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THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
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THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 [UASSOMMOIR] 
 
 BY 
 
 ^MILE ZOLA 
 
 EDITED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY 
 
 SOLE AUTHORISED ENGLISH VE^^SION 
 
 THE MARION COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1915 
 

INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Assommoir is the book which made ^fimile Zola 
 famous. Previous to its publication he was virtually an un- 
 known quantity in the spheres of literature and social reform. 
 To the version of his story which is here offered the title of 
 * The Dram-shop ' has been given ; this title conveying, it is 
 thought, a good idea of the book's subject and purpose, which 
 last is to stay the ravages of strong drink. * Drink ' in itself 
 is, of course, an obvious title for such a work ; but it was 
 taken by the late Charles Reade for his well-known dramatic 
 arrangement of M. Zola's story, and to have borrowed it for 
 the present volume would only have led to confusion. More- 
 over, there are certain reasons for giving this translation a 
 title which shall fully distinguish it from all previous ones. 
 
 In the French title, L'Assomvioir, there lurks a particular 
 meaning, which may here be briefly explained. An assommoir 
 is Uterally a heavy bludgeon, but the word may be applied to 
 almost any weapon that will fell, stun, or kill. Many yeara 
 ago the nickname of assommoir was given in a spirit oi 
 sarcasm to a certain tavern in the Parisian faubourg ol 
 Belleville — an estabhshment notorious for the potency of the 
 liquors it dispensed. The idea, of course, was that the drams 
 consumed at this tavern fairly dealt one a knockdown blow. 
 However, the landlord of the premises, a shrewd man of 
 business, who well knew what class of people he had to deal 
 with, in no wise resented the nickname bestowed upon his 
 house. On the contrary, he formally adopted it, painted it 
 above his windows, and in a few years made his fortune. 
 And in course of time, among the working-classes of Paris, 
 any low-drinking haunt noted for its fiery spirits became 
 
vi THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 known as an assommoir. M. Zola, en passant, picked up the 
 word, and in some degree extended its meaning, so that it has 
 come to signify in a measure drink itself, which, like the 
 bludgeon, fells, stuns, and ultimately kills its victims. 
 
 It has been mentioned above that L' Assommoir was the 
 work which made M. Zola famous. Its first appearance in 
 serial form, in the columns of a Paris newspaper, Le Bien 
 Public, of which M. Thiers was chief proprietor, provoked 
 such frantic protests that it had to be withdrawn. And when 
 it was subsequently issued in book form the outcry became 
 terrific. It was denounced upon all sides as a most atrocious 
 libel upon the French working-classes. And yet this was but 
 few years after the Commune of Paris— a movement largely 
 due to drink, for half of the Parisian proUtariat had acquired 
 tippling, slothful habits during the German siege, when work 
 was at a standstill, food scarce, and wine and brandy so 
 plentiful that, had it been possible for the Parisians to have 
 lived upon alcohol alone, they might have kept the investing 
 armies at bay for nearly another twelvemonth. Moreover, 
 subsequent to the Commune and prior to the publication of 
 L' Assommoir, the French National Assembly for the first time 
 in the annals of France had found it absolutely necessary to 
 pass a law against the growing vice of drunkenness. 
 
 Looking backward, I do not think anybody can nowa- 
 days deny that L' Assommoir was quite a necessary book. 
 To plead, to urge, is all very well at times; but in some 
 matters people cannot be roused unless they are absolutely 
 shocked. Some years ago on a certain subject an English 
 journalist urged and pleaded in vain. Then he iindertook to 
 shock people, and for his pains he was dragged through the 
 mire and saw his newspaper ignominiously turned out of 
 almost every London club. But time brought him his 
 revenge, as it always brings revenge to every man who stands 
 up for a good cause ; and nowadays among the statutes of 
 Great Britain there figures a certain amended law which is 
 for all time forward that journalist's vindication. 
 
 And in like way the author of L'Assommoi/r has been 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 vindicated. No thinking man in France now regards his 
 book as libellous. The evils denounced in its pages have 
 become too apparent. Publicists do not weary of expatiating 
 on them ; numerous societies have been founded to combat 
 them; philanthropists give time and money to the cause. 
 With my knowledge of France and French life I do not 
 hesitate to say that M. Zola's writings, taken en bloCj have 
 done an infinity of good by laying bare so many social 
 sores, and thus rousing the national conscience. Critics have 
 often imputed to him as a crime the fact that he does not 
 pause to moralise, that he allows his readers to draw their 
 own inferences from his narratives. But surely each of those 
 narratives is presented in such fashion that its moral becomes 
 obvious to the dullest intellect. Moreover, whatever M. Zola 
 may have had to write respecting vice in its various forms, he 
 has never sought — as George Sand, for instance, invariably 
 did — to render it in any wise attractive. One of the best 
 defences of M. Zola from this point of view was penned some 
 years ago by Signor Edmondo de Amicis, and may well be 
 quoted here : — ' Zola is one of the most moral novelists of 
 France, and it is really astonishing how anyone can doubt 
 it. He makes us note the stench, not the perfume, of vice ; 
 his nude figures are those of the anatomical table, which 
 inspire no immoral thought whatever ; there is not one of his 
 books, not even the crudest in language, that does not leave 
 in the soul, pure, firm, and immutable, either repugnance or 
 scorn for the base passions of which he treats. He is not, 
 like the younger Alexandre Dumas, linked by unconquerable 
 sympathy to hideous women, to whom he says " Infamous 
 creatures ! " aloud and ** Dear ones ! " just above his breath. 
 Brutally, pitilessly, and without hypocrisy he exposes vice, 
 and holds it up to ridicule, standing so far away from it 
 himself that he does not graze it with his garments. Forced 
 by his hand, it is Vice itself that shouts the injunction : 
 " Detest me and pass by I " ' 
 
 When all is considered it will be found — at least such is 
 my own opinion — that the great quarrel between the critics 
 
viii THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 and M. Zola has been chiefly caused by his outspokenness. 
 He has invariably made it his practice to call a spade a spade ; 
 and in his desire to be absolutely true to life, such as it un- 
 happily is, he has recoiled from no expression, however 
 horrible or loathsome it may be, when it has fitted in with 
 the thoughts or the vernacular of his characters. This is 
 particularly the case in L'Assommoir, and to it may be traced 
 much if not all of the denunciation with which this work 
 has been visited. Farther on the reader will find a trans- 
 lation of M. Zola's own preface to the book, in which he 
 rephes to the attacks levelled at him on this particular sub- 
 ject. He states his case clearly from the philological stand- 
 point, and even those who do not hold the same views as 
 himself must, I think, concede that for students of language 
 his work possesses a keen and abiding interest. At the same 
 time, whatever philological importance and interest may 
 attach to the original, must largely disappear in a transla- 
 tion, particularly when, as in the present case, this translation 
 has been made not for philological purposes, but chiefly 
 to diffuse the wholesome lessons against drink, sloth, and 
 ignorance with which the work abounds. Nevertheless, I 
 have endeavoured to preserve some of the spirit of the original 
 by giving the words and thoughts of the various characters 
 in a more or less slangy form, whilst seeking milder exple- 
 tives and less coarseness of expression generally than will be 
 found in the French work. I have also slightly modified 
 some incidents in my desire that this version may prove ac- 
 ceptable to the general public. I may add that it is based on 
 a translation now not generally accessible ; however, I have 
 made such a vast number of corrections and modifications in 
 the former text that the translation has become almost entirely 
 my own. It will be found that here and there I have added 
 to the narrative some brief notes, chiefly of an explanatory 
 character. 
 
 E. A. V. 
 
 Merton, Surrey. 
 
AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL PREFACE 
 
 The * Rougon-Macquart ' series will be composed of some 
 twenty novels. Ever since 1869, the general plan has been 
 settled, and I follow it with extreme precision. The Assom- 
 moir has come in its due place and season ; I have written 
 it as I shall write the other volumes, without deviating for a 
 second from my straight line. Therein hes my strength. I 
 have a goal towards which I am advancing. 
 
 When the Assommoir appeared in a newspaper, it was 
 attacked with unexampled brutality, denounced, accused of 
 every crime. Is it really necessary to explain here in a few 
 lines my intentions as a writer ? I have sought to picture the 
 fatal downfall of a family of workpeople, in the pestilential 
 atmosphere of our faubourgs. After drunkenness and sloth 
 come the loosening of family ties, filth engendered by pro- 
 miscuity, progressive forgetfulness of all upright sentiments, 
 and then, as finish, shame and death. The book is simply a 
 lesson in morality. 
 
 The Assommoir is certainly the most chaste of my works. 
 Often have I had to point to far more frightful sores. The 
 form which I have given to the book alone has shocked people. 
 Anger has been roused by mere words. My crime consists in 
 having yielded to literary curiosity to gather the language of 
 the people together and run it through a well-prepared mould. 
 Ah ! the form, the style of the book, therein Hes its great 
 crime 1 Yet slang dictionaries exist, men of letters study 
 slang and enjoy its piquancy, its unexpectedness, and the 
 force of its imagery. It is a treat for burrowing gram- 
 
X THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 marians. Nevertheless, no one has perceived that my wish 
 was to produce a philological work, which I believe to be of 
 keen historical and social interest. 
 
 I do not seek to defend myself, however. My work will 
 defend me. It is a work of truth, the first novel about the 
 masses which does not lie and which has an odour of the 
 masses. And one must not conclude from what I have 
 written that the masses are entirely bad; for my own 
 characters are not bad, they are simply ignorant and spoilt 
 by the surroundings of hard drudgery and misery amidst 
 which they live. Only, it is necessary to read my novels, to 
 understand them, to see them clearly as a whole, before 
 pronouncing such grotesque, odious, preconceived judgments 
 as those which circulate about my person and my works. Ah ! if 
 it were only known how my friends laugh at the amazing legend 
 which serves to amuse the multitude ! If it were only known 
 that the blood-drinker, the ferocious novelist, is a quiet citizen, 
 a man of study and of art, who lives discreetly in his Httle 
 nook, and whose sole ambition is to leave behind him a work 
 as broad and as lifelike as he can construct ! But I contradict 
 no tittle-tattle ; I work ; and I leave to time and public good 
 faith the task of unearthing me from beneath all the nonsense 
 and abuse that have been piled upon me. 
 
 Paris. :fiMILB ZOLA. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. DESSBTION • • ^ • ' • • I • • I 
 
 n. COURTSHIP ;*^-^sij<n . ^ ^ 28 
 
 in. THB WEDDING . .•^7"-"^, , .... $0 
 
 / ') / 
 
 IV. SUNSHINE AND OLOUD .... i'- i . 88 
 
 V. THE LAUNDRY- SHOI- • . . , . . . H? 
 
 VI. THE SHADOWS FALL . . ' I SO 
 
 Vn. THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON ; . . . . 1 32 
 
 VIII. THB WILES OF THB TEMPTER . , . . . . 219 
 
 IX. DOWN HILL ..... s .. . 255 
 
 X. MISERY ••.«•••••. 292 
 
 XI. NANA ...«••••.. 328 
 
 XII. HUNGER «.•.•••••. 363 
 
 XIII. DEATH c .••••• t • • 393 
 
THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 I 
 
 DESERTION 
 
 Gervaise had waited for Lantier until two o'clock in the 
 morning. Then, all of a shiver from having remained in a 
 thin, loose jacket amidst the fresh air at the window, she 
 had fallen asleep, stretched across the bed, feverish, and her 
 cheeks bathed in tears. Every evening for a week past, on 
 leaving the 'Two-Headed Calf,' where they took their 
 meals, Lantier had sent her home to bed with the children, 
 never reappearing himself till late at night, when he would 
 assert that he had been in search of work. That evening, 
 while watching for his retm^n, she fancied she had seen him 
 enter the * Grand Balcony ' dancing-hall, whose ten blazing 
 windows set the glare of a conflagration amidst the dark 
 expanse of the outer Boulevards ; and, five or six paces behind 
 him, she had caught sight of little Adele, a burnisher, who dined 
 at their restaurant, and who now walked along with swinging 
 hands, as if she had just quitted his arm, so that they might 
 not pass together under the vivid light of the globes at the 
 entrance. 
 
 When Gervaise awoke, stiff and sore, at about five o'clock, 
 she burst into sobs, for Lantier had not returned. It was 
 the first time that he had slept away from home. Seated on 
 the edge of the bed, under a strip of faded chintz, which 
 hung from a rod secured to the ceiling by a piece of string, 
 the young woman, with tear-blurred eyes, glanced slowly 
 round the wretched lodging, with its walnut chest of drawers, 
 one of which was lacking, its three rush-bottom chairs, and 
 its little greasy table, on which stood a broken water -jug. 
 
 B 
 
2 THE DRAMSHOP 
 
 To these an iron bedstead had been added for the children, 
 and it not only impeded access to the drawers, but filled two- 
 thirds of the room. Then there was Gervaise's and Lantier's 
 trunk, standing wide open in one corner, with a man's old 
 hat buried at the bottom of it, beneath some dirty shirts and 
 socks ; whilst, against the walls or over the articles of furni- 
 ture, hung the last rags which second-hand clothes' dealers 
 declined to buy — a shawl full of holes, and a pair of trousers 
 begrimed with mud. In the centre of the mantel-piece, 
 between two odd zinc candlesticks, lay a bundle of pawn- 
 tickets of a soft pink hue. And this was the best room of 
 the hotel, the first-floor room overlooking the Boulevard. 
 
 However, the two children were still asleep, lying side by 
 side, with their heads on the same pillow. Claude, who was 
 eight years old, and whose little hands were thrown outside the 
 coverlet, drew breath slowly and gently ; while Etienne, who was 
 but four, smiled, with one arm round his brother's neck. As the 
 mother's clouded gaze rested upon them, she broke into a 
 fresh fit of sobbing, and pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, 
 to stifle the faint cries that escaped her. Then, barefooted, 
 never thinking of her old shoes which had fallen on the floor, 
 she went to lean over the window-bar again, resuming her 
 wait of the night with eyes which ever searched the distant 
 pavements. 
 
 The hotel stood on the Boulevard de la Chapelle, to the 
 left of the Barri^re Poissonni^re. It was a wretched three- 
 floored building, painted red, of the shade of wine lees, to the 
 second upper story, and with shutters all rotted by the rain. 
 Between the two windows, over a lamp whose panes of glass 
 were starred, one could manage to read the words, ' Hotel 
 Boncceur, kept by Marsoullier,' painted in big yellow letters, 
 pieces of which bad been carried away by the mouldering of 
 the plaster. The lamp interfering with her view, Gervaise 
 raised herself on tiptoe, still holding her handkerchief to her 
 lips. She looked to the right, towards the Boulevard de 
 Eochechouart, where groups of butchers, with blood-smeared 
 aprons, hung about in front of the slaughter-houses, whence 
 the fresh breeze occasionally wafted the strong odour of 
 slaughtered beasts. She looked also to the left, her glance 
 enfilading a long avenue, then resting almost in front of her 
 on the white mass of the Lariboisiere Hospital, at that time 
 being built. Slowly, from one horizon tft the other, she 
 followed the octroi wall, behind which at night-time she 
 
DESERTION 3 
 
 sometimes heard shrieks as of persons being murdered ; and 
 she searched the remote nooks, the dark corners, black with 
 damp and filth, fearing lest she might there discern the body 
 of Lantier stabbed to death. When she raised her eyes 
 beyond that grey and interminable wall, which encircled the 
 city with a desert-hke girdle, she perceived a great glow, a 
 sunny dust, already full of the early morning rumbling of 
 Paris. But she ever came back to the Barriere Poissonniere, 
 stretching out her neck and growing dizzy as she watched the 
 endless stream of men, cattle, and carts, that flowed down 
 from the heights of Montmartre and La Chapelle, between 
 the two squat buildings where the municipal dues were levied. 
 There was a tramping drove, a crowd which sudden stoppa.ges 
 spread like pools over the roadway, an endless procession of 
 workmen going to their toil, with loaves of bread under their 
 arms and tools slung over their shoulders ; and this dense 
 mass ever and ever plunged into Paris, where it became lost to 
 view. Each time that Gervaise thought she recognised Lantier 
 among all those people, she leaned out the more, at the risk of 
 falhng ; and then pressed her handkerchief more firmly to 
 her mouth, as though to repress her grief. 
 
 But a call from a young and cheerful voice caused her to 
 leave the window. 
 
 ' So the old man isn't here, Madame Lantier ? ' 
 
 * "Why, no, Monsieur Coupeau,' she replied, trying to smile.. 
 
 The new-comer was a zinc-worker, occupying a mere 
 closet at the top of the house, for ten francs a month. He 
 had his bag slung over his shoulder. Having found the key 
 in the door, he had entered in a neighbourly way. 
 
 ' You know,' continued he, 'I'm now working over yonder 
 at the hospital. What beautiful May weather, isn't it ? The 
 air's rather sharp this morning.' 
 
 As he spoke he looked at Gervaise's face, which was red 
 with weeping. And when he saw that the bed had not been 
 slept in he gently shook his head ; then went to the pallet 
 where the children were still slumbering, looking as rosy as 
 cherubs. Finally, lowering his voice, he said, ' Oh ! the old 
 man's not been home, has he? Don't worry yourself, 
 Madame Lantier. He's very much occupied with politics. 
 The other day, when they elected Eugene Sue, one of the 
 right sort, it seems he got perfectly crazy. He has very likely 
 spent the night with some friends in blackguarding that rascal 
 Bonaparte.' 
 
 b2 
 
4 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 * No, no,* she murmured with an effort. * You don't think 
 that. But I know where Lantier is. We have our little troubles 
 like the rest of the world ! ' 
 
 Ooupeau winked as if to indicate that he was not duped by 
 this falsehood ; and then he went off, after offering to fetch 
 her milk, if she did not care to go out. She was a good and 
 a plucky woman, and might count upon him should she ever 
 be in trouble. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Gervaise returned to the window. 
 At the Barri^re, the drove-like tramping still continued in the 
 cold morning air. One could recognise the locksmiths by 
 their short blue blouses, the masons by their white overalls, 
 and the painters by their overcoats, beneath which fell long 
 smocks. At a distance the throng showed somewhat in- 
 distinctly, vague like a plastered wall of a neutral tint made up 
 chiefly of faint, faded blue and dirty grey. Now and again, a 
 workman stopped to relight his pipe, while the others around 
 him pressed on, never laughing, never saying a word to a 
 mate, but with cadaverous cheeks, and eyes turned towards 
 Paris, which swallowed them up, one by one, down the gaping 
 Faubourg Poissonniere. However, at either corner of the 
 Rue des Poissonniers some men slackened their pace as they 
 neared the doors of the two wine-dealers who were taking 
 down their shutters ; and, before entering the shops, they 
 turned at the edge of the pavement, casting side-long glances 
 over Paris, their arms nerveless, and their minds already 
 inclined for a day of idleness. Before the counters, others 
 stood in groups, treating one another, lingering and filling 
 the rooms, now coughing, now spitting, and now clearing their 
 throats with little glassfuls of neat spirits. Gervaise was watch- 
 ing old Colombe's wine-shop on the left of the street, where she 
 thought she had seen Lantier, when a stout woman, bareheaded 
 and wearing an apron, called to her from the middle of the 
 roadway : ' I say, Madame Lantier, you're up very early ! ' 
 
 Gervaise leaned out. * Why I it's you, Madame Boche I— 
 Oh I Pve a lot of work to-day I * 
 
 * Yes, things don't do themselves, do they ? ' replied the 
 other. 
 
 Then a conversation was carried on between the window 
 and the pavement. Madame Boche was doorkeeper of the 
 house, on the ground floor of which was the restaurant of the 
 * Two-Headed Calf.* Gervaise had several times waited for 
 Lantier in her room, so as to avoid sitting down alone among 
 
DESERTION 5 
 
 the men who took their meals at the eating-house. How- 
 ever, the doorkeeper related that she was going to the Rue 
 de la Charbonniere close by, to catch a clerk from whom 
 her husband was unable to extract the money owing for 
 repairing a frock-coat. She hoped to find this reluctant 
 debtor still in bed. And she went on to speak of a tenant of 
 hers who had made a great disturbance during the night, 
 preventing everybody else from sleeping till three o'clock 
 in the morning. However, whilst she thus chatted, she 
 scrutinised Gervaise with keen curiosity, and it seemed as if 
 she had merely planted herself under the window for the 
 purpose of finding something out. 
 
 * Is Monsieur Lantier still in bed then ? ' she abruptly 
 asked. 
 
 * Yes, he's asleep,' replied Gervaise, who could not help 
 blushing. 
 
 Madame Boche saw the tears come into her eyes ; and, 
 satisfied no doubt as to the truth of her surmises, she was 
 already going off, declaring men to be a cursed, lazy set, when 
 she sudd^uly retraced her steps and called out : ' It's this 
 morning you go to the wash-house, isn't it ? I've something to 
 wash, too. Ill keep you a place next to me, and we can chat 
 together.' Then, as if moved with sudden pity, she added : 
 * My poor little one, you had far better not remain there ; 
 you'll take harm. You are quite blue with the cold.' 
 
 Gervaise, however, obstinately remained at the window 
 for two mortal hours, never stirring till it was eight o'clock. 
 By that time the shops had all opened. The flow of blouses 
 coming from the heights had ceased ; and only a few belated 
 ones passed the Barrilre with hasty strides, though in the wine- 
 shops the same individuals as before still stood drinking, cough- 
 ing, and expectorating. After the rush of workmen, however, 
 had come that of the work-girls, burnishers, milliners, and arti- 
 ficial flower-makers, who gathered their thin garments closely 
 round them as they trotted along the outer Boulevards. For 
 the most part they went by in threes and fours, chatting gaily, 
 laughing softly and casting bright glances about them ; but 
 at long intervals, some pale-faced, serious looking girl would 
 follow the boundary w^all aU alone, carefully picking her way 
 among the filth that lay about there. Next, the derks had 
 passed, blowing on their fingers, and eating their halfpenny 
 rolls as they walked on. Thin young men these were, whose 
 clothes were too short and whose eyes were bleared and sleepy ; 
 
6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 and also little old men who had sickly countenances, worn by 
 long office hours, and who, as they rolled along, frequently 
 consulted their watches in order to regulate their progress by 
 the second. And afterwards the Boulevards had donned 
 their calm morning aspect : the men of leisure of the neigh- 
 bourhood had come to stroll about in the sunshine ; mothers 
 with bare heads, and dirty skirts, had begun to rock babies in 
 swaddhng clothes on the seats ; while a number of half-clad 
 brats, with dirty noses, jostled one another and rolled on 
 the ground, amidst whining, laughter, and tears. Then 
 Gervaise felt choking, dizzy with anguish, all her hope gone ; 
 it seemed to her as if everything was ended, even time itself, 
 and that Lantier would return no more. Her eyes still 
 wandered vacantly from the old slaughter-houses foul 
 with butchery and stench, to the new white hospital, which, 
 through the yawning openings of its rows of windows, showed 
 its naked wards, where death ere long would mow. And she 
 was dazzled by the bright sky in front of her beyond the 
 boundary wall, where the sun was rising higher and higher 
 over the great awakening of Paris. 
 
 She had seated herself on a chair, no longer crying, her 
 hands lying listlessly on her lap, when Lantier quietly 
 entered the room. 
 
 ' It's you ! — it's you I ' she cried, rising to throw herself 
 upon his neck. 
 
 ' Yes, it's me. What of it ? ' he replied. ' You are not 
 going to begin any of your tomfoolery, I hope ! ' 
 
 So saying he pushed her aside, and then, with a gesture 
 of ill-humour, tossed his black felt hat on to the chest of 
 drawers. He was some twenty-six years of age, short, and 
 very dark, handsome in face, with slight moustaches which 
 his hand was ever mechanically twirling. He wore a 
 workman's overalls and an old soiled overcoat, which he 
 buttoned tightly at the waist ; and he spoke vnth a strong 
 ProvenQal accent. 
 
 Gervaise, who had fallen back on her chair, gave vent to 
 gentle complaints in short sentences : ' I've not had a wink of 
 sleep,' she said. * I feared some harm had happened to you. 
 Where have you been ? Where did you spend the night ? 
 For heaven's sake ! don't do it again, or I shall go crazy. 
 Tell me, Auguste, where have you been ? ' 
 
 * Where I'd business, of course,' he returned, shrugging 
 his shoulders. * At eight o'clock I was at La Glacike with 
 
DESERTION 7 
 
 that friend of mine who's going to start a hat factory. We 
 sat till late, so I preferred to sleep there. Besides, you know, 
 I don't like being spied upon, so just shut up ! ' 
 
 The young woman again began to sob. The loud voice 
 and the rough movements of Lantier pushing the chairs out 
 of his way had awakened the children. They sat up in bed, 
 half naked, parting their tumbled hair with their tiny 
 hands ; and on hearing their mother sob, they raised terrible 
 screams, weeping also, though their eyes were scarcely 
 open. 
 
 * Ah 1 there's the music beginning ! ' exclaimed Lantier. 
 ' I warn you that I'll take my hook ! And it will be for good, 
 this time. You won't shut up, eh ? Then, good-morning 1 
 I'll return to the place I've just come from.' 
 
 He had already taken his hat from off the chest of 
 drawers, but Gervaise threw herself before him, stammering : 
 ' No, no ! ' 
 
 Then she hushed the little ones' sobs with her caresses, 
 kissed their hair, and by dint of soft words made them lie 
 down again. Suddenly quieted, already laughing on their 
 pillow, they then amused themselves by pinching one another. 
 The father, however, without even taking off his boots, had 
 thrown himself upon the bed, apparently worn out, his face 
 blotched by a night of dissipation. Still he did not go to 
 sleep, but lay there with his eyes wide open, looking round 
 the room. 
 
 * It's clean here ! ' he muttered. And after glancing at 
 Gervaise, he mahgnantly added : * Don't you even wash your- 
 self now ? ' 
 
 Gervaise was only two-and-twenty. She was tall and 
 rather slim, with delicate features, already worn, however, by 
 the hardships of life. Uncombed as she was, in old shoes, 
 shivering under her thin white jacket which was soiled with 
 grease and dust from the furniture, it seemed as if the hours 
 of anguish and tears through which she had just passed had 
 aged her by ten years. However, Lantier's words made her 
 emerge from her timid and submissive attitude. 
 
 * You're not just,' said she with spirit. * You well know I 
 do all I can. It's not my fault if we find ourselves here. I 
 would like to see you, with the two children, in a room where 
 there's not even a stove to heat any water. When we arrived 
 in Paris, instead of squandering your money, you should 
 have set up in business at once, as you promised to do.' 
 
8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 ' I say 1 ' he cried, ' you cracked the nut with me ; it isn't 
 for you to sneer at it now ! ' 
 
 But without appearing to hear him, she continued : ' All 
 the same, with a Uttle courage, we can still get right again. I 
 saw Madame Fauconnier, the laundress in the Rue Neuve, 
 yesterday evening ; she will take me on Monday. If you get 
 to work with your friend at La Glaciere, we shall have our 
 heads above water again before six months are past, just 
 time enough to get ourselves some clothes and take a place 
 somewhere, that we can call our own. But oh 1 we must 
 work, work 1 ' 
 
 At this Lantier turned towards the wall, as if greatly 
 bored. 
 
 Then Gervaise quite lost her temper. ' Yes, that's it, I 
 know that the love of work doesn't trouble you much. 
 You're bursting with ambition, you want to be dressed like a 
 gentleman and walk out with hussies in silk skirts. You 
 don't think me nice enough now that you've made me pawn 
 all my dresses. Listen, Auguste, I didn't intend to speak of 
 it, I would have waited a bit longer, but I know where you 
 went last evening; I saw you enter the "Grand-Balcony'* 
 with that Adele. She's a nice one, she is 1 she does well to 
 put on the airs of a princess I She's the talk of the whole 
 restaurant.' 
 
 At a bound Lantier sprang off the bed. His eyes now 
 showed as black as ink in his pale face. With this little man, 
 anger was tempestuous. 
 
 ' Yes, the talk of the whole restaurant ! ' repeated the 
 young woman. ' Madame Boche intends to give them notice, 
 she and her long stick of a sister, on account of their goings- 
 on in the house.' 
 
 At this Lantier raised his fists ; then, resisting his desire 
 to strike her, he caught hold of her arms, shook her violently, 
 and sent her sprawling upon the bed of the children, who 
 once more began to scream. And thereupon he laid himself 
 down again, mumbling with the fierce expression of a man 
 who is resolving on something from which he had previously 
 recoiled : ' You don't know what you've done, Gervaise. 
 You've made a mistake ; you'll see.' 
 
 For an instant the children continued sobbing. Their 
 mother, still bending over the bed, held them both m a close 
 embrace, and repeated a score of times, ever in the same 
 monotonous voice : * Ah ! if you were not there I my poor 
 
DESERTION 9 
 
 little ones ! If you were not there ! If you were not 
 there ! ' 
 
 Lantier, now quietly stretched on the bed, with his eyes 
 raised to the faded strip of chintz, no longer listened to her, 
 but plunged deeply into some all-absorbing thought. He 
 remained thus for nearly an hour, without giving way to 
 sleep, in spite of the fatigue which weighed upon his eyelids. 
 When he at last turned round, raising himself on one arm, 
 with a harsh, determined face, Gervaise had almost finished 
 tidying the room. She was making the children's bed, they 
 being already up and dressed. Then he watched her as she 
 swept and dusted ; but whatever might be her efforts at 
 cleanliness, the room remained dingy and wretched, with its 
 smoky ceiling, its wall-paper peeling off from the damp, its 
 three rickety chairs and its tumble-down chest of drawers, to 
 which the dirt climg so obstinately, only spreading the more 
 beneath the duster. And afterwards, whilst she washed 
 herself with a great splashing of water, after rolling up her 
 hair in front of a little round hand-glass which hung from 
 the window-fastening, and was used by him when he shaved, 
 he scrutinised her arms, and throat, and shoulders, as though 
 he were mentally comparing her with someone else. And 
 finally he pouted. Gervaise limped with her right leg ; but it 
 was scarcely perceptible, excepting when she was very tired, 
 and with aching hips grew careless as to how she walked. 
 That morning, however, worn out by her restless night, she 
 fairly dragged her leg, and even leant against the wall. 
 
 Silence prevailed ; since the previous outburst they had 
 not exchanged a word. He seemed to be waiting for some- 
 thing ; while she, devouring her grief, trying to feign indiffer- 
 ence, hurried over her work. At last while she was making 
 a bundle of some dirty clothes thrown in a corner, behind 
 the trunk, he opened his lips and asked : * What are you 
 doing there ? Where are you going ? ' 
 
 She did not answer at first ; but, when he furiously 
 repeated his question, she made up her mind, and said : ' I 
 suppose you can see for yourself. I'm going to wash all this. 
 The children can't live in filth.' 
 
 He let her pick up two or three handkerchiefs, and then 
 resumed : ' Have you got any money ? ' 
 
 At this she stood up, holding the children's dirty shirts, 
 and looked him full in the face. ' Money ! and where do you 
 think I can have stolen any ? You know well enough that I 
 
lo THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 got three francs the day before yesterday on my black skirt. 
 We've lunched off it twice, and money goes quick at the pork- 
 butcher's. No, of course I've no money. I've four sous for 
 the wash-house, that's all.' 
 
 While she was speaking Lantier had already moved off 
 the bed, and was passing a review of the few rags hanging 
 about the room. He ended by taking down the trousers and 
 the shawl, to which, after opening the drawers, he added two 
 chemises and a woman's loose jacket ; and throwing the 
 whole bundle into Gervaise's arms, he exclaimed : * Here, 
 go and pop this.' 
 
 ' Don't you want me to pop the children as well ? ' she 
 asked. * Eh ! if they lent on children, it would be a fine 
 riddance ! ' 
 
 Nevertheless, she went to the pawn-place ; and when she 
 returned at the end of half an hour, she laid a five-franc 
 piece on the mantel-shelf, and added the ticket to the others, 
 between the two candlesticks. * That's what they gave me, 
 said she. * I wanted six francs, but I couldn't manage it. 
 Oh ! they'll never ruin themselves. And there's always such 
 a crowd there ! ' 
 
 Lantier did not immediately pick up the five-franc piece. 
 He would have preferred small change, so as to leave her 
 some of it. However, he made up his mind to slip the coin 
 into his waistcoat pocket, on noticing a remnant of ham 
 wrapped in paper and a chunk of bread upon the drawers. 
 
 * I didn't go to the milkwoman's, because we owe her a 
 week,' explained Gervaise. ' But I shall be back early ; you 
 can get some bread and some chops whilst I'm away, and 
 then we'll have lunch. Bring up a bottle of wine as well.' 
 
 He did not say no. It seemed as if peace were reviving. 
 The young woman set about completing her bundle of dirty 
 clothes. But when she was on the point of taking Lantier's 
 shirts and socks from the bottom of the trunk, he called to 
 her to leave them alone : * Leave my things, d'ye hear ! I 
 don't want 'em touched 1 ' 
 
 * What's it that you don't want touched ? ' she asked, 
 rising up. * You surely don't mean to put these filthy things 
 on again, do you ? They must be washed.' 
 
 So saying she anxiously scrutinised his handsome face, on 
 which she saw the same harsh expression as before, as though 
 nothing henceforth would move him. On his side he flew 
 into a passice, and, snatching the things from her hands, 
 
DESERTION ii 
 
 threw them back into the trunk. * Just obey me for once in 
 a way I I tell you I won't have 'em touched I ' he shouted. 
 
 ' But why ? ' she added, turning pale, a terrible suspicion 
 crossing her mind. ' You don't want your shirts now ; you're 
 not going away. What can it matter to you if I take them ? ' 
 
 He hesitated for an instant, embarrassed by the piercing 
 glance she fixed upon him. * Why — why ' stammered he, 
 
 * because you go and tell every one that you keep me, that you 
 wash everything and mend everything. Well ! it worries me, 
 there ! Attend to your own business and I'll attend to mine. 
 Washerwomen don't work for dogs.' 
 
 Then she entreated him, protested that she had never 
 complained ; but he roughly closed the trunk and sat down 
 on it, saying, * No I ' to her face. He could surely do as he 
 liked with what belonged to him ! Finally, to escape the 
 inquiring looks she levelled at him, he laid himself down on 
 the bed again, saying that he was sleepy, and did not want 
 her to make his head ache with any more of her row. This 
 time, indeed, he really seemed to fall asleep. 
 
 Gervaise, for a while, remained undecided. She was 
 tempted to kick the bundle of dirty clothes on one side, and 
 sit down and sew. But Lantier's regular breathing ended 
 by reassuring her. She took the ball of blue and the piece 
 of soap remaining from her last washing, and going up to the 
 little ones, who were quietly playing with some old corks in 
 front of the window, she kissed them, and said in a low voice : 
 
 * Be very good, don't make a noise ; papa's asleep.' 
 
 When she left the room, Claude's and iltienne's gentle 
 laughter alone disturbed the silence which reigned beneath 
 the blackened ceiling. It was ten o'clock ; and a ray of sun- 
 shine was darting through the half-open window. 
 
 Once on the Boulevard, Gervaise turned to the left, and 
 followed the Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d'Or. As she passed 
 the shop kept by Madame Fauconnier, she nodded good-day 
 to her. The wash-house she was bound for was situated 
 towards the middle of the street, at the point where the 
 incline began. Three huge reservoirs, strongly riveted zinc 
 tanks, showed, round and grey, atop of a flat-roofed building ; 
 whilst, in the rear, rose the drying-room, a very lofty second 
 floor, encompassed on every side by the slender laths of 
 Venetian shutters, which admitted the outer air, and allowed 
 a view of the clothes drying on lines of brass wire. To the 
 right of the reservoirs, the slim funnel of the steam-engine dis- 
 
itf THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 charged puffs of white smoke with forcible and regular respira- 
 tion. Gervaise did not tuck up her skirts, but, like a woman 
 used to puddles, at once entered by the doorway, which was 
 littered with jars full of eau de Javelle or bleaching liquid.^ 
 She was already acquainted with the mistress of the wash- 
 house, a delicate little woman with sore eyes, who sat in a 
 small glazed closet with account books in front of her, while 
 on shelves all around were bars of soap, balls of blue in glass 
 jars, and pounds of soda done up in packets. And, as 
 Gervaise passed, she asked for her beetle and her scouring- 
 brush, which she had left in the other's charge on the last 
 occasion when she had done her washing there. Then, after 
 obtaining her number, she entered the wash-house. 
 
 It was an immense shed, with large windows, and a flat 
 ceiling, showing beams which rested upon cast-iron pillars. 
 A pale light passed freely through the hot steam, which hung 
 about like a milky fog. Smoke arose from certain corners, 
 spreading and steeping the more distant recesses in a bluish 
 veil. A heavy moisture rained down, impregnated with a 
 soapy odour, an insipid smell, continuous though occasionally 
 overpowered by the more potent fumes of the bleaching 
 liquid. Alongside the * batteries ' or washing-places, on 
 either hand of the central alley, were rows of women, with 
 arms bare to the shoulders, necks bare, and skirts tucked up, 
 thus showing coloured stockings and heavy laced shoes. 
 These women beat their linen furiously, laughed, leaned back 
 to call out something amidst the din, or else stooped over 
 their tubs, all of them brutal, imgainly, foul of speech, and 
 soaked as by a rainfall, till their flesh had become red and 
 reeking. Around and beneath them was a great flow of 
 water ; steaming pailfuls were carried about and emptied at 
 one shoot ; cold water poured down from open taps ; there was 
 the splashing caused by the beetles, the dripping from the rinsed 
 clothes, the pools in which the women trod trickling away in 
 streamlets over the sloping flagstones ; and, amidst all the 
 cries, the rhythmical beetle-blows, the murmuring noise of 
 rain, the whole storm-like clamour pent beneath the saturated 
 ceihng, the engine on the right hand, white with steam, puffed 
 and snorted unceasingly ; its flier with its dancing motion 
 seeming to regulate the uproar. 
 
 With short steps Gervaise passed along the alley, looking 
 
 ' This is simply chloride of potassium dissolved in water. 
 
DESERTION 13 
 
 to right and left. She carried her bundle of clothes on her 
 arm, with one hip higher than the other, and hmped more 
 than usual amidst the coming and going of the other women, 
 who jostled her. 
 
 ' This way, little one I ' cried Madame Boche, in her full 
 voice. And, when the young woman had joined her, at the 
 very end on the left, the doorkeeper, who was furiously 
 rubbing a sock, began to talk in short jerky sentences without, 
 however, pausing in her work. ' Put your things there, I've 
 kept your place. Oh ! I sha'n't be long over what I've got. 
 Boche scarcely dirties his things at aU. And you, you won't 
 be long either, eh ? Your bundle's quite a little one. Before 
 twelve o'clock we shall have finished, and can go off to lunch. 
 I used to send my things to a laundress in the Rue Poulet, 
 but she destroyed everything with her chlorine and her 
 brushes ; so now I do the washing myself. It's so much 
 saved ; it only costs the soap. I say, though, you ought to 
 have put those shirts to soak. Those rascally children, on 
 my word 1 one would think their bodies were covered with 
 soot.' 
 
 Gervaise, having undone her bundle, was spreading out 
 the little ones' shirts, and as Madame Boche advised her to 
 buy a pailful of lye, she answered, * Oh, no ! the warm water 
 will do. I'm used to it.' 
 
 She had sorted the clothes, and put the few coloured 
 things on one side. Then, after nearly filling her tub with 
 four pailfuls of cold water taken from the tap behind her, she 
 thrust in the pile of linen, and, tucking up her skirt, drawing 
 it tight between her legs, she entered a kind of box standing 
 on end with sides which almost reached to her waist. 
 
 ' You're used to it, eh ? ' repeated Madame Boche. * You 
 were a washerwoman in your native place, weren't you, my 
 dear?' 
 
 Gervaise, with her sleeves turned up, displaying her fine 
 white arms, which were still young and fresh, and scarcely 
 reddened at the elbows, was beginning to get the dirt out of 
 her Linen. She had spread a chemise over her * battery's ' 
 narrow plank, which water had whitened and worn, and after 
 rubbing it over with soap on one side she turned it, and 
 rubbed it on the other. Before answering, too, she seized her 
 beetle and began to beat the chemise, then shouted out her 
 sentences, punctuating them with formidable, regular blows. 
 * Yes, yes, a washerwoman — When I was ten — That's twelve 
 
14 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 years ago — We used to go to the river — It smelt nicer there 
 than it does here — You should have seen the place, there was 
 a nook under the trees, with clear running water — You know, 
 at Plassans — Don't you know Plassans ? — It's near Marseilles.' 
 
 ' How you go at it ! ' exclaimed Madame Boche, amazed 
 at the vigour of Gervaise's blows. * What a wrist ! Why 
 you'd flatten out a piece of iron with those little lady-like 
 arms of yours.' 
 
 The conversation continued in loud tones. At times, the 
 doorkeeper, not catching what was said, was obliged to lean 
 forward. All the white things were beaten, and with a will ! 
 Gervaise plunged them into the tub again, and then took 
 them out once more, one by one, to rub them with soap a 
 second time, and afterwards brush them. With one hand she 
 kept the garment firmly on the plank ; while with the other, 
 which grasped a short, stiff brush, she extracted from the 
 linen a dirty lather, which fell like dripping slime. And then 
 amidst the slight noise made by the brush, the two women 
 drew together, and began to converse in a more intimate way. 
 
 * No, we're not married,' said Gervaise. * I don't hide it. 
 Lantier isn't so nice for any one to care to be his wife. Ah ! 
 if it wasn't for the children. I was fourteen and he eighteen 
 when we had our first ; the other came four years later. It 
 happened as it always does, you know. I wasn't happy at 
 home. Old Macquart, for a yes or a no, would give me no end 
 of kicks ; so I preferred to keep away from him. We might 
 have been married, but — I forget why — our parents wouldn't 
 consent.' 
 
 She shook her hands, which were reddening in the white 
 suds. * The Paris water's awfully hard,' said she. 
 
 Madame Boche was now washing in a languid way. She 
 paused and made her work last as long as she could, in order 
 that she might remain there and ferret out the story which 
 she had inquisitively been hankering to know for a fortnight 
 past. Her mouth remamed gaping in the midst of her big, 
 fat face, and her large prominent eyes glittered. With the 
 satisfaction of one who has guessed aright, she reflected. 
 * Yes, indeed, the little one gossips too much. There's been 
 a row.' 
 
 Then, she remarked aloud, * He isn't nice, then ? ' 
 
 * Don't mention it ! ' replied Gervaise. * He used to 
 behave very weU in the country ; but since we've been in 
 Paris he's become unbearable. I must tell you that his 
 
DESERTION 15 
 
 mother died last year and left liira some money — about 
 seventeen hundred francs. He wanted to come to Paris, and 
 so, as old Macquart was for ever knocking me about, I 
 consented to come away with him. We made the journey 
 with the two children. He was to set me up as a laundress, 
 and work himself at his trade as a hatter. We might have 
 been very happy ; but you see, Lantier's ambitious and 
 extravagant, and only thinks of amusing himself. In short, 
 he's not worth much. When we got here, we went to the 
 Hotel Montmartre, in the Rue Montmartre. And then there 
 were dinners, and cabs, and the theatre ; a watch for himself, 
 and a silk dress for me, for he hasn't got a bad heart when 
 he's flush. So you understand, he went the whole hog, in 
 such a way, too, that after a couple of months we were stone 
 broke. It was then that we came to Hve at the Hotel 
 Boncoeur, and that this horrible life began ' 
 
 She paused, for a lump had suddenly risen in her throat, 
 and she could scarcely restrain her tears. She had now 
 finished brushing the linen. ' I must go and fetch my hot 
 water,' she murmured. 
 
 Madame Boche, however, greatly disappointed at this 
 interruption of the disclosures, called to the wash-house 
 porter, who was passing : * Hi, my little Charles,' said she, 
 ' kindly get madame a pail of hot water ; she's in a hurry.' 
 
 The young fellow took the pail and brought it back filled. 
 Gervaise paid him ; the price was a sou the pailful. And 
 having poured the hot water into her tub, she soaped the 
 things a last time with her hands, leaning over the battery 
 amidst the steam, which set beads of greyish vapour in her 
 light hair. 
 
 ' Here, put some soda in, I've got some by me,' said the 
 doorkeeper, obligingly; and she thereupon emptied into 
 Gervaise 's tub what remained of a bagful of soda which she had 
 brought with her. She also offered her some eau de Javelle, 
 but the young woman declined it ; it was only good for grease 
 and wine stains. 
 
 'I think he's rather loose,' resumed Madame Boche, 
 returning to Lantier, but without naming him. 
 
 Gervaise, who was bending almost double, her hands 
 deep in the water, and gripping the linen, merely tossed her 
 head. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' continued the other, * I've noticed several little 
 things ' But she suddenly contradicted herself on seeing 
 
i6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 that Gervaise abruptly rose erect and scrutinised her with a 
 pale face. ' Oh, no ! I don't know anything ! He likes to 
 laugh a bit, I think, that's all. For instance, you know the 
 two girls who lodge at my place, Adele and Virginie. Well, 
 he just jokes with them, but it doesn't go any further, I'm 
 sure.' 
 
 The young woman, still standing there, her face covered 
 with perspiration, while water dripped from her arms, 
 remained staring at the doorkeeper with fixed and penetrating 
 eyes. Thereupon Madame Boche got excited, dealt herself a 
 blow on the chest, and pledged her word of honour. * I know 
 nothing,' she cried, * I mean it when I say so ! ' Then, 
 calming herself, she added in an insinuating voice, as if 
 speaking to a person whom the truth would in no wise 
 benefit, ' I think he has frank eyes. He'll marry you, my 
 dear, I'm sure of it ! ' 
 
 Gervaise passed her wet hand over her brow ; and then 
 shook her head as she drew another article of clothing from 
 the water. For a while both women remained silent. 
 Quietude was falhng around them ; eleven o'clock was 
 striking. Half the women, with one leg resting on the edges 
 of their tubs, and open bottles of wine standing at their feet, 
 were eating improvised sausage sandwiches. Only those 
 who had families, and had come just to wash their own little 
 bundles, hurried on with their work after glancing at the 
 clock which hung above the office. Thus a few beetle strokes 
 were still heard, at intervals between the low laughter and 
 chatter which grew indistinct amidst all the greedy crunching 
 of jaws; whilst the steam-engine, working on without truce 
 or rest, seemed to raise its vibrating, snorting voice more 
 loudly until it filled the immense building. However, not one 
 of the women noticed it ; it was like the very breathing of the 
 wash-house — a scorching breath which ever increased the mist 
 that incessantly floated beneath the ceiling beams. The heat 
 was becoming unbearable. Bays of sunshine entered through 
 the lofty windows on the left, illumining the smoky vapour 
 with opalescent patches of pale pink and soft bluish grey ; 
 and, as complaints began to rise, the porter, Charles, went 
 from one window to the other to lower the coarse linen 
 blinds. Then he crossed to the other side, the shady one, 
 and opened some of the casements. At this he was saluted 
 with acclamations and clapping of hands. Boisterous gaiety 
 passed over all. And soon even the last beetles were 
 
DESERTION 17 
 
 hushed. The women, whose mouths were full, merely made 
 gestures with the open knives they held ; the silence becom- 
 ing so general that at the further end of the wash-house, at 
 regular intervals, one could hear the grating of the stoker's 
 shovel, as he scooped up coals and threw them into the 
 engine furnace. 
 
 Gervaise meantime was washing her coloured things in 
 the hot soapy water which she had kept. When she had 
 finished, she drew a horse towards her and hung the different 
 articles over it, their drippings fast making bluish puddles on 
 the floor. Then she began to rinse. Behind her, the cold 
 water flowed from a tap into a capacious tub, which was fixed 
 to the ground, while across it were two wooden bars whereon 
 to lay the clothes. High up in the air were two other bars 
 whence other things finished dripping. 
 
 * We've almost finished, and it's not a pity,' said Madame 
 Boohe. * I'll just wait to help you wring all that.' 
 
 ' Oh 1 it's not worth while, thanks,' replied the young 
 woman, who was kneading and sousing the coloured things 
 in some clean water. ' If I'd any sheets, it would be another 
 matter.' 
 
 However, she had to accept the doorkeeper's assistance ; 
 and, one at each end, they were wringing between them a 
 flimsy woollen skirt of a washed-out chestnut hue, whence 
 dribbled a yellowish water, when Madame Boche exclaimed : 
 ' Why, there's tall Virginie ! What has she come to wash, 
 with her three or four rags in a pocket-handkerchief ? ' 
 
 Gervaise quickly raised her head. Virginie was a girl of 
 her own age, taller than she was, dark and pretty, although 
 her face seemed rather long. She wore an old flounced 
 black dress with a red ribbon round her neck ; and her hair 
 was done up carefully, the chignon gathered within a blue 
 silk net. She remained for an instant in the middle of 
 the central alley, screwing up her eyes as though she 
 were seeking some one; and, when she had caught sight 
 of Gervaise, she came right past her, with an insolent 
 swinging gait, and took a place in the same row, five tubs 
 away. 
 
 * There's a freak for you ! ' continued Madame Boche, in 
 a lower tone. * Why, as a rule, she never even washes a pair 
 of cuffs. She's a regular slut, I tell you. A dressmaker, 
 indeed, who doesn't even sew the buttons on her own boots ! 
 It's the same with her sister Adele, the burnisher, who shirks 
 
 c 
 
£8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the workshop two days out of three ! They know neither their 
 father nor mother, and live nobody knows how ; and if one 
 cared to talk — but no matter. What's that she's rubbing? 
 A petticoat, eh ! Isn't it filthy ? ' 
 
 Madame Boche was evidently trying to make herself 
 agreeable to Gervaise. Truth to tell, she often took coffee 
 with Adele and Virginie, when the girls were in funds. 
 However, Gervaise did not answer, but hurried over her work 
 with feverish hands. She had just prepared her blue in a 
 little three-legged tub, into which she dipped the linen things, 
 stirring them for a moment in the coloured water, which here 
 and there showed a slight pinky tinge ; and, after lightly 
 wringing them, she spread them out over the wooden bars 
 above her. While she was thus occupied she made a point 
 of turning her back on Virginie, but she heard the other's 
 chuckles, and could feel, as it were, her sidelong glances. 
 It seemed, indeed, as if Virginie had only come there to provoke 
 her. At one moment, Gervaise having turned, they both 
 stared fixedly into each other's face. 
 
 ' Leave her alone,' muttered Madame Boche. ' You're not 
 going to pull one another's hair out, I hope. When I tell 
 you that there's nothing 1 It isn't her, there! ' 
 
 At this moment, as the young woman was hanging up 
 the last of the things she had washed, a sound of laughter 
 arose jit the doorway. 
 
 ' Here are two youngsters asking for their mamma ! ' cried 
 Charles. 
 
 All the women leant forward, and Gervaise recognised 
 Claude and Etienne. As soon as they caught sight of 
 her they ran to her through the puddles, with the heels 
 of their unlaced shoes resounding on the flagstones. 
 Claude, the elder, held his little brother by the hand. And 
 the women, as they passed by, gave vent to little fondling 
 exclamations on noticing their somewhat frightened, though 
 smiling faces. Raising their fair heads they stood before 
 their mother, without leaving go of one another's hand. 
 
 ' Has pa} a sent^you ? ' asked Gervaise. But as she stooped 
 to tie the laces of Etienne's shoes, she noticed that from one of 
 Claude's fingers hung the key of their room, the numbered 
 brass label of which was swinging. 
 
 Why, you've brought the key ! ' said she, greatly sur- 
 prised. ' What's that for ? ' 
 
 Then the child, seeing the key, which he had forgotten, on 
 
DESERTION 19 
 
 his finger, appeared to recollect, and cried out, in his clear 
 voice, ' Papa's gone.' 
 
 * He's gone to buy the lunch, and told you to come here 
 to fetch me ? ' 
 
 Claude looked at his brother and hesitated, no longer re- 
 collecting. But afterwards he resumed, all in a breath : 
 
 * Papa's gone. He jumped off the bed, put all his things in 
 the box, and carried the box down to a cab. He's gone.' 
 
 At this Gervaise, who was squatting, slowly drew herself 
 erect, her face ghastly pale. She raised her hands to her 
 cheeks and temples, as though she felt her head splitting ; 
 and could find only these words, which she repeated twenty 
 times in the same tone of voice : ' Ah ! good heavens ! — ah ! 
 good heavens l—ah ! good heavens ! ' 
 
 Madame Boche, however, quite excited at the chance of 
 hearing the story, began in her turn to question the child : 
 
 • Come, Uttle one, you must tell us just what happened. 
 It was he who locked the door and who told you to bring the 
 key, wasn't it ? ' And, lowering her voice, she whispered in 
 Claude's ear : * Was there a lady in the cab ? ' 
 
 The child again got confused, but immediately afterwards 
 repeated his story in a triumphant manner : * He jumped 
 off the bed, he put all his things in the box. He's gone.' 
 Then, as soon as Madame Boche let him go, the lad drew his 
 brother to the tap, and they amused themselves by turning 
 on the water. 
 
 Gervaise was unable to weep. She was choking, leaning 
 back against her tub with her face still buried in her hands. 
 Fits of shivering shook her, and then at times a long sigh 
 escaped her, whilst she pressed her fists more closely to her 
 eyes, as though to bury herself in the darkness of her aban- 
 donment ; it was a gloomy abyss, to the very bottom of 
 which she seemed to fall. 
 
 ' Come, my dear, pull yourself together I ' murmured 
 Madame Boche. 
 
 * Ah ! if you only knew ! if you only knew ! ' said Gervaise, 
 very faintly, at last. * He sent me this morning to pawn my 
 shawl and my shifts to pay for that cab.' 
 
 Then she burst into tears. The recollection of her errand 
 to the pawn-place, which fixed in her mind one of the events 
 of the morning, had drawn forth the sobs which were choking 
 her. That errand was an abomination — her greatest grief in 
 her despair. Her tears ran down upon her chin, which her 
 
 o2 
 
20 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 hands had already wetted, yet she never even thought of 
 taking out a handkerchief. 
 
 * Be reasonable, come, be quiet ; everyone's looking at 
 you,* repeated Madame Boche, who hovered round her. 
 * How can you worry yourself so much on account of a man ? 
 So you loved him, all the same, eh, my poor darling ? Why, 
 a little while ago you were saying all sorts of things against 
 him ; and now you're crying for him, and almost breaking 
 your heart. Dear me, how silly we all are ! ' Then she 
 became quite maternal. * A pretty little woman like you ! can 
 it be possible ? One may tell you everything now, I suppose. 
 Well ! I already had my suspicions this morning when I 
 passed under your window. Just fancy, last night I saw 
 M. Lantier and Adele together. And my man saw him this 
 morning before he went home to you.' The doorkeeper 
 paused for a moment, turning about, and then resuming, in 
 her full voice, which she tried to subdue : ' That heartless 
 thing yonder, Adele's sister, you know, is laughing at seeing 
 you cry. I'd stake my life that her washing's all a pretence. 
 She's packed off the other two, and she's come here so as to 
 be able to tell them how you take it.' 
 
 Gervaise removed her hands from her face and looked; 
 and when, in front of her, among a little knot of women, she 
 beheld Virginie speaking low and staring at her, she was 
 seized wish a mad rage. With her arms thrust forward, 
 seeking, as it were, for something on the ground, she revolved 
 on herself, trembling in every Umb, then took a few steps, and 
 noticing a bucket full of water, caught it up with both hands, 
 and with all her strength hurled the contents at the other. 
 
 ' The dirty beast ! ' yelled tall Virginie. 
 
 She had stepped back, and her boots alone were wetted. 
 The other women, who for some minutes had all been greatly 
 upset by Gervaise's tears, jostled each other in their anxiety 
 to see the fight. Some, who were finishing their lunch, 
 sprang upon their overturned tubs, others hastened forward 
 Btill holding their soap. A ring was formed. 
 
 ' Ah ! the beast ! ' repeated tall Virginie. - What's the 
 matter with her ? she's mad ! ' 
 
 Gervaise, standing as it were at bay, her chin thrust out 
 and her features convulsed, said nothing, not having yet 
 acquired the Parisian gift of the gab. But the other con- 
 tinued : ' The dirty thing. She's come here because she's tired 
 of wallowing in the country. Oh 1 she carried on finely in 
 
DESERTION ai 
 
 her native place ; she left one of her legs behind her there. 
 It fell off; it was rotting away.' 
 
 The onlookers burst out laughing at this allusion to 
 Gervaise's lameness, and Virginie, observing her success, 
 advanced a couple of steps, drawing herself up to her full 
 height, and yelhng louder than ever : * Here ! come a bit 
 nearer, just to see how I'll settle you ! Don't you get 
 annoying us here. Do I even know her, the hussy ? If 
 she'd wetted me, I'd have pretty soon have given her a hiding. 
 Let her just say what I've ever done to her. Speak, you 
 vixen ; what's been done to you ? * 
 
 'Don't chatter so much,' stammered Gervaise. * You 
 know well enough. Some one saw my husband last night — 
 And just shut up, because if you don't, I'll most certainly 
 strangle you.' 
 
 * Her husband 1 Ah ! that's a good joke, that is ! 
 Madame's husband ! as if a creature like her had a husband ! 
 It isn't my fault if he's chucked you up. You don't suppose 
 I've stolen him, do you ? I'm ready to be searched. Did he 
 have his collar on ? Who's found madame's husband ? 
 There's a reward promised ! ' 
 
 The laughter burst forth again. Gervaise still contented 
 herself with murmuring, almost in a whisper : * You know 
 well enough, you know well enough. It's your sister, I'll 
 strangle her — your sister.' 
 
 ' Just go and try it on with my sister,' resumed Virginie, 
 sneeringly. ' Ah ! it's she, is it ? Well, that's quite 
 possible, she's a trifle more stylish than you are ; but what's 
 it all to me ? Can't one come and wash one's clothes in peace 
 now ? So dry up, d'ye hear, because I've had enough of it ! ' 
 However, it was she who, after giving five or six strokes 
 with her beetle, returned to the attack, intoxicated as she 
 was by the insults she had vented, stirred by her own abuse 
 into a fit of fiery passion. She left off washing and thrice 
 renewed her onset : * Well, yes ! it's my sister. There now, 
 does that satisfy you ? They adore each other. You should 
 iust see them ! And he's left you with those ugly brats of 
 yours ! One of 'em's by a gendarme, isn't he ? and you 
 made away with three others because you didn't want to have 
 to pay for extra luggage on your journey. It's your Lantier 
 who told us that. Ah ! he's been telling some fine things ; 
 he'd had quite enough of you ! ' 
 
 * You filthy wretch ! you wretch ! you wretch I * yelled 
 
22 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Gervaise, quite beside herself, and again seized with a 
 passionate trembling. She turned round, once more search- 
 ing on the ground ; and only finding the little three-legged 
 tub near her, she caught hold of it and flung the whole of 
 the blue water it contained at Virginie's face. 
 
 * The cow ! she's spoilt my dress ! ' cried the latter, one of 
 whose shoulders was sopping wet, and whose left hand was 
 dyed blue. * Wait a minute you muckheap ! ' 
 
 Then in her turn she seized a bucket, and emptied it over 
 the young woman. And forthwith a formidable battle began. 
 Both ran along the rows of tubs, caught hold of the pails 
 that were full, and dashed the contents at one another's 
 heads. And each deluge was accompanied by a volley of 
 coarse insults. Gervaise had now found her tongue, and was 
 as ready with abuse as the other. 
 
 * There ! you dirty beast I That'll help to cool you.* 
 
 * Ah ! that's for your filth. Wash yourself, for once in 
 your life.' 
 
 ' Wait a bit, I'll take the salt out of you, you dried cod- 
 fish.' 
 
 'There's another dose! Just to rinse your teeth and 
 make you smart for to-night.' 
 
 They ended by turning on the taps, and whilst waiting for 
 their buckets to fill they continued to assail each other with 
 vile words. The first pailfuls, badly aimed, scarcely touched 
 them ; but they soon became expert. It was Virginie who first 
 received one full in the face ; the water entering at the neck of 
 her dress, and running down her back and bosom. She was 
 still quite giddy with the shock, when a second pailful caught 
 her side-ways, giving her a sharp blow on the left ear, and 
 soaking her chignon, which unrolled like a ball of string. Ger- 
 vaise was first hit in the legs ; the water filled her shoes and re- 
 bounded to her knees ; two other pailfuls inundated her to the 
 hips. Soon, however, it became impossible to particularise 
 the hits. Both women were dripping from head to heel, their 
 dress-bodies sticking to their shoulders, their skirts clinging 
 to their loins ; and shivering, stiffened, emaciated, so to say, 
 they threw off water on all sides like umbrellas during a heavy 
 shower. 
 
 * They look jolly funny ! ' said one of the bystanders, in a 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 Every one in the wash-house was highly amused. The 
 onlookers had drawn back in order to avoid being splashed. 
 
DESERTION 23 
 
 Applause and jests arose amidst the sluice-like noise of the 
 water flung with full strength from the buckets. On the floor 
 large puddles were running one into another, and the two 
 women were wading in them to their ankles. Virginie, how- 
 ever, who had been meditating a treacherous move, suddenly 
 caught up a pail of boiling lye, which one of her neighbours 
 had ordered, and threw the hot liquid at her antagonist. A 
 general outcry arose. Every one thought that Gervaise was 
 scalded ; but only her left foot had been shghtly hurt. And, 
 exasperated by the pain, she in her turn seized a bucket 
 without troubling to fill it, and threw it with all her strength 
 at the legs of Virginie, who fell to the ground. All the women 
 then spoke together. 
 
 * She's broken one of her limbs ! ' 
 
 * Well, the other tried to cook her ! ' 
 
 * The fair one's right, after all, if her man's been taken from 
 her!' 
 
 Madame Boche had raised her arms to heaven., uttering all 
 sorts of exclamations. She had prudently retreated out of the 
 way between two tubs ; and the children, Claude and Etienne, 
 crying, choking and terrified, clung to her dress, with a con- 
 tinuous cry of * Mamma ! mamma ! ' broken by repeated sob- 
 bing. However, when the doorkeeper saw Virginie fall she 
 hastened forward, and tried to pull Gervaise away by her skirt, 
 repeating the while : * Come now, go home ! be reasonable. 
 On my word, it's quite upset me. Never was such a butchery 
 seen before.* 
 
 Then she had to draw back and again seek refuge between 
 the tubs, with the two children, for Virginie had just flown at 
 Gervaise's throat. She squeezed her round the neck, trying 
 to strangle her, but the other freed herself with a violent jerk, 
 and in her turn hung on to the tail of Virginie's chignon, as 
 though she wished to pull her head off. And the battle was 
 resumed in silence, without a cry, without an insult. They 
 did not seize each other round the body, but they attacked 
 each other's face with open hands and clawing fingers, pinch- 
 ing and scratching whatever they caught hold of. The tall, 
 dark girl's red ribbon and blue silk hair-net were torn off, and 
 her dress body gave way at the neck in such wise that one of 
 her shoulders became exposed ; whilst the blonde, without 
 knowing how, lost a sleeve of her loose white jacket and even 
 a strip of her underlinen. Shreds of stuff flew in all directions. 
 It was from Gervaise that the first blood was drawn, by three 
 
24 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 long scratches descending from the mouth to the throat ; and 
 for fear of having her eyes torn out she sought to protect them 
 by shuttmg them at every grab the other made. No blood 
 showed on Virginie as yet. Gervaise aimed at her ears, mad- 
 dened at not being able to reach them ; but at last she 
 managed to grasp an earring — an imitation pear in yellow 
 glass — which she pulled with such force that she slit the ear, 
 and the blood flowed. 
 
 ' They're killing each other I Separate them, the vixens I * 
 exclaimed several voices. 
 
 The other women had drawn nearer, formed into two 
 camps. Some excited the combatants in the same way as a 
 mob will urge on snarling curs, while the others, more nervous 
 and all in a tremble, averted their heads, having had enough of 
 it already, and declaring that it would surely make them ill. 
 With such divergency of views, a general battle seemed immi- 
 nent. Some bystanders called each other heartless and good 
 for nothing ; bare arms were thrust out and three slaps were 
 heard. 
 
 Madame Boche, meanwhile, was trying to discover the 
 wash-house porter : * Charles ! Charles ! Wherever has he 
 got to ? ' 
 
 At last she found him in the front rank, looking on with 
 folded arms. He was a strapping fellow, with a thick neck, 
 and judging by his laughter he much enjoyed the sight of the 
 battle waging between Gervaise and Virginie. 
 
 * What I you're there ? ' cried Madame Boche, as she caught 
 sight of him. * Just come and help us to separate them. You 
 can easily separate them, you can I ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! thank you, not if I know it,' he answered coolly. 
 * To get my eye scratched like I did the other day, I suppose ! 
 I'm not here for that sort of thing ; I should have too much 
 work if I was. Don't be afraid, a little bleeding will do 'em 
 good ; it'll soften 'em.' 
 
 Thereupon the doorkeeper talked of fetching the police ; 
 but the mistress of the wash-house, the delicate young woman 
 with the sore eyes, would not allow her to do so. She kept 
 on saying : * No, no, I won't ; it would compromise my 
 establishment. 
 
 Meantime, the struggle on the ground continued, with 
 varying fortune, till Virginie suddenly raised herself upon her 
 knees. She had just caught hold of a beetle and was brand- 
 ishing it. There was a rattling in her throat, as, in a strangely 
 
DESERTION 25 
 
 altered voice, she exclaimed, * Here's something that'll settle 
 you ! Get your dirty linen ready ! ' 
 
 Gervaise quickly thrust out her hand, and also grasped a 
 beetle, which she held aloft Hke a club ; and she too spoke in a 
 hoarse, choking voice. ' Ah ! you want to go in for the big 
 washing, do you ! Just let me get hold of your skin that I 
 may beat it into dish-cloths I ' 
 
 For a moment they remained there, on their knees, 
 menacing each other. Dishevelled, with their hair streaming 
 over their faces, their breasts heaving, muddy, swelling with 
 rage, they watched one another, as they waited and drew 
 breath. Gervaise dealt the first blow. Her beetle glided off 
 Virginie's shoulder, and she at once threw herself on one side 
 to avoid the latter's weapon, which grazed her hip. Then, 
 warming to their work, they struck at each other Hke washer- 
 women strike their linen, heavily and in time. Whenever 
 there was a hit, there came a muffled sound as of a blow in a 
 tub full of water. The other women around them no longer 
 laughed. Several had gone off saying that it quite upset them ; 
 and the ones who remained craned out their necks, their eyes 
 glittering with a touch of cruelty whilst they expressed the 
 opinion that those two hussies were frightfully plucky. Ma- 
 dame Boche had led Claude and iStienne away, and from the 
 other end of the building came the sound of their sobs 
 minghng with the sonorous shocks of the beetles. But Gervaise 
 suddenly yelled, for Virginie had dealt her a mighty whack on 
 her bare arm just above the elbow. Forthwith, a large red 
 blotch appeared and the flesh began to swell. Then Gervaise 
 in turn threw herself upon Virginie, and every one thought she 
 was going to beat her to death. 
 
 * Enough ! enough ! ' cried the bystanders. 
 
 But her face bore such a terrible expression, that no one 
 dared to approach her. Her strength seemed to have increased 
 tenfold. She seized Virginie round the waist, bent her down 
 in spite of all her struggles, pressed her face against the flag- 
 stones and half tore away her garments. And then, raising 
 her beetle, she began to beat her as she had been wont to 
 beat linen at Plassans, on the banks of the Viorne, when her 
 mistress washed for the garrison. And at every whack a red 
 weal appeared on Virginie's skin. 
 
 For a moment laughter again burst forth, but then the 
 cry, * Enough ! enough ! ' began afresh. However, Gervaise 
 heard not, neither did she tire. She was determined that the 
 
26 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 chastisement should be complete. And, seized with a ferocious 
 gaiety, recalling a well-known washer-woman's song, she 
 repeated : * Bang ! bang ! Margot at her tub — Bang ! bang ! 
 with a great rub-a-dub — Bang 1 bang ! would wash her heart 
 so — Bang ! bang ! all blackened by woe ! ' 
 
 Then she began afresh, ' That's for you, that's for your 
 sister, that's for Lantier. When you next see them, you can 
 give them that. Attention I I'm going to begin again. That's 
 for Lantier, that's for your sister, that's for you. Bang 1 bang ! 
 Margot at her tub— Bang ! bang ! with a great rub-a-dub ' 
 
 The others were obliged to drag Virginie from her. The 
 tall girl, her face bathed in tears and purple with shame, 
 picked up her things and fled. She was vanquished. Then 
 Gervaise slipped on the sleeve of her jacket again and fastened 
 up her petticoats. Her arm pained her a good deal, and 
 unable to hoist her bundle, she asked Madame Boche to place 
 It on her shoulder. While doing so the doorkeeper referred 
 to the battle, spoke of her emotions, and talked of examining 
 the young woman's person. * For,' said she, * you may, 
 perhaps, have something broken. I heard such a tremendous 
 blow.' 
 
 But Gervaise wanted to go home. She made no reply to 
 the pitying remarks and voluble congratulations of the other 
 women who surrounded her, erect in their aprons. When • 
 she was laden she gained the door, where the children awaited 
 her. 
 
 ' Two hours, that makes two sous,' said the mistress of 
 the wash-house, who was already back at her post in the 
 glazed closet. 
 
 Why two sous ? She no longer imderstood that she was 
 asked to pay for her place there. However, she gave the two 
 sous ; and, limping very much beneath the weight of the wet 
 washing on her shoulder, with water dripping from her, her 
 elbow black and blue, her cheek smeared with blood, she 
 went off, dragging Claude and Etienne, who trotted along on 
 either side of her, still trembling, and their faces wet with 
 tears. 
 
 Behind her, the wash-house once more gave forth a great 
 sluice-like noise. The women had eaten their bread and 
 drunk their wine, and now they beat harder than ever, 
 enlivened by the set-to between Gervaise and Virginie. All 
 along the rows of tubs arms were again working furiously, 
 whilst angular, puppet-like profiles, bent backs and distorted 
 
DESERTION 27 
 
 shoulders, kept jerking as though on hinges. Chattering 
 continued along the different alleys, laughter and coarse 
 remarks mingling with the gurghng sound of the water. 
 The taps were running, the buckets over-flowing, and quite a 
 little river streamed along beneath the washing-places. It was 
 the moment of the afternoon's great effort, when the beetles 
 fairly pounded the clothes. The vapour floating about the 
 spacious building assumed a reddish hue, transpierced here 
 and there by discs of sunshine, golden balls which found 
 admittance through the holes in the blinds. And the atmo- 
 sphere, laden with soapy odours, was lukewarm and stifling. 
 Then suddenly the place became full of a white vapour. The 
 huge lid of the copper where the lye was boiling rose 
 mechanically on a central toothed rod, and from the gaping 
 metal cavity set in brickwork came volumes of steam charged 
 with the sweet savour of potash. Close by the wringers 
 were in motion. Bundles of wet clothes, inserted between 
 the cast-iron cylinders, yielded forth their water at one turn 
 of the wheel of the panting, smoking machine, which shook 
 the building more and more with the continuous working of 
 its arms of steel. 
 
 When Gervaise set foot in the passage-entry of the H6tel 
 Boncoeur her tears again mastered her. It was a dark, 
 narrow corridor, with a gutter for dirty water running along- 
 side one wall ; and the stench which she again encountered 
 there made her think of the fortnight she had passed in the 
 place with Lantier — a fortnight of misery and quarrelling, the 
 recollection of which was now fraught with bitter regret. It 
 seemed as if she were plunging into abandonment. 
 
 Upstairs the room was bare, and full of sunshine, for the 
 window stood open. That blaze of light, that dancing golden 
 dust emphasized the wretchedness of the blackened ceiling 
 and dirty walls, whose paper was half torn awa^ . The only 
 thing left hanging there — from a nail above the chimney- 
 piece — was a woman's small neckerchief, twisted like a piece 
 of string. The children's bedstead had been drawn into the 
 middle of the room, allowing a full view of the chest of 
 drawers, the latter standing open and revealing aU their 
 emptiness. Lantier had washed himseii and used the very 
 last of the pomatum — a penn'orth of pomatum on a playing 
 card ; the greasy water from his hands still filled the basin. 
 And he had forgotten nothing. The corner hitherto filled by 
 the trunk seemed to Gervaise an immense empty space 
 
28 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Even the little hand-glass which hung from the window- 
 fastening was gone. When she made this discovery she had 
 a presentiment, and glanced at the mantel-piece. Lantier 
 had taken away the pawn- tickets ; the pink bundle was no 
 longer lying there between the odd zinc candlesticks. 
 
 She hung her washing on the back of a chair, and 
 remained standing, turning round and examining the 
 furniture, overcome by such stupor that her tears could no 
 longer flow. One sou alone remained to her of the four 
 which she had kept for the wash-house. Then, on hearing 
 Claude and Etienne, who already felt consoled, laughing at 
 the window, she went up to them, mother like, took their heads 
 under her arms, and for an instant forgot everything as she 
 gazed on that grey highway, where she had beheld in the 
 morning the awakening of the toilers, the dawn of the giant 
 labour of Paris. At this hour the pavement, warmed by all 
 the work of the day, sent a scorching reverberation up above 
 the city, behind the octroi wall. It was on that pavement, in 
 that furnace-like atmosphere, that she was cast all alone with 
 her little ones ; and her eyes wandered up and down the outer 
 Boulevards, to the right and to the left, pausing at either 
 end as covert terror fell upon her, as though her Ufe would 
 henceforth lie within those limits— a slaughter-house and a 
 hospital. 
 
 n 
 
 COURTSHIP 
 
 Three weeks later, towards half-past eleven, one beautiful 
 sunshiny day, Gervaise and Coupeau, the zinc-worker, were 
 each partaking of a plum preserved in brandy, at old 
 Oolombe's ' Assommoir.' Coupeau, who had been smoking a 
 cigarette on the pavement, had prevailed on her to go inside, 
 when she happened to cross the road on her return from 
 taking a customer's washing home ; and her big square 
 laundress's basket was on the floor beside her, behind the 
 little zinc-covered table. 
 
