Complete Works of Emile Zola (688 page)

Then the Abbé Mauduit tried to convince Hippolyte.

“Come, my fine fellow, you who are a man, use your influence with her; talk to her of her honour. It will change nothing in your mode of living. Be married.”

The footman grinned in a jocular and embarrassed manner. At length he declared, as he looked down at the toes of his boots:

“I daresay, I don’t say the contrary; but I’m already married.”

This answer put a stop to all the priest’s moral preaching. Without adding a word, he folded up his arguments, and put religion, now become useless, back into his pocket, deeply regretting ever having risked it in such a disgraceful matter. Clotilde, who rejoined him at this moment, had heard everything; and she gave vent to her indignation in a furious gesture. At her order, the footman and the maid left the room, one behind the other, looking very serious, but in reality feeling highly amused. After a short pause, Abbé Mauduit complained bitterly: why expose him in that manner?
why stir up things it was far better to let rest?
The condition of affairs had now become most disgraceful. But Clotilde repeated her gesture: so much the worse! she had far greater worries. Moreover, she would certainly not send the servants away, for fear the whole neighbourhood learnt the story of the attempted suicide that very evening. She would decide what to do later on.

“You will not forget, will you? the most complete repose,” urged the doctor, coming from the bedroom.
“
He will get over it perfectly, bat all fatigue must be avoided. Take courage, madame.”

And, turning towards the priest he added:

“You can preach him a sermon later on, my dear friend. I do not give him up to you yet. If you are returning to Saint-Roch, I will accompany you; we can walk together.”

They both went downstairs, and the house once more resumed its great peacefulness. Madame Juzeur had lingered in the cemetery, trying to ensnare Trublot whilst reading the inscriptions on the tombstones with him, and, in spite of his little liking for fruitless flirtations, he had been obliged to bring her back to the Rue de Choiseul in a cab. The sad mishap which had befallen Louise had filled the poor lady with melancholy. When they reached their destination, she was still speaking of the wretched creature whom she had sent back the day before to the foundling hospital: a cruel experience, a final illusion destroyed, which, at the same time, earned away her hope of ever finding a virtuous maid-servant. Then, when in the doorway, she ended by inviting Trublot to come and have a chat with her sometimes. But he excused himself on account of his work.

At this moment, the other Madame Campardon passed them. They bowed to her. Monsieur Gourd informed them of Madame Pichon’s happy deliverance. Then they were all of Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume’s opinion: three children for a mere clerk was rank madness; and the doorkeeper even gave a hint that if another came the landlord would give them notice to quit, for too many children degraded a building. But they ceased talking as a veiled lady, leaving behind her an odour of verbena, lightly glided into the vestibule, without saying a word to Monsieur Gourd, who pretended not to see her. That morning he had prepared everything in the distinguished gentleman’s apartment on the third floor for a night of work.

Moreover, he had only just time to cry out to the other two:

“Take care! they would run over us like dogs.”

It was the carriage of the second floor people who were going out. The horses pawed the ground beneath the porch, the father and the mother, reclining on the back seat, smiled at their children, two lovely fair children, whose little hands were contending for a bunch of roses.

“What people!” murmured the indignant doorkeeper. “They did not even go to the funeral, for fear of being as polite as others. They splash one, yet if one only chose to speak!”

“What now?”
asked Madame Juzeur deeply interested.

Then Monsieur Gourd related that some one had come from the police, yes, from the police! The man on the second floor had written such a disgusting novel, that he was going to be sent to Mazas prison.

“The most horrible things!”continued he, in a tone of disgust. “It’s full of filthiness about the most respectable people. It is even said that the landlord is mentioned in it; exactly, Monsieur Duveyrier himself! What cheek! Ah? they do well to hide themselves and never to associate with any of the other tenants! We know now what they manufacture, with their air of keeping themselves to themselves. And yet, you see, they have their carriage, and they sell their filth for its weight in gold!”

It was this thought especially which exasperated Monsieur Gourd. Madame Juzeur only read poetry, Trublot declared that he knew nothing of literature. Yet, they were both blaming the gentleman for defiling the house which sheltered his family in his writings, when some ferocious yells, and some most abominable expressions, came from the farthest end of the courtyard.

