Books: The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 3
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Emile Zola >> The Three Cities Trilogy: Lourdes, Vol. 3
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Majeste had now lowered his voice, for his accusations were becoming
precise, and he ended by trembling somewhat at his imprudence in talking
so confidentially to strangers. However, the expression of Pierre's
gentle, attentive face reassured him; and so he continued with the
passion of a wounded rival, resolved to go on to the very end: "I am
willing to admit that there is some exaggeration in all this. But all the
same, it does religion no good for people to see the reverend Fathers
keeping shops like us tradesmen. For my part, of course, I don't go and
ask for a share of the money which they make by their masses, or a
percentage on the presents which they receive, so why should they start
selling what I sell? Our business was a poor one last year owing to them.
There are already too many of us; nowadays everyone at Lourdes sells
'religious articles,' to such an extent, in fact, that there will soon be
no butchers or wine merchants left--nothing but bread to eat and water to
drink. Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, it is no doubt nice to have the Blessed
Virgin with us, but things are none the less very bad at times."
A person staying at the hotel at that moment disturbed him, but he
returned just as a young girl came in search of Madame Majeste. The
damsel, who evidently belonged to Lourdes, was very pretty, small but
plump, with beautiful black hair, and a round face full of bright gaiety.
"That is our niece Apolline," resumed Majeste. "She has been keeping our
shop for two years past. She is the daughter of one of my wife's
brothers, who is in poor circumstances. She was keeping sheep at Ossun,
in the neighbourhood of Bartres, when we were struck by her intelligence
and nice looks and decided to bring her here; and we don't repent having
done so, for she has a great deal of merit, and has become a very good
saleswoman."
A point to which he omitted to refer, was that there were rumours current
of somewhat flighty conduct on Mademoiselle Apolline's part. But she
undoubtedly had her value: she attracted customers by the power,
possibly, of her large black eyes, which smiled so readily. During his
sojourn at Lourdes the previous year, Gerard de Peyrelongue had scarcely
stirred from the shop she managed, and doubtless it was only the
matrimonial ideas now flitting through his head that prevented him from
returning thither. It seemed as though the Abbe des Hermoises had taken
his place, for this gallant ecclesiastic brought a great many ladies to
make purchases at the repository.
"Ah! you are speaking of Apolline," said Madame Majeste, at that moment
coming back from the shop. "Have you noticed one thing about her,
gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wall
yonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old."
Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilst
Majeste exclaimed: "Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather like
Apolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor."
He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiter
appeared and announced that there was at last a little table vacant. M.
de Guersaint had twice gone to glance inside the dining-room, for he was
eager to have his /dejeuner/ and spend the remainder of that fine Sunday
out-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any further
attention to Majeste, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that the
gentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all.
To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre had
to cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment,
painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peeling
away in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapid
wear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the big
eaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clock
and a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains,
moreover, hung at the five large windows looking on to the street, which
was flooded with sunshine; some of the fierce arrow-like rays penetrating
into the room although the blinds had been lowered. And, in the middle of
the apartment, some forty persons were packed together at the /table
d'hote/, which was scarcely eleven yards in length and did not supply
proper accommodation for more than thirty people; whilst at the little
tables standing against the walls upon either side another forty persons
sat close together, hustled by the three waiters each time that they went
by. You had scarcely reached the threshold before you were deafened by
the extraordinary uproar, the noise of voices and the clatter of forks
and plates; and it seemed, too, as if you were entering a damp oven, for
a warm, steamy mist, laden with a suffocating smell of victuals, assailed
the face.
Pierre at first failed to distinguish anything, but, when he was
installed at the little table--a garden-table which had been brought
indoors for the occasion, and on which there was scarcely room for two
covers--he felt quite upset, almost sick, in fact, at the sight presented
by the /table d'hote/, which his glance now enfiladed from end to end.
People had been eating at it for an hour already, two sets of customers
had followed one upon the other, and the covers were strewn about in
higgledy-piggledy fashion. On the cloth were numerous stains of wine and
sauce, while there was no symmetry even in the arrangement of the glass
fruit-stands, which formed the only decorations of the table. And one's
astonishment increased at sight of the motley mob which was collected
there--huge priests, scraggy girls, mothers overflowing with superfluous
fat, gentlemen with red faces, and families ranged in rows and displaying
all the pitiable, increasing ugliness of successive generations. All
these people were perspiring, greedily swallowing, seated slantwise,
lacking room to move their arms, and unable even to use their hands
deftly. And amidst this display of appetite, increased tenfold by
fatigue, and of eager haste to fill one's stomach in order to return to
the Grotto more quickly, there was a corpulent ecclesiastic who in no
wise hurried, but ate of every dish with prudent slowness, crunching his
food with a ceaseless, dignified movement of the jaws.