 Old Colombe's * Assommoir ' stood at the corner of the Rue 
 des Poissonniers and the Boulevard de Eochechouart. The 
 inscription outiside consisted of the one word * Distillation,' in 
 
COURTSHIP 29 
 
 tall blue letters, running above the front from one end to the 
 other. On either side of the doorway, planted in the two 
 halves of a barrel, were some dusty oleanders. The huge 
 bar, with its rows of glasses, its filter and pewter measures, 
 stretched away to the left on entering; and the spacious 
 apartment was ornamented all round with big barrels painted a 
 light yellow, shining with varnish, and having ghttering hoops 
 and taps of brass. Bottles of liqueurs, glass jars full of pre- 
 served fruits, all kinds of phials neatly arranged on shelves, 
 covered the walls, and reflected in the mirror behind the 
 counter their various vivid hues, apple green, pale gold and 
 delicate crimson. However, the curiosity of the establish- 
 ment, a distilling apparatus, which customers could see at 
 work, was found in a glass-covered courtyard, on the other 
 side of an oak barrier. Here there were stills with long 
 necks and worms that went down into the earth ; a regular 
 devil's kitchen, indeed, before which bibulous workmen would 
 come and muse. 
 
 At this, the luncheon hour, the * Assommoir ' was almost 
 deserted. Old Colombe, a stout man of forty, wearing a 
 waistcoat with sleeves, was serving a little girl of ten with 
 four sous' worth of brandy in a cup. A blaze of sunshine 
 came in through the doorway, warming the floor, which was 
 ever damp with the saUva of the smokers. And, from the 
 bar, the barrels, the whole place, there arose a spirituous 
 odour, an alcoholic fume which seemed to thicken and intoxicate 
 the flying dust of the sunlight. 
 
 Coupeau was making another cigarette. Laughing and 
 showing his white teeth he looked very clean, in his short 
 blue linen blouse and cap. With a projecting under jaw and 
 a slightly snub nose, he had handsome brown eyes, the face, 
 in fact, of a joyous, good-natured dog. His coarse curly hair 
 stood quite erect, and his skin still retained the softness of 
 his six-and-twenty years. Gervaise facing him, bareheaded, 
 and wearing a thin black, straight-cut jacket, was finishing 
 her plum, which she held by the stalk between her finger-tips 
 They were close to the street, at the first of the four tablet 
 placed alongside the barrels facing the bar. 
 
 When the zinc-worker had lighted his cigarette, he rested 
 his elbows on the table, thrust his face forward, and for an 
 instant looked in silence at the young woman, whose pretty, 
 fair face that day had the milky transparency of china. 
 Then, alluding to a matter known to themselves alone, and 
 
30 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 already discussed between them, he simply aslud, in a low 
 voice : ' So it's to be " No " ? You say " No " ? ' 
 
 * Oh 1 most decidedly '* No," Monsieur Coupeau,' Gervaise 
 quietly replied with a smile. ' I hope you're not going to 
 talk to me about that here. You know you promised me that 
 you would be reasonable. Had I known, I wouldn't have let 
 you treat me.' 
 
 He did not resume speaking, but went on closely scrutinis- 
 ing her with a bold, loving look, which grew impassioned as 
 he gazed at the pink, moist corners of her lips, which 
 revealed the vivid red of her mouth whenever she smiled. 
 She did not draw away from him, but remained placid and 
 affectionate ; and, after a brief silence, she added : * You can't 
 really mean it. I'm an old woman ; I've a big boy eight 
 years old, so I must think of serious things. Amusing one- 
 self never leads to anything, you know ! There are two 
 mouths at home which are never tired of swallowing, I can tell 
 you! And besides, my misfortune has been a famous lesson 
 to me. You know, I don't care a bit about men now. They 
 won't catch me again for a long while.' 
 
 She explained things good-naturedly, but with great 
 propriety and coldness, as though she had been discussing 
 some question connected with her work, giving, for instance, 
 the reasons which prevented her from starching a habit-shirt. 
 One could realise that she had thoroughly made up her mind 
 after full reflection. 
 
 However, Coupeau, deeply moved, repeated : * You cause 
 me a great deal of pain, a great deal of pain.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see I do,' she resumed, ' and I am sorry for you, 
 Monsieur Coupeau. But you mustn't take it to heart. If I 
 had thoughts of anything of the kind — well, I would rather 
 choose you than another. You look a good-natured fellow, 
 you're nice. We might live together, no doubt, and get 
 along the best way we could. I'm not at all stuck up. I 
 don't say that it might not have been. Only, where's the 
 use, as I've no inclination for it ? I've been for the last 
 fortnight, now, at Madame Fauconnier's. The children go to 
 school. I've got work, and I'm contented. So the best is to 
 remain as we are, isn't it ? ' And she stooped down to take 
 her basket, adding : ' You're making me chatter ; they must 
 be expecting me at the shop. You'll easily find some one 
 else prettier than I, Monsieur Coupeau, and one who won't 
 have two boys to drag about with her.' 
 
COURTSHIP V- 
 
 He looked at the clock inserted in the frame-work of the 
 mirror, and made her sit down again, exclaiming : ' Don't be in 
 such a hurry ! It's only eleven thirty-five. I've still twenty-five 
 minutes. Do you detest me so much that you won't stay and 
 have a little chat with me ? ' 
 
 She put her basket down again, in order not to disoblige 
 him ; and they conversed like good friends. She had had 
 her lunch before taking her washing home ; and he, that day, 
 had hastily swallowed his soup and beef, so as to watch for 
 her. While replying complaisantly to his remarks, Gervaise 
 glanced out of the window, between the glass jars of preserved 
 fruit, at the traffic in the street, which the luncheon hour 
 had filled with a swarming crowd. On both of the narrow 
 foot-pavements skirting the close pressed houses there were 
 hurrying feet, swinging arms, and endless elbowings. 
 Belated ones, men detained by their work, who looked surly 
 with hunger, strode briskly across the road and entered the 
 baker's opposite ; and when they emerged again, each with a 
 pound of bread under his arm, they went three doors higher 
 up, to the * Two-Headed Calf,' there to partake of the 
 ordinary at six sous a head. Next door to the baker's there 
 was a greengrocer, who sold fried potatoes and mussels 
 sprinkled with parsley ; and from this shop a continuous pro- 
 cession of workwomen, in long aprons, carried off screws 
 of ' chips ' and cupfuls of mussels ; whilst others, pretty, 
 delicate, bareheaded girls, purchased bunches of radishes. 
 Moreover, when Gervaise leant forward, she could catch a 
 ghmpse of a crowded pork-butcher's shop, whence children came 
 forth, carrying on the palms of their hands cutlets, sausages, 
 or pieces of hot black-pudding wrapped in greasy paper. Mean- 
 while along the roadway, which was slippery with black mud, 
 even in fine weather, through the constant tramping of the 
 crowd, some workmen, already leaving the eating-houses, 
 passed by in batches, their open hands swinging against their 
 sides as they strolled on, heavy with food, quiet, and slow, 
 amidst all the jostling. 
 
 A group had formed at the doorway of the ' Assommoir.' 
 
 *I say, Bibi-the- Smoker, are you going to stand a go of 
 vitriol ? ' inquired one in a hoarse voice. Then five workmen 
 entered and stood before the bar. • Ah ! Colombe, you old 
 thief,' resumed the previous speaker, * you must give us 
 some of the right sort, you know, and not in thimbles, but real 
 glasses ! ' 
 
3-? THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Old Colombe quietly served them. And then another 
 party of three arrived. Little by little, men in blouses 
 collected at the corner of the foot pavement, stood there for a 
 few minutes, and ended by pushing each other into the dram- 
 shop between the two oleanders grey with dust. 
 
 ' You're stupid ! ' Gervaise was now saying to Coupeau. 
 * Of course I loved him. Only, after the disgusting way in 
 
 which he left me ' 
 
 They were talking of Lantier. Gervaise had not seen 
 him again ; she thought he was living with Virginie's sister, 
 at La Glaci^re, in the house of that friend who was going 
 to start a hat factory. However, she had no thought of 
 running after him. At first his desertion had caused her 
 great anguish — she had even wanted to drown herself ; but, 
 now that she had thought things over, she considered that all 
 was for the best. Had she continued hving with Lantier, 
 she might never have been able to bring up the little ones, 
 for he spent so ,much money. Of course he might come to 
 kiss Claude and Etienne if he were so minded : she would 
 not refuse him admittance. Only, as far as she herself was 
 concerned, she would rather be cut to pieces than in any way 
 resume the old existence. And she said these things like a 
 woman of firm resolution, having fully decided on her future 
 course of life ; whilst Coupeau, unable to shake off his passion, 
 joked and gave an objectionable meaning to everything, ask- 
 ing her certain questions about Lantier so gaily, and showing 
 such white teeth, that she did not think of taking offence. 
 
 * You used to beat him,' said he, at length. * Oh ! you're 
 not a good sort ! You whip people.' 
 
 She interrupted him with a hearty laugh. It was true, 
 though, she had whipped tall Virginie. She would have 
 been glad to strangle some one on that day. And she laughed 
 louder than ever when Coupeau told her that Virginie, 
 ashamed of her defeat, had left the neighbourhood. Despite 
 this merriment, however, the young woman's face preserved 
 an expression of childish gentleness ; she held out her plump 
 hands, saying that she would not hurt a fly ; all she knew of 
 blows was that she herself had received plenty. Then she 
 talked of her childhood at Plassans. She wasn't a bit 
 gaddish ; and if in the first flush of youth she had listened to 
 Lantier it was because he had imposed on her with all his 
 talk of being her husband, and she had thought they were 
 playing at being married people. Her only fault, she asserted 
 
COURTSHIP 33 
 
 was that she was too sensitive and affectionate, and became 
 attached to people who afterwards behaved very badly to her. 
 As for loving a man, all she dreamed of was of always living 
 together and being very happy. Men were wrong in thinking 
 that women's minds were always busy with passion ; their 
 first thoughts were for their homes, which they slaved to 
 keep clean and tidy. For her own part she resembled her 
 mother, a stout, hard-working woman, who had died at her 
 post after serving as slave to old Macquart for more than 
 twenty years. Of course she, Gervaise, was still quite slim, 
 whereas her mother had shoulders broad enough to demolish 
 the doorways through which she passed; nevertheless she 
 resembled her by her mania for becoming attached to people. 
 And if she limped a little, she no doubt owed that to the poor 
 woman whom old Macquart had so often belaboured with 
 blows. Hundreds of times had her mother told her of the 
 old man's drunken roughness. 
 
 * Oh 1 but it's scarcely anything ; it's hardly perceptible,* 
 said Coupeau gallantly. 
 
 She shook her Lead ; she knew well enough that her 
 lameness could be seen ; at forty she would break in two. 
 Then she added gently, with a slight laugh : * It's a funny 
 fancy of yours to fall in love with a cripple.' 
 
 Thereupon he, with his elbows still on the table, thrust his 
 face closer to hers, and began to pour forth compliments as 
 though seeking to intoxicate her. But she continued to shake 
 her head, however caressing she found his wheedling praise. 
 And then, while still listening to him, she once more gazed out 
 into the street, seemingly interested again by the increasing 
 crowd. The shops, now empty, were being swept ; the green- 
 grocer was taking her last panful of fried potatoes from the 
 fire, while the pork-butcher set the plates spread over his 
 counter in order. Bands of workmen were emerging from 
 all the eating-houses ; big bearded fellows pushed and 
 pommelled one another, playing together like children, their 
 heavy hob -nailed boots clattering and scratching the pavement 
 as they slided hither and thither. Others, with their hands deep 
 in their pockets, stood smoking reflectively, gazing at the sun 
 and blinking their eyes. Foot-pavement, roadway and 
 gutters were alike invaded ; an idle crowd streamed from the 
 open door- ways, paused amidst the vehicles, and formed an 
 endless trail of blouses and old overcoats paling in the bright 
 light which filled the street. Factory bells rang in the 
 
 D 
 
34 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 distance, yet the workmen did not hurry, but stopped to light 
 their pipes once more ; then, after calling each other from the 
 different wine- shops, they at last made up their minds to turn 
 their steps with dragging gait in the direction of the work- 
 shops. Gervaise amused herself by watching three fellows, a 
 tall one and two short ones, who turned to look back at every 
 few yards they took ; they ended by descending the street, 
 and came straight to old Colombe's ' Assommoir.' 
 
 * Ah, well ! ' she murmured, * there're three fellows who 
 don't seem inclined for work I ' 
 
 * Why I know the tall one ! ' said Coupeau ; * it's My-Boots, 
 a comrade of mine.' 
 
 The * Assommoir ' was now full. The customers were 
 talking loudly, with sudden sharp outbursts, which broke upon 
 the husky tones of those whose throats were hoarse. Fists, 
 now and again banged upon the bar, caused the glasses to 
 jingle. And all the tipplers stood up, forming little close- 
 pressed groups, with hands crossed over their stomachs or 
 clasped behind their backs. Some parties, over by the barrels, 
 had to wait a quarter of an hour before they had a chance of 
 ordering their drinks of old Colombe. 
 
 ' Hallo 1 why it's that aristocrat, Young Cassis I ' cried 
 My-Boots, bringing his hand down roughly on Coupeau's 
 shoulder. * A fine gentleman, who smokes paper, and wears 
 shirts ! So we want to do the grand with our sweetheart, do 
 we ? we stand her little treats ! ' 
 
 ' Shut up ! don't bother me 1 * repUed Coupeau, greatly 
 annoyed. 
 
 But the other added, with a chuckle, ' Eight you are ! We 
 know what's what, my boy. Fools are fools, that's all ! ' 
 
 He turned his back, after squinting terribly as he glanced 
 at Gervaise. The latter recoiled, feeling rather frightened. 
 The smoke from the pipes, and the strong breath of all those 
 men, ascended in the air, already foul with the fumes of alcohol ; 
 and feeling a choking sensation in her throat, she coughed 
 sHghtly. * Oh ! what a horrible thing is drink ! ' she said in 
 a low voice. And she related that, formerly, at Plassans, she 
 herself had been wont to drink aniseed with her mother. But 
 on one occasion it had nearly killed her, and that had disgusted 
 her with it ; now she could never touch any liqueurs. ' You 
 see,' she added, pointing to her glass, * I've eaten mv plum 
 only ; I shall leave the juice because it would do me harm ' 
 
 Coupeau, on his side, could not understand how people 
 
COURTSHIP 35 
 
 could swallow glassfuls of brandy. A plum now and again 
 wasn't so bad. But as for * vitriol,' absintbe, and all such 
 filthy things, good night ! he would have nothing to do 
 with them. However much his comrades might chaff, he 
 stood outside when those swiggers entered the boozing-ken. 
 His father, who had been a zinc- worker Uke himself, had 
 cracked his head on the pavement of the Rue Coquenard 
 through falling from the roof of No. 25, one day when he was 
 half-seas over, and the constant recollection of that tragedy 
 caused all the family to keep very steady. Whenever he, 
 Coupeau, passed along the Rue Coquenard, and saw the 
 place, he would sooner have swallowed the water of the 
 gutter than have drunk a tumbler of wine at the wine-shop, 
 even though it were given to him. And he concluded with these 
 words : ' In my calling, one needs to be steady on one's legs.* 
 
 Gervaise had taken up her basket again ; still she did 
 not rise, but held it on her knees, with a vacant look in her 
 eyes, dreaming, as though the young workman's words had 
 awakened within her some far-off thoughts of Ufe. And 
 without transition, as it were, she again spoke very slowly : 
 
 * Well ! I'm not ambitious ; I don't ask for much. My 
 desire would be to work in peace, always to have bread to eat, 
 and a decent place to sleep in, you know ; just a bed, a table, 
 and two chairs, nothing more — Ah I and I should also like to 
 be able to bring up my children, to make good men of them, 
 if possible — and I've still another wish, which is, not to be 
 beaten if ever I live with any one again ; no I should not like 
 to be beaten — and that's all, you see, that's all.' She sat 
 thinking, questioning her desires, seemingly unable to find 
 anything else of consequence which tempted her. However, 
 after hesitating awhile, she resumed : 'Yes, when one ^f^aches 
 the end, one might wish to die in one's bed. For myself, ifter 
 having trudged about all my life, I should really like to die 
 in my bed — in my own home.* 
 
 Then she rose from her seat. Coupeau, who cordially 
 approved her wishes, was already standing, anxious about 
 the time. But they did not leave at once ; she had the 
 curiosity to pass behind the oak barrier to look at the big 
 copper still, which worked beneath the glass roof in the court- 
 yard ; and the zinc-worker, who followed her, explained how 
 it operated, pointing out the different parts of the apparatus, 
 especially the huge retort, whence fell a limpid stream of 
 alcohol. The still, with its strangely-shaped receivers, and 
 
 d2 
 
36 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 endless coils of pipes, had a sombre look ; no smoke or steam 
 escaped from it ; one could barely hear a kind of internal 
 breathing, hke some underground rumbling ; it was like mid- 
 night labour performed in the light of day by a mighty, dumb, 
 and gloomy workman. 
 
 Meantime My-Boots, accompanied by his two comrades, 
 had approached to lean over the barrier, whilst waiting for 
 a corner of the bar to become vacant. He had a laugh resem- 
 bling the noise of a pulley that wants greasing, as he 
 wagged his head and looked tenderly at the fuddUng machine. 
 Thunder ! it was a pretty invention 1 There was enough in 
 that big copper paunch to keep one's throat moist for a 
 whole week. He would have liked to have had the end of 
 the pipe soldered to his teeth, so as to feel the ' vitriol * fill 
 his body, descend downwards to his heels, for ever and ever, 
 like a httle waterfall. He would never have troubled himself 
 about anything then ; it would have been a great deal better 
 than having to put up with the thimblefuls of that old cheat 
 Colombe ! At this the others chuckled, saying that My- 
 Boots, the animal, had a very fine bee in his bonnet. And 
 meantime the still, slowly, without a flame, without a touch 
 of brightness on its dull copper envelope, continued working, 
 letting its alcoholic sweat trickle forth like some sluggish yet 
 stubborn stream, which in course of time would overrun the 
 whole dram-shop, spread along the outer Boulevards, and in- 
 undate even the immense gulf of Paris. Gervaise shivered, and 
 moved away ; yet she tried to smile, as she murmured : * It's 
 stupid ; but to look at that machine makes me shiver ; the 
 thought of drink makes my blood run cold.' Then, returning 
 to the idea she nursed of perfect happiness, she resumed : 
 * Now, ain't I right ? it's much the nicest, isn't it — to work 
 hard, have bread to eat, a home of one's own, and bring up 
 one's children, and die in one's bed ? ' 
 
 * And never be beaten,' added Coupeau, gaily. * But I 
 would never beat you, if you would only try me, Madame Ger- 
 vaise. You've no cause for fear. I don't drink, and besides, 
 I love you too much.' 
 
 He had lowered his voice, and was whispering in her 
 ear, whilst she, holding her basket before her, made a way for 
 herself betwixt the men. But she still shook her head, several 
 times in succession. Yet she looked round and smiled at him, 
 and seemed pleased to know that he did not drink. She would 
 certainly have answered yes, had she not sworn never to 
 
COURTSHIP 37 
 
 renew the experiment which she had made with Lantier. At 
 length they reached the door and passed out. Behind them, 
 the ' Assommoir ' still remained full, wafting into the very 
 street the hoarse voices of its customers and the spirituous 
 odour of its ' goes ' of * vitriol.' My-Boots could be heard 
 calling old Colombe a bilk, and accusing him of having only 
 half filled his glass. He himself was a jolly dog, one of the 
 right sort, a fellow who was all on. And dash it all, the 
 guv'ner might go to blazes ; he wasn't going back to the 
 show that day, he was sick of work. So he proposed to his 
 two comrades that they should sheer off to the * Little Old 
 Man with a Cough,' a boozing-kon of the Barriere Saint- 
 Denis, where one could get the right strong stuff, pure. 
 
 * Ah 1 one can breathe here,' said Gervaise, as she reached 
 the pavement outside. * Well 1 good-bye, and thank you. 
 Monsieur Coupeau. I must hurry back.' 
 
 She was about to proceed along the Boulevard. But he 
 had taken her hand, and retained it, as he said : * Go round 
 with me by the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, it won't be much 
 farther for you. I've got to call on my sister before return- 
 ing to work. We can keep each other company.' 
 
 She ended by agreeing, and they slowly ascended the Rue 
 des Poissonniers side by side, but without taking each other's 
 arm. He talked of his relations. His mother, old Madame 
 Coupeau had formerly made waistcoats, but her eyes were 
 faihng her, so now she went out charing. She had reached 
 her sixty-second birthday on the third of the previous month. 
 He was the youngest of her children. One of his sisters, 
 Madame Lerat, a widow of thirty- six, worked at artificial 
 flower-making, and lived in the Rue des Moines, at Batig- 
 nolles. The other, who was thirty, had married a gold chain 
 maker, that sly malicious beggar, Lorilleux. It was on her 
 that he was going to call, in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, 
 where she lived in the big house on the left. Every 
 evening he dined with the Lorilleux ; it was a saving for 
 all three of them. But he was going to tell them not 
 to expect him that day, as he had been invited by a friend. 
 
 Gervaise, who was listening to him, suddenly interrupted 
 him to ask, with a smile : * So you're called *' Young Cassis," 
 Monsieur Coupeau, are you not ? ' 
 
 ' Oh 1 ' he replied, * it's a nickname my mates have given 
 me, because I generally drink ** cassis " ^ when they force me 
 * Blaok-oui-rant syrup. 
 
38 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 to accompany them to the wine-shop. But it's no worse to 
 be called Young Cassis than My-Boots, is it ? ' 
 
 'Of course not. Young Cassis isn't an ugly name,* 
 observed the young woman. 
 
 Then she questioned him about his work. He was still 
 engaged yonder, at the new hospital behind the octroi wall. 
 Oh ! there was no lack of work, he would not have finished 
 there for a year at the least. There were yards and yards of 
 guttering to be fixed. ' You know,' he added, * I can see the 
 Hotel Bonca3ur when I'm up there. Yesterday, you were at 
 the window, and I waved my arms, but you didn't notice me.' 
 
 Then, when they had already gone about a hundred paces 
 along the Rue de laGoutte-d'Or, he stopped short, and raising 
 his eyes, exclaimed : * That's the house. I was born farther 
 on, at No. 22. But all the same, this house is a fine block of 
 masonry ! It's as big as a barrack inside ! ' 
 
 Gervaise raised her head and examined the frontage. The 
 house had five upper storeys facing the street, each with a row 
 of fiftcea windows, whose shutters, grimy and more or less 
 broken, imparted a ruinous aspect to the immense mass of 
 wall. Down below, on the ground floor, were four shops ; to 
 the right of the door a huge and greasy eating-place ; to 
 the left a charcoal dealer's, a linen-draper's, and an umbrella 
 shop. And the house appeared all the more colossal from 
 the circumstance that it stood between two small, low, 
 insignificant buildings, which seemed to cling to it. Square 
 in shape, and similar to a block of coarsely prepared mor- 
 tar, rotting and crumbling beneath the rain, it set against 
 the clear sky, above the neighbouring roofs, the profile of 
 its huge cube-like form, whose rough, unplastered mud- 
 coloured sides had the interminable bareness of prison walls ; 
 while the rows of toothing stones at either end formed, as 
 it were, a series of decayed jaws gaping into space. But 
 Gervaise particularly examined the doorway — an immense 
 arched doorway — which rose as high as the second storey, 
 forming a deep porch, at the other end of which one could 
 discern the light of a large courtyard. In the centre of 
 this porch, which was paved like the street, was a gutter, 
 along which flowed some pale pink water. 
 
 * Come in,' said Coupeau, ' no one will eat you.* 
 
 Gervaise wanted to wait for him in the street. However, 
 she could not resist entering the porch as far as the door- 
 keeper's room on the right. And there, on the threshold, she 
 
COURTSHIP 39 
 
 again raised her eyes. The inner faQades — four regular fa9ades 
 enclosing the vast square of the courtyard — had six storeys 
 apiece. The grey walls, partly corroded by a kind of yellow 
 leprosy, and streaked by drippings from the roof, were perfectly 
 flat with never a strip of moulding from the pavement to the 
 slates ; the only projections were the water-pipes, which curved 
 a little at each floor, where the open drain-sinks were seen, 
 covered with rust. The shutterless windows displayed bare 
 panes, of the greenish hue of cloudy water. From certain 
 casements, mattresses covered with blue check ticking were 
 hanging out to air ; on lines, in front of others, clothes were 
 drying, all the washing of a family — the man's shirts, the 
 wife's loose linen jackets, and the children's pants ; at one 
 window on the third floor some dirty napkins were exhibited. 
 And from top to bottom, the lodgings, all too small for their 
 occupants, seemed to be bursting into the yard, sending forth 
 scraps of their misery by every aperture. 
 
 Down below, each frontage had its tall narrow doorway, 
 destitute of woodwork, being merely a slit in the wall afford- 
 ing admittance to a passage with sides full of crevices, past 
 which ascended the winding steps of a muddy staircase, with 
 an iron hand-rail. There were altogether four of these stair- 
 cases, distinguished one from another by the first four letters 
 of the alphabet painted on the wall. The ground floors were 
 fitted up as huge workshops, with glass frontages, grimy with 
 dust ; in one a locksmith's forge was blazing ; in another, 
 the sounds of a carpenter's plane could be heard ; whilst 
 near the entrance, a dyer's laboratory discharged with much 
 seething and bubbling that pale pink stream which flowed 
 along the gutter beneath the porch. The courtyard was 
 dirtied by other pools of dyed water and littered with shavings 
 and cinders, while tufts of grass grew round its edges in the 
 crevices between tlie paving stones. A crude light fell there, 
 the expanse looking as if cut atwain at the point where the 
 sunshine and the shadow met. On the shady side, around 
 the water tap, which always caused a certain dampness there, 
 three little hens with muddy claws were pecking the ground 
 and seeking worms. And Gervaise slowly gazed about her, 
 lowering her glance from the sixth floor to the paving stones, 
 then raising it again, surprised at the vastness of the pile, 
 feeling, as it were, in the midst of some living organ — the 
 very heart of a city — and as interested in the house as if it had 
 been a giant. 
 
40 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 ' Is madame seeking anyone ? ' called the puzzled door- 
 keeper, emerging from her room. 
 
 The young woman explained that she was merely waiting 
 for a friend, and then went back to the street ; however, as 
 Coupeau did not come, she again returned to the courtyard, 
 seized with a desire to take another look. She did not think 
 the house ugly. Amongst the rags hanging from the windows 
 smiled various cheerful touches — a wall-flower blooming in a 
 pot, a cage of canaries, whence a sound of chirruping de- 
 scended, some shaving-glasses shining like stars in the depth 
 of the shadow. Down below, a carpenter was singing, ac- 
 companied by the regular hiss of his jointing-plane ; whilst, 
 in the locksmith's workshop, a number of hammers beating in 
 time sounded like a loud silvery peal of bells. Moreover, at 
 almost all the open windows, against the faintly seen back- 
 ground of wretchedness, children showed their smeared and 
 smiling faces, and women sewed, with placid profiles bent over 
 their work. It was the resumption of toil after the mid-day 
 meal, the rooms free of the men who worked away from 
 home, the house relapsing into great peacefulness, on which 
 only broke the noise of the workmen's tools, the lullaby as it- 
 were of a refrain, ever the same, repeated for hours together. 
 The only thing which did not please Gervaise was that the yard 
 seemed rather damp. If she had lived there she would have 
 liked a lodging at the farther end, on the sunny side. She 
 had advanced some five or six steps, and was inhaling that 
 musty odour pertaining to the lodgings of the poor — a smell 
 of old dust, of rancid dirt ; however, as the acrid effluvia of 
 the dyed water predominated, she thought that the place 
 smelt far less objectionably than the Hotel Boncoeur. And 
 she already chose her window — a window up in the left-hand 
 corner, where there was a box fuU of scarlet runners, whose 
 slender stems had begun to twine around a little bower of 
 string. 
 
 ' I've kept you waiting rather long, eh ? ' said Coupeau, 
 whom she suddenly heard close beside her. ' There's always 
 an awful fuss whenever I don't dine with them, and it was 
 fvorse than ever to-day, as my sister had bought some veal.' 
 Then, noticing that Gervaise had started slightly with surprise, 
 he continued, glancing round in his turn : ' You were looking 
 at the house. It's always all let from top to bottom. There are 
 three hundred tenants, I think. If I had had any furniture, 
 
COURTSHIP 41 
 
 I would have tried to secure a small room. One would be 
 comfortable here, don't you think so ? ' 
 
 'Yes, one would be comfortable,' murmured Gervaise. 
 •In our street, at Plassans, there weren't nearly so many 
 people. Look, that's pretty — that window up on the fifth 
 floor, with the scarlet runners.' 
 
 Then he pertinaciously renewed his proposals ; but she 
 hastened away under the porch, begging him not to begin his 
 nonsense again. However, when Coupeau left her at Madame 
 Fauconnier's door, he was for a moment able to press her 
 hand, which she surrendered to him in all friendliness. 
 
 For a month the young woman and the zinc-worker 
 continued the best of friends. He admired her courage, when 
 he saw her half killing herself with work, keeping her children 
 clean and tidy, and yet finding time at night bo do all sorts of 
 sewing. There were women who were far from clean, who 
 gadded about, and were ever bent on self-indulgence ; but, 
 hang it all ! she in nowise resembled them ; she took too 
 serious a view of life 1 When she heard him say this she 
 would laugh, and modestly defend herself. Unfortunately 
 she had not always been so good. And she alluded to the 
 circumstance that she had become a mother when only four- 
 teen, and to the quarts of aniseed which she had helped her 
 own mother to drain in past times. Experience was correcting 
 her a little — that was all. It was a mistake to think that she 
 bad a strong will. On the contrary, she was very weak ; she 
 let herself go whither she was pushed, for fear of causing 
 pain to any one. Her dream was to live among respectable 
 people, because bad company, said she, was like a blow from 
 a bludgeon,* it cracked one's skull, and laid one on one's back 
 in no time. She fell into a cold sweat at the thought of the 
 future, and compared herself to a coin tossed up in the air 
 and coming down either head or tail, just as chance might 
 will it. However, all that she had already seen, all the bad 
 examples spread before her in childhood, had proved a sharp 
 lesson. But Coupeau chaffed her about her gloomy thoughts, 
 and brought back all her courage by his rough horse-play. 
 At this she would push him from her, and slap his hands, 
 whilst he laughed and called out that, for a weak woman, 
 she was really not an easy capture. He, who always joked 
 about everything, did not trouble regarding the future. One 
 
 ^ An A&%ommow. 
 
42 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 day broTight another, of course ! One would always manage 
 to have a nest and a bite. The neighbourhood seemed to 
 him a decent one, excepting it were for some of the drunk- 
 ards, of whom the gutters might well have been cleared. For 
 his own part he was not a bad sort ; he sometimes said very 
 sensible things, was even a trifle coquettish, parted his hair 
 carefully on one side, wore pretty neckties and a pair of patent 
 leather shoes on Sundays. Withal, he was as sharp and 
 as impudent as a monkey, full of the mocking fun and ready 
 pertness of speech of the Parisian workman, which had its 
 charm coming from so young a fellow as himself. 
 
 He and Gervaise had ended by rendering each other all 
 sorts of services at the Hotel Boncoeur. He fetched her milk, 
 ran her errands, carried her bundles of clothes ; and of an 
 evening, as he was the first to get home from work, he often 
 took the children for a walk on the outer Boulevard. 
 Gervaise, in return for his polite attentions, would climb to 
 the narrow garret where he slept, and see to his clothes, 
 sewing buttons on his blue overalls, and mending his linen 
 jackets. Great famiharity grew up between them. Amused 
 with the songs he sang, the continual larking of the Paris 
 faubourgs, which he ever brought with him and which was 
 all new to her, she never felt dull when he was there. And 
 he, as a result of their constant intercourse, grew more and 
 more impassioned. He was caught, and firmly, too! It 
 ended by bothering him. He still laughed ; but in reality 
 was so upset and oppressed, that it no longer seemed funny to 
 him. Still he continued teasing her as in the past, and she 
 tolerated his free speech, objecting as she did only to rough- 
 ness. She got angry but on one occasion when, wishing to 
 snatch a kiss from her, he accidentally pulled out some of her 
 hair. 
 
 Towards the end of June, however, Coupeau lost his 
 liveliness and became most peculiar. Gervaise felt quite 
 uneasy at some of his glances. Then, after sulking for two 
 days, he suddenly came one Tuesday night at about eleven 
 o'clock and knocked at her door. At first she would not open 
 to him ; but his voice was so gentle and tremulous that she 
 ended by removing the chest of drawers which she had 
 pushed against the door. When he entered she thought that 
 he was ill : he looked so pale, his eyes were so red, and the 
 veins on his face were all swollen. He stood there, stuttering 
 and shaking his head, however. No, no, he was not ill. He 
 
COURTSHIP 43 
 
 had simply been crying for two hours, upstairs in his room 
 where he wept hke a child, biting his pillow so as not to be 
 heard by the neighbours. For three nights past he had been 
 unable to sleep. Things could not go on like that. 
 
 ' Listen, Madame Gervaise,' he said, with a swelling in 
 his throat, and again on the point of shedding tears, ' we 
 must end this, mustn't we ? We'll go and get married. I'm 
 willing. I've quite made up my mind.' 
 
 Gervaise showed great surprise. She was very grave. 
 * Oh ! Monsieur Coupeau,' she murmured, * whatever are 
 you thinking of ? You know I've never asked you for that. 
 What you said to me didn't suit me — that was all. Oh, 
 no, no I it's serious now ; think of what you're saying, I beg 
 of you.' 
 
 But he continued to shake his head, with an air of un- 
 alterable resolution. He had already thought it all over and 
 had come down because he wanted to have a good night. 
 She wasn't going to send him back to weep again, he sup- 
 posed ? As soon as she should say * Yes,' he would cease 
 bothering her, and she might go quietly to bed. He only 
 wanted to hear her say * Yes.' They could talk it over on the 
 morrow. 
 
 * But I certainly can't say " Yes " like that,* resumed 
 Gervaise. * I don't want you to accuse me later on of having 
 incited you to do something foolish. You see, Monsieur 
 Coupeau, it's wrong of you to be so obstinate. You don't 
 know yourself what your real feeUngs are for me. If you 
 didn't see me for a week, you'd get all right again, I'm sure. 
 Men often marry, thinking only of the present ; but the days 
 follow on for the rest of their lives, and they get awfully 
 worried. But sit down there ; I'm willing to talk it over at 
 once.' 
 
 Then, until one in the morning, in the dim room, by the 
 faint hght of a smoky tallow candle which they forgot to 
 snuff, they talked of their marriage, lowering their voices so 
 as not to wake the two children, Claude and IBtienne, who 
 slept, breathing gently, with their heads side by side on the 
 same pillow. And Gervaise kept on alluding to them, point- 
 ing them out to Coupeau. It was a funny dowry for her 
 to bring him ; she really could not encumber him with two 
 youngsters. Then, too, she was seized with shame for him. 
 What would people say in the neighbourhood ? They had 
 known her with her lover ; they knew her story. It wouldn't 
 
44 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 seem decent if he and she should get married but two months 
 after the old affair. Coupeau answered all this good reason- 
 ing by shrugging his shoulders. He did not care what the 
 people of the neighbourhood thought. He did not poke his 
 nose into other people's business; to begin with, he would 
 have been too much afraid of dirtying it 1 Well, yes ; she 
 had lived with Lantier, no doubt. But what of that ? She 
 had been faithful to him ; she hadn't run away from him, 
 but he from her; and she didn't carry on with other men, 
 like so many married women, the richest and highest, did. 
 As for the children, they would grow up, and meantime he and 
 she would take care of them, of course. He would never 
 find another woman so courageous and kind, so full of good 
 qualities. Besides, all that was nothing; she might have 
 been ugly and idle, and have had a troop of dirty kids — it 
 would have made no difference. He wanted her. 
 
 * Yes, that's it,* he repeated, bringing his hand down on 
 his knee with a continuous pommelling. * You understand. 
 There's nothing to be said to that, is there ? ' 
 
 Little by little, Gervaise softened. A cowardliness of the 
 heart and senses came upon her, amidst the passionate 
 desire by which she felt herself enveloped. She now only 
 ventured on the most timid objections, her hands lying idly 
 in her lap, and an expression of gentle tenderness suffusing 
 her face. From outside, through the open window, the 
 beautiful June night wafted in a warm breeze, which brusquely 
 stirred the flame of the candle, whose long red wick was 
 getting charred. In the silence pervading the sleeping district 
 one only heard the child-like sobbing of a drunkard who was 
 lying flat on his back in the middle of the Boulevard ; whilst, 
 far away, from inside some restaurant where a fiddle was 
 playing a vulgar quadrille to some belated wedding party, 
 came a strain of crystalline music, clear and sharp like that 
 of a harmonica. Coupeau, seeing that the young woman 
 had exhausted her arguments and remained silent, smiling 
 vaguely, caught hold of her hands and drew her towards him. 
 She was in one of those moments which she so much dreaded, 
 feeling conquered, too deeply moved to repulse or distress 
 anyone. But the zinc-worker did not understand. He con- 
 tented himself with roughly grasping her wrists ; and they 
 both sighed at this slight pain, which seemed, as it were, 
 some satisfaction to their love. 
 
 ' You'll say '* Yes," won't you ? ' he asked. 
 
COURTSHIP 45 
 
 * How you worry me ! ' she murmured. * You wish it ? 
 Well, then, " Yes." Ah I we're perhaps doing a very fooHsh 
 thing.' 
 
 But he had already jumped up, and, clasping her round 
 the waist, he kissed her roughly on the face, at random. 
 Then, at the noise caused by this caress, he ^became anxious, 
 and went on tip-toes to look at Claude and Etienne. ' Hush 1 
 we must be good,* he said, in a whisper, * we mustn't wake 
 the youngsters. Good-bye till to-morrow.' 
 
 And forthwith he went back to his room. Gervaise, all of 
 a tremble, remained sitting on the edge of her bed for nearly 
 an hour without thinking of undressing herself. She was 
 touched ; she considered Coupeau very honourable ; for at 
 one moment she had really thought it all over. The drunk- 
 ard below, under the window, was now venting a hoarser 
 plaint, like that of some lost animal. But, far away, silence 
 had fallen upon the viohn and its vulgar refrain. 
 
 On the following days Coupeau tried to prevail on Ger- 
 vaise to call some evening on his sister in the Rue de la 
 Goutte-d'Or ; but the young woman, who was very timid, 
 evinced great dread of this visit to the Lorilleux. She per- 
 fectly well realised that the zinc-worker was covertly afraid 
 of them, though, of course, he was in nowise dependent on 
 his sister, who was not even the eldest of the family. Mother 
 Coupeau would freely give her consent, for she never thwarted 
 her son. However, the Lorilleux had the reputation of 
 earning as much as ten francs a day ; and from this circum- 
 stance they derived a positive authority. Coupeau would not 
 have dared to marry without being sure before aught else 
 that they accepted his wife. 
 
 * I have spoken to them of you, they know our plans,' he 
 explained to Gervaise. * Come now 1 what a child you are I 
 Let's call on them this evening. I've warned you, haven't 
 I ? You'll find my sister rather stiff. Lorilleux, too, isn't 
 always very amiable. In reality, they are greatly annoyed, 
 because, if I marry, I shall no longer take my meals with 
 them, and that will mean a saving the less for them. But 
 never mind, they won't turn you out. Do it for me, it's 
 absolutely necessary.' 
 
 These words only frightened Gervaise the more. One 
 Saturday evening, however, she gave in, and Coupeau came 
 to fetch her at half -past eight. She had dressed herself in a 
 black gown, a shawl of iixouu^lvM-dQ-laitie with a pattern of 
 
46 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 yellow palms, and a white cap trimmed with a little cheap 
 lace. During the six weeks she had been working she had 
 saved up the seven francs which the shawl, and the two and 
 a half francs which the cap, had cost her ; the dress was an 
 old one cleaned and made up afresh. 
 
 ' They're expectmg you,' said Coupeau to her, as they 
 went round by the Rue des Poissonniers. * Oh ! they're 
 beginning to get used to the idea of seeing me married. 
 They seem very nice indeed, to-night. And, you know, if 
 you've never seen gold chains made, it'll amuse you to watch 
 them. They just happen to have a pressing order for 
 Monday.' 
 
 * They've got gold in their rooms ? ' asked Gervaise. 
 
 ' I should think so ; there's some on the walls, there's 
 some on the floor — in fact, there's some everywhere.' 
 
 They had passed through the arched doorway and crossed 
 the courtyard. The Lorilleux lived on the sixth floor, 
 staircase B. Coupeau laughingly told Gervaise to hold the 
 hand-rail tight and not to leave go of it. She looked up, and 
 blinked on perceiving the lofty well of the staircase, which 
 was lighted by three gas-jets, one on every second landing ; 
 the last one, right atop, looking like a star twinkling in a 
 black sky, whilst the other two cast long beams of light, 
 of fantastic shapes, among the interminable windings of the 
 stairs. 
 
 ' Hallo ! ' said the zinc-worker, as he reached the first 
 floor landing, * there's a strong smell of onion soup. Some 
 one's been having onion soup, I'm sure.' 
 
 As a matter of fact the grey, dirty B staircase, with its 
 greasy hand-rail and stairs, and scratched walls showing the 
 rough mortar, was still full of a powerful odour of cooking. 
 On each landing passages branched off sonorous with noise, 
 and yellow painted doors, blackened near the locks by dirty 
 hands, stood open ; while, on a level with the staircase 
 window, a musty stench came from the drain-sink mingling 
 with the pungency of the cooked onions. From the ground- 
 floor to the sixth storey one could hear the clatter of crockery, 
 the noise of saucepans being scoured, of pans being scraped 
 with spoons to clean them. On the first floor, where a door, 
 bearing in big letters the inscription * Draughtsman,' stood 
 ajar, Gervaise caught sight of two men conversing angrily 
 amidst the smoke from their pipes, whilst seated at an oil- 
 cloth covered table, whence the evening meal had just been 
 
COURTSHIP 4, 
 
 cleared away. The second and third floors were quieter ; 
 through the chinks of the woodwork one merely heard the 
 rocking of a cradle, the smothered cries of a child, and the 
 full voice of a woman, all intermingling: and flowing on like 
 the dull murmur of a stream, without any one word being 
 distinctly audible. And Gervaise read different names on 
 placards nailed upon the doors : ' Madame Gaudron, carder,' 
 for instance ; and farther off : * M. Madinier, manufactory of 
 cardboard boxes.' People were fighting on the fourth floor, 
 which shook with the stamping of feet and upsetting of 
 furniture, accompanied by an awful noise of oaths and blows ; 
 all this, however, did not prevent the neighbours across the 
 landing from playing cards, with their door open, so as to get 
 a little air. 
 
 When Gervaise reached the fifth floor, she stopped to draw 
 breath ; she was not used to so much climbing ; that ever 
 turning wall, and the glimpses of lodgings which she caught 
 in fast succession, made her head ache. Besides, a family 
 now blocked up the landing ; the father was washing some 
 plates on a little earthenware stove near the sink, whilst the 
 mother, leaning against the handrail, was washing the baby 
 before putting it to bed. However, Coupeau encouraged the 
 young woman. They were nearly there, said he ; and when 
 he at length reached the sixth landing, he turned round to 
 aid her with a smile. She, with raised head, was trying to 
 discover whence came a clear, piercing voice, dominating all 
 other noises, which she had heard from the first stair. It 
 came, she found, from an attic under the roof, where a little old 
 woman was singing as she dressed some cheap dolls. Then, as 
 a tall girl entered a room close by with a pail of water, Gervaise 
 espied a man inside, and when the door had been closed, 
 she read upon a card nailed to it : ' Mademoiselle Clemence, 
 ironer.' And now, right at the top of the stairs as she was, 
 short of breath, and with her legs exhausted, she had the 
 curiosity to lean over the hand-rail. At present it was the 
 lowest gas-jet which looked like a star at the bottom of 
 the narrow well by which the six flights descended ; and all 
 the odours and turbulent, seething life of the house came 
 up in one breath, as it were, to the spot where she stood, 
 scorching her anxious face as with a gust of heat, as she 
 paused on the edge of the abyss. 
 
 But Coupeau spoke : ' We're not there yet,' said he. * Oh ! 
 '6*S quite a journey I ' 
 
48 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 He had entered a long corridor on the left ; and turned 
 twice, first to the left again, and afterwards to the right. The 
 corridor still ran on, branching off here and there, but 
 invariably narrow, with walls full of crevices and plaster 
 peeling off, while at distant intervals it was lighted by a 
 slender gas jet ; and the doors, each and all alike, succeeding 
 one another like those of a prison or a convent, and almost 
 always open, continued to afford glimpses of homes of misery 
 and toil, which the hot June evening had filled with a reddish 
 mist. At length, however, they reached a small passage, 
 where the darkness was complete. 
 
 * Here we are,' resumed the zinc-worker. * Be careful ! 
 keep to the wall ; there are three steps.' 
 
 Gervaise cautiously felt her way in the obscurity. Still 
 she stumbled, and then counted the three steps. At the end 
 of the passage, however, Coupeau had suddenly opened a 
 door, without knocking, and a bright light spread along the 
 corridor. Forthwith they entered. 
 
 It was a narrow apartment, looking like a continuation of 
 the passage. A faded woollen curtain, which for the moment 
 was caught up by a string, divided the place in halves. The 
 first division contained a bedstead pushed away under an 
 angle of the attic ceiling, a cast-iron stove still warm from 
 the cooking of the dinner, a couple of chairs, a table and a 
 wardrobe, from which it had been necessary to saw off a cornice, 
 so as to make it fit in between the door and the bedstead. 
 Then, the second part of the room was fitted up as a work- 
 shop : at the end was a narrow forge with its bellows ; to the 
 right, a vice fixed to the wall beneath some shelves on which 
 various old iron lay scattered ; and to the left, near the window, 
 a small workman's bench, littered with dirty, greasy pliers and 
 shears, and microscopical saws. 
 
 * It's us I ' cried Coupeau, advancing as far as the woollen 
 curtain. 
 
 But at first no one answered. Gervaise, deeply affected, 
 especially by the thought that she was about to enter a place 
 full of gold, stood behind the zinc-worker stammering, and 
 risking nods by way of salutation. The brilliancy of the 
 light, for a lamp burnt on the bench and a brazier flared in 
 the forge, increased her confusion. She ended, however, by 
 distinguishing Madame Lorilleux — a short, red-haired and 
 t&lerably robust woman who, with all the strength of her 
 eho2:t arms, and the assistance of a big pair of pincers, was 
 
COURTSHIP 49 
 
 pulling some block metal wire, which she passed through the 
 holes of a draw-plate fixed to the vice. Seated at the bench, 
 Lorilleux, quite as small of stature, but more slender in the 
 shoulders, was accomplishing, pliers in hand, and with the 
 vivacity of a monkey, some work of so minute a character 
 that it was impossible to follow it between his knotty fingers. 
 It was he who first raised his head — a head with scanty locks 
 and a long sickly face, yellow like old wax. 
 
 ' Ah I it's you ; all right, all right ! ' he murmured. 
 ' We're in a hurry, you know. Don't come into the workroom, 
 you'd be in our way. Stay in the bedroom.' 
 
 Then he reverted to his microscopic task, his face again 
 exposed to the reflection of a glass globe full of water, through 
 which the lamp cast a circle of bright light upon his work. 
 
 ' Sit down 1 ' called out Madame Lorilleux in her turn. 
 • It's that lady, isn't it ? Very well, very well 1 * 
 
 She had rolled the wire, and now carried it to the forge, 
 where, after reviving the fire of the brazier with a large 
 wooden fan, she proceeded to temper it before passing it 
 through the last holes of the draw-plate. 
 
 Coupeau fetched the two chairs, and made Gervaise seat 
 herself close to the curtain. The room was so narrow that 
 there was not space for him to sit beside her. So he installed him- 
 self a little in the rear, and leant forward to give her explana- 
 tions of the work. The young woman, abashed by the strange 
 reception of the Lorilleux, and ill at ease beneath their covert 
 glances, had a singing in her ears which prevented her from 
 hearing. She thought that Madame Lorilleux looked very 
 old for her thirty years, with her cross-grained manner, her 
 dirty appearance, and her hair rolled like a cow's tail 
 over her unhooked linen jacket. The husband, his wife's 
 senior by one year only, appeared quite an old man, with thin 
 wicked-looking lips, as he sat there in his shirt sleeves, with his 
 bare feet in a pair of old trodden-down slippers. But what upset 
 Gervaise the most was the smallness of the workroom, the 
 smeared walls, the tarnished metal tools, all the black dirt 
 hanging about there, amongst such odds and ends as are sold 
 by dealers in old iron. It was terribly hot, too. Beads of 
 perspiration hung about the man's greenish face, whilst 
 Madame Lorilleux ended by taking off her loose linen jacket, 
 and continuing her work with arms bare. 
 
 * And the gold ? ' asked Gervaise in a low voice. 
 
 Her anxious glances searched the corners, seeking amongst 
 
50 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 all that filth for the resplendency she had dreamt of. Bnt 
 Coupeau burst out laughing. 
 
 ' Gold ? ' said he ; * why, there's some, there's some more, 
 and there's some at your feet 1 ' 
 
 He pointed successively to the fine wire at which his 
 sister was working, and to another roll similar to ordinary iron 
 wire, that hung against the wall, close to the vice ; then, 
 going down upon all fours, he picked up, beneath the wooden 
 screen which covered the tiled floor of the workroom, a tiny 
 piece of waste, a fragment resembling the point of a rusty 
 needle. But Gervaise protested. Surely that black-looking 
 metal, as ugly as iron, could not be gold ! Coupeau had to 
 bite it and show her the shining mark left by his tooth. 
 Then he resumed his explanations : the masters supplied the 
 gold in wire, already alloyed ; the workmen first passed it 
 through the draw-plate to reduce it to the required thickness, 
 being careful to temper it five or six times over during the 
 operation, in order that it should not break. Oh 1 it required 
 a good strong wrist and practice ! His sister would not let 
 her husband have anything to do with the draw-plates, because 
 he coughed. She had famous arms ; he had seen her draw 
 gold as fine as a hair. 
 
 Just then Lorilleux, seized with a fit of coughing, paused, 
 almost doubled up on his stool. And amidst his attack he 
 spoke in a choking voice, still without looking at Gervaise, as 
 though indeed he were merely mentioning the thing to him- 
 self : ' I make the herring-bone chain.' 
 
 Coupeau compelled Gervaise to get up. She might surely 
 draw nearer and see. The chain-maker consented with a 
 grunt. He wound the wire prepared by his wife round a 
 mandrel, a very thin steel rod. Then he sawed gently, 
 cutting the wire the whole length of the mandrel, each turn 
 forming a link, which he afterwards soldered. In accom- 
 plishing this operation the links were laid on a large piece 
 of charcoal, wetted with a drop of liquid borax, taken from a 
 broken glass near by ; and then rapidly made red hot at the 
 lamp, beneath the horizontal flame produced by the blow-pipe. 
 And when Lorilleux had thus soldered about a hundred links, 
 he again reverted to the minute work on which he had been 
 previously engaged, pressed against the edge of his block — a 
 small piece of board, which the friction of his hands had 
 poHshed. He bent each link with his pliers, squeezed one 
 end close, then inserted it in the last link already in place, 
 
COURTSHIP 51 
 
 and, with the aid of a point, again opened out the end he had 
 squeezed ; and this he did with such continuous regularity, 
 the Hnks joining one another with such rapidity, that Gervaise 
 saw the chain grow longer and longer, without being able to 
 follow, or well understand how it was done. 
 
 ' That's the herring-bone chain,' said Coupeau. * There's 
 also the long link, the cable, the plain ring, and the spiral. 
 But that's the herring-bone. Lorilleux only makes the 
 herring-bone chain.' 
 
 Lorilleux chuckled with satisfaction ; and still squeezing 
 the links, invisible between his black finger-nails, he 
 exclaimed : * Listen to me. Young Cassis ! I was making a 
 calculation this morning. I began work when I was twelve 
 years old, you know. Well I can you guess what length of 
 herring-bone chain I must have made by this time ? ' 
 
 He raised his pale face, blinked his red eye-hds, and then 
 added : * Twenty-six thousand feet, do you hear ? Two 
 leagues I That's something ! a herring-bone chain two 
 leagues long ! It's enough to twist round the necks of all the 
 women of the neighbourhood. And, you know, it's still in- 
 creasing. I hope to make it long enough to reach from Paris 
 to Versailles.' 
 
 Gervaise had returned to her seat, disenchanted and think- 
 ing everything very ugly, though she smiled, just to please the 
 Lorilleux. What particularly made her feel ill at ease was 
 the silence respecting her marriage, that all-important 
 matter to her, but for which she would certainly never have 
 come there. The Lorilleux continued to treat her as an un- 
 welcome inquisitive person brought by Coupeau. And when 
 conversation was at length started, it turned solely on the 
 different lodgers of the house. Madame Lorilleux asked her 
 brother if he had not heard some fighting as he came upstairs. 
 Those Benards knocked each other about every day. The 
 husband came home drunk like a pig ; the wife also had her 
 faults : she said the most disgusting things. 
 
 Then they talked of the draughtsman of the first floor, 
 that big sponger Baudequin, a fellow who gave himself airs, 
 who owed money right and left, but was always smoking and 
 having rows with his friends. Then M. Madinier's cardboard 
 box manufactory was barely jogging along. Only the previous 
 day he had dismissed two more of his workwomen. It would 
 be a blessing if he smashed up, for he squandered everything 
 himself, and let his children go about half-naked. Then 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Madame Gaudron, who carded mattresses, was going to have 
 another baby ; there was no end apparently to some people's 
 families. As for the Coquets, of the fifth floor, the landlord 
 had given them notice : they owed three quarters' rent, 
 besides which, they persisted in lighting their stove on the 
 landing. Only the previous Saturday, Mademoiselle Kemanjou, 
 the old maid who lived above them, had gone down, on her 
 way out to deliver her dolls, but just in time to prevent little 
 Linguerlot from being burnt to death. Then, as regards 
 Mademoiselle Clemence, the ironer, she behaved as she 
 pleased ; but one could not deny that she adored animals, 
 and had a heart of gold. "What a pity it was that such a 
 fine girl should have such loose morals. She would surely 
 end by going to the bad altogether. 
 
 * Look, here's one,' said Lorilleux to his wife, giving her 
 the piece of chain he had been working on ever since his 
 lunch. * You can trim it.' Then he added, with the persist- 
 ence of a man who does not easily relinquish a joke : 
 * Another four feet and a half. That brings me nearer to 
 Versailles.' 
 
 Madame Lorilleux, after tempering the chain again, 
 trimmed it by passing it through the regulating draw-plate. 
 Then she placed it in a little copper saucepan with a long 
 handle, containing a solution of nitric acid, and scoured it at 
 the fire of the forge. Gervaise, again pushed forward by 
 Coupeau, had to follow this last operation. When the chain 
 was thoroughly cleansed, it showed a dull red colour. It was 
 finished and ready to be delivered. 
 
 * They're always delivered hke that, in the rough,' the 
 zinc-worker explained. * The polishers rub them afterwards 
 with cloths.' 
 
 But Gervaise felt her courage failing her. She was half 
 suffocated by the heat, which had become more and more 
 intense, for the door was kept shut, as Lorilleux caught cold 
 from the slightest draught. Then, as the others still made 
 no allusion to the marriage, the young woman wanted to go off, 
 and gently pulled Coupeau's jacket. He understood her. 
 Besides, he also was beginning to feel ill at ease and vexed by 
 their affected silence. 
 
 * Well, we're off,' said he. * We mustn't keep you from 
 your work.' Then he moved about for a moment, waiting, 
 hoping for a word, an allusion of some kind or other. And 
 at length, as none came, he decided to broach the subject him- 
 
COURTSHIP 53 
 
 self : * I say, Lorilleux, we're counting on you ; you'll be my 
 wife's witness ? ' 
 
 The chain-maker raised his head, chuckled and feigned 
 surprise ; whilst his wife, leaving her draw-plates, took her 
 stand in the middle of the workroom. 
 
 * So it's serious, then ? ' murmured Lorilleux. • One never 
 knows whether that rascal, Young Cassis, is joking or not.' 
 
 * Ah, yes, madame's the person,' said the wife in her turn, 
 as she scrutinised Gervaise. * Well, we've no advice to give 
 you, we haven't. It's a funny idea to go and get married, all 
 the same. Anyhow, it's your own wish. When it doesn't 
 succeed one has only oneself to blame, that's all. And it 
 doesn't often succeed, not often, not often.' 
 
 She spoke these last words more slowly, shaking her head 
 while gazing at the young woman from her face to her hands, 
 and then to her feet. She probably found her better looking 
 than she had expected. 
 
 * My brother is perfectly free,' she continued more stiffly. 
 * No doubt the family might have wished — one always makes 
 projects. But things take such funny turns. For myself, I 
 don't want to have any unpleasantness. Had he brought us 
 the lowest of the low, I should merely have said to him : 
 " Marry her and leave me in peace ! " He was not badly off 
 here, however, with us. He's fat enough ; one can very well 
 see that he hasn't fasted much ; and he has always found his 
 soup hot and ready at the very minute. I say, Lorilleux, 
 don't you think madame's like Th^rese — you know whom I 
 mean, that woman who used to live opposite, and who died of 
 consumption ? ' 
 
 *Yes, there's a certain resemblance,' replied the chain- 
 maker. 
 
 ' And you've got two children, madame ? Now, I must 
 admit I said to my brother : " I can't understand how you can 
 want to marry a woman with two children." You mustn't be 
 offended if I think of his interests ; it's only natural. You 
 don't look very strong either. Don't you think, Lorilleux, 
 that madame doesn't look very s^-i^ong ? ' 
 
 ' No, no, she's not strong.' 
 
 They did not mention her leg ; but Gervaise understood 
 by their side glances, and the curling of their lips, that they 
 were alluding to it. She stood before them, wrapped in her 
 thin shawl with yellow palms, and replying in monosyllables, 
 as though in the presence of judges. Coupeau, seeing that 
 
54 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 she was suffering, ended by exclaiming : • All that*s nothing 
 to do with it. What you say and nothing are the same thing. 
 The wedding will take place on Saturday, July 29. I've 
 calculated by the almanac. Is it settled ? does that suit you ? ' 
 
 * Oh, it's all the same to us,' said his sister. * There was 
 no necessity to consult us. I sha'n't prevent Lorilleux from 
 being witness. I only want peace and quietness.' 
 
 Gervaise, hanging her head, not knowing what to do with 
 herself, had thrust the toe of her boot through one of the open- 
 ings of the wooden screen which covered the tiled floor of the 
 workroom ; then, afraid of having disturbed something as she 
 withdrew it, she stooped down and felt about with her hand. 
 Lorilleux hastily brought the lamp and examined her fingers 
 suspiciously. 
 
 ' You must be careful,' said he ; * for tiny bits of gold stick 
 to one's shoes, and get carried away without one knowing it.' 
 
 There was quite a fuss. The masters did not allow a 
 milligramme of waste, said the chain-maker ; and he showed 
 the hare's foot with which he brushed up the particles of gold 
 that remained on the block and the skin which he spread over 
 his knees purposely to receive them. Twice a week the work- 
 room was carefully swept out ; they kept all their dust and 
 burnt it, and then sifted the ashes, in which every month they 
 found from twenty-five to thirty francs' worth of gold. Mean- 
 time Madame Lorilleux did not take her eyes off Gervaise's 
 shoes. * There's no occasion to get angry,' she murmured, 
 with an amiable smile. ' Madame can very well look at the 
 soles of her shoes.' 
 
 Thereupon, Gervaise, turning very red, sat down again, 
 and, holding up her feet, showed that there was nothing 
 clinging to them. Coupeau, however, had already opened the 
 door, brusquely exclaiming : * Good-night ! ' And he called to 
 her from the corridor. Then she in her turn went off, after 
 stammering a few polite words : she hoped to see them again, 
 and that they would all agree well together. But the Lorilleux 
 had already resumed their task in that black hole of a work- 
 room, where the little forge shone like a last lump of coal 
 coming to white heat in the high temperature of a furnace. 
 The wife, with her chemise slipping from one shoulder, her 
 skin reddened by the reflections of the brazier, was drawing 
 another wire, each effort distending her neck, whose muscles 
 worked like strings. And the husband, bending beneath the 
 greenish gleam of the globe of water, commenced a fresh 
 
COURTSHIP 55 
 
 piece of chain, bending each link with his pliers, squeezing it 
 at one end, inserting it in the previous one, and then opening 
 out the end again with the aid of a point, ever continuously 
 and mechanically, without wasting a movement of his hand to 
 wipe the perspiration from his face. 
 
 "When Gervaise emerged from the corridor on to the 
 sixth floor landing, she could not help saying, with tears in 
 her eyes : *■ That doesn't promise much happiness.' 
 
 Coupeau shook his head furiously. He would make 
 Lorilleux smart for that evening. Had anyone ever seen 
 such a miserly fellow ? to think that they were going to walk 
 off with two or three grains of his gold dust ! All the fuss 
 they made was from pure avarice. His sister had thought, 
 perhaps, that he would always remain a bachelor, just to 
 enable her to economise four sous a day on her dinner. 
 However, the marriage would take place all the same on July 
 29. He did not care a hang for them I 
 
 But Gervaise, as they went downstairs, felt heavy at 
 heart, troubled by a stupid fear, w^hich made her gaze anxi- 
 ously at the lengthened shadows of the staircase. It was now 
 wrapped in silence, deserted, and lighted only by the gas-jet of 
 the second floor landing, the small flame of which set the faint 
 glimmer of a night-light in the depths of that well of gloom. 
 Deep silence — the heavy slumber of workmen who had 
 gone to bed immediately after their evening meal — reigned 
 behind every closed door, save that of the ironer's room, 
 whence came a smothered laugh, whilst a faint ray of light 
 shone through Mademoiselle Eemanjou's key-hole, as, with 
 the click-click of her scissors, the old maid continued to cut 
 out dresses for thirteen-sou dolls. Then, on the floor below, 
 at Madame Gaudron's, a child was still crying ; and, all the 
 way down, the drain-sinks gave forth a stronger smell amidst 
 the dark, dumb peacefulness. 
 
 When the courtyard was reached, whilst Coupeau, in a 
 sing-song voice, called to have the door opened, Gervaise 
 turned to look once more at the house. It seemed to have 
 grown larger beneath the moonless sky. The grey faQades, 
 as though cleansed of their leprosy and coloured with shadow, 
 spread out and ascended, looking quite flat and yet more 
 bare, denuded as they now were of the rags which, in the 
 daytime, had been hung to dry in the sun. The closed windows 
 showed no sign of life, save that here and there in sundry 
 corners a few, vividly Ughted up, looked like squinting eyes. 
 
56 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 And over each entrance, from bottom to top, the successive 
 windows of the six landings, whitened by a feeble ghmmer, 
 formed as it were a narrow tower of light ; while a ray from 
 a lamp in the cardboard-box manufactory on tiae second floor 
 sent a yellow trail across the paved courtyard, piercing the 
 gloom which enveloped the ground-floor workshops. And in 
 the depths of the darkness, in the corner which was ever 
 damp, drops of water, sonorous by reason of the prevailing 
 silence, fell one by one from the tap which had not been pro- 
 perly turned off. Then it seemed to Gervaise that the house 
 was upon her, crushing her with its weight, and thrilling her 
 shoulders with an icy coldness. She was still a prey to that 
 stupid fear of hers— a childish fancy — at which she smiled 
 directly afterwards. 
 
 * Take care ! ' cried Coupeau. And in order to get out, 
 she had to jump over a great pool of water which had flowed 
 from the dye-works. That day the pool was blue, of the deep 
 azure of a summer sky, which the doorkeeper's little night- 
 lamp spangled with stars. 
 
 in 
 
 THE VP-EDDING 
 
 Geevaise did not wish for any wedding festivities. 
 What was the use of spending money ? asked she. Besides, 
 she still felt somewhat ashamed ; it seemed to her quite un- 
 necessary to parade the marriage before the whole neighbour- 
 hood. But Coupeau protested against this. People couldn't 
 be married without having a feed, said he ; and for his part 
 he didn't care a button for the folks of the neighbourhood ! 
 Still it would of course merely be something very simple — a 
 little outing in the afternoon, before having a bite at any 
 handy eating-house. And most certainly they would have no 
 music at dessert, no clarionet to make the ladies dance. It 
 would simply be a question of a few drinks together before 
 going home to by-by, each in his own crib. 
 
 Chaffing and joking in this way, the zinc-worker, on 
 promising that there should be no larks, got the young 
 woman to consent. He would keep his eye on the glasses, 
 he said, to prevent any sun-strokes. Then he organised a 
 
THE WEDDING 57 
 
 sort of pic-nic at five francs a head, at the * Silver Windmill/ 
 kept by one Auguste, on the Boulevard de la Chapelle. It 
 was a small and fairly cheap wine- shop, with a dancing place 
 in the rear, beneath the three acacias of the courtyard. 
 They would be very comfortable on the first floor, said 
 Coupeau, who spent the next ten days in recruiting guests 
 among the tenants of the house where his sister lived in the 
 Kue de la Goutte-d'Or — M. Madinier, Mademoiselle Eemanjou, 
 Madame Gaudron, and her husband. He even got Gervaise 
 to consent to the presence of two of his comrades — Bibi- 
 the- Smoker and My-Boots. My-Boots, no doubt, was a 
 boozer; but then he had such a jolly appetite that he 
 was always asked to gatherings of this sort, just for the 
 sight of the caterer's face on seeing him swallow twelve 
 pounds of bread right off, as if, indeed, he were some bottom- 
 less pit. The young woman, on her side, promised to bring 
 her employer, Madame Fauconnier, and the Boches, who 
 were very worthy people. All counted, they found there 
 would be fifteen at table, which was quite enough. When 
 too many collect together things always end by a quarrel. 
 
 Coupeau, however, had no money. Without wishing to 
 do the grand, he desired to behave properly. So he borrowed 
 fifty francs of his employer, out of which he first of all 
 purchased the wedding-ring — a twelve franc gold wedding- 
 ring, which Lorilleux procured for him at the wholesale 
 price of nine francs. Next he ordered a frock coat, a pair 
 of trousers, and a waistcoat of a tailor in the Rue Myrrha, to 
 whom he gave merely twenty-five francs on account; his 
 patent leather shoes and his Bolivar hat could still do duty. 
 When he had put by the ten francs for his own and Gervaise's 
 share of the feast — the two children not being charged for — 
 he had exactly six francs left — the price of a mass at the 
 altar of the poor. He was certainly no friend of the crows, 
 as he called the priests, and it almost broke his heart to take 
 his six francs to those junketers, who had no need of his 
 money to keep their throats moist. But, in spite of what 
 some may say, a marriage without a mass is no marriage at 
 all. Sohe went himself to the church to make a bargain ; and 
 for an hour argued with a little old priest in a dirty cassock, who 
 was as big a thief as any greengrocer's wife. Coupeau felt 
 incHned to pommel him. Then for a joke he asked him if he 
 couldn't dispose of a second-hand mass, not too much 
 knocked about, which would still do for an easy-going couple. 
 
58 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 The little old priest, after grunting that Providence would have 
 no pleasure in blessing his union, ended by promising the 
 mass for five francs. This, at all events, was a saving of 
 twenty sous, which was all the money that was left to Coupeau. 
 
 Gervaise on her side likewise wanted to look decent. As 
 soon as the marriage was settled she made arrangements, 
 worked overtime in the evenings, and managed to put by 
 thirty francs. She had a great longing for a little silk mantle 
 which she had seen marked thirteen francs in the Rue du Fau- 
 bourg-Poissonniere. She treated herself to it, and then for 
 another ten francs bought of the husband of a washerwoman 
 who had died in Madame Fauconnier's house an Oxiord-blue 
 woollen dress, which she altered to fit herself. With the 
 seven francs remaining she procured a pair of cotton gloves, 
 a rose for her cap, and some shoes for Claude, her elder boy. 
 Fortunately, the youngsters' blouses were passable. How- 
 ever, she spent four nights in cleaning everything, and mend- 
 ing even the smallest holes in her stockings and underlinen. 
 
 Even on the Friday night, the eve of the great day, 
 Gervaise and Coupeau, after returning home from work, still 
 had a good deal of running about to do until quite eleven 
 o'clock. Then, before separating for the night, they spent an 
 hour together in the young woman's room, well pleased at 
 being at the end of all the pother. In spite of their resolution 
 not to give themselves a back-ache for the sake of their neigh- 
 bours, they had ended by putting their hearts into everything, 
 and thoroughly tiring themselves out. When they wished 
 each other good-night they were almost asleep ; but, all 
 the same, both heaved a great sigh of reUef. Everything was 
 now settled. Coupeau's witnesses were to be M. Madinier and 
 Bibi-the- Smoker; whilst Gervaise rehed on Lorilleux and 
 Boche. The six of them were to go quietly to the town-hall 
 and the church, without draggiog a number of others behind 
 them. The bridegroom's two sisters had even declared that 
 they would stay at home, as their presence was not at all 
 necessary. Mother Coupeau alone had burst out crying, say- 
 ing that sooner than keep away she would go before them 
 and hide herself in a corner ; and so they promised to take 
 her. As for the general meeting of the wedding party, this 
 was fixed for one o'clock, at the * Silver Windmill,' whence 
 they would go to seek an appetite on the plain of Saint-Denis ; 
 taking the train thither and returning on foot by the high 
 road. The outing promised to be a very pleasant one ; not ^ 
 
THE WEDDING 59 
 
 tip-top spree certainly, but a bit of fun— something nice and 
 respectable. 
 
 Whilst dressing on the Saturday morning, Coupeau felt 
 uneasy at having only his twenty sou piece left. It had just 
 occurred to him that, as a matter of politeness, he ought to 
 offer the witnesses a glass of wine and a slice of ham whilst 
 waiting for the dinner hour. Then, perhaps, there would be 
 other unforeseen expenses. Twenty sous ^ were decidedly not 
 sufficient. So, after taking Claude and Etienne to Madame 
 Boche, who was to bring them to the dinner in the evening, 
 he hastened to the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, and boldly went 
 upstairs to borrow ten francs of Lorilleux. True, he could 
 scarcely get the words out of his mouth, for he knew the 
 grimace his brother-in-law would make. The latter grunted, 
 chuckled in an ill-natured way, and finally handed over two 
 five franc pieces. But Coupeau heard his sister mutter 
 between her teeth that ' it was beginning well.* 
 
 The marriage at the town-hall was to take place at half- 
 past ten. It was beautiful weather, with a storm-presaging 
 sun which seemed to roast the streets. To avoid being stared 
 at, the bride and bridegroom, the old mother, and the four 
 witnesses separated into two parties. Gervaise walked in 
 front with Lorilleux, who gave her his arm ; whilst M. 
 Madinier followed with mother Coupeau. Then, twenty steps 
 behind, on the other side of the way, came Coupeau, Boche, 
 and Bibi-the- Smoker. These three were in black frock coats, 
 and walked with bent shoulders and swinging arms. Boche 
 wore a pair of yellow trousers ; while Bibi-the- Smoker, lacking 
 a waistcoat, was buttoned up to his neck, where only a bit of 
 neckerchief, rolled round like a piece of rope, was to be seen. 
 M. Madinier alone wore a dress coat — a big one with square 
 cut tails ; and the passers-by stopped to look at the gentleman 
 escorting fat Mother Coupeau, who on her side was arrayed 
 in a green shawl and a black cap with red ribbons. Gervaise, 
 very gentle and gay, in her dark blue dress, her shoulders 
 tightly encompassed by her scanty little mantle, listened com- 
 placently to the chuckling of Lorilleux, who in spite of the 
 hpat had put on a huge loose overcoat, in which he looked lost. 
 And now and again, at the street corners, the young woman 
 slightly turned her head, and smiled knowingly at Coupeau, 
 who felt ill at ease in his new clothes, which were shining in 
 the sun. 
 
 Though they walked very slowly, they arrived at the 
 
6o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 tiown-hall quite half an hour too soon. And as the mayor 
 was late, their turn was not reached till close upon eleven 
 o'clock. They sat waiting on some chairs in a corner of the 
 apartment, looking by turns at the high ceihng and the bare 
 walls, or talking low, and over-politely pushing back their 
 chairs each time that one of the office attendants passed. 
 Yet, in undertones among themselves, they called the mayor 
 a lazy lubber. He was no doubt at his blonde's, or, perhaps, 
 he had inadvertently swallowed his official sash. However, 
 when the magistrate appeared they all rose respectfully. But 
 to their surprise they were motioned back to their seats, 
 whence, lost amidst three middle-class wedding parties, they 
 had to witness three other marriages with brides dressed in 
 white, httle girls with hair in curls, young ladies wearing pink 
 sashes, and interminable processions of ladies and gentlemen 
 all rigged out in their Sunday best, and looking superlatively 
 respectable. 
 
 When Coupeau and Gervaise were at length called, they 
 almost missed being married, for Bibi-the- Smoker had 
 disappeared. Boche finally discovered him smoking his pipe 
 on the square outside. He had got tired of remaining in the 
 building, and no wonder, said he. They were a nice lot of 
 stuck-up coves in that show to keep people waiting such a 
 tremendous time, just because they hadn't got yellow kid 
 gloves on their hands. However, the various formalities — the 
 reading of the Code, the different questions, the signing of the 
 documents — were all got through so rapidly that the Coupeau 
 party looked at each other with an idea that they had been 
 robbed of a good half of the ceremony. Gervaise, dizzy, her 
 heart full, pressed her handkerchief to her lips while Mother 
 Coupeau wept bitterly. With the exception of the bridegroom, 
 who, being unable to write, simply marked his cross on the 
 register, all duly signed the latter, inscribing their various 
 names therein in big straggling letters. And they each gave 
 four sous for the poor. When an attendant handed the mar- 
 riage certificate to Coupeau, he, prompted by Gervaise, who 
 nudged his elbow, decided to fork out another five sous. 
 
 It was a long walk from the town-hall to the church. On 
 the way the men drank some beer, whilst Mother Coupeau and 
 Gervaise took some black currant syrup and water. And they 
 had to follow a long street upon which the sun shone fiercely, 
 without leaving the least bit of shade. The beadle was wait- 
 ing for them in the middle of the empty church ; and pushed 
 
THE WEDDING 6i 
 
 them towards a little side chapel while asking them angrily 
 whether it was to show their contempt for religion that they 
 arrived so late. A sulky-looking priest, whose face was pale 
 with hunger, then advanced with great strides, preceded by an 
 acolyte trotting along in a dirty surpUce. The reverend gen- 
 tleman hurried through the mass, gobbling up the Latin 
 phrases, turning about, stooping, spreading out his arms, all in 
 great haste, whilst glancing askance at the bridal couple and 
 their witnesses. In front of the altar, Coupeau and Gervaise, 
 feeling very ill at ease, not knowing when they ought to kneel, 
 stand up or sit down, waited for signs from the acolyte. The 
 witnesses, in order to be decent, stood up the whole time, 
 whilst Mother Coupeau, again overcome by tears, wept into 
 the open missal which she had borrowed from a neighbour. 
 However, twelve o'clock had struck, the last mass had been 
 said, and the church gradually resounded with the tread of the 
 sacristans' footsteps and the noise of chairs being put back in 
 their places. The high altar was evidently being got ready 
 for some grand religious ceremony, for one could hear the 
 hammering of upholsterers who were nailing up the hangings. 
 And in the depths of the little out-of-the-way chapel, amidst 
 the dust raised by the beadle, who was sweeping around, the 
 sulky-looking priest quickly passed his bony hands over the bent 
 heads of Gervaise and Coupeau, whom he seemed to be uniting 
 in the midst of a removal. "When the wedding party had 
 again signed a register in the vestry, and were once more out 
 in the sunshine beneath the porch, they remained there for 
 a moment bewildered and out of breath at having been 
 despatched so quickly. 
 
 * There ! * said Coupeau, laughing in an embarrassed man- 
 ner. Truth to tell, nothing in the business seemed to him at 
 all funny; however, he added : * Well ! it doesn't take long. 
 They do it all in double-quick time. It's like at the dentist's : 
 you've no time to call out, they marry you without inflicting 
 pain.' 
 
 * Yes, yes, it's fine work,' murmured Lorilleux chuckling. 
 * You're joined in five minutes and you can't be parted for the 
 rest of your life.^ Ah ! poor Young Cassis! ' 
 
 Then the four witnesses patted the zinc-worker on the 
 
 shoulders, whilst he drew himself erect. Meantime Gervaise 
 
 embraced Mother Coupeau, smiling, yet with moist eyes. And 
 
 in answer to the old woman's broken words, she said : ' Don't 
 
 ^ There was no divorce law then in France. 
 
62 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 be afraid, I shall do my best. If anything goes wrong it won't 
 be my fault. No, that's very certain ; I want to be happy too 
 much. Anyhow, it's done now, isn't it ? It's for him and me 
 to agree together and do our best to help each other.' 
 
 Then they went straight to the * Silver Windmill.' Coupeau 
 had taken his wife's arm. He and she, laughing together, 
 walked quickly, as though carried away, quite two hundred 
 steps in advance of the others, without noticing the houses, or 
 the passers-by, or the vehicles. The deafening noises of the 
 faubourg sounded like bells in their ears. When they reached 
 the wine-shop, Coupeau at once ordered two quarts of wine, 
 some bread and some slices of ham, to be served without plates 
 or table-cloth, simply by way of a snack, in the little glazed 
 closet on the ground floor. However, seeing that Boche and 
 Bibi-the- Smoker appeared to be really hungry, he ordered a 
 third quart and a piece of Brie cheese. Mother Coupeau had 
 no appetite, she was in too choking a condition to be able to 
 eat. As for Gervaise, who was dying of thirst, she drank 
 several large glassfuls of water just tinged with wine. 
 
 * I'll settle for this,' said Coupeau, going at once to the bar, 
 where he paid the landlord four francs and five sous. 
 
 It was now one o'clock, and the other guests began to arrive. 
 Gervaise's employer, Madame Fauconnier, a fat and still good- 
 looking woman, was the first to put in an appearance ; she wore 
 a dress of creamy cretonne with a flowery pattern, a pink tie 
 and a cap over-trimmed with flowers. Next, all together, came 
 Mademoiselle Eemanjou, looking very thin in the eternal black 
 dress which she seemed never to discard even when she went to 
 bed, and the two Gaudrons— the husband, who had the heavy 
 tread of a brute beast, almost rending his brown jacket at the 
 slightest movement, while the wife, a naturally stout woman, 
 showed signs of approaching maternity, which were empha- 
 sised by the crude violet hue of her ample skirts. Coupeau 
 explained that they were not to wait for My-Boots, who would 
 join the party on the Route de Saint-Denis. 
 
 * Ah ! well ! ' exclaimed the widowed Madame Lerat, 
 Coupeau's eldest sister, as she came in, ' it'll be pouring in 
 torrents soon ! That'll be pleasant, I must say.' 
 
 Then she called every one to the door of the wine-shop to 
 see the ink-black clouds which were rapidly rising to the 
 south of Paris. An artificial-flower maker by profession, 
 Madame Lerat was a tall lean woman of masculine appear- 
 ance, who talked through her nose, handled her parasol like 
 
THE WEDDING 63 
 
 a walking-stick, and was badly dressed in a puoe-coloured 
 gown, which was too big for her, besides being trimmed with 
 some long fringe, which made her resemble a skinny poodle 
 that has just emerged from the water. When she had kissed 
 Gervaise, she resumed : * You've no idea how hot it is in the 
 street. It's just as though fire was being thrown in your 
 face.' 
 
 The others then declared that they had felt the storm 
 coming on for a long while past. M. Madinier, for instance, 
 on leaving the church had seen perfectly well what they 
 had to expect. Lorilleux related, too, that his corns had 
 kept him awake ever since three o'clock in the morning. 
 Besides, things could not finish otherwise ; the last three days 
 had been really too warm. 
 
 * Oh ! perhaps it will pass over,' repeated Coupeau, standing 
 at the doorway, and anxiously looking at the sky. ' We're 
 only waiting for my other sister ; if she would make haste 
 and come we might start all the same.' 
 
 Madame Lorilleux was indeed behind time. Madame 
 Lerat had called upon her in order that they might come 
 together ; but she had found her putting on her stays, and 
 they had had a bit of a row. The tall widow added, in her 
 brother's ear : * I left her there. She's in such a temper ! 
 You'll see what a face she pulls.' 
 
 Then the wedding party had to wait a quarter of an hour 
 longer, walking about the wine-shop, whilst elbowed and 
 jostled by men who dropped in to drink a glass of wine at 
 the bar. Now and again, Boche, or Madame Fauconnier, or 
 Bibi-the- Smoker, left the others, and went to the edge of the 
 pavement to look up at the sky. The storm was not passing 
 over at all; darkness was coming on, and puffs of wind, 
 sweeping along the ground, raised little clouds of white dust. 
 At the first clap of thunder Mademoiselle Eemanjou made 
 the sign of the cross. All eyes turned anxiously to the clock 
 over the looking-glass : it was twenty minutes to two. 
 
 ' Go it ! ' cried Coupeau. * There are the angels weeping.' 
 
 A gush of rain swept the pavement, along which some 
 women flew, holding their skirts with both hands. And it 
 was m the midst of this first shower that Madame Lorilleux 
 at length arrived, breathless, infuriated, and struggling on the 
 threshold with her umbrella which would not close. 
 
 * Did anyone ever see such a thing ? ' she stammered. * It 
 eaught me just at the door. I felt inclined to go upstairs again, 
 
64 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 and take my things off. It would have been the best thing to 
 do. Ah 1 it's a pretty wedding ! I said how it would be. I 
 wanted to put it off till next Saturday ; and it rains because 
 they wouldn't listen to me I So much the better, so much 
 the better ! I wish the sky would burst ! ' 
 
 Coupeau tried to pacify her. But she sent him to the 
 right-about. He would not pay for her dress if it were spoilt ! 
 She was wearing a black silk dress, in which she was nearly 
 choking ; the corsage, far too tight, was straining the button- 
 holes, and cutting her across the shoulders ; while the sheath- 
 like skirt so pressed against her hips that she could only take 
 the shortest of steps in walking. Nevertheless, the other ladies 
 of the party looked at her, pursing their lips and seemingly 
 much impressed by the stylishness of her costume. She did 
 not even appear to see Gervaise seated beside Mother Coupeau ; 
 but called Lorilleux and asked him for his handkerchief; 
 then, going into a corner she carefully wiped off, one by one, 
 the drops of rain which had fallen on the silk. 
 
 Meantime the shower had abruptly ceased. The darkness 
 increased, it was almost hke night — a livid night, rent at times 
 by broad flashes of lightning. Bibi- the- Smoker said laugh- 
 ingly that it would certainly rain priests. Then the storm 
 burst forth with extreme violence. For half an hour the rain 
 came down by the bucketful, and the thunder rumbled un- 
 ceasingly. The men standing at the door contemplated the 
 grey veil of the downpour, the swollen gutters and the flying 
 spray which arose from all the splashing puddles. The 
 women, however, had sat down again, feeling frightened, and 
 holding their hands before their eyes. They no longer 
 chatted, they were too upset. A jest which Boche made 
 failed to raise a smile. However, when the thunder-claps 
 became less frequent and gradually died away in the distance, 
 the party once more began to get impatient, enraged against 
 the storm, cursing it and shaking their fists at the clouds. A 
 fine rain now poured from the sky, which had become an ashy 
 
 grey- 
 
 'It's past two o'clock,' cried Madame Lorilleux. *We 
 can't stop here for ever.' 
 
 Then, on Mademoiselle Eemanjou suggesting that they 
 might go into the country all the same, even though they 
 went no farther than the moat of the fortifications, the others 
 scouted the idea ; the roads would be in a nice state, one 
 would not oven be able to sit down on the grass ; besides, the 
 
THE WEDDING 65 
 
 storm did not seem to be all over yet, there might be another 
 downpour. Coupeau, who had been watching a workman, 
 who though completely soaked was quietly walking along in 
 the rain, murmured: *If that animal My-Boots is waiting 
 for us on the Route de Saint-Denis, he certainly won't catch 
 a sunstroke.' 
 
 This made some of them laugh ; but the general ill- 
 humour increased. The position was becoming disgusting. 
 They must decide on something. They could not possibly 
 remain staring at one another until the dinner hour arrived. 
 Then, for a while, face to face with the obstinate shower, they 
 all racked their brains in trying to think of something to do. 
 Bibi-the- Smoker proposed a game at cards ; Boche, who was 
 of a sly and rather wanton nature, knew a very funny little 
 game, that of playing at confessions ; Madame Gaudron 
 talked of going to eat some onion tart at a place she knew on 
 the Chaussee Clignancourt ; Madame Lerat would have pre- 
 ferred story-telling ; Gaudron was not a bit dull, he felt very 
 comfortable there, and merely offered to sit down to dinner 
 at once. And they all wrangled and got more and more 
 angry at each successive proposal : it was stupid, it would 
 send them to sleep, they would be taken for children. Then, 
 as Lorilleux, wishing to put in his word, suggested something 
 very simple, a walk along the outer Boulevards as far as 
 Pere-Lachaise cemetery, where they might go to see the tomb of 
 H^loise and Ab^lard, if there were time, Madame Lorilleux 
 exploded, no longer able to restrain herself. She was off, 
 she was ! That's what she was going to do ! Were they 
 trying to make a fool of her ? She dressed herself, she got 
 wet with the rain, and all that merely to stick inside a wine- 
 shop ! No, no ! she had had enough of a wedding like that, 
 she preferred her own home. Coupeau and Lorilleux had to 
 bar the doorway to prevent her from leaving ; even then she 
 continued to repeat : * Move away from there 1 I tell you that 
 I'm going home I ' 
 
 At last, her husband having succeeded in pacifying her, 
 Coupeau went up to Gervaise, who was still quietly ensconced 
 in a corner, conversing with her mother-in-law and Madame 
 Fauconnier. * But you don't suggest anything I ' said he. 
 
 * Oh ! I'll agree to anything one likes,' she replied, with 
 a laugh. * I'm easy to please. Go out, or stay in, it's all the 
 same to me. I'm very comfortable, I don't ask for anything 
 more.' 
 
66 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 And, indeed, her face was beaming with a quiet joy. 
 Ever since the guests had been there, she had spoken to each 
 in a somewhat low tremulous voice and sensible manner, 
 taking no part in any of the disputes. During the storm, she 
 had remained with fixed eyes watching the lightning, aa 
 though she beheld some serious things very far off in the 
 future by the aid of those sudden flashes. 
 
 Hitherto, however, M. Madinier had proposed nothing. 
 Leaning against the bar, with the tails of his dress coat 
 thrust apart, he retained the important air of an employer. 
 For some minutes he expectorated and rolled his big eyes 
 about. 
 
 * Well, dear me I ' said he at last, * one might go to the 
 Museum.' Then he stroked his chin, and with blinking eyes 
 consulted the other members of the party. * There are 
 antiquities, pictures, paintings, a whole heap of things there,* 
 he continued. *It is very instructive. Perhaps you have 
 never been ? Oh I it is quite worth seeing, at least once in 
 a way.' 
 
 They looked at each other in a questioning manner. No, 
 Gervaise had never been ; nor had Madame Fauconnier, nor 
 Boche, nor the others. Coupeau thought he had gone up one 
 Sunday, but he was not sure. However, they were still 
 hesitating when Madame Lorilleux, greatly impressed by 
 M. Madinier' s importance, thought the suggestion very proper 
 and genteel. As they were wasting the day, and were all 
 dressed, they might as well go somewhere for their instruc- 
 tion. Every one approved. And then, as it still rained a little, 
 they borrowed some umbrellas of the landlord of the wine- 
 shop, old blue, green, and brown umbrellas, forgotten by 
 different customers, and started off to the Museum. 
 
 Turning to the right the wedding party descended into 
 Paris by way of the Faubourg Saint-Denis. Coupeau and 
 Gervaise again took the lead, almost running, and keeping a 
 good distance in front of the others. M. Madinier now gave 
 his arm to Madame Lorilleux, Mother Coupeau having re- 
 mained behind in the wine- shop on account of her weak legs. 
 Then came Lorilleux and Madame Lerat, Boche and Madame 
 Fauconnier, Bibi-the- Smoker, and Mademoiselle Remanjou, 
 and finally the two Gaudrons. They were twelve, all told, 
 and made a pretty long procession on the pavement. 
 
 * Oh ! I assure you we had nothing whatever to do with 
 it,' explained Madame Lorilleux to M. Madinier. * We don't 
 
THE WEDDING 67 
 
 know where he picked her up, or rather we know only too 
 well ; but it's not for us to say anything, is it ? My husband 
 had to buy the wedding-ring. This morning, before we were 
 scarcely out of bed, we were obliged to lend them ten francs, 
 otherwise there would have been nothing done. A bride who 
 doesn't bring a single relation to her wedding 1 Just think 
 of it ! She says she has a sister in Paris, who keeps a 
 pork-butcher's shop. Why didn't she invite her, then ? ' 
 
 Madame Lorilleux paused to point at Gervaise, whom the 
 sloping pavement caused to limp a great deal, and then 
 added : ' Just look at her ! Is it possible ? Oh I the 
 hobbler 1 ' 
 
 That word, * Hobbler,* passed from mouth to mouth. 
 Lorilleux said, with a sneer, that it was the nickname 
 which they ought to give the young woman. But Madame 
 Fauconnier took Gervaise's part ; they did wrong to make 
 fun of her, she was as clean as a newly-coined sou, and a 
 really wonderful worker. 
 
 Emerging at last from the Faubourg Saint-Denis, 
 the wedding party crossed the Boulevard. They waited a 
 minute to let the crowd of vehicles pass, then ventured over 
 the roadway, which the storm had transformed into a pool of 
 liquid mud. Another shower was coming on, so they opened 
 the umbrellas, and, beneath the dreadful old ginghams held 
 aloft by the men, the woman gathered up their skirts, and 
 the procession spread out in the slush from one foot-walk to 
 the other. Then as a couple of street urchins called out : 
 'What a lot of guys! ' some passers-by hastened to look at 
 the party, while several shopmen stood up behind their win- 
 dows. Amidst the swarmmg crowd, against the grey wet 
 background of the Boulevards, the several couples of the 
 procession set bright, startling patches of colour. There were 
 Gervaise's coarse blue dress, Madame Fauconnier' s flowery 
 cretonne, and Boche's canary-yellow trousers. Then, too, 
 the stiffness common to persons arrayed in their Sunday best 
 imparted a most ludicrous, carnavalesque air to Coupeau's 
 shiny frock-coat and M. Madinier's square swallow-tails; 
 whilst the elegant costume which bedecked Madame Lorilleux, 
 the long fringe worn by Madame Lerat, and Mademoiselle 
 Kemanjou's rumpled skirt, showed Hke a mingling of various 
 fashions, a draggling series of the * reach-me-downs,' which 
 are the luxuries of the poor. But it was especially the 
 gentlemen's hats which amuied the crowd — old-fashioned 
 
 r2 
 
68 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 hats they were, that had been carefully put by, and had 
 become tarnished in the obscurity of cupboards ; all of them, 
 moreover, being of the most comical shapes — tall, broad, 
 pointed, with extraordinary brims, either sharply turned up 
 or quite flat, and either too broad or too .narrow. And the 
 smiles increased still more, when right in the rear, as the 
 crowning feature of the spectacle, came Madame Gaudron, 
 the carder, in her crude violet gown, which seemed to em- 
 phasise the rotundity of her person. The wedding guests, 
 however, did not hurry themselves ; they were all in the 
 best of humours, happy at being looked at, and amused by the 
 jocular remarks passed upon them. 
 
 They at last turned into the Rue de Clery, and then 
 took the Rue du Mail. On reaching the Place des Vic- 
 toires, there was a halt. The bride's left shoe lace had 
 come undone, and as she tied it up again, at the foot of 
 the statue of Louis XIV., the others pressed behind her, 
 waiting, and joking about the bit of stocking that she dis- 
 played. At length, after passing down the Rue Croix-des- 
 Petits-Champs, they reached the Louvre. 
 
 M. Madinier then politely asked leave to guide them. It 
 was a big place, and they might lose themselves ; besides, 
 he knew the best parts, having often come there with an 
 artist, a very intelligent fellow, from whom a large dealer 
 bought drawings to put on his cardboard boxes. Down 
 below, when the wedding party entered the Assyrian Museum, 
 a slight shiver passed through it. The deuce ! this was not 
 at all a warm place ; it would have made a capital cellar. 
 And with chins raised and eyes blinking the couples slowly 
 advanced between the gigantic stone figures, the black marble 
 gods, dumb in their sacerdotal rigidity, and the monstrous 
 beasts, half cats and half women, with death-like faces, 
 attenuated noses, and swollen lips. All these were found 
 very ugly; people knew how to carve stone a great deal 
 better nowadays. Then an inscription in Phoenician charac- 
 ters amazed the visitors. No one could possibly have ever read 
 that scrawl. But M. Madinier, who had already reached the 
 first landing with Madame Lorilleux, called to the others, 
 shouting beneath the vaulted ceiling : ' Come along 1 They're 
 nothing, all those things I The things to see are on the first 
 floor ! ' 
 
 The severe bareness of the staircase rendered them very 
 grave. The presence of a superb attendant, in red waistcoat 
 
THE WEDDINQ 69 
 
 and gold-iaced coat, who seemed to be awaiting them on the 
 landing, increased their emotion, and it was with great respect, 
 and treading as softly as possible, that they entered the 
 French Galleries. 
 
 Then, without stopping, their eyes busy with the gilding 
 of the frames, they passed through the series of smaller 
 rooms, glancing, as they went, at the pictures, which were far 
 too numerous to be seen aright. It would have been necessary 
 to spend an hour before each, if they had wanted to under- 
 stand it. What a number of pictures, they reflected, there was 
 no end to them ! They must be worth a mint of money. 
 Right at the end, however, M. Madinier suddenly ordered a 
 halt opposite the * Raft of the Medusa,' and explained the 
 subject to them. Deeply impressed and motionless, they all 
 remained silent. However, when they started off again, 
 Boche expressed the general feeling by saying it was stunning. 
 
 In the Apollo Gallery it was the parquetry flooring which 
 more especially astonished the party — a gUttering flooring 
 which v/as as clear as a mirror, and reflected the legs of the 
 seats. Mademoiselle Remanjou kept her eyes closed, because 
 she could not help thinking that she was walking on water. 
 And the others called to Madame Gaudron to be careful how 
 she trod, lest she should have a fall which might be dan- 
 gerous. Then M. Madinier wanted to show them the gild- 
 ing and paintings of the ceiling ; but it strained their necks 
 to look up above them, and besides they could distinguish 
 nothing. However, before entering the Square Saloon, he 
 pointed to a window, saying : * That's the balcony from which 
 Charles IX. fired on the people.' 
 
 Meanwhile, he kept his eye on the tail of the procession ; 
 and in the middle of the Square Saloon, he signalled to them all 
 to stop. In a low murmur, as though he were at church, 
 he announced that only masterpieces were hung there. Then 
 they went round the gallery. Gervaise asked to have Paul 
 Veronese's * Marriage of Cana ' explained to her ; it was 
 stupid, said she, not to inscribe the subjects of the pictures on 
 the frames. Coupeau, for his part, stopped before Leonardo's 
 * Gioconda,' who, in his opinion, resembled one of his aunts ; 
 while Boche and Bibi-the-Smoker, after chuckling together, 
 gazed in amazement at the * Antiope ' of Correggio. And, right 
 at the end of the room, the two Gaudrons, the man gaping and 
 the woman with her hands folded before her, remained deeply 
 moved, quite stupid, in fact, in front of Murillo's ' Virgin,' 
 
70 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 When they had gone all round the saloon, M. Madinier 
 wished them to begin again, saying that it was worth while. 
 He was very attentive to Madame Lorilleux, on account of her 
 silk dress ; and each time that she questioned him, he an- 
 swered her gravely and with superb assurance. As she showed 
 an interest in Titian's so-called Mistress, whose yellow hair 
 she thought resembled her own, he declared that the portrait 
 was that of the beautiful Feroni^re, a mistress, said he, of 
 Henri TV., about whom a drama had been written, and per- 
 formed at the Ambigu Theatre.^ 
 
 Then the wedding party invaded the long gallery occupied 
 by the Italian and Flemish schools. Here were more and 
 more paintings — saints, men and women, with faces which 
 none of the company could understand, landscapes that were 
 all black, animals which had turned yellow, a medley of 
 people and things, offering violent contrasts of colour which 
 began to give the visitors severe headaches. M. Madinier no 
 Longer talked, but slowly conducted the procession onward, the 
 others following in good order, with distended necks and up- 
 cast eyes. Centuries of art passed before their bewildered 
 ignorance, the delicate sharpness of the primitive masters, 
 the splendom-s of the Venetians, and the full, rich life of the 
 Dutch painters with its fine play of light. However, they were 
 most interested in the artists who were busy copying the pic- 
 tures, painting away unconcernedly with their easels planted 
 among the sightseers. One old lady who, mounted on a pair 
 of high steps, was working a big brush over the softly-toned 
 sky of a huge stretch of canvas, particularly impressed them. 
 Little by little, however, the news must have spread that a 
 wedding party was visiting the Louvre, for painters hastened 
 up with broad grins on their faces, and inquisitive people 
 installed themselves on the settees, so as to have a comfortable 
 view of the procession ; whilst the attendants, with lips com- 
 pressed, sought to restrain their jests. And meantime the 
 members of the wedding party, already feeling tired, and 
 
 ' The point of this may escape some readers, and so without any 
 desire to appear pedantic, a few words of explanation may be offered. 
 According to most experts Titian's picture really represents Laura de' 
 Diauti and her lover, afterwards husband, Alphonse of Ferrara. * La 
 belle F6roniere ' was a Madame Le Fdron, wife of a Paris advocate 
 of that name. She lived in the time, not of Henri IV., but of Francis L, 
 whose mistress she is asserted to have been on the sole authority of 
 some tittle-tattle which M6zeray, the historian, collected and published 
 more than a century after her death. 
 
THE WEDDING 71 
 
 losing all feelings of respect, dragged their hob-nail shoes along 
 and tapped their heels on the sonorous floors, like some 
 bewildered, tramping drove of cattle let loose amidst those 
 clean and quiet galleries. 
 
 If M. Madinier remained silent it was because he wished 
 to give the others a surprise. He went straight to Rubens* 
 * Kermesse ; ' but still he said nothing. He contented himself 
 with directing the others' attention to the picture by a glance. 
 At sight of it the ladies uttered faint cries, then turned away 
 their heads, while the men indulged in coarse jokes. 
 
 'Let us be off,' said M. Madinier, delighted with his 
 success. * There is nothing more to see here.* 
 
 They retraced their steps again, passing through the 
 Square Saloon and the Apollo Gallery. Madame Lerat 
 and Mademoiselle Eemanjou were now complaining that their 
 legs could scarcely carry them. But the cardboard-box 
 manufacturer wanted to show Lorilleux the old jewellery. 
 It was close by, in a little room which he could find with his 
 eyes shut. However, he made a mistake and led the wedding 
 party astray through seven or eight cold, deserted rooms, where 
 there were only some severe-looking glass cases, containing 
 innumerable broken pots and hideous little figures. The 
 party shuddered, and was beginning to feel awfully bored. 
 Then, as it was seeking a means of egress, it came plump 
 upon the drawings, whereupon another long peregrination 
 ensued. Those drawings seemed as though they would never 
 end. Gallery followed gallery with never a glimpse of any- 
 thing at all amusing ; nothing but sheets of paper pencilled 
 all over and hanging under glass against the walls. 
 
 At last M. Madinier, losing his head, but unwilling to 
 admit that he did not know his way, ascended a flight of 
 stairs, making the wedding party climb to the upper floor. 
 And now it journeyed through the Naval Museum, among 
 models of instruments and cannons, plans in relief, and 
 vessels as tiny as playthings. A long distance off, after 
 walking for a quarter of an hour, it came upon another 
 staircase, on descending which it once more found itself full 
 among the drawings. Then despair came over it, and it 
 wandered on through whatever rooms it came to, each couple 
 following the other in the rear of M. Madinier, who mopped 
 his forehead in desperation, furious with the management, 
 which he accused of having changed the positions of the 
 doors. The attendants and the other visitors, full of 
 
72 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 astonishment, watched' the party pass. In less than twenty 
 minutes it was again seen in the Square Saloon, in the 
 French Gallery, and then among the glass cases, where 
 slumber the little Eastern gods. Never again would it 
 manage to get out of the Museum. With aching legs, 
 abandoning itself to fate, it went on and on, making no end 
 of a noise, and leaving poor Madame Gaudron a long way in 
 the rear. 
 
 * Closing time 1 closing time I * at last cried the attendants, 
 in their loud voices. 
 
 And the wedding party was nearly shut in. An attendant 
 was obliged to place himself at the head of it, and conduct it 
 to a door. Then, in the courtyard of the Louvre, when it 
 had recovered its umbrellas from the cloak-room, it breathed 
 again. M. Madinier, moreover, regained his assurance. He 
 had made a mistake in not turning to the left ; he now recol- 
 lected that the jewellery was to the left. The whole party 
 pretended to be very pleased at having seen all they had. 
 
 Four o'clock was striking. There were still two hours to 
 be employed before dinner time, so it was decided that they 
 should take a stroll just to fill up the interval. The ladies, 
 who were very tired, would have much preferred to have sat 
 down ; but, as no one offered any refreshments, they started 
 off, following the line of quays. Here they encountered 
 another shower, and so sharp a one that, in spite of the um- 
 brellas, the ladies' dresses got wet. Madame Lorilleux, her 
 heart sinking within her each time that a drop fell upon her 
 black silk, proposed that they should shelter themselves under 
 the Pont-Royal ; ^ besides, if the others did not accompany 
 her, she threatened to go all by herself. So the company 
 installed themselves under one of the arches of the bridge. 
 They were very comfortable there. It was, indeed, a capital 
 idea ! The ladies, after spreading their handkerchiefs over the 
 paving-stones, sat down and pulled out the blades of grass 
 which had sprouted between the stones, or else watched the 
 dark water flow by as though they were in the country. The 
 men meantime amused themselves by shouting, so as to 
 awaken the echoes of the arch. One after the other, Boche 
 and Bibi- the- Smoker addressed insults to space, calling * Pig I * 
 with all the strength of their lungs, and laughing heartily 
 when the echo sent the word back to them. Then, on their 
 
 * Boyal Bridge. 
 
THE WEDDING 73 
 
 throats getting husky, they picked up some flat stones, and 
 tried to make ducks and drakes of them in the water. 
 
 The shower had ceased, but the party felt so comfortable 
 that nobody thought of moving away. The surface of the 
 Seine was covered with greasy matter, oldi corks and vegetable 
 parings, heaps of filth which an eddy detained for a moment 
 in the restless waters, darkened by the shadow of the arch ; 
 whilst from the bridge above came the rumbling of passing 
 cabs and omnibuses, all the trafBc of Paris, of which merely 
 the house roofs to the right and left could be seen, as though 
 from the bottom of a pit. Mademoiselle Remanjou sighed. 
 If there had only been some foUage, said she, the spot would 
 have reminded her of a nook on the banks of the Marne, 
 whither she had often gone, about the year 1817, with a 
 young man for whom she was still mourning. 
 
 At last, however, M. Madinier gave the signal for 
 departure. They passed through the Tuileries gardens, 
 amidst a little community of children, whose hoops and balls 
 upset the good order of the procession. Then, on reaching 
 the Place Vend6me, everyone looked up at the column. 
 M. Madinier gallantly offered to treat the ladies to a view 
 from the summit. His suggestion was considered extremely 
 amusing. Yes, yes, they would go up ; it would give them 
 something to laugh about for a long time. Besides, the 
 excursion was full of interest for those who had never risked 
 themselves above their mother earth. 
 
 'You make a mistake if you think the Hobbler will 
 venture inside there with her leg all out of place 1 ' murmured 
 Madame Lorilleux. 
 
 * For my own part I'll go up with pleasure,' said Madame 
 Lerat, ' but I won't have any men walking behind me.' 
 
 However, the whole party ascended, crawling all twelve, 
 one after the other, up the narrow spiral staircase, now 
 stumbling against the worn steps, and now clinging to the 
 walls. Then, when the obscurity became complete, they 
 almost split their sides with laughter. The ladies screamed, 
 for some of the gentlemen pinched them ; but it was all mere 
 joking, for they were duly observant of the proprieties. After- 
 wards, Boche, who was in quite a merry mood, declared that 
 they were growing old in that chimney-pot. Would it never 
 come to an end, were they going right up to heaven ? he 
 inquired. And he tried to frighten the ladies, by asserting 
 that he could feel the column shaking. Coupeau, however, 
 
74 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 said nothing. He was behind Gervaise, with his arm round 
 her waist, and when they suddenly emerged into daylight, he 
 was just in the act of kissing her on the neck. 
 
 ' Well ! you're a nice couple ; you don't stand on ceremony,* 
 said Madame Lorilleux with a scandalised air. 
 
 Bibi-the- Smoker pretended to be furious, and muttered 
 between his teeth, * You made such a noise over it that I 
 wasn't even able to count the steps.' 
 
 But M. Madinier was already pointing out the different 
 monuments from the platform ; though neither Madame 
 Fauconnier nor Mademoiselle Eemanjou would on any con- 
 sideration leave the staircase. The thought of the pavement 
 below made their blood curdle, and they contented themselves 
 with glancing out of the little door. Madame Lerat, who 
 was bolder, went round the narrow terrace, keeping close to 
 the bronze dome ; but, all the same, it gave one a rude shock 
 to think that one only had to slip off. What a somersault, 
 ye gods ! The men, rather pale, looked down at the square. 
 One could almost think oneself up in the air, separated from 
 everything. Really now it gave one a chill down the back. 
 M. Madinier, however, recommended the others to raise their 
 eyes and look straight in front of them, far into the distance ; 
 for this prevented giddiness. And with his finger he continued 
 to point out the Invalides, the Pantheon, Notre-Dame, the 
 Tower of Saint-Jacques and the heights of Montmartre. 
 Then it occurred to Madame Lorilleux to inquire whether 
 one could see the wine- shop where they were going to dine, 
 the * Silver Windmill,' on the Boulevard de la Chapelle. So, 
 for ten minutes, they looked about, and even came to 
 quarrelling ; each one placing the wine-shop in a different 
 spot. Paris meantime spread around them her grey immen- 
 sity and bluish environs, her deep valleys whence surged a 
 sea of roofs. The whole right bank of the river lay in 
 shadow, beneath a vast, ragged, copper-coloured cloud ; from 
 the gold-fringed border of which flashed a broad sunbeam, 
 which illumined the thousands of window-panes on the left 
 bank with a multitude of glittering sparks, thus throwing 
 that part of the city into bright relief against a clear blue sky 
 cleansed by the storm. 
 
 * Well, it really wasn't worth while coming up here to bite 
 one another's noses off,' said Boche, angrily, referring to the 
 dispute about the position of the * Silver Windmill,' as be 
 turned to descend the staircase. 
 
THE WEDDING 75 
 
 The wedding party went down, dumb and sulky, raising 
 no other sound beyond that of its shoes clanking on the stone 
 steps. When it reached the bottom, M. Madinier wished to 
 pay ; but Coupeau would not permit him, and hastened to place 
 four and twenty sous — two for each person — in the keeper's 
 hand. It was now nearly half-past five ; ther3 was just time 
 to get back ; so they retraced their steps by way of the Boule- 
 vards and the Faubourg Poissonniere. Coupeau, however, 
 considered that the outing could not end like that. He 
 suddenly bundled them all into a wine-shop, and there they 
 took some vermouth. 
 
 The repast had been ordered for six o'clock, and when 
 they reached the * Silver Windmill,' they were a good twenty 
 minutes late. Madame Boche, who had arranged with a lady 
 living in the same house to attend to her duties for the evening, 
 was conversing with Mother Coupeau in the first floor room, 
 in front of the table, which was already laid ; and the two 
 youngsters, Claude and JEtienne, whom she had brought with 
 her, were playing about beneath the table and among the 
 chairs. When Gervaise, on entering, caught sight of the 
 little ones, whom she had not seen all day, she took them on 
 her knees, and caressed and kissed them. 
 
 * Have they been good ? ' she inquired of Madame Boche. 
 * I hope they haven't worried you too much.* Then as the 
 door-keeper related some of the funny things that the little 
 rascals had said during the afternoon, the mother again took 
 them up and pressed them to her bosom in an outburst of 
 maternal affection. 
 
 * All the same, it's not very pleasant for Coupeau,* Madame 
 Lorilleux was saying just then to the other ladies, at the end 
 of the room. 
 
 Gervaise had retained much of her smiling tranquillity of 
 the morning. Still, ever since the walk, moments of sadness 
 had fallen on her, and she watched her husband and the 
 Lorilleux with a pensive air. She considered that Coupeau 
 behaved like a coward in his sister's presence. Only the day 
 before he had talked very big, and sworn that he would put 
 those vipers, the Lorilleux, in their places, if they did not 
 treat him properly. But she well saw that when he was 
 brought face to face with them, he became as obedient as a dog, 
 deferring to them in everything, and getting terribly nervous 
 whenever he thought them angry. And this gave the young 
 woman some anxiety for the future. 
 
76 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 However, they were now only waiting for My-Boots, who 
 had not yet put in an appearance. 
 
 ' Oh ! blow him ! ' cried Coupeau at last, * let's begin. 
 He'll soon turn up, you'll see ; he's got a good nose, and can 
 scent the grub from afar. But, I say, he must be enjoying 
 himself, if he's still standing like a post on the Route de 
 Saint-Denis 1 ' 
 
 Thereupon the wedding party, feeling very lively, sat 
 down amidst a great clatter of chairs. Gervaise was placed 
 between Lorilleux and M. Madinier, and Coupeau between 
 Madame Fauconnier and Madame Lorilleux. The other 
 guests seated themselves where they liked, because things 
 always ended with jealousy and quarrelling when places were 
 determined for them. Boche glided to a chair beside Madame 
 Lerat, while Bibi- the- Smoker had Mademoiselle Eemanjou 
 and Madame Gaudron for his neighbours. As for Madame 
 Boche and Mother Coupeau, they sat right at the end of the 
 table, looking after the children, cutting up their meat, and 
 giving them something to drink, though not much wine. 
 
 * Does nebody say grace ? ' asked Boche, whilst the ladies 
 arranged their skirts under the table- cloth, for fear of getting 
 them stained. 
 
 But Madame Lorilleux did not like jokes of that kind. 
 And forthwith the vermicelli soup, which was nearly cold, 
 was gulped down very quickly, amidst a kind of hissing sound 
 made by the lips of the company, as they inserted their spoons 
 in their mouths. Two waiters served at table, dressed in short 
 greasy jackets, and aprons of indifferent whiteness. Through 
 the four open windows overlooking the acacias of the courtyard 
 came the clear light of the close of a stormy day, the atmo- 
 sphere of which, though purified, remained warm. The trees 
 in that damp nook imparted a greenish hue to the smoke-soiled 
 room, the shadows of their leaves dancing over the table-cloth, 
 which had a vague, musty odour. Two looking-glasses, one 
 at either end of the apartment, and both covered with fly 
 marks, lent a semblance of inordinate length to the table, which 
 was covered with coarse, white crockery full of scratches, in 
 which greasy dish water had left a dark deposit. And each 
 time that a waiter returned from the kitchen, the door swung 
 to and fro, admitting a strong smell of burning fat. 
 
 * Don't let us all talk at once,' said Boche, as everybody 
 remained silent over their plates. 
 
 Then they were drinking their first glass of wine whilst 
 
THE WEDDING 77 
 
 watching two force-meat pies carried by the waiters, when 
 My-Boots entered the room. 
 
 * Well, you're a scurvy lot, you people ! ' he cried, * I've 
 been wearing my pins out for three hours on the high road, 
 and a gendarme even came and asked me for my papers I It 
 isn't fair to play such dirty tricks on a friend ! You might 
 at least have sent me a growler by a commissionaire. But 
 joking apart, you know, it was really too bad. Why, it rained 
 so hard that I got my pockets full of water. Honour bright, 
 you might still catch enough fish in 'em for a meal.' 
 
 The others wriggled with laughter. That animal My- 
 Boots was * a bit on ' ; he had certainly stowed away two 
 quarts of wine already, merely to keep off the effects of all 
 that frog's liquor with which the storm had deluged him. 
 
 'Hallo! Count Leg-of-Mutton ! ' said Coupeau, 'just go 
 and sit yourself there, beside Madame Gaudron. You see 
 you were expected.' 
 
 Thereupon My-Boots responded that he didn't mind; he 
 . would soon catch up the others ; and he successively asked 
 for three helps of soup, platefuls of vermicelli, in which he 
 soaked enormous slices of bread. Afterwards, when they 
 had attacked the force-meat pies, he became the object of 
 profound and universal admiration. How he guttled ! The 
 bewildered waiters helped each other to pass him bread, thin 
 slices which he swallowed at a mouthful. And he ended by 
 losing his temper ; and insisted upon having a loaf placed on 
 the table beside him. At this the landlord, very anxious, 
 came to peep in at the door, whereupon the others, who had 
 been expecting him, again wriggled with laughter. The 
 appetite of the new-comer seemed to upset the caterer. What 
 a rum card he was, that My-Boots 1 Hadn't he one day 
 eaten a dozen hard boiled eggs and drunk a dozen glasses of 
 wine while the clock was striking twelve ? There were not 
 many who could do that, "^^lademoiselle Eemanjou, deeply 
 moved by the story, watched My-Boots chew, whilst M. 
 Madinier, seeking for a word to express his almost respectful 
 astonishment, declared that such capacity was extraordinary. 
 
 There came a brief silence. But when a waiter placed on 
 the table a rabbit stew, in a large dish as deep as a salad- 
 bowl, Coupeau, who liked fun, started another joke : * I say, 
 waiter, that rabbit's from the housetops. Why it still 
 mews.' 
 
 And in fact, a faint mew, perfectly imitated, seemed to 
 
78 THE DRAM'SHOP 
 
 proceed from the dish. It was Coupeau who produced the 
 sound with his throat, and without moving his lips : a society 
 accomplishment from which he derived such certain success, 
 that he never ordered a dinner at a restaurant without having 
 a rabbit stew. And after mewing, he purred. The ladies 
 pressed their napkins to their mouths to stop their laughter. 
 Then Madame Fauconnier asked for a head, for she only liked 
 heads, whereas Mademoiselle Remanjou had a w^eakness for 
 the strips of bacon. Then, as Boche said he preferred the 
 little onions when they were nicely browned, Madame Lerat 
 screwed up her lips and murmured: *I can understand 
 that.' 
 
 She was as dry as a stick, and led the life of a hard 
 working woman immured in her avocation. Nothing in her 
 conduct since she had lost her husband had ever furnished 
 the slightest pretext for scandal : and yet she was always 
 indulging in peculiar remarks, afflicted with a mania for 
 words of double meaning and questionable allusions, w^hich 
 were so deep, so wrapt up, that she alone could understand 
 them. 
 
 However, the conversation was becoming grave. Each 
 member of the party was talking of his or her trade. M. 
 Madinier was extolling the manufacture of cardboard boxes ; 
 there were real artists employed in the line ; and he 
 mentioned some boxes for New Year's gifts, sweetmeats, and 
 so forth, of which he had seen the models, — perfect marvels 
 of luxury. Lorilleux, however, chuckled. He was very vain 
 of working gold, and ever saw a reflection of the precious 
 metal on his fingers, indeed all over his person. He said that 
 in olden times jewellers had worn swords ; and, in proof 
 thereof, he ignorantly cited Bernard Palissy. Coupeau, for 
 his part, talked of a weather-cock, a work of art that one of 
 his comrades had made ; it consisted of a column, above 
 which came a sheaf, then a basket of fruit, and then a flag ; 
 the whole looking very natural, he declared, and made solely 
 of pieces of zinc soldered together. Then Madame Lerat 
 turned the handle of her knife between her bony fingers to 
 show Bibi-the- Smoker how she made the stalk of an artificial 
 rose. Voices rose and mingled, but amidst the hubbub one 
 distinctly detected some high-pitched words spoken by 
 Madame Fauconnier, who was complaining of her work-girls, 
 especially of a little slattern of an apprentice, who only the 
 day before had let a pair of sheets burn. 
 
THE WEDDING 79 
 
 *You may talk as much as you like,' suddenly cried 
 Lorilleux, banging his fist down on the table, * but gold is 
 gold.' 
 
 And, amidst the hush caused by the enunciation of this 
 truism, Mademoiselle Remanjou's shrill voice alone was heard 
 continuing : 
 
 * Then I turn up the skirt and stitch it inside. I stick a 
 pin in the head to keep the cap on, and then it's done, and 
 they are sold for thirteen sous a piece.' 
 
 She was explaining how she dressed her dolls to My- 
 Boots, whose jaws were working slowly and heavily like 
 grindstones. Though he kept on nodding his head, he did 
 not listen, but looked after the waiters to prevent them from 
 removing any of the dishes which he had not cleaned out. 
 Since the rabbit there had been some larded veal and French 
 beans ; and now they were serving the roast, two skinny 
 chickens lying on a bed of watercresses faded and scorched by 
 the heat of the oven. Outside, the sun was setting behind 
 the high branches of the acacias, while in the room the 
 greenish reflection had been thickened by the fumes that rose 
 from the table, which was stained with wane and gravy, and 
 covered with a pell-mell of crockery, glasses, knives and forks. 
 And along the wall, a number of dirty plates and empty 
 bottles, deposited there by the waiters, looked liked so much 
 rubbish swept or shaken from the cloth. It was very warm, 
 so the men took off their coats and continued eating in their 
 shirfc-sleeves. 
 
 ' Please, Madame Boche, don't stuff them so much,' said 
 Gervaise, who spoke but little, and watched Claude and 
 Etienne from a distance. 
 
 She got up from her seat, and standing behind the little 
 ones' chairs, talked for a moment with the others. Children 
 did not reason ; they would eat all day long without refusing 
 a single thing. Then she herself helped them to some 
 chicken, just a little of the breast. But Mother Coupeau 
 said that they might well risk an attack of indigestion just 
 for once in a way. However, Madame Boche, instead of 
 following up the subject, began to accuse her husband of 
 flirting with Madame Lerat. He was a sly dog, and by no 
 means faithful. But if he didn't behave himself, she wouldn't 
 hesitate to shy a water-bottle at his head. 
 
 In the comparative silence which had fallen, M. Madiniex 
 was now talking politics. * Their law of May 31 is abomin- 
 
8o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 able/ said he. * In order to vote you must now reside in a 
 place for two years. Three millions of citizens are struck off 
 the lists. I've been told that Bonaparte is really much 
 annoyed at it, for he is attached to the people, and has proved 
 it.' 
 
 Madinier was a Republican : but he admired the prince on 
 account of his uncle, the great conqueror, the like of whom 
 would never be seen again. However, Bibi-the- Smoker flew 
 into a passion. He had worked at the Elysee, and had seen 
 Bonaparte just as he now saw My-Boots in front of him. 
 Well, that muff of a president looked just like a police spy. 
 It was said that he was going on a journey in the direction 
 of Lyons ; it would be a precious good riddance should he 
 fall into some hole and break his neck. 
 
 Then as the discussion was becoming heated, Coupeau 
 had to interfere. ' How simple you all are to quarrel about 
 politics,' said he. * They are all humbug ! Do such things 
 exist for us ? Let them stick up whatever they Hke ; a king, 
 an emperor, or nothing at all, it won't prevent me from 
 earning my five francs a day, and eating, and sleeping. 
 Isn't that so ? No, it's too stupid ! * 
 
 But Lorilleux was wagging his head. He had been born 
 on the same day as the Count de Chambord, September 29, 
 1820, and was greatly struck with this coincidence, indulging 
 in a vague dream, in whioh he established a mysterious 
 connection between the king's return to France and his own 
 private fortunes. He never said exactly what he expected, 
 but led people to suppose that when that time should arrive 
 something wonderfully pleasant would happen to himself. So 
 whenever he had a wish too great to be gratified, he would 
 put it off to the time when the king would come back 
 again. 
 
 ' Besides,* he remarked, * I saw the Count de Chambord 
 one evening.' And then, as every face was turned towards 
 him, he continued : * Oh I it's quite true. A stout man, in 
 an overcoat, and with a good-natured air. I was at 
 Pequignot's, one of my friends who deals in furniture in the 
 Grande Rue de la Chapelle. The Count de Chambord had 
 forgotten his umbrella there the day before ; so he came in, 
 and simply said, like this : " Will you please return me my 
 umbrella?" Mon Dieul yes, it was the Count; P^quignot 
 gave me his word of honour it was.' 
 
 None of the guests suggested the faintest doubt. They 
 
 r ^"' " 
 
THE WEDDING 8i 
 
 had now reached the dessert. The waiters were clearing the 
 table with a great clattering of crockery; and Madame 
 Lorilleux, who until then had behaved in a most lady-like 
 manner, allowed an exclamation of * dirty beast ' to escape 
 her, as one of the waiters, in removing a dish, sent something 
 trickling down her neck. Her silk dress was most certainly 
 stained, said she, and M. Madinier had to look at her back. 
 However, he declared that there was nothing the matter. 
 
 In the middle of the table there now stood a salad-bowl 
 full of frosted eggs, flanked by two plates of cheese and two 
 of fruit. The frosted eggs, with their whites over-cooked and 
 floating on the yellow cream, quite impressed the company ; 
 they had not been anticipated, and were looked upon as some- 
 thing out of the common. However, My-Boots was still 
 eating. After asking for another loaf, he finished what the 
 others left of the cheese ; and then, as there remained some 
 cream, he had the salad-bowl passed to him, and sliced some 
 large pieces of bread in it as though for a soup. 
 
 * That gentleman is really remarkable,' said M. Madinier, 
 again steeped in admiration. 
 
 Thereupon the men rose up to get their pipes. They 
 remained for a moment behind My-Boots, patting him on the 
 back, and asking him if he felt better. Bibi-the- Smoker 
 hfted him up in his chair ; but, dash it s^U ! th^ brute had 
 doubled in weight. Coupeau, by way of a joke, said that his 
 comrade was only just settling dowii to work, and would go 
 on eating like that all through the night. The terrified 
 waiters beat a hasty retreat. Bcche, who had just before 
 gone downstairs, came back relating what an awful face the 
 landlord was making over it : he was looking as pde as death 
 behind his bar ; and his wife, in a dtate of consternation, had 
 sent out to see if the bakers' were still open. Even the house- 
 hold cat looked as though ruin was staring it in the face. It 
 was all really too comical and well worth the money cf the 
 dinner ; no pic-nic of that sort would be complete without that 
 swallow-aU, My-Boots. While smoking their pipew^ LlTiT uo^o.,^ 
 watched him with jealous looks ; for, after all, t^Je ^1)14 K^feat '^n. 
 BO much, he must be a precious strong f ell^wWv ^^**-**v^^ ^ 
 
 By this time it was pitch dark outsidef a^ja tjrfee gas-je^ ^^ 
 were flaring in the room, diffusing patch^ ^ lightra^idst all \ V 
 the tobacco-smoke. The waiters, after slrvin/tlie' coffee and \ ' 
 the brandy, had removed the last piles ofldiT.t}|platfeS'. Down | \ 
 below, beneath the three acacias, dancing -^ jjust beginning. / 
 
 
82 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 A cornet- ^-piston and a couple of fiddles could be heard play- 
 ing very loudly, while women laughed hoarsely in the warm 
 night air. 
 
 ' We must have some punch 1 * suddenly cried My-Boots ; 
 'two quarts of brandy, lots of lemon, and just a little sugar.' 
 
 But Coupeau, on seeing the anxious look on Gervaise's 
 face, arose, declaring that there should be no more drink. 
 They had emptied twenty-five quarts, a quart and a half 
 apiece, counting the children as grown-up people ; and that 
 was already ample. They had had a feed together in good 
 fellowship, and without ceremony, because they esteemed one 
 another, and wished to celebrate the event of the day. All had 
 gone off very pleasantly. They were gay, and must not treat 
 the ladies disrespectfully by getting drunk. In a word, and to 
 sum up everything, they had just met together to toast that 
 day's splicing, and not to fuddle themselves. This little speech, 
 forcibly delivered by the zinc-worker, who placed his hand on 
 his breast at the end of each successive sentence, met with the 
 warm approval of Lorilleux and M. Madinier. But the others 
 — Boche, Gaudron, Bibi-the- Smoker, and especially My- 
 Boots, all four of whom were considerably elevated — only 
 jeered in husky tones, experiencing as they did a dreadful 
 thirst, which they felt they must quench at any cost. 
 
 * Those who're thirsty are thirsty, and those who aren't 
 thirsty aren't thirsty,' remarked My-Boots sententiously. 
 * Therefore, we'll order the punch. No one need take offence. 
 The aristocrats can drink sugar-and- water.' And as the zinc- 
 worker began another sermon, the other, who had risen to his 
 feet, gave himself a slap, exclaiming : * Come, let's have no 
 more of that, ^ oungster I Waiter, two quarts of the genuine 
 old stuff 1' 
 
 Thereupon Coupeau said that My-Boots might do as he liked, 
 only they would settle for the dinner at once. It would pre- 
 vent any disputes. The well-behaved people did not want to 
 pay for the topers. And it so happened that My-Boots, after 
 searching his pockets fcr a long time, could only produce three 
 francs and seven sous. But then why had they made him 
 wait all that time on the Eoute de Saint-Denis ? He could 
 not let himself be drowned, and so he had broken into his five- 
 franc piece. It was the fault of the others, that was all I He 
 ended by giving up the three francs, retaining the seven sous 
 for his tobacco on the morrow. Coupeau, quite furious, would 
 have knocked him over, had not Gervaise, greatly frightened, 
 
THE WEDDING 83 
 
 pulled him by bis coat, and begged him to keep cool. There- 
 upon he decided to borrow the two francs of Lorilleux, who, 
 after at first refusing them, eventually lent them on the sly, 
 for his wife would never have consented to his doing so. 
 
 Meantime, M. Madinier went round with a plate ; and the 
 ladies who were unaccompanied — Madame Lerat, Madame 
 Fauconnier, and Mademoiselle Eemanjou — discreetly deposited 
 their five-franc pieces in it. Then the gentlemen retired to 
 the other end of the room, and made up the account. They 
 were fifteen ; so the amount to be paid was seventy-five francs. 
 When these were in the plate, each man added five sous for 
 the waiters. It took a quarter of an hour of laborious calcu- 
 lations before everything was settled to general satisfaction. 
 
 However, when M. Madinier, who wished to hand over the 
 money, had got the landlord to step up, the company was 
 thunderstruck to hear him say with a smile that the sum 
 tendered fell short of what was owing to him. There were 
 various extras ; and, as the word * extras ' was greeted with 
 angry exclamations, he entered into details. Twenty-five 
 quarts of wine had been consumed instead of twenty, the num- 
 ber agreed upon beforehand ; then he had added the frosted 
 eggs, thinking that the dessert was rather scanty ; and finally, 
 a decanter of rum had been served with the cofi'ee, in case any 
 one should like it. Then a formidable quarrel ensued. Cou- 
 peau, who was appealed to, protested loudly ; he had never 
 mentioned twenty quarts ; as for the frosted eggs, they formed 
 part of the dessert ; so much the worse for the landlord if he 
 had added them without being asked to do so. There re- 
 mained the rum, a mere nothing, just a dodge for increasing 
 the bill by putting on the table some spirits to which nobody 
 had attached any importance. 
 
 ' The rum was on the tray with the coffee,' he cried ; ' so 
 it comes in with the coffee. Go to the deuce ! Take your 
 money, and we'll never set foot in your den again.' 
 
 ' It's six francs more,' repeated the landlord. * Pay me my 
 six francs; and with all that I haven't counted the four 
 loaves which that gentleman ate ! ' 
 
 The whole company pressed round him with furious gest- 
 ures and a hubbub of voices choking with rage. The women 
 in particular threw aside all reserve, and refused to add another 
 centime. Ah, well I it was a pretty wedding party I Mademoi- 
 selle Eemanjou would never again mix herself up in anything 
 of that sort I Madame Fauconnier had dined very badly 
 
 a2 
 
84 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 indeed ; at home, for a couple of francs, she could have had a 
 delicious little meal. Madame Gaudron complained bitterly 
 of having been consigned to the bad end of the table, next to 
 My-Boots, who had not shown her the shghtest attention. In 
 short, those sort of parties always wound up badly. When one 
 wanted to have friends at one's wedding, one should pay the 
 expenses 1 Gervaise, who had taken refuge behind Mother 
 Coupeau, near one of the windows, said nothing, but felt 
 terribly ashamed, for she realised that all these recriminations 
 were directed at her. 
 
 M. Madinier ended by going down with the landlord, and 
 they could be heard arguing below. Half an hour went by 
 before the cardboard-box manufacturer returned, saying that he 
 had settled the matter by giving three francs. But the others 
 were still upset, exasperated, and constantly reverted to the 
 question of those extras. The uproar was increased by an act 
 of vigour on the part of Madame Boche. She had kept her eye 
 on her husband, and at length detected him slipping his arm 
 round the waist of Madame Lerat. And thereupon, with all her 
 strength, after hastily aiming at him, she flung a water bottle, 
 which smashed against the wall. 
 
 The evening was spoilt. Everyone waxed more and more 
 surly. M. Madinier suggested some singing, but Bibi-the 
 Smoker, who had a fine voice, had gone off a moment pre- 
 viously ; and Mademoiselle Eemanjou, who was leaning out 
 of the window, caught sight of him under the acacias, 
 swinging a big bareheaded girl round, while the cornet-^- 
 piston and the fiddles played the * Mustard Dealer ' quad- 
 rille ; in which the several couples marked time at the 
 pastourelle by vigorously clapping their hands. Then there 
 was a general break up of the wedding party: My-Bootg 
 and the two Gaudrons went down : even Boche sneaked off. 
 The couples dancing could be seen from the windows between 
 the leaves, which, by the hght of the lanterns hanging 
 among the branches had the crude green hue of foliage as 
 depicted in stage-scenery. There was not a wbiff of air 
 outside ; the night was slumberous, heavy with intense heat. 
 In the dining-room, M. Madinier and Lorilleux were now 
 engaged in serious conversation, whilst the ladies, no longer 
 knowing how to vent their ill-humour, examined their 
 dresses, trying to discover if they had got stained. 
 
 Madame Lerat's fringe looked as though it had been 
 soused in the coffee. Madame Fauconnier's chintz gown was 
 
THE WEDDING 85 
 
 Bmeared with gravy. Mother Coupeau's green shawl, having 
 fallen from a chair, was discovered in a corner, rolled up and 
 trodden upon. But it was particularly Madame Lorilleux 
 whose anger knew no end. She had a stain on the back of 
 her dress ; it was useless for the others to declare the con- 
 trary — she could feel it. And, indeed, after twisting herself 
 about in front of a looking glass, she ended by catching a 
 glimpse of it. 
 
 * What did I say ? ' she cried. ' It's gravy from the fowl. 
 The waiter shall pay for the dress. I will bring an action 
 against him. Ah ! this is a fit ending to such a day. I 
 should have done better to have stayed in bed. To begin 
 with, I'm off. I've had enough of their wretched wedding ! ' 
 
 Thereupon she rushed out of the room in a rage, making 
 the staircase shake beneath her heavy tread. In vain did 
 Lorilleux run after her ; all that he could obtain from her 
 was that she would wait five minutes on the pavement out- 
 side, if he wanted them to go off together. She ought to 
 have left directly after the storm, as she had wished to do. 
 She would make Coupeau smart for that day, that she would! 
 When her brother heard that she was in such a passion, he 
 seemed quite dismayed ; and Gervaise, to save him any un- 
 pleasantness, consented to go home at once. Thereupon they 
 all hastily embraced each other. M. Madinier undertook to see 
 Mother Coupeau home. Madame Boche was to take Claude 
 and Etienne to sleep at her place ; their mother, said she, 
 might be quite easy about them. They were now sleeping 
 heavily on their chairs, with their digestions quite upset by 
 the frosted eggs. At last the newly-married couple were 
 starting off with Lorilleux, leaving the rest of the company 
 at the wine-shop, when a battle began down below in the danc- 
 ing place. Amidst the wild blaring and scraping of the cornet 
 and the violins, which were now playing the ' Pearl * polka, 
 Boche and My-Boots, who had appropriated a lady, refused to 
 restore her to two soldiers who had claims on her, and 
 even threatened to clear out the whole place. 
 
 It was scarcely eleven o'clock. The Boulevard de la 
 Chapelle, and the entire neighbourhood of the Goutte-d'Or, 
 were full of the loud uproar of drunkenness, for that Saturday 
 had been the fortnightly pay-day. Madame Lorilleux was 
 waiting under a gas-lamp at a score of steps from the 
 ' Silver Windmill.' She took her husband's arm, and without 
 looking round, walked on in front at such a pace that 
 
86 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Gervaise and Coupeau became breathless in trying to keep 
 up with her. Now and again they had to step off the pave- 
 ment to leave room for some drunkard who had fallen there, 
 with legs and arms outstretched. At last Lorilleux looked 
 back, endeavouring to bring about a reconciliation. 
 
 ' We will see you as far as your door,' said he. 
 
 But Madame Lorilleux, raising her voice, expressed the 
 opinion that it was a funny thing to spend one's wedding 
 night in such a filthy hole as the Hotel Boncoeur. Ought 
 they not to have deferred their marriage, and have saved up 
 a few sous to buy some furniture, so as to have had a home 
 of their own? Ah! they would be comfortable, and no 
 mistake, right up under the roof, in a little closet, at ten 
 francs a month, where there wasn't even a breath of air ! 
 
 * But I've given notice, we're not going to live up there,' 
 timidly interposed Coupeau. *We keep Gervaise's room, 
 which is larger.' 
 
 At this Madame Lorilleux forgot herself, and abruptly 
 turned round. ' That's worse than all ! ' cried she. ' You're 
 going to use the Hobbler's room.' 
 
 Gervaise became very pale. This nickname, which she 
 received full in the face for the first time, fell on her like 
 a blow. Moreover, she fully understood her sister-in-law's 
 meaning : the Hobbler's room was the room which she had 
 shared with Lantier, where the shreds of her past life still 
 hung about. 
 
 Coupeau did not understand this, but merely felt hurt at 
 the nickname. ' You do wrong to christen others,* he 
 retorted angrily. * You don't know, perhaps, that the people 
 of the neighbourhood call you Cow's-Tail on account of your 
 hair. That doesn't please you, does it ? Why shouldn't we 
 keep the room on the first floor ? The children are stopping 
 with Madame Boche, and we shall be very comfortable.' 
 
 Madame Lorilleux added nothing further, but retired into 
 her dignity, horribly annoyed to think that her wisp of red 
 hair should have brought her such an offensive nickname. 
 Coupeau, to console Gervaise, gently squeezed her arm ; and 
 he even succeeded in making her smile, by telUng her in a 
 whisper that they started on their married life with exactly 
 seven sous before them — three big ones and a little one, which 
 he chinked together in his trousers' pocket. However, when 
 they reached the Hotel Boncoeur, the two women said good- 
 night in such a sulky fashion, that Coupeau, calling them a 
 
THE WEDDING 87 
 
 couple of ninnies, had began to push them into each other's 
 arms, when a drunken fellow, who seemingly wished to turn 
 to the right, suddenly lurched to the left and came tumbling 
 between them. 
 
 * Why, it's old Bazouge I * exclaimed Lorilleux. * He's 
 had his fill to-day.' 
 
 Gervaise, quite frightened, retreated close to the door of 
 the hotel. Old Bazouge, who was an undertaker's mute of 
 some fifty years of age, had his black trousers all stained with 
 mud, his black cape hooked awry, and his black leather hat 
 badly dented by some tumble he had met with. 
 
 * Don't be afraid, he isn't ill-natured,' continued 
 Lorilleux. * He's a neighbour of ours, and lives in the third 
 room in the passage before us. He would find himself in a 
 nice mess if his people were to see him like this I ' 
 
 Old Bazouge, however, took offence at the young woman's 
 evident terror. ' Well, what 1 ' he hiccoughed, * we don't eat 
 people in my trade. I'm as good as another, any day, my 
 little woman. No doubt I've had a drop I When work's 
 plentiful one has to grease the wheels. It's not you, nor your 
 friends, who would have carried down the stiff'un of forty- 
 seven stone whom I and a pal brought from the fourth floor 
 to the pavement this afternoon, without damaging him 
 either — for my part I like jolly people.' 
 
 But in spite of this speech, Gervaise retreated yet further 
 into the doorway, seized with a great inclination to weep, 
 which quite spoiled her day of sober-minded joy. She no 
 longer thought of kissing her sister-in-law, but implored 
 Coupeau to get rid of the drunkard. Then Bazouge, as he 
 stumbled about, made a gesture full of philosophical con- 
 tempt : * It won't prevent you from passing through our 
 bands, my little woman,' said he. * You'll perhaps be glad 
 to do so, one of these days. Yes, I know some women who'd 
 be much obliged if we'd carry them off.' Then, as the 
 Lorilleux made up their minds to lead him away, he turned 
 round, and stuttered out a last sentence, between tv/O hic- 
 coughs : 
 
 * When one's dead— listen to this— when one s dead, it's 
 for a precious long time, it is.' 
 
88 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 IV 
 
 SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 
 
 Four years of hard toil followed. In the neighbourhood, 
 Gervaise and Coupeau were reputed to be a happy couple, who 
 did not quarrel, but led a somewhat retired life, taking, by way of 
 amusement, a short walk regularly every Sunday, in the di- 
 rection of Saint-Ouen. The wife worked her twelve hours a day 
 at Madame Fauconnier's, and yet found means to keep her 
 lodging as clean and bright as a new coined sou, and to pre- 
 pare the meals for all her family, morning and evening. The 
 husband never got drunk, but brought his wages home every 
 fortnight, and smoked a pipe at his window in the evening, to 
 get a breath of fresh air before going to bed. Their nice, 
 pleasant ways were cited as examples ; and, as between them 
 they earned close upon nine francs a day, it was reckoned that 
 they were able to put by a good deal of money. 
 
 However, during the earlier period especially, they had to 
 work exceedingly hard to make both ends meet. Their 
 marriage had burdened them with a debt of two hundred 
 francs. Then, too, they abhorred the Hotel Boncoeur. They 
 thought it a disgusting place, full of unpleasant surroundings, 
 and they dreamed of having a home and furniture of their 
 own, which they would take good care of. Over and over 
 again they reckoned up the sum of money that would be 
 necessary. It came in round figures to three hundred and 
 fifty francs,^ if they were to have sufficient accommodation for 
 putting their things away, as well as pots and pans handy 
 whenever they might require them. They were {-espairing of 
 being able to save so large a sum in less than two years, when 
 they met with a piece of good fortune. An old gentleman of 
 Plassans asked them to let him have Claude, the elder of the 
 little ones, to send to the college there. It was the generous 
 whim of an original, who, as an amateur of paintings, had 
 been greatly struck by some figures that the youngster had 
 sketched in former days. Claude was already costing them a 
 deal of money. However, when they only had the younger 
 brother Etienne to keep, they were able to put by the three 
 hundred and fifty francs in seven months and a half. On the 
 day when they bought their furniture of a second-hand dealer 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 89 
 
 on the Rug Belhomme, they went for a short walk along the 
 outer Boulevards before returning home, their hearts full of 
 a great joy. The things comprised a bedstead, a pedestal table, 
 a chest of drawers with a marble top, a wardrobe, a round 
 table with an American cloth cover, and six chairs, all in old 
 mahogany — without counting the bedding, the linen, and the 
 kitchen utensils, which were almost new. With them it was 
 like a serious and decisive entrance into life — something 
 which, by making them owners of property, gave them a 
 place among the well-to-do people of the neighbourhood. 
 
 For two months past they had been busy seeking some 
 rooms ; and these they had originally wished to secure in the 
 big house of the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. But not a closet was 
 vacant there ; so that they had to relinquish their old dream. 
 To tell the truth, Gervaise was not over sorry at this failure, 
 for the idea of being so near the Lorilleux quite frightened 
 her. However, they looked about elsewhere. In order that 
 Gervaise might be able to run up home at any hour of the 
 day, Coupeau sensibly enough did not wish to be far from 
 Madame Fauconnier's. And at length they discovered some- 
 thing which exactly suited them, a large room with a small 
 closet and a kitchen, in the Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d'Or, 
 almost opposite the laundress's. The house was small with 
 but one upper storey, reached by a very steep staircase, at top 
 of which there were only two lodgings, one to the right and 
 the other to the left. The ground floor was occupied by a 
 man who let out carts and trucks, which he housed in some 
 sheds skirting a spacious courtyard alongside the street. 
 Gervaise, quite deUghted, almost fancied herself back in the 
 country. There were no neighbours, and consequently there 
 was no gossip to fear ; it was a little quiat corner which 
 reminded her of a lane at Plassans, behind the ramparts. 
 And to crown her good luck, by just stretching her neck, she 
 could see her window from her ironing table without having 
 to quit her work. 
 
 The Coupeaus took possession of their new abode at the 
 April quarter. Gervaise was expecting a baby very shortly. 
 Still she bravely continued to work, merely laughing at 
 Coupeau whenever he wanted her to take a rest. Now that 
 there would soon be one more mouth to feed they must not be 
 idle, she said. And it was she who cleaned the lodging out 
 before helping her husband to put the furniture in place. 
 She quite worshipped the things, dusting them with maternal 
 
90 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 care, and her heart breaking at the sight of the least scratch. 
 She stood still, amazed, as though she had struck herself, 
 whenever she knocked against anything while sweeping. The 
 chest of drawers was especially dear to her ; she thought it 
 BO beautifully solid, and serious looking. A dream, of which 
 Bhe dare not speak, was to have a nice clock to stand in the 
 centre of the marble slab, where it would produce a magnifi- 
 cent effect. Had it not been for the coming baby, she would 
 perhaps have risked buying such a clock. However, she 
 Bighed and put off doing so till later on. 
 
 The young couple resumed^their life in a state of enchant- 
 ment with their new home. Etienne's bed occupied the little 
 closet, where there was still room enough to place another 
 child's crib. The kitchen was a very tiny affair and as dark 
 as night, but, by leaving the door wide-open, one could 
 manage to see ; besides, there was no question of cooking meals 
 for thirty people, all that Gervaise needed was room to make 
 her soup. As for the large room, it was their pride. The 
 first thing in the morning, they drew the white calico curtains 
 of the alcove, and the room was then transformed into a dining- 
 room, with the round table in the centre, and the wardrobe 
 and the chest of drawers facing each other. As the grate 
 burned as much as fifteen sous' worth of coal a day, they 
 closed it up ; and a little cast-iron stove, placed on the marble 
 hearthstone, kept them warm during the coldest weather for 
 seven sous. Then, too, Coupeau had decorated the walls as 
 best he could, projecting various embellishments for the 
 future. A tall engraving, representing a marshal of France 
 caracoling with his baton in his hand between a cannon and 
 a heap of round shot, occupied the place of an over-mantel ; 
 some family photographs were hung in two rows above the 
 chest of drawers, on either side of a little holy- water receiver 
 of gilt china, in which some matches were kept ; and atop of 
 the wardrobe, close to the cuckoo clock, to the ticking of 
 which they seemed to listen, a bust of Pascal paired with one 
 of B^ranger, the former looking grave, and the other smiling. 
 Thus the room was really a fine one. 
 
 * Guess how much we pay here ? ' Gervaise would ask of 
 every visitor she had. And whenever they guessed too high a 
 sum, she triumphed and exclaimed, in her delight at being so 
 well suited for so little money : ' One hundred and fifty francs, 
 not a sou more 1 Isn't it almost hke having it for nothing ? ' 
 
 The BueNeuve de la Goutte-d'Or itself contributed largely 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 91 
 
 to the contentment of the young couple. Gervaise lived in it, 
 incessantly going backwards and forwards between her home 
 and Madame Fauconnier's, and Coupeau would come down 
 of an evening, and smoke his pipe on the door-step. The 
 street was steep and uneven, without any side pavements. At 
 the top, near the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or proper, there were 
 some dismal-looking shops, with dirty windows, cobblers' and 
 coopers' shops, a wretched grocer's, and a wine-shop, the 
 shutters of which — the landlord having failed — had been up 
 for weeks past, and were fast being covered with placards. At 
 the other end, over towards Paris, the view of the sky was 
 shut out by houses four storeys high, the ground floors of 
 which were occupied by a succession of laundresses one after 
 the other. And here there was only a petty barber's provincial- 
 looking shop front with green wood-work and window full of 
 soft coloured bottles to enliven the shade with the sparkle of 
 the miniature brass shaving dishes, always scrupulously clean, 
 which served as its sign. But the liveliest part of the street 
 was the middle, where the buildings being fewer and of less 
 elevation, admitted the air and sunshine. The truck sheds of 
 the house where the Coupeaus lived, a seltzer water manu- 
 factory next door, and the wash-house opposite left a large 
 quiet open space, the peacefulness of which seemed increased 
 by the faint voices of the women washing, and the regular 
 subdued puffing of the sfceam-engine. Low-lying plots of 
 ground, lanes winding away between black walls, gave the 
 spot the appearance of a village. And Coupeau, amused by 
 the rare passers-by who stepped over the ever-flowing streams 
 of soapy water, said that it reminded him of some place in the 
 country where one of his uncles had taken him when he was 
 five years old. Gervaise's delight was a tree planted in a 
 court-yard to the left of her window, an acacia with a single 
 branch, whose scanty green foliage sufficed for the charm of the 
 entire street. 
 
 It was on the last day of April that the event which the 
 young woman had long been expecting took place. In the 
 afternoon, towards four o'clock, while she was ironing a pair 
 of curtains at Madame Fauconnier's, she had to cease work. 
 However, she would not go home at once, but remained there 
 on a chair, and even resumed her ironiug, whenever she was 
 able, for the curtains were wanted quickly and she 
 obstinately made a point of finishing them. But a little later, 
 while she wa? actually talking of starting on some shirts, she 
 
92 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 found it necessary to go home, and only got there with much 
 difficulty. Afterwards, feeling suddenly relieved, and thinking 
 that she must have been mistaken, she determined to get 
 Coupeau's dinner ready. That evening they were to have 
 had some neck chops in a stew. All went well whilst she 
 peeled the potatoes, and set the chops to cook in a saucepan ; 
 but another seizure came upon her when the stew at last began 
 to simmer on the cinder-covered fire. Then on returning to 
 the room, she thought she would at least have time to lay 
 the cloth for her husband at one end of the table. But in 
 all haste she had to put down the bottle of wine, and lack- 
 ing the strength to take a single step she fell prostrate on 
 a mat. When the midwife, whom one of Madame Fauconnier'a 
 work-girls had previously gone to fetch, arrived, a quarter 
 of an hour later, it was there that she found her. 
 
 The zinc-worker was still employed at the Lariboisiere 
 hospital, and Gervaise would not have him disturbed. When 
 he came home at seven o'clock he found her in bed, well- 
 covered up, but looking very pale. The child lay crying, 
 swathed in a shawl at its mother's feet. 
 
 * Ah, my poor wife I * said Coupeau, kissing Gervaise. * And 
 to think I was only joking an hour ago, when you were in such 
 distress.' 
 
 She smiled faintly, and then murmured : * It's a girl.* 
 
 ' Exactly I * resumed the zinc-worker, joking so as to en- 
 liven her. * Now I've got what I wanted ! ' And, taking the 
 child in his arms, he continued : * Let's have a look at you. 
 Miss Malkin ! You've got a very black little mug. It'll get 
 whiter, never fear. You must be good, never run about the 
 streets, but grow up sensible like your papa and mamma.' 
 
 Gervaise looked at her daughter very seriously, with wide- 
 open eyes, which slowly became tinged with sadness. She 
 shook her head ; she would have preferred a boy, because 
 boys always pull through somehow or other, and do not run 
 BO many risks as girls do in Paris. The midwife had to take 
 the baby away from Coupeau. She also forbade Gervaise to 
 talk ; it was quite bad enough that so much noise should be 
 made around her. Then the zinc-worker said that he must 
 communicate the news to Mother Coupeau and the Lorilleux, 
 but as he was dying with hunger, he must first of all have his 
 dinner. It was a great worry to the invalid to see him wait 
 on himself, run to the kitchen for the stew, eat it out of a soup 
 plate, and fail to find the bread. In spite of all injunctions, 
 
SUNSiriNE AND CLOUD 93 
 
 Bhe bewailed her helplessness and fidgeted about. It was 
 stupid of her not to have managed to set the cloth. Her poor 
 old man would not think it kind of her to nurse herself hke 
 that whilst he was dining so badly. At least, were the potatoes 
 cooked enough ? She no longer remembered whether she had 
 put any salt to them. 
 
 ' Keep quiet I * cried the midwife. 
 
 * Ah I it's no use your trying to prevent her from worrying 
 herself I ' said Coupeau with his mouth full. * If you were 
 not there, I'd bet she'd get up to cut my bread. Keep still, 
 you big goose 1 Your stew's very good. Madame wHl eat 
 some with me. Won't you, madame ? ' 
 
 The midwife declined ; but she was willing to accept a 
 glass of wine, because it had really upset her, said she, to 
 find her patient on the floor when she arrived. Coupeau at 
 length went off to tell the news to his relations, and half an 
 hour later he returned with all of them, Mother Coupeau, the 
 Lorilleux, and Madame Lerat, whom he had met at the 
 chain-maker's. The Lorilleux, in the face of the young 
 couple's prosperity, had by this time become very amiable, 
 and were wont to make the most flattering remarks 
 about Gervaise, accompanied, however, by httle restrictive 
 gestures, nods of the head, and peculiar glances, as though to 
 adjourn their real final judgment. In short, they knew what 
 they knew ; only they would not go against the opinion of the 
 entire neighbourhood. 
 
 * I've brought you the whole gang ! ' cried Coupeau as he 
 came in. * It can't be helped ! they wanted to see you. Don't 
 open your mouth, it's forbidden. They'll stop there, and look 
 at you, without ceremony you know. As for me, I'm going 
 to make them some coffee, and some of the right sort I ' 
 
 He vanished into the kitchen. Then Mother Coupeau, 
 after embracing Gervaise, went into an ecstasy over the 
 child, which she declared to be a very fine one. The two 
 other women also kissed the invahd on her cheeks. And all 
 three, standing before the bed, commented on the various 
 incidents of the birth. Then Madame Lerat examined the 
 little one, and declared that she was well formed, except that 
 her head seemed rather too pointed, whereupon she began 
 to press it gently, so as to make it rounder. The infant 
 screamed, and Madame Lorilleux in a passion snatched it 
 from her : it was sufficient to give a creature every imaginable 
 vice, said she, to mess it about like that, when its skull was 
 
94 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 so tender. Then slie tried to find out whom the baby resem- 
 bled. They nearly all quarrelled over that. Lorilleux, who 
 was stretching his neck in between the women, repeated that 
 there was no likeness to Coupeau, except, perhaps, about the 
 nose, and even in that respect the resemblance was very 
 slight. No, the infant was nearly the image of her mother, 
 with somebody else's eyes though. 
 
 Coupeau, however, failed to reappear. One could hear 
 him in the kitchen, struggling with the stove and the coffee- 
 pot. Gervaise was worrying herself frightfully ; it was not the 
 proper thing for a man to make coffee ; and without listening 
 to the energetic hushes of the midwife, she called out to tell 
 him what he ought to do. 
 
 ' Here we are ! ' said Coupeau, at last coming in with the 
 coffee-pot in his hand. * Didn't I just have a bother with it 1 
 It all went wrong on purpose ! Now we'll drink out of 
 glasses, if you're agreeable, because, you know, the cups are 
 still at the shop.' 
 
 They seated themselves round the table, and the zinc- 
 worker insisted on pouring out the coffee himself. It smelt 
 very strong ; it was none of your weak chicory stuff. When 
 the midwife had sipped hers she went off : everything was 
 going on nicely, and she was not required. If the young 
 woman should not pass a good night, they were to send for 
 her on the morrow. She was scarcely down the staircase, 
 when Madame Lorilleux called her a glutton and a good- 
 for-nothing. What 1 she put four lumps of sugar in her 
 coffee, and charged fifteen francs for leaving you with your 
 baby all by yourself? But Coupeau took the midwife's part ; 
 he would willingly fork out the fifteen francs. After all, 
 women of that class spent their youth in studying, so it was 
 only right that they should charge a good price. 
 
 They had now pushed the table close up to the bed, and 
 until ten o'clock, Gervaise, slowly overcome by intense fatigue, 
 remained in a state of smiling stupor, with her head turned 
 sideways on the pillow ; she saw and heard, but no longer 
 found strength to make a gesture or speak a word ; it 
 eeemed to her as if she were dead, of a very gentle death, from 
 the depths of which she felt happy at seeing the others alive. 
 Now and again the little one uttered a faint cry amidst all 
 the loud chatter, the endless opinions which were vented 
 concerning a murder committed on the previous day in the 
 Rue du Bon-Puits, at the other end of La Chapelle. 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 95 
 
 Then, as the visitors were thinking of retiring, the subject 
 of the christening came up. The Lorilleux had previously 
 promised to be godfather and godmother. Behind the 
 parents the prospect made them glum ; however, if they had 
 not been asked to stand, they would certainly have pulled 
 wry faces. Coupeau, for his part, did not see any need for 
 christening the little one ; it certainly would not procure her 
 an income, and she might catch a cold from it. But Mother 
 Coupeau called him a heathen. The Lorilleux, too, though 
 they did not put themselves out to partake of the Sacrament, 
 plumed themselves on their religious sentiments. 
 
 • It shall be next Sunday, if you like,' said the chain-maker. 
 
 And Gervaise having consented with a nod, every one kissed 
 her and told her to take great care of herself. They also wished 
 the baby good-bye. Each went to lean over the trembling 
 child with smiles and loving words as though she were able 
 to understand them. And they called her Nana, the pet name 
 for Anna, which was her godmother's name : * Good-night, 
 Nana. Come, be a good girl, Nana.' 
 
 When they had at length gone off, Coupeau drew his 
 chair close up to the bed and finished his pipe, while holding 
 Gervaise's hand in his. He smoked slowly, deeply affected, 
 and venting short sentences between each puff : * Well, old 
 woman, they've made your head ache, haven't they ? You 
 see, I couldn't prevent them from coming. After all, it shows 
 their friendship. But we're better alone, aren't we? I 
 wanted to be a little bit alone with you. It has seemed a 
 terribly long evening. Poor little thing, you've had a lot to 
 go through. Ah 1 those little ones, they've no idea how their 
 mothers suffer. Come, I must give you a kiss, old girl, to 
 make you well.* 
 
 He had gently slipped one of his big hands behind her 
 back, and leaning over her, he kissed her with all the tender- 
 ness of a rough man compassionating suffering incurred 
 through himself. And Gervaise felt very happy. She assured 
 him that she was not suffering at all. She was only thinking 
 of getting up as soon as possible, for it would never do for her 
 to lie there idle. But he tried to reassure her. Wouldn't he 
 be able to earn all that was necessary for the child ? He 
 would be a contemptible fellow, if ever he left her to provide for 
 it. 
 
 Coupeau did not sleep much that night. He covered up 
 the fire in the stove, and every hour he had to get up to give 
 
96 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the baby some spoonfuls of lukewarm sugared water. Still 
 this did not prevent him from going off to work in the 
 morning as usual. He even took advantage of his lunch-hour 
 to make a declaration of the birth at the town hall. Mean- 
 time Madame Boche, who had been informed of the event, 
 hastened to come and pass the day with Gervaise. But the 
 latter, after ten hours' sound sleep, bewailed her position, 
 saying that she already ached from having been so long in 
 bed. She would become quite ill if they did not let her get 
 up. In the evening, when Coupeau returned home, she told 
 him her worries : she had confidence in Madame Boche, no 
 doubt, only it quite upset her to see a stranger installed in 
 her room, opening the drawers, and touching her things. 
 
 On the morrow the doorkeeper, on returning from some 
 errand, found her up, dressed, sweeping, and getting her 
 husband's dinner ready ; and it was impossible to persuade 
 her to go to bed again. Were they trying to make a fool of 
 her ? she asked. It was all very well for ladies to coddle 
 themselves. When a woman was not rich, she had no time 
 for that sort of thing. And indeed three days after the birth 
 of her daughter, Gervaise was ironing petticoats at Madame 
 Fauconnier's, banging her irons, and perspiring from the great 
 heat of the stove. 
 
 On the Saturday evening, Madame Lorilleux brought hei 
 presents for her godchild — a cap that had cost five-and-thirty 
 sous, and a christening dress, plaited and trimmed with some 
 cheap lace, which she had secured for six francs, because it 
 was shghtly soiled. On the morrow, Lorilleux, as godfather, 
 gave the mother six pounds of sugar. They did things in a 
 proper way. Even in the evening, at the feast given by the 
 Coupeaus, they did not arrive empty handed. The husband 
 brought a sealed bottle of wine under each arm, whilst the 
 wife carried a big custard cake, bought at a renowned pastry- 
 cook's in the Chaussee Clignancourt. Unfortunately the 
 Lorilleux went and related their grand doings all over the 
 neighbourhood ; they had spent close upon twenty francs, 
 they said. Gervaise fairly gasped on hearing of this gossip- 
 ing, and no longer felt any gratitude to them for their hand- 
 some proceedings. 
 
 It was at this christening feast that the Coupeaus ended 
 by becoming intimate with their neighbours across the 
 landing. The other lodging in the Httle house was occupied 
 by two persons, mother and son, the Goujets as they were 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 97 
 
 called. Hitherto the two families had merely nodded to each 
 other on the stairs and in the street, nothing more ; in fact, 
 the Coupeaus thought their neighbours rather bearish. How- 
 ever, the mother having carried up a pail of water for Gervaise 
 on the morrow of her confinement, the young woman considered 
 it the proper thing to invite the Goujets to the feast, the more 
 especially as they seemed to her very respectable people. And, 
 naturally, they there became well acquainted with each other. 
 
 The Goujets came from the Departement du Nord. The 
 mother mended lace ; the son, a blacksmith, worked at an 
 iron bolt factory. They had lived in the lodging across the 
 landing for five years now. Behind the quiet peacefulness of 
 their life, a long standing sorrow was hidden. Goujet, the 
 father, one day when he was furiously drunk at Lille, had 
 beaten a comrade to death with an iron bar, and had after- 
 wards strangled himself in prison with his handkerchief. 
 The widow and child, who had come to Paris after this mis- 
 fortune, always felt the tragedy hanging over their heads, 
 and sought to atone for it by strict honesty, and unvarying 
 gentleness and courage. There was even a certain pride 
 mingled with all this, for they ended by finding themselves 
 better than others. Madame Goujet, who was invariably 
 dressed in black, her forehead girt with a monachal cap, 
 had a white, calm matronly face which seemed to derive 
 serenity from the pallor of all the lace she handled, the 
 minuteness of the work on which her fingers were always 
 engaged. Goujet on his side was a superb-looking giant of 
 twenty-three, of herculean strength, with a rosy face, and 
 blue eyes. His comrades at the bolt works nicknamed him 
 Golden Mug, on account of his handsome yellow beard. 
 
 Gervaise at once felt a great friendship for these people. 
 When she entered their home the first time, she was amazed 
 at the cleanliness of the lodging. There was no denying it, 
 one might blow all over the place without raising a grain of 
 dust ; and the tiled floor shone like a mirror. Madame Goujet 
 made her enter her son's room, just to see it. It was as 
 pretty and white as the room of a young girl, with its musHn- 
 curtained iron bedstead, its table, washstand, and narrow 
 bookcase hanging against the wall. Then there were 
 pictures all over the place, figures cut out with scissors, 
 coloured prints secured with four tacks, portraits of all kinds 
 of persons taken from the illustrated papers. Madame Goujet 
 said, with a smile, that her son was a big baby. In the 
 
 H 
 
98 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 evenings reading tired him, so he amused himself with looHng 
 at his pictures. Gervaise spent an hour with her neighbour, 
 who had returned to her tambour frame, in front of a window. 
 The young woman felt interested in the hundreds of pins 
 which secured the lace, happy, too, at being there and inhaling 
 the pleasant odour of cleanliness which pervaded the lodging, 
 where that delicate work induced the silence of meditation. 
 
 The Goujets even improved on acquaintance. Their work 
 was remunerative, and they placed more than a quarter of 
 their fortnight's earnings in the savings-bank. In the 
 neighbourhood everyone nodded to them, and talked of the 
 money they put by. Goujet never had a hole in his clothes, 
 but always went out in a clean, short, blue blouse, without 
 a stain. He was very polite, and even a trifle timid, in 
 spite of his broad shoulders. The washerwomen at the 
 end of the street laughed to see him lower his head when 
 he passed them. He did not like their coarse language, 
 and thought it disgusting that women should constantly have 
 foul expressions on their tongues. One day, however, he 
 had come home tipsy; whereupon Madame Goujet, for sole 
 reproach, had held his father's portrait before him — a daub 
 of a painting piously hidden away in a drawer — and ever 
 since that lesson Goujet had drunk no more than was 
 good for him, though he had no hatred of wine, for wine 
 is necessary to the toiler. On Sundays he walked out with 
 his mother, giving her his arm. He would generally conduct 
 her to Vincennes ; but sometimes they would go to the 
 theatre. His mother remained his one passion. He still 
 spoke to her as though he w^ere a little child. Square-headed, 
 and with his flesh toughened by the wielding of his heavy 
 hammer, he somewhat resembled the larger animals : duU 
 of intellect but, all the same, good-natured. 
 
 In the early days of their acquaintance, Gervaise em- 
 barrassed him immensely. Then in a few weeks he became 
 accustomed to her. He watched for her that he might carry 
 up her parcels, treated her as a sister with sudden familiarity, 
 and even cut out pictures, intending to give them to her. 
 One morning, however, having opened her door without 
 knocking, he found her en deshabilU, washing her neck ; 
 and, for a week afterwards, he so shrank from looking her in 
 the face, that he ended by making her blush herself. 
 
 Young Cassis, with his jovial Parisian bounce, thought 
 Golden-Mug a bit of a muff. It was quite right to keep from 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 99 
 
 boozing, and from poking your nose into the face of every 
 girl you met in the street ; but all the same, a man should 
 be a man, otherwise he might as well wear petticoats at once. 
 He would sometimes chaff the blacksmith in Gervaise's 
 presence, accusing him of making eyes at all the women of the 
 neighbourhood ; and that big drum-major of a Goujet would 
 energetically deny it. All this did not prevent the two 
 workmen from being great friends. They called each other 
 in the morning, started off together, and sometimes one 
 would stand the other a glass of beer on the way back home. 
 Moreover, ever since the christening feast they had thee'd and 
 thou'd one another. Their friendship had reached this 
 point, when Golden- Mug rendered Young Cassis a great 
 service — one of those signal services which a man remembers 
 all his life. It was on the second of December, 1851, the day 
 of the Coup d'Etat. The brilliant idea of going to see the 
 riots, just by way of a lark, had occurred to the zinc-worker. 
 He did not care a hang for the Republic, or Bonaparte, or the 
 rest of them ; only he liked the smell of powder, and the 
 firing amused him. However, he would surely have been 
 caught behind a barricade, if the blacksmith had not 
 happened to be there just in time to protect him with his 
 big body, and help him to get away. Goujet, as they re- 
 ascended the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere, walked quickly, 
 with a grave look on his face. He went in for politics, and 
 was a Republican, desiring as he did the triumph of justice 
 and the happiness of all. However, he had not shouldered a 
 musket. And he gave his reasons : the people — the toiling 
 masses — were tired of burning their fingers in drawing the 
 chestnuts out of the fire for the middle classes. The events 
 of February and June '48 had been precious lessons, so in 
 future the Faubourgs would leave Paris to do whatever it 
 thought best. Then, when he and Coupeau had reached the 
 high ground in the Rue des Poissonniers, Goujet turned his 
 head, and looked down upon the city. All the same, some 
 sorry work was being done there ; the people might some 
 day regret having stood by with folded arms. But Coupeau 
 jeered at the stupidity of the jack- asses who risked their 
 skins merely that the idle beggars of the Chamber might 
 retain their income of five-and-twenty francs a day. That 
 evening the Coupeaus invited the Goujets to dinner ; and, at 
 dessert, Young Cassis and Golden-Mug kissed each other 
 
 h2 
 
loo THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 twice on the cheek, thus sealing their friendship for life and 
 death. 
 
 During three years the humdrum existence of the two 
 families continued, on either side of the landing, unmarked 
 by any important event. Gervaise had managed to bring up 
 her little girl without the loss of more than two days' work 
 a week. She was becoming a capital clear starcher, and 
 earned as much ^ as three francs a day. She had accordingly 
 decided to send Etienne, now close on eight years old, to a 
 httle school in the Rue de Chartres, where she paid five 
 francs a month for him. In spite of the burden of the two 
 children, the Coupeaus put twenty or thirty francs a month 
 into the savings bank. When their savings amounted to six 
 hundred francs, the young woman was so mastered by an 
 ambitious dream that she could scarcely sleep. She wanted 
 to set up in business for herself, take a small shop, and have 
 workwomen in her turn. She had calculated everything. 
 In twenty years time, if all went well, they would have a little 
 income, on which they might retire somewhere in the 
 country. However, she hardly dared to run the risk. To give 
 herself time for reflection, she would just say that she was 
 looking for a shop. Meantime the money was in no danger 
 at the savings bank ; on the contrary, it was increasing. In 
 all three years she had satisfied but one of her desires — she 
 had bought herself an ornamental clock, in a rosewood case, 
 with twisted columns and a gilded brass pendulum — and even 
 this was to be paid for in a year, by instalments of twenty 
 sous every Monday. She got quite angry whenever Coupeau 
 talked of winding it up. She alone took off the glass cover, 
 and dusted the columns with as much reverence as if the mar- 
 ble top of her chest of drawers had become transformed into a 
 chapel. Under the glass cover, behind the clock, she hid the 
 savings-bank book ; and often, when she was dreaming of 
 her shop, she would forget herself in front of the dial, gazing 
 at the turning hands as though she were awaiting some 
 solemn and particular minute to come to a decision. 
 
 The Coupeaus went out nearly every Sunday with the 
 Goujets. These were pleasant little excursions when without 
 any fuss they would sometimes partake of fried fish at Saint- 
 Ouen, and sometimes of a rabbit at Vincennes, in the garden 
 of some eating-house. The men drank sufficient to quench 
 their thirst, and returned home as sober as might be, giving 
 their arms to the ladies. And in the evening before going to 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD loi 
 
 bed the two families made up the account, and each paid 
 half the expenses ; never was there the slightest quarrel about 
 a sou more or less. However, the Lorilleux were jealous of 
 the Goujets. They thought it very funny that Young Cassis 
 and the Hobbler should for ever be going with strangers, when 
 they had relatives. Ah, well 1 they did not seem to care a 
 tinker's curse for their relatives I Ever since they had been 
 able to put a few coppers by they had given themselves no 
 end of airs. Madame Lorilleux, greatly annoyed at seeing her 
 brother escape her influence, recommenced her abuse of Ger- 
 vaise. Madame Lerat, on the contrary, took the young woman's 
 part, defending her by telling some most extraordinary stories 
 — as of assaults at night-time on the Boulevard, from which 
 she made her escape like the heroine of some melodrama, 
 slapping the faces of her cowardly aggressors. As for Mother 
 Coupeau, she tried to make everybody good friends in order 
 that she might be well received by all her children. Her sight 
 was failing her more and more, she had only one charing job 
 left her, and she was glad to get an occasional five franc piece 
 from one or the other. 
 
 On the very day when Nana completed her third year, 
 Coupeau, on returning home in the evening, found Gervaise 
 quite upset. She refused to talk about it ; there was nothing 
 at all the matter with her, she said. But, as she laid the table 
 all wrong, and paused with the plates in her hands, absorbed 
 in deep reflection, her husband insisted upon knowing what 
 the trouble was. 
 
 * Well ! it's this,' she ended by owning, * the little draper's 
 shop, in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, is to let. I saw the bill 
 up only an hour ago, when I went to buy some cotton. It gave 
 me quite a turn.' 
 
 The shop in question was a very decent one, and formed 
 part of that big house where, in former days, they had so often 
 dreamt of living. There was the shop, a back room, and two 
 other rooms to the right and left ; in short, just what they re- 
 quired. The rooms were rather small, but well placed Only, 
 Gervaise considered the rent too high, for the landlord, talked 
 of five hundred francs a year. 
 
 * So you've been over the place, and asked the rent ? ' said 
 Coupeau. 
 
 ' Oh I only out of curiosity, you know I ' she replied, affect- 
 ing an air of indifference. * One looks about, and goes in 
 wherever a bill's up — that doesn't pledge one to anything. 
 
102 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 But that shop is altogether too dear. Besides, it would per- 
 haps be foolish of me to set up in business.' 
 
 However, after dinner she again referred to the draper's 
 shop. She drew a plan of the place on the margin of a news- 
 paper. And, little by little, she talked of it in detail, estimat- 
 ing the depth of the recesses and arranging the rooms, as 
 though she were going to move all her furniture thither on 
 the morrow. At this Coupeau, seeing how much she wanted 
 to take the place, advised her to do so ; she would certainly 
 never find anything decent under five hundred francs ; besides, 
 they might perhaps get a reduction. The only objection would 
 be living in the same house as the Lorilleux, whom she could 
 not bear. But she protested that she disliked nobody ; in the 
 warmth of her desire she even stood up for the Lorilleux : 
 they were not spiteful at heart — they would all get on very 
 well together. And, even after retiring for the night, when 
 Coupeau had fallen fast asleep, Gervaise still continued to plan 
 an arrangement of the rooms, without, however, having finally 
 decided to take the shop. 
 
 On the morrow, when she was alone, she could not resist 
 an impulse to remove the glass cover from the clock, and peep 
 at the bank book. To think that her shop was there, in those 
 dirty leaves, covered with ugly writing I Then, before going 
 to work, she consulted Madame Goujet, who highly approved 
 her project of setting up in business for herself; with a 
 husband like hers, a good fellow who did not drink, it was cer- 
 tain that she would get on, and not have her earnings squan- 
 dered. At the luncheon hour, Gervaise even called on the 
 Lorilleux to ask their advice ; for she did not wish it to appear 
 that she was hiding things from the family. Madame Loril- 
 leux, on hearing her, was quite aghast. Whatl was the 
 Hobbler going to have a shop now I And, with her heart 
 bursting with spite, she stammered and dissimulated, obliged 
 as she was to pretend herself pleased. Yes, no doubt the shop 
 was a convenient one — Gervaise was right in taking it. How- 
 ever, when she had somewhat recovered, she and her husband 
 talked of the dampness of the courtyard, and the poor light of 
 the rooms on the ground floor. Oh I it was a good place for 
 rheumatism. Yet, if she had made up her mind to take it, 
 their observations, of course, would not make her alter her 
 decision. 
 
 That evening, Gervaise frankly owned, with a laugh, that 
 she would have fallen ill if she had been prevented from 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 103 
 
 having the shop. Nevertheless, before saying * It's done ! ' she 
 wished to take Coupeau to see the place, and try to obtain a 
 reduction in the rent. 
 
 * Very well, then, to-morrow, if you Hke,* said her husband. 
 * You can come and fetch me towards six o'clock at the house 
 where I'm working, in the Rue de la Nation, and we'll take 
 the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or on our way home.' 
 
 Coupeau was then finishing the roofing of a new three- 
 Btoried house. It so happened that he was to fix the last 
 sheets of zinc that day. As the roof was almost flat, he had 
 set his bench on it, a wide shutter resting on two trestles. 
 A beautiful May sun was setting, giving a golden hue to the 
 chimney-pots. And, right up at the top, against the clear 
 sky, the workman quietly cut his zinc with a big pair of 
 shears, leaning the while over his bench, just Uke a tailor 
 cutting out a pair of trousers in his shop. Near the wall of 
 the adjoining house, his boy, a youngster of seventeen, thin 
 and fair, kept the fire of the chafing dish blazing by the aid of 
 a huge pair of bellows, each puff of which raised a cloud of 
 sparks. 
 
 * Hi 1 Zidore, put in the irons 1 * cried Coupeau. 
 
 The boy stuck the soldering irons into the midst of the 
 charcoal, which appeared of a pale rose colour in the daylight. 
 Then he resumed blowing. Coupeau held the last sheet of 
 zinc. It had to be placed at the edge of the roof, near the 
 gutter-pipe ; there was an abrupt slant there, and the gaping 
 hollow of the street opened beneath. The zinc-worker, how- 
 ever, as much at home there as in his own rooms, stepped 
 forward dragging his list shoes and whistling the air of 
 ' HaUo 1 the little lambs.' And on reaching the vacant 
 space he let himself glide, and then, supporting himself with 
 one knee against a chimney-stack, remained halfway from the 
 edge of the roof. One of his legs dangled. When be leant 
 back to call that young viper, Zidore, he held on to a corner 
 of the masonry, on account of the street beneath him. 
 
 * You confounded dawdler ! Give me the irons ! It's no 
 use looking up in the air, you skinny beggar 1 the larks won't 
 tumble into your mouth already roasted ! ' 
 
 But Zidore did not hurry. He was interested in the 
 neighbouring roofs, and particularly in a cloud of smoke which 
 rose from the depths of Paris, towards Crenelle ; it was very 
 likely a fire. However, he came at last, and lying on his 
 stomach with his head over the aperture he passed the irons 
 
104 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 to Coupeau. Then the latter began to solder the sheet of 
 metal. He now squatted, now stretched himself, always 
 managing to keep his balance, sometimes seated all awry, 
 at others standing on the tip of a foot, often merely holding on 
 by a finger. He showed wonderful assurance, the devilish 
 pluck of one who was familiar with danger, and braved it. It 
 knew him. It was the street that was afraid, not he. And 
 as he had kept his pipe in his mouth, he turned every now 
 and then to spit down upon the pavement. 
 
 * Hallo I Madame Boche ! ' he suddenly cried, * hi, Madame 
 Boche ! ' ^ 
 
 He had just caught sight of the doorkeeper crossing the 
 road. She raised her head and recognised him, and a conver- 
 sation ensued. She had her hands under her apron, and her 
 nose raised in the air, while he, now erect, with his left arm 
 passed round a chimney-pot, leant over. 
 
 * Have you seen my wife ? ' he asked. 
 
 *No, I haven't,' replied the doorkeeper. *Is she this 
 way?' 
 
 * She's coming to fetch me. And are they all well at 
 home ? ' 
 
 * Why, yes, thanks ; I'm the most ill, as you see. I'm 
 going to the Chaussee Clignancourt to buy a small leg of 
 mutton. The butcher near the Moulin-Kouge only charges 
 sixteen sous a pound.' 
 
 They raised their voices, because a vehicle was passing 
 along the wide, deserted Rue de la Nation. Their words, 
 loud as they were shouted, had only brought a little old woman 
 to her window, where she remained, leaning over the sill 
 and giving herself the treat of a grand emotion by watching 
 that man on the roof over the way, as though she indeed 
 expected, from one minute to another, to see him fall. 
 
 * Well ! good-evening,' cried Madame Boche. * I won't 
 disturb you.' 
 
 Coupeau turned round, and once more took the iron that 
 Zidore was holding for him. But just as the doorkeeper was 
 moving off, she caught sight of Gervaise holding Nana by the 
 hand on the other side of the street. She was already raising 
 her head to tell the zinc-worker, when the young woman, by 
 an energetic gesture closed her mouth. And then, in a low 
 voice, so as not to be heard up there, Gervaise told her of her 
 fears. She dreaded lest by suddenly showing herself she 
 should give her husband a shock which might make him lose 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 105 
 
 his balance. During four years she had only once been to 
 fetch him at his work. That day was the second time. She 
 could not bear the sight of it, she said ; her blood turned cold 
 when she beheld her man between heaven and earth, in 
 places where even the sparrows would not venture. 
 
 * No doubt, it's not pleasant,' murmured Madame Boche. 
 * My husband's a tailor, so I have none of these terrors.* 
 
 * If you only knew,' said Gervaise again, * in the early 
 days I had frights from morning to night. I was always 
 seeing him on a stretcher, with his head smashed. Now, I 
 don't think of it so much. One gets used to everything. 
 Bread must be earned. All the same it's a precious dear loaf, 
 for one risks one's bones more often than is fair.' 
 
 Then she left off speaking, and cast her skirt round Nana, 
 for she feared a cry from the little one. And, very pale, she 
 looked up, in spite of herself. At that moment Coupeau was 
 soldering the extreme edge of the sheet close to the guttering ; 
 he slid down as far as possible, but without being able to 
 reach the edge. Then he risked himself with those slow 
 movements peculiar to workmen. For an instant he was half 
 over the pavement, no longer holding on, so absorbed he was 
 in his work ; and, from below, one could see the little white 
 flame of the solder frizzling up from beneath the carefully 
 appHed iron. Gervaise, speechless, her throat contracted by 
 anguish, had clasped her hands and was holding them aloft 
 in a mechanical gesture of prayer. But she suddenly breathed 
 freely and noisily, for Coupeau, without hurrying himself, 
 taking time, indeed, to spit once more into the street, had again 
 gone up the roof. 
 
 * Ah 1 ah 1 so you've been playing the spy on me,* he cried 
 gaily, on seeing her. * She's been making a stupid of herself^ 
 eh, Madame Boche ? she wouldn't call to me. Wait a bit, 1 
 shall have finished in ten minutes.' 
 
 All that now remained for him to do was to put on a 
 chimney hood — a mere nothing. The laundress and the door- 
 keeper waited on the pavement, discussing the neighbourhood, 
 and giving an eye to Nana, to prevent her from dabbling in 
 the gutter, where she wanted to look for little fishes. How- 
 ever, both women kept on glancing at the roof, smiling and 
 nodding their heads, as though to imply that they were not 
 losing patience. In like way, the old woman opposite had 
 not quitted her window, but continued watching the man and 
 waiting. 
 
io6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 * Whatever can she have to spy at, that old she-goat ? ' 
 said Madame Boche. * What a wicked old face she has ! ' 
 
 One could hear the loud voice of the zinc-worker singing 
 up above, * Ah 1 'tis nice to gather strawberries I ' — a then 
 popular song. Bending over his bench, he was now artistically 
 cutting out his zinc. Having traced a line with his com- 
 passes he detached a large fan-shaped piece with the aid of a 
 pair of curved shears ; then with his hammer lightly bent 
 this fan into the form of a pointed mushroom. Zidore was 
 again blowing the charcoal in the chafing-dish. The sun was 
 setting behind the house with a brilliant rosy radiance, which 
 slowly paled and turned to a delicate lilac. And, at this 
 quiet hour of the day, right up amid the sky, the silhouettes of 
 the two workmen, with the dark line of the bench, and the 
 strange profile of the bellows, stood out looking inordinately 
 large, against the limpid background of the atmosphere. 
 
 When the hood had been got into shape, Coupeau called 
 out : * Zidore ! the irons I * 
 
 But Zidore had disappeared. The zinc-worker swore, and 
 looked about for him, even calling to him through the open 
 skylight of the loft. At length he discovered him on a 
 neighbouring roof, two houses off. The young rogue was 
 taking a walk, exploring the environs, his fair scanty locks 
 meantime blowing in the breeze and his eyes blinking at sight 
 of the immensity of Paris. 
 
 ' I say, you lazy-bones ! Do you think you're having a day 
 in the country ? ' asked Coupeau, in a rage. * You're like 
 Monsieur Beranger, composing verses, perhaps ! Just you 
 give me those irons I Did any one ever see such a thing 1 
 strolling about on the house-tops ! You'd better bring your 
 sweetheart, and declare your love to her I Will you give me 
 those irons ? you impudent little shirker 1 * 
 
 He finished his soldering, and called to Gervaise : * There, 
 it's done. I'm coming down.' 
 
 The chimney-pot to which he had to fix the cowl was in 
 the middle of the roof. Gervaise, who no longer felt uneasy, 
 continued to smile while watching his movements. Nana, 
 amused all of a sudden by the sight of her father, clapped her 
 little hands. She had seated herself on the pavement, in 
 order to look up the better. 
 
 * Papa ! papa 1 ' she called with all her might. * Papa ! 
 just look ! ' 
 
 The zinc-worker wished to lean forward, but his foot 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 107 
 
 slipped. Then suddenly, stupidly, like a cat with its legs 
 entangled, he rolled along descending the gentle slope of the 
 roof without being able to save himself. 
 
 * Good Lord I ' he gasped in a stifled voice. 
 
 And he fell. His body described a gentle curve, turned 
 twice over on itself, and came smashing into the middle 
 of the street with the dull thud of a bundle of clothes 
 thrown from on high. 
 
 Gervaise, stupefied, her throat rent by one great cry, 
 remained there holding up her arms. Some passers-by 
 hastened to the spot ; a crowd soon formed. Madame Boche, 
 utterly upset, her knees bending beneath her, took Nana in 
 her arms, to cover her head and prevent her from seeing. 
 Meanwhile, the little old woman opposite quietly closed her 
 window, as though satisfied. 
 
 Four men ended by carrying Coupeau into a chemist's 
 shop, at the corner of the Rue des Poissonniers ; and he re- 
 mained there on a blanket, whilst they sent to the Lariboisiere 
 hospital for a stretcher. He still breathed, but the chemist 
 gently shook his head as if he thought recovery impossible. 
 Gervaise was now kneeling on the floor, sobbing continuously, 
 bathed in tears, blinded and stupefied. With a mechanical 
 movement she thrust out her hands and gently felt her 
 husband's limbs. Then she drew them back, looking at 
 the chemist, who had forbidden her to touch him ; and yet, 
 a few seconds later, she did so again, unable to resist her 
 desire to feel if he were still warm, and thinking that she did 
 him good. When the stretcher at length arrived, and they 
 talked of starting for the hospital, she sprang up, saying 
 violently : * No, no, not to the hospital I We live in the Rue 
 Neuve de la Goutte-d'Or.' 
 
 It was useless for them to explain to her that the illness 
 would cost her a deal of money, should she take her husband 
 home. She obstinately repeated : ' Rue Neuve de la Goutte- 
 d'Or; I will show you the house. What can it matter to 
 you ? I've got money. He's my husband, isn't he ? He's 
 mine, and I'll have him.' 
 
 So they had to take Coupeau to his own home. When 
 the stretcher was carried through the crowd which was 
 pressing against the chemist's shop, the women of the neigh- 
 bourhood talked excitedly of Gervaise. She hmped, no doubt, 
 but all the same she was a plucky one. She would be sure to 
 save her man ; whereas at the hospital the doctors quietly 
 
io8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 despatched those patients whom they found in an over-dilapi- 
 dated condition, so that they might not have the bother of 
 curing them.^ However, Madame Boche, after taking Nana 
 home with her, returned and gave the others her account of 
 the accident, entering into interminable details, still thrilled 
 with emotion. 
 
 * I was going to buy a leg of mutton ; I was there, I 
 saw him fall,' she repeated. * It was all through the Httle 
 one ; he turned to look at her, and bang ! Ah 1 good 
 heavens ! I never want to see such a sight again. How- 
 ever, I must be off to get my leg of mutton.' 
 
 For a week Coupeau remained in a very critical con- 
 dition. The family, the neighbours, everybody, expected to 
 see him die at any moment. The doctor— a very expensive 
 one, who charged five francs for each visit — apprehended in- 
 ternal injuries, and these words filled every one with fear. 
 It was said in the neighbourhood that the zinc-worker's 
 heart had been ' unhinged ' by the shock. Gervaise, alone, 
 pale from her nights of watching, serious and resolute, 
 shrugged her shoulders. Her man's right leg was broken, 
 every one knew that ; it would be set for him, and that was 
 all. As for the rest, the injured heart, that was nothing. 
 She would mend his heart for him. She knew how to mend 
 hearts — with care, cleanliness, and solid affection. And she 
 evinced superb confidence, certain as she felt of curing him, 
 merely by remaining with him and touching him with her 
 hands in his hours of fever. She did not doubt for a minute. 
 For a whole week she remained up, speaking but httle, ab- 
 sorbed in her obstinate determination to save him, forgetting 
 her children, the street, the entire city. On the ninth day, 
 when the doctor at last answered for his patient's recovery, 
 she fell upon a chair, her legs sinking, her back almost 
 broken, her face bathed in tears. That night she consented 
 to sleep for a couple of hours, with her head resting on the 
 foot of the bed. 
 
 Coupeau' s accident had created quite a commotion in 
 the family. Mother Coupeau passed the nights with Ger- 
 vaise ; but as early as nine o'clock she dozed off on her 
 chair. Then, every evening, on returning from work, 
 Madame Lerat made a long round out of her way to inquire 
 
 ^ This horrible idea is not confined to the Parisian proletariat. I 
 have heard otherwise sensible members of the London working classes 
 express much the same foolish opinion. 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 109 
 
 how her brother was getting on. At first, too, the Lorilleux 
 had called two or three times a day, offering to sit up and 
 watch, and even bringing an easy-chair for Gervaise. But 
 before long disputes arose as to the proper way of nursing 
 invalids. Madame Lorilleux asserted that she had saved the 
 lives of quite enough persons to know how to set about it ; 
 and she also accused the young woman of behaving roughly 
 to her, and of keeping her away from her brother's bedside. 
 Of course, said she to others, the Hobbler was right in wish- 
 ing to save Coupeau ; for there was no doubt that if she had 
 not gone to disturb him in the Eue de la Nation, he would 
 never have fallen. Only, by the way she went to work, she 
 was certain to finish him off. 
 
 When Gervaise saw that Coupeau was out of danger, 
 she ceased guarding his bedside with such jealous fierceness. 
 They could no longer kill him now, so she let people ap- 
 proach without mistrust. The family then invaded the room. 
 Convalescence was bound to be of long duration ; the doctor 
 had talked of four months. Then, during the long hours 
 when the zinc- worker slept, the Lorilleux spoke of Gervaise 
 as of a fool. She had done a smart thing in keeping her 
 husband at home. They would have cured him twice as 
 quickly at the hospital. Lorilleux would have liked to get 
 ill, to catch some trifling complaint or other, just to show her 
 that he did not for a moment hesitate to go to Lariboisiere. 
 Madame Lorilleux knew a lady who had just come from there. 
 Well, she had been given chicken to eat morning and night. 
 And then the pair of them, for the twentieth time, began to 
 calculate what the four months' convalescence would cost the 
 little home. First of all came the lost days of work, then 
 the doctor, the medicine, and, later on, the good wine and the 
 juicy underdone meat. If the Coupeaus should only exhaust 
 their savings, they might think themselves precious lucky ; 
 but in all likelihood they would fall into debt as well. That, 
 however, was their business. In any case, they must not 
 count on the family, which was not rich enough to keep an 
 invalid at home. It was so much the worse for the Hobbler, 
 was it not ? She should have done as others did — have 
 allowed her husband to be carried to the hospital. Well, she 
 was perfect now; not content with her other faihngs, she 
 showed herself * stuck-up.' 
 
 One night Madame Lorilleux had the spitefulness to sud- 
 
no THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 denly inquire : * Well ! and your shop, when are you going 
 to take it ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' chuckled Lorilleux, *the doorkeeper's still waiting 
 for you.' 
 
 Gervaise was overcome. She had completely forgotten 
 the shop ; but she perceived the wicked delight of those 
 people, at the thought that she would no longer be able to 
 take it. From that evening, in fact, they watched for every 
 opportunity to twit her about her hopeless dream. When- 
 ever anyone spoke of some impossible wish, they would say 
 it might be realised on the day when Gervaise started in 
 business, in a beautiful shop opening on to the street. And 
 behind her back they would laugh till their sides split. She 
 did not like to entertain such an evil supposition, but, 
 really, the Lorilleux now seemed to be very pleased at 
 Coupeau's accident, since it prevented her from setting up 
 as a laundress in the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or. 
 
 Then, on her side, she also wished to laugh and show 
 them how willingly she parted with money for the sake of 
 curing her husband. Each time that she took the savings- 
 bank book from under the glass clock-cover in their pre- 
 sence, she would gaily say : ' I'm going out ; I'm going to 
 take my shop.' 
 
 She had been unwilling to withdraw the money all at 
 once. She apphed for it by a hundred francs at a time, 
 so as not to keep such a pile of gold and silver in her 
 drawer ; and, moreover, she vaguely hoped for some miracle, 
 some sudden recovery, which would make it unnecessary 
 for them to withdraw the entire sum. At each journey to 
 the savings bank, on her return home, she calculated, on a 
 piece of paper, how much money they still had there. It 
 was merely for the sake of knowing exactly how she stood. 
 However much the pile diminished, she, in her sensible way 
 and with her quiet smile, still kept a strict account of the 
 collapse of their savings. Was it not already a consolation 
 that the money should be put to such good use, that she 
 should have had it handy at the time of their misfortune ? 
 And without a regret, her account having been brought up 
 to date, she would carefully replace the book behind the 
 clock, under the glass cover. 
 
 The Goujets were very kind to Gervaise during Coupeau's 
 illness. Madame Goujet was entirely at her disposal. She 
 never went out without asking her if she wanted any sugar, 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD iii 
 
 or butter, or salt fetched ; whenever she made any fresh soup 
 she always offered her the first plateful, and whenever she 
 saw her very busy she even looked after her cooking or 
 helped her to wash-up. Every morning, too, Goujet took the 
 young woman's pails and filled them at the fountain in the 
 Rue des Poissonniers ; for this was a saving of two sous.^ 
 Then, after dinner, when Coupeau's relatives did not invade 
 the room, the Goujets would come and keep the young couple 
 company. Until ten o'clock, the blacksmith would sit there, 
 smoking his pipe and watching Gervaise hovering round 
 the invalid. He did not speak ten words the whole evening. 
 With his big fair face set above his giant shoulders, he 
 gazed at her with emotion as she poured the diet-drink 
 into a cup, or noiselessly stirred the sugar. When, while 
 arranging the bed-clothes, she encouraged Coupeau with her 
 gentle voice, he felt deeply affected. Never before had he 
 seen such a plucky little woman. It was no dishonour to her 
 if she did limp ; it rather added merit to her conduct in 
 tiring herself out all day in waiting upon her husband. 
 There was no denying it : she did not even sit down for a 
 quarter of an hour to eat her meals. She was constantly 
 running to the chemist's, attending to very unpleasant 
 things, working tremendously hard to keep that room, in 
 which everything was done, as neat and clean as usual. And 
 withal she never complained, but was always amiable, even 
 on nights when, from excessive fatigue, she was falling asleep 
 where she stood, with her eyes open. And the blacksmith, 
 in that atmosphere of devotion, amidst those drugs lying 
 about on the furniture, began to feel great affection for 
 Gervaise, as he beheld her thus loving and nursing Coupeau 
 with all her heart. 
 
 ' Well ! old man, you're mended at last,' he said, one day, 
 to the zinc-worker. ' I never thought it would be otherwise ; 
 your wife is Providence itself.' 
 
 He himself was going to marry. At least, his mother had 
 found a very suitable young girl for him, a lace-mender like her- 
 self, whom she longed to see him take to wife. In order not 
 to grieve her, he had said ' Yes,' and it had even been settled that 
 the wedding should take place early in September. The money 
 
 ' In those days water was laid on in only a few of the finer Paris 
 houses ; and even in those instances there was simply a tap in the yard. 
 The great bulk of the population v a dependent on the water-carriers, 
 who came round with carts and charged a sou a pailful. 
 
112 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 for starting housekeeping had long been lying in the savings 
 bank. Nevertheless, he would jerk his head whenever 
 Gervaise spoke to him of his marriage, and murmur, in his 
 slow voice : ' AH women are not like you, Madame Coupeau. 
 If they were, one would want to marry ten of them.' 
 
 At the end of two months, however, Coupeau was able to 
 get up. He merely went from the bed to the window, and 
 even then Gervaise had to support him. And by the window 
 he would sit down in the easy-chair that the Lorilleux had 
 brought, with his right leg stretched out on a stool. This 
 jester, who had been wont to laugh at the people who slipped 
 down on frosty days, felt greatly put out by his accident. He 
 had no philosophy. He had spent those two months in bed, 
 cursing, and worrying the people about him. It was not an 
 existence, really, to have to be all the time on one's back with 
 a leg tied up and as stiff as a sausage. Ah ! he certainly 
 knew the ceiling by heart ; there was a crack, at one corner 
 of the alcove, which he could have drawn with his eyes shut. 
 Then, when he was made comfortable in the arm-chair, came 
 another grievance. Would he be fixed there for long, just 
 like a mummy ? The street was not so amusing ; nobody 
 ever passed there, and it smelt of dirty water and chemicals 
 all day long. No, really, he was growing old there ; he 
 would have given ten years of his life to have had a look at 
 the fortifications. And he constantly reverted to violent 
 accusations against fate. It wasn't just that he should have 
 had such an accident ; it ought never to have happened to 
 him — a good workman, who was neither idle nor a drunkard. 
 Had it befallen some others he knew, he could have under- 
 stood it. 
 
 * Papa Coupeau,' said he, * broke his neck one day, when 
 he'd been drinking heavily. I can't say that it was deserved, 
 but anyhow it was explainable. But I had tasted nothing 
 since my lunch, was perfectly quiet, without a drop of liquor 
 in my body ; and yet I come to grief just because I v/ant to 
 turn round to smile at Nana I Don't you think that's too 
 bad ? If there's a Providence, it certainly arranges things in a 
 funny manner.* 
 
 And afterwards, when he was at last able to use his legs, 
 he retained a secret grudge against work. To spend all one's 
 days upon house roofs, like a cat, was a wretched calling, full 
 of misfortunes. Ah 1 the gentlefolks were no fools ! Far too 
 cowardly themselves to venture on a ladder, they sent you to 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 113 
 
 your death while they stopped at home in safety at their fire- 
 sides, without caring a hang for the poorer classes. By 
 degrees, Coupeau came to the opinion that every one ought 
 to fix the zinc on his own house. * Well, really I ' said he, 
 ' in the name of justice it ought to be so ; if one doesn't want 
 the water to come in, one should cover the roof oneself.' 
 Then he regretted that he had not learned some other handi- 
 craft, something more stylish and less dangerous ; for instance, 
 that of a cabinet-maker. It was all old Coupeau's fault ; 
 fathers always had that stupid habit of making their children 
 follow the same trade as themselves. 
 
 For another two months Coupeau walked about on crutches. 
 He had first of all managed to get as far as the street, and 
 smoke his pipe in front of the door. Then he had succeeded 
 in reaching the outer Boulevard, dragging himself along in 
 the sunshine, and remaining for hours on one of the seats. 
 Gaiety now returned to him ; his tongue got sharper in these 
 long hours of idleness. And with the pleasure of living came 
 delight in doing nothing, in remaining there with indolent 
 limbs, and muscles sinking to repose. It was like a slow 
 invasion of laziness, which took advantage of his conva- 
 lescence to permeate and unnerve him with its insidious 
 charm. He was regaining his health, as thorough a banterer 
 as before, finding life very pleasant, and unable to see why it 
 should not last like this for ever. When he was able to lay 
 aside his crutches, he took longer walks, and visited the work- 
 shops to see his comrades again. Chuckling and wagging 
 his head, he would stand with folded arms in front of houses 
 that were being built. And while chaffing the workmen who 
 were busying about, he would often stretch out his leg, to show 
 them the result of exerting oneself. This ridiculing of the labour 
 of others was a sort of satisfaction to his grudge against work. 
 No doubt, he would have to resume work again ; he would be 
 obliged to ; but at any rate he would put off doing so as long 
 as possible. Oh, he had good reason for not being enthusias- 
 tic about it. And then, too, it seemed so pleasant to be able 
 to do nothing for a while 1 
 
 On the afternoons when Coupeau felt dull he would call 
 on the Lorilleux. The latter pretended to pity him immensely, 
 and sought to attract and ensnare him by all sorts of amiable 
 attentions. During the first years following his marriage he had 
 escaped them, thanks to Gervaise's influence ; but now they 
 regained sway by twitting him about being afraid of his wife. 
 
114 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 He was no man, that was evident ! At the same time the 
 Lorilleux showed great discretion in their language, and were 
 loud in their praise of the laundress's good qualities. Coupeau, 
 without as yet coming to wranghng, swore to the latter that 
 his sister was extremely fond of her, and requested that 
 she would behave more amiably to her. ,The first quarrel 
 between the couple arose on account of Etienne. It hap- 
 pened one evening. The zinc-worker had passed the afternoon 
 with the Lorilleux, and on reaching home, as the dinner was 
 not quite ready, and the children were whining for their soup, 
 he suddenly turned upon Etienne, and soundly boxed his 
 ears. Then for an hour he did not cease to grumble : the boy 
 was not his ; he did not know why he allowed him to be in 
 the place ; he would end by turning him out into the street. 
 Hitherto he had tolerated the youngster without any such 
 fuss. However, on the morrow he talked about his dignity, 
 and three days later he took to kicking the little fellow to such 
 a point that the latter, whenever he heard him coming, bolted 
 into the Goujets, where the old lace-mender kept a corner of 
 the table clear for him to prepare his lessons. 
 
 Gervaise had, for some time past, returned to work. She 
 no longer had the trouble of constantly removing and replac- 
 ing the glass cover of the clock ; all the savings were gone : and 
 she had to work hard, work for four, for there were four at 
 table now. She alone maintained them. Whenever she 
 heard people pity her, she at once found excuses for Coupeau. 
 They ought to remember he had suffered so much that it 
 wasn't surprising if his disposition had soured ! But it would 
 pass off when his health returned. And if anyone hinted that 
 Coupeau seemed all right again, and might very well return to 
 work, she protested : No, no ! not yet ! She did not want to 
 see him take to his bed again. They would perhaps allow 
 her to know best what the doctor had said ! It was she who 
 prevented him from returning to work, telling him every 
 morning to take his time and not to force himself. She even 
 shpped twenty-sou pieces into his waistcoat pocket. And 
 Coupeau accepted aU this as something perfectly natural. 
 He complained, too, of all sorts of ailments, in order to be 
 coddled ; at the end of six months his convalescence showed 
 no signs of ending. And now, on the days when he went to 
 look at others working, he was always willing to go and drink 
 a glass of wine with his pals. Whatever people might say, a 
 wine-shop wasn't such an uncomfortable place ; one stayed 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 115 
 
 there Joking, just for five minutes, and surely that couldn't 
 dishonour anybody. It was only fools who remained outside 
 parched with thirst. Those who had been wont to chaff him 
 had been quite right, for a glass of wine had never yet killed 
 a man. However, he slapped his chest as he boasted that he 
 never drank anything but wine ; always wine, never brandy ; 
 wine prolonged life, made nobody ill, and nobody drunk. 
 Nevertheless, on several occasions, after a day of idleness 
 spent in roaming from workshop to workshop, and from 
 tavern to tavern, he had come home considerably elevated. 
 On those days, Gervaise had kept her door shut, pretending 
 that she herself had a bad headache, in order that the 
 Goujets might not come and hear all the nonsense that 
 Coupeau was talking. 
 
 At the same time, the young woman gradually became 
 sad. Morning and evening she would go to the Kue de la 
 Goutte-d'Or to look at the coveted shop, which was still to let ; 
 and she would hide herself on these occasions, as though she 
 were up to some childish prank unworthy of a grown-up 
 person. However, this shop was beginning to turn her brain. 
 At night-time, when the hght had been blown out, she found 
 the charm of some forbidden pleasure in thinking of it. She 
 again made her calculations : two hundred and fifty francs 
 would be needed for the rent, one hundred and fifty for trade 
 utensils and moving, and one hundred in hand to keep them 
 going for a fortnight — in all, five hundred francs at the very 
 lowest figure. If she did not continually talk of it aloud, 
 it was from fear that she might be suspected of regretting 
 the savings swallowed up by Coupeau's illness. She often 
 became quite pale at having almost allowed her desire to 
 escape her, and would recall her words with as much confusion 
 as if she had been thinking of something wicked. They 
 would have to work for four or five years longer before they 
 would succeed in saving such a sum, and what she chiefly 
 regretted was her inability to start in business at once ; for 
 she would then have earned all that the home required, 
 without counting on Coupeau, but allowing him all latitude 
 to get into the way of work again. And she would also have 
 felt easy in mind, certain of the future, free of the secret 
 fears which sometimes came upon her when he returned home 
 very gay, singing, and relating some jocular story about that 
 animal, My-Boots, whom he had treated to a drink. 
 
 One evening, when Gervase was at home alone, Goujet 
 
 i2 
 
ii6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 looked in, and did not hurry off again as he usually did under 
 such circumstances. He had seated himself, and smoked as 
 he watched her. He probably had something serious to com- 
 municate ; he seemed to be thinking it over, maturing it as it 
 were, without being able to put it into suitable words. At 
 length, after a long silence, he appeared to make up his mind, 
 and took his pipe from his mouth to say all in a breath : 
 * Madame Gervaise, will you allow me to lend you some 
 money ? * 
 
 She was just then leaning over an open drawer, looking 
 for some dishcloths. But she at once rose erect with her 
 cheeks flushing. He must have seen her then, in the morn- 
 ing, standing in ecstasy before the shop for nearly ten minutes. 
 He was smiling in an embarrassed way, as though he had 
 made some offensive proposal. However she hastily refused. 
 Never would she accept money from anybody without know- 
 ing when she would be able to return it. Besides, it was a 
 question of too large an amount. And as he in a state of dis- 
 may insisted, she ended by exclaiming : * But your marriage ? 
 I certainly can't take the money that you've been saving for 
 your marriage ! * 
 
 ' Oh, don't let that bother you,* he replied, turning red in 
 his turn. * I'm not going to be married now. It's an idea of 
 mine, you know — really, I would much sooner lend you the 
 money.' 
 
 Then they both held down their heads. There was some- 
 thing very pleasant between them to which they did not give 
 expression. And Gervaise accepted. Goujet had told his 
 mother. They crossed the landing, and went to see her at 
 once. The lace-mender looked very grave and rather sad as 
 Bhe bent her face over her tambour-frame. She would not 
 thwart her son, but she no longer approved of Gervaise's pro- 
 ject ; and she plainly told her the reason. Coupeau was going 
 to the bad ; Coupeau would devour her shop. In particular, she 
 could not forgive the zinc-worker for refusing to learn to read 
 during his convalescence. The blacksmith had offered to teach 
 him, but the other had sent him to the right-about, saying 
 that learning made people lose all their flesh. This had 
 almost caused a quarrel between the two workmen ; each went 
 his own way now. However, Madame Goujet, on seeing her 
 big boy's beseeching glances, behaved very kindly to Gervaise. 
 It was settled that the Goujets would lend their neighbours 
 five hundred francs ; the latter were to repay the amount by 
 
 J 
 
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD 117 
 
 instalments of twenty francs a month : things would go on 
 like that till all should be settled. 
 
 * Why, I say, the blacksmith's sweet on you ! ' exclaimed 
 Coupeau, laughing, when he heard of what had taken place. 
 * Oh, I'm quite easy. We'll pay him back his money. But 
 really, if he had to deal with dishonest people, he'd find him- 
 self nicely swindled.' 
 
 On the morrow the Coupeaus took the shop. All day long, 
 Gervaise was running from the Rue Neuve to the Rue de la 
 Goutte-d'Or. Throughout the neighbourhood, when people 
 saw her pass in this wise, so nimble, so delighted that she no 
 longer limped, they declared that she must have undergone 
 some operation. 
 
 V 
 
 THE LAUNDEY-SHOP 
 
 It so happened that the Boches had left the Rue des Poisson- 
 niers at the April quarter, and were now taking charge of the 
 great house in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. It was a curious 
 and lucky coincidence, all the same ! One thing that had 
 worried Gervaise, who had lived so quietly in her lodgings in 
 the Rue Neuve where the house had no doorkeeper, had been 
 the thought of finding herself under the subjection of some 
 unpleasant person, with whom she would be continually quar- 
 relling, either on account of a little water spilt in the passage 
 or of a door shut too noisily at night-time. Doorkeepers are 
 such a disagreeable class ! But it would be a pleasure to be 
 with the Boches. They knew one another, and would always 
 get on well together. Briefly, they would be en famille. 
 
 On the day when the Coupeaus went to sign the lease, 
 Gervaise felt her heart beat as she passed through the high 
 doorway. So she was at last going to hve in that house 
 which was as extensive as a little town, with its interminable 
 stretches of staircases, and its network of passages. The grey 
 faQades, with rags hanging from the windows to dry in the 
 sunshine ; the pale, wan-looking courtyard with its rugged 
 pavement like that of some neglected public square ; the hum 
 of work which issued from the walls — all caused quite a com- 
 motion within her, a joy at finding herself at last so near the 
 
ii8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 contentment of her ambition, and a fear that she might not 
 succeed but be crushed in that great struggle against hunger, 
 whose near presence she could feel. As she listened to the 
 blacksmith's hammers and the cabinet-maker's planes, ham- 
 mering and hissing in the depths of the workshops on the 
 ground floor, it seemed to her that she was doing something 
 very bold, throwing herself as it were into the midst of some 
 machinery in motion. That day the water flowing from the 
 dyer's under the entrance porch was a very pale apple-green, 
 and as she stepped over it she smiled, for the colour seemed 
 to her a pleasant omen. 
 
 The meeting with the landlord was to take place in the 
 Boches' room, M. Marescot, a wealthy cutler of the Rue de la 
 Paix, had at one time turned a grindstone through the streets. 
 He was now stated to be worth several millions. He was a man 
 of fifty-five, strong, bony, and decorated, with a partiality for 
 exhibiting the huge hands with which he had once toiled. One 
 of his delights was to get hold of his tenants' knives and scis- 
 sors, which he would sharpen himself just for pleasure's sake. 
 He had the reputation of being in no wise proud, simply be- 
 cause he remained for hours in a secluded corner of his door- 
 keepers' room, overhauling their accounts. It was there that 
 he transacted all the business connected with the house. The 
 Coupeaus found him seated at Madame Boche's greasy table, 
 listening to how the dressmaker on the second floor, staircase 
 A, had in disgusting terms refused to pay her rent. Then, 
 when the lease was signed, he shook hands with the zinc- 
 worker. He liked workmen. He himself had once been 
 obliged to work very hard. But then work was the high road 
 to everything. And after counting the two hundred and fifty 
 francs paid him for the first two quarters' rent in advance, and 
 dropping them into his capacious pocket, he related the story of 
 his life, and showed his decoration. 
 
 Gervaise, however, remained somewhat ill at ease on 
 account of the Boches' demeanour. They pretended not to 
 know her, but were most assiduous in their attentions to the 
 landlord, bowing down before him, watching for his least 
 words, and nodding approval of them. Madame Boche 
 suddenly ran out to disperse a number of children who were 
 paddling about in front of the water-tap, which they had 
 turned on, so as to inundate the pavement ; and as she came 
 back, upright and severe of aspect while crossing the court- 
 yard and slowly glancing at the windows of the house as 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 119 
 
 though to assure herself that all was in good order there, 
 she pursed her lips like one conscious of the authority she 
 wielded, now that she reigned over three hundred tenants. 
 Then Boche again spoke of the dressmaker on the second 
 floor, suggesting that she should be turned out, and reckon- 
 ing the number of quarters that she already owed with the 
 importance of a steward whose management might suffer 
 thereby. M. Marescot approved of the idea, but preferred to 
 wait till the half-quarter. It was hard to have to turn people 
 into the streets, especially as no money was thereby put into 
 the landlord's pockets. But Gervaise asked herself with a 
 shudder if she also would be turned adrift on the day when 
 some misfortune might prevent her from paying her rent. 
 Thus they lingered there, in that smoky doorkeeper's room, 
 full of black furniture, and as dark and damp as a cellar. 
 Such Httle light as there was fell upon the tailor's board in 
 front of the window, where lay an old frock coat sent to be 
 turned ; while Pauline, the Boches' only child, a red-haired 
 chit some four years old, sat upon the floor basking in 
 the strong odour that arose from a stew-pan in which some 
 veal was cooking. 
 
 M. Marescot was again offering his hand to the zinc- 
 worker, when the latter spoke of repairing the shop, remind- 
 ing the landlord of a promise he had made to talk this 
 matter over later on. But at this M. Marescot became surly : 
 he had promised nothing, said he ; and besides, it was not 
 usual to repair a shop. Hewever, he consented to go over 
 the place, followed by the Coupeaus and Boche. The little 
 linendraper had carried off his shelves and counters, and the 
 empty shop displayed a blackened ceiling and cracked walls, 
 from which hung strips of old yellow paper. And in the 
 sonorous void a heated discussion ensued. M. Marescot 
 declared that it was the business of shopkeepers to embellish 
 their shops, for a shopkeeper might wish to have gold put 
 about everywhere, and he, the landlord, could not possibly 
 put any gold. Then he related that he had spent more than 
 twenty thousand francs in fitting up his own premises in the 
 Rue de la Paix. Gervaise, however, with her feminine 
 obstinacy, kept on repeating an argument which she 
 considered unanswerable. He would repaper a lodging, 
 would he not ? Then why not treat the shop the same as a 
 lodging ? She did not ask him for anything beyond white- 
 washing the ceiling, and putting some fresh paper on the walls. 
 
120 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Boche, meanwhile, remained dignified and impenetrable ; 
 he turned about and looked up in the air, without expressing 
 an opinion. In vain did Coupeau wink at him ; it seemed as 
 if he wished to avoid any undue exercise of his great in- 
 fluence over the landlord. However, he ended by indulging 
 in a slight grimace — a faint smile, accompanied by a nod of 
 the head. And as it happened M. Marescot, exasperated and 
 apparently very unhappy, his hands distended claw-like, as if 
 he were a miser being despoiled of his gold, was just then 
 giving way to Gervaise, promising to do the ceiling and 
 repaper the shop, on condition that she paid for half the 
 paper. And thereupon he hurried away, decHning to discuss 
 anything further. 
 
 When Boche was alone with the Coupeaus he slapped 
 them on the shoulders, and became very jolly and friendly. 
 Well, the point was carried! Without him they would 
 never have had the ceiling whitewashed or the walls re- 
 papered. Had they noticed how the landlord had consulted 
 him with a glance, and had suddenly come to a decision on 
 seeing him smile ? Then, he owned, in confidence, that he 
 was the real master of the house ; he decided when a notice 
 to quit should be given, let the rooms when the people suited 
 him, and received the rents, which he kept for fortnights 
 together stowed away in his drawers. That evening, the 
 Coupeaus, by way of thanking the Boches, thought it only 
 polite to send them two quarts of wine. What the door- 
 keepers had done was well worth a present. 
 
 Already on the following Monday, the workmen started 
 upon the shop. The purchasing of the paper turned out a big 
 affair. Gervaise wanted some grey paper with blue flowers, 
 so as to enliven and brighten the walls, and Boche offered to 
 take her to the dealers, so that she might make her own 
 selection. But the landlord had given him express instruc- 
 tions not to go beyond the price of fifteen sous per piece. 
 They spent an hour at the dealers'. The laundress kept 
 looking in despair at a pretty chintz -like pattern costing 
 eighteen sous the piece, and thought all the other papers 
 hideous. At length the doorkeeper gave in ; he would 
 arrange the matter, and, if necessary, assert that a piece more 
 had been used than was really the case. So, on her way 
 home, Gervaise purchased some fcarts for Pauline. She did 
 not like being behind-hand, one always gained by behaving 
 nicely with her. 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP I2i 
 
 It had been promised that the shop should be ready in 
 four days ; but the workmen were there three weeks. At 
 first it was arranged that they should merely wash the paint. 
 But this paint, originally the colour of wine lees, w^as so dirty 
 and gloomy, that Gervaise let herself be tempted into having 
 the whole frontage painted a light blue with yellow mould- 
 ings. Then it seemed as though the repairs would last for 
 ever. Coupeau, who had not yet returned to work, would 
 arrive the first thing in the morning to see if things were 
 going on properly. Boche, leaving the coat or trousers, the 
 button-holes of which he was mending, would come and give 
 an eye to the men. And both he and Coupeau, standing in 
 front of the painters, smoking and expectorating, with their 
 hands behind their backs, would pass the day in judging each 
 dab of the paint brush. There were interminable reflections, 
 profound reveries, anent the merest nail that had to be pulled 
 out. The painters, two tall jolly fellows, would, on their side, 
 leave their ladders, and likewise plant themselves in the middle 
 of the shop, joining in the discussion, and wagging their heads 
 for hours as they looked at such work as they had done. The 
 ceihng was whitewashed pretty rapidly, but there seemed to 
 be no end to the painting. It would not dry. Towards 
 nine o'clock the painters would put in an appearance with 
 their colour pots, and after depositing them in a corner and 
 giving a look round, they would disappear. And after that 
 they were not seen again. They had either gone off to lunch 
 or had been obliged to go and finish some littl© job in the 
 Rue Myrrha close by. On other occasions, Coupeau took the 
 whole gang — Boche, the painters, and any comrades who 
 happened to be passing, to have a glass of wine — and that 
 meant another afternoon wasted. Gervaise's patience was 
 almost worn out, when, suddenly, everything was finished in 
 two days, the paint varnished, the paper hung, and the dirt 
 all cleared away. The workmen had finished everything off 
 as though they were playing, whistling the while on their 
 ladders, and singing loudly enough to deafen the whole 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 The moving in took place at once. During the first few 
 days, Gervaise felt as delighted as a child whenever she 
 crossed the road on returning from some errand. She lingered 
 to smile at her new home. From a distance, amidst the dark 
 row of the other frontages, her shop appeared quite light and 
 gay, with its pale blue sign-board, on which the word 
 
122 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 'Laundress* was painted in big yellow letters. In the 
 window, closed in behind by little muslin curtains, and hung 
 on either side with blue paper to show off the whiteness of 
 the hnen, some shirts remained displayed, with women's 
 caps hanging from wires above them. And Gervaise thought 
 her shop looked very pretty, of the same tint as the heavens. 
 Inside, there was more azure ; the paper, in imitation of 
 a Pompadour chintz, represented a trellis overgrown with 
 blue convolvuli ; and the large work-table filling two thirds 
 of the place, and covered with a thick cloth, was draped round 
 with a piece of cretonne of a bluish flowery pattern, so as to 
 hide the trestles on which it stood. Gervaise would seat 
 herself on a stool delighted with the beautiful cleanliness, and 
 devouring all the new utensils with her eyes. However, her 
 first glance was always for her cast-iron stove, where ten irons, 
 ranged round the fire on slanting plates, could be heated at 
 the same time. And she would go down on her knees and 
 look underneath, with a constant dread lest her little fool of 
 an apprentice might make the cast iron crack by stuffing in 
 too much coke. 
 
 The lodging at the back of the shop was a very fair one. 
 The Coupeaus slept in the first room, where they also cooked 
 their food and took their meals ; a door at the far end opened 
 on to the courtyard of the house. Then Nana's bed was in 
 the right-hand room, a kind of large closet, which was lighted 
 by a little round window near the ceiling. As for Etienne, 
 he shared the left-hand room with the dirty clothes, huge 
 bundles of which lay about the floor. However, there was 
 one disadvantage — though the Coupeaus would not at first 
 admit it — the damp ran down the walls, and it was impossible 
 to see clearly in the place after three o*clock in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 In the neighbourhood the new shop produced a great sen- 
 sation. The Coupeaus were accused of going too fast, and 
 making a fuss. They had, in fact, spent the five hundred 
 francs lent them by the Goujets in fitting up the shop and 
 moving into it without keeping sufficient to live upon for a 
 fortnight, as they had intended doing. On the morning when 
 Gervaise took down her shutters for the first time, she had 
 just six francs in her purse. But this did not worry her, for 
 customers began to arrive, and things seemed promising. A 
 week later, on the Saturday, before going to bed, she remained 
 for two hours making calculations on a strip of paper, and 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 123 
 
 then awoke Coupeau to tell him with a bright look on her 
 face, that there were hundreds and thousands of francs to be 
 made in the business if they were only careful. 
 
 * Ah, well I ' declared Madame Lorilleux all over the Rue 
 de la Goutte-d' Or, * my fool of a brother is seeing some funny 
 things ! All that was wanting was that the Hobbler should 
 misbehave herself. It becomes her well, doesn't it ? * 
 
 The Lorilleux had declared war to the knife against Ger- 
 vaise. To begin with, they had almost died of rage while the 
 repairs were going on at the shop. On merely catching sight 
 of the painters from a distance they would cross to the other 
 side of the way, and go up to their rooms grinding their teeth, 
 A blue shop for that ' nobody,' indeed 1 "Wasn't it enough to 
 discourage all honest, hard-working people ? So on the second 
 day, as the apprentice happened to be emptying a basin of 
 starch water in the street just as Madame Lorilleux was going 
 out, the latter drew a crowd together by accusing her sister-in- 
 law of inciting her work-girls to insult her. And then all inter- 
 course was broken off ; whenever they met, they only exchanged 
 the most terrible looks. 
 
 * Yes, she leads a pretty life ! * Madame Lorilleux constantly 
 repeated. * We all know where she got the money for her 
 wretched shop ! It was given her by the blacksmith ; and he 
 springs from a nice family too ! Didn't the father cut his own 
 throat to save the guillotine the trouble of doing so ? Anyhow 
 there was something disreputable of that sort I * 
 
 She coupled Gervaise's name with that of the blacksmith 
 in the plainest manner. She even lied, pretending that she 
 had come upon them one evening while they were keeping an 
 appointment on the outer Boulevards. And plain woman that 
 she was, whom nobody had ever admired, one cry was ever 
 rising from her heart to her lips : * But why is it that people 
 fall in love with that wretched cripple ? Nobody ever falls in 
 love with me ! ' 
 
 Then there were endless cacklings with the neighbours. 
 She told the whole story. Ah 1 she had led them a fine 
 dance on the wedding-day ! Oh ! she was not blind, she had 
 even then seen how it would all turn out. Only the Hobbler 
 had afterwards made herself so pleasant and played the 
 hypocrite so well, that she, Madame Lorilleux, and her husband 
 had, for Coupeau's sake, consented to be Nana's godfather and 
 godmother. And a christening like that had cost something 
 and no mistake ! But now, you know, the Hobbler might be 
 
124 THE DRAMSHOP 
 
 at death's door, and in sore need of a glass of water, yet she, 
 Madame Lorilleux, would certainly not give it to her. She 
 had no liking for persons who were insolent, dishonest, or de- 
 praved. Nana, of course, would always be welcome should 
 she come to see her godfather or godmother ; the little one 
 could not be held guilty for her mother's crimes. As for 
 Coupeau, he was in no need of advice ; any other man in his 
 place would have boxed his wife's ears and given her a duck- 
 ing. However, it was his own business ; all that they asked 
 of him was that he should require proper respect to be paid to 
 bis family. And yet, good heavens 1 if she, Madame Lorilleux, 
 had carried on as the other did, her husband would have 
 stabbed her with his shears. 
 
 In spite of all this, the Boches, who sternly judged the 
 quarrels of the house, declared that the Lorilleux were in the 
 wrong. They were no doubt respectable persons, who made 
 no noise, worked hard and paid their rent regularly. But, 
 really, jealousy drove them mad. Besides, they were 
 regular misers. There was no other name for them ; they 
 hid their wine away whenever anybody called on them, so that 
 they might not have to offer a glass of it. In short, they were 
 not at all a pleasant couple. One day Gervaise had just 
 treated the Boches to some black-currant syrup and seltzer 
 water, and they were all drinking it in the doorkeepers' room 
 when Madame Lorilleux passed by very stiffly, actually spitting 
 j ust outside the door as she did so ; and by way of revenge 
 every Saturday after that occasion, Madame Boche when 
 sweeping the stairs and passages, would leave a collection of 
 dust in front of the chain-maker's door. 
 
 * It isn't to be wondered at I ' Madame Lorilleux would 
 exclaim, * the Hobbler's for ever stuffing them, the gluttons I 
 Ah ! they're all alike ; but they had better not annoy me ! For 
 I'll complain to the landlord. Only yesterday I saw that sly 
 old beast Boche making eyes at Madame Gaudron. Just 
 fancy 1 a woman of that age, and with half a dozen children 
 too ; it's disgraceful. So if I have any more nonsense I'll 
 tell Madame Boche, and she'll give her old man a hiding. It'll 
 be something to laugh at ! ' 
 
 Meantime Mother Coupeau continued to visit both homes, say- 
 ing j ust what the others said, and even contriving to get kept to 
 dinner more frequently by complaisantly listening one evening to 
 her daughter and the next evening to her daughter-in-law. For 
 the time being, Madame Lerat had ceased calling on the Oou- 
 
THE LAUNDRY^SHOP 125 
 
 peaus, because she had quarrelled with the Hobbler respectmg 
 a zouave who had lately cut off his mistress's nose with a 
 razor. ^ She took the zouave's part, thinking the use of a 
 razor a great sign of love, though she did not give her reasons ; 
 and she fanned her sister's resentment by assuring her that 
 the Hobbler, in the course of conversation before fifteen or 
 twenty persons, had repeatedly referred to her by that most 
 objectionable nickname of Cow's Tail. Yes, indeed that was 
 how she was now called by the Boches and the neighbours 
 generally. 
 
 Amidst all this tittle-tattle, Gervaise, quietly smiling on 
 her door-step, would greet her friends with an affectionate nod 
 of the head. She delighted to come there for a moment 
 during her ironing to beam upon the street, with the pride of 
 a shopkeeper who has a bit of pavement belonging to her. 
 The Kue de la Goutte-d'Or, the adjacent streets, indeed the 
 whole neighbourhood seemed to be hers. As she stood on 
 her threshold, in her loose white jacket with bare arms, and 
 fair, wavy, straying hair loosened by her work, she would 
 glance first to the left and then to the right, as far as she 
 could see, so as to take in the passers-by, the houses, the pave- 
 ment, and the sky. On the left, the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or 
 stretched away quiet and deserted till it became like some 
 corner of a country town, where women conversed in low 
 voices at their doors. On the right, a few paces away, opened 
 the Rue des Poissonniers, re-echoing with the clatter of pass- 
 ing vehicles, a crowd's continual tramping and eddying, which 
 turned that part of the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or into a cross- 
 way thronged with people. Gervaise loved the street, the 
 bumping of the heavy carts over the rough pavement, the 
 jostling of the wayfarers following the narrow side-walks, 
 which every now and then gave place to a steep pebbly descent. 
 The few yards of gutter in front of her shop assumed vast 
 importance in her eyes, became a broad river which she liked 
 to see perfectly clean — a strange and living river, whose 
 waters were softly and capriciously tinted, amidst all the sur- 
 rounding black mud, by the flow from the dyer's establishment. 
 She was also interested in some of the shops : a large grocery 
 with its display of dried fruits protected by fine netting, and a 
 workman's outfitting establishment, in front of which overalls 
 
 ' This was one of the causes cddbres of the time, and M. Claude, the 
 famous chief of the French detective police, has left a circumstantial 
 account of it. 
 
126 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 and blue blouses, hanging with outstretched legs and arms, 
 waved at the slightest breeze. Then, too, at the greengrocer's 
 and the tripe-seller's, she could espy glimpses of counters on 
 which superb cats sat quietly purring. Her nods were politely 
 returned by her neighbour, Madame Vigouroux, the charcoal- 
 dealer, a short plump woman with bright eyes and a black 
 face, who idled her time away laughing with men or leaning 
 against her shop front, to which numerous logs of wood 
 painted on a claret-coloured background lent the aspect of a 
 rustic chalet. However, Mesdames Cudorge, mother and daugh- 
 ter, Gervaise's neighbours on the other hand, never stirred from 
 their umbrella shop. Their window always had a gloomy look, 
 and their door, ornamented with two little zinc parasols 
 thickly coated with bright vermilion, invariably remained 
 closed. 
 
 Before going back into her shop again Gervaise always 
 glanced over the road at a huge windowless white wall, in the 
 middle of which was a large gateway, allowing one to see the 
 flare of a forge in a courtyard full of carts and vans, whose 
 shafts were raised in the air. On the wall, the word ' Farriery ' 
 was painted in tall letters, surrounded by a framework of 
 horse-shoes. All day long hammers resounded on the anvil, 
 and fiery clouds of sparks lighted up the pale shade of the 
 yard. And at the end of the boundary wall, in a hole about 
 the size of a cupboard, between a dealer in old iron and a fried 
 potato stall, was a clockmaker, a frock-coated clean looking 
 gentleman, who was for ever probing watches with very tiny 
 tools, at a work-table on which various fragile things reposed 
 under glasses ; whilst behind him the pendulums of two or 
 three dozen little cuckoo clocks ticked all together, amidst the 
 gloomy wretchedness of the street and the rhythmical hubbub 
 of the farriery. 
 
 The neighbourhood in general thought Gervaise very 
 pretty. True there was a good deal of scandal related about 
 her ; but every one admitted that she had large eyes, a small 
 mouth, and beautiful white teeth. In short, she was a pretty 
 blonde, and but for her unfortunate leg she might have ranked 
 with the comehest. She was now in her twenty-eighth year, 
 and had become plumper. Her fine features were even getting 
 somewhat puffy, and her gestures were instinct with a pleasant 
 indolence. At times, whilst waiting for her iron to heat, she 
 forgot herself on the edge of a chair, smiling vaguely, with an 
 expression of greedy joy upon her face. She was becoming 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 127 
 
 fond of good living, everybody said so ; but that was not a re- 
 prehensible failing, rather the contrary. When one earns 
 sufficient to treat oneself to titbits, it would be fooUsh to eat 
 potato parings. And besides, she continued working very 
 hard, slaving away to please her customers, and even sitting 
 up late at nights, after the place was closed, whenever there 
 was anything pressing. 
 
 She was very lucky in business, as all her neighbours often 
 Baid ; everything prospered with her. She washed for nearly 
 the whole house : for M. Madinier, Mademoiselle Remanjou, the 
 Boches, and so forth. She even secured some of the customers 
 of her old employer, Madame Fauconnier, — some Parisian 
 ladies living in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere. And as 
 early as the third week she was obliged to engage two work- 
 women, Madame Putois and tall Clemence, who had formerly 
 lived on the sixth floor of the house, Counting her apprentice, 
 little squint-eyed Augustine, she thus had three persons in her 
 employ. Others would certainly have lost their heads at such a 
 piece of good fortune. So it was quite excusable for her to 
 feast a little on Mondays after drudging all through the week. 
 Besides, it was necessary to her. She would have had no 
 courage left her, and would have expected to see the shirts 
 iron themselves, if she had not now and then been able to line 
 her stomach with something nice that happened to tickle her 
 appetite. 
 
 Never before, too, had Gervaise shown so much com- 
 plaisance. She was as meek as a lamb, as good as bread. 
 Excepting Madame Lorilleux, whom she called by that horrid 
 nickname out of revenge, she detested nobody, but found ex- 
 cuses for all. Amidst the slight languor born of her greedy 
 fits, when she had lunched well and drunk her coffee, she 
 would yield to a desire for general indulgence. Her favourite 
 saying was : * We must forgive one another, if we don't want 
 to live like savages.' When people talked of her kindness, she 
 laughed. Why in truth's name should she have been cruel ! 
 She protested that she showed no merit in being kind. Had 
 not all her dreams been realised ? Had she anything else to 
 wish for in life ? She recalled her ideal of bygone days, 
 when she had found herself penniless — to work, have bread to 
 eat, a home to live in, to be able to bring up her children, to 
 live without being beaten, and to die in her bed. And now 
 her dream was more than fulfilled ; she had all, and far better 
 than she had desired. As for dying in her bed, she added 
 
128 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 jokingly, that she counted upon doing so, but of course at as 
 distant a date as might be possible. 
 
 It was to Coupeau especially that Gervaise behaved with 
 all kindness. Never an angry word came from her, never a 
 complaint behind her husband's back. He had at length re- 
 sumed work ; and as the job he was then engaged upon was 
 at the other side of Paris, she gave him every morning forty 
 sous for his luncheon, his drink and his tobacco. However, 
 two days out of every six, Coupeau would stop on the way, 
 spend the forty sous in drink with a friend, and return home 
 to lunch, with some cock-and-bull story or other. Once even 
 he did not trouble to go far, but with My-Boots, and three 
 others, treated himself to a regular feast — snails, roast meat, 
 and sealed bottles of wine — at the ' Capuchin,* near the Bar- 
 riere de la Chapelle. Then, as his forty sous were not suffi- 
 cient, he had sent the waiter to his wife with the bill and the 
 information that he was in pawn. She laughed and shrugged 
 her shoulders. Where was the harm if her husband amused 
 himself a bit ? Men must be given a little rein if one wanted 
 to live peaceably at home. From one word to another, folks 
 soon came to blows. Besides, it was easy to understand : 
 Coupeau still suffered from his leg ; and then, he was led astray. 
 He was obliged to do as the others did, or else he would have 
 been thought a muff. And really it was a matter of no con- 
 sequence. If he came home a httle bit elevated, he went to 
 bed, and two hours afterwards he was all right again. 
 
 However, the warm season of the year at last set in. One 
 June afternoon, a Saturday when there was urgent work to do, 
 Gervaise herself had piled the coke into the stove, around 
 which ten irons were heating, whilst the chimney fairly roared. 
 The sun was shining full on the shop-front, and from the pave- 
 ment came an ardent reverberation which sent broad ripples 
 of light dancing over the ceiling of the shop. The blaze, 
 though it assumed a bluish tinge from the colour of the paper 
 on the shelves and against the window, was of almost blinding 
 intensity above the ironing-table, a very nucleus of solar dust 
 sifted through fine linen. The atmosphere too was stifling. 
 Though the shop door had been thrown wide open, not a 
 breath of air came in ; the clothes, hung upon wires to dry, 
 steamed, and became as stiff as shavings in less than three 
 quarters of an hour. For some little while, in that oppressive 
 furnace-like heat, there had reigned deep silence interrupted 
 only by the dull thuds of the irons, which gave out but a muf- 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 129 
 
 fled sound, owing to the thick blanket, covered with calico, 
 which was spread over the table. 
 
 * Ah, well ! ' said Gervaise, * it'll be a wonder if we don't 
 melt. It's almost impossible to keep a thing on.' 
 
 She was squatting on the floor, in front of a basin, 
 starching some things. And on account of the heat she 
 simply wore a white petticoat and a loose linen jacket, the 
 sleeves of which were rolled up, showing her bare arms and 
 neck. She looked quite rosy, and was perspiring to such a 
 degree that little locks of her fair, straying hair stuck to 
 her skin. With all due care she alternately dipped caps, 
 shirt-fronts, whole petticoats, and the trimmings of inex- 
 pressibles into the milk- like water. Then she rolled the 
 things up and placed them in a square basket, after dipping 
 her hand in a pail and then shaking it over those portions 
 of the garments which she had not starched. 
 
 ' This basketful's for you, Madame Putois,' she resumed. 
 ' Look sharp, now, eh ? It dries at once, and in an hour's 
 time I should have to do it all over again.' 
 
 Madame Putois, a thin little woman of forty-five, stood iron- 
 ing without a sign of perspiration, though she was closely but- 
 toned up in an old brown jacket. She had not even removed 
 her cap, a black one trimmed with green ribbons, which were 
 turning yellow. And she stood perfectly upright in front of 
 the table, which was somewhat too high for her, sticking out 
 her elbows, and plying her irons with the jerky motion of a 
 puppet. But all of a sudden she exclaimed, * Oh, no ! Made- 
 moiselle Clemence, you mustn't take your jacket off. I don't 
 like immodesty, you know. Why, there are people stopping to 
 look already ! ' 
 
 Thereupon tall Clemence, between her teeth, called 
 Madame Putois an old hag. For her part she was suffocating, 
 and surely she might make herself comfortable, there could be 
 no possible harm in it ; and so saying she held up her bare 
 arms, her plump shoulders meanwhile almost bursting the 
 straps of her chemise, which allowed a ghmpse of her full 
 bosom. Fine as was her figure, however, the life that Cle- 
 mence led seemed hkely to make an old woman of her before 
 she became thirty. She often fell asleep over her work, 
 weary with excessive dissipation. All the same Gervaise 
 kept her in her employ, for no other workwoman could iron 
 a shirt with such smartness. 
 
 * They're my own arm«, you know I ' Clemence ended by 
 
 K 
 
I30 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 declaring, as she slapped her muscles. ' And they don't bite, 
 they hurt nobody.* 
 
 * Clemence, put your jacket on again,* exclaimed Ger- 
 vaise. ' Madame Putois is right, it isn't decent to exhibit 
 oneself like that. I don't "want my house to get a bad repu- 
 tation.' 
 
 Thereupon tall CMmence again put on her loose linen 
 jacket, grumbhng the while : * There's prudery for you 1 As 
 though people had never seen a woman's bosom before 1 ' 
 
 Then she vented her choler on the apprentice, that squint- 
 eyed Augustine, who was ironing some stockings and hand- 
 kerchiefs beside her. She jostled her and pushed her with 
 her elbow ; but Augustine, who was of a surly disposition, 
 and slyly spiteful hke one who is at once a monstrosity and 
 a drudge, revenged herself by spitting on the back of the 
 other's dress without being seen. Gervaise, meantime, had 
 begun to iron a cap belonging to Madame Boche, which she 
 wished to take great pains with. She was gently passing a 
 little iron, rounded at both ends, inside the crown, when a 
 bony-looking woman entered the shop, her face covered with 
 red blotches and her skirts sopping wet. It was a washer- 
 woman who employed three assistants at the wash-house in 
 the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. 
 
 * You've come too soon, Madame Bijard I * cried Gervaise. 
 * I told you to call this evening. I'm too busy to attend to 
 you now ! ' 
 
 However, as the other began lamenting and fearing that 
 it would not be possible to put all the things to soak that 
 day, she consented to give her the dirty clothes at once. 
 They went to fetch the bundles in the left-hand room where 
 Etienne slept, returning with enormous armfuls, which they 
 piled upon the floor at the back of the shop. The sorting 
 lasted a good half hour. Gervaise raised heaps all round 
 her, throwing the shirts in one, the chemises, handkerchiefs, 
 socks, and dish-cloths in others. Whenever she came across 
 anything belonging to a new customer, she marked it with 
 a cross in red cotton, so that she might know it again. And 
 from all the dirty linen thus thrown about, an offensive odour 
 loon rose into the warm atmosphere. 
 
 * Oh, my I what a stench 1 * suddenly said Clemence, hold- 
 ing her nose. 
 
 ' Of course there is 1 If it was clean they wouldn't send 
 it us,' quietly explained Gervaise. *We said fourteen 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 131 
 
 chemises, didn't we, Madame Bijard? Fifteen, sixteen, 
 
 seventeen * 
 
 And she continued counting aloud. Used as she was to 
 this kind of thing she evinced no disgust, but thrust her 
 bare, rosy arms into the midst of all the soiled linen before 
 her. Yet a kind of languor came upon her, as with her head 
 lowered over the heaps she inhaled the strong odour which 
 rose from them. She had seated herself on the edge of a 
 stool, bending almost double ; and she slowly stretched her 
 hands to right and left, smiling vaguely, with dreamy eyes, 
 as though intoxicating herself with the powerful emana- 
 tions by which she was encompassed. And it seemed as if 
 her first inclination for idleness had come from all that, from 
 the asphyxiating odour of the dirty clothes that poisoned the 
 air around her. Just as she was shaking out a napkin, 
 Coupeau entered the shop. 
 
 * What a go I ' he stuttered, * what a sun there is I It 
 goes bang through your head I ' 
 
 Then he caught hold of the ironing-table to save himself 
 from falling. It was the first time that he had taken such a 
 dose. So far he had sometimes come home a little bit 
 lively, but nothing more. On this occasion, however, he had 
 a black eye, just a friendly slap which he had run against in 
 a scramble. His curly hair, which already showed a few 
 grey streaks, must have dusted a corner in some low wine- 
 shop, for a cobweb hung from one of his locks over the 
 nape of his neck. However, though his features had become 
 rather drawn and aged, and his under jaw projected more 
 than in his youth, he still remained a funny fellow, a down- 
 right good-natured chap, as he himself would sometimes say, 
 with a skin which was still soft enough to ti^mpt a duchess. 
 
 *ril just tell you,' he resumed, addressing Gervaise. *It 
 was Celery-Root, you know, the bloke with the wooden-pin. 
 Well, as he was going back to his native place, he wanted to 
 treat us. Oh 1 we should have been all right, if it hadn't 
 been for that devil of a sun. In the street, you see, every- 
 body's iU. Why yes, they're all going round and round ! ' 
 
 Then as tall Clemence laughed at the idea of the people 
 in the street being drunk, he was mastered by a huge fit 
 of gaiety which almost strangled him. 
 
 * Look at 'em 1 the blessed tipplers ! Aren't they funny ? ' 
 he cried. ' But it's not their fault, you know, it's the sun's.' 
 
 All the shop laughed, even Madame Putois, who did not 
 
 k2 
 
132 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 like drunkards. That squint-eyed Augustine clucked like a 
 hen, suffocating, with her mouth wide open. Gervaise, how- 
 ever, suspected that Coupeau had not come straight home, 
 hut had spent an hour or so with the Lorilleux, who gave 
 him bad advice. When he swore that he had not been 
 near them, she, in her turn, began to laugh, full of indul- 
 gence for his folly, and not even reproaching him with having 
 wasted another day. 
 
 * Good heavens 1 what nonsense he talks,' she murmured. 
 ' How can one say such stupid things ? ' Then, in a 
 maternal voice, she added, * Now, go to bed, won't you ? 
 You see we're busy : you're in our way. That makes thirty- 
 two handkerchiefs, Madame Bijard ; and two more, thirty- 
 four.' 
 
 But Coupeau was not sleepy. He stood there swaying 
 from side to side like a pendulum, and chuckling in an 
 obstinate, teasing manner. Gervaise, who wished to get rid 
 of Madame Bijard, called Cl^mence, and made her count the 
 things whilst she made out a Hst of them. Then that 
 tall good-for-nothing began to vent all sorts of coarse remarks 
 respecting each article that passed through her hands. 
 Augustine meantime pricked up her ears like the vicious 
 little thing she was, while Madame Putois pursed her lips, 
 considering it extremely wrong to go on like that in the pre- 
 sence of Coupeau. 
 
 Gervaise, however, serious, and fully occupied with 
 what she was about, did not seem to hear the other. As 
 she went on writing she glanced at each article, so as to 
 recognise it ; and she never made a mistake ; she guessed its 
 owner's name merely by its aspect. Those table napkins 
 belonged to the Goujets, that was evident ; they had not 
 been used to wipe the saucepans with, like other people's 
 napkins were. That pillow-case certainly came from the 
 Boches, for there was the pomatum with which Madame 
 Boche always smeared her things. It was also unnecessary 
 to poke one's nose mto M. Madinier's garments ; they like- 
 wise were invariably so greasy that there was no mistaking 
 them. And Gervaise knew of other peculiarities, the hidden 
 life of neighbours who crossed the street in silk skirts, the 
 number of stockings, handkerchiefs, and chemises that they 
 allowed themselves each week, and the way in which some 
 of them tore certain articles always in the sam j places. She 
 Wfts also full of anecdotes. Mademoiselle Eemanjou's 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 133 
 
 chemises, for instance, furnished material for interminable 
 comments ; they always wore out about the shoulders, a 
 certain proof that the old maid had pointed, projecting bones. 
 In this wise, at every sorting of the dirty linen in the shop, 
 the whole neighbourhood of the Goutte-d'Or was passed in 
 review. 
 
 * Oh 1 here's something nice 1 ' cried Cl^mence, all at once, 
 as she opened another bundle. 
 
 Gervaise, suddenly seized with a great repugnance, drew 
 back. * Madame Gaudron's bundle ? ' said she. * Upon my 
 word I'll no longer wash for her, I'll find some excuse. I'm 
 not more particular than another. I've handled some horrid 
 things in my time ; but I really can't stand what comes from 
 the Gaudrons. What can they do to get their things into 
 such a state ? ' 
 
 Then she requested Cl^mence to look sharp. But the girl 
 went on with her remarks, thrusting her fingers through the 
 rents in the things, and waving them Like triumphal banners. 
 Meanwhile, the heaps had grown higher. Gervaise, still 
 seated on the edge of the stool, was disappearing between 
 mounds of petticoats and chemises. Before her were sheets, 
 dusters, and table-cloths, an overflowing mass of uncleanli- 
 ness ; and amidst this rising flood she remained with bare 
 arms and neck, looking more rosy and languid than ever. 
 Then, regaining her sedate air, the smile of an attentive and 
 careful mistress, she forgot Madame Gaudron's dirty linen, to 
 rummage with one hand among the heaps so as to make sure 
 that no mistake had been made. That squint-eyed Augustine, 
 who delighted in shovelling coke into the stove, had now 
 filled it to such an extent that the cast-iron plates were 
 becoming red-hot. The sun rays still fell obliquely on the 
 window, and the whole shop was in a blaze. Then Coupeau, 
 his intoxication increased by the great heat, was overcome by 
 a sudden fit of tenderness. With maudlin emotion and arms 
 outstretched he advanced towards Gervaise : 
 
 * You're a good wife,' he stammered. * I must kiss you, 
 reaUy.' 
 
 But he caught his foot in the petticoats which barred the 
 way, and nearly fell. 
 
 * What a nuisance you are 1 ' said Gervaise, without 
 getting angry. • Keep still, we've done now.' 
 
 But no, he wanted to kiss her. He must do so, for he 
 loved her so much. And while stuttering he skirted the heap 
 
134 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 of petticoats, and stumbled against the chemises; then, as 
 in his obstinacy he still tried to advance, his feet again caught 
 in the things, and he fell flat with his nose in the midst of the 
 dish-cloths. Gervaise, beginning to lose her temper, there- 
 upon pushed him about, saying that he was mixing every- 
 thing up. But Cl^mence, and even Madame Putois, asserted 
 that she was wrong. All considered it was very nice of him. 
 He only wanted to Mss her, and surely she might let herself 
 be kissed. 
 
 * You^re lucky, you are, Madame Coupeau,* declared 
 Madame Bijard, whose drunken husband, a locksmith, often 
 beat her black and blue when he returned home of an evening. 
 * If my old man was like that when he's had a drop, it would 
 be a pleasure ! * 
 
 Gervaise had calmed down, and was already regretting her 
 hastiness. She helped Coupeau on to his legs again, and 
 then offered her cheek with a smile. But the zinc-worker, 
 without caring a button for the presence of others, caught 
 her round the waist. * It's not that I'm squeamish,' he mur- 
 mured ; * but your dirty linen has such a smeU I Still I love 
 you all the same, you know.* 
 
 * Leave off, you're tickling me,* she cried, laughing the 
 louder. * What a big silly you are 1 How can you be so 
 absurd ? ' 
 
 But he would not let her go, and she gradually yielded to 
 his embrace, faint from all the emanations of the dirty clothes, 
 and without repugnance for Coupeau's vinous breath. And 
 the full kiss which they then exchanged, lip to Up, amidst 
 all the filth of the laundry trade, was, so to say, their first 
 tumble in the slow downward course of their life. 
 
 Madame Bijard, meantime, had begun to tie the things up 
 in bundles, talking the while of her little girl Eulalie, who, 
 although no more than two years old, was already as sensible 
 as a grown-up woman : you could leave her by herself in all 
 security ; she never cried, and never played with the matches. 
 At length the washerwoman carried off the bundles one by 
 one, her tall body bending beneath the weight of them, and 
 her face streaked with purple blotches. 
 
 * It's becoming unbearable, we're roasting,' said Gervaise, 
 wiping her face before resuming her work on Madame Boche's 
 cap. 
 
 Then, on seeing that the stove was red-hot, and that the 
 hrons, also, were getting in the same condition, they talked of 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 135 
 
 "boxing Augustine's ears. That girl must have the very devil 
 in her body I One could not turn one's back for a moment 
 but she got up to some trick or other. They would now have 
 to wait a quarter of an hour before they could use the irons. 
 Gervaise covered the fire with two shovelfuls of cinders, and 
 also had the idea of hanging a pair of sheets from the wire- 
 lines near the ceiling, so as to serve as blinds, and temper the 
 heat of the sun. Then they felt pretty comfortable in the 
 shop. It was still very warm there ; but one might have 
 thought oneself shut in an alcove, quite away from the world, 
 although behind the sheets one could still hear people quickly 
 walking along the pavement. Moreover, now that the sheets 
 served as a screen, it was possible to take one's ease. 
 Cl^mence therefore again removed her loose jacket. As for 
 Coupeau, as he still declined to go to bed, he was allowed to 
 remain, but he had to promise that he would keep quiet in 
 a corner, for they had no time to waste. 
 
 * Whatever has that vermin done with my little iron ? * 
 muttered Gervaise, alluding to Augustine. 
 
 They were for ever seeking the little iron, and finding it 
 in the most out-of-the-way places, where the apprentice, so 
 they said, must have hidden it out of spite. At last, however, 
 Gervaise discovered it, and was able to finish the crown of 
 Madame Boche's cap. She had already pulled the lace 
 straight with her hand, and flattened it with a slight touch of 
 her iron. The front of the cap was very ornamental, formed 
 of narrow puffs, alternating with insertions of embroidery; 
 and so Gervaise took great pains with it, silently and carefully 
 passing the puffs and the insertions over an iron instrument 
 shaped somewhat like an ^g'g^ and resting on a rod which was 
 fixed in a wooden foot. 
 
 Silence now reigned around. For a while, one heard 
 nothing but the thuds of the irons deadened by the thick table- 
 covering. Leaning over either side of the large square table, 
 the mistress, the two workwomen and the apprentice, stood 
 busy at their work, their shoulders rounded, and their arms 
 for ever moving backwards and forwards. Each on her right 
 hand had her stand, a flat brick scorched by the hot irons. 
 In the middle of the table, a strip of rag and a little brush 
 were soaking at the edge of a soup-plate full of clear water ; 
 while a bunch of large Uhes — a tuft of huge snowy flowers 
 suggesting some nook of a royal garden— bloomed in an old 
 glass jar which had formerly contained cherry- brandy. 
 
136 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Madame Putois had started on the basket of linen, towels, 
 pants, cuffs, and cotton jackets, which Gervaise had 
 previously prepared. Augustine was dawdling over her 
 stockings and dish-cloths, her nose up in the air, as she 
 watched a big blue-bottle which was buzzing about. As for 
 tall Clemence, she had just reached her thirty-fifth shirt since 
 the morning. 
 
 * Always wine, never any of your spirits, which break a 
 man to pieces I ' suddenly exclaimed the zinc-worker, who felt 
 the necessity of making this declaration. * Spirits do me 
 harm, I'll have none of 'em I ' 
 
 Clemence took an iron from the stove with her leather 
 holder, in which a piece of sheet iron was inserted, and held 
 it to her cheek to see how hot it was. Then she rubbed it on 
 her brick, wiped it on a piece of rag hanging from her waist- 
 band and started on her thirty-fifth shirt, first of all ironing 
 the shoulders and the sleeves. 
 
 * Bah ! Monsieur Coupeau,' said she, after a minute or 
 two, *a little nip of brandy isn't bad. It sets me going. 
 Besides, the sooner you're merry, the jolher it is. Oh 1 I 
 don't deceive myself; I know that I sha'n't make old bones.* 
 
 * What a nuisance you are with your funereal ideas ! ' 
 interrupted Madame Putois, who did not like to hear people 
 talk of anything sad. 
 
 Coupeau had risen, somewhat angrily, thinking that he 
 had been accused of drinking brandy. He swore on his own 
 head, and on the heads of his wife and child, that there 
 wasn't a drop of spirits in his veins. And he went up to 
 Clemence and blew in her face, so that she might smell his 
 breath. Then glancing at her bare shoulders, he began to 
 chuckle. She, after folding the back of the shirt and ironing 
 it on either side, was now doing the wristbands and the 
 collar. But, as he pushed against her, he caused her to make 
 a crease, and she was obliged to take the brush from the edge 
 of the soup-plate to damp the starch again. 
 
 'Madame,' said she, 'do make him leave off bothering 
 me.* 
 
 'Leave her alone; it's stupid to go on like that,' quietly 
 observed Gervaise. * We're in a hurry, do you hear ? ' 
 
 They were in a hurry. Well I what then ? It wasn't his 
 fault. He was doing no harm. Was it no longer allowable 
 to look at the beautiful things that God had made ? Could 
 anybody deny now that Clemence had precious fine arms ? 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 137 
 
 Then he went on, pouring forth coarse and maudlin compli- 
 ments. The girl laughed, and soon began to joke with him, 
 her shoulders shaking with laughter as she continued her 
 work. 
 
 That squint-eyed Augustine almost burst with merriment, 
 so funny did she find the coarse jests which were bandied 
 about. And thereupon the others bullied her. There was a 
 brat for you, who laughed at words she ought not to under- 
 stand I Then, when an iron was handed her by Clemence — 
 for she finished up the irons on the stockings and dish-cloths, 
 when they were no longer hot enough for the starched things 
 — she took hold of it so clumsily, that she badly burnt her 
 wrist. At this she sobbed, and accused Clemence of having 
 burnt her on purpose. The other, who had gone to fetch a 
 very hot iron for the front of the shirt on which she was 
 engaged, at once threatened to iron both ears for her if she 
 did not leave off squealing. Then she placed a piece of 
 flannel under the front, over which she slowly passed the 
 iron, giving the starch time to show up and dry. The front 
 gradually became as stiff and as shiny as cardboard. 
 
 ' By golly ! ' swore Coupeau, who was moving about 
 near the girl with all a drunkard's obstinacy. 
 
 And with a laugh that resembled the creaking of a pulley 
 in want of grease, he raised himself on tip-toe. Clemence, 
 leaning heavily over the ironing-table, her wrists twisted 
 and her elbows projecting, was just then bending her neck in 
 a last effort. Her bare flesh seemed to swell, her shoulders 
 rose with the slow play of the muscles beating beneath her 
 soft skin, and her bosom heaved, moist with perspiration. 
 Then Coupeau became playful. 
 
 * Madame ! madame I * cried Clemence, * please make him 
 leave off! I shall go away if it continues. I won't be 
 insulted.* 
 
 Gervaise had just put Madame Boche's cap on a linen- 
 covered stand, shaped like a mushroom, and was minutely 
 goffering the lace. She raised her eyes at the moment when 
 the zinc-worker was again drawing close to Clemence. ' Eeally, 
 Coupeau, you're too fooHsh,' said she, with a vexed air, as 
 though she were scolding a child who persisted in eating jam 
 without bread. * You must come to bed.' 
 
 ' Yes, go to bed. Monsieur Coupeau, it will be far better,' 
 exclaimed Madame Putois. 
 
 * Ah 1 well,' he stuttered, without ceasing to chuckle, 
 
138 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 * you're all precious particular ! So one can't have a bit of 
 fun now ? Just as though one can't squeeze a lady without 
 meaning any harm. It's simply to show that one admires 
 the sex. And besides, why does the big blonde show her 
 shoulders like that ? It isn't proper 1 ' 
 
 In spite of this protest, however, Gervaise, without any 
 show of violence, caught hold of him to lead him away. He 
 struggled, just by way of a joke, whilst she pushed him 
 towards the room at the rear of the shop. Then Gervaise was 
 heard taking his shoes off, undressing him, and maternally 
 scolding him, while he continued wriggling and jesting with 
 her. 
 
 When she returned to the shop, having tucked him in as 
 carefully as if he had been a child, that squint-eyed Augustine 
 was receiving a sound clout from Clemence. It was on 
 account of a dirty iron, which Madame Putois had taken from 
 the stove. She, suspecting nothing, had blackened one side 
 of a jacket ; and as Clemence, to avoid the imputation of 
 having neglected to clean her iron, accused Augustine, and 
 swore by everything holy that she had not used it, in spite of 
 the dab of burnt starch that was still sticking to it, the 
 apprentice, incensed by such an unjust accusation, had openly 
 spat on the front of her skirt. And thereupon she had 
 received a good sound clout. However, the squint-eyed one 
 kept back her tears, scraped the iron, rubbed a piece of candle 
 over it, and then wiped it clean ; but, from that moment, each 
 time that she had occasion to pass in the rear of Clemence, she 
 spat at her again, laughing inwardly whenever the saliva ran 
 down the tall one's skirt. 
 
 Gervaise was now again goffering the lace of Madame 
 Boche's cap. And in the sullen calm which ensued, one 
 could hear Coupeau's husky voice proceeding from the depths 
 of the back-shop. He was still in a good humour, and was 
 laughing to himself as he vented disjointed phrases. * How 
 stupid my wife is 1 How stupid of her to put me to bed ! 
 Eeally ! it's too stupid in the middle of the day, when one 
 isn't a bit sleepy ! ' 
 
 But all of a sudden, he snored. Then, Gervaise gave a 
 sigh of relief, happy to know that he was at length resting, 
 sleeping off his intoxication on two good mattresses. And 
 she spoke out amidst the silence, in a slow continuous voice, 
 without taking her eyes from the little goffering irons, which 
 she deftly handled. 
 
THE LAUNDRV-SnOP 139 
 
 'You see, he hasn't his wits about him, so one can't be 
 angry. Even if I were to be harsh with him, it would do no 
 good. I prefer to say just what he says, and get him to bed ; 
 in that way at all events it's soon all over, and I'm at ease. 
 Besides, he isn't ill-natured, he loves me very much. You 
 saw just now, he would have gone through fire and water to 
 kiss me. That's very nice of him, too ; for there are many 
 who, when they drink too much, go off on the loose. But he 
 comes straight home here. He jokes with you, but it doesn't 
 go any further. You mustn't be offended, Clemence. You 
 know what men are when they are tipsy ; they'd kill father 
 and mother, and not even have the faintest recollection of it 
 afterwards. Oh I I forgive him from the bottom of my heart. 
 He's hke all the others, you know I ' 
 
 She said all this in a languid, passionless way, accustomed 
 as she was to Coupeau's goings on ; and although she still 
 sought to give reasons for the tolerant spirit in which she 
 treated him, she no longer saw any harm in his squeezing the 
 waists of the girls whom she employed. When she had 
 finished, silence ensued, and was not again broken. Madame 
 Putois, every time she wanted an article, pulled her basket 
 from under the chintz hanging around the table ; then, when 
 she had ironed the garment, she raised her little arms, and 
 placed it on a shelf. Clemence was now folding her thirty- 
 fifth shirt, with the aid of her iron. There was no end of 
 work ; they had reckoned that they would not get finished 
 till eleven at night, even though they hurried all they could. 
 
 And now, having nothing to distract their attention, they 
 all worked away with a will. The bare arms moved to and 
 fro, illumining the white linen with ruddy reflections. The 
 stove had again been filled with coke, and as the sun, gliding 
 between the sheets, shone full upon it, one could perceive the 
 great heat ascending in the ray, an invisible flame which 
 made the air quiver. The temperature was becoming so 
 stifling beneath the petticoats and table-cloths drying against 
 the ceiling, that squint-eyed Augustine, having expended all 
 her saliva, let a bit of her tongue protrude at the corner of 
 her mouth. There was a strange conglomeration of odours, 
 the emanations of the over-heated stove and the sour starch 
 water, a smell as of something scorching from the irons, an 
 unsavoury steaming as in a bathroom, to which the four women, 
 almost dislocating their shoulders as they worked away, added 
 the strong odour of their chignons and perspiring necks ; 
 
I40 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 whilst the bunch of lilies, fading in the stale greenish water of 
 the glass jar, diffused a very pure and powerful perfume. 
 And now and again, amidst the thuds of the irons and the 
 grating of the poker in the stove, Coupeau's snore rumbled 
 on with the loud rhythmical tick-tack of a clock, regulating the 
 heavy toil of the shop. 
 
 On the morrow of a carouse, the zinc-worker always had 
 a headache, a splitting headache which kept him all day with 
 his hair out of curl, and his phiz all swollen and askew. 
 He got up late on those occasions ; and would hang about the 
 shop and expectorate, unable to make up his mind to go to 
 work. This meant the loss of another day. In the morning, 
 he would complain that his legs were as nerveless as bits of 
 cotton, and would call himself a big booby to guzzle to such 
 an extent, as it simply broke one's constitution. But then a 
 fellow met a host of jolly dogs who would not let him go ; so 
 he began to booze in spite of himself, got caught in all sorts 
 of traps, and ended by being bowled over, and pretty roughly 
 too ! But, good heavens, no, said he, it should never happen 
 to him again ! he did not intend to cock his toes in a boozing- 
 ken in the prime of his life. After lunch, however, he would 
 pull himself straight, and hum ! and ha 1 just to prove to 
 himself that his chest was stni sound. And then he would 
 begin to deny the carouse of the day before ; he had perhaps 
 had a drop or two, but that was all. Such fellows as he, ever 
 fit, with the devil's own muscles, and able to drink 
 anything and everything without blinking an eye, were no 
 longer made. 
 
 Then, for the whole afternoon, he would hang about the 
 neighbourhood. When he had thoroughly badgered the 
 workwomen, his wife would give him twenty sous to clear out. 
 And off he would go to buy his tobacco at the * Little Civet,' 
 in the Rue des Poissonniers, where, whenever he met a friend, 
 he generally indulged in a brandied plum. And afterwards, he 
 spent the rest of the twenty sous at old Fran9ois's, at the corner 
 of the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, where some pretty wine was to be 
 had, something quite young and fresh, which tickled your gullet. 
 The place was a boozing-ken of the old style, a dark shop with a 
 low ceiling, and a smoky room at the side, in which eatables 
 were sold. Coupeau would stop there till night-time, tossing 
 and gambling for canons of wine.^ Fran9ois supplied him on 
 
 ' In Paris wine-shops, draught wine is sold by the litre or quart, the 
 ehopine or pint, the demi-setier, equivalent to about one-fifth of a litre, 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 141 
 
 iick, and had formally promised that he would never send the bill 
 in to the wife. And after all a man must surely rinse his throat 
 a bit, to get rid of the muck of the day before. Unfortunately, one 
 glass of wine leads to another. Withal Coupeau remained a 
 jolly fellow, not caring a rap about the fair sex — that's true ; 
 but loving a spree, and colouring his nose every now and then, 
 in a genteel manner, full of contempt for those pigs of fellows 
 who succumbed to alcohol, and whom one never saw 
 sober ! For his own part, after such afternoons as these, he 
 went home as gay and as gallant as a lark. 
 
 * Has your sweetheart been ? ' he would sometimes ask 
 Gervaise by way of teasing her. * One never sees him now ; 
 I must go and rout him out.* 
 
 The sweetheart was Goujet who, as a matter of fact, 
 avoided calling too often, for fear lest he should be in the 
 way, and also make people talk. Yet he occasionally found 
 a pretext for coming, such as bringing the washing ; and he 
 would pass no end of times along the street. There was a 
 corner right at the back of the shop, in which he hked to sit 
 for hours, smoking his short pipe and never stirring. Every 
 ten days or so, in the evening after his dinner, he would 
 venture upon a visit, and take up his favourite position. He 
 was no talker ; one might have thought his lips sealed, as he 
 sat there with his eyes fixed on Gervaise. He only removed 
 his pipe to laugh at what she said. When they were working 
 late on Saturdays, he would stay on, apparently amusing him- 
 self even more than if he had gone to a theatre. At times, 
 the women continued ironing until three o'clock in the 
 morning. A lamp hung by a wire from the ceiling, its shade 
 casting a large circle of brilliant light upon the linen, which 
 looked as soft and as white as snow. The apprentice put up 
 the window shutters ; but as the July nights were very hot, 
 the shop door was left open. And as time went on, the 
 women would unfasten their jackets, so as to be more at their 
 ease. Their skins assumed a golden hue in the lamp-light, 
 Gervaise's especially ; she had become quite plump, her fair 
 shoulders had the gloss of silk, and her neck was like a baby's, 
 with a dimple which Goujet could have drawn from memory, 
 he knew it so well. And as he sat there in silence, the fierce 
 heat from the stove, and the smell of the clothes steaming 
 beneath the irons, gradually overpowered him, till he sank 
 
 and the canon, representing one-eighth of the same measure. The price 
 of a canon is nowadays usually two sous, or a penny. 
 
142 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 into a kind of stupor, with languid mind, and eyes gazin^ at 
 those hurrying women, who so incessantly swung their bare 
 arms, spending their night in toil, in order that their cus- 
 tomers might array themselves in Sunday smartness on the 
 morrow. All a-round the shop, the neighbouring houses went 
 to sleep, the great silence of slumber slowly fell. Midnight 
 struck, then one o'clock, then two o'clock. Vehicles and 
 pedestrians alike had disappeared. And now upon the dark 
 deserted street, Gervaise's door alone cast a ray of light, 
 which looked like a strip of bright yellow stuff spread over the 
 ground. Occasionally a step was heard in the distance, and 
 a man drew near ; and, as he stepped across the ray of light, 
 he stretched his neck, surprised at the noise of the irons 
 which he heard, and then went on, carrying away with 
 him a vision of bare-breasted women espied athwart a ruddy 
 mist. 
 
 Goujet, seeing that Gervaise hardly knew what to do with 
 ^fitienne, and wishing to deliver the lad from Coupeau's kicks, 
 had engaged him to blow the bellows at the factory where he 
 worked. The calling of bolt-maker, though it was hardly one 
 to inspire pride, on account of the dirt of the forge and the 
 monotony of ever hammering similar pieces of iron, was 
 nevertheless a well-paid one, at which ten and even twelve 
 francs a day could be earned. The youngster, who was then 
 twelve years old, would soon be able to enter it, should it 
 prove to his liking. And thus Etienne had become another 
 link between the laundress and the blacksmith, who every 
 now and then would bring the child home and tell his mother 
 of his good conduct. Everyone said with a laugh, that Goujet 
 was smitten with Gervaise. She knew it well enough, and 
 whenever it was mentioned would blush like a young girl, a 
 flush of modesty colouring her cheeks with the bright tints of 
 the love-apple. Ah ! the poor dear fellow, he never embarrassed 
 her I He had never said a word to her about it, had never 
 made an equivocal gesture, never uttered a rude word.' One 
 did not meet many such honourable men. And, without 
 admitting it, Gervaise felt a great joy at being loved in this 
 wise, as though she were a holy virgin. Whenever anything 
 bothered her very much, she thought of the blacksmith, and 
 that consoled her. If they found themselves alone together, 
 they experienced no embarrassment ; but smihngly looked 
 each other full in the face, without saying what they felt. 
 Theirs was a sensible affection, free from all sexual thought, 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 143 
 
 because it is ever best to preserve one's peace of mind, when 
 one can manage to do so, and at the same time be happy. 
 
 However, towards the end of the summer, Nana began to 
 upset the whole house. She was now six years old, and 
 Seemed Hkely to be a thorough good-for-nothing. In order 
 to avoid having her for ever under her feet, her mother took 
 her each morning to a little school in the Rue Polonceau, 
 kept by a Mademoiselle Josse. Here Nana pinned her play- 
 fellows' dresses together, filled the school-mistress's snuff-box 
 with ashes, and invented other and much less decent tricks 
 which may not be mentioned. On two occasions Mademoiselle 
 Josse expelled her, and then took her back again in order 
 not to lose the six francs a month which her schooling 
 represented. Directly lessons were over, Nana would avenge 
 herself for having been kept in, by making no end of a racket 
 both under the porch and in the courtyard of the house, 
 whither the ironers, whose ears could not endure the noise 
 she made, usually sent her to play. There she would meet 
 Pauline, the Boches' daughter, and Victor, the son of 
 Gervaise's old employer — a big booby of ten, who delighted 
 in playing with very little girls. Madame Fauconnier, who 
 had not quarrelled with the Coupeaus, would herself send her 
 son. In the house, too, there was an extraordinary swarm of 
 youngsters, flocks of children who rolled down the four stair- 
 cases at all hours of the day, and alighted on the pavement 
 of the courtyard like so many noisy pillaging sparrows. Madame 
 Gaudron alone contributed nine, both dark and fair, with 
 tangled hair and dirty noses, breeches which almost came up 
 to their eyes, stockings which hung down over their shoes, 
 and torn jackets which showed glimpses of white skin under 
 the rags. Another woman, a baker's carrier, contributed 
 seven children. Bands came forth from nearly every room. 
 And among this multitude of rosy vermin, whose faces only 
 got washed when it happened to rain, were tall, thin, stringy 
 urchins, ".hubby ones who already had corporations like men, 
 and tiny little ones, but recently escaped from their cradles, 
 who were still so silly, and so unsteady on their legs, that 
 they went down upon all fours when they wanted to run. 
 
 Nana reigned supreme over this host of urchins ; she 
 played the part of Miss Order-about with girls twice her own 
 size, and only deigned to rehnquish a little of her power in 
 favour of PauHne and Victor, intimate confidants who en- 
 forced her oommands. This precious chit ever wanted to play 
 
144 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 at being mamma, undressing the smallest ones to dress them 
 again, examining the others, and exercising over one and all 
 the capricious despotism of a grown-up person with a vicious 
 disposition. Under her leadership the gang of youngsters got 
 up to tricks for which they ought to have been well spanked. 
 They paddled in the coloured water from the dyer's, and emerged 
 from it with their legs stained blue or red as high as the 
 knees. Then off they flew to the locksmith's, where they 
 purloined nails and filings, and next they alighted amidst the 
 carpenter's shavings, huge heaps of shavings, which pleased 
 them immensely, and in which they rolled about head over 
 heels. The courtyard belonged to them, and resounded with 
 the clatter of their little shoes scuttling hither and thither, 
 and the piercing notes of their voices which rang out shrilly 
 each time they took a fresh flight. On certain days even the 
 courtyard did not suffice them; for they rushed down into 
 the cellars, raced up again, climbed to the summit of a flight 
 of stairs, skurried along a passage, came down into the court- 
 yard, ascended another staircase, followed another passage, 
 and kept on at the game for hours together without tiring, yell- 
 ing all the time, and shaking the colossal house as with the 
 gallop of destructive beasts let loose in every hole and corner. 
 
 ' Aren't they abominable, those little toads ? ' cried Madame 
 Boche. * I really can't understand how people have so many 
 children. And yet they complain of having no bread ! ' 
 
 Boche retorted that children and misery went together, 
 just like mushrooms and manure. His wife was for ever 
 shouting at the youngsters, and menacing them with her 
 broom. She ended by fastening the door leading to the 
 cellars, because she learnt from Pauline, to whom she 
 gave a couple of clouts, that Nana had taken to playing at 
 being the doctor down there in the dark ; the vicious little 
 hussy pretended to cure the others with stick-plaster and strap 
 oil. 
 
 Well, one afternoon, there came a frightful scene. It was 
 bound to have come, sooner or later. Nana had thought of a 
 very funny little game. She had stolen one of Madame 
 Boche's wooden shoes from outside the doorkeeper's room, 
 and having tied a string to it, she began dragging it about 
 like a cart. Victor, on his side, had the idea of filling it with 
 potato parings. Then, a procession was formed. Nana came 
 first, dragging the wooden shoe, while Pauline and Victor 
 walked on her right and left. Then the whole crowd of 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 145 
 
 urchins followed in due order, the big ones first, the little ones 
 next, all jostling one another. A baby in skirts, about as tall 
 as a Wellington boot, with an old padded cap cocked on the 
 side of its head, brought up the rear. And the procession 
 chanted something sad, with plenty of ohs 1 and ahs I for 
 Nana had said that they were going to play at a funeral ; the 
 potato parings representing the body. When they had gone 
 the round of the courtyard, they began again, and they all 
 thought it immensely amusing. 
 
 ' What can they be up to ? * murmured Madame Boche, 
 as she emerged from her room to see, ever mistrustful and on 
 the alert. And when she understood : * But it's my shoe 1 * 
 she furiously exclaimed. * Ah, the young rogues I ' 
 
 Forthwith she distributed numerous smacks, clouted Nana 
 on both cheeks, and administered a kick to Pauline, that great 
 goose who allowed the others to take her mother's shoe. It 
 so happened, however, that Gervaise was just then filling a 
 bucket at the tap, and when she beheld Nana choking with 
 sobs and bleeding from the nose she almost sprang at the door- 
 keeper's chignon. It was not right to hit a child as though it 
 were an ox. One could have no heart, one must be the lowest 
 of the low to do such a thing, she cried. Madame Boche 
 naturally replied in a similar strain : When one had such a 
 little beast of a girl as Nana, one ought to keep her locked up. 
 At length, Boche himself appeared in the doorway, and called 
 to his wife to come in instead of entering into so many 
 explanations with * mere filth.' That was his way of putting 
 it. And of course a complete rupture followed. 
 
 As a matter of fact, things had not gone on at all pleasantly 
 between the doorkeeper and the Coupeaus for a month past. 
 Gervaise, who was of a very generous nature, had continually 
 bestowed wine, broth, oranges, and slices of cake on the Boches, 
 One evening she had taken what was left of some endive and 
 beetroot salad to the doorkeepers' room, knowing that the 
 latter was extremely fond of salad and would as a rule do any- 
 thing for such a treat. But, on the morrow, she became pale 
 with rage on hearing Mademoiselle Remanjou relate that 
 Madame Boche had with an air of disgust thrown the salad 
 away in the presence of several persons, under the pretext 
 that she was not yet reduced, thank goodness 1 to feeding upon 
 things which others had messed about. From that moment 
 Gervaise put a stop to all the presents : there were no more 
 bottles of wine, no more cups of broth, no more oranges, 
 
146 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 no more slices of cake for the Boches, in fact, there was 
 nothing. 
 
 It was quite a sight to see the wry faces that the doorkeepers 
 pulled 1 It seemed to them like a robbery on the part of the 
 Coupeaus. Gervaise now realised what a mistake she had 
 made all along ; for if she had not been so stupid as to stuff 
 those people they would not have got into bad habits, but 
 would have continued behaving nicely to her. Now, however, 
 the doorkeepers found nothing too bad to say of her. At the 
 October quarter, Madame Boche treated M. Marescot, the land- 
 lord, to no end of slanderous stories about the laundress 
 spending all her profits in gormandising, and this simply 
 because Gervaise happened to be a day behindhand with her 
 rent. M. Marescot, who was not very polite either, thereupon 
 entered the shop with his hat on his head, and demanded his 
 money, which, by the way, was handed to him at once. 
 Naturally enough, too, the Boches had now shaken hands with 
 the Lorilleux, with whom they tippled, displaying all the 
 sentimental emotion to which the reconciliation gave rise. 
 They would never have quarrelled, said they, had it not been 
 for that Hobbler, who would have stirred up strife even 
 between mountains. Ah, the Boches knew her well now ; 
 they could understand how much the Lorilleux must suffer. 
 And whenever she passed under the porch they aU affected 
 to sneer at her. 
 
 One day, however, Gervaise went up to see the Lorilleux. 
 It was with reference to Mother Coupeau, who was now sixty- 
 seven years old. Her eyesight was almost completely gone, 
 and her legs were no longer what they had been. Obliged as 
 she was to give up her last place, she seemed likely to die of 
 hunger if assistance were not forthcoming. Gervaise thought 
 it shameful that a woman of her age, having three children, 
 should be thus abandoned by heaven and earth. And as 
 Coupeau refused to speak to the Lorilleux on the subject him- 
 self, saying that she, Gervaise, could very well go and do so 
 if she liked, the young woman went up in a fit of indignation, 
 which made her heart dilate. 
 
 "When she reached the Lorilleux' door, she entered like a 
 tempest, without knocking. Nothing had been changed since 
 the evening of the first meeting, when the chain-makers had 
 received her so ungraciously. The same strip of faded woollen 
 stuff separated the living and bedroom from the workshop, 
 the pair forming a lodging like a gun-barrel, as long and as 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 147 
 
 narrow as if intended for an eel. Eight at the back, Lorilleux, 
 leaning over his bench, was squeezing the links of a piece of 
 herring-bone chain, whilst his wife, standing in front of the 
 vice, passed some gold wire through the draw-plate. In the 
 broad daylight the little forge showed a rosy reflection. 
 
 * Yes, it's 1 1 ' said Gervaise. *I dare say you're surprised 
 to see me, as we're at daggers drawn. But I've come neither 
 for you nor for myself, you may be sure of that. It's for 
 Mother Coupeau that I've come. Yes, I have come to see if 
 we're going to let her beg her bread from the charity of 
 others.' 
 
 * Ah, well, that's a fine way to burst in upon people ! * 
 murmured Madame Lorilleux. * One must have rare impu- 
 dence to do such a thing 1 ' Then she turned her back and 
 went on drawing her gold wire, affecting the while to ignore 
 her sister-in-law's presence. But Lorilleux raised his pale 
 face and shouted : ' What's that you say ? ' And as he had 
 heard perfectly well, he continued : ' More back-bitings, eh ? 
 She's nice, is Mother Coupeau, to go and cry starvation every- 
 where ! Yet, only the day before yesterday she dined here. 
 We do what we can. We haven't got gold and silver mines. 
 Only, if she goes about gossiping with others, she had better 
 stay with them, for we don't hke spies.' 
 
 After this outburst he took up the piece of chain again 
 and on his side turned his back upon Gervaise while adding, as 
 though regretfully : ' When all the others give five francs a 
 month we'll give five francs.' 
 
 Gervaise had calmed down, quite chilled by the wooden- 
 Icoking faces of the Lorilleux. She had never once set foot in 
 their rooms without experiencing a certain uneasiness. With 
 her eyes lowered upon the interstices of the wooden grating 
 through which fell the waste gold, she now explained herself 
 in a reasonable manner. Mother Coupeau had three children ; 
 if each of them gave five francs a month the total would only 
 be fifteen, which was really not enough. Nobody could live on 
 such an amount ; they must at least triple the sum among 
 them. 
 
 At this Lorilleux cried out again. Where did she think 
 that he could steal fifteen francs a month ? It was quite 
 amusing that people should think him rich merely because he 
 had some gold in his place. Then he began to abuse Mother 
 Coupeau : she would not give up her coffee in the morning, 
 and she must have her drop of brandy ; she required no end 
 
 l2 
 
148 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 of things, just like a lady of fortune. Of course every ons 
 liked an easy life ; but when a person had not troubled to save 
 a single copper she must do as others did — go without 
 luxuries. Besides, Mother Coupeau was not so old as to be 
 unable to work ; she could still see very well when it was a 
 question of getting a tit-bit from the bottom of the dish ; in 
 short, she was an artful old woman, who wanted to be 
 pampered. Even if he, Lorilleux, had possessed the means he 
 would have considered it wrong to keep any one in idleness. 
 
 Gervaise, however, remained conciliatory, and peaceably 
 argued against all this bad reasoning. She tried to soften 
 the Lorilleux, but the husband ended by no longer answering 
 her ; while the wife, who was now at the forge, scouring a 
 piece of chain in a little brass saucepan with a long handle, 
 still affectedly turned her back, as though a hundred leagues 
 away. And Gervaise continued speaking, watching them as 
 they thus obstinately went on with their avocations amidst 
 all the black dust of the workshop, their bodies bent, their 
 clothes patched and greasy, both hardened, like old tools, 
 bereft of all humanity, in the pursuit of their narrowing 
 mechanical task. Then, suddenly, anger again got the better 
 of the young woman, and she exclaimed : * Very well, then, 
 I'd rather it was so ; keep your money 1 I'll give Mother 
 Coupeau a home, do you hear ? I picked up a cat the other 
 evening, so I can at least do the same for your mother. And 
 she shall want nothing, she shall have her coffee and her drop 
 of brandy, too ! Good heavens 1 what a vile family 1 ' 
 
 At these words Madame Lorilleux turned round. She 
 brandished the saucepan she held as though she were about 
 to throw the solution of nitric acid which it contained in 
 her sister-in-law's face. And she stammered ragefully : ' Be 
 off, or I shall do you an injury ! And don't count on the five 
 francs, because I won't give a copper I no, not a copper I 
 Five francs, indeed ! A fine idea. Mamma would be your 
 servant, and you'd fill your maw with my five francs ! If 
 she goes to live with you, just tell her this, she may croak 
 when she likes, I won't even send her a glass of water I Now, 
 off you go ! clear out I ' 
 
 'What a monster of a woman!* said Gervaise, as she 
 slammed the door behind her. 
 
 On the morrow she took Mother Coupeau to live with her. 
 She put her bedstead in the big closet where Nana slept, 
 which was lighted by a little round window close to the 
 
THE LAUNDRY-SHOP 149 
 
 ceiling. The moving did not take long, for the sole furniture 
 that Mother Coupeau possessed consisted of this bedstead, an 
 old walnut wardrobe, which was placed in the dirty clothes 
 room, a table and two chairs ; they sold the table and had 
 the two chairs reseated. And the old woman, on the very 
 evening of her arrival, swept up the crumbs and washed the 
 dinner things, in fact, made herself useful, feeling delighted at 
 having thus got out of her difficulty. The Lorilleux almost 
 burst with rage, especially as Madame Lerat had just become 
 reconciled with the Coupeaus. One fine day the two sisters, 
 the artificial flower-maker and the chain-maker, exchanged 
 blows on account of Gervaise. The first had ventured to 
 praise the young woman's conduct with respect to their 
 mother ; and then, through a desire to tease, seeing that her 
 sister was exasperated, she had gone on to say that the 
 laundress certainly had magnificent eyes, so brilhant that one 
 might have lighted pieces of paper at them ; and in the result 
 they ended by slapping each other's faces, and swearing that 
 they would never meet again. Thenceforward, Madame 
 Lerat spent her evenings in the shop, where she was in* 
 wardly amused by Clemence's coarse behaviour. 
 
 Three years passed by. There were frequent quarrels 
 and reconciliations. Gervaise did not care a straw for the 
 Lorilleux, the Boches and all the others who were not of her 
 way of thinking. If they did not like it, why, they could do 
 the other thing. She earned what she wished, which was her 
 principal concern. The people of the neighbourhood had 
 ended by greatly esteeming her, for when all was said and 
 done, one found few such good customers as she was, paying 
 punctually and never cavilling or higgling. She bought her 
 bread of Madame Coudeloup, in the Eue des Poissonniers ; 
 her meat of fat Charles, the butcher in the Kue Polonceau ; 
 her grocery at Lehongre's, in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or 
 almost opposite her own shop. Fran9ois, the wine merchant 
 at the corner of the street, supplied her with wine by the 
 basket of fifty quart bottles ; and her neighbour Vigouroux 
 sold her coke at the same price as the gas company charged. 
 
 As a matter of fact, all her tradespeople served her well, 
 knowing that there was everything to gain by treating her in a 
 proper spirit. And thus, whenever she went about the neigh- 
 bourhood, her head bare, and her feet in slippers, folks bade 
 her good-day on all sides. She was quite at home there, the 
 adjacent streets were like the natural dependencies of her 
 
I50 THE dram-shop 
 
 abode, which opened on a level with the pavement. She 
 would often linger over an errand, happy at finding herself 
 out of doors in the midst of her acquaintances. On the days 
 when she lacked time to cook, she would go to buy something 
 all ready, and linger gossiping with the restaurant keeper 
 who tenanted the shop on the other side of the house, a huge 
 place with big dusty windows, through the dirt of which one 
 could espy the dull hght of the court-yard in the rear. Or 
 else, laden with plates and basins, she would stop and chat 
 opposite some ground-floor window, which allowed a glimpse 
 of a cobbler's room, with the bed unmade, the floor encum- 
 bered with rags, among which stood a couple of broken cradles 
 and a wax-pan full of black water. But the neighbour whom 
 she still respected the most was the clock-maker opposite, the 
 clean-looking gentleman in the frock coat, who was for ever 
 probing watches with dainty httle tools; and she would often 
 cross the street to bid him good-day, laughing with pleasure 
 as, in the rear of the tiny cupboard-like shop, she beheld the 
 gaiety of the little cuckoo clocks, whose pendulums were 
 ever hastening, swinging, counting the hours all out of time. 
 
 VI 
 
 THE SHADOWS FALL 
 
 One afternoon in the autumn, Gervaise, who had been tak- 
 ing some washing home to a customer in the Rue des 
 Portes-Blanches, found herself at the bottom of the Rue des 
 Poissonniers just as the dayhght was declining. It had 
 rained in the morning, the weather was very mild, and the 
 greasy pavement was odoriferous. The laundress, as she 
 slowly ascended the street, burdened with her big basket, 
 felt rather out of breath, and inclined to take her ease. 
 She would have liked to have had something nice to eat. 
 Then, on raising her eyes, she saw at a corner the name 
 of the Rue Marcadet, and was suddenly struck with the idea 
 of going to see Goujet at his forge. He had no end of 
 times told her to take a few extra steps some day should 
 she be curious to see how iron was wrought. Besides, in 
 presence of the other workmen she might ask for Etienne, 
 and make believe that she had merely called for the young- 
 ster. 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 151 
 
 The bolt and rivet factory was somewhere near at 
 that end of the Rue Marcadet, though she did not exactly 
 know where ; more especially as there were often no num- 
 bers to the buildings, which were parted by vacant plots oi 
 land. It was a street in which she would not have lived 
 for all the gold in the world — a wide, dirty street, black 
 from the coal-dust of neighbouring factories, and with uneven 
 paving-stones and ruts full of stagnant water. On either 
 side were sheds, lofty glazed workshops, grey unfinished 
 buildings, showing bare bricks and woodwork, a straggling 
 collection of tottering masonry, intersected by gaps which 
 allowed a view of the country beyond, and flanked by sus- 
 picious lodging-houses and low cook-shops. Gervaise could 
 only remember that the bolt factory was near an old iron 
 and rag warehouse, a kind of cesspool opening on a level with 
 the ground, where, according to Goujet, slumbered hundreds 
 of thousands of francs' worth of goods. And she tried to 
 find her way amidst the din of the encompassing factories. 
 Slender pipes on roofs violently sent forth jets of steam ; at 
 regular intervals, a grating sound, similar to that produced 
 by the sudden rending of calico came from a sawmill ; while 
 button factories shook the ground with the rumbling and 
 ticking of their machinery. As she was looking towards 
 Montmartre in a state of indecision, and uncertain whether 
 to go any further, a gust of wind blew some sooty smoke down 
 from a tall chimney, and infected the street. She closed her 
 eyes, feeling almost sufibcated, and just then heard a noise of 
 hammers beating in unison ; without knowing it, she was 
 exactly opposite the place she was in search of, and this she 
 reahsed on perceiving a hole full of rags close by. 
 
 Yet she still hesitated, not knowing where to enter. 
 Some broken palings afforded a passage which seemed to lead 
 through heaps of rubbish left from some buildings recently 
 pulled down ; and as a large puddle of muddy water barred 
 the way, two planks had been thrown across it. Gervaisa 
 ended by venturing on them, turned to the left, and found 
 herself in the depths of a strange forest made up of old 
 carts, standing on end with their shafts in the air, and of 
 ruined hovels, whose wood-work only was erect. Right at 
 the end, rending the evening darkness which a remnant of 
 daylight smirched, a red fire was shining. The noise of the 
 hammers had ceased, and she was advancing carefully, mov- 
 ing in the direction of the light, when a workman, his face 
 
152 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 blackened by coal-dust, and bushy with a goatish beard, 
 passed near her, glancing askance with his pale eyes. 
 
 * Sir,' asked she, * it's here, is it not, that a boy named 
 Etienne works ? He's my son.' 
 
 * Etienne, Etienne,' repeated the workman, in a hoarse 
 voice, as he twisted himself about. * Etienne ; no, I don't 
 know him.* 
 
 By his open mouth he diffused that odour of alcohol 
 which comes from old brandy casks when their bungs have 
 been removed ; and as he began to show signs of frolic- 
 someness at thus meeting a woman in that dark nook, Ger- 
 vaise drew back, murmuring, * But yet it's here that Mon- 
 sieur Goujet works, isn't it ? ' 
 
 * Ah ! Goujet, yes I ' said the workman ; * I know Goujet I 
 If you've come for Goujet, go right to the end.' And, turning 
 round, he called out at the top of his voice, which sounded like 
 cracked brass, * I say, Golden-Mug, here's a lady wants you ! ' 
 
 But a clanging of iron drowned the cry. Gervaise went 
 to the end, reached a doorway, and stretching out her neck, 
 peeped into a large place where at first she could distinguish 
 nothing. The forge, as though dead, glimmered in a corner 
 as faintly as a star, thus increasing the depth of the gloom. 
 Large shadows hung about, and now and again black 
 massive forms, men, whose stature was increased by the dark- 
 \iess, whose huge Hmbs were divined rather than seen, 
 f)assed before the fire, hiding that last gleam of light. Ger- 
 vaise, not daring to venture in, called from the doorway, in a 
 faint voice, ' Monsieur Goujet ! Monsieur Goujet 1 ' 
 
 Suddenly, however, everything was lighted up. At a puff 
 of the bellows, a jet of white flame had ascended. The shed 
 was seen, enclosed by boarding, with openings roughly 
 plastered round, and corners strengthened with bits of brick- 
 work. The dust that blew from the coal fire had coated the 
 place with greyish soot. Cobwebs hung from the beams, 
 looking like rags put up there to dry, and heavy with the 
 dirt of years. All around on shelves or nails, or thrown in 
 dark corners, was a disorderly accumulation of old iron, 
 damaged utensils, and huge implements, hard of outline, 
 tarnished, and sometimes broken. And the white flame still 
 ascended with dazzling brilliancy, illumining, as though 
 with a flash of sunshine, the trodden ground, above which 
 the polished steel of four anvils, fixed in their blocks, showed 
 like silver spangled with gold, 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 153 
 
 Then in front of the forge ^Gervaise recognised Goujet by 
 his beautiful yellow beard. Etienne was blowing the bel- 
 lows. Two other workmen were there, but she only beheld 
 Goujet, and, walking forward, stood before him. 
 
 * Why, it's Madame Gervaise 1 ' he exclaimed, with a 
 bright look on his face. * What a pleasant surprise ! ' 
 
 But as his comrades appeared to be rather amused, he 
 pushed Etienne towards his mother and resumed, * You've 
 come to see the youngster. He behaves himself well, and 
 he's beginning to get some strength in his wrists.' 
 
 * Ah, well 1 ' said she, ' it's not easy to get here. I thought 
 myself at the end of the world.' 
 
 And she told him what a journey she had had. Then she 
 inquired why Etienne'sname was not known in the workshop. 
 Goujet laughed, and explained that every one called the 
 boy the little Zouzou, because his hair was clipped as 
 short as a zouave s. Whilst they were talking together, 
 Etienne had ceased working the bellows, so that the flame 
 of the forge gradually sank down till only a rosy glimmer 
 remained, dying away in the middle of the shed, which all 
 around again grew dark. The blacksmith, apparently some- 
 what moved, stood gazing at the young woman, who smiled 
 and looked very fresh in that faint, pink light. Then, as the 
 shadows enveloped them and neither spoke, he seemed to 
 recollect something and broke the silence. 
 
 * Excuse me, Madame Gervaise, but I've a job to finish. 
 You'll stay there, won't you ? You're not in anybody's) way.* 
 
 She remained. Etienne was again hanging on to the 
 bellows, and the forge was soon ablaze again, throwing out 
 sparks like a fusee ; for the youngster in order to show his 
 mother how strong he now was, forced from the bellows a 
 blast like that of a hurricane. As Goujet stood there watch- 
 ing a bar of iron heating, and waiting, tongs in hand, the 
 blaze beat upon him violently, leaving not a shadow. His 
 shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and open at the neck, dis- 
 closed his bare arms and bare chest, their skin as pinky white 
 as a girl's, with httle hght curly hairs ; and, with his head 
 set rather low on his huge shoulders all bumpy with muscles, 
 an attentive expression on his face, and his pale eyes fixed, 
 without blinking, on the flame, he looked like a giant at rest, 
 calm in the knowledge of his might;. When the bar was at 
 white heat, he seized it with the tongs and cut it with a 
 hammer on an anvil, into strips of equal length, as gently 
 
154 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 as though he had heen breaking bits of glass. Then he put 
 the pieces back into the fire, whence he again took them 
 one by one to work them into shape. He was forging hexa- 
 gonal rivets. He placed each piece in a tool-hole of the 
 anvil, beat down the iron that was to form the head, flattened 
 the six sides, and cast the finished rivet, still red hot, upon 
 the black soil, where its bright light gradually died away ; 
 and this with a continuous hammering, wielding in his right 
 hand a hammer which weighed five pounds, completing a 
 detail at every blow, turning and working the iron with 
 such dexterity that he was able to talk with and look at 
 those about him. The anvil gave out a silvery ring ; while 
 he, without a drop of perspiration on his skin, quite at his 
 ease, struck and struck in a good-natured sort of way, to all 
 appearance exerting himself no more than on the evenings 
 when he cut out pictures at home. 
 
 * Oh ! these are little rivets of twenty millimetres,' said 
 he in reply to Gervaise's questions. * A fellow can do his 
 three hundred a day. But it requires practice, for one's 
 arm soon grows rusty.' 
 
 And when she asked him if his wrist did not feel stiff at 
 the end of the day, he laughed aloud. Did she think him a 
 young lady ? His wrist had seen some hard work during the 
 past fifteen years ; it had turned into iron itself by dint of long 
 and close contact with the iron implements. She was right 
 though ; a gentleman who had never forged a rivet or a bolt 
 would have found himself precious stiff in the course of a 
 couple of hours had he tried to show off with a five-pound 
 hammer. It did not seem much, but a few years of it often 
 did for some very strong fellows indeed. 
 
 However, while Goujet and Gervaise talked, the other work- 
 men were likewise hammering away, all together. Their tall 
 shadows danced about in the light, redflashesof iron taken from 
 the fire traversed the gloomy recesses, showers of sparks 
 splashed from beneath the hammers, or shone sun-like on a 
 level with the anvils. And Gervaise, carried away by the noisy 
 turmoil of the forge, did not think of leaving. She was making 
 a long round in order to get nearer to Etienne without having 
 her hands burnt, when she saw the dirty, bearded workman, 
 to whom she had spoken in the yard, come in. 
 
 * So you've found him, madame ? * asked he in his frolic- 
 some, drunken way. * You know, Golden-Mug, it's I who 
 told madame where to find you.' 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 155 
 
 The new-comer was called Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink- 
 without-Thirst, a brick of bricks, and a dab hand at bolt 
 forging, who wetted his iron every day with a pint and a half 
 of bowel-twister. He had gone out to have a drop, because he 
 had felt that he wanted greasing if he was to work till six 
 o,' clock. When he learnt that Zouzou's real name was 
 Etienne, he thought it very funny ; and he showed his black 
 teeth as he laughed. Then he recognised Gervaise. Why, 
 only the day before he had drunk a glass of wine with Coupeau. 
 You could speak to Coupeau about Salted-Chops, otherwise 
 Drink- without-Thirst ; he would at once say: 'He's a jolly 
 dog ! ' Ah ! that joker Coupeau I he was one of the right sort ; 
 he stood treat oftener than his turn. 
 
 ' I'm awfully glad to know you're his missis,' he added. 
 • He deserves to have a pretty wife. Eh, Golden-Mug, madame 
 is a fine woman, isn't she ? * 
 
 Salted- Chops was becoming quite gallant, sidling to- 
 wards the laundress, who took up her basket and held it in 
 front of her, so as to keep him at a distance. Goujet, annoyed, 
 and realising that his comrade was 'getting at him,' because 
 of his friendship for Gervaise, called out abruptly : * I say, 
 you lazybones, what about the forty millimetre bolts ? Do 
 you think you're equal to 'em, now that you've got your gullet 
 full, you confounded guzzler ? ' 
 
 The blacksmith was alluding to an order for big bolts which 
 necessitated two beaters at the anvil. 
 
 ' I'm ready to start at this moment, you big baby ! ' replied 
 Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst. 'You suck 
 your thumb and think yourself a man. You may be big, but 
 I've downed many another.' 
 
 ' Yes, that's it, at once. Look sharp, and off we go I * 
 
 * Right you are, my boy I ' 
 
 They defied each other, stimulated by the presence of Ger- 
 vaise. Goujet placed the pieces of iron that had been cut 
 beforehand in the fire ; then he fixed a tool-hole of large bore 
 on an anvil. His comrade had taken from against the wall a 
 couple of sledge hammers weighing twenty pounds apiece, the 
 two big sisters of the factory, whom the workmen called Fifine 
 and Dedele. And he continued to brag, talking of a half-gross 
 of rivets which he had forged for the Dunkirk lighthouse, 
 regular jewels, things fit to put in a museum in fact, so 
 daintily were they finished off. No, indeed, he did not fear 
 competition ; before meeting another chap like him, you might 
 
156 THE DRAM-SHOl- 
 
 eearch every factory in the capital. They were going to have 
 a laugh ; they would see what they would see. 
 
 * Madame shall be judge,* he continued, turning towards 
 the young woman. 
 
 * Enough chattering I ' cried Goujet. * Now then, Zouzou, 
 show your muscle ! It doesn't heat a bit, my lad.' 
 
 But Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, in- 
 quired : * So we strike together ? * 
 
 * Not a bit of it ; each his own bolt, my friend 1 * 
 
 This statement operated as a damper ; Goujet's comrade, 
 on hearing it, remained speechless, in spite of all his boasting. 
 Bolts of forty millimetres fashioned by one man had never 
 been seen ; and moreover round heads were to be given to 
 those which had to be made, a work of great difficulty, some- 
 thing in the way of a masterpiece. The three other men who 
 were present left their work to look on ; one tall, spare fellow 
 wagering a quart of wine that Goujet would be beaten. How- 
 ever, each of the two smiths took a sledge-hammer with eyes 
 closed, because Fifine weighed half a pound more than Ded^le. 
 Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, had the luck to 
 put his hand on D^dele, so that Fifine fell to Golden-Mug. 
 And, while waiting for the iron to reach white heat, the former, 
 recovering all his bounce, swaggered about in front of the 
 anvil and cast tender glances at the laundress. He struck 
 attitudes, stamped impatiently, like a gentleman about to 
 fight a duel, and already made the gesture of swinging Dedele 
 with all his strength. Ah ! Jove's thunder I he was in his 
 element ; he could have pounded the Vendome column into 
 pulp ! 
 
 ' Now then, off you go ! ' said Goujet, placing one of the 
 pieces of iron, as thick as a girl's wrist, in the tool-hole. 
 
 Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, leant back, 
 and swung Dedele round with both hands. Short, half dried- 
 up, with a goatish beard and wolf-like eyes glaring beneath his 
 unkempt hair, he seemed to snap at each swing of the hammer, 
 springing from the ground as though carried away by the 
 force he put into the blow. He was a fierce one, who fought 
 with the iron, annoyed at finding it so hard, and he even gave 
 a grunt whenever he thought he had planted a fine stroke. Per- 
 haps brandy did weaken other people's arms, but he needed it in 
 his veins, instead of blood. The drop he had taken a little while 
 ago had made his carcass as hot as a boiler ; he felt as if he 
 had the power of a steam-engine within him. And the iron 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 157 
 
 Beemed to be afraid of him this time ; he flattened it more 
 easily than if it had been a quid of tobacco. And it was a sight 
 to see how Dedele waltzed ! She cut terrific capers, with her 
 tootsies in the air, just like a dollymop of the Elys^e Mont- 
 martre dancing-hall ; for it would never do to dawdle, iron is 
 so deceitful, it cools at once just to spite the hammer. , With 
 thirty blows. Salted- Chops, otherwise Drink- without- Thirst, 
 fashioned the head of his bolt. But he panted ; his eyes were 
 half out of his head, and he got into a great rage as he felt his 
 arms yielding. And carried away by excitement, jumping 
 about and yelling, he gave two more blows, just out of revenge 
 for all the trouble he had had. In the result, when he took 
 the bolt from the hole, it was deformed, with its head askew 
 like a hunchback's. 
 
 * Come now ! isn*t that licked into shape ? said he, all the 
 same, with his impudent bounce, as he presented his work to 
 Gervaise. 
 
 'I'm no judge, sir,' replied the laundress, with due reserve. 
 But she saw plainly enough the marks of Dedele's last two 
 kicks on the bolt, and she was very pleased, biting her lips so 
 as to keep from laughing, for now Goujet had every chance of 
 winning. 
 
 It was Golden-Mug's turn. Before commencing, he gave 
 the laundress a look full of confident tenderness. Then 
 he did not hurry, but measured his distance and swung the 
 hammer from on high with sweeping regular curves. His was 
 the classic style, accurate, evenly balanced, and supple. In his 
 grasp Fifine did not cut capers, throwing up her legs as in a 
 dancing-saloon, but rose and fell in cadenced fashion like a lady 
 of quality solemnly leading some old courtly minuet. Her 
 heels gravely beat the measure, sinking into the red-hot iron 
 of the bolt's head with studied science, first flattening the 
 metal in the centre, then modelling it with a series of blows 
 of rhythmical precision. It was certainly not brandy that 
 flowed in Golden-Mug's veins ; it was blood, pure blood, which 
 pulsated powerfully even in his hammer, and regulated his 
 toil. He looked magnificent at work, that strapping fellow ! 
 The glare of the forge shone full upon him. His short hair 
 curling over his low forehead, and his handsome yellow beard 
 with its wavy fall, Ut up and illumined his whole face with 
 their golden threads, giving it indeed the appearance of a face 
 of gold. With that he had a neck like a pillar, and as white 
 as a child's ; a vast chest, broad enough to bear a woman 
 
158 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 across it ; shoulders and arms which seemed copied from those 
 of a giant in some museum. At each effort he made, one 
 could see his muscles swell, mountains of flesh rolling and 
 hardening beneath his skin ; his shoulders, his chest, his neck, 
 all dilated ; he cast a halo around him and became beautiful, 
 all-powerful, like a god. With his eyes fixed on the iron he 
 had already brought Fifine down a score of times, taking 
 breath regularly at each stroke, while only two big drops of 
 perspiration trickled down his temples. He counted as he 
 proceeded : twenty- one, twenty-two, twenty-three. Fifine 
 quietly went on with her courtesies like some grand lady. 
 
 * What affectation 1 ' jeeringly murmured Salted- Chops, 
 otherwise Drink-without-Thirst. 
 
 But Gervaise, standing opposite Golden-Mug, looked on 
 with a soft smile. Ah, what fools men are ! Were they not 
 each hammering their bolts by way of courting her ? Oh, she 
 could divine it all ; they were fighting for her with their 
 hammers ; they were like two big red roosters showing ofi 
 their lustiness before a little white hen. What devices, eh? 
 All the same, the heart sometimes has fimny ways of declar- 
 ing itself. Yef^. 'twas for her that thunder of Dedele and 
 Fifine on the ai\\ii ; 'twas for her all that crushing of iron ; 
 'twas for her that turmoil of the forge, flaring like a con- 
 flagration, filled with showers of fiery sparks. They were there 
 forging love for her, each striving for her, seeking to excel his 
 comrade. And, in her heart, this pleased her ; for, after all, 
 women dearly love compliments. Golden-Mug's blows especi- 
 ally found an echo in her breast ; they resounded there as on 
 the anvil, with a clear music which accompanied the strong 
 pulsations of her blood. It seems absurd, but she felt that they 
 drove something into her, something solid, a little of the iron of 
 the bolt. At twilight, before entering the factory, as she 
 passed along the damp pavements, she had experienced a 
 vague desire to eat something nice ; and now she felt 
 satisfied, as though the blows dealt by Golden-Mug had 
 nourished her. Oh, she had no doubt of his victory. It was 
 to him that she would belong. Salted-Chops, otherwise 
 Drink-without-Thirst, looked too ugly, as he jumped about 
 like an escaped monkey, in his dirty blouse and over-alls. 
 And she waited, growing very red, yet feeling happy in the 
 stifling heat, and taking a delight in being shaken from head 
 to foot by Fifine's final strokes. 
 
 Goujet was still counting. * And twenty- eight 1 ' cried he, 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 159 
 
 at length, as he laid the hammer on the ground. ' It'a 
 finished ; you can look.' 
 
 The head of the bolt appeared bright, spotless, without 
 a flaw, hke genuine goldsmith's work, and as round as a 
 marble cast in a mould. The other men looked at it and 
 nodded ; there was no denying that it was lovely enough 
 to be worshipped. Salted- Chops, otherwise Drink- without- 
 Thirst, certainly tried to chaff ; but it was of no use, and he 
 ended by returning to his anvil, with his nose out of joint. 
 Gervaise had drawn very close to Goujet, as though to get a 
 better view ; and as Etienne had ceased to ply the bellows, 
 the forge was once more filling with shadows, even as a brilhant 
 red sunset suddenly gives way to dark night. The black- 
 smith and the laundress experienced a sweet pleasure as they 
 beheld this gloom surrounding them, in that shed black with 
 soot and filings, and odoriferous of old iron. They could not 
 have thought themselves more alone had they met in the 
 depths of some copse in the Bois de Vincennes. He took her 
 hand as though he had conquered her. 
 
 And afterwards, when they got outside, they scarcely 
 exchanged a word. All that Goujet could find to say was 
 that she might have taken Etienne away with her, had it not 
 been that another half-hour's work remained to be done. 
 She was at length going off, when he called her back, trying 
 to keep her with him a few minutes longer. * Come this way, 
 you haven't seen everything,' he exclaimed. * Keally, now, 
 it's very curious.* 
 
 Then he led her to the right, to another shed, where his 
 employer had set up a quantity of machinery. She hesitated 
 on the threshold, seized with instinctive fear. The huge place 
 shook with the vibration of the machines, and big shadows, 
 splotched with red gleams, hung all around. But Goujet 
 smilingly reassured her, saying there was nothing to be afraid 
 of. She must merely be careful to keep her skirts away from 
 the gear. He walked first, and she followed him amidst the 
 deafening uproar, the hissing, whistling, and rumbhng, and 
 the vapour peopled with vague forms — men black and busy, 
 and machines ever jerking their arms — which she was unable 
 to distinguish one from another. The passages were very 
 narrow, and it was necessary to step over obstacles, to be 
 careful of holes, and to stand aside to avoid passing trolleys. 
 One could not hear oneself speak, and for a time Gervaise 
 saw nothing distinctly ; all danced before her. Then as it 
 
i6o THE r>RAM-SHOP 
 
 seemed to her that great wings were flapping ahove her, she 
 raised her eyes, and paused to look at the long straps hanging 
 from the ceiling, and forming, as it were, a gigantic cobweb, 
 each thread of which seemed to be for ever unwinding 
 without coming to an end. The steam-engine, which fur- 
 nished the motive power, was hidden away in a corner behind 
 a little brick wall; and the straps seemed to spin along 
 without help, bringing motion from the depths of the gloom, 
 with a continuous regular gliding, as gentle as the flight of 
 a night bird. But Gervaise nearly fell, through stumbling 
 against one of the pipes of the ventilator, which ramified over 
 the trodden ground, distributing a sharp breath of wind to 
 the little forges near the machines. And Goujet commenced 
 by showing her how the air was turned on to a fire. Large 
 fan-shaped flames spread out on the four sides, forming a 
 dazzhng jagged collar of fire, shghtly tinted with a touch of 
 crimson ; and the light was so brilUant that the workmen's 
 little lamps looked like dull spots on a sun. 
 
 Then he raised his voice to give her some explanations, 
 as he passed on to the machinery — first the mechanical 
 shears which devoured bars of iron, gobbling a fresh piece at 
 each bite, and afterwards spitting it out behind; next the 
 tall bolt and rivet machines, which forged heads with a single 
 pressure of their powerful screws ; then the scrapers, with 
 their cast-iron fly-wheels which looked Uke metal balls as 
 they furiously beat the air each time that they removed 
 the rough edges of some article ; and then the tappers, 
 which were worked by women, and wormed the bolts and 
 their nuts, with a tick-tack of steel wheels that shone with 
 the grease of machine oil. Thus Gervaise could follow the 
 whole fabrication, from the bar iron resting against the walls 
 to the manufactured bolts and rivets, casefuls of which filled 
 the corners. Then she understood, and smiled, as she nodded 
 her head to Goujet ; but, all the same, there was an oppressive 
 feeling in her throat, she felt uneasy at finding herself so little 
 and so soft amongst those formidable workers in metal, and now 
 and again she turned round, so startled by the heavy thud of 
 one of the scrapers that her blood almost froze in her veins. 
 She was now getting accustomed to the gloom, and could detect 
 recesses in which men were standing motionless and regulat- 
 ing the breathless dance of the fly-wheels, whenever a forge 
 suddenly threw up the blaze of its collar of flame. However, 
 in spite of herself, her eyes ever wandered back to the roo^ 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL i6i 
 
 to the life, the very blood of the machines, that supple flight 
 of the straps, whose mighty, noiseless power she watched 
 passing through the vague darkness that hung about beams 
 and rafters. 
 
 Goujet, meanwhile, had stopped in front of one of the 
 rivet-making machines. He stood there, wrapped in thought, 
 with bowed head and fixed gaze. The machine forged rivets 
 of forty millimetres with the quiet ease of a giant. And in 
 truth nothing was simpler. The fireman took the piece of 
 iron from the fire, the striker placed it in a tool-hole, which 
 was moistened by a constant trickling of water to guard 
 against any softening of the steel, and the thing was done, 
 the screw came down, and the rivet jumped to the ground, 
 with its head as round as though it had been cast in a mould. 
 In twelve hours that confounded machine manufactured 
 hundredweights of rivets. Goujet was not spiteful : yet, at 
 certain moments, he would willingly have taken Fifine and 
 have knocked all that machinery about, in his rage at seeing 
 that its arms were more powerful than his own. It caused 
 him great vexation, even when he reasoned with himself, and 
 told himself that flesh could not possibly fight against iron. 
 Some day or other machinery would certainly kill the work- 
 man ; wages had already fallen from twelve francs to nine 
 francs a day, and there was a talk of lowering them still 
 more ; in short, there was nothing to enliven one in those 
 hulking contrivances which made bolts and rivets much 
 the same as they might have made sausages. He gazed 
 at that one for fully three minutes without saying a word ; 
 his brow contracting, and his beautiful yellow beard bristling 
 menacingly. Then a look of gentleness and resignation 
 gradually softened his features, and turning towards Gervaise, 
 who was pressing against him, he said with a melancholy 
 smile : * Eh ! it makes one feel precious small ! But perhaps 
 it will some day help to insure the happiness of all of us.' 
 
 Gervaise did not care a fig for universal happiness. She 
 declared that the machine-made bolts were badly forged. 
 * You understand what I mean,' she exclaimed with warmth ; 
 ' they are too well done. I like yours better. In them one 
 can at least trace the hand of an artist.' 
 
 By speaking thus she gave him great comfort, for he had 
 feared for a moment that she would despise him after seeing 
 the machines. Truth to tell, indeed, although he might be 
 stronger than Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-withont- Thirst, 
 
 M 
 
i62 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the machines were stronger than he was. When he at 
 length parted from Gervaise in the courtyard, he squeezed 
 her wrists almost to the point of breaking them, so great was 
 the joy he felt. 
 
 The laundress went every Saturday to the Goujets, to 
 take their washing home. They still lived in the little 
 house in the Rue Neuve de la Goutte-d'Or. Every month 
 during the first year Gervaise had regularly repaid them 
 twenty francs of the borrowed money. However, in order not 
 to mix up the accounts, the washing-book was only made up 
 once a month, and then she added to the amount whatever sum 
 might be necessary to make the twenty francs, for in that space 
 of time the Goujets' washing rarely came to more than seven or 
 eight francs. Gervaise had therefore paid off nearly half the 
 sum owing to her friend, when one quarter day, not knowing 
 what to do, since some of her customers had failed to keep their 
 promises, she had been obliged to go to the Goujets, and 
 borrow from them sufficient for her rent. On two other 
 occasions she had also applied to them for money to pay her 
 workwomen, so that the debt had increased again to four 
 hundred and twenty-five francs. And now she no longer 
 paid a halfpenny of it; she tried to work off the amount 
 solely by the washing. It was not that she worked less, or 
 that her business was not so prosperous. On the contrary. 
 But something was going wrong in her home ; the money 
 she received seemed to melt away, and she was glad when 
 she was able to make both ends meet. After all, however, 
 provided one lives, one hasn't much right to complain. 
 Withal Gervaise was getting fatter ; she gave way to all the 
 inclination to drift on, born of dawning obesity, lacking the 
 strength to feel frightened when she thought of the future. 
 So much the worse ! money would always come in, and 
 putting it by only made it rusty. In spite of all this 
 Madame Goujet continued to treat Gervaise in a maternal 
 manner. She gently lectured her at times, not, however, on 
 account of the money, but because she was fond of her and 
 feared to see her take a downward pluDge. As a matter 
 of fact, she never even mentioned the debt. In short, she 
 behaved with a great deal of delicacy. 
 
 It so happened that the morrow of Gervaise' s visit to the 
 forge was the last Saturday of the month. When she 
 reached the Goujets' rooms, for she had reasons for wish- 
 ing to take their linen home herself, she remained for quite 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 163 
 
 two minutes unable to get her breath, for her basket had 
 proved a terrible burden. One can hardly believe how heavily 
 washing may weigh, especially when there are sheets among 
 the things. 
 
 * Are you sure you've brought everything ? ' asked Madame 
 Goujet, who, for the sake of order, as she said, was very strict 
 on that point, unwilling to allow that even a single article 
 should be kept back. Moreover, she required the laundress 
 to come invariably on the day that had been arranged, and 
 always at the same hour ; in that way, she added, there 
 was no time wasted. 
 
 * Oh ! yes, everything is here,' replied Gervaise, smiling. 
 *You know that I never keep a thing back.' 
 
 * That's true,' admitted Madame Goujet ; * you've got into 
 many bad habits, but you're still free of that one.* And 
 whilst the laundress emptied her basket, laying the linen on 
 the bed, the old woman began to praise her : she never burnt 
 the things, or tore them as so many others did, neither did 
 she pull the buttons off with the iron ; only she used rather 
 too much blue, and made the shirt fronts over stiff with 
 starch. 
 
 * Just look, it's like cardboard,' she continued, making one 
 crackle between her fingers. * My son does not complain, but 
 it cuts his neck. To-morrow his neck will be all red when we 
 return from Vincennes.' 
 
 * Oh I don't say that I ' exclaimed Gervaise, quite grieved. 
 * Shirts must be rather stiff to look nice, otherwise it's just as 
 though one had a rag on one's body. You should just see 
 how gentlemen have theirs done. I do all your things myself. 
 The workwomen never touch them, and I assure you I take 
 great pains — I would if necessary do everything over a dozen 
 times — because it's for you, you know ' 
 
 She blushed faintly as she stammered out the last words. 
 She was afraid of showing the great pleasure she took in iron- 
 ing Goujet' s things. She certainly had no wicked thoughts, 
 but she was none the less a little bit ashamed. 
 
 ' Oh, I'm not complaining of your work ; I know it's per- 
 fection,' said Madame Goujet. * For instance, you've done 
 this cap splendidly, only you could bring out the embroidery 
 Uke that. And the goffering is all so even. Oh, 1 recognise 
 your hand at once. When you give merely a dish-cloth to 
 one of your workwomen I detect it at once. But in future, use a 
 
 m2 
 
r64 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 little less starch, that's all. Goujet does not care to look like 
 a gentleman.' 
 
 Then she took up the book and ticked off the items with a 
 pen. Everything was there, right enough. When they made 
 up the account, however, she saw that Gervaise had charged 
 six sous for a cap, at which she began to protest ; but she 
 had to admit that the charges for the other things were very 
 low : shirts five sous, pants four sous, pillow-cases a sou and 
 a half, aprons a sou apiece ; which really was not dear, as 
 many laundresses charged two Hards, and even a sou more for 
 each of those articles. Then, when Gervaise had called over 
 the dirty hnen, a list of which the old woman wrote down, 
 she put it in the basket ; but, instead of taking her leave, she 
 remained there in an embarrassed sort of way, with a request 
 on the tip of her tongue, which she could scarcely screw up 
 sufficient courage to utter. 
 
 * Madame Goujet,' said she at length, * if it does not 
 inconvenience you, I should like to take the money for this 
 month's washing.' 
 
 It so happened that this particular month was a very 
 heavy one, the account which they had made up together 
 running to ten francs and seven sous. Madame Goujet 
 looked at her for a moment in a serious manner, and then 
 replied : ' My child, it shall be as you wish. I won't refuse 
 you the money, as you are in want of it. Only, it's scarcely 
 the way to pay off your debt, you know ; I say that for your 
 sake. Eeally now, you should be careful.' 
 
 Gervaise received the lecture with bowed head, and 
 stammered excuses. The ten francs were to complete the 
 amount of a bill which she had given to her coke merchant. 
 But on hearing the word ' bill,' Madame Goujet became 
 severer still. She cited herself as an example : she had 
 reduced her expenditure, ever since Goujet's wages had been 
 lowered from twelve to nine francs a day. When one was 
 wanting in wisdom whilst young, one died of hunger in one's 
 old age. Yet, she restrained herself ; she did not tell Gervaise 
 that she merely gave her the washing to do to enable her to pay 
 off her debt. In former times she had washed everything her- 
 self, and would do so again if the washing was going to draw 
 sums like that out of her pocket. When Gervaise, however, 
 had hold of the ten francs seven sous, she murmured her 
 thanks and hastened away. A.nd once outside on the landing 
 she experienced a sensation of relief, and even felt inclined to 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 165 
 
 dance, for she was already becoming accustomed to pecuniary 
 worries, recollecting but the delight of getting free of them, 
 until they arose again. 
 
 However, on that same particular Saturday Gervaise met 
 with a rather strange adventure as she was descending the 
 Goujets' staircase. She was obliged to stand close against 
 the balusters with her basket, to make way for a tall bare- 
 headed woman who was coming up, carrying a fresh mackerel, 
 with rosy gills, in a piece of paper. And in this tall woman 
 she recognised Virginie whom, long ago, she had trounced so 
 thoroughly at the wash-house. For a moment they looked 
 each other full in the face. Then Gervaise shut her eyes, for 
 she thought that she was going to receive a whack with the 
 mackerel. But no, Virginie faintly smiled. And then the 
 laundress, wishing to behave politely — for her basket was 
 blocking up the staircase — exclaimed : * Pray, excuse me.* 
 
 * Most willingly,' replied the tall brunette. 
 
 And they remained conversing on the stairs, reconciled at 
 once without having ventured on a single allusion to the past. 
 Virginie, then nine-and-twenty, had become a superb creature 
 of strapping proportions, though her face still looked rather 
 long between her plaits of jet black hair. She at once began 
 to relate her history, by way of showing that she had attained 
 a position. She had a husband now ; during the previous 
 spring she had married an ex-journeyman cabinet-maker, who 
 had recently left the army and had since applied for ad- 
 mission into the police force, because regular employment of 
 that kind was a thing to be depended on, besides being more gen- 
 teel than most other callings. And as it happened, she had 
 just been to buy that mackerel for him. * He is awfully 
 fond of mackerel,' said she. ' We have to spoil those naughty 
 men, don't we ? But come up. You shall see our home. We 
 are standing in a draught here.' 
 
 When Gervaise, after in her turn relating the story of her 
 marriage, mentioned that she had lived in the very same 
 lodging, and had even given birth to a daughter there, Virginie 
 pressed her to come up more than ever, saying that it was 
 always a pleasure to revisit the places where one had been 
 happy. For her part she had been residing for five years past 
 in the Gros-Caillou district, on the other side of the water. It 
 was there that she had first met her husband, who was then 
 in the army. But it was a dull place, and she had longed 
 to return to the neighbourhood of the Goutte-d'Or, where 
 
i66 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 she knew everybody. She had been living in the lodging 
 facing the Goujets for the last fortnight. Oh, all her things 
 were still in great disorder, but they would get straight little 
 by little. 
 
 Then, on reaching the landing they at length told each 
 other their names : 
 
 * Madame Coupeau.* 
 
 * Madame Poisson.' 
 
 And from that time forth, they called each other Madame 
 Poisson and Madame Coupeau on every possible occasion, 
 solely for the pleasure of being dames, they who when formerly 
 acquainted had occupied rather questionable positions. How- 
 ever, Gervaise felt somewhat mistrustful at heart. Perhaps 
 the tall brunette was only seeking this reconciliation in order 
 to avenge herself for her wash-house beating in some stealthy, 
 spiteful way. At all events the laundress resolved to be on 
 her guard. For the nonce, as Virginie behaved so nicely, she 
 would be nice also. 
 
 In the room upstairs, Poisson, the husband, a man of five- 
 and-thirty, with a cadaverous face and carroty moustaches 
 and imperial, sat working at a table near the window. He 
 was making little boxes, his only tools being a penknife, a 
 saw about the size of a nail file, and a pot of glue. The wood 
 which he used came from old cigar boxes, thin strips of un- 
 polished mahogany, which he carved and embellished with 
 extraordinary delicacy. All day long, from one end of the 
 year to the other, he made similar boxes, invariably three 
 inches long by two and a quarter broad. Only, he checkered 
 them, varied the shapes of their lids, and divided them into 
 divers compartments. The work amused him and helped him 
 to kill time whilst awaiting his appointment in the police. Of 
 his old calling of cabinet-making, he had only retained this 
 mania for piecing little boxes together. And he did not sell 
 his work, but distributed it in presents among persons of his 
 acquaintance. 
 
 He rose from his seat and politely bowed to Gervaise, 
 whom his wife introduced to him as one of her old friends. 
 But he was no talker, and at once returned to his little saw, 
 merely glancing from time to time in the direction of the 
 mackerel, which had been laid on a corner of the chest of 
 drawers. Gervaise was very pleased to see her old lodging 
 once more. She told them whereabouts her own furniture 
 had stood, and of her mishap at the time of Nana*s birth. 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 167 
 
 And what a curious thing it all was ! When they had lost 
 sight of each other in former days, they would never have 
 thought of meeting again like that, and of living one after 
 the other in the same rooms. Then Virginie gave some 
 further information about herself and her husband. He had 
 inherited a small sum of money from an aunt, and would no 
 doubt set her up in business later on. For the time being, 
 she continued to do needle-work, and now and again made a 
 dress. At length, at the end of a good half-hour, the laun- 
 dress took her leave. Poisson scarcely turned round, but 
 Virginie, who escorted her out of the room, promised to 
 return her visit. Moreover, she arranged to give Gervaise 
 her custom, that was understood ; and as she detained her 
 on the landing, the other fancied that she wished to speak to 
 her of Lantier, and her sister Adele, the burnisher. At this 
 prospect she felt quite upset, but not a word was uttered 
 respecting those unpleasant things ; they parted, wishing each 
 other an revoir in a very amiable manner. 
 
 ^ Au revoir^ Madame Coupeau.' 
 
 * A^i revoir, Madame Poisson.' 
 
 This was the starting-point of a great friendship. A week 
 later, Virginie never passed Gervaise's shop without going in ; 
 and she remained there gossiping for hours together, to such 
 an extent, indeed, that Poisson, full of anxiety, fearing lest 
 she had been run over, would come, with death-like counten- 
 ance, in search of her. Then as Gervaise thus saw the 
 dressmaker day by day she became absorbed in a fixed idea. 
 She could never hear the other commence a sentence without 
 thinking that she was going to speak of Lantier, on whom 
 her thoughts were invariably fixed all the time that Virginie 
 remained with her. This was stupid, for she really did not 
 care a pin for her old lover and Adele, nor for what had 
 become of them ; she never asked a question on the subject ; 
 in fact, she did not feel the least curiosity to have any news 
 of them. No ; if thoughts of the past thus came upon her, 
 cUnging to her mind in the same way as some bothering 
 refrain will stick to the tongue, and decline to be got rid of, 
 it was quite in spite of her own will. Withal, she did not 
 bear Virginie any grudge, for what had happened was 
 certainly not Virginie's fault. She enjoyed her society very 
 much, and would often detain her a dozen times before letting 
 her go. 
 
 Meanwhile, winter had come, the Coupeaus' fourth winter 
 
i68 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 in the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or. December and January were 
 particularly cold. It froze as hard as it well could. After 
 New Year's Day, the snov/ lay in the street for three weeks 
 without melting. This did not interfere with work ; on the 
 contrary, for winter is the best season for the ironers. It was 
 very pleasant inside the shop. There was never any ice on 
 the window-panes, as at the grocer's and the hosier's opposite. 
 The stove, crammed full of coke, and the clothes steaming 
 away, kept np the heat of a bath-room; one might have 
 thought oneself in the height of summer. In fact the place 
 was so comfortable with the doors shut, so full of warmth, 
 that one could have fallen asleep with one's eyes open. 
 Gervaise would say, with a laugh, that she fancied herself in 
 the country. And true enough, the vehicles rolled noiselessly 
 over the snow, and one scarcely heard the footfalls of the 
 pedestrians. In the great silence resulting from the cold, the 
 only sound was that of the voices of some children, the 
 shouting of a troop of youngsters who had made a big slide 
 along the gutter of the farriery. Now and again Gervaise 
 would go to the door, anJ, wiping the steam from one of the 
 panes of glass, would look out to see how the neighbourhood 
 was getting on in that frigid temperature ; but not a face 
 peeped forth from any of the shops over the way. The 
 neighbourhood, wrapped in snow, seemed to be sulking ; and 
 she was only able to exchange a nod with Madame Vigouroux, 
 the charcoal-dealer, who had walked about bareheaded, and 
 grinning from ear to ear, ever since the severe frost had set 
 in. 
 
 What was especially enjoyable in that awful weather was 
 to drink one's black coffee nice and hot after the mid-day 
 meal. The workwomen had no cause for complaint. The 
 mistress made the coffee very strong, and never mixed a grain 
 of chicory with it. It was quite different from Madame 
 Fauconnier's coffee, which was real ditch-water. Only when- 
 ever Mother Coupeau undertook to make it, there was an 
 interminable interval before it was ready, because she 
 invariably fell asleep over the kettle. On these occasions, 
 when the workwomen had finished lunch, they would do a 
 little ironing to beguile their spell of waiting. 
 
 It so happened that on the morrow of Twelfth-day the 
 clock struck half-past twelve, and still the coffee was not 
 ready. It seemed bent on refusing to pass through the 
 strainer, and however much Mother Coupeau tapped the pot 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 169 
 
 with a spoon, one could hear the drops still falling very 
 slowly, one by one, heedless of the injunction to make 
 
 ' Oh ! let the coffee be I ' suddenly exclaimed tall 
 Clemence ; ' you'll make it thick. There'll certamly be as 
 much to eat as to drink in it to-day.' 
 
 Clemence was getting up a shirt, the plaits of which she 
 separated with her finger-nails. She had lately caught a 
 terrible cold, her eyes were swollen, and every now and again 
 her chest shook with fits of coughing, which doubled her up 
 beside the work-table. All the same, she did not even wear 
 a handkerchief round her neck, and was flimsily dressed in 
 some cheap woollen stuff, so thin that she shivered in it. 
 Close by, Madame Putois was wrapped in flannel, muffled up 
 to her very ears, whilst ironing a petticoat, which she turned 
 round a skirtboard, the narrow end of which rested on the 
 back of a chair. A sheet spread upon the floor prevented 
 the garment from getting dirty when it trailed along the 
 tiles. Then came Gervaise, occupying half the work-table 
 with some embroidered muslin curtains, over which she 
 passed her h'on in a straight line, with her arms extended so 
 as to avoid making any creases. All at once, however, a noise 
 coming from the coffee, which suddenly began to flow briskly 
 through the strainer, caused her to raise her head. It was 
 that squint-eyed Augustine, who had just given the liquid an 
 outlet by thrusting a spoon into the strainer. 
 
 * Leave it alone ! ' cried Gervaise. * Whatever is the 
 matter with you ? We shall have mud to drink, now.' 
 
 However, Mother Coupeau placed five glasses on a vacant 
 corner of the ironing-table, and the others left their work. 
 The mistress always poured out the coffee herself, after 
 dropping two lumps of sugar into each glass. This was the 
 moment of the day that they all looked forward to. On this 
 occasion, just as each one was taking her glass and squatting 
 down on a little stool in front of the stove, the shop-door 
 opened. Virginie entered, shivering all over. 
 
 ' Ah, my children,' said she, * the cold cuts you in two ! 
 I can no longer feel my ears. It's something awful ! ' 
 
 * Why, it's Madame Poisson ! ' exclaimed Gervaise. * Ah, 
 well ! you've come at the right time. You must have some 
 coffee with us.' 
 
 * On my word, I won't say no. One feels the frost in one's 
 bones merely on crossing the street.' 
 
170 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Luckily there was still some co£fee left in the pot, so 
 Mother Coupeau fetched a sixth glass, and Gervaise let 
 Virginie help herself to sugar, out of politeness. The work- 
 women drew on one side, and made room for the new-comer 
 near the stove. For a moment she sat there shivering, her 
 nose all red, and her stiff hands close pressed round her glass, 
 in order to warm them. She had come, said she, from the 
 grocer's, where one froze whilst waiting but a moment for a 
 quarter of a pound of Gruyere cheese. Then she went into 
 ecstasies over the great heat of the laundry shop. Eeally, it 
 was like entering an oven, such warmth was enough to bring 
 the dead to life again ; it filled one with such a pleasant 
 sensation. Then, having got rid of her numbness, she 
 stretched out her long legs. And with the work which had 
 been left unfinished lying all around, all six of them slowly 
 sipped their coffee amidst the moist and somewhat oppressive 
 warmth which came from the steaming clothes. Only Mother 
 Coupeau and Virginie were seated on chairs ; the others, on 
 their low stools, looked almost as though they were on the 
 floor ; in fact, that squint-eyed Augustine had pulled a part 
 of the sheet from under the petticoat, ironed by Madame 
 Putois, so as to sprawl upon it. No one spoke at first ; for 
 all were tasting the coffee, with their noses dipping in their 
 glasses. 
 
 * It's not bad all the same,' declared Cl^mence. But 
 immediately afterwards she almost choked, such a fit of 
 coughing came upon her. To cough with greater force, and 
 thus relieve herself, she rested her head against the wall. 
 
 ' That's a bad cough you've got,* said Virginie. * Wher- 
 ever did you catch it ? ' 
 
 * One never knows ! ' replied Clemence, wiping her face 
 with her sleeve. * It must have been the other night. There 
 were two girls flaying each other outside the "Grand-Balcony." 
 I wanted to see them, so I stayed there while the snow was 
 falling. Ah, what a drubbing ! it was enough to make one 
 die of laughter. One had her nose almost pulled off; the 
 blood streamed on the ground. And when the other, a great 
 long stick like me, saw the blood, she slipped off as fast as 
 she could. And then that night I began to cough.* 
 
 * Foolish conduct that,' murmured Madame Putois. 
 * You're killing yourself, my girl.' 
 
 * Well, and what if it pleases me to kill myself 1 Life 
 isn't so jolly as to make one care for it. Slaving all the blessed 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 171 
 
 day to earn fifty-five sous, boiling one's blood from morning 
 to night in front of a stove ; no, you know, I've had enough 
 of it I All the same though, this blessed cough won't make 
 me croak, worse luck I It'll go off the same as it came.' 
 
 A pause ensued. That good-for-nothing Clemence, who 
 kicked up her feet and shrieked like a screech-owl in low 
 dancing halls, always saddened people with the ideas of hop- 
 ping the twig which came over her at the shop. Gervaise 
 knew her well, and so merely observed, * You're not lively 
 after you've been on the batter ! ' 
 
 The truth was that Gervaise did not like this talk about 
 women fighting. Eemembering the correction which she 
 had long ago administered to Virginie at the wash-house, it 
 annoyed her whenever anyone spoke before her and the other 
 of shin-kicking with wooden shoes and five-finger facial exer- 
 cise. It so happened, too, that Virginie was looking at her 
 and smiling, 
 
 ' Oh ! * murmured the tall brunette, * I saw a couple 
 pulling each other's hair out by the roots yesterday. They 
 were tearing each other to pieces.' 
 
 * Who was that ? ' asked Madame Putois. 
 
 * "Why the midwife at the end of the street and her ser- 
 vant — you know, a little blonde. She's a spiteful hussy, that 
 gui! She said to the other, **Yes, yes, I know all about 
 you, and I'll go and tell the commissary of pohce, if you 
 don't pay me.' * And she went on saying such awful things that 
 the midwife let fly and gave her one fuU on the conk. But 
 the little wretch flew at her missus, and scratched her face, 
 and pulled out her hair, ohl in grand style. The pork- 
 butcher had to separate them.* 
 
 Clemence and Madame Putois laughed complacently. 
 Then each took a sip of coffee, with an air of gluttonous en- 
 joyment. But they suddenly noticed that Augustine, the 
 little good-for-nothing, was still venting the hen-like cluck- 
 cluck, which was her usual expression of merriment. They 
 had hitherto forgotten her, but Gervaise now drew aside the 
 petticoat, and found her rolhng about on the sheet like a 
 young pig. Forthwith she pulled her away, and set her on 
 her legs by means of a smack. What did she see to laugh 
 at, the fool ? She had no business to listen when grown-up 
 people were talking 1 To begin with, she would just take the 
 washing home to a friend of Madame Lerat's at Batignolles. 
 Thus speaking, Gervaise put the basket on her arm, and 
 
172 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 pushed her towards the door, And then the squint-eyed one, 
 surly and tearful, went off slowly, dragging her feet over the 
 snow. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mother Coupeau, Madame Putois, and Cle- 
 mence had begun to discuss some scandal concerning the mid- 
 wife, who had been so soundly trounced by her servant. 
 But all at once Virginie, who remained thoughtful, with her 
 glass of coffee in her hand, said, in a very low voice : ' Keally 
 now, people fight, and then make it up ; things always come 
 right at last, when folks are good-natured.' And, leaning 
 towards Gervaise, she added, with a smile : ' No, truly, I bear 
 you no ill-will. I mean the wash-house matter, you recollect 
 it?' 
 
 The laundress felt dreadfully embarrassed. This was what 
 she had feared. She guessed that the other meant to speak 
 to her of Lantier and Adele. 
 
 The stove was roaring now, and yet greater heat came 
 from the red-hot pipe. Amidst the general drowsiness, the 
 workwomen, who made their coffee last as long as they 
 could, so as to return to work at the latest possible moment, 
 sat watching the snow in the street with covetous and languid 
 eyes. They were in a confidential mood, and related how 
 they would have lived if they had possessed an income of 
 ten thousand francs a year ; they would simply have done 
 nothing at all, they would have remained like that, warming 
 themselves all day long, and spitting at work from a distance. 
 Then Virginie drew nearer to Gervaise, so as not to be heard 
 by the others ; and Gervaise, by reason no doubt of the great 
 heat, felt so cowardly and weak, that she lacked strength to 
 turn the conversation into another channel. Indeed, she 
 even waited expectantly for what the tall brunette might 
 have to say, her heart full of an emotion which she enjoyed 
 without admitting it. 
 
 * I hope I'm not giving you pain,' resumed the dressmaker. 
 ' But twenty times already it's been on the tip of my tongue 
 to say so. However, as we've broached the subject, it's just 
 as well to talk it over, isn't it ? Ah ! really now, I don't bear 
 you any ill-will for what took place. On my word of honour I 
 I bear you no grudge at all.' 
 
 She shook the remains of her coffee round in her glass, 
 so as to prevent any sugar from clinging to the bottom, and 
 then drank three drops with a slight hissing of her hps. 
 Gervaise, with a swelling in her throat, still waited, wondering 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 173 
 
 if it were indeed true that the other had forgiven her that 
 famous walloping ; she doubted it, for she noticed some 
 yellow sparks glimmering in that tall she-devil's black eyes. 
 She had probably merely put her rancour in her pocket and 
 covered it with her handkerchief. 
 
 * Besides, you had an excuse,' Virginie continued. * You 
 had just been treated in a shameful, an abominable manner. 
 Oh! lean be just, you know I Had it been me, I'd have 
 taken a knife.' 
 
 Then she drank three more drops of coffee, her lips again 
 giving out a sibillant sound at the edge of the glass. And 
 afterwards, relinquishing her usual drawl, she added rapidly, 
 without a break : ' And it didn't bring them any luck, ah 1 
 certainly, no ! very far from it ! They went to live the devil 
 knows w^here — right away by La Glaciere, in a dirty street 
 where one always has mud up to one's knees. Two days 
 afterwards, I went off in the morning to lunch with them ; 
 it was quite a journey in the omnibus, I can tell you! 
 Well, my dear, I found them already wrangling together. 
 Really, just as I entered the room they were knocking each 
 other about ! There were lovers for you ! But Adele, you 
 know, isn't worth the price of a rope to hang her. She's 
 my sister, still that doesn't prevent my saying that she's a 
 perfect hussy. She's treated me shamefully ; but that's too 
 long to tell, besides it's a matter to be settled between her 
 and me. As for Lantier, well! you know him, he isn't 
 worth much either. A stuck-up little gentleman, who knocks 
 you about for a ** Yes " or a "No" ! And he has a hard 
 fist when he strikes. So they belaboured each other in all 
 conscience. Whenever anyone went up the stairs they could 
 be heard going it, hammer and tongs. One day, evpn, the 
 police interfered. Lantier wanted an oil soup, it seems, 
 some abominable mess that they eat in the South of France ; 
 and, as Adele said ifc was filthy, they chucked the bottle of 
 oil, the saucepan, the soup-tureen, the whole show, in fact, 
 at one another's heads ; in short, there was a row that upset 
 the whole neighbourhood.' 
 
 Then she related other awful quarrels that had taken 
 place ; there was no end to them ; she knew things calculated 
 to make one's hair stand on end. Gervaise listened to the 
 whole long story without uttering a word ; her face was very 
 pale, and a nervous twitch hovered about the corners of her 
 mouth, resembling a faint smile. It was nearly seven years 
 
174 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 since she had heard any one speak of Lantier. She would 
 never have believed that his name, thus whispered in her 
 ear, could have brought such a burning sensation to the pit 
 of her stomach. No, she had never imagined that she could 
 be curious as to what had become of the wretched being who 
 had treated her so shamefully. She could not be jealous of 
 Adele now ; but all the same she laughed inwardly as she 
 heard of the couple's squabbles. She could fancy she saw 
 the girl's body black and blue with bruises, and this both 
 avenged her and amused her. She could have stayed there 
 till the morrow listening to Virginie's reports. If she asked 
 no questions it was simply because she did not wish to evince 
 too much interest in the matter. However, it was as though 
 some one had abruptly filled up a great gap for her ; her past 
 now joined her present without a break. 
 
 At last Virgmie again dipped her nose into her glass, and 
 sucked up the remaining sugar, half closing her eyes as she 
 did so. Then Gervaise, understanding that she ought to say 
 something, assumed an air of indifference, and exclaimed 
 interrogatively : ' So they are still living at La Glaciere ? ' 
 
 * Oh, no 1 ' replied the other ; ' didn't I tell you ? They're 
 no longer living together. One fine morning, a week or so ago, 
 Adele went off with her things, and Lantier didn't run after 
 her, I can assure you.' 
 
 At this the lamidress uttered a faint cry, and repeated 
 aloud : * They're no longer living together 1 * 
 
 * Who aren't ? ' asked tall Cl^mence, pausing in her 
 conversation with Mother Coupeau and Madame Putois. 
 
 * Oh ! nobody you know,' said Virginie, who, watching 
 Gervaise, noticed that she looked strangely moved. So she 
 drew nearer, and seemed to take a wicked pleasure in re- 
 suming her stories. And all at once she asked the laundress 
 what she would do if Lantier should come hovering about her ; 
 for, after all, men are such queer things, and Lantier was 
 quite capable of returning to his first love. At this Gervaise 
 drew herself up, and answered with great clearness and 
 dignity. She was married, and she would send Lantier to 
 the right-about, that was all. There could never be aught 
 between them again, not even a shake of the hands. She 
 w^ould really be the most heartless of women, should she ever 
 look that man in the face. 
 
 * I know very well,' said she, * that Etienne is his child, 
 which is a tie I cannot sever. And if Lantier should wish 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 175 
 
 to kiss Etienne, I would send Etienne to him, because it is 
 impossible to prevent a father from loving his child. But as 
 for me, Madame Poisson, I would rather let myself be cut into 
 mincemeat than allow him to touch me with his little finger. 
 It's all over.' 
 
 As she uttered these last words, she made a sign of the 
 cross in the air, as though to seal her oath for evermore. 
 And, desirous of putting an end to the conversation, she 
 seemed to wake up all at once, and called to the workwomen: 
 
 * I say, you there I do you think the clothes will iron them- 
 selves ? What lazybones you are I Gee up 1 to work ! ' 
 
 The women, however, numbed as they were by their lazy 
 spell, evinced no haste. With their arms lying idly on their laps, 
 but with one hand still holding their glasses, in which only 
 some dregs of coffee now remained, they continued conversing. 
 
 * It was little Celestine,' Cl^mence was saying. * I knew her. 
 She was mad about cats' hairs. She saw them everywhere ; 
 she was always turning her tongue about like this, because 
 she thought her mouth was full of them.' 
 
 One of my friends,' observed Madame Putois, 'was a 
 woman who suffered from tapeworm. And those creatures 
 have all sorts of whims. That one would wriggle about inside 
 her, if she didn't give it chicken to eat. Just fancy, the 
 husband earned seven francs a day, and all the money went 
 in delicacies for the worm.' 
 
 'I could have cured her at once, I could,' interrupted 
 Mother Coupeau. * Why ! yes, all that one has to do is to 
 swallow a grilled mouse. It poisons the worm on the 
 instant.' 
 
 Gervaise herself had now once more lapsed into happy 
 indolence. But she suddenly shook herself and rose to her 
 feet. Ah, well ! there was an afternoon wasted in gossip ! 
 That would not help to fill her purse 1 She returned the 
 first to her curtains, but found them stained with coffee : so 
 that before resuming her ironing, she was obliged to rub the 
 stains with a damp rag. Meantime, the workwomen stretched 
 themselves before the stove, and sulkily looked for their iron- 
 holders. The moment Clemence moved, she was seized with 
 another bad fit of coughing ; then she finished her shirt, and 
 pinned its collar and cuffs. Madame Putois had returned to 
 her petticoat. 
 
 • Well 1 good-bye,* said Virginie. * I only came out to get 
 
176 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 a quarter of a pound of Gruyere cheese. Poisson must think 
 that I've got frozen on the way.' 
 
 However, when she had taken a couple of steps along the 
 pavement, she opened the door again to say that she saw 
 Augustine sliding over the ice at the end of the street, with 
 some urchins. It was a good two hours since the young 
 hussy had started on her errand. At last she came running 
 up, quite red in the face and breathless, with her basket 
 dangling from her arm, and her chignon white with the 
 remnants of a snowball. And with a sly look she submitted 
 to the scolding she received, excusing herself by saying that 
 it was almost impossible to walk, on account of the frost. Some 
 ragamuffin, by way of a joke, had probably stuffed bits of ice 
 into both her pockets, for a quarter of an hour later they 
 began to water the shop like a couple of funnels. 
 
 Throughout that season all Gervaise's afternoons were 
 passed in the same way. Her shop became the refuge of all 
 the chilly people of the neighbourhood. Every one in the 
 Rue de la Goutte-d'Or knew that it was warm in there. So 
 the place was constantly full of cackling women, who sat 
 enjoying the heat from the stove, with their skirts tucked up 
 to their knees. Gervaise took a certain pride in that pleasant 
 warmth, and attracted people to call on her, holding daily 
 receptions, as the Lorilleux and the Boches spitefully 
 remarked. The truth was, that she had remained ever obliging 
 and charitable, to the point of calling in poor folks, whenever 
 she saw them shivering outside. She formed a particular 
 friendship for a worn-out journeyman painter, an old man of 
 seventy, who hved in one of the lofts of the house, where he 
 was slowly dying of hunger and cold. He had lost his three 
 sons in the Crimea, and had been existing as best he could 
 during the two years that had elapsed since he had last been 
 able to hold a paint-brush. The moment Gervaise beheld 
 old Bru stamping about in the snow to warm himself, she 
 would call him in, and make a little place for him near the 
 stove ; often too, she would force him to eat a piece of bread 
 and cheese. With his bent frame, his white beard, and his 
 face as wrinkled as an old apple, poor Bru would remain there 
 for hours, never uttering a word, but apparently listening to 
 the noise made by the burning coke. Perhaps, however, he 
 was recalling his fifty years of work perched on steps and 
 ladders, the half century which he had spent in painting doors 
 and whitewashing ceilings all over Paris. 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 177 
 
 'Well! old Bru,' the laundress would sometimes ask 
 him, * what are you thinking of ? ' 
 
 * Nothing in particular, all sorts of things,' he would reply 
 with a bewildered air. 
 
 Then the workwomen chaffed him, saying that he was in 
 love. But he, -^^thout hearing them, relapsed into silence, 
 again mournful and pensive. 
 
 From that time forward, Virginie frequently spoke to 
 Gervaise of Lantier. She seemed to take pleasure in filling 
 the other's mind with ideas of her old lover, and embarrassing 
 her by the suggestions she made. One day she related that 
 she had met him ; then, as the laundress at the time took no 
 notice, she said nothing further till the morrow, when she 
 added that he had spoken about her at great length, and with 
 much show of affection. Gervaise was quite upset by these 
 reports, whispered in her ear in a corner of the shop. The men- 
 tion of Lantier' s name always gave her a burning sensation. 
 She certainly thought herself strong-minded, and she wished to 
 lead the life of a virtuous woman, because virtue is one half of 
 happiness. So she never considered Coupeau in this matter, 
 particularly as there was nothing, not even a thought, to give her 
 occasion for seK-reproach as regards her husband. But, with 
 hesitating, suffering heart, she would think of the blacksmith. 
 It seemed to her as if the return of the souvenir of Lantier, 
 which was thus slowly besetting and mastering her, rendered 
 her unfaithful to Goujet, to that unavowed love of theirs which 
 was as sweet as friendship. She passed sad days whenever she 
 felt guilty towards her good friend. She woiidd have liked to 
 have had no affection for any but him, outside of her family. 
 It was a feeling far above all carnal thoughts, such as Virginie 
 was ever watching for, upon her burning face. 
 
 As soon as spring came, Gervaise went to seek refuge 
 beside Goujet. She could no longer sit musing on a chair 
 without immediately thinking of her first lover ; she pictured 
 him leaving Adele, packing his clothes in the old trunk, and 
 returning to her with the trunk outside a cab. When she 
 went out, she was seized with the most foolish fears ; she was 
 ever imagining that she heard Lantier' s footsteps behind her 
 in the street. She did not dare to turn round, but with a 
 tremble fancied that she felt his hands clasping her round the 
 waist. He was, no doubt, spying upon her ; he would appear 
 before her some afternoon ; and the bare idea of this threw 
 her into a cold perspiration, because he would certainly kiss 
 
178 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her on the ear, as he had so often done in former days, by 
 way of teasing her. And it was this kiss which frightened 
 her ; it rendered her deaf beforehand, filled her with a buzzing 
 amidst which she could distinguish nothing beyond the 
 violent throbbing of her heart. And directly these fears 
 seized upon her, the forge was her only shelter ; there, under 
 the protection of Goujet, whose sonorous hammer drove 
 all her evil dreams away, she once more felt at peace and 
 smiled. 
 
 What a happy time ! Gervaise paid particular attention to 
 the washing of her customer in the Rue des Portes-Blanches, 
 and always took it home herself, as this errand furnished 
 a ready excuse for passing through the Eue Marcadet and 
 looking in at the forge every Friday. Directly she turned the 
 corner of the street, she felt light and gay, as though, amidst 
 those plots of vacant land interspersed with grey factories, she 
 were out in the country. The roadway black with coal-dust, 
 the plumage of steam hovering over the roofs amused her as 
 much as might a moss-covered path dipping down between 
 large clumps of verdure in some woods of the environs of 
 Paris. And she loved the pale horizon, streaked with tall fac- 
 tory chimneys, the height of Montmartre, which hid the 
 heavens from view, with its chalky white houses uniformly 
 riddled with windows. Then she would slacken her steps as 
 she drew near, jumping over the pools of water, and taking 
 pleasure in threading her way through the confusion of the 
 deserted yard full of old building materials. Right at the 
 further end the forge shone out, even at mid-day. Her 
 heart leapt with the dance of the hammers. When she entered, 
 her face turned quite red, the little fair ringlets at the nape 
 of her neck flew about like those of a woman keeping some 
 assignation. Goujet, his arms and chest bare, was expecting 
 her, hammering yet more loudly than usual in order that he 
 might be heard still further away. He divined her presence, 
 and greeted her with a glad silent laugh in his yellow beard. 
 But she would not let him quit his work ; she begged him to 
 take up his hammer again, because she loved him the more 
 when she saw him wielding it with his great arms swollen 
 with muscles. Then she would go and give Etienne a gentle 
 tap on the cheek, as he hung on to the bellows, and after- 
 wards would remain there for an hour, watching the rivets. 
 
 The two did not exchange a dozen words. Yet they could 
 not have more completely satisfied their love had the greatest 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL 179 
 
 privacy encompassed them. The chuckles of Salted-Chops, 
 otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, failed to disturb them, for 
 they no longer even heard them. After a quarter of an hour 
 Gervaise would begin to feel somewhat oppressed ; the heat, the 
 powerful smell, the rising smoke all made her dizzy, whilst 
 the dull thud of the hammers shook her from the crown of 
 her head to the soles of her feet. And then she desired 
 nothing more ; to her this was bliss. She drew near to Goujet 
 that she might feel the rush of his hammer beat upon her 
 cheek, and become, as it were, a part of the blow he struck. 
 When the sparks made her soft hands smart, she did not with- 
 draw them ; on the contrary, she enjoyed that rain of fire 
 which stung her skin. He, for certain, divined the happiness 
 she tasted there ; he would reserve his most difficult work for 
 the Fridays, so as to pay her court with all his strength and 
 all his skill ; he no longer spared himself, but often risked 
 splitting the anvils atwain, panting from the blows he dealt, 
 and vibrating with the joy he was procuring her. In this 
 wise throughout one whole spring-tide their love filled the 
 forge as with the rumbling of a storm. It was an idyl amidst 
 giant-like labour, amidst the glare of coal and the shaking of 
 the shed, whose carcass, black with soot, seemed to be crack- 
 ing. All that beaten iron, kneaded like red wax, bore rough 
 marks of their love. And every Friday when the laundress 
 parted from Golden-Mug, she slowly reascended the Rue des 
 Poissonniers, content and tired, wuth flesh and spirit alike at 
 peace. 
 
 Little by little her fear of Lantier diminished, and she 
 regained her usual good sense. At that period her life would 
 still have been a very happy one had it not been for Coupeau, 
 who was decidedly going to the bad. One day, when as it so 
 happenedshe was just returning from the forge, she fancied that 
 she recognised Coupeau inside old Colombe's * Assommoir,' treat- 
 ing himself to goes of * vitriol ' in the company of My-Boots, 
 Bibi-the- Smoker, and Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without- 
 Thirst. She went quickly by, in order to avoid all appearance 
 of spying on them ; but she glanced back and saw that it was 
 indeed Coupeau who was tossing a nip of bad brandy down 
 his throat with the gesture of one to whom such a practice is 
 already familiar. So he lied then ; he went in for brandy now ! 
 She returned home in despair ; all her old dread of spirits took 
 possession of her once more. Wine she forgave, because wine 
 nourished the toiler, whereas spirits were filth, poisons which 
 
 n2 
 
i8o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 robbed men of all appetite for bread. Ah ! the government 
 ought to have prevented the manufacture of such horrid 
 stuff! 
 
 On reaching the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or, she found the 
 whole house in commotion. Her workwomen had left the 
 shop, and were in the courtyard looking up at the windows. 
 She questioned Clemence. * It's old Bijard who's giving his 
 wife a hiding/ replied the ironer. * He was in the doorway, as 
 drunk as a trooper, watching for her to return from the wash- 
 house. He whacked her ail the way upstairs, and now he's 
 finishing her off m their room. Listen I can't you hear her 
 shrieks ? ' 
 
 Gervaise swiftly climbed the stairs. She felt some friend- 
 ship for her washerwoman, Madame Bijard, who was a very 
 courageous woman, and she hoped to put a stop to what was 
 going on. Upstairs, on the sixth floor, the door of the room 
 stood wide-open, and some tenants were raising exclamations 
 on the landing, whilst Madame Boche, standing at the door- 
 way, called out : * Will you leave off ? Ill send for the poUce ; 
 do you hear me ? ' 
 
 No one dared to venture inside the room, for it was well 
 known that Bijard was like a brute beast whenever he got 
 drunk. As a matter of fact, he was never really sober. On 
 the rare days on which he worked at his calhng as a lock- 
 smith, he placed a bottle of brandy beside his vice, and gulped 
 down some of it every half hour. He could no longer keep 
 himself going by any other means. And he was so impregnated 
 with alcohol that lae would have blazed away like a torch if 
 anyone had placed a lighted match near his mouth. 
 
 ' But we mustn't let her be murdered 1 ' said Gervaise, all 
 in a tremble. 
 
 Then she entered the room. It was an attic, very clean, 
 but cold and bare, almost emptied by the drunken habits of 
 the man, who took the very sheets from the bed to turn them 
 into liquor. During the struggle, the table had rolled away 
 to the window, and the two chairs had fallen with their legs in 
 the air. In the middle of the room, on the tiled floor, lay 
 Madame Bijard, all bloody, her skirts still soaked with water 
 from the wash-house, her hair pulled out by the roots. She 
 was gasping, venting prolonged moans, oh I oh ! oh 1 each 
 time that she received a blow from the heel of Bijard's boot. 
 He had knocked her down with his fists, and now he stamped 
 upon her. 
 
THE SHADOWS FALL i8i 
 
 * Ah, hussy I ah, hussy ! ah, hussy I * he grunted in a 
 choking voice, each time that he dealt a blow, maddening him- 
 self by constant repetition of the epithet, and striking all the 
 harder as he gradually found his voice failing him. 
 
 And, when he could no longer speak, he went on kicking 
 passionately, rigid in his ragged blue blouse and over-alls, his 
 face purpling beneath his dirty beard, and his bald forehead 
 showing big red blotches. The neighbours on the landing 
 related that he was beating his wife because she had refused 
 him twenty sous in the morning. However, Boche's voice was 
 heard at the foot of the staircase. He was calling Madame 
 Boche, saying : • Come down ; come down ; let 'em kill each 
 other, it'll be so much scum the less.' 
 
 However, old Bru had followed Gervaise into the room. 
 Between them, they tried to bring the locksmith to reason, 
 and get him towards the door. But he turned round, speech- 
 less, with foaming lips, while in his pale eyes alcohol was 
 flaring into a murderous glare. The laundress had her wrist 
 injured ; the old workman was knocked upon the table. On 
 the floor, Madame Bijard lay breathing with greater difficulty, 
 her mouth wide-open and her eyes closed. And now Bijard 
 kept on missing her. Though he ever desperately returned to 
 the attack, his blows failed to reach her, frenzied, blinded 
 as he was, launching buffets into space, and, as his arm swung 
 round, striking himself. And, throughout this murderous on- 
 slaught, Gervaise saw in the corner of the room little Lalie, 
 now four years old, who was watching her father murdering 
 her mother. The child held in her arms, as if by way of pro- 
 tection, her sister, Henriette, who had only recently been 
 weaned. And she stood there erect, her head covered with a 
 little cotton cap, her face very pale and grave. Her large black 
 eyes gazed upon the scene with a fixedness full of thought, and 
 without a tear. 
 
 When at length Bijard, encountering a chair, stumbled 
 upon the tiled floor, where they left him snoring, old Bru 
 helped Gervaise to raise Madame Bijard. The latter was 
 now sobbing bitterly ; and Lalie, drawing near, watched her 
 weep, like one accustomed to the sight and already resigned to 
 it. As the laundress descended the stairs, amidst the silence 
 of the quieted house, she could still see before her the glance 
 of that Uttle child — a glance as grave and courageous as that 
 of a woman. 
 
 ' Monsieur Coupeau's on the other side of the way,' called 
 
i82 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 out Glemence, as soon as she caught sight of Gervaise. * He 
 looks awfully screwed.' 
 
 Coupeau was just then crossing the street. He almost 
 smashed a pane of glass with his shoulder as he missed the 
 door. He was in a * white drunk,' with teeth clinched and 
 nose drawn. And by the pallor of his skin, due to the poison- 
 ing of his blood, Gervaise at once recognised the work of the 
 * vitriol ' of the ' Assommoir.' Nevertheless, she tried to joke 
 and get him to bed, as on the days when wine had made him 
 merry ; but he pushed her aside, without opening his lips, and 
 raised his fist at her, as of his own accord he lurched towards 
 his bed. He was like the other — the drunkard who was snor- 
 ing upstairs, tired out by the blows he had dealt. Then Ger- 
 vaise became icy cold, and thinking of the men she knew — of 
 her husband, of Goujet, of Lantier— she felt as it were a gash 
 in her heart, and despaired of ever finding happiness. 
 
 vn 
 
 THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 
 
 Geevaise's saint's day fell on June 19. On all such festivals 
 the Coupeaus' spared nothing ; there were junketings, from 
 which they rose as round as balls, with their stomachs filled 
 for the rest of the week. And there was a complete clear out 
 of all the money they had. Directly they happened to have a 
 little cash in the house, it went in gorging. They even 
 invented saints for those days which the almanac had not 
 provided with any, in order to give themselves a pretext for 
 gormandizing. Virginie highly commended Gervaise for 
 treating herself to savoury dishes. When a woman has a 
 husband who turns all that he can lay hands on into drink, 
 it's as well for her to line her stomach to begin with, so that 
 everything, at all events, shall not go ofi in liquor. As the 
 money was bound to be spent it might just as well go to the 
 butcher as to the publican. Gervaise, already fond of good 
 living, abandoned herself to that excuse. So much the worse ! 
 It was Coupeau's fault if they no longer even saved a copper. 
 She had now grown yet stouter, and limped more than ever, 
 for her leg swelling with fat seemed to get shorter at the same 
 time. 
 
 That year, they talked about her saint's day a good month 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 183 
 
 beforehand. They thought of dishes, and smacked their Hps 
 in advance. The whole shop longed for a spread. They 
 wanted a merry-making of the right sort — something out of 
 the common, and well arranged, for one doesn't have an 
 opportunity for enjoyment every day. What most troubled 
 the laundress was to decide whom she should invite: she 
 wished to have twelve persons at table, no more, no less. She, 
 her husband, Mother Coupeau, and Madame Lerat, already 
 made four, without going out of the family. Then she must 
 have the Goujets and the Poissons. At the outset she 
 had decided that she would not invite her workwomen, Madame 
 Putois and Clemence, for fear of making them too familiar ; 
 but, as the projected feast was continually spoken of in their 
 presence, and they began to pull very long faces, she ended by 
 telling them to come. Four and four made eight, and two 
 made ten. Then as Gervaise particularly wished to complete 
 the dozen, she became reconciled with the Lorilleux, who, for 
 some time past, had been hovering round her ; at least, it was 
 agreed that the chain-makers should come down to the dinner, 
 and that peace should there be made, glass in hand. After all, 
 one cannot remain for ever on ill terms with one's relations. 
 Besides, the thought of the feast moved every heart. It was 
 an opportunity which one could not allow to shp. It happened, 
 however, that when the Boches heard of the projected 
 reconciliation, they likewise made up to Gervaise with great 
 politeness and the most obliging smiles ; so that it became 
 necessary to invite them also to the feast. Thus they would 
 be fourteen at table, without counting the children. Never 
 before had Gervaise given such a dinner ; the mere idea of it 
 filled her with feelings of mingled dismay and triumph. 
 
 The saint's day happened to fall on a Monday, which was 
 a piece of luck. Gervaise could profit by the Sunday after- 
 noon to begin her cooking. On the Saturday, whilst the 
 ironers hurried on with their work, there was a long discussion 
 in the shop as to what the feast should really consist of after 
 all. During the past three weeks, one thing alone had been 
 chosen — a fat roast goose, which they talked about with 
 gluttonous eyes. And indeed the goose was already bought. 
 Mother Coupeau went to fetch it, in order that Clemence and 
 Madame Putois might feel its weight. And they gave vent to 
 all kinds of exclamations ; it looked such an enormous bird, 
 with its rough skin distended by yellow fat. 
 
 * Before that there will be the jpot-au-feuy said Gervaise, 
 
i84 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 'the soup and just a small piece of tlie boiled beef are 
 always good. Then we must have something in the way of a 
 stew.' 
 
 Tall Cl^mence suggested rabbit, but they were always 
 having rabbit, everyone was sick of it. Gervaise wanted 
 something more distingui. Then, on Madame Putois speaking 
 of some veal blanquette, they looked at one another with 
 expansive smiles. That was a first rate idea, nothing would 
 look better than veal blanquette.^ 
 
 * And after that,' resumed Gervaise, 'we must have some 
 other dish with a sauce.' 
 
 Mother Coupeau proposed fish. But the others made a 
 grimace, as they banged down their irons. None of them 
 liked fish, it wasn't a bit satisfying ; and besides, it was full of 
 bones. Squint-eyed Augustine having dared to observe that 
 she liked skate, Clemence shut her mouth for her with a clout. 
 At length, the mistress had just thought of some chine of 
 pork and potatoes, which had made every countenance beam 
 once more, when Virginie entered like a puff of wind and with 
 quite an excited look on her face. 
 
 ' You've come at the right moment I ' exclaimed Gervaise, 
 * Mother Coupeau, do show her the bird.' 
 
 Mother Coupeau went a second time to fetch the goose, 
 which Virginie had to take in her hands. lor I it was 
 heavy 1 she exclaimed ; but she soon laid it down on the 
 work-table, between a petticoat and a bundle of shifts, for her 
 thoughts were elsewhere. And she led Gervaise into the back- 
 room. 
 
 *I say, little one,* she murmured rapidly, * I've come to 
 warn you. You'll never guess who it was that I just met at 
 the street corner. Lantier, my dear ! He's prowling about on 
 the watch ; so I hastened here at once. It frightened me on 
 your account, you know.' 
 
 The laundress turned quite pale. What could the wretched 
 man want with her ? Coming, too, like that, just in the midst 
 of the preparations for the feast. She never had any luck ; 
 people could not even allow her to enjoy herself quietly. But 
 Virginie replied that she was very foolish to put herself out 
 like that. Why, if Lantier should dare to follow her about, she 
 need merely call a pohceman and have him locked up. For a 
 
 • Veal chopped into small pieces, and stewed with onions, with a light 
 yellow sauce, coloured with the yolks of eggs, thickened with flour, and 
 garnished with mushrooms. 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 185 
 
 month past, ever since her husband had been admitted into 
 the police force, the tall brunette had assumed the most 
 cavalier ways, and was always talking of having people 
 arrested. As she raised her voice to express the wish that 
 some one might accost her in the street just to give her 
 the opportunity of dragging the scoundrel to the station-house 
 and handing him over to Poisson, Gervaise, by a sign, begged 
 her to leave off, because the workwomen were listening. The 
 laundress was the first to return to the shop, on entering 
 which she resumed, with a great pretence of calmness : * After 
 that, there must be a dish of vegetables.' 
 
 * What do you say to green peas with a little fat bacon ? * 
 asked Virginie. * That's what I'd have.' 
 
 * Yes, yes, green peas and bacon I ' approved all the others, 
 whilst Augustine enthusiastically rammed the poker into the 
 stove. 
 
 By three o'clock on the morrow, Sunday, Mother Coupeau 
 had lighted both stoves, as well as a third one of earthenware 
 borrowed of the Boches. At half-past three the pot-au-feu was 
 boiling away in a huge earthenware pot lent by the eating- 
 house keeper next door, the family pot having been found too 
 small. It had been decided to cook the veal and the chine 
 beforehand, because those dishes are best when warmed up ; 
 only, they would not thicken the sauce for the veal until the 
 dinner-hour. There would still be quite enough to attend to 
 on the Monday — the soup, the peas and bacon and the roast 
 goose. The room behind the shop was quite illumined by the 
 three fires which were kept going ; the meats lay browning in 
 the stew-pans amidst a strong smell of burnt flour, whilst the 
 huge earthenware pot threw up jets of steam like a boiler, its 
 sides shaking the while with grave, deep gurglings. Mother 
 Coupeau and Gervaise, each wearing a white apron, were here, 
 there, and everywhere, now picking parsley, now running after 
 pepper and salt, and now stirring the meat with a wooden 
 spoon. Coupeau had been turned out of doors, so that he 
 should not be in their way. But all the same they had people 
 bothering them throughout the afternoon. The cooking smelt 
 so nice in the house, that the neighbours came down one after 
 the other, looking in under all sorts of pretences, though in 
 reality merely to find out what dishes were being prepared ; 
 and they stationed themselves there, waiting so long that the 
 laundress was obliged to take the lids off the stew-pans. 
 
 Then, Virginie put in an appearance towards five o'clock. 
 
i86 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 She had again seen Lantier ; it was now really impossible to 
 go down the street without meeting him. Madame Boche 
 also had just caught sight of him standing at a corner with his 
 head thrust forward in an uncommonly sly manner. At this 
 Gervaise, who had just meant to run out for a sou's worth of 
 burnt onions for the ])ot-a%i-feu, began to tremble from head to 
 foot, and did not dare to leave the house, particularly as the 
 doorkeeper and the dressmaker put her into a terrible fright 
 by relating horrible stories of men waiting for women with 
 knives and pistols hidden beneath their overcoats. Well, yes, 
 one read of such things every day in the newspapers. When 
 one of those scoundrels got his monkey up, on discovering an 
 old love leading a happy life, he became capable of anything. 
 However, Virginie obligingly offered to run and fetth the burnt 
 onions. Women, said she, should always help one another, 
 and they could not let that poor little thing be murdered. 
 When she returned she said that Lantier was no longer there ; 
 he had probably gone off on finding that he was discovered. 
 All the same he remained the subject of conversation around 
 the saucepans until night-time. Madame Boche having 
 suggested that Coupeau ought to be informed of what was 
 going on, Gervaise was overcome with a great fear and 
 implored her never to say a word on the subject. Ah I no 
 indeed, it could only lead to terrible trouble I Her husband 
 probably had some suspicions already, as, for some days past, 
 he had taken to swearing and striking the wall with his fist, 
 on getting into bed. Gervaise stood there with trembling 
 hands at the idea that the two men might kill each other for 
 her ; she knew Coupeau, he was jealous enough to fall on 
 Lantier with his shears. While all four women in this wise 
 became absorbed in the prospective tragedy, the sauces 
 continued simmering on the ash-covered fires. Each time 
 that Mother Coupeau took the lids off the veal and chine, there 
 came from them a faint sound, a discreet murmur ; while the 
 pot-au-feu went on with its gurgling refrain, which resembled 
 the snore of a choir-man asleep on his back in the sunshine. 
 They ended by each having a cupful of broth, just in order to 
 taste it. 
 
 At length the Monday arrived. Now that Gervaise was 
 going to have fourteen persons at table, she began to fear 
 that she would nob be able to find room for them all. She 
 decided that they would dine in the shop ; and the first thing 
 in the morning, she took measurements so as to settle which wa;y 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 187 
 
 she should place the table. After that, it became necessary to 
 reniove all the clothes which lay about, and take the ironing- 
 table to pieces ; its top, laid on some shorter trestles, was to 
 serve as dining- table. However, in the very midst of all 
 this moving, a customer appeared and made a scene because 
 she had been waiting for her washing ever since Friday ; 
 they were humbugging her, she declared, and she would have 
 her things at once ! Then Gervaise, in order to excuse her- 
 self, boldly lied ; it was not her fault, she was cleaning out 
 her shop, and her workwomen would not return till the next 
 day ; and at last she got rid of her pacified customer, by pro- 
 mising to attend to her things at the earliest possible 
 moment on the morrow. As soon as the other had gone, 
 however, the laundress burst into angry language. Why, 
 if one listened to one's customers, one would never even have 
 time to eat ; one would work oneself to death, just to please 
 them I But she, at all events, wasn't a chained dog ! Ah, 
 well ! even if the Grand Turk in person were to bring her a 
 collar, even if it were a question of earning a hundred thou- 
 sand francs, she wouldn't handle an iron that Monday, 
 for it was at last her turn to enjoy herself a little. 
 
 The entire morning was spent in completing the pur- 
 chases. Three times Gervaise went out and returned laden 
 like a mule. But, just as she was going to order the wine, she 
 noticed that she had not sufficient money left. She could 
 easily have got the wine on credit ; only she could not be 
 without money in the house, on account of the thousand 
 little expenses which it is impossible to foresee. And Mother 
 Coupeau and she lamented together in the back-room, as they 
 reckoned up that they would at least require another twenty 
 francs. How could they obtain four pieces of a hundred 
 sous ? Mother Coupeau, who had at one time been house- 
 keeper to a little actress of the Batignolles theatre, was the 
 first to suggest the pawn-shop. Gervaise laughed with 
 relief. How stupid of her not to have thought of it ! Then 
 she quickly folded up her black silk dress, pinned a towel 
 over it, and hid the parcel under Mother Coupeau's apron, 
 telling her to keep it flat against her stomach, on account of 
 the neighbours who had no need to know what her errand 
 was. And afterwards she even went to the door, to make 
 sure that the old woman was not followed. But the latter 
 was not yet opposite the charcoal-dealer's, when she called 
 her back. * Mamma ! mamma ! ' 
 
i88 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 She made ber enter the shop again, and then takmg her 
 wedding ring from her finger, said : * Here, put this with it. 
 We shall get all the more.' 
 
 When Mother Coupeau retm'ned, bringing twenty-five 
 francs, Gervaise danced for joy. She would order six more 
 bottles of wine, sealed wine, to drink with the roast. The 
 Lorilleux would be crushed. 
 
 For a fortnight past it had been the Coupeaus' dream to 
 crush the Lorilleux. Was it not true that those sly-boots, 
 man and wife, a truly pretty couple, shut themselves up 
 whenever they had anything nice to eat, just as though 
 they had stolen it ? Yes, they covered up the window with a 
 blanket to hide the light, and make believe that they were 
 asleep in bed. Of course that prevented people from going 
 up to call on them ; and they stuffed away all alone, 
 cramming themselves with the greatest haste, and never 
 venturing to speak a word aloud. Moreover, on the morrow 
 they were too cunning to throw the scraps and bones 
 remaining from their repast on the dust-heap, as others would 
 then have known what it was they had eaten ; no, indeed, 
 Madame Lorilleux went to the end of the street and threw 
 the remnants dov/n a sewer opening ; one morning Gervaise 
 had caught her there emptying a basket full of oyster-shells. 
 Ah ! it was quite certain that those skinflints were not 
 broad-shouldered ; all those artful tricks of theirs came from 
 their mania for wishing to appear poor. Well ! one would 
 give them a lesson, and show them that others were not 
 mean. Gervaise would have laid her table across the street, 
 had she been able to do so, just for the sake of inviting each 
 passer-by. Money had not been invented that it should be 
 allowed to grow mouldy. It was pretty when it shone all 
 new in the sunlight. Gervaise resembled the Lorilleux so 
 little now, that whenever she had a few francs in her pocket 
 she so arranged things as to let people think that she had 
 double the amount. 
 
 Mother Coupeau and she talked of the Lorilleux, whilst 
 laying the cloth, which they did as early as three o'clock. 
 They had hung some big curtains at the windows ; but, as 
 it was very warm, the door was left open, and every passer-by 
 could see the table. The two women did not place a 
 decanter, or a bottle, or a salt-cellar, without trying to do so 
 in such a way as to annoy the Lorilleux. They had 
 arranged the latter' s seats so as to give them a full view of 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 189 
 
 the superbly laid cloth, and had reserved the best crockery 
 for them, well knowing that the porcelain plates would create 
 a great effect. 
 
 ' No, no, mamma,' exclaimed Gervaise ; * don't give them 
 those napkins ! I've two damask ones here ! ' 
 
 ' Ah well I ' murmured the old woman ; ' it'll all kill 'em, 
 that's certain/ 
 
 And they smiled at each other as they stood on either 
 side of that big white table, their hearts swelling with pride 
 at sight of the fourteen covers laid all around. The table 
 looked indeed like some altar erected in the middle of the 
 shop. 
 
 * Well, but why are they so stingy ? ' resumed Gervaise. 
 'You know they lied last month, when the woman went 
 about everywhere saying that she had lost a piece of gold 
 chain as she was taking the work home. The idea indeed ! 
 there's no fear of her ever losing anything ! K was simply a 
 dodge to cry poverty and escape giving you your five 
 francs.' 
 
 * I've only seen my five francs twice as yet,' said Mother 
 Coupeau. 
 
 ' Next month they'll concoct some other story, you bet ! 
 That explains why they cover their window up when they 
 have a rabbit to eat. Of course one would have the right to 
 say to them : *' As you can afford to dine off rabbit, you can 
 certainly give five francs to your mother ? " Oh ! they're full 
 of vice ! Whatever would have become of you if I hadn't taken 
 you to live with us ? ' 
 
 Mother Coupeau slowly wagged her head. That day she 
 was all against the Lorilleux, because of the great feast 
 which the Coupeaus were giving. She loved the bustle of 
 cooking, the gossiping round the saucepans, the topsy- 
 turvydom occasioned by the revels of saints' days. Besides, 
 she generally got on pretty well with Gervaise ; though 
 every now and then, when they plagued one another, as 
 happens in aU families, the old woman would grumble, 
 saying that she was wretchedly unfortunate to be thus placed 
 at her daughter-in-law's-mercy. At bottom, she probably 
 retained a sneaking affection for Madame Lorilleux, who, 
 after all, was her daughter. 
 
 * Ah I ' continued Gervaise, * you wouldn't be so fat, 
 would you, if you were living with them ? And no coffee, no 
 
190 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 snuff, no little luxuries of any sort ! Tell me now, would 
 they have given you two mattresses to your bed ? ' 
 
 * No, that's very certain,' rephed Mother Coupeau. 
 * When they come down I shall place myself so as to have 
 ft good view of the doorway, to see what faces they make.' 
 
 The idea of the faces which the Lorilleux would make 
 amused them beforehand. But it would never do to remain 
 there looking at the table. The Coupeaus had lunched late, 
 about one o'clock, off something which they had procured 
 from the pork-butcher's, because the three stoves were already 
 occupied, and they did not wish to dirty the crockery, which 
 had already been cleaned for the evening. At four o'clock 
 the two women were at the height of their work. The goose 
 was cooking before a roasting stove set on the floor against 
 the wall beside an open window ; and the bird was so big 
 that they had been obliged to force it into the roaster. Squint- 
 eyed Augustine, seated on a footstool, with the fire of the 
 stove shining full on her face, was gravely bastmg the goose 
 with a long-handled spoon. Gervaise meantime busied 
 herself with the green peas and bacon, while Mother Coupeau, 
 nearly crazy amidst all these dishes, turned from one to the 
 other, pending the time to warm up the chine and the stewed 
 veal. 
 
 Towards five o'clock the guests began to arrive. First of 
 all came the two workwomen, Clemence and Madame Putois, 
 both in their Sunday best, the former in blue, the latter in 
 black ; Clemence carried a geranium, and Madame Putois a 
 heliotrope ; and Gervaise, whose hands were just then 
 smothered with flour, had to kiss each of them on both 
 cheeks, with her arms behind her back. Then, close in the 
 rear, came Virginie, dressed like a lady in a printed muslin 
 costume with a sash and a bonnet, though she had but a few 
 steps to walk. She brought with her a pot of red carnations, 
 took the laundress in her big arms and squeezed her tightly. 
 At length appeared Boche, with a pot of pansies, Madame 
 Boche with a pot of mignonette, and Madame Lerat with one 
 of balm-mint, the soil of which had dirted her violet merino 
 dress. And all these people kissed and crowded together in 
 the back room amidst the three stoves and the roasting 
 apparatus, whence ascended a stifling heat. The frizzling 
 which arose from the stew-pans drowned all the chatter. 
 The flapping of a dress against the roaster caused much 
 emotion. The smell of roast goose was so strong that every 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 191 
 
 mouth watered. And Gervaise showed herself extremely 
 amiable, and thanked them all for their flowers, whilst still 
 preparing the thickening for the veal blanquette in a soup 
 plate. She had already placed the flower pots at one end of 
 the table in the shop without removing the white paper 
 that enveloped them, and now a sweet floral perfume mingled 
 with the odour of cooking. 
 
 * Do you want any assistance ? ' asked Virginie. * When I 
 think that you've been three days preparing all this feast, 
 which will be gobbled up in no time ! ' 
 
 * Well ! you know,' replied Gervaise, * it wouldn't prepare 
 itself. But no, don't dirty your hands. You see, every- 
 thing's ready now. There's only the soup to warm.' 
 
 Then they all made themselves at home. The ladies 
 laid their shawls and caps on the bed, and pinned up their 
 skirts, in order not to soil them. Boche, who had sent 
 his wife back to look after the house until dinner-time, 
 was already pushing Clemence into a corner, and asking her 
 if she were ticklish ; whilst Clemence panted and wriggled 
 and doubled herself up in alarm, for the bare idea of being 
 tickled made her shudder. However, the other ladies also 
 came into the shop, so as not to be in the way of the cooks, 
 and, ranging themselves against the wall, began to look at 
 the table ; but, as the conversation continued through the 
 open doorway, and they were unable to hear the laundress, 
 they kept on returning to the room, filling it with their loud 
 voices, and surrounding Gervaise, who, with her steaming 
 spoon in her hand, paused in her work to answer them. 
 They laughed and said some rather coarse things. Virginie 
 stated that she had eaten nothing for two days, in order to 
 have plenty of room, and Boche declared that the best way 
 to stimulate digestion was to squeeze oneself between the 
 door and the door-post after each plateful : for this, said he, 
 was what the English did, and it enabled them to gorge for 
 twelve hours at a stretch, without fatiguing their stomachs. 
 Besides, politeness requires one to eat plentifully when one 
 is invited out to dinner ; veal and pork and goose are not put 
 on a table for cats. Oh I Gervaise might make herself easy ; 
 they would polish everything oif so cleanly that she would 
 have no need to wash up the crockery on the morrow. And 
 the guests seemed to be getting up their appetites by sniiOf- 
 ing round the saucepans and the roaster. The ladies, 
 however, ended by behaving like little girls ; they played at 
 
192 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 pushing one another about, running from one apartment to 
 the other, shaking the floor, stirring and disseminating all 
 the smell of cookery with their skirts, amidst a deafening 
 uproar, in which their laughter mingled with the tapping of 
 Mother Coupeau's chopping knife as she cut up some bacon 
 for the peas. 
 
 Just as they were all jumping and shouting by way of 
 amusement, Goujet made his appearance. He was so timid 
 that he scarcely dared to enter, but stood in the doorway, 
 holding a tall white rose bush in his arms, a magnificent 
 plant, with a stem that reached to his face, while the flowers 
 mingled with his beard. Gervaise ran up to him, her cheeks 
 aflame from the heat of the stoves ; but he did not know how 
 to get rid of his pot ; and, when she had taken it from him 
 he began to stammer, not daring to kiss her. It was she who 
 was obliged to stand on tip-toe, and place her cheek against 
 his lips ; and even then he was so agitated that he kissed her 
 roughly on the eye, almost blinding her. They both stood 
 trembling. 
 
 * Oh ! Monsieur Goujet, it's too lovely ! ' said she, plac- 
 ing the rose-tree beside the other flowers, which it overtopped 
 with its spreading tuft of foliage. 
 
 * Not at all, not at all,' he repeated, unable to say any- 
 thing else. 
 
 However, after sighing deeply, he recovered a little of his 
 Belf-possession, and told her that she was not to expect his 
 mother, who was suffering from one of her periodical attacks 
 of sciatica. Gervaise was greatly grieved to hear this, and 
 talked of putting a piece of goose on one side, as she par- 
 ticularly wished Madame Goujet to taste the bird. Then she 
 spoke of Coupeau, who was no doubt strolling about the 
 neighbourhood with Poisson, for whom he had called directly 
 after lunch ; they had promised to be back punctually at six, 
 so that their arrival could not be delayed much longer. And 
 as the soup was now almost ready, Gervaise called to Madame 
 Lerat, saying that she thought it time to fetch the Lorilleux. 
 Madame Lerat at once became very grave ; it was she who 
 had conducted all the negotiations and settled how every- 
 thing should pass between the two families. She put on her 
 cap and shawl again, and went upstairs, looking very stiff 
 and stately. Down below, the laundress continued stirring 
 her soup without saying a word, but the guests, who had 
 suddenly become serious, waited with all solemnity. 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 193 
 
 It was Madame Lerat who appeared the first. She had 
 gone round by the street, so as to give more pomp to the 
 reconcihation and she held the shop-door wide open, whilst 
 Madame Lorilleux, wearing a silk dress, paused on the 
 threshold. All the guests had risen from their seats ; 
 Gervaise went forward, and kissing her sister-in-law as had 
 been agreed, said : ' Come in. It's all over, isn't it ? We'll 
 all be nice together.' 
 
 And thereupon Madame Lorilleux rephed : * I shall be 
 only too happy if we're so always.* 
 
 When she had entered, Lorilleux in his turn stopped on 
 the threshold, and waited to be embraced before walking into 
 the shop. Neither he nor his wife had brought a bouquet. 
 They had decided not to do so, as they thought it would look 
 too much like bowing down to the Hobbler should they carry 
 flowers with them the first time they visited her since the 
 quarrel. However, Gervaise told Augustine to bring two 
 quart bottles of wine. Then, filling some glasses on a corner 
 of the table, she called every one to her. And each took a 
 glass, and chinked it against the glasses of the others, to the 
 good friendship of the family. A pause came whilst the 
 company drank, the ladies raising their elbows, and emptying 
 their glasses to the last drop. 
 
 * Nothing is better before soup,' declared Boche, with a 
 cluck of the tongue. 
 
 However, Mother Coupeau had duly placed herself opposite 
 the doorway to see the faces the Lorilleux would make, and 
 now pulling Gervaise by the skirt, she carried her off into the 
 back-room. And there, both leaning over the soup, they 
 conversed in rapid whispers : 
 
 * Eh ! what a sight ! ' said the old woman, * You couldn't 
 see them ; but I was watching. When she caught sight of 
 the table, her face twisted round like that, the corners of her 
 mouth almost touched her eyes ; and as for him, it nearly 
 choked him, he coughed, and coughed. And just look at them 
 now over there ; they've no spittle left in their mouths, they're 
 chewing their lips.' 
 
 'It's quite painful to see people as jealous as that,* 
 murmured Gervaise. 
 
 In point of fact, the Lorilleux did have a funny look. 
 Nobody likes to be crushed, of course not; in families, 
 especially, when one or another member proves successful, 
 the others don't like it ; that is but natural. Only they 
 
 o 
 
194 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 dissimulate and don't make exhibitions of themselves. But 
 then the Lorilleux could not dissimulate. The scene over- 
 powered them, they vnnced, squinted, and made grimaces ; in 
 short, their emotion was so apparent, that the others looked 
 at them, and asked them if they were unwell. Sure enough 
 they would never be able to stomach that table, with its four- 
 teen covers, its white tablecloth and napkins, and its slices of 
 bread cut beforehand. One might have thought oneself in a 
 restaurant on the Boulevards. Madame Lorilleux, holding 
 her head down, so as not to see the flowers, walked right 
 round, and slyly felt the big tablecloth, tormented by the 
 thought that it must be a new one. 
 
 * Here we are ! ' cried Gervaise, as she reappeared, smiling, 
 with her arms bare, and her curls blowing over her temples. 
 
 The guests were still shuffling about round the table. All 
 were hungry, and somewhat bored. 
 
 ' If the governor would only come,' resumed the laundress, 
 * we might begin.' 
 
 * Ah, well I ' said Madame Lorilleux, *the soup will have 
 plenty of time to get cold. Coupeau always forgets. You 
 shouldn't have let him go off.' 
 
 It was already half-past six. Everything was burning 
 now ; the goose would be overdone. Then Gervaise, feeHng 
 quite dejected, talked of sending some one to peep into the 
 wine-shops of the neighbourhood on the chance of discovering 
 Coupeau. And, as Goujet offered his services, she decided to 
 go with him. Virginie, who felt anxious about her husband, 
 accompanied them. Walking bareheaded, side by side, the 
 trio quite blocked up the pavement. The blacksmith, who 
 wore a frock-coat, had Gervaise on his left arm and Virginie 
 on his right ; he was doing the two-handled basket, said he ; 
 which seemed to them such a funny remark, that they stopped 
 short, unable to move their legs for laughing. And on 
 looking at themselves in the pork-butcher's glass, they 
 laughed more than ever. By the side of Goujet, who was all 
 in black, the two women suggested a couple of speckled hens 
 — the dressmaker in muslin sprinkled with pink flowers, and 
 the laundress in white percale with blue spots, her wrists 
 bare, and a little grey silk scarf tied in a bow about her 
 neck. People turned to see them pass clad in their Sunday 
 best on a week-day, looking so fresh and lively, as they jostled 
 the crowd, which hung about the Eue des Poissonniers that 
 warm June evening. But they had no time to amuse them- 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 195 
 
 selves. They went straight to the door of each wine-shop, 
 peeped in, and scrutinised the people standing before the 
 counter. Had that brute Coupeau gone off to the Arc de 
 Triomphe to get his dram? They had ah-eady done the 
 upper part of the street, looking in at all likely places, the 
 * Little Civet,' renowned for its preserved plums, old Mother 
 Baquet's, where Orleans wine was sold at eight sous a 
 quart ; and the * Butterfly,' the favourite house of call for 
 cabmen, who, as a class, are difficult customers to please. 
 And still there was no sign of Coupeau. However, as they 
 were going towards the Boulevard, passing the corner tavern, 
 kept by Fran9ois, Gervaise suddenly gave vent to a faint cry. 
 
 * What's the matter ? ' asked Goujet. 
 
 The laundress no longer laughed. She had become very 
 pale, so affected by emotion, that she had almost fallen. 
 However, Virginie understood it all directly she caught sight 
 of Lantier quietly dining at a table in Fran9ois's shop. Then 
 the two women dragged the blacksmith along. * My foot 
 twisted,' said Gervaise, as soon as she was able to speak. 
 
 At length, they discovered Coupeau and Poisson in old 
 Colombe's * Assommoir ' at the bottom of the street. They 
 were standing there amidst a number of men : Coupeau, in a 
 grey blouse, was shouting, gesticulating, and banging his 
 fists on the counter, whereas Poisson, buttoned up in an old 
 brown coat — he was off duty that day — Kstened to him in 
 silence, while pulling his carroty moustache and imperial. 
 Goujet left the women on the kerbstone, went in, and laid 
 his hand on the zinc-worker's shoulder. But when Coupeau 
 caught sight of Gervaise and Virginie outside, he grew 
 angry. Why was he badgered by females like that ? Petti- 
 coats had taken to tracking him about now I Well ! he de- 
 clined to stir, they could go and eat their beastly dinner by 
 themselves. To quiet him, Goujet was obhged to accept a 
 drop of something ; and even then Coupeau purposely 
 dawdled a good five minutes at the counter. When he at 
 length came out, he said to his wife : ' It doesn't suit me, 
 this kind of thing. I stay where I've business, do you 
 hear ? 
 
 She did not answer. She was trembling. In all proba- 
 bility she had been talking of Lantier with Virginie, for the 
 latter gave her husband and Goujet a push, telling them to 
 walk on in front. Then the two women placed themselves on 
 either side of the zino- worker, so as to occupy him, and pre- 
 
196 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 vent him from seeing. He was but slightly elevated, and 
 more through having shouted than by drink. However, by 
 way of teasing them, as they seemed desirous of following 
 the left-hand pavement, he pushed them away and crossed 
 to the other side of the street. They then ran after him in 
 a great fright, and tried to prevent him from seeing Fran- 
 9ois's door. But he must have known that Lantier was 
 there. Gervaise almost lost her senses on hearing him 
 growl : * Yes, my duck, there's a young spark of our ac- 
 quaintance in there 1 You mustn't take me for a ninny. 
 Don't let me catch you gallivanting about again with your 
 side glances ! ' 
 
 And he coarsely declared that it wasn't he, himself, that 
 she had come to look for, with bare arms and powdered face. 
 Oh ! no indeed, it was her old bully that she wanted I Then all 
 at once he flew into a mad rage with Lantier. Ah ! the brigand ! 
 ah ! the filthy hound I One or the other of them would have 
 to be left on the pavement, ripped up like a rabbit. However, 
 though a crowd was already gathering, Lantier did not appear 
 to notice what was being said, but slowly went on eating 
 some veal and sorrel. And at last Virginie was able to lead 
 Coupeau away, and he calmed down as soon as he had 
 turned the corner of the street. All the same, the women 
 returned to the shop, feehng far less hvely than when they 
 had left it. 
 
 The guests stood round the table pulling very long faces. 
 The zinc-worker shook hands, and swayed affectedly before 
 the ladies ; while Gervaise, feeling somewhat ill at ease, and 
 speaking in an undertone, directed the company to their 
 seats. But she suddenly noticed that owing to Madame 
 Goujet's absence a place would remain vacant, the one next 
 to Madame Lorilleux. ' We are thirteen I ' said she, deeply 
 affected, seeing in thip -coincidence a fresh omen of the mis- 
 fortune with Vhich she had felt herself threatened for some 
 time past. 
 
 The ladies, who were already seated, rose up, looking 
 anxious and annoyed. Madame Putois offered to retire, say- 
 ing that it was not a matter to laugh about. Under such 
 circumstances as these she herself would not touch a thing, 
 for it would certainly do her no good. Boche chuckled, how- 
 ever. He would sooner there were thirteen than fourteen 
 at table ; the portions woi^ be all the larger, that was certain. 
 
 * Wait a moment 1 ' resumed Gervaise. * I can manage it.* 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 197 
 
 And hurrying outside, she called old Bru, who was just then 
 crossing the roadway. The old workman entered, stooping 
 stiffly, and with an expressionless face. 
 
 * Seat yourself there, my good fellow,* said the laundress. 
 * You won't mind eating with us, will you ? * 
 
 He simply nodded. He was willing ; he did not mind. 
 
 * As well him as another,' she continued, lowering her 
 voice. *He doesn't often eat his fill. He will at least enjoy 
 himself once more in his life. We shall feel no remorse in 
 stuffing ourselves now.' 
 
 Goujet was so moved that tears came to his eyes. The 
 others pitied the old man, thought it very nice and added that 
 it would bring luck to them all. However, Madame Lorilleux 
 did not seem particularly well pleased at being next to the old 
 fellow ; for she drew away from him, casting glances at his 
 horny hands, and patched and faded blouse. Old Bru sat with 
 bowed head, embarrassed above all by the napkin which hid 
 the plate before him. He ended by lifting it off, and gently 
 placed it at the edge of the table, without dreaming of putting 
 it on his knees. 
 
 At length Gervaise served the 'pdU d'Halie soup, and the 
 guests were taking up their spoons, when Vu'ginie remarked 
 that Coupeau had again disappeared. He had perhaps gone 
 back to old Colombe's. But the company got angry. So 
 much the worse for him this time 1 Nobody would run after 
 him ; he could stay in the street if he wasn't hungry ._ How- 
 ever, just as the spoons had touched the bottoms of the 
 plates, Coupeau reappeared, carrying two pots of flowers, a 
 stock and a balsam, one under each arm. At this they all 
 clapped their hands, while he gallantly placed one pot on the 
 right and the other on the left of Gervaise's glass. Then, 
 bending over and kissing her, he said : * I had forgotten you, 
 ducky. But we love each other all the same, don't we, 
 especially on such a day as this ? ' 
 
 ' Monsieur Coupeau's very nice this evening,' murmured 
 Clemence in Boche's ear. * He's had just what he required, 
 just sufficient to make him amiable.' 
 
 The governor's pleasant behaviour restored general gaiety, 
 which at one moment had been compromised. Gervaise, 
 at her ease once more, became all smiles. The company 
 finished their soup, then the bottles went round, and they 
 drank their first drop of wine, just ?. drop, pure, to wash down 
 the soup. One could hear the children quarrelling in the 
 
1 98 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 next room. ]Stienne, Pauline, Nana, and little Victor 
 Fauconnier were assembled there. It had been decided to lay 
 a table for the four of them, and they had been told to be very 
 good. As for that squint-eyed Augustine, who had to look 
 after the stoves, she was to eat off her knees. 
 
 ' Mamma I mamma 1 ' suddenly screamed Nana, * Augustine 
 is dipping her bread in the roaster I ' 
 
 At this the laundress hastened into the room, and caught 
 the squint-eyed one burning her throat in her attempts to 
 swallow a slice of bread which she had soaked in the boiling 
 goose fat. Gervaise boxed her ears, because, like the hussy she 
 was, she called out that it wasn't true. Then the dinner 
 continued, and when following the boiled beef the veal 
 hlanquette made its appearance, served in a salad bowl, as they 
 had no dish large enough for it, the company greeted it with a 
 laugh. * This is becoming serious,' declared Poisson, who 
 spoke but seldom. 
 
 It was now half-past seven. They had closed the shop door, 
 so as not to be spied upon by the whole neighbourhood. As it 
 was, the little clockmaker over the road was opening his eyes to 
 their fullest extent, with such a gluttonous expression, that it 
 almost prevented them from eating. The curtains hanging 
 before the windows admitted a broad white uniform light, in 
 which the entire table was steeped with its symmetrical arrange- 
 ment of knives and forks, and its pots of flowers enveloped in 
 white paper ; and this pale light, this slow approach of dusk, gave 
 a somewhat distingue appearance to the gathering. Virginie 
 looked round the closed apartment all hung with muslin, and 
 declared it to be pretty. No doubt when a cart passed along 
 the street, the glasses jingled together on the tablecloth, and 
 the ladies were obliged to shout as loudly as the men. But 
 there was not much conversation: they all behaved very 
 respectably, and were very attentive to one another. Coupeau 
 alone wore a blouse, because, as he said, a man need not stand 
 on ceremony with his friends, besides which the blouse was the 
 workman's garb of honour. However, the ladies were in tight 
 bodices, their hair all greasy with pomatum, in which the day- 
 light was reflected ; whilst the gentlemen, sitting at a distance 
 from the table, puffed out their chests and kept their elbows 
 wide apart for fear of staining their frock-coats. 
 
 Ah, thunder ! what a hole they were making in the 
 blanquette I If they spoke little, they chewed in earnest, and 
 emptied and emptied the salad-bowl, where a spoon was stuck 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 199 
 
 amidst the thick sauce — a good yellow sauce which quivered like 
 jelly. The guests fished out pieces of veal, and it seemed aa 
 though they would never come to the end of it all ; the salad- 
 bowl journeyed from hand to hand, and face after face bent over 
 it looking for mushrooms. Then, too, the long loaves standing 
 against the wall, behind the company, appeared to melt away. 
 Between the mouthfuls one could hear the sound of glasses 
 being replaced on the table. The sauce was a trifle over salt, 
 and four quarts of wine were required to drown that veal, 
 which though it went down like cream, ignited a conflagration 
 in one's stomach. And before there was time to draw breath, 
 the chine of pork, surrounded by big round potatoes, arrived in 
 a huge dish amidst a cloud of smoke. There was a general out- 
 cry. By Jove ! that was just the thing ! Every one liked it. 
 They would do it justice ; and they watched the dish anxiously, 
 as they wiped their knives on their bread, so as to be in 
 readiness. Then, as soon as they had helped themselves, they 
 nudged one another and began to talk with their mouths full. 
 Eh ! it was just like butter I something soft yet solid, which one 
 could feel run through one, right into one's boots. The 
 potatoes, too, were like sugar. There was certainly nothing 
 salt about this dish ; only, on account of the potatoes, a 
 wetting became necessary every few minutes. So four more 
 quarts were uncorked. And afterwards the plates were left so 
 clean that they served for the green peas and bacon. Oh ! 
 vegetables were of no consequence. The company gulped 
 down the peas in spoonfuls as a mere amusement, though with 
 a touch of real gourmandise, such as was fitting with a ladies' 
 dish. After all, better than the peas thenaselves were the 
 small pieces of bacon, which were just nicely grilled. This 
 time two quarts of wine sufficed as an accompaniment. 
 
 * Mamma ! mamma I ' suddenly called Nana, * Augustine's 
 putting her fingers in my plate 1 ' 
 
 * Don't bother me ! give her a slap ! ' replied Gervaise, who 
 was stuffing herself with peas. 
 
 Nana was playing the part of mistress of the house, at the 
 children's table in the next room. She, had seated herseM 
 beside Victor, and had placed her brother Etienne next to little 
 Pauline ; and they pretended to be two married couples out 
 for a day's pleasure. At the beginning Nana had helped her 
 guests very nicely, with the smiling affability of a grown-up 
 person ; but yielding to her partiality for bacon, she had just 
 kept all the little pieces for herself. Squint-eyed Augustine, 
 
200 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 who slyly hovered round the children, had forthwith taken ad- 
 vantage of the incident to appropriate the bacon by the hand- 
 ful under the pretext of dividing it properly. Nana, in a rage, 
 bit her wrist. 
 
 * Ah, you know,* murmured Augustine, ' I'll tell your 
 mother that after the veal you asked Victor to kiss you.' 
 
 However, all became quiet again, for Gervaise and Mother 
 Coupeau entered to fetch the goose. The company at the big 
 table in the shop were leaning back in their chairs and draw- 
 ing breath. The men unbuttoned their waistcoats, and the 
 ladies wiped their faces with their napkins. The repast was, 
 so to say, mterrupted. One or two guests, unable to keep their 
 jaws still, continued to swallow large mouthfuls of bread, 
 without even knowing what they were about, but the others 
 waited, allowing their food to settle. Night had by this time 
 slowly fallen ; a dirty, ashen grey gUmmer was fading behind 
 the curtains. When Augustine brought two lamps and placed 
 one at each end of the table, the greasy forks and plates, the 
 cloth stained with wine and covered with crumbs, all the 
 general disorder, in fact, became apparent. In the strong odour 
 which pervaded the room, the company felt half stifled. 
 Certain warm fumes, however, attracted all noses towards the 
 kitchen. 
 
 * Can I help you ? ' cried Virginie, who forthwith left her 
 chair and passed into the inner room. And all the other 
 women followed her one by one, collecting around the roaster 
 and watching Gervaise and Mother Coupeau, as they tried to 
 pull out the bird. Then came a clamour, amidst which one 
 could distinguish the shrill voices and joyful leaps of the 
 children. And afterwards there was a triumphal entry into 
 the shop. Gervaise carried the goose, her arms stiffened, and 
 her perspiring face expanding in a broad, silent grin. The 
 women walked behind her, laughing in hke fashion ; whilst 
 Nana, right in the rear, raised herself to look, with widely 
 dilated eyes. When the huge golden goose, streaming with 
 gravy, was on the table, they did not immediately attack it. 
 Astonishment, respectful surprise, left everybody speechless 
 for a moment. They drew one another's attention to the 
 bird, with winks and nods. Golly ! what a fine lady 1 what 
 legs, and what a breast she had ! 
 
 * She didn't get fat by licking the walls, I'll bet 1 * said 
 Boche. 
 
 Then they entered into details respecting the goose. 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 201 
 
 Gervaise stated the facts. It was the finest that she had been 
 able to procure at the poulterer's in the Faubourg-Poissonniere ; 
 it had weighed twelve pounds and a half in the charcoal- 
 dealer's scales ; they had burnt nearly half a bushel of char- 
 coal in cooking it, and it had yielded three basins full of 
 dripping. Then Virginie interposed to boast that she had 
 seen the bird before it was cooked. One could have eaten it 
 as it was, said she, the skin looked so soft and white I At 
 this there was gluttonous laughter from all excepting the 
 Lorilleux, who only bit their lips, feeling ready to choke at 
 seeing such a goose as that on the Hobbler's table. 
 
 * Well I but we can't eat it whole,' the laundress ended by 
 observing. ' Who'll cut it up ? No, no, not me I It's too 
 big ; I'm afraid of it.' 
 
 Coupeau offered his services. It was very simple, said he, 
 you caught hold of the limbs, and simply pulled them off ; the 
 meat would be just as good as if it were cut. But the others 
 protested, and forcibly took possession of the large kitchen 
 knife which the zinc- worker already held in his hand. 
 Whenever he carved anything, he turned the dish into a 
 perfect graveyard. For a moment they waited for some 
 gentleman to come forward, but at last Madame Lerat said in 
 a most amiable voice : ' Listen, it ought to be Monsieur 
 Poisson ; yes. Monsieur Poisson.' And as the others did not 
 appear to understand her, she added, in a more flattering 
 manner still : ' Why, yes, of course it ought to be Monsieur 
 Poisson, who's accustomed to the use of weapons.' 
 
 So saying, she passed the kitchen knife to the policeman. All 
 round the table the company laughed with pleasure and approval. 
 Poisson bowed his head with military stiffness, and brought 
 the goose before him, while his neighbours, Gervaise and 
 Madame Boche, drew aside, so as to leave him plenty of elbow 
 room. He carved slowly, with broad gestures, and with his 
 eyes fixed on the bird, as though to nail it to the dish. When 
 he thrust the knife into the body, which cracked, Lorilleux 
 was seized with a fit of patriotism. 
 
 * Ah 1 if it were a Cossack ! ' he cried. 
 
 ' Have you ever fought with Cossacks, Monsieur Poisson ? * 
 inquired Madame Boche. 
 
 *No, with Bedouins,' replied the policeman, who was 
 cutting off a wing. ' There are no more Cossacks.' 
 
 But deep silence fell. Necks were stretched, and every 
 eye followed the knife. Poisson was preparing a surprise. 
 
202 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Suddenly he gave a last cut, whereupon the after part of the 
 bird came off and stood up on end, forming what is called 
 ' the bishop's mitre.' Then admiration burst forth, while the 
 gravy streamed out of the opening in the goose, and Boche 
 smacked his lips. 
 
 * I should like it all to trickle into my mouth/ he 
 murmured. 
 
 But Clemence persistently repeated : * Monsieur Poisson, 
 listen. Monsieur Poisson I You will save me the parson's nose, 
 won't you ? ' 
 
 Poisson was too busy to reply. However, the goose was 
 soon cut up, and the policeman arranged the several pieces 
 round the dish. All was now ready to be served ; but the 
 ladies, who were unhooking their dresses, complained of the 
 great heat. Coupeau thereupon called out that they were at 
 home, and that he did not care a button for the neighbours, 
 with which remark he rose and threw the shop-door wide open, 
 so that the junketting went on amidst the rumbhng of vehicles 
 and the jostling of passers-by. And, their jaws having 
 had a rest, and fresh room being found inside them, the com- 
 pany, as if beginning another dinner, furiously attacked the 
 goose. That joker Boche declared that while he was merely 
 waiting and watching the bird cut up, the stewed veal and 
 chine of pork had gone down into the calves of his legs. 
 
 Then came a wonderful tuck-in ; that is to say, none oi 
 the party could recollect having previously run such tre- 
 mendous risk of indigestion. Gervaise, puffed out and leaning 
 on her elbows, ate great pieces of breast, without speaking a 
 word, for fear of losing a mouthful. True, she felt shghtly 
 ashamed and annoyed at thus showing herself as gluttonous as 
 a cat, before Goujet, but he on his side was too busy stuffing 
 himself to notice how red she was with eating. Besides, in 
 spite of her greediness, she remained so pleasant and good- 
 natured 1 She did not speak, but she constantly busied her- 
 self in looking after old Bru, and placing some dainty bit on 
 his plate. It was even touching to see this glutton take a 
 piece of wing almost from her mouth to give it to the old fel- 
 low, who, by the way, appeared to be no judge, but swallowed 
 everything with bowed head, in a state of stupor at having to 
 guttle so much — he whose gizzard had lost the taste of bread. 
 
 Meantime, the Lorilleux expended their rage on the roast ; 
 they ate enough to last them for three days ; and they would 
 willingly have tucked away dish, table, and shop itself, if they 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON- 203 
 
 could only have ruined the Hobbler by doing so. All the 
 ladies had wanted a piece of the * carcass,' that being a weak- 
 ness of the ladies on account of their partiality for picking 
 bones. Madame Lerat, Madame Boche, and Madame Putois 
 were all doing so, whilst Mother Coupeau, who adored the 
 neck, was tearing the flesh off it with her two remaining teeth. 
 Virginie, for her part, Uked the skin, when it was nicely 
 browned, and the other guests gallantly passed theirs to her ; 
 BO much so, that Poisson looked at his wife severely, and bade 
 her stop, because she had eaten enough as it was. Once before, 
 said he, she had remained a fortnight in bed, through eating too 
 much roast goose. But Coupeau got angry and helped Virginie 
 to the upper part of a leg, saying that if she did not pick it she 
 was no woman. Had roast goose ever done harm to anybody ? 
 he asked. On the contrary, it cured all complaints of the 
 spleen. One could eat it without bread, like dessert. He, 
 Coupeau, could go on swallowing it all night long without 
 being the least bit inconvenienced ; and, thereupon, just to show 
 off, he stuffed a whole drum-stick into his mouth. Meanwhile, 
 C16mence was finishing her parson's nose, sucking it with 
 her lips, while wriggling with laughter at the coarse compli- 
 ments which Boche was whispering to her. Ah, yes, it was 
 a tuck out, and no mistake ! When one's at it, one's at it, you 
 know ; and when one only has such a chance every now and 
 then, one would be preciousstupidnottostuff oneself up to one's 
 ears ! The whole company was slowly but visibly swelling. 
 The women, the blessed gormandisers, with their mouths 
 open, their chins smeared with grease, and their cheeks red and 
 bloated, seemed to be bursting their very skins. 
 
 And the wine, my children ! it flowed round the table as 
 water flows along the Seine. There was a perfect stream of 
 it, as of rain when big clouds burst and the earth is thirsty. 
 Coupeau poured it out from on high to see it froth ; and 
 whenever a bottle was empty, he turned it upside down, and 
 pressed the neck hke a woman milking a cow. That made 
 yet another dead man ; and in a corner of the shop, the heap 
 of dead men went on increasing, forming a perfect cemetery of 
 bottles, on which they threw all the refuse from the table. 
 Madame Putois, having asked for some water, the zinc- worker 
 indignantly removed the carafes. Did respectable people 
 drink water ? There must be no frogs' liquor I And so glass- 
 fuls of wine were swallowed at a gulp ; you could hear the 
 liquid shoot down their throats like rain-water rushing into 
 
204 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the sewers during a storm. It rained a crude eourisli wine, 
 a wine which had at first smacked of a stale cask, but to which 
 one got so well accustomed, that it ended by tasting nutty. 
 
 Ah, ye gods ! whatever the Jesuits might say, grape-juice, 
 in Coupeau's opinion, was a famous invention ! The guests 
 laughed and applauded ; for, when all was said and done, the 
 workman could not have lived without wine. Father Noah 
 must have planted the vine for the benefit of zinc-workers, 
 tailors, and blacksmiths. Wine cleansed and comforted one 
 after work ; wine even put some fire into the veins of the sloth- 
 ful. And when it played tricks with you, well ! you felt your- 
 self monarch of all you surveyed, the whole of Paris belonged 
 to you. And, then, too, had the toiling and moiling workman, 
 who was always hard up and always treated with contempt by 
 the middle class and the aristocrats, so many opportunities of 
 enjoying himself? Was it right, therefore, to reproach him 
 for indulging in a little tipple every now and again, just to 
 get a glimpse of the rosy side of life ? At that very moment, 
 for instance, did they care a hang for the Emperor and his 
 position and his wealth ? Perhaps the Emperor himself was 
 also screwed, but try as he might he couldn't get fuller or 
 amuse himself more than they did. A fig for the aristocrats I 
 Coupeau sent the whole world to blazes. He thought all the 
 girls prime, slapped his pocket, in which three sous jingled, 
 and laughed as though they were a shovelful of five-fi"ano 
 pieces. Even Goujet, usually so sober, was getting elevated, 
 Boche's eyes were becoming smaller ; Lorilleux' were paling 
 while sterner and sterner glances came from Poisson's bronzed 
 veteran face. They were already as drunk as ticks. And the 
 ladies had their touch of it too — oh ! just a little mellowness 
 as yet, a flush of wine on their cheeks, which made them feel 
 over- warm, and induced them to doff their neckerchiefs. Cle- 
 mence alone was beginning to forget herself. But all at once 
 Gervaise recollected the six sealed bottles of wine which she 
 had omitted to put on the table with the goose. So she fetched 
 them, and all the glasses were filled once more. Then Poisson 
 rose, and glass in hand exclaimed : * I drink to the health of 
 the missus ! ' 
 
 At this the whole company stood up, noisily pushing back 
 their chairs ; and with arms outstretched they chinked glasses 
 amidst a terrible uproar. 
 
 * To this day fifty years hence ! * cried Virginie. 
 
 *No, no,' replied Gervaise, deeply moved and smiling. 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 205 
 
 • I should be too old. Ah I a day comes when one's glad to 
 
 go.' 
 
 Meantime, the door being wide open, the neighbourhood 
 was looking on and joining in the festivities. Passers-by 
 stopped in the broad ray of light which spread over the j^ave- 
 ment, and laughed heartily at seeing all those people stuff- 
 ing away so jovially. Cabmen and carters, leaning forward on 
 their seats, and whipping up their jades, glanced into the shop 
 and cracked a joke as they passed : ' I say, aren't you going to 
 Btand something ? Hallo, there ! are you bursting ? Shall I 
 fetch the doctor ? ' And the smell of the goose filled the whole 
 street with smiles and gaiety ; the grocer's men, as they stood 
 on the pavement opposite, fancied they were eating the bird 
 themselves ; every minute or so the wives of the greengrocer 
 and the tripe dealer came to their shop doors, to sniff the air 
 and lick their lips. The street was positively bursting with 
 indigestion. Mesdames Gudorge, mother and daughter, who 
 kept the umbrella shop close by, and, as a rule, were never 
 Been out of doors, crossed the road one behind the other, glanc- 
 ing askance at the festive scene, and looking as red as though 
 they had been making pancakes. As for the httle clockmaker, 
 seated at his bench, he was so intoxicated with having counted 
 the bottles of wine, so dreadfully excited amidst his merry 
 cuckoo clocks, that he could no longer work. 
 
 Yes, the neighbours were quite upset 1 as Coupeau said. 
 But why should there be any secret about the matter ? The 
 company, now fairly launched, no longer felt ashamed of being 
 seen at table ; on the contrary, it was flattered, excited by the 
 presence of that concourse of people, gaping with gluttony ; 
 and it would have liked to knock out the shop-front and drag 
 the table into the roadway, and there enjoy its dessert under 
 the very nose of the public, amidst all the commotion of the 
 traffic. There was nothing disgusting about them, was there ? 
 Well, then, there was no need for them to shut themselves in 
 like selfish people ! Coupeau, noticing that the Httle clock- 
 maker looked very thirsty, held up a bottle ; and, the other 
 having nodded his head in acquiescence, he carried him the 
 bottle and a glass. In this wise they began to fraternise with 
 the street. They drank to any one who passed. They called 
 in any chaps who looked the right sort. And thus the feast 
 spread, extending from one to another, in such a way that the 
 entire neighbourhood of the Goutte-d'Or smelt the grub, and 
 
2o6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 held its stomach, amidst a bacchanalian rumpus worthy of the 
 fiend himself. 
 
 For some minutes, Madame Vigouroux, the charcoal- dealer, 
 had been passing to and fro before the door. 
 
 • Hi I Madame Vigouroux I Madame "Vigouroux ! * yelled 
 the company. 
 
 She entered, grinning like an animal, her face washed and 
 her figure so plump that she seemed likely to burst her dress- 
 body. It was this plumpness which made her such a particular 
 favourite with the gentlemen. Boche made room for her 
 beside him, and slyly began to pay her court. But she, being 
 accustomed to that sort of thing, quietly tossed off a glass of 
 wine, and related that all the neighbours were at their windows, 
 and that some of the people of the house were beginning to 
 get angry. 
 
 * Oh, that's our business,' said Madame Boche. * We're 
 the doorkeepers, aren't we ? Well, we're answerable for good 
 order. Let them come and complain to us, and we'll receive 
 them in a way they don't expect.' 
 
 In the back-room there had just been a furious fight between 
 Nana and Augustine, on account of the roaster, which both 
 wanted to scrape out. For a quarter of an hour, the roaster 
 had rebounded over the tiled floor with the clanging of an old 
 saucepan. Now, however, Nana was nursing Httle Victor, 
 who had a goose-bone in his throat. She thrust her fingers 
 under his chin, and compelled him to swallow big lumps of 
 sugar by way of a remedy. Still this did not prevent her 
 from keeping an eye on the large table. Every minute 
 or so she came to ask for wine, bread, or meat, for Etienne 
 and Pauline. 
 
 ' Here ! burst I ' her mother would say to her. * Perhaps 
 you'll leave us in peace now ! ' 
 
 The children were scarcely able to swallow, nevertheless 
 they continued gorging, while tapping their forks on the 
 table to the tune of a canticle, in order to excite themselves. 
 
 Amidst the racket, however, a conversation had started 
 between Father Bru and Mother Coupeau. The old fellow, 
 who remained ghastly pale in spite of all the wine and food 
 given him, was talking of his sons who had died in the Crimea. 
 Ah ! if the lads had only lived, he would have had bread to 
 eat every day. But Mother Coupeau leant towards him, and 
 said in a somewhat husky voice : * Ah ! one has many worries 
 with children I For instance, I appear to be happy here, 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 207 
 
 flon't I ? Well I I cry oftener than you think. No, don't 
 wish to have children.' 
 
 Old Bru shook his head. *I can no longer get work 
 anywhere,' he murmured. * I'm too old. "When I enter a 
 workshop the young fellows joke, and ask me if I polished 
 Henri IV. 's boots. Last year, I was still able to earn thirty 
 sous a day at painting a bridge ; I had to remain on my back 
 all the time, with the river flowing beneath. I've coughed 
 ever since then. And now it's all over : they won't take me 
 anywhere.* He looked at his poor stiff hands and added : 
 * It's easy to understand, I'm no longer good for anything. 
 They're right ; if I were in their place, I should do the same. 
 You see, my misfortune is that I'm not dead. Yes, it's my 
 fault. One ought to lie down and croak when one's no longer 
 able to work.* 
 
 * Really,' said Lorilleux, who was listening, * I don't 
 understand why the Government doesn't come to the aid of 
 the invalids of labour. I was reading that in a newspaper the 
 other day.* 
 
 But Poisson thought it his duty to defend the Government. 
 ' Workmen are not soldiers,' he declared. * The Invalides is 
 for soldiers. You mustn't ask for impossibilities.' 
 
 The dessert was now served. In the centre of the table 
 was a Savoy cake in the form of a temple, with its dome fluted 
 like a melon ; and this dome was surmounted by an artificial rose, 
 among the petals of which, in imitation of dew, there nestled 
 two drops of gum, while near by a butterfly of silver paper 
 fluttered from the end of a wire. Then, on the left hand, a 
 piece of cream cheese was floating in a deep dish ; whilst, in 
 another dish on the right, were piled some large bruised 
 strawberries, whose juice was running from them. However, 
 there was still some salad left, some large lettuce leaves soaked 
 in oil. 
 
 * Come, Madame Boche,* said Gervaise, coaxingly, * a little 
 more salad. I know how fond you are of it.* 
 
 ' No, no, thank you ! I've already had as much as I can 
 manage,' replied the door-keeper. 
 
 Then, as the laundress turned towards Virginie, the latter 
 put her finger into her mouth, as though to touch the food she 
 had taken. * Really now, I'm full,' she murmured. * There's 
 no room left. I couldn't swallow a mouthful.* 
 
 * Oh 1 but if you tried a little,' resumed Gervaise with a. 
 gmile. * One can always find a tiny comer. One doesn't 
 
2o8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 need to be hungry to eat salad. You're surely not going to 
 let this be wasted ? ' 
 
 * You can eat it to-morrow pickled,* said Madame Lerat ; 
 * it's nicer so.' 
 
 The ladies puffed as they looked regretfully at the salad- 
 bowl. Cl^mence related that she had one day eaten three 
 bunches of water-cresses at her lunch. Madame Putois could 
 do more than that, she would take a coss lettuce, and munch 
 it with salt just as it was, without picking it to pieces. They 
 could all have lived on salad, would have treated themselves 
 to tubf uls, had it been possible. And, this conversation aiding, 
 the ladies at last cleaned out the salad-bowl. 
 
 * I could go on all-fours in a meadow,' observed the door- 
 keeper, with her mouth full. 
 
 Then they chuckled as they eyed the dessert. Dessert did 
 not count. It came rather late, but no matter ; they would 
 caress it all the same. Even if they should burst like bomb- 
 shells, they could not allow themselves to be humbugged by 
 cake and strawberries. Besides, there was no hurry ; they 
 had plenty of time, all night if they pleased. Meanwhile, 
 they filled their plates with cream cheese and strawberries. 
 The men, moreover, lit their pipes ; and, as the sealed bottles of 
 wine were now empty, they returned to the common wine, and 
 drank it as they smoked. However, everybody wished Gervaise 
 to cut the Savoy cake at once. Poissongot up, took the rose, and, 
 amidst the applause of the whole company, very gallantly 
 presented it to the lady in whose honour the feast was given. 
 She had to fix it with a pin on the left side of her dress, over 
 her heart ; and at each movement she made, the butterfly 
 fluttered about. 
 
 ' I say 1 ' exclaimed Lorilleux, who had just made a 
 discovery, * why, it's your work-table that we're eating off. 
 Ah well ! I dare say it's never seen so much work before ! ' 
 
 This malicious joke met with great success. Witty allu- 
 sions came from all sides. Clemence could no longer 
 swallow a spoonful of strawberries without saying that it was 
 another shirt ironed ; Madame Lerat pretended that the 
 cream cheese smelt of starch ; whilst Madame Lorilleux mut- 
 tered between her teeth that it was a fine idea to gobble up 
 money so quickly on the very boards on which one had had 
 so much trouble to earn it. There was quite a tempest of 
 shouts ind laughter. 
 
 But all at once a loud voice called for silence. It was Boche 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 209 
 
 who, standing up in an affected, vulgar attitude, was beginning 
 to sing * The Volcano of Love, or the Seductive Trooper.' 
 
 * 'Tis I, Blavin, enthraller of the fair — ' 
 
 A thunder of applause greeted the first verse. Yes, yes, they 
 would sing songs ! Each in turn. It was the best of all 
 amusements. Then they set their elbows on the table, or 
 leaned back in their chairs, nodding at the best parts, and 
 sipping their wine when they came to the choruses. That 
 rogue Boche had a special gift for comic songs. He would 
 almost make the very water-bottles laugh when he imitated 
 the raw recruit, with his fingers apart, and his hat on the 
 back of his head. Immediately after ' The Volcano of Love,* 
 he burst into * The Baroness de FoUebiche,' one of his 
 greatest successes. When he reached the third verse ha 
 turned towards Clemence, and repeated in a slow and volup- 
 tuous voice : 
 
 * The baroness had people there, 
 
 Her sisters four, oh ! rare surprise : 
 And three were dark and one was fair! 
 Between them, eight bewitching eyes.* 
 
 Then the whole company, carried away, joined in the 
 chorus. The men beat time with their heels, whilst the 
 ladies tapped their knives against their glasses. And all of 
 them yelled : 
 
 ♦ By Jingo I who on earth will pay 
 
 A drink to the pa — to the pa — pa — ? 
 By Jingo ! who on earth will pay 
 A drink to the pa — to the pa — tro — 0— 1 ? ' 
 
 The glass panes of the shop-front resounded, and the 
 mushn curtains were stirred by the great volume of breath 
 from the vocalists. Meanwhile, however, Virginie had already 
 twice disappeared, and each time on returning had leant 
 towards Gervaise to whisper some information in her ear. 
 "When she came back the third time, in the very midst of the 
 uproar, she said to her : * My dear, he's still at Fran9ois's ; 
 he's pretending to read the newspaper. He's certainly medi- 
 tating some trickery or other.' 
 
 She was speaking of Lantier, for it was he that she had 
 been watching. At each fresh report, Gervaise became more 
 and more grave. 
 
 * Is he drunk ? ' she asked Virginie. 
 
 * No,' replied the tall brunette. ' He looks as though he 
 had just had enough. And it's particularly that which makes 
 
2IO THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 me anxious. Why does he remain there if he's had all he 
 wanted ? Good heavens I I hope nothing is going to happen I ' 
 The laundress, feehng greatly upset, begged her to be quiet. 
 Profound silence had suddenly succeeded the general clamour. 
 Madame Putois had risen, and was about to sing * The Board- 
 ing of the Pirate.* The company silently and gravely watched 
 her ; even Poisson had laid his pipe on the edge of the table, 
 the better to Usten to her. She drew up her little figure 
 stiffly and fiercely, her face quite pale beneath her black cap, 
 and she thrust out her left fist with confident pride, as she 
 thundered in a voice bigger than herself : 
 
 * If pirate audacious 
 
 Should o'er the waves chase as, 
 The buccaneer slaughter I 
 
 Accord him no quarter 1 
 To the guns every man I 
 
 And with rum fill each can ! 
 May these pests of the seas 
 
 Dangle from the cross-trees 1 • 
 
 That was something serious. But, dash it all I it gave one 
 a fine idea of the real thing. Poisson, who had been on 
 board ship, nodded his head in approval of the local colouring. 
 One could see, too, that the song accorded with Madame 
 Putois' s own feelings. Coupeau leant forward to relate how 
 one night in the Kue Poulet, Madame Putois had boxed the 
 ears of four men who had attempted to insult her. 
 
 With the assistance of Mother Coupeau, Gervaise was now 
 serving the coflfee, though some of the guests had not yet 
 finished their Savoy cake. They would not let her sit down 
 again, but shouted that it was her turn next. Pale and ill at 
 ease, she tried to excuse herself ; so queer to all appearance 
 that some inquired if the goose had disagreed with her. And 
 thereupon she repeated, * Oh I Let me Slumber I ' in a sweet 
 but feeble voice. When she reached the refrain : * 'Tis a sweet 
 dream, oh, let me sleep for aye,' that prayer for a continuance 
 of blissful repose, her eyelids fell and her rapt gaze wandered 
 into the darkness of the street. Directly afterwards, Poisson 
 abruptly saluted the ladies and started a drinking song, the 
 * Wines of France,' but he had a voice like a squirt, and only 
 the last verse, the patriotic one, met with any success, because 
 when alluding to the tricolour flag, he raised his glass on high, 
 poised it there for a moment, and ended by pouring the 
 contents into his open mouth. 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 211 
 
 Then came a string of ballads : Madame Boche's barcarolle 
 was all about Venice and the gondoliers ; Madame Lorilleux 
 sang of Seville and the Andalusian beauties in her bolero ; 
 whilst Lorilleux went so far as to allude to the perfumes of 
 Araby, in connection with the loves of Fatma, the dancer. 
 All around the greasy table, in the atmosphere reeking with 
 the fumes of indigestion, there spread a golden horizon. 
 Ivory necks and ebon tresses, kisses of the midnight hour ex- 
 changed amid the twanging of guitars, bayaderes, scattering 
 pearls and rabies where they trod — each flitted by in turn 
 while the men blissfully smoked their pipes, and the ladies 
 languorously smiled. All fancied themselves far away yonder, 
 sniffing delicious odours. When Clemence began to warble 
 ' Build ye a Nest,' with a tremolo of the throat, she likewise 
 caused much pleasure ; for her song recalled the country, the 
 merry birds, the sweet-scented flowers, the dances beneath the 
 greenery — in short, all that one saw in the Bois de Vincennes 
 when one went thither for a day's outing. 
 
 However, Virginie revived the joking with * My little Drop 
 of Brandy ; ' in singing which she imitated a sutler girl 
 with her left hand on her hip, and her elbow arched, to 
 indicate the little barrel which she was supposed to carry ; 
 while with the right hand she pretended to turn on the barrel 
 tap, by twisting her left wrist. And she did the pantomime 
 business so well that the company next begged Mother Coupeau 
 to sing ' The Mouse.' The old woman refused, vowing that she 
 did not know it ; yet she at last started ofl: with the remnants 
 of her broken voice ; and her wrinkled face and lively little 
 syes gave comic expression to the terrors of Mademoiselle 
 Lise, drawing her skirts around her at the sight of a mouse. 
 The whole table roared ; the women could not keep their 
 countenances. However, Boche began to manifest such 
 admiration for the plump charcoal-dealer that something un- 
 pleasant might have happened if Goujet, on a sign from Ger- 
 vaise, had not restored silence and decorum by thundering 
 * Abd-el-Kader's Farewell ' in his full bass voice. It was very 
 evident that his lungs were sound. The song rang out from 
 amidst his beautiful yellow beard, as from a brass trumpet. 
 When he uttered the cry, * my noble companion ! * thus 
 apostrophising the warrior's famous black mare, all hearts 
 beat with him. He was applauded before reaching the end, 
 for he had shouted so louoi. 
 
 p2 
 
212 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 * Now, old Bru, it's your turn ! ' said Mother Coupeau. 
 * Sing your song. The old ones are the best, any day ! ' 
 
 Forthwith everybody turned towards the old man, pressing 
 and encouraging him. He, in a state of torpor, his tanned 
 face quite expressionless, looked at them without appearing to 
 understand. They asked him if he knew the * Five vowels.* 
 He lowered his head as if to reflect ; no, he could not recollect 
 it ; all the songs of the good old days had become mixed up in 
 his noddle. However, just as they made up their minds to 
 leave him alone, he seemed to remember, and began to stutter 
 in a cavernous voice . 
 
 * Trou la la, trou la la, 
 
 Trou la, trou la, trou la la 1 ' 
 
 Then his face assumed a more animated expression, as if 
 this refrain recalled some far-off gaiety which he alone tasted, 
 while listening with childish delight to hi^ own hollow 
 voice : 
 
 * Trou la la, trou la la, 
 
 Trou la, trou la, trou la la ! ' 
 
 * I say, my dear,* whispered Virginie at that moment in 
 Gervaise's ear, * I've just been there again, you know. It 
 worried me. Well ! Lantier has gone off from Fran9ois's.' 
 
 * You didn't see him outside ? ' asked the laundress. 
 
 * No, I walked quick, I didn't think of looking,' began the 
 other, but all at once, after raising her eyes, she paused, 
 restraining an exclamation of surprise : * Ah, good heavens ! 
 He's there, on the pavement opposite ; he's looking this way.' 
 
 Gervaise, though she was quite aghast, ventured to glance 
 in the direction indicated. Several persons had now collected 
 in the street to hear the company sing. The grocer's men, 
 the tripe-dealer and the little clockmaker were grouped to- 
 gether as if at a theatre. There were some soldiers, too, some 
 gentlemen in frock-coats, and three little girls from five 
 to six years old, who held one another by the hand, looking 
 grave and wonder-struck. And Lantier was indeed there in 
 the front row, coolly listening and looking on. It was rare 
 cheek on his part, and no mistake ! Gervaise felt a chill 
 ascend to her heart, and no longer dared to move, whilst old 
 Bru contmued : 
 
 * Trou la la, trou la la, 
 
 Trou la, trou la, trou la la 1 ' 
 
 ' Ah well I no, my ancient one, that's enough ! ' said 
 
THE FEAST AAD THE SKELETON 213 
 
 Coupeau. * Do you know the whole of it ? You shall sing it 
 to us another day, eh I when we're too lively.' 
 
 This raised a laugh. The old fellow stopped short, 
 glanced round the table with his pale eyes, and then reverted 
 to the posture of a meditative animal. The coffee had now 
 all been drunk, and the zinc-worker had asked for more wine, 
 while Cl^mence had returned to the strawberries. For an 
 instant, the singing ceased and they talked of a woman who 
 had been found hanging that morning in the house next 
 door. It was Madame Lerat's turn to give a song, but she 
 required time to prepare herself. She dipped a corner of her 
 napkin into a glass of water and applied it to her temples, as 
 she felt too hot. Then, she asked for a thimbleful of brandy, 
 drank it, and slowly wiped her lips. 
 
 ' The '* Child of God," eh ? ' she murmured, * the '* Child of 
 God." ' 
 
 And, tall and masculine-looking, with her bony nose and 
 her shoulders as square as a grenadier's, she began to sing 
 
 * The lost child left by its mother alone, 
 
 Is sure of a home in Heaven above, 
 God sees and protects it on earth from His throne. 
 The child that is lost is the child of God's love.' 
 
 Her voice trembled at certain words, with prolonged liquid 
 notes ; and she raised her eyes slantwise to heaven, whilst her 
 right hand swung before her chest or pressed her heart with 
 affecting gestures. Then Gervaise, tortured by Lantier's 
 presence, could not restrain her tears ; it seemed to her as if 
 the song expressed her own suffering, that she was the lost, 
 forsaken child, whom God was going to take under His pro- 
 tection. Clemence, who was very drunk, suddenly broke into 
 sobs ; and, with hej* head on the edge of the table, stifled her 
 hiccoughs with the cloth. A quivering silence reigned among 
 the company. The ladies had produced their handkerchiefs, 
 and were wiping their eyes without averting their faces, 
 proud as they were of their emotion. The men, their heads 
 slightly bowed, looked straight before them, blinking. 
 Poisson, choking and grinding his teeth, twice broke off a 
 piece of his pipe, and spat the bits upon the floor, without 
 ceasing to smoke ; but Boche left off ogling the charcoal- 
 dealer, mastered as he was by vague remorse and respect, 
 which made two big tears trickle down his cheeks. Those 
 revellers were as rigid as justice, and as tender-hearted as 
 
214 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 lambs. The wine was coming out by way of their eyes, that 
 was all I When the chorus started again, with slov/er and 
 more pathetic rhythm, all gave way and blubbered into their 
 plates, unfastening their clothes, and bursting with emotion. 
 
 But Gervaise and Virginie, in spite of themselves, could not 
 take their eyes off the opposite pavement. Madame Boche, 
 in her turn, caught sight of Lantier and uttered a faint 
 cry, while still smearing her face with her tears. Then, 
 all three began to look very anxious as they exchanged 
 involuntary signs. Good heavens ! if Coupeau should turn 
 round, if Coupeau should see the other 1 What butchery ! 
 what carnage 1 And they went on to such an extent, that 
 the zinc-worker asked them : ' Whatever are you looking at ? ' 
 
 Then in his turn leaning forward he recognised Lantier. 
 * Blazes I ' he muttered, ' that's too strong. Ah ! the dirty 
 scoundrel — the dirty scoundrel. That's too much, it must 
 come to an end.' And, as he rose from his seat muttering 
 atrocious threats, Gervaise in a low voice entreated him to 
 keep quiet : ' Listen to me, I implore you. Leave the knife 
 alone. Kemain where you are, don't do anything dreadful.' 
 
 Virginie had to snatch away the knife which he had 
 picked off the table. But she could not prevent him from 
 leaving the shop and going up to Lantier. The others, in 
 their increasing emotion, saw nothing of all this, but wept 
 the more ; whilst Madame Lerat sang with an excruciating 
 expression : 
 
 • Poor orphan girl, so lost, so lone, 
 With none to hear her piteous moan 
 Save the tall trees and passing wind.' 
 
 The last line sounded like the woeful shriek of a tempest. 
 Madame Putois, who was drinking, was so affected by it that 
 she spilt her wine on the tablecloth. Gervaise, however, 
 remained as though frozen, pressing her hand to her mouth 
 to prevent herself from calling out, blinking with fright, and 
 expecting at every second to see one of the two men outside 
 knocked down in the middle of the road. Virginie and 
 Madame Boche also followed the scene, deeply interested 
 in it. Coupeau, surprised by the fresh air, had almost 
 fallen plump in the gutter, on trying to rush upon 
 Lantier. The latter, with his hands in his pockets, had 
 simply moved aside. And the two men were now reviling 
 each other, the zinc-worker in particular employing the 
 coarsest expressions. One could hear their wild voices, and 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 215 
 
 distinguish the furious gestures they made, as though they were 
 bent on swinging their arms off. Gervaise felt faint, and 
 shut her eyes, because the row was lasting too long, and she 
 expected at every minute to see them biting each other's 
 noses off, so close together did they thrust their faces. Then, 
 as she no longer heard anything, she opened her eyes again, 
 and felt quite confused on seeing them quietly conversing. 
 
 But Madame Lerat's voice rose in warbling, tearful 
 accents, as she commenced another verse : 
 
 • Next morn, exhausted on the ground, 
 The poor lost child half dead was found.* 
 
 * Some women are indeed brutes I ' said Madame 
 Lorilleux, amidst general approbation. 
 
 Gervaise had just exchanged a glance with Madame Boche 
 and Virginie. Were matters going to end amicably then ? 
 Coupeau and Lantier were continuing their conversation on 
 the kerb-stones. They were still pouring forth abuse, but in 
 a friendly way. They called one another * rogue,' in a tone 
 of voice which had a touch of affection in it. And as people 
 stared at them, they ended by strolHng leisurely alongside the 
 houses, turning round again every ten yards or so. All at once, 
 however, their conversation became more animated, and 
 Coupeau appeared to get angry again, as the other resisted 
 some request made of him. Finally, however, the zinc- 
 worker pushed Lantier along, and forced him to cross the 
 street and enter the shop. 
 
 ' I tell you it's with a good heart I ' he shouted. * You 
 must drink a glass of wine. Men are men, you know. 
 People ought to understand one another.* 
 
 Madame Lerat had now got to the last refrain, and the 
 ladies, while twisting their handkerchiefs, were singing in 
 chorus : 
 
 'The child that is lost is the child of God's love.* 
 
 The singer was greatly complimented as she resumed 
 her seat, affecting to be quite broken down. She asked 
 for something to drink, because, she said, she always put 
 so much feeling into that song, that she ran the risk of 
 overstraining her nerves. The others, however, now had 
 their eyes on Lantier, who, sitting quietly beside Coupeau, 
 was devouring the last piece of Savoy cake which he dipped 
 in his glass of wine. With the exception of Virginie and 
 Madame Boche, none of the guests were acquainted with 
 
2x6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 him. The Lorilleux certainly scented some underhand 
 business, but not knowing what it might be, they merely 
 pursed their lips. On the other hand, Goujet, who had 
 noticed Gervaise's emotion, gave the new-comer a sour 
 look. And as an awkward pause ensued, Coupeau simply 
 said : * A friend of mine.* And turning to his wife he 
 added : * Come, stir yourself 1 Perhaps there's still some 
 hot coffee left.* 
 
 Gervaise, feeling meek and stupid, looked at them one 
 after the other. At first, when her husband had pushed her 
 old lover into the shop, she had hidden her head with 
 both hands, just as she instinctively did on stormy days, at 
 each clap of thunder. She could not believe it possible ; the 
 walls would surely fall and crush them all I Then, seeing 
 the two men seated there, without so much as the muslin 
 curtains moving, she suddenly thought it the most natural 
 thing in the world. The goose was slightly disagreeing with 
 her ; she had certainly eaten too much of it, and it prevented 
 her from thinking. A happy feeling of languor benumbed 
 her, kept her huddled up at the edge of the table, with but 
 one desire — that she might not be worried. And indeed, why, 
 mon Dieu, should one put oneself out when others don't, and 
 things to all appearance arrange themselves to general 
 satisfaction? She got up to see if there was any coffee 
 left. 
 
 In the back-room the children had now fallen asleep. 
 That squint-eyed Augustine had tyrannised over them during 
 the dessert, pilfering their strawberries and frightening them 
 with the most abominable threats. Now, she herself felt 
 very ill, and was crouching in silence on a stool, her face 
 ghastly pale. Chubby Pauline had let her head fall against 
 [Etienne's shoulder, and he himself was sleeping at the edge 
 of the table. Nana was seated on the rug beside the bed- 
 stead, close to Victor, whom she held in a tight embrace, 
 with one arm round his neck. Her eyes were closed, and she 
 seemed half asleep, still she kept on repeating in a feeble 
 voice : * Oh ; mamma, I'm not well ; oh 1 mamma, I'm not 
 well.* 
 
 * No wonder I ' murmured Augustine, whose head was 
 swaying on her shoulders, ' they're fuddled ; they've been 
 singing like grown;up persons.' 
 
 The sight of Etienne proved another blow for Gervaise. 
 She felt as though she would choke when she thought that 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETON 217 
 
 the youngster's father was there, in that other room, 
 munching cake, and had not even expressed ^a desire to kiss 
 the lad. She was on the point of rousing Etienne, and of 
 carrying him into the shop in her arms. But once again she 
 felt pleased with the quiet way in which matters had been 
 arranged. It would not be proper to disturb the harmony of 
 the evening. So she simply went back with the coffee-pot 
 and poured out some coffee for Lantier, who, by the way, did 
 not appear to notice her. 
 
 * Now, it's my turn,* stuttered Coupeau in a thick voice. 
 * Eh 1 you've been keeping me for the tit-bit. Well ! I'll sing 
 you *♦ What a Piggish Child ! '" 
 
 ' Yes, yes, " What a Piggish Child I " ' cried the whole 
 company. 
 
 Then the uproar began again, and Lantier was forgotten. 
 The ladies got their glasses and knives ready, so as to accom- 
 pany the chorus. They laughed beforehand, on looking at 
 the zinc-worker, who steadied himself on his legs in a vulgar 
 way, and then, mimicking the hoarse voice of an old woman, 
 began : 
 
 * When out of bed each mom I hop, 
 As I'm always precious queer, 
 I send him for a little drop 
 
 To the drinking-ken that's near. 
 A good half -hour or more he'll stay; 
 
 But what makes me most riled, 
 He swigs quite half upon his way : 
 What a piggish child 1 ' 
 
 Then the ladies, striking their glasses, repeated in chorus? 
 amidst terrific mirth : 
 
 * What a piggish child I 
 What a piggish child 1 ' 
 
 Even the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or itself joined in now. 
 The whole neighbourhood began to sing, * What a piggish 
 child 1 ' Across the road the little clockmaker, the grocer's 
 men, the tripedealer, and the greengrocer, who knew the 
 song, took up the chorus, smacking one another the while 
 just by way of a lark. Eeally the very street was getting in- 
 toxicated ; the bacchanalian fumes which emanated from the 
 shop sufficed to make even the bystanders merry. It should 
 be said that the entire party inside was now completely 
 fuddled. Intoxication had gradually grown and spread ever 
 Bince the first little drop of pure wine following the soup. 
 
2i8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 And at present the climax was reached ; they were all bray- 
 ing and bursting with what they had sv/allowed, in the red- 
 dish haze diffused by the lamps, which required to be wound 
 up. Such was the clamour of this gigantic spree that it 
 completely drowned the rumbling of the last passing vehicles. 
 Two policemen, thinking that there was a riot, hastened 
 to the spot ; but on catching sight of Poisson, they just 
 nodded to him in a knowing way, and then slowly moved off, 
 side by side, past the dark houses. 
 
 Coupeau was now singing this verse : 
 
 ♦ On Sundays at Petite Villette, 
 
 Whene'er the weather's fine, 
 We call on uncle, old Tinette, 
 
 Who's in the dustman line. 
 To gorge himself with cherry stones 
 
 The young un gets that wild, 
 He rolls among the dust and bones : 
 
 What a piggish child 1 
 
 What a piggish child I • 
 
 Then the house almost collapped, such a yell ascended 
 into the calm, warm night air that the shouters applauded 
 themselves, for it was useless to hope that they would be 
 able to bawl any louder. 
 
 Not one of the company could ever recollect exactly how 
 the carouse terminated. It must have come to an end at a 
 very late hour, that was quite certain, for not a cat was to 
 be seen in the street. Possibly, too, it was a fact that they 
 had all joined hands and danced round the table. However, 
 those who fancied that they remembered some such scene 
 could only picture a yellow mist, in which red faces bobbed 
 about, with mouths distended from ear to ear. One thing 
 was certain, that hot as they were, they had treated them- 
 selves to some mulled wine towards the end, but there was 
 a vague suspicion that somebody had played the trick of 
 dropping some salt into the glasses. The children must 
 have undressed and put themselves to bed. On the morrow, 
 Madame Boche boasted of having treated Boche to a couple 
 of clouts on account of his impudence to the charcoal- 
 dealer's wife ; but Boche, who recollected nothing of the 
 matter, declared that she must have dreamt it. What every- 
 one agreed was not at all decent, was the behaviour of 
 Cl^mence, who, on feeling indisposed, had in no wise at- 
 tempted to conceal it, whereas the others had very properly 
 
THE FEAST AND THE SKELETOA 219 
 
 retired. At the end the whole company had seemingly 
 melted away, disappearing one behind the other in the sur- 
 rounding darkness, amidst a final uproar, a furious quarrel 
 between the Lorilleux, and an obstinate and mournful * trou 
 la la, trou la la,* from old Bru. Gervaise had an idea that 
 Goujet had burst out sobbing when bidding her good-bye ; 
 Coupeau was then still singing ; and as for Lantier, he must 
 have remained till the end. She could still recall indeed 
 that her hair had at one moment been stirred by a sudden 
 whiff, but whether this had come from Lantier*s lips or from 
 the warm night she was unable to say. 
 
 As Madame Lerat refused to return to BatignoUes at 
 that late hour they took a mattress off the bed, and spread 
 it in a corner of the shop, after pushing the table on one 
 side. And there she slept, amidst the crumbs from the 
 feast. And throughout the remainder of the night, while the 
 Coupeaus slumbered heavily, working off the effects of all their 
 jimketting, a neighbour's cat, taking advantage of a window 
 which had been left open, crunched up the goose bones, 
 making a complete finish of the bird with the faint, con- 
 tinuous munching of its sharp teeth. 
 
 THE WILES OF THE TEMPTEB 
 
 On the followmg Saturday, Coupeau, who had not come 
 home to dinner, brought Lantier with him towards ten 
 o'clock. They had treated themselves to some sheep's trotters 
 at Thomas's at Montmartre. * You mustn't scold, old 
 woman,' said the zinc-worker. ' We're all right, as you can 
 see. Oh I there's no fear with him ; he keeps one in the 
 straight road.' 
 
 Then he related how they had happened to meet in the 
 Rue Rochechouart. After dinner Lantier had declined to 
 have a drink at the 'Black Ball,' saying that when a man 
 was married to a pretty and worthy little woman, he ought 
 not to go liquoring-up at every wine-shop. Gervaise smiled 
 slightly as she listened. Oh ! she was not thinking of 
 scolding ; she felt too much embarrassed for that. Ever 
 Bince the feast, she had been expecting to see her old lover 
 
220 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 again, some day or other ; but tlie sudden arrival of tbe two 
 men at such an hour, just at bedtime, had taken her by 
 surprise ; and with trembhng hands she fastened up her back 
 hair, which had rolled down her neck. 
 
 * Well, do you know,' resumed Coupeau, * as he was so 
 discreet as to refuse a drink out of doors, you must treat us 
 to one here. Ah ! you certainly owe us that 1 ' 
 
 The workwomen had been gone a long while, and Mother 
 Coupeau and Nana had just got into bed. So Gervaise, who 
 had been on the point of putting up the shutters when 
 the men appeared, left the shop open, and fetched some 
 glasses and a bottle containing a little brandy, which she 
 placed on a corner of the work-table. Lantier remained 
 standing, and avoided speaking to her direct. However, 
 when she helped him, he exclaimed : * Only a thimbleful, 
 madame, if you please.' 
 
 At this Coupeau looked at them, and spoke his mind 
 very plainly. They were not going to behave like geese, he 
 hoped 1 The past was past, was it not ? If people nursed 
 grudges for nine and ten years together, they would end by 
 seeing nobody at all. No, no, he carried his heart in his 
 hand, he did ! Besides, he knew whom he had to deal with, 
 a worthy woman and a worthy man — in short, two friends 1 
 He felt easy, for he knew that he could depend upon them. 
 
 * Oh I that's certain, quite certain,' repeated Gervaise, 
 lowering her eyes, and scarcely understanding what she said. 
 
 * She is a sister now — nothing but a sister ! ' murmured 
 Lantier in his turn. 
 