“You big cow! you were only too glad to have me, to let your men out! You hear me, you damned camel! there’s no need to send some one to tell you!”

It was Rachel, whom Berthe had sent about her business, and who was relieving her feelings on the servants’ staircase. This quiet and respectful girl, whom even the other servants could never get to talk, had suddenly given way to a fit of passion, similar to the bursting of a main sewer. Already beside herself because of madame’s return to her husband, whom she had been robbing at her ease during their separation, she had become simply furious when told to fetch a porter to take away her trunk. Standing up in the kitchen, Berthe listened in a bewildered sort of way; whilst Auguste, who was at the door for the purpose of turning her out, received the vile expressions and the atrocious accusations full in the face.

“Yes, yes,” continued the enraged servant, “you didn’t turn me out, on the night when your lover was obliged to dress himself in the midst of my saucepans, whilst I kept your cuckold waiting at the door, to give you time to get cool again! Ah! you strumpet!”

Filled with shame, Berthe went and hid herself in the bedroom. But Auguste could not retire: he turned pale and trembled all over at these filthy revelations, shouted out on a staircase; and the only words he could find to say, to express his anguish at thus learning all the coarse details of the intrigue just at the very moment he had forgiven it, were, “Wretched woman! wretched woman!” The other servants had all come out on to the landings of their kitchens. They leant over the balusters, and did not miss a word; but even they were astonished at Rachel’s violence. Little by little, a feeling of consternation drove them away. It ended by passing all limits. Lisa summed up the general opinion by saying:

“Ah! no, one may gossip, but it’s not right to treat one’s employers thus.”

Every one went off, leaving the girl to relieve her feelings all by herself, for it was becoming awkward listening to things which were unpleasant for everybody; more especially, as she took to abusing the whole house. Monsieur Gourd was the first to return to his room, observing that one could do nothing with a woman in a passion. Madame Juzeur, whose delicacy was deeply wounded by this cruel disclosure of love, seemed so upset, that Trublot, much against his wish, was obliged to see her to her apartment for fear she might faint. Was it not unfortunate? everything had been settled, there no longer remained the least subject for scandal, the house was already resuming its peaceful respectability, and now this horrid creature must needs go and again stir up
things which had been buried in oblivion, and which no one cared anything more about!

“I’m only a servant, but I’m respectable!” yelled she, throwing all her strength into the cry. “And there’s not one of you lady strumpets in the whole of your wretched house who can say the same! Never fear, I’m going, you all disgust me too much!”

The Abbé Mauduit and Doctor Juillerat were slowly descending the stairs. They too had heard. A great peacefulness now reigned over all: the courtyard was empty, the staircase deserted; the doors seemed walled up, not a curtain at the windows moved; and all that issued from the closed apartments was a silence full of dignity.

The priest halted beneath the porch, as though worn out with fatigue.

“What miseries!” murmured he sadly.

The doctor nodded his head as he replied:

“Such is life.”

They would make these avowals to one another when leaving in company the chamber of death or the bedside of a mother and her new-born babe. In spite of their opposite beliefs, they agreed at times on the question of human infirmities. They were both in the same secrets: if the priest listened to the ladies’ confessions, the doctor, on the other hand, had for thirty years past attended the mothers in their confinements and prescribed for the daughters.

“Heaven is abandoning them,” remarked the priest.

“No,” said the doctor, “do not mix heaven up in the matter. They are either ill or badly brought up, that is all.”

And, without pausing, he spoilt this conclusion by violently accusing the Empire: under a republican government, things would certainly go much better. But, in the midst of these flights of a mediocre man, came the just observations of an old practitioner, thoroughly acquainted with the wrong side of his neighbourhood. He spoke his mind about the women, those whom a doll-like education corrupted or stultified, others whose sentiments and whose passions were perverted by a hereditary neurosis; he did not show himself, however, more tender towards the men, fellows who finished ruining their constitutions, beneath their hypocritical good behaviour; and, in the midst of his Jacobinical outburst, there sounded the stubborn knell of a caste, the decomposition and collapse of the middle-classes, whose rotten supports were cracking of themselves. Then, he again floundered, he talked of the barbarians, and announced universal happiness.

