at once. Eh? a pretty position! how pleasant it would be, always having to bend her back! It was all over, she must now bid good-bye to all the little benefits she might have secured from an obedient husband, from whom she might have exacted every kindness and consideration. No, it were far better to live virtuous, than to no longer have the upper hand in one’s own home!