"/Fichtre/!" exclaimed M. de Guersaint, "it is by no means cool in here.
All the same, I shall be glad of something to eat, for I've felt a
sinking in the stomach ever since I have been at Lourdes. And you--are
you hungry?"
"Yes, yes, I shall eat," replied Pierre, though, truth to tell, he felt
quite upset.
The /menu/ was a copious one. There was salmon, an omelet, mutton cutlets
with mashed potatoes, stewed kidneys, cauliflowers, cold meats, and
apricot tarts--everything cooked too much, and swimming in sauce which,
but for its grittiness, would have been flavourless. However, there was
some fairly fine fruit on the glass stands, particularly some peaches.
And, besides, the people did not seem at all difficult to please; they
apparently had no palates, for there was no sign of nausea. Hemmed in
between an old priest and a dirty, full-bearded man, a girl of delicate
build, who looked very pretty with her soft eyes and silken skin, was
eating some kidneys with an expression of absolute beatitude, although
the so-called "sauce" in which they swam was simply greyish water.
"Hum!" resumed even M. de Guersaint, "this salmon is not so bad. Add a
little salt to it and you will find it all right."
Pierre made up his mind to eat, for after all he must take sustenance for
strength's sake. At a little table close by, however, he had just caught
sight of Madame Vigneron and Madame Chaise, who sat face to face,
apparently waiting. And indeed, M. Vigneron and his son Gustave soon
appeared, the latter still pale, and leaning more heavily than usual on
his crutch. "Sit down next to your aunt," said his father; "I will take
the chair beside your mother." But just then he perceived his two
neighbours, and stepping up to them, he added: "Oh! he is now all right
again. I have been rubbing him with some eau-de-Cologne, and by-and-by he
will be able to take his bath at the piscina."
Thereupon M. Vigneron sat down and began to devour. But what an awful
fright he had had! He again began talking of it aloud, despite himself,
so intense had been his terror at the thought that the lad might go off
before his aunt. The latter related that whilst she was kneeling at the
Grotto the day before, she had experienced a sudden feeling of relief; in
fact, she flattered herself that she was cured of her heart complaint,
and began giving precise particulars, to which her brother-in-law
listened with dilated eyes, full of involuntary anxiety. Most certainly
he was a good-natured man, he had never desired anybody's death; only he
felt indignant at the idea that the Virgin might cure this old woman, and
forget his son, who was so young. Talking and eating, he had got to the
cutlets, and was swallowing the mashed potatoes by the forkful, when he
fancied he could detect that Madame Chaise was sulking with her nephew.
"Gustave," he suddenly inquired, "have you asked your aunt's
forgiveness?" The lad, quite astonished, began staring at his father with
his large clear eyes. "Yes," added M. Vigneron, "you behaved very badly,
you pushed her back just now when she wanted to help you to sit up."
Madame Chaise said nothing, but waited with a dignified air, whilst
Gustave, who, without any show of appetite, was finishing the /noix/ of
his cutlet, which had been cut into small pieces, remained with his eyes
lowered on his plate, this time obstinately refusing to make the sorry
show of affection which was demanded of him.
"Come, Gustave," resumed his father, "be a good boy. You know how kind
your aunt is, and all that she intends to do for you."
But no, he would not yield. At that moment, indeed, he really hated that
woman, who did not die quickly enough, who polluted the affection of his
parents, to such a point that when he saw them surround him with
attentions he no longer knew whether it were himself or the inheritance
which his life represented that they wished to save. However, Madame
Vigneron, so dignified in her demeanour, came to her husband's help. "You
really grieve me, Gustave," said she; "ask your aunt's forgiveness, or
you will make me quite angry with you."
Thereupon he gave way. What was the use of resisting? Was it not better
that his parents should obtain that money? Would he not himself die later
on, so as to suit the family convenience? He was aware of all that; he
understood everything, even when not a word was spoken. So keen was the
sense of hearing with which suffering had endowed him, that he even heard
the others' thoughts.