“I am more religious than you are,” concluded he.

The priest seemed to have been silently listening. But he did not hear, he was entirely taken up by his sad reverie. After a pause, he murmured:

“If they are unconscious, may heaven have mercy upon them!”

Then, they left the house, and slowly followed the Rue Neuve-Saint-Augustin. A fear of having said too much kept them silent, for they both had need to be careful in their positions. As they raised their heads, on arriving at the end of the street, they beheld Madame Hédouin smiling at them, at the door of “The Ladies’ Paradise.” Standing behind her was Octave, also laughing. That very morning they had settled on their marriage, after a serious conversation. They would wait till the autumn. And they were both full of joy at having at length arranged the matter.

“Good day, my dear Abbé Mauduit!” said Madame Hédouin gaily.” And you, doctor, always paying visits?”

And, as the latter congratulated her on her good looks, she added:

“Oh! if there were only me, you might give up business at once.”

They stood conversing a moment. The doctor having mentioned Marie’s confinement, Octave seemed delighted to hear of his former neighbour’s happy delivery. But, when he learnt that it was a third daughter, he exclaimed:

“Can’t her husband manage a boy, then?
She thought she might still get Monsieur and Madame Vuillaume to put up with a boy; but they’ll never stomach another girl.”

“I should think not,” said the doctor. “They have both taken to their bed, the news of their daughter’s pregnancy upset them so much. And they sent for a notary, so that their son-in-law should not even inherit their furniture.”

There was a little chaff. The priest alone remained silent, with his eyes cast on the ground. Madame Hédouin asked him if he was unwell. Yes, he felt very tired, he was going to take a little rest. And, after a cordial exchange of good wishes, he went down the Rue Saint-Roch, still accompanied by the doctor. On arriving before the church, the latter abruptly said:

“A bad customer, eh?”

“Who is?” asked the priest in surprise.

“That lady who sells linen. She does not care a pin for either of us. No need for religion, nor for medicine. All the same, when one is always so well, it is no longer interesting.”

And he went on his way, whilst the priest entered the church.

A bright light penetrated through the broad windows, with their white panes edged with yellow and pale blue. Not a sound, not a movement, troubled the deserted nave, wherein the marble facings, the crystal chandeliers, and the gilded pulpit, slumbered in the peaceful brightness. It was the quiet, the substantial comfort of a middle-class drawing-room, with the coverings taken off the furniture for the grand evening reception. All by herself, a woman, in front of the chapel of Our Lady of the Seven Dolours, was watching the tapers burn as they emitted an odour of melting wax.

Abbé Mauduit intended to go up to his room. But a great agitation, a violent necessity, had forced him to enter the church and kept him there. It seemed to him that God was calling him, with a confused and far-off voice, the orders proceeding from which he was unable to catch. He slowly crossed the church, and was trying to read within himself, to quiet his alarms, when, suddenly, as he passed behind the choir, a superhuman spectacle shook his entire frame.

It was beyond the marble chapel of the Virgin, as white as a lily, beyond the gold and silver plate of the chapel of the Adoration, with its seven golden lamps, its golden candelabra, and its golden altar shining in the tawny shadow of the aureate stained windows; it was in the depths of this mysterious night, past this tabernacle background, a tragical apparition, a simple yet harrowing drama: Christ nailed to the cross, between the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalen, weeping at his feet; and the white statues, which an invisible light coming from above caused to stand out from against the bare wall, seemed to advance and increase in size, making the bleeding humanity of this death, and these tears, the divine symbol of eternal woe.

The priest, thoroughly distracted, fell on his knees. He had whitened that plaster, arranged that mode of lighting, prepared that phenomenon; and, now that the hoarding was removed, the architect and the workmen gone, he was the first to be thunderstruck at the sight. From the terrible severity of the Calvary came a breath which overpowered him. He fancied he felt the Almighty passing over him; he bent beneath this breath, filled with misgivings, tortured by the thought that he was perhaps a bad priest.