Complete Works of Emile Zola (686 page)

“I beseech you, Eléonore, do be quiet;
he will give nothing. If you wish to say such things to him, take him away that I may not hear you.”

Berthe, on her side, sobbed louder than over and joined her father in his entreaties.

“Enough, mamma, do as papa asks. Good heavens! how miserable I am to be the cause of all these quarrels! I would sooner leave you all, and go and die somewhere.”

Then, Madame Josserand deliberately put the question to the uncle.

“Will you, yes or no, give the fifty thousand francs, so that your niece may hold her head up?
”

Regularly scared, he tried to go into explanations.

“Listen a moment. I found Gueulin and Fifi together. What could I do? I was obliged to marry them. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Will you, yes or no, give the dowry you promised?
”
repeated she furiously.

He wavered, his intoxication increased to such a pitch that he could scarcely find words to utter, “Can’t, word of honour! — Completely ruined. Otherwise, at once — Candidly you know — “

She interrupted him with a terrible gesture, and declared:

“Good, then I shall call a family council and have you declared incapable of managing your affairs. When uncles become drivelling, it’s time to send them to an asylum.”

At this, the uncle was seized with intense emotion. He glanced about him, and found the room had a sinister aspect with its feeble light; he looked at the dying man who, held up by his daughters, was swallowing a spoonful of some black liquid; and his heart overflowed, he sobbed as he accused his sister of never having understood him. Yet, he had already been made unhappy enough by Gueulin’s treachery. They knew he was very sensitive, and they did wrong to invite him to dinner, to make him sad afterwards. In short, in place of the fifty thousand francs, he offered all the blood in his veins.

Madame Josserand, who was quite worn out, had decided to leave him to himself, when the servant announced Doctor Juillerat and the Abbé Mauduit. They had met on the landing, and entered together. The doctor found Monsieur Josserand much worse, he was still suffering from the shock occasioned by the scene in which he had been forced to play a part. When, on his side, the priest wished to take Madame Josserand into the drawing-room, having, he said, a communication to make to her, the latter guessed on what subject he had called, and answered majestically that she was with her family and prepared to hear everything there;
the doctor himself would not be in the way, for a physician was also a confessor.

“Madame,” then said the priest with slightly embarrassed gentleness, “you behold in the step I am taking an ardent desire to reconcile two families — “

He spoke of God’s pardon, and of the great joy it would be to him to be able to reassure all honest hearts, by putting an end to an intolerable state of things. He called Berthe a miserable child, which again caused her tears to flow;
and all this in such a paternal manner, in such choice expressions, that there was no need for Hortense to retire. However, he was obliged to come to the fifty thousand francs: there seemed to be nothing more but for the husband and wife to embrace each other, when he stated the formal condition of the payment of the dowry.

“My dear Abbé Mauduit, allow me to interrupt you,” said Madame Josserand.” We are deeply moved by your efforts. But never, you understand me! never will we traffic in our daughter’s honour. People who have already become reconciled over this child’s back! Oh! I know all, they were at daggers drawn, and now they are inseparable, reviling us from morning till night. No, such a bargain would be a disgrace — “

“It seems to me though, madame — “ ventured the priest.

But she drowned his voice, as she superbly continued:

“See! my brother is here. You can question him. He was again saying to me only a little while ago: ‘Here are the fifty thousand francs, Eléonore, settle this miserable matter!’ Well! ask him what reply I made. Get up, Narcisse. Tell the truth.”

The uncle had already again fallen asleep in an arm-chair, at the end of the room. He moved, and uttered a few disconnected words. Then, as his sister insisted, he placed his hand on his heart, and stammered:

“When duty speaks, one must obey. The family comes before everything.”

“You hear him?
”
cried Madame Josserand, with a triumphant air. “No money, it’s disgraceful! Tell those people from us that we don’t die, to avoid having to pay. The dowry is here, we would have given it; but, now that it’s exacted as the price of our daughter, the matter becomes too disgusting. Let Auguste take Berthe back first, and then we will see later on.”

She had raised her voice, and the doctor, who was examining his patient, was obliged to make her leave off.

“Speak lower, madame!” said he. “Your husband suffers.”