"I beg your pardon, aunt," he said, "for not having behaved well to you
just now."
Then two big tears rolled from his eyes, whilst he smiled with the air of
a tender-hearted man who has seen too much of life and can no longer be
deceived by anything. Madame Chaise at once kissed him and told him that
she was not at all angry. And the Vignerons' delight in living was
displayed in all candour.
"If the kidneys are not up to much," M. de Guersaint now said to Pierre,
"here at all events are some cauliflowers with a good flavour."
The formidable mastication was still going on around them. Pierre had
never seen such an amount of eating, amidst such perspiration, in an
atmosphere as stifling as that of a washhouse full of hot steam. The
odour of the victuals seemed to thicken into a kind of smoke. You had to
shout to make yourself heard, for everybody was talking in loud tones,
and the scared waiters raised a fearful clatter in changing the plates
and forks; not to mention the noise of all the jaw-crunching, a mill-like
grinding which was distinctly audible. What most hurt the feelings of the
young priest, however, was the extraordinary promiscuity of the /table
d'hote/, at which men and women, young girls and ecclesiastics, were
packed together in chance order, and satisfied their hunger like a pack
of hounds snapping at offal in all haste. Baskets of bread went round and
were promptly emptied. And there was a perfect massacre of cold meats,
all the remnants of the victuals of the day before, leg of mutton, veal,
and ham, encompassed by a fallen mass of transparent jelly which quivered
like soft glue. They had all eaten too much already, but these viands
seemed to whet their appetites afresh, as though the idea had come to
them that nothing whatever ought to be left. The fat priest in the middle
of the table, who had shown himself such a capital knife-and-fork, was
now lingering over the fruit, having just got to his third peach, a huge
one, which he slowly peeled and swallowed in slices with an air of
compunction.
All at once, however, the whole room was thrown into agitation. A waiter
had come in and begun distributing the letters which Madame Majeste had
finished sorting. "Hallo!" exclaimed M. Vigneron; "a letter for me! This
is surprising--I did not give my address to anybody." Then, at a sudden
recollection, he added, "Yes I did, though; this must have come from
Sauvageot, who is filling my place at the Ministry." He opened the
letter, his hands began to tremble, and suddenly he raised a cry: "The
chief clerk is dead!"
Deeply agitated, Madame Vigneron was also unable to bridle her tongue:
"Then you will have the appointment!"
This was the secret dream in which they had so long and so fondly
indulged: the chief clerk's death, in order that he, Vigneron, assistant
chief clerk for ten years past, might at last rise to the supreme post,
the bureaucratic marshalship. And so great was his delight that he cast
aside all restraint. "Ah! the Blessed Virgin is certainly protecting me,
my dear. Only this morning I again prayed to her for a rise, and, you
see, she grants my prayer!"
However, finding Madame Chaise's eyes fixed upon his own, and seeing
Gustave smile, he realised that he ought not to exult in this fashion.
Each member of the family no doubt thought of his or her interests and
prayed to the Blessed Virgin for such personal favours as might be
desired. And so, again putting on his good-natured air, he resumed: "I
mean that the Blessed Virgin takes an interest in every one of us and
will send us all home well satisfied. Ah! the poor chief, I'm sorry for
him. I shall have to send my card to his widow."
In spite of all his efforts he could not restrain his exultation, and no
longer doubted that his most secret desires, those which he did not even
confess to himself, would soon be gratified. And so all honour was done
to the apricot tarts, even Gustave being allowed to eat a portion of one.
"It is surprising," now remarked M. de Guersaint, who had just ordered a
cup of coffee; "it is surprising that one doesn't see more sick people
here. All these folks seem to me to have first-rate appetites."
After a close inspection, however, in addition to Gustave, who ate no
more than a little chicken, he ended by finding a man with a goitre
seated at the /table d'hote/ between two women, one of whom certainly
suffered from cancer. Farther on, too, there was a girl so thin and pale
that she must surely be a consumptive. And still farther away there was a
female idiot who had made her entry leaning on two relatives, and with
expressionless eyes and lifeless features was now carrying her food to
her mouth with a spoon, and slobbering over her napkin. Perhaps there
were yet other ailing ones present who could not be distinguished among
all those noisy appetites, ailing ones whom the journey had braced, and
who were eating as they had not eaten for a long time past. The apricot
tarts, the cheese, the fruits were all engulfed amidst the increasing
disorder of the table, where at last there only remained the stains of
all the wine and sauce which had been spilt upon the cloth.