 * Dash it all ! shake hands,' cried Coupeau, * and let those 
 who don't like it go to blazes I When people have proper 
 feelings, they are better off than millionaires. For my part 
 I place friendship before every thmg, because friendship is 
 friendship, and there's nothing to beat it.' 
 
 So saying he dealt himself several heavy blows on the 
 chest, and seemed so moved that they had to calm him. They 
 all three silently chinked glasses, and drank their brandy. 
 Gervaise was then able to look at Lantier at her ease ; for, 
 on the night of the feast, she had but espied him through a 
 mist. He had grown stouter, fat and round, and his legs 
 and arms looked heavy on account of his short stature. But 
 his face preserved some handsome features beneath the 
 bloatedness born of an idle life ; and as he always took great 
 care of his little moustaches, one could guess accurately 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 221 
 
 enough that he was thirty-five years old. That day he was 
 dressed, in very gentlemanly fashion, in grey trousers, dark- 
 blue coat and billy -cock hat ; and he even carried a silver 
 watch and chain, from which hung a ring, a keepsake. 
 
 'I'm off,' said he, all at once. 'I live no end of a 
 distance from here.' And he was already on the pavement, 
 when the zinc-worker called him back to make him promise 
 that he would never pass the door without looking in to wish 
 them good-day. Meanwhile Gervaise, who had quietly dis- 
 appeared, returned, pushing Etienne before her. The child, 
 who was in his shirt sleeves, and half asleep, smiled as he 
 rubbed his eyes. But on perceiving Lantier, he stopped 
 short, trembling and embarrassed, and casting anxious 
 glances at his mother and Coupeau. 
 
 * Don't you remember this gentleman ? ' asked the latter. 
 For a moment the child held down his head without 
 
 replying. Then he made a shght sign which meant that he 
 did remember the gentleman. 
 
 ' Well 1 then, don't stand there like a fool ; go and kiss 
 him.' 
 
 Lantier gravely and quietly waited. When Etienne had 
 made up his mind to approach him, he stooped down, pre- 
 sented both cheeks in turn, and then kissed the youngster on 
 the forehead himself. At this the boy ventured to look at his 
 father ; but all at once he burst out sobbing, and scampered 
 away like a mad creature, his clothes half falling off him, while 
 Coupeau angrily called him a young savage. 
 
 * The emotion's too much for him,' said Gervaise, pale and 
 agitated herself. 
 
 ' Oh ! he's generally very gentle and amiable,' exclaimed 
 Coupeau. ' I've brought him up famously, as you'll see. 
 He'll get used to you. He must learn to know people. Any- 
 how, were it only on this youngster's account, we could not 
 always have remained bad friends, could we now ? We ought 
 to have made it up for his sake long ago, for I would sooner 
 have my head cut off than prevent a father from seeing his 
 child.' 
 
 Having thus delivered himself, he talked of finishing the 
 bottle of brandy. All three chinked glasses again. Lantier 
 showed no surprise, but remained superbly calm. By way of 
 acknowledging the zinc-worker's politeness, he insisted on 
 helping him to put up the shutters, before taking his departure. 
 Then, rubbing his hands to cleanse them of the dust, he wished 
 
222 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the couple good-night. * Sleep well. I shall try to catch the 
 last 'bus. I promise you I'll look in again soon.' 
 
 From that evening forward, Lantier frequently called at 
 the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. He came when the zinc-worker 
 was there, inquiring for him the moment he reached the door, 
 and pretending that he had called solely on his account. Then, 
 invariably coated like one of the middle class, freshly shaved 
 and combed, he would take a seat by the window, and converse 
 politely with the manners of an educated man. It was thus 
 that the Coupeaus gradually became acquainted with some 
 details of his life. During the last eight years he had for a 
 while managed a hat factory ; and when they inquired why he 
 had retired from it, he contented himself with alluding to the 
 rascality of a partner, a fellow from his native place, who had 
 squandered all the takings with women. But his whilom 
 position of employer remained manifest in his whole person, like 
 some title of nobility from which he could not derogate. He 
 was for ever saying that he was on the point of completing a 
 superb arrangement ; some wholesale hat manufacturers were 
 to set him up in business and trust him with an enormous stock. 
 Meanwhile, however, he did nothing but walk about in the 
 sunshine with his hands in his pockets, just like a gentleman 
 possessed of a private income. And on the days when 
 he complained, if any one ventured to tell him of a factory 
 which was in want of workmen, he smiled compassionately ; 
 he, for his part, had no desire to die of hunger while slaving 
 for others. 
 
 All the same, as Coupeau would say, he did laot live on air. 
 Oh ! he was a cunning blade. He knew how to get his bread 
 buttered, and doubtless had something up his sleeve, for he 
 certainly wore an air of prosperity, and must obtain money 
 somehow to be able to sport clean white shirts and neckties 
 worthy of gentlefolks. One morning, so the zinc-worker 
 related, he had seen him having his boots cleaned on the 
 Boulevard Montmartre. The truth was that Lantier, while 
 very talkative on the subject of others, held his tongue or lied 
 whenever there was any question of himself. He would not 
 even say where he lived. No ; he was lodging at a friend's, a 
 long way off, whilst waiting for the fine position that had 
 been promised him ; and it was useless for any one to call on 
 him, as he was really never at home. 
 
 * Oh 1 there are dozens of places to be found,' he would 
 often explain. * Only, it isn't worth while entering a crib 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 223 
 
 when you're certain that you won't remain there for four-and- 
 twenty hours. For instance, one Monday, I arrived at Cham- 
 pion's, at Montrouge. In the evening Champion began to 
 bother me about pohtics ; his ideas were not the same as mine. 
 "Well I on the Tuesday morning off I went, for we're no longer 
 in the days of slavery, and I'm not going to sell myself for 
 seven francs a day.* 
 
 The early part of November had now arrived, and when- 
 ever Lantier called he would gallantly bring some little 
 bunches of violets, and distribute them among Gervaise and 
 the two workwomen. Little by little he multiplied his visits, 
 till he ended by coming nearly every day. It seemed as 
 though he wished to make a conquest of the household, of the 
 whole neighbourhood ; and he commenced by charming C16- 
 mence and Madame Putois, to whom he was equally attentive, 
 notwithstanding the difference in their ages. At the end of 
 a month the two workwomen positively adored him. The 
 Boches, whom he flattered enormously, visiting them in their 
 room, were in raptures with his politeness. As for the Loril- 
 leux, when they learnt who was the gentleman that had arrived 
 amidst the dessert on the day of the feast, they said the most 
 horrible things of Gervaise, who thus dared to introduce her 
 old lover into the family. But one day Lantier called upon 
 them, and made himself so agreeable in ordering a chain for a 
 lady of his acquaintance, that they asked him to sit down, and 
 kept him there for an hour, quite charmed with his conversa- 
 tion ; they even asked themselves how such a delightful man 
 could ever have had anything to do with the Hobbler. To 
 sum up, the hatter's visits to the Coupeaus no longer made 
 any one indignant, but seemed quite natural, so thoroughly 
 had he insinuated himself into the good graces of every one 
 in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. Goujet alone remained 
 gloomy. If he happened to be there when the other arrived, 
 he at once made for the door, so as to avoid any closer 
 acquaintance. 
 
 However, amidst the extraordinary partiality for Lantier 
 which others displayed, Gervaise, during the earlier weeks, 
 lived in a state of great agitation. She experienced that burn- 
 ing sensation which had affected her on the day when Virginia 
 had first alluded to the past, Her great fear was that she 
 might find herself without strength, should he some day come 
 upon her all alone and take it into his head to kiss her. She 
 thought of him too much ; she was for ever occupied with him. 
 
224 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 But she gradually became calmer on seeing him behave with 
 such decorum, never even looking at her or trying to touch 
 her hands. Moreover, Virginie, who seemed to read within her, 
 made her ashamed of all her wicked thoughts. Why did she 
 tremble ? One could not hope to come across a better 
 behaved man. She certainly had nothing to fear now. And 
 one day the tall brunette manoeuvred in such wise as to get 
 them both into a corner, and turn the conversation on the 
 subject of love. Lantier thereupon declared in a grave voice 
 and choice words that his heart was dead, and that in future 
 he wished to consecrate his life solely to his son's happiness. 
 At the same time he never alluded to Claude, who was still in 
 the South, and though he kissed Etienne on the forehead every 
 evening, he never knew what to say to the child if he remained 
 there, but forgot him and turned his attention to Clemence. 
 Gervaise, however, was tranquillised, and felt the past die 
 within her. Lantier' s presence wore away her recollections of 
 Plassans, and the Hotel Boncoeur. Seeing him so constantly, 
 Bhe no longer dreamed of him so much. Indeed, the thought 
 of their past connection became repugnant to her. Oh, it was 
 all over, quite over. Should he ever be wanting in respect for 
 her she would smack him, and tell her husband everything. 
 And, then, free from remorse, she again thought with sweet 
 delight of Goujet's loyal friendship. 
 
 One morning, on reaching the shop, Clemence related that 
 on the previous evening, in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, 
 she had seen M. Lantier with a fair-haired woman on his arm. 
 And with a good deal of covert spitefulness, just to see how 
 her mistress would take it, she began to give some particulars 
 of the meeting. But, talk as she might, Gervaise went on 
 ironing a white dress, and evinced no worry whatever. Now 
 and again indeed the story brought a slight smile to her lips. 
 Those Southerners, said she, were passionate fellows, and 
 nobody could keep them from running after petticoats. 
 
 In the evening, when the hatter arrived, it amused her to 
 listen to Clemence teasing him about his blonde. He seemed 
 rather flattered at having been seen. Well, yes, the person 
 was an old friend of his whom he occasionally met. She was 
 very chic^ and had been protected by a viscount, a large china 
 merchant, and the son of a notary. Then he went on to say 
 that he liked women who had plenty of scent about them, and 
 he was poking his handkerchief, which the person with the 
 fair hair had scented for him, under Cl^mence's nose, when 
 
THE WILES 01 THE TEMPTER 225 
 
 Etienne came in. Thereupon he assumed his grave manner, 
 kissed the child, and added that such bagatelles were of no 
 consequence, for his heari; was dead. Gervaise, bending over 
 her work, nodded her head in approval. And it was Clemence 
 who paid the penalty of her spitefulness, for she had fancied 
 that Lantier was partial to her, and it annoyed her that she 
 was not redolent of musk, like the person with the fair hair. 
 
 When springtime came round, Lantier, who was now 
 quite one of the family, talked of living in the neighbourhood, 
 so as to be nearer his friends. He wanted a furnished room in 
 a decent house, he said : so Madame Boche, and even Gervaise 
 herself, went searching about for him. They explored all the 
 neighbouring streets ; but he was always too difficult to please ; 
 he required a big courtyard, and a room on the ground floor ; 
 in fact, every luxury imaginable. And then every evening, at 
 the Coupeaus', he seemed to be measuring the height of the 
 ceilings, studying the arrangement of the rooms, and coveting 
 a similar lodging. Oh, he would never have asked for any- 
 thing better, he would willingly have made himself a nest 
 in that warm, quiet corner. And he always wound up his 
 inspection with these words : * By Jove I you are comfortably 
 situated here.' 
 
 One evening, when he had dined at the laundry-shop, and 
 was repeating this remark during dessert, Coupeau, w^ho now 
 treated him most familiarly, suddenly exclaimed : ' You must 
 stay here, old boy, if it suits you. It's easily arranged.' 
 And he explained that the dirty-clothes room would make a 
 nice apartment if it were cleaned out. Etienne could sleep 
 on a mattress in the shop, that was all. 
 
 * No, no,' said Lantier, ' I cannot accept. It would 
 inconvenience you too much. I know that it's willingly 
 offered, but we should be over warm all jumbled up together. 
 Besides, you know, each likes his liberty. I should have to 
 go backwards and forwards through your room, and that 
 wouldn't be pleasant.' 
 
 The zinc- worker laughed. * Pooh,' said he, ' that can be 
 got over easily enough. Aren't there two windows in the 
 room ? Y/ell, we'll knock one out and turn it into a door. 
 Then, you see, you can come in by way of the courtyard, and 
 we can even stop up the other door, if we Hke. So you'll be 
 in your home, and we in ours.' 
 
 A pause ensued. At length, the hatter murmured : * Ah, 
 
 Q 
 
226 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 yes, in that manner, perhaps we might. And yet no, I should 
 be too much in your way.' 
 
 He avoided looking at Gervaise. But he was evidently 
 waiting for a word from her before accepting. She was very 
 much annoyed at her husband's idea ; not that the thought of 
 Lantier living with them wounded her feelings, or made her 
 particularly uneasy ; but she wondered where she would be 
 able to keep the dirty clothes. However, the zinc -worker 
 began to enumerate the advantages of the arrangement. The 
 rent — five hundred francs a year — had always been rather too 
 much for them. Well, their comrade should pay them twenty 
 francs a month for the furnished room ; that wouldn't be dear 
 for him, and it would assist them at quarter-day. And he 
 added that he would undertake to knock up a big case under 
 their bed, which would hold all the dirty clothes of the 
 neighbourhood. Then Gervaise, still hesitating, directed a 
 questioning glance at Mother Coupeau, whom Lantier had 
 won over months previously by bringing her jujubes for her 
 cough. 
 
 * You certainly would not be in our way,' she ended by 
 saying. * We could so arrange things ' 
 
 * No, no, thanks,' repeated the hatter. *■ You're too kind ; 
 it would be askmg too much.' 
 
 At this came an outburst from Coupeau. Was Lantier 
 going to refuse when they told him it was freely offered ? 
 He would be obliging them — there, did he understand ? 
 Then in an excited voice the zinc-worker yelled : * jfitienne I 
 Etienne I ' 
 
 The youngster, who had fallen asleep on the table, raised 
 his head with a start. 
 
 * Listen, tell him that you wish it. Yes, that gentleman 
 there. Tell him as loud as jou can : " I wish it ! " ' 
 
 * I wish it ! ' stuttered Etienne, in a drowsy way. 
 Everyone laughed. But Lantier soon resumed his grave 
 
 and impressive air. And he squeezed Coupeau's hand across 
 the table as he said : * I accept. It's in all good-fellowship 
 on both sides, is it not? Yes, I accept for the child's 
 
 On the very next day, as the landlord, M. Marescot, came 
 to spend an hour in the Bodies' room, Gervaise spoke to him 
 on the subject. At first he seemed very apprehensive, and 
 refused, and became quite angry, as though she had asked 
 him to knock down a whole wing of his house. Then, after a 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 227 
 
 minute inspection of the premises, when he had looked to see 
 whether the upper storeys would be shaken, he ended by 
 giving the necessary permission, but on the express condition 
 that he should not be called upon to bear any part of the 
 expense ; and, moreover, the Coupeaus had to sign a paper in 
 which they undertook to leave everything as they had found 
 it, at the expiration of their lease. That very evening, the 
 zinc worker brought some comrades of his — a mason, a car- 
 penter, and a painter — a trio of jolly dogs who were to carry 
 out the alterations in their spare time, just in a friendly way. 
 Nevertheless, the fixing of the new door and the cleaning of 
 the room cost a hundred francs, without counting the wine 
 with which the job was moistened. The zinc-worker told his 
 comrades he would pay them later on, with the first money 
 he received from his tenant. Then came the question of 
 furnishing the room. Gervaise left Mother Coupeau's ward- 
 robe in it, and after adding thereto a table and a couple of 
 chairs from her own room, she had to purchase a toilet-table 
 and a bedstead and bedding, costing altogether one hundred 
 and thirty francs, which she was to pay off at the rate of ten 
 francs a month. If, however, Lantier's monthly rental of 
 twenty francs was for the first ten months or so swallowed up 
 by the debts thus contracted, there would, said the Coupeaus, 
 be a fine profit afterwards. 
 
 It was on one of the early days of June, that the hatter 
 moved in. On the previous evening, Coupeau had offered to 
 go with him and fetch bis box, to save him the cost of cab 
 hire. But the other became quite embarrassed at this pro- 
 posal, and declared that the box was far too heavy, as 
 though, tiU the very last moment, he wished to keep his 
 lodging-place a secret. He arrived in the afternoon, towards 
 three o'clock, while Coupeau was out. And Gervaise, who 
 happened to be standing at the shop door, became quite pale, 
 on recognising the box outside the cab. It was their old box, 
 the one with which they had journeyed from Plassans, all 
 scratched and broken now, and held together by cords. She 
 saw it return as she had often dreamt it would ; and no great 
 stretch of imagination was needed to make her believe that 
 the same cab, that cab in which Lantier had gone off with 
 that hussy of a burnisher, had brought the box back again. 
 However, Boche was giving Lantier a helping hand. The 
 laundress followed them, silent, and rather dazed. When 
 they had deposited their burden in the middle of the room, 
 
 q2 
 
228 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 she said, for the sake of saying something : * Well ! that's a 
 good thing finished, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Then, pulling herself together, seeing that Lantier, who 
 was already unfastening the cords, paid no attention to her, 
 she added : * Monsieur Boche, you must have a drink.' And 
 forthwith she fetched a quart of wine and some glasses. 
 
 Just then Poisson passed along the pavement in uniform. 
 She signalled to him, winking her eye and smiling. The 
 policeman fully understood her. When he was on duty, and 
 anyone winked at him, it meant a glass of wine. He would 
 even walk for hours up and down before the laundress's, 
 waiting for a wink. And so as not to be seen, he would pass 
 through the courtyard, and toss off the Hquor on the sly. 
 
 * Ah 1 ah ! * said Lantier, when he saw him enter, * it's you, 
 Badingue ! ' 
 
 He called him Badingue — a nickname given to Napoleon III. 
 — by way of a joke, just to show how little he cared for the 
 Emperor. Poisson put up with it in his stiff way, without 
 anyone knowing whether it really annoyed him or not. At 
 all events the two men, although of different opinions in 
 politics, had become very good friends. 
 
 * You know that the Emperor was once a policeman in 
 London,' said Boche in his turn. * Yes, on my word 1 he used 
 to take drunken women to the station-house.' ^ 
 
 Gervaise, meantime, had filled three glasses. She would 
 not drink herself, for she felt too upset ; nevertheless, she 
 remained there, longing to see what the box contained, and 
 watching Lantier remove the last cords. She recollected that 
 in one corner there had formerly been a heap of socks, two 
 shirts, and an old hat. Were they still there ? was she again 
 to behold the rags and tatters of the past ? However, before 
 raising the lid, Lantier took his glass, and clinked it against 
 the others. 
 
 * Good health.* 
 
 * Same to you,' replied Boche and Poisson. 
 
 The laundress filled the glasses again, while the three men 
 wiped their lips with the backs of their hands. And at last 
 the hatter opened the box. It was full of a jumble of news- 
 papers, books, old clothes, and underlinen, in bundles. 
 
 1 M. Boche had a lively imagination. Napoleon III.'s only connection 
 with the London police was that he was sworn in as a special constable 
 at the time of some of the Chartist disturbances. This, of course, was 
 before he came to the throne. 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 229 
 
 Lantier brought out in succession a saucepan, a pair of boots, 
 a bust of Ledru-Eollin with the nose broken, an embroidered 
 shirt, and a pair of working trousers. And Gervaise, leaning 
 forward, inhaled an odour of tobacco and uncleanliness. No, 
 the old hat was no longer in the left-hand corner ; but there 
 was a pincushion there which she did not recognise, probably 
 a present from some woman. Then she became calmer ; 
 experiencing but a vague sadness as her eyes travelled from 
 one article to another, and she wondered whether they dated 
 from her time or from that of others. 
 
 ' I say, Badingue, you don't know this, do you ? * resumed 
 Lantier, as he thrust under the policeman's nose a little book 
 called * The Amours of Napoleon III.,' printed at Brussels, 
 and illustrated with very objectionable engravings. 
 
 * Ah I that's it exactly I ' exclaimed Boche, whose coarse 
 instincts were stirred by the sight of one abominable picture. 
 ' It always happens like that 1 ' 
 
 Poisson, on his side, was in consternation, and could not 
 find a word to say in the Emperor's defence. There was 
 Napoleon's inordinate partiahty for the fair sex chronicled 
 in a book, so he dared not deny it. However, as Lantier 
 continued thrusting the book under his nose in a jeering way, 
 he at last extended his arms and exclaimed : ' Well, what 
 of it ? Isn't it natural for men to be fond of the fair sex ? ' 
 
 This answer completely shut up Lantier. He placed his 
 books and newspapers on a shelf in the wardrobe ; and as he 
 apparently regretted not having a little bookcase suspended 
 above the table, Gervaise promised to procure him one. He 
 possessed Louis Blanc's ' History of Ten Years,' with the 
 exception of the first volume, which, by the way, he had 
 never had ; Lamartine's ' Girondins,' in two-sou numbers ; 
 Eugene Sue's ' Mysteries of Paris ' and the * Wandering 
 Jew,' in addition to a number of philosophical and humani- 
 tarian treatises, picked up at second-hand dealers. But it 
 was to his newspapers in particular that he gave a loving, 
 respectful glance. Whenever he chanced to read at any cafe 
 a smart newspaper article written in accordance with his own 
 ideas, he would purchase the paper and preserve it. And 
 thus he had gathered together a huge bundle of papers of all 
 dates and titles, jumbled up anyhow. When he had removed 
 this bundle from the bottom of the box, he slapped it in a 
 friendly way, and said to the other men : * You see that ? 
 well, it belongs to me. Nobody else can boast of having 
 
236 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 anythmg half so good. You've no idea what those papers con- 
 tain. That's to say, if half the ideas in them were carried 
 out, society would be cleansed at once. Yes, your Emperor 
 and all his spies would quake in their shoes ' 
 
 But he was interrupted by the policeman, whose carroty 
 moustache and imperial were quivering on his pale face. 
 * And the army, I say, what about that, eh ? ' 
 
 At this Lantier flew into a passion, banged his fists 
 upon the newspapers and yelled : * I demand the suppression 
 of militarism and the fraternity of nations. I demand the 
 abolition of privileges, titles, and monopolies. I demand 
 equality of salaries, division of profits, and the glorification of 
 the working class. All liberties, you hear me, that's what I 
 want, all of them I And a divorce law too.* 
 
 *Yes, yes, divorce ought to be allowed for morality's 
 sake I ' insisted Boche. 
 
 Poisson had put on a majestic air. * But if I won't have 
 your liberties, I'm free to refuse them,' he answered. 
 
 * If you won't have them — ^if you won't have them,' 
 stuttered Lantier, choking with rage. * No, you're not free ! 
 If you won't have them, I'll bundle you off to Cayenne, that's 
 what I'll do I Yes, to Cayenne, with your Emperor and all 
 the pigs who surround him 1 ' 
 
 They always quarrelled in this wise every time they met, 
 and Gervaise, who did not like disputes, usually interfered. 
 She now roused herself from the torpor into which the 
 sight of Lantier's box, so suggestive of the past, had plunged 
 her, and drew the three men's attention to their glasses. 
 
 * Ah ! yes,' said Lantier, suddenly calming down and 
 taking his glass. * Good health to you I ' 
 
 ' Good health,' replied Boche and Poisson, clinking glasses 
 with him. 
 
 Boche, however, was moving about nervously, and glancing 
 askance at the policeman. * All this is between ourselves, 
 eh. Monsieur Poisson ? ' he murmured at length. * We may 
 say and show you things, but ' 
 
 However, Poisson did not let him finish. He placed his 
 hand upon his heart, as though to explain that all remained 
 buried therein. He certainly did not intend to spy on his 
 friends. Then, as Coupeau arrived, they emptied a second 
 quart, and afterwards, the policeman, going off by way of 
 the courtyard, resumed his stiff and measured march along 
 the pavement. 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 231 
 
 During the first few days things were upside down at the 
 laundress's. Lantier, true enough, had his separate room, 
 his own entrance and his key ; but as, at the last moment, 
 they had decided not to fasten up the door which afforded 
 communication between the two rooms, it happened that he 
 frequently passed through the shop. The dirty clothes, too, 
 were a great deal in Gervaise's way, for her husband did 
 nothing towards making the big box which he had spoken 
 of ; so that she found herself obhged to deposit the things 
 here and there, some in the corners, but most of them 
 under her bedstead, which was far from pleasant in warm 
 summer weather. The young , woman was also greatly 
 annoyed at having to make up Etienne's bed every evening 
 in the middle of the shop. When the workwomen stopped 
 there till late the child would fall asleep on a chair whilst 
 waiting. Thus, on Goujet suggesting that Etienne should 
 be sent to Lille, where his — Goujet's — former employer, an 
 engine-builder, was in want of apprentices, she was delighted 
 with the idea, the more so as the youngster, who was not very 
 happy at home, and longed to be his own master, begged her 
 to consent to his going. However, she feared a decided 
 refusal from Lantier. He had come to live with them, solely 
 to be near his son ; and would surely not wish to part with 
 him at the end of a fortnight. Yet when she tremblingly men- 
 tioned the matter to him, he fully approved of the project, 
 saying that young workmen ought, to see plenty of their 
 country. On the morning when Etienne left, he made him 
 a little speech about his rights, then kissed him, and ex- 
 claimed : * Eemember that the producer is not a slave, but 
 whoever is not a producer is a drone.' 
 
 Then the life of the household reverted to its usual 
 course ; things calmed down, and they all quietly took to the 
 few new habits which Lantier' s arrival brought in its train. 
 Gervaise became accustomed to seeing the dirty clothes lying 
 about, and Lantier passing to and fro. The latter was ever 
 talking of his great business affairs ; he would sometimes go 
 off, well combed and brushed, and wearing clean white linen, 
 and nothing more would be seen of him all that day. In 
 fact he would sleep elsewhere, and simply return on the 
 morrow, pretending that he was quite worn out, that his 
 head was fairly splitting, as though he had been discussing 
 the most weighty matters for four-and-twenty hours at a 
 stretch. The truth was that he took life easy. Oh I 
 
232 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 there was no fear that he would ever blister his hands ! He 
 usually rose of a morning at about ten o'clock ; then in the 
 afternoon, if the sunshine took his fancy, he would go out for 
 a stroll, while if it was a rainy day he remained in the shop 
 reading a newspaper. He was in his true element there, in 
 the midst of all those women, delighting in their coarse 
 language, in fact, inciting them to the greatest liberties of 
 speech, whilst invariably employing the choicest expressions 
 himself ; and if he was so fond of hving among washerwomen, 
 it was precisely because they have a knack of calhng things 
 by their real names. Whenever Cl^mence unburdened herself 
 he would hsten to her, smiling blandly and twirling his 
 moustaches. It seemed as if that shop with its peculiar 
 atmosphere, its commingling of odours, its dirty linen and 
 its perspiring, bare-armed women, was to him some long- 
 dreamt-of nest, a long-sought haven of idleness and enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 At the outset Lantier took his meals at Fran9ois's, at the 
 corner of the Eue des Poissonniers. But every week he dined 
 with the Coupeaus on three or four occasions ; so much 
 so, indeed, that he ended by offering to board with them, and 
 to pay them fifteen francs every Saturday. Thenceforward, 
 he scarcely ever left the house, but made himself completely 
 at home there. He was to be seen from morning till night 
 going to and fro in his shirt sleeves between the shop and 
 the room at the back, raising his voice and giving orders. In 
 fact, he even attended to the customers, he directed every- 
 thing. As Fran9ois's wine was not to his liking, he per- 
 suaded Gervaise to deal in future with Vigoureux, the coal and 
 charcoal dealer, with whose wife he would often flirt. ^ Then 
 he came to the conclusion that Coudeloup's bread was not 
 properly baked, and sent Augustine to buy the bread of 
 Meyer, who kept the Viennese bakery in the Faubourg 
 Poissonniere. He also withdrew Gervaise's custom from 
 Lehongre, the grocer, and it was only with stout Charles, the 
 butcher of the Rue Polonceau, that the Coupeaus now con- 
 tinued dealing, his pohtical opinions happening to coincide 
 with those of Lantier. Moreover, at the end of a month the 
 hatter wished oil to figure in every dish that was served at the 
 table. As Clemence jokingly observed, nobody could cleanse 
 that Southerner of his oil stain, it was for ever reappearing. 
 Then, too, he himself cooked the omelettes, turning them over 
 
 * The Auvergnat charcoal dealers often sold wine in those days. 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 233 
 
 on both sides till they were browner than pancakes, and as 
 firm as galettes. He also superintended Mother Coupeau, and 
 insisted upon her cooking the beefsteaks until they were like 
 BO much shoe-leather. And he added garlic to everything, 
 flying into quite a passion if anyone put any herbs into the 
 salad, horrible weeds, said he, among which there might well 
 be something poisonous. However, his great delight was a 
 certain soup made of vermicelli, cooked in water till it was 
 very thick, when he would pour quite half a bottle of oil over 
 it. Only he and Gervaise ever ate this concoction. The 
 others, the Parisians, having one day ventured to taste it, 
 became abominably ill. 
 
 Little by little, Lantier also mixed himself up in the 
 affairs of the family. As the Lorilleux always grumbled at 
 having to part with their contribution of five francs a month 
 towards the keep of Mother Coupeau, he explained that an 
 action could be brought against them. They must think that 
 they had a set of fools to deal with 1 it was ten francs a month 
 which they ought to give I And he would go up himself for 
 the ten francs, so boldly, and yet so amiably, that the chain- 
 maker never dared to refuse them. Madame Lerat also gave 
 two five franc pieces now. Mother Coupeau, in gratitude for 
 this result, would have kissed Lantier's hands. Moreover, he 
 played the part of arbiter in all the quarrels between the old 
 woman and Gervaise. Whenever the laundress, in a moment 
 of impatience, behaved roughly to her mother-in-law, and the 
 latter went off to cry on her bed, he hustled them both, and 
 made them kiss each other, asking them if they thought 
 themselves at all amusing with their bad tempers. 
 
 And Nana, too : she was being brought up precious badly, 
 according to his idea. In this he was right, for whenever the 
 father spanked the chit, the mother took her part, and if the 
 mother in her turn boxed her ears, the father made a distur- 
 bance. Nana, delighted at seeing her parents quarrel over 
 her, and knowing that she was forgiven beforehand, would 
 constantly be up to all kinds of tricks. She would often go to 
 play at the farriery opposite, spend the whole day swinging 
 between the shafts of the carts there, or else hide with bands 
 of urchins in the remotest corners of the courtyard ; and then 
 suddenly reappear, running and shouting, unkempt and dirty, 
 and followed by all the others, as though some sudden clash 
 of the hammers had frightened them away. Lantier alone 
 could venture to scold Nana ; and yet she knew perfectly well 
 
234 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 how to get over him. This hussy of ten would swing her- 
 self about, and cast side glances at him with eyes already full 
 of vice. He ended by undertaking her education : taught her 
 to dance and to talk patois. 
 
 In this wise a year passed away. It was thought in the 
 neighbourhood that Lantier possessed a private income, for 
 this was the only way to account for the Coupeaus' grand 
 style of living. Gervaise continued to earn money, no 
 doubt, but now that she had to provide for two men who did 
 nothing, the shop certainly could not suffice her ; more 
 especially as the business done was no longer so good as 
 formerly ; customers were leaving, and the workwomen were 
 making free from morning till night. The truth was that 
 Lantier now paid for nothing, neither rent nor board. During 
 the first few months he had handed over various sums on 
 account, but afterwards he had contented himself with 
 speaking of a large amount which he had to receive, and with 
 which he would later on pay off everything in a lump sum. 
 Gervaise no longer dared to ask him for a centime. She 
 obtained bread, wine, and meat, all on credit; her bills 
 increasing everywhere at the rate of three and four francs a 
 day. Moreover, she had not yet paid a sou to the furniture 
 dealer, nor to Coupeau's three comrades, the mason, the 
 carpenter, and the painter, who had put in the new door and 
 cleaned Lantier' s room. All these people commenced to 
 grumble, and she was no longer treated with the same polite- 
 ness at the shops where she dealt. 
 
 However, she was intoxicated as it were with a mania for 
 getting into debt ; she ordered the most expensive things, 
 and gave full freedom to her greedy instincts, now that she 
 no longer paid for anything. Withal she remained very 
 honest at heart, dreaming of somehow earning hundreds of 
 francs in a single day, so as to be able to distribute handfuls 
 of five franc pieces to her tradespeople. In short, she was 
 sinking. Nevertheless, she talked of extending her business, 
 and this, although about midsummer tall Clemence had left 
 her, because there was no longer sufficient work for two 
 women, and she had to go for weeks at a time without her 
 money ! On the other hand, amidst all this downfall, 
 Coupeau and Lantier were getting fat. They gorged till they 
 were filled to their chins, gutting the shop, battening on the 
 ruin of the establishment ; and they stimulated each other 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 235 
 
 to take double helps, and playfully slapped one another on the 
 stomach, that they might digest their food the quicker. 
 
 The great subject of conversation in the neighbourhood 
 was whether Lantier was really on his old footing with 
 Gervaise again. On this point opinions were divided. 
 According to the Lorilleux, the Hobbler was doing all she 
 could to hook the hatter once more ; but he, thinking her far 
 too faded, would have nothing further to do with her. The 
 Boches, on the contrary, maintained that the laundress and 
 her old lover had made it up at the very outset. One way or 
 another, the situation was by no means creditable ; but there 
 are so many filthy things in life, and far worse ones, that 
 people ended by thinking the Coupeaus* household quite 
 natural, and even pleasant, for there was never any quarrel- 
 ling, and appearances were properly kept up. It was certain 
 that if one had pried into some other homes in the neighbour- 
 hood, one would have discovered far more equivocal goings 
 on. Besides, the street was conquered by the pleasant ways 
 of that wheedler Lantier, who knew how to close every 
 gossip's mouth. 
 
 Gervaise, on her side, was quite at ease with regard to 
 any scandal. She gave no thought to Lantier. And, in fact, 
 she was at last accused of being heartless. The family did 
 not understand why she continued to bear such a grudge 
 against the hatter. Madame Lerat, who delighted in thrust- 
 ing herself into love affairs, called every evening ; and again 
 and again declared that Lantier was irresistible. Madame 
 Boche, for her part, spoke of him with a sigh, regretting her 
 young days. In this wise a secret conspiracy sprung up, 
 encompassing Gervaise, urging her as it were to perdition. 
 But she was simply surprised ; she did not consider Lantier so 
 particularly charming. No doubt he had improved : he 
 always wore a coat now instead of a blouse, and he had 
 acquired some education at cafes and political meetings. 
 Only, she knew him well ; she could read his very soul in his 
 eyes, wherein she found a heap of things which made her 
 shudder. In short, if the gentleman pleased the others so 
 much, why did they not tell him so themselves? It was 
 thus that one day she answered Virginie, who was the 
 warmest in the matter. Then, to worry Gervaise, Madame 
 Lerat and Virginie told her of Lantier and Clemence. She 
 had not noticed anything herself ; but it appeared that 
 whenever she went out the hatter had made desperate love to 
 
236 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the ironing-girl, and now people frequently met them to- 
 gether. 
 
 * Well, what of it ? ' said the laundress, her voice trem- 
 bling slightly, ' what can it matter to me ? ' 
 
 And she looked into Virginie's yellow eyes, in which 
 golden sparks were shining as in a cat's. Did this woman 
 wish her harm then, since she was trying to make her 
 jealous ? But the dressmaker put on her stupid air as she 
 replied : * It can't matter to you, of course. Only, you ought 
 to advise him to have nothing to do with that girl, for she 
 is sure to cause him some unpleasantness.' 
 
 However, the worst was that Lantier, feeling himself 
 backed up, altogether changed his behaviour towards 
 Gervaise. Whenever he shook hands with her now he would 
 hold her fingers for a minute between his own. And he was 
 ever fixing bold glances on her, which she clearly read. Yet 
 he waited a while before openly declaring himself. One 
 evening, however, finding himself alone with her, he rose 
 without a word, pushed her all trembling into a corner of the 
 shop, and there tried to kiss her. Chance so willed it that 
 Goujet entered at that very moment. Gervaise struggled and 
 escaped. And all three exchanged a few words, as though 
 nothing had happened. Goujet, whose face was deadly pale, 
 had turned his eyes to the floor, fancying that she had merely 
 struggled in order that a third party might not see her being 
 kissed. 
 
 On the morrow, Gervaise wandered about the shop, feeling 
 very unhappy, unable to iron even a handkerchief ; she 
 wanted to see Goujet, to explain to him how it had happened 
 that he, had found Lantier trying to kiss her. However 
 since Etienne had gone to Lille, she no longer dared td 
 enter the forge, where Salted- Chops, otherwise Drink- with out- 
 Thirst, always greeted her with a sly laugh. Nevertheless, 
 in the afternoon, yielding to her desire, she took an empty 
 basket and went out under the pretext of fetching some 
 petticoats from her customer in the Kue des Portes-Blanches. 
 Then, when she was opposite the bolt factory in the Eue 
 Marcadet, she slackened her footsteps, trusting to some 
 chance meeting. Goujet on his side had no doubt been 
 expecting her, for she had not been there five minutes before 
 he came out as though by accident. 
 
 'What I you've been on an errand?' said he, smiling 
 faintly ; * you're going home ? ' 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 237 
 
 He said this merely for the sake of saying something. As 
 it happened Gervaise was turning her back on the Rue des Pois- 
 sonniers. And they made the ascent towards Montmartre, walk- 
 ing side by side. Their only idea no doubt was to get away 
 from the factory, so that it might not seem as if they met by 
 appointment at the very door. With bowed heads, amidst 
 all the hum of the factories, they followed the uneven road- 
 way for a couple of hundred yards, and then quite naturally, 
 as though they knew the spot, they turned in silence to the 
 left, and entered a plot of vacant ground. It was a bit of 
 meadow-land still green, but with yellow patches of scorched 
 grass here and there. On one hand was a saw-mill, on the 
 other a button manufactory ; a goat tethered to a stake, kept 
 on turning round and bleating ; and at the far end, a dead tree 
 was crumbling away in the fierce sunshine. 
 
 * Really I ' murmured Gervaise, * it's just like being in 
 the country.* 
 
 They sat down under the dead tree. The laundress placed 
 her basket at her feet. In front of them rose the height of 
 Montmartre with its tiers of tall grey and yellow houses, 
 standing amidst scanty clumps of verdure. By throwing back 
 their heads, however, they could see the vast expanse of sky, 
 bright and speckless above the city, but streaked towards the 
 north by a flight of small white clouds. However, the 
 brilliant light dazzled them, and they lowered their eyes to the 
 distant white suburban buildings on a level with the flat 
 horizon, and in particular watched the little chimney of the 
 saw-miU, which kept on belching steam. The great gasps 
 of the engine seemed to relieve their breasts. 
 
 * Yes,' resumed Gervaise, embarrassed by the silence, * I 
 was going on an errand, I came out ' 
 
 However, after longing all day for an explanation, she 
 suddenly found herself unable to say anything. A feeling of 
 great shame had fallen upon her. And yet she felt that they 
 had come thither of their own accord to talk the matter over ; 
 they were indeed conversing about it, without needing to utter 
 a word. The occurrence of the previous day hung between 
 them like a burden which oppressed them. 
 
 Then, seized with overwhelming sadness, her eyes full of 
 tears, Gervaise began to speak of the last moments of Madame 
 Bijard, her washer-woman, who had died that morning, after 
 the most horrible sufferings. 
 
 * It was all through Bijard kicking her,' said she in a gentle 
 
238 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 monotonous voice. * He had, no doubt, broken something 
 inside her, for she began to swell. In three days it was all 
 over. Ah ! there are many scoundrels in prison who have 
 never done anything half so bad as that man has. Bat the 
 judges would have too much to do if they busied themselves 
 about all the women who are killed by their husbands. One 
 kick more or less doesn't count, does it, when one's in the 
 habit of being kicked all day long ? More especially as the 
 poor woman wished to save her husband from the scaffold, 
 and declared that she had hurt herself by falling on a tub. She 
 shrieked all through the night before going off.' 
 
 The blacksmith said nothing, but went on pulling up the 
 grass with his trembling fingers. 
 
 * It was only a fortnight ago,* continued Gervaise, ' that 
 she weaned her last child, little Jules ; and it's lucky she did 
 so, for the child won't suffer by her death. All the same, that 
 mite of a LaUe has now got to look after two little ones. She's 
 not eight years old yet, but she's as serious and as sensible as 
 a real mother. With that, her father's always beating her. 
 Ah well ! one comes across people who seem born to suffer.' 
 
 At this Goujet looked at her, and said abruptly, his lips 
 trembling the while : * You caused me great pain, yesterday ; 
 oh ! yes, great pain.' Gervaise, turning pale, clasped her 
 hands. But he continued : ' Oh ! I know that it was bound 
 to happen. Still you might have confided in me, have told 
 me the truth about it, so as not to let me form ideas ' 
 
 He was unable to finish. She rose erect directly she 
 understood that Goujet thought she had resumed her old rela- 
 tions with Lantier, and, stretching out her arms, she cried, 
 
 * No, no, I swear to you. He pushed me there ; he was try- 
 ing to kiss me, it's true, but his face did not even touch mine, 
 and it was the first time that he had tried anything of the 
 kind. Oh, listen ! I swear it on my hfe, on the lives of my 
 children, on all that I hold most sacred ! ' 
 
 The blacksmith, however, shook his head. He mistrusted 
 her, because women invariably deny their guilt. 
 
 Then Gervaise became very grave, and slowly resumed, 
 
 * You know me, Monsieur Goujet, you know I am no liar. 
 Well ! no, it is not as you think, it is not, on my word of 
 honour. And it will never be so, do you hear ? never ! On 
 the day when such a thing should happen, I should become 
 the lowest of the low ; I should no longer deserve the friend- 
 ship of an honest man like you.' 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 239 
 
 As she spoke, her face became so lovely, so radiant with 
 truth, that he took her hand and made her resume her seat. 
 He could now breathe freely ; he even laughed within him- 
 self. It was the first time he had held her hand hke that, 
 and he squeezed it in his own. They both remained silent. 
 The little white clouds were swimming across the sky slowly, 
 like swans. In one corner of the field stood the goat, looking 
 at Goujet and Gervaise, and bleating gently at long, regular 
 intervals. And they, still holding each other's fingers, their 
 eyes moist with tenderness, gazed into the distance at the pale 
 slope of Montmartre, at the tall forest of factory chimneys 
 bordering the horizon of that desolate chalky suburb, their 
 eyes filling with tears as they rested on the green arbours of 
 the low pot-houses. 
 
 * Your mother is angry with me, I know she is,* resumed 
 Gervaise in a low voice. * Don't deny it. We owe you so 
 much money ! ' 
 
 But he roughly silenced her, shaking her hand as 
 though he would break it. He did not wish her to speak of 
 money. Then he hesitated, but at length managed to stam- 
 mer : * Listen ! for a long time past I have been thinking of 
 proposing something to you. You're not happy. My mother 
 assures me that things are going badly for you ' 
 
 He paused a moment, for he was almost choking, then 
 added : ' * Well I we ought to go off together.* 
 
 She looked at him, not clearly understanding his meaning 
 at first, and surprised by such a rough and abrupt declaration. 
 * In what way ? ' asked she. 
 
 * Yes,' he continued with bowed head, * we could go off ; wt 
 could live somewhere together, in Belgium if you like. It's 
 almost my own country. And both of us working we should 
 soon get comfortable.' 
 
 Then she flushed red with shame. He was a queer fellow 
 and no mistake to propose an elopement to her, just as takes 
 place in novels and high society. All round about her she 
 saw workmen courting married women ; but they did not 
 bother to take them as far as Saint-Denis even. 
 
 * Ah ! Monsieur Goujet, Monsieur Goujet ! ' she murmured, 
 finding nothing else to say. 
 
 * In short, we should only be our two selves,' he resumed. 
 *• I can't bear the others, you understand. When I'm fond of 
 a person, I can't endure seeing that person with others.' 
 
 But Gervaise was recovering herself ; and in a sober, Een- 
 
240 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Bible way she declined the offer. * It isn't possible, Monsieur 
 Goujet,' che said. ' It would be very wicked. I'm married. 
 I've children — I know very well that you have great affection 
 for me, and that I cause you pain. Only we should suffer 
 remorse ; we should taste no happiness. I, also, have great 
 friendship for you, too much indeed to let you do anything 
 foolish. And it would certainly be very foolish indeed. — No, 
 listen ; we had far better remain as we are. We esteem one 
 another ; our sentiments are the same. That is a great deal 
 already ; the thought of it has sustained me many a time. 
 When people in our position keep to the right path, they have 
 their reward.' 
 
 He nodded as he listened to her. He approved what she 
 said ; he could not say she was wrong. But suddenly, in the 
 full light of day, he took her in his arms and kissed her 
 furiously, as though he wanted to devour her. Then he 
 released her and drew aside without a word. She showed no 
 anger, she felt, all considered, that he was entitled to take 
 that kiss. 
 
 He, however, was now quivering from head to foot, 
 seeking to withstand the desire to clasp her once again ; and 
 as he drew away, crawhng on his knees, not knowing how to 
 occupy his hands, he began to pick dandelions, and from a 
 distance throw them into her basket. In the midst of the 
 scorched grass there were some superb yellow dandelions ; and 
 little by little the occupation he had found calmed and 
 amused him. Though his fingers were stiffened by constant 
 hammering he gathered the flowers delicately, threw them 
 one by one, and smiled with his good natured dog-like eyes 
 whenever he did not miss the basket. Meanwhile, the laun- 
 dress, again gay and tranquil, reclined against the dead tree, 
 and raised her voice to make herself heard above the panting 
 noise of the saw-mill. When they quitted the plot of ground, 
 walking side by side and talking of Etienne, who was very 
 happy at Lille, she had her basket full of dandelions. 
 
 Truth to tell, Gervaise, at heart, when she was in Lantier's 
 presence, did not feel as courageous as she claimed to be. 
 She was, no doubt, honestly resolved to have nothing to do 
 with him ; and yet she was afraid of a return of her old-time 
 cowardice, that feebleness into which she glided just to please 
 people. Lantier, however, thenceforward kept quiet, and 
 seemed intent on paying his attentions to others. Gervaise 
 would talk of this in Goujet's presence, so as to set him at 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 241 
 
 ease ; and whenever Virginia and Madame Lerat began to 
 sing the hatter's praises, she would tell them that he could 
 very well do without her admiration, as all the women of the 
 neighbourhood were smitten with him. 
 
 Coupeau meantime went braying about everywhere that 
 Lantier was a friend and a true one. People might talk, but 
 he knew w^hat he knew, and did not care a straw for gossip. 
 When they all three went out walking on Sundays, he would 
 make his wife and the hatter walk arm-in-arm before him, 
 just by way of defying people ; and he was quite prepared to 
 administer a drubbing to anybody who might venture on a 
 joke. No doubt he considered Lantier a trifle stuck up, 
 accused him of disdaining * vitriol,' and chaffed him because he 
 knew how to read, and could speak like a barrister ; but apart 
 from these matters he declared that his lodger was a jolly 
 good fellow. One could not have found two other men like 
 them in all La Chapelle. They understood each other ; they 
 had both been cast in the same mould. Besides, friendship 
 with a man is more steadfast than love with a woman. 
 
 It should be said that Coupeau and Lantier were for ever 
 junketing together. Lantier would now borrow money of 
 Gervaise — ten francs, twenty francs at a time, whenever he 
 smelt that there was money in the house. And on those 
 occasions he would keep Coupeau away from work, talk of 
 some distant errand, and take him off ; and then, seated oppo- 
 site each other in a snug corner of some neighbouring 
 restaurant, they would treat themselves to dishes which one 
 cannot get at home, and wash them down with bottles of 
 high-class wine. The zinc-worker would have preferred a 
 booze in the hail-fellow-well-met style ; but he was impressed 
 by the aristocratic tastes of the hatter, who would search the 
 bill of fare for sauces with the most extraordinary names. 
 One could never have imagined a man with a palate so deli- 
 cate and so hard to please. But they are all like that, it 
 seems, in the South of France. Lantier, for his part, would 
 have nothing heating ; he discussed each dish from a hygienic 
 point of view, and even sent it away when he thought it 
 too salt or too peppery. It was worse still if there was a 
 draught in the restaurant ; draughts fiUed him with mortal 
 dread ; he abused the whole estabhshment if a door was left 
 ajar. Withal, he was very stingy, only giving the waiter a 
 couple of sous after a meal costing seven or eight francs. 
 Nevertheless, people trembled before him, and the pair were 
 
 B 
 
242 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 well known along the outer Boulevards, from Batignolles to 
 Belleville. They would go to the Grande Rue des Batignolles 
 to eat tripe d la mode de Caen, which was served to them on 
 metal warmers heated with charcoal. Down below Mont- 
 martre, at the * Town of Bar-le-Duc,' they obtained the best 
 oysters in the neighbourhood. When they ventured to the 
 top of the height, as far as the * Galette Windmill,' they had 
 a rabbit sauU. Then the * Lilacs ' in the Rue des Martyrs 
 had a reputation for calf's head ; whilst the restaurants of 
 the * Golden Lion ' and the ' Two Chestnut Trees,' on the 
 Chaussee Clignancourt, served them the finest of stewed 
 kidneys. But they more often turned to the left towards 
 Belleville, where there was always a table kept for them 
 at the * Vintages of Burgundy,' the * Blue Dial,' and the 
 * Capuchin ' — reliable establishments, where one could order 
 whatever one pleased with one's eyes shut. And these were 
 sly little parties, which they covertly talked of on the morrow, 
 whilst trifling with Gervaise's fried potatoes. One day when 
 they feasted at the 'Galette Windmill,' Lantier actually 
 brought a female acquaintance with him. 
 
 It is of course impossible to guttle and work at the same 
 time, and so, since the hatter had made one of the family, the 
 zinc-worker, already lazy enough, had got to the point of 
 never touching a tool. Whenever he was tired of knocking 
 about and let himself be prevailed upon to start a job, his 
 mate would look him up, chaff him unmercifully at finding 
 him hanging to his knotted cord like a smoked ham, and call 
 to him to come down and have a glass of wine. That settled 
 it : the zinc- worker would send the job to blazes, and start on 
 a drinking bout which lasted for days and weeks. Oh, it was 
 a famous bout, a general review of all the dram-shops of the 
 neighbourhood, the intoxication of the morning slept off at 
 midday, and renewed in the evening ; the goes of ' vitriol ' 
 fast following one upon another, all count of them being lost 
 in the depths of the night, through which they stretched away 
 like the Venetian lanterns of an illumination, until the last 
 candle disappeared with the last glass. But that rogue of a 
 hatter never kept on to the end. He allowed the other to get 
 elevated, then gave him the slip, and returned home smiling 
 in his pleasant way. He coloured his own nose decently, 
 without people noticing it. When one got to know him well, 
 one could only tell it by his half-closed eyes and forwardness 
 with the fair sex. The zino- worker, on the contrary, became 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 243 
 
 disgusting, he could no longer drink without putting himself 
 into the most dreadful state imaginable. 
 
 In this wise, towards the beginning of November, Coupeau 
 went in for a bout which ended abominably, both for himself 
 and others. On the previous day he had been offered a job. 
 Lantier this time was full of fine sentiments ; he lauded work 
 because work ennobles man. In the morning he even rose 
 before daylight, for he gravely declared that he wished to 
 accompany his friend to the workshop, honouring in him the 
 workman really worthy of the name. But when they reached 
 the * Little Civet,' which was just opening, they went in just 
 to have a plum in brandy, only one, by way of toasting the 
 firm observance of a good resolution. However, they there 
 found Bibi- the- Smoker who, with a sulky look on his face, 
 and his pipe in his mouth, was seated on a bench opposite 
 the counter. 
 
 * Hallo 1 here's Bibi having a snooze,' said Coupeau. * Have 
 you got a lazy fit on, old man ? * 
 
 * No, no,* replied the other, stretching his arms. * It's the 
 employers who disgust me. I sent mine to the right about 
 yesterday. They're all blackguards, all scoundrels.' 
 
 And then Bibi-the- Smoker accepted a plum. He had, no 
 doubt, been waiting for some one to stand him a drink. 
 Lantier, however, took the part of the employers ; they often 
 had very hard times, as he, who had been in business himself, 
 well knew. Workmen were a bad lot I always on the booze, 
 not caring a hang for their work, but leaving one in the lurch 
 at some pressing moment, and only putting in an appearance 
 again when their money was all gone. For instance, there 
 had been a little fellow from Picardy in his employ, whose fad 
 was to go driving about in cabs ; yes, the moment he had got 
 his week's screw, he took cabs for days together. Was that 
 a taste worthy of the worker ? But all at once Lantier also 
 began to attack the employers. Oh, he saw things clearly, he 
 told everyone what he thought of them. And, after all, 
 employers were a dirty race, fellows without the least shame, 
 regular man-eaters. He, thank heaven, could sleep with an 
 easy conscience, for he had always treated his men as friends, 
 and had preferred not to make milHons by grinding down the 
 poor as others did. 
 
 'Let's be off, my boy,* he added, turning to Coupeau. 
 We must be good or we shall be late.' 
 
 Bibi-the- Smoker iollowed them, swinging his arms. Out- 
 
 b2 
 
244 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 side, the sun was scarcely rising, and the pale half-light 
 seemed dirtied by the muddy reflection of the pavement. 
 Some rain had fallen the night before, and the temperature 
 was very mild. The gas lamps had just been turned out ; 
 the Kue des Poissonniers, in which shreds of night rent by 
 the houses still floated about, was gradually filling with the 
 dull tramp of workmen, descending towards Paris. Coupeau, 
 with his tool -bag slung over his shoulder, walked along in the 
 bouncing manner of a fellow who for once in a way feels 
 equal to any amount of work. But all at once he turned 
 round and asked : * Bibi, are you game for a job ? The governor 
 told me to bring a pal if I could.' 
 
 * Thanks,' answered Bibi-the-Smoker ; * I'm taking medi- 
 cine. You should ask My-Boots, who was looking out for a 
 crib yesterday. Wait a minute. My-Boots is most likely in there.* 
 
 And as they reached the bottom of the street, they indeed 
 caught sight of My-Boots inside old Colombe's. Early as was 
 the hour, the * Assommoir ' was flaring, the shutters down and 
 the gas lighted. Lantier remained at the door, telling 
 Coupeau to make haste, as they had only ten minutes left. 
 
 * What I you're going to that rascal Bourguignon's ? ' 
 yelled My-Boots, when the zinc-worker had spoken to him. 
 * You'll never catch me in his hutch again 1 No, I'd rather go 
 till next year with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. As 
 for you, old fellow, you won't stay there three days, it's I who 
 tell you so.' 
 
 * Eeally, now, is it such a dirty hole ? ' asked Coupeau 
 anxiously. 
 
 * Oh, the very dirtiest. You can't move there. The ape's 
 for ever on your back. And such high and mighty v/ays, too 
 — a missus who always says you're drunk, a shop where you 
 mustn't even spit. I sent 'em to the right about the first night, 
 you understand.' 
 
 * Good ; now I'm warned. I sha'n't stop there for ever. 
 I'll just try it this morning ; but if the governor bothers me, 
 I'll collar him and plump him down on his missus, and bang 
 them together like a pair of soles I ' 
 
 Then the zinc-worker shook his comrade's hand to thank 
 him for his warning ; and he was moving off, when My-Boots 
 flew into a temper. What 1 was that fellow Bourguignon 
 going to prevent them from having a drink together ? Were 
 men no longer men, then ? The ape could very well wait for 
 five minutes. Thereupon Lantier entered to join in the drink, 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 245 
 
 and the four men stood up in front of the bar. My-Boots, 
 with his shoes trodden down at heel, his blouse black with 
 filth, and his cap flattened on his head, yelled and rolled his 
 eyes as though the whole 'Assommoir ' belonged to him. 
 
 * I say, you Borgia,' he called to old Colombe, * give ug 
 some of your yellow stuff, number one quality ! ' 
 
 When old Colombe, pale and quiet m his blue, knitted 
 waistcoat, had filled the four glasses, the gentlemen tossed off 
 the liquor so as not to let it get flat. 
 
 * That does one some good all the same,' murmured Bibi- 
 the- Smoker. 
 
 However, that animal My-Boots began to tell them some- 
 thing awfully comical. He had been so drunk on the previous 
 Friday, that some of his comrades had fixed his pipe in his 
 mouth with a handful of cement. Anyone else would have 
 died of it ; but he merely drew himself up and strutted about 
 as usual. 
 
 ' Do you gentlemen require anything more ? * asked old 
 Colombe in his oily voice. 
 
 * Yes, fill up again,' said Lantier. ' It's my turn.* 
 
 They were now talking of women. Bibi-the- Smoker said 
 that he had taken his girl to an aunt's at Montrouge on the 
 previous Sunday ; and Coupeau asked for news of the ' Indian 
 Mail,* a washerwoman of Chaillot, who was known in the 
 establishment. However, they were about to drink, when 
 My-Boots shouted to Goujet and Lorilleux, who were passing 
 by. They came to the door, but would not enter. The 
 blacksmith, for his part, did not care to take anything. As 
 for the chain-maker who, pale and shivering, had his hand in 
 his pocket, grasping the gold chains which he was going to 
 deliver, he coughed, and asked them to excuse him, as the 
 smallest drop of brandy always laid him up. 
 
 * There are hypocrites for you ! ' grunted My-Boots. * I 
 bet they have their drinks on the sly.' 
 
 However, when he had poked his nose in his glass, he 
 attacked old Colombe. * You old villain,' said he, ' you've 
 changed the bottle ! You know, it's no good your trying to 
 doctor your vitriol with me I * 
 
 The dawn was now spreading, and a kind of half-light lit 
 up the ' Assommoir,* where the landlord was turning out the 
 gas. Coupeau had begun to offer excuses for his brother-in 
 law, who really could not stand drink, which after all was no 
 crime. And he approved even of Goujet's behaviour, for it 
 
246 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 was a real blessing never to be thirsty. Then he talked of 
 going off to work, but Lantier, putting on his grand air, 
 sharply gave him a lesson. A man should at least stand 
 treat in his turn before sneaking off ; he ought not to leave 
 his friends like a prig, even when it was a question of going to 
 his duty. 
 
 * Is he going to badger us much longer about his work ? ' 
 cried My-Boots. 
 
 * So this is your turn, sir ? * asked old Colombo of Coupeau. 
 The zinc-worker paid. But when it came to the turn of 
 
 Bibi-the- Smoker, the latter whispered to the landlord, who 
 refused with a shake of the head. My-Boots understood what 
 was up, and again began to abuse that old Jew, Colombo. 
 What I a rascal like him dared to behave in that way to a 
 comrade I Everywhere else one could get a drink on tick I 
 It was only in such low pepper-boxes that one got insulted I 
 However, the landlord remained quite calm, resting his 
 big fists on the edge of the counter, and politely saying : 
 
 * Lend the gentleman some money — that will be far simpler.' 
 
 * Thunder I yes, I'll lend him some,' yelled My-Boots. 
 
 * Here, Bibi, throw his money in his face I ' 
 
 Then, fairly started, and annoyed by the sight of the bag 
 slung over Coupeau's shoulder, he continued, speaking to the 
 zinc-worker : ' You look like a wet-nurse. Drop your brat. 
 It'll give you a hump-back.' 
 
 Coupeau hesitated for an instant; and then, quietly, as 
 though he had only made up his mind after considerable 
 reflection, he set his bag on the floor, saying : * It's too late 
 now. I'll go to Bourguignon's after lunch. I'll tell him that 
 the missus was ill. Listen, old Colombe, I'll leave my tools 
 under this seat, and I'll call for them at twelve o'clock.' 
 
 Lantier nodded his approval of this arrangement. A man 
 must work, no doubt ; only, when he is with friends, politeness 
 passes before everything. An inclination for a spree had 
 gradually overcome the four of them, and they stood there 
 with heavy hands, and exchanging questioning glances. And 
 as soon as they realised that they had five hours' idleness 
 before them, they were suddenly seized with a noisy joy, 
 catching each other friendly slaps, and bawling a,ffectionate 
 words in each other's faces. Coupeau, who in particular felt 
 much relieved and even younger, called the others ' old bricks ! ' 
 They had one more round of drinks, and then moved off to 
 the ' Sniffing Flea,' a low dram-shop which possessed a billiard 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 247 
 
 table. The hatter at first made a grimace, for it was not a 
 very clean-looking crib ; the brandy there cost a franc the 
 quart, ten sous a pint in two glasses, and the customers had so 
 soiled the billiard table that the balls fairly stuck to it. 
 However, when once the game had begun, the hatter, who was 
 an extremely expert player, recovered his good temper and 
 graciousness, thrusting his chest forward and wriggling his 
 hips at each cannon he made. 
 
 When lunch time came, Coupeau had an idea. He 
 stamped his feet and exclaimed : * We must go to fetch 
 Salted-Chops. I know where he works. We'll take him to 
 Mother Louis's to have some stewed pettitoes.' 
 
 The idea was greeted with acclamations. Yes, Salted- 
 Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, must be in want 
 of some pettitoes. So they started off. The streets were 
 yellowish, and a fine rain was falling. But the tipplers were 
 already too warm internally to feel a slight watering of their 
 limbs. Coupeau led the others to the bolt factory in the 
 Kue Marcardet, and as they arrived there a good half hour 
 before the time when the workmen usually came out, he gave 
 a lad a couple of sous to go in and tell Salted- Chops that his 
 wife was ill and wanted him at once. The blacksmith made 
 his appearance, strutting along but looking very calm, and 
 already scenting a tuck-out. 
 
 ' Ah 1 you jokers ! ' said he, as soon as he caught sight of 
 the others hiding in a doorway. * I guessed as much. Well I 
 what are we going to eat ? ' 
 
 Once at Mother Louis's, whilst they sucked the little 
 bones of the pettitoes, they again fell to abusing the employer 
 class. Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, related 
 that at his crib they just then had a most pressing order to 
 execute. So the boss was fairly pleasant for the time being. 
 One might be late, and he dared say nothing ; he no doubt 
 considered himself lucky when the men did turn up. Besides, 
 there was no fear that any one would ever dare to give 
 Salted-Chops the sack, for it was no longer possible to find 
 fellows of his talent in the bolt-forging line. Then, the petti- 
 toes having been disposed of, the company ordered an omelet. 
 Each drank his quart of wine. Mother Louis had her wine 
 sent to her from Auvergne — it was of blood-like hue, and 
 could almost be cut with a knife. Things were now begin- 
 ning to get amusing ; the carouse was going apace. 
 
 ' What do you think is the boss's latest ? ' cried Salted- 
 
248 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Mouth at dessert. * Why, he's been and put a bell up in his 
 crib ! A bell, indeed 1 that's good for slaves. Ah well ! it 
 can ring to-day 1 They won't catch me at the anvil again ! I've 
 been sticking there for five days past, and may well give 
 myself a rest. If he has the cheek to fine me, I'll send him 
 to blazes.' 
 
 * For my part,' said Coupeau, with an important air, * I'm 
 obliged to leave you ; I'm off to work. Yes, I promised my 
 
 wife Amuse yourselves ; my heart, you know, remains 
 
 with my pals.* 
 
 The others chaffed him. But he seemed so decided that 
 at last they all accompanied him on his way to fetch his tools 
 from old Colombe's. He there took his bag from under the 
 seat and laid it on the floor before him, whilst they had a 
 final drink. But at one o'clock the party was still standing 
 glasses round. Then Coupeau, with a gesture of boredom, 
 once more deposited the tools under the seat. They were in 
 his way ; he could not get near the counter without stumbling 
 against them. It was all too absurd to think of working that 
 day ; he would go to Bourguignon's on the morrow. The 
 other four, who meantime were quarrelling over the question 
 of salaries, were not at all surprised when the zinc- worker, 
 without any explanation, proposed a little stroll along the 
 Boulevard, just to stretch their legs. It had left off raining, 
 but the little stroll resolved itself into their trudging along for 
 a couple of hundred paces all in a row and swinging their 
 arms. They no longer found a word to say, incommoded as 
 they were by the fresh air, and bored at being out of doors. 
 And without even having to nudge one another by way of 
 consultation, they slowly and instinctively ascended the Rue 
 des Poissonniers, and entered Fran9ois's tavern to drink a 
 glass of bottle wine. They really needed it to pull them 
 together again. The streets were altogether too depressing ; 
 it was so muddy in them, that one wouldn't willingly have 
 turned even a * copper ' out of doors. Lantier pushed his 
 comrades inside the private room at the back of the tavern ; 
 a narrow crib, containing but one table, and separated from 
 the shop proper by a glazed partition. The hatter usually pre- 
 ferred to colour his nose in private rooms, because it was more 
 respectable. Were they not all very comfortable in there ? 
 One could almost thmk oneself at home, and have indulged 
 in a nap without scruple. He, however, called for the news- 
 paper, spread it out open before him, and began to look 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 249 
 
 through it, frowning the while. Coupeau and My-Boots had 
 started a game of piquet. Two bottles of wine and five 
 glasses were scattered about the table. 
 
 * Well 1 what do they say in that rag ? ' asked Bibi-the- 
 Smoker of the hatter. Lantier, after an interval, reflied 
 without raising his eyes : ' I'm reading the report of the 
 Chamber. They're not repubUcans at all, those lazy 
 scoundrels of the Left ! Are they elected by the people merely 
 to swill sugar and water ? Here's one who believes in Provi- 
 dence, and makes advances to those dirty ministers I If I 
 were elected, I'd get into the tribune and say " Eot " to 
 their faces. Yes, nothing more, that sums up my opinion I * 
 
 * You know that Badinguet's had a fight with his missus, 
 before the whole court, don't you ? ' responded Salted-Chops, 
 otherwise Drink-without-Thirst. ' 'Pon my honour it's true 1 
 And all about nothing, just a little wrangle. But Badinguet 
 was a bit screwed.' 
 
 * Shut up with your politics I * cried the zinc-worker. 
 ' Eead us the murders, they're much more amusing.' 
 
 And reverting to his game, he declared a tierce from the 
 nine and three queens as follows : * I've a tierce from the 
 sewer and three doves. The crinolines stick to me.' 
 
 They emptied their glasses, and then Lantier read out : 
 * A frightful crime has just spread consternation throughout 
 the locality of Gaillon, in the Department of Seine-et-Marne. 
 A son has hacked his father to death with a spade, in order 
 to rob him of thirty sous.' 
 
 They all uttered a cry of horror. There was one, dash it 
 all 1 whom they would have taken great pleasure in seeing 
 guillotined I In fact, the guillotine was not severe enough ; 
 he deserved to be cut into mincemeat. The story of an 
 infanticide likewise aroused their indignation ; but the hatter 
 in highly moral language found excuses for the woman, and 
 cast all the blame on her seducer. However, they waxed 
 enthusiastic on hearing of the exploits of the Marquis de T — , 
 who, leaving a ball at two o'clock in the morning, had 
 defended himself against three ruffians on the Boulevard des 
 Invalides. Without even taking off his gloves, he had rid 
 himself of two of the men by butting them in the stomach, 
 and had then led the third by the ear to the nearest police- 
 station. Ah I there was a smart fellow for you I What a 
 pity he was an aristocrat I 
 
 'Listen to this, now,' continued Lantier. 'Here's some 
 
250 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 news of the toffs. The Countess de Br^tigny is giving her 
 eldest daughter in marriage to the young Baron de Valan9ay, 
 aide-de-camp to His Majesty. The wedding trousseau will 
 contain more than three hundred thousand francs* worth of 
 lace.' 
 
 * What's that to us?' interrupted Bibi-the- Smoker. 
 
 * What do we care for her lace ? ' 
 
 Then as Lantier seemed about to continue his reading, 
 Salted-Chops, otherwise Drink- without-Thirst, took the news- 
 paper from him, and sat upon it, declaring that papers were 
 merely so much rot. 
 
 Meanwhile, My-Boots, who had been looking at his hand, 
 triumphantly banged his fist on the table. He was just 
 scoring ninety-three. 'I've the Revolution,' he shouted. 
 
 * A quint in clubs. That's twenty, isn't it ? Then tierce 
 major in diamonds, twenty-three ; three kings, twenty-six ; 
 three jacks, twenty-nine ; three aces, ninety-two. And I play 
 year one of the Republic, ninety-three.' 
 
 * You're done for, old boy,' cried the others to Coupeau. 
 
 They ordered two fresh bottles. The glasses were now re- 
 filled as soon as they were emptied ; the drinking bout waxed 
 fast and furious. Towards five o'clock, things even began to 
 get disgusting, so much so, that Lantier kept very quiet and 
 began to think of how he might give the others the slip ; 
 brawling and throwing wine about was not his style. Just 
 then, as it happened, Coupeau stood up to make the 
 drunkard's sign of the cross. * Montpernasse,' said he, as he 
 touched his head ; * Menilmonte,' as he brought his hand to 
 his right shoulder ; * La Courtille,' as he moved it to the left 
 one, and * Bagnolet,' as he dealt himself a blow in the 
 stomach. And finally hitting his chest, he shouted, * Stewed 
 rabbit ! ' three times in succession. Then, the hatter, taking 
 advantage of the clamour which greeted the performance of 
 this feat, quietly made for the door. His comrades did not 
 even notice his departure. He himself had already had a 
 good dose. But, once outside, he shook himself and regained 
 his self-possession ; and quietly made for the shop, where he 
 told Gervaise that Coupeau was with some friends. 
 
 Two days went by. The zinc-worker had not returned. 
 He was reeling about the neighbourhood, but no one knew 
 exactly where. Various persons, however, asserted that they 
 had seen him at Mother Baquet's, at the ' Butterfly,' and at 
 the * Little Old Man with a Cough.' Only, some said that he 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 251 
 
 was alone, whilst others afiBrmed that he was in the company 
 of seven or eight drunkards like himself. Gervaise shrugged 
 her shoulders in a resigned sort of way. All she had to do 
 was to get used to it. She never ran about after her old 
 man ; if she caught sight of him inside a wine-shop, she even 
 retraced her steps and went whither she was bound by some 
 circuitous route, so that he might not imagine she was spying 
 on him ; and she quietly waited at home till he returned, 
 listening at night-time to ascertain if he were snoring outside 
 the door. He, however, would sleep on a rubbish heap, or a 
 bench, or in a piece of vacant land, or even across a gutter. 
 On the morrow, having but imperfectly slept off his carouse 
 of the day before, he would set out again, knocking at the 
 doors of all the consolation dealers, plunging afresh into a 
 furious batter, amidst nips of spirits, glasses and quarts of wine, 
 losing his friends, and then finding them again, going long 
 journeys, whence he returned in a state of stupor, seeing the 
 streets dance before his eyes, the night fall, and the dawn 
 appear, without any other thought than that of drinking, 
 and sleeping off the effects wheresoever he might be. 
 When in the latter state, the world was ended so far as he 
 was concerned. Nevertheless, on this occasion, on the 
 second day, Gervaise went to old Colombe's * Assommoir ' to 
 inquire about him ; he had been there another five times, she 
 heard, but they were unable to tell her anything more. All 
 she could do was to take away his tools, which he had left 
 under the seat. 
 
 In the evening, Lantier, seeing that the laundress seemed 
 very much worried, offered to take her to a music-hall, just by 
 way of passing a pleasant hour or two. She refused at first, 
 for she was in no mood for laughing. Otherwise, she would 
 not have declined, for the hatter had made the proposal in 
 too straightforward a manner for her to mistrust him. He 
 seemed to feel for her in quite a paternal way. Frequent as 
 were Coupeau's bouts he had never before slept out two nights 
 in succession. And so every ten minutes, in spite of herself, 
 she would go to the door, iron in hand, and look up and down 
 the street to see if her man was coming. She tingled, she 
 said, in such a way that she could not keep still. Coupeau 
 might very likely get a limb broken, or fall under some vehicle 
 and stay there, which all considered would be a good 
 riddance, for she could no longer entertain the least affection 
 for such a disgusting individual. But it was becoming 
 
252 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 extremely annoying to have to ask oneself incessantly, day 
 after day, whether he would return that night or not. And 
 at last, when the gas lamps were lighted, and Lantier again 
 propose] the music-hall, Gervaise accepted his offer. After 
 all, she was very stupid to refuse herself some enjoyment, 
 when for three days past her husband had been leading such 
 a harum-scarum life. As he didn't come home, she would go 
 out in her turn. The show might burn down if it liked. She 
 was ready to set it on fire herself, for the troubles of life were 
 beginning to disgust her with everything. 
 
 They ate their dinner quickly ; and on going off at eight 
 o'clock, arm-in-arm with the hatter, Gervaise told Mother 
 Coupeau and Nana to go to bed at once. The shop was shut. 
 She left by the door opening into the courtyard and gave 
 Madame Boche the key, asking her to have the kindness to 
 put her pig to bed should he happen to come home. The 
 hatter, meantime, waited for her under the porch, arrayed in 
 his best, and whistling a tune. Gervaise was wearing her 
 silk dress ; and they went slowly along the pavement, walking 
 close to one another, and lighted by the flashes from the shop 
 windows, which showed them smiling and chatting in low 
 tones. 
 
 The music-haU was on the Boulevard de Eochechouart ; it 
 had originally been a little caf6, enlarged by the erection of a 
 kind of wooden shed in the courtyard. At the door, a string 
 of glass globes simulated a luminous porch. Tall posters 
 pasted upon boards stood on the ground, close to the 
 gutter. 
 
 * Here we are,' said Lantier. * To-night, first appearance 
 of Mademoiselle Amanda, serio-comic' 
 
 However, just then he caught sight of Bibi-the- Smoker, 
 who was also reading the poster. Bibi had a black eye ; 
 some knock which he had run up against on the previous 
 day. 
 
 ' Well, and where's Coupeau ? * inquired the hatter, looking 
 about him. ' Have you lost Coupeau, then ? ' 
 