Then the Abbé Mauduit, whose embarrassment had increased, went up to the bedside, and found some kind words to say. And he afterwards withdrew, without again referring to the matter, hiding the confusion of having failed beneath his amiable smile, with a curl of grief and disgust on his lips. As the doctor went off in his turn, he roughly informed Madame Josserand that there was no hope for the invalid: the greatest precautions must be taken, for the least emotion might carry him off. She was thunderstruck, and returned to the dining-room, where her two daughters and their uncle had already withdrawn, to let Monsieur Josserand rest, as he seemed disposed to go to sleep.

“Berthe,” murmured she, “you have killed your father. The doctor has just said so.”

And they all three, seated round the table, gave way to their grief, whilst uncle Bachelard, also in tears, mixed himself a glass of grog.

When Auguste learnt the Josserands’ answer, his rage against his wife knew no bounds, and he swore he would kick her away, the day she came to ask for forgiveness. Yet in reality, he wanted her; there was a voidness in his life, he seemed to be out of his element, amidst the new worries of his abandonment, quite as grave as those of his married life. Rachel, whom he had kept on simply to annoy Berthe, robbed him and quarrelled with him now, with the cool impudence of a spouse; and he ended by regretting all the little advantages of a joint existence, the evenings spent in boring each other, and then the costly reconciliations between the warm sheets. But he had especially had enough of Théophile and Valérie, who were quite at home downstairs now, filling the warehouse with their importance. He even suspected them at times of pocketing some of the money, without the least compunction. Valérie was not like Berthe, she was delighted to throne herself at the pay-desk;
only Auguste fancied that he noticed she attracted men, even in face of her fool of a husband, whose persistent cough veiled his eyes with continuous tears. Therefore he might just as well have had Berthe there. She at least did not have the whole street passing along the counters.

Besides all this, another more serious anxiety bothered him: “The Ladies’ Paradise
”
was prospering, and already menaced his business, which decreased daily. He certainly did not regret that miserable Octave, yet he was just, and recognised that the fellow possessed very great abilities. How swimmingly everything would have gone, had they only got on better together! He was seized with the most tender regrets; there were hours when, sick of his loneliness, feeling life giving way beneath him, he felt inclined to go up to the Josserands and ask them to give Berthe back to him for nothing.

Duveyrier too, moreover, did not yield, and, more and more cut up by the moral disfavour into which such an affair threw his building, he was for ever urging his brother-in-law to a reconciliation. He even pretended to put faith in Madame Josserand’s words, as reported by the priest: if Auguste took back his wife unconditionally, they would certainly pay him the dowry on the morrow. Then, as the latter again flew into a frightful rage at the repetition of this statement, the counsellor appealed more especially to his heart. He would take him along the quays, on his way to the Palais de Justice; he preached to him of the forgiveness of injuries in a voice choked with emotion, and fed him with a cowardly and lamentable philosophy, according to which the only possible felicity was to put up with woman, as one could not do without her.

Duveyrier was visibly declining, and made the entire Rue de Choiseul anxious on account of the sadness of his gait and the paleness of his countenance, on which the red blotches gathered and spread. An unavowable misfortune seemed to have overtaken him. It was Clarisse who still fattened, and overflowed, and who tortured him. As fast as she developed a middle-class obesity, he found her all the more unbearable with her fine education, and her rigorous gentility. Now, he was not allowed to address her familiarly in the presence of her family; yet, in his presence, she would put her arms round her music master’s neck, and do all manner of things which intensely grieved him. Having on two occasions caught her with Théodore, he had flown into a rage, and then had begged her pardon on his knees, consenting to share with everyone. Moreover, to keep him humble and submissive, she was continually alluding in terms of repugnance to his pimples; she had even had the idea of passing him on to one of her cooks, a strapping wench accustomed to dirty work;
but the cook would have nothing to do with the gentleman.