It was nearly noon. "We will go back to the Grotto at once, eh?" said M.
Vigneron.
Indeed, "To the Grotto! To the Grotto!" were well-nigh the only words you
now heard. The full mouths were eagerly masticating and swallowing, in
order that they might repeat prayers and hymns again with all speed.
"Well, as we have the whole afternoon before us," declared M. de
Guersaint, "I suggest that we should visit the town a little. I want to
see also if I can get a conveyance for my excursion, as my daughter so
particularly wishes me to make it."
Pierre, who was stifling, was glad indeed to leave the dining-room. In
the porch he was able to breathe again, though even there he found a
torrent of customers, new arrivals who were waiting for places. No sooner
did one of the little tables become vacant than its possession was
eagerly contested, whilst the smallest gap at the /table d'hote/ was
instantly filled up. In this wise the assault would continue for more
than another hour, and again would the different courses of the /menu/
appear in procession, to be engulfed amidst the crunching of jaws, the
stifling heat, and the growing nausea.
II
THE "ORDINARY."
WHEN Pierre and M. de Guersaint got outside they began walking slowly
amidst the ever-growing stream of the Sundayfied crowd. The sky was a
bright blue, the sun warmed the whole town, and there was a festive
gaiety in the atmosphere, the keen delight that attends those great fairs
which bring entire communities into the open air. When they had descended
the crowded footway of the Avenue de la Grotte, and had reached the
corner of the Plateau de la Merlasse, they found their way barred by a
throng which was flowing backward amidst a block of vehicles and stamping
of horses. "There is no hurry, however," remarked M. de Guersaint. "My
idea is to go as far as the Place du Marcadal in the old town; for the
servant girl at the hotel told me of a hairdresser there whose brother
lets out conveyances cheaply. Do you mind going so far?"
"I?" replied Pierre. "Go wherever you like, I'll follow you."
"All right--and I'll profit by the opportunity to have a shave."
They were nearing the Place du Rosaire, and found themselves in front of
the lawns stretching to the Gave, when an encounter again stopped them.
Mesdames Desagneaux and Raymonde de Jonquiere were here, chatting gaily
with Gerard de Peyrelongue. Both women wore light-coloured gowns, seaside
dresses as it were, and their white silk parasols shone in the bright
sunlight. They imparted, so to say, a pretty note to the scene--a touch
of society chatter blended with the fresh laughter of youth.
"No, no," Madame Desagneaux was saying, "we certainly can't go and visit
your 'ordinary' like that--at the very moment when all your comrades are
eating."
Gerard, however, with a very gallant air, insisted on their accompanying
him, turning more particularly towards Raymonde, whose somewhat massive
face was that day brightened by the radiant charm of health.
"But it is a very curious sight, I assure you," said the young man, "and
you would be very respectfully received. Trust yourself to me,
mademoiselle. Besides, we should certainly find M. Berthaud there, and he
would be delighted to do you the honours."
Raymonde smiled, her clear eyes plainly saying that she was quite
agreeable. And just then, as Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near in
order to present their respects to the ladies, they were made acquainted
with the question under discussion. The "ordinary" was a kind of
restaurant or /table d'hote/ which the members of the Hospitality of Our
Lady of Salvation--the bearers, the hospitallers of the Grotto, the
piscinas, and the hospitals--had established among themselves with the
view of taking their meals together at small cost. Many of them were not
rich, for they were recruited among all classes; however, they had
contrived to secure three good meals for the daily payment of three
francs apiece. And in fact they soon had provisions to spare and
distributed them among the poor. Everything was in their own management;
they purchased their own supplies, recruited a cook and a few waiters,
and did not disdain to lend a hand themselves, in order that everything
might be comfortable and orderly.
"It must be very interesting," said M, de Guersaint, when these
explanations had been given him. "Let us go and see it, if we are not in
the way."
Little Madame Desagneaux thereupon gave her consent. "Well, if we are
going in a party," said she, "I am quite willing. But when this gentleman
first proposed to take Raymonde and me, I was afraid that it might not be
quite proper."