Each day, life became more and more cruel for Duveyrier at this mistress’s where he encountered all the worries of his own home again, but this time in the midst of a regular hell. The whole tribe of hawkers, the mother, the big blackguard of a brother, the two little sisters, even the invalid aunt, impudently robbed him, lived on him openly, to the point of emptying his pockets during the nights he slept there. His position was also becoming a serious one in another respect: he had got to the end of his money, he trembled at the thought of being compromised on his judicial bench; he could certainly not be removed; only, the young barristers were beginning to look at him in a saucy kind of way, which made it awkward for him to administer justice. And, when driven away by the filth and the uproar, seized with disgust of himself, he flew from the Rue d’Assas and sought refuge in the Rue de Choiseul, his wife’s malignant coldness completed the crushing of him. Then, he would lose his head, he would look at the Seine on his way to the court, with thoughts of jumping in some evening when a final suffering should impart to him the requisite courage.

Clotilde had noticed her husband’s emotion, and felt anxious and irritated with that mistress of his who did not even make a man happy in his misconduct. But, for her part, she was greatly annoyed by a most deplorable adventure, the consequences of which quite revolutionized the house. On going upstairs one morning for a handkerchief, Clémence had caught Hippolyte with that abortion Louise, and, since then, she had taken to slapping him in the kitchen for the least thing, which of course greatly interfered with the attendance. The worst was that madame could no longer close her eyes to the illicit connection existing between her maid and her footman; the other servants laughed, the scandal was reported amongst the tradespeople, it was absolutely necessary to oblige them to get married if she wished to retain them; and, as she continued to be very well satisfied with Clémence, she thought of nothing but this marriage.

To negotiate between lovers who were for ever fighting with each other seemed such a delicate affair, that she decided on employing the Abbé Mauduit, whose moralizing character seemed specially suited to the occasion. Her servants, moreover, had been causing her a great deal of trouble for some time past. When down in the country, she had noticed the intimacy of her big hobbledehoy Gustave with Julie; she had at one moment thought of sending the latter about her business though regretfully, for she liked her cooking; then, after sound reflection, she had decided to keep her, prefering that the youngster should have a mistress at home, a clean girl who would never be any trouble. There is no knowing what a youth may get hold of outside, when he begins too young. She was watching them therefore, without saying a word; and, now, the other two must needs worry her with their affair.

It so happened that one morning, as Madame Duveyrier was preparing to call on the priest, Clémence came and announced that the Abbé Mauduit was taking the extreme unction up to Monsieur Josserand. After meeting him on the staircase, the maid had returned to the kitchen, exclaiming:

“I said that he would come again this year!”

And, alluding to the catastrophes which had befallen the house, she added:

“It has brought ill-luck to everyone.”

This time, the priest did not arrive too late, and that was an excellent sign for the future. Madame Duveyrier hastened to Saint-Roch, where she awaited the Abbé Mauduit’s return. He listened to her, and for a while maintained a sad silence, then he was unable to refuse to enlighten the maid and the footman on the immorality of their position. Moreover, the other matter would have obliged him to return shortly to the Rue de Choiseul, for poor Monsieur Josserand would certainly not last through the night; and he mentioned that he saw in this circumstance a cruel, but happy opportunity for reconciling Auguste and Berthe. He would try and an arrange the two affairs simultaneously. It was high time that heaven consented to bless their efforts.

“I have prayed, madame,” said the priest. “The Almighty will triumph.”

And indeed, that evening at seven o’clock, Monsieur Josserand’s death agony began. The entire family was there, excepting uncle Bachelard who had been sought for in vain in all the cafés, and Saturnin who was still confined at the Asile des Moulineaux. Léon, whose marriage was most unfortunately postponed through his father’s illness, displayed a dignified grief. Madame Josserand and Hortense showed some courage. Berthe alone sobbed so loudly, that, so as not to affect the invalid, she had gone and stowed herself away in the kitchen, where Adèle, taking advantage of the general confusion, was drinking some mulled wine. Monsieur Josserand expired in the quietest fashion; it was his honesty which finished him. He had passed a useless life, and he went off like a worthy man tired of the wicked things of the world, heart-broken by the quiet indifference of the only beings he had ever loved. At eight o’clock, he stammered out Saturnin’s name, turned his face to the wall, and expired. No one thought him dead, for all had dreaded a terrible agony. They sat patiently for some time, letting him, as they thought, sleep. When they found he was already becoming cold, Madame Josserand, in the midst of the general wailing, flew into a passion with Hortense, whom she had instructed to fetch Auguste, counting on restoring Berthe to the latter’s arms amidst the great grief of her husband’s last moments.