Then, as she began to laugh, the others followed her example. She had
accepted M. de Guersaint's arm, and Pierre walked beside her on the other
hand, experiencing a sudden feeling of sympathy for this gay little
woman, who was so full of life and so charming with her fair frizzy hair
and creamy complexion.
Behind them came Raymonde, leaning upon Gerard's arm and talking to him
in the calm, staid voice of a young lady who holds the best principles
despite her air of heedless youth. And since here was the husband whom
she had so often dreamt of, she resolved that she would this time secure
him, make him beyond all question her own. She intoxicated him with the
perfume of health and youth which she diffused, and at the same time
astonished him by her knowledge of housewifely duties and of the manner
in which money may be economised even in the most trifling matters; for
having questioned him with regard to the purchases which he and his
comrades made for their "ordinary," she proceeded to show him that they
might have reduced their expenditure still further.
Meantime M. de Guersaint and Madame Desagneaux were also chatting
together: "You must be fearfully tired, madame," said the architect.
But with a gesture of revolt, and an exclamation of genuine anger, she
replied: "Oh no, indeed! Last night, it is true, fatigue quite overcame
me at the hospital; I sat down and dozed off, and Madame de Jonquiere and
the other ladies were good enough to let me sleep on." At this the others
again began to laugh; but still with the same angry air she continued:
"And so I slept like a log until this morning. It was disgraceful,
especially as I had sworn that I would remain up all night." Then,
merriment gaining upon her in her turn, she suddenly burst into a
sonorous laugh, displaying her beautiful white teeth. "Ah! a pretty nurse
I am, and no mistake! It was poor Madame de Jonquiere who had to remain
on her legs all the time. I tried to coax her to come out with us just
now. But she preferred to take a little rest."
Raymonde, who overheard these words, thereupon raised her voice to say:
"Yes, indeed, my poor mamma could no longer keep on her feet. It was I
who compelled her to lie down, telling her that she could go to sleep
without any uneasiness, for we should get on all right without her--"
So saying, the girl gave Gerard a laughing glance. He even fancied that
he could detect a faint squeeze of the fresh round arm which was resting
on his own, as though, indeed, she had wished to express her happiness at
being alone with him so that they might settle their own affairs without
any interference. This quite delighted him; and he began to explain that
if he had not had /dejeuner/ with his comrades that day, it was because
some friends had invited him to join them at the railway-station
refreshment-room at ten o'clock, and had not given him his liberty until
after the departure of the eleven-thirty train.
"Ah! the rascals!" he suddenly resumed. "Do you hear them, mademoiselle?"
The little party was now nearing its destination, and the uproarious
laughter and chatter of youth rang out from a clump of trees which
concealed the old zinc and plaster building in which the "ordinary" was
installed. Gerard began by taking the visitors into the kitchen, a very
spacious apartment, well fitted up, and containing a huge range and an
immense table, to say nothing of numerous gigantic cauldrons. Here,
moreover, the young man called the attention of his companions to the
circumstance that the cook, a fat, jovial-looking man, had the red cross
pinned on his white jacket, being himself a member of the pilgrimage.
Then, pushing open a door, Gerard invited his friends to enter the common
room.
It was a long apartment containing two rows of plain deal tables; and the
only other articles of furniture were numerous rush-seated tavern chairs,
with an additional table which served as a sideboard. The whitewashed
walls and the flooring of shiny, red tiles looked, however, extremely
clean amidst this intentional bareness, which was similar to that of a
monkish refectory. But, the feature of the place which more particularly
struck you, as you crossed the threshold, was the childish gaiety which
reigned there; for, packed together at the tables, were a hundred and
fifty hospitallers of all ages, eating with splendid appetites, laughing,
applauding, and singing, with their mouths full. A wondrous fraternity
united these men, who had flocked to Lourdes from every province of
France, and who belonged to all classes, and represented every degree of
fortune. Many of them knew nothing of one another, save that they met
here and elbowed one another during three days every year, living
together like brothers, and then going off and remaining in absolute
ignorance of each other during the rest of the twelvemonth. Nothing could
be more charming, however, than to meet again at the next pilgrimage,
united in the same charitable work, and to spend a few days of hard
labour and boyish delight in common once more; for it all became, as it
were, an "outing" of a number of big fellows, let loose under a lovely
sky, and well pleased to be able to enjoy themselves and laugh together.
And even the frugality of the table, with the pride of managing things
themselves, of eating the provisions which they had purchased and cooked,
added to the general good humour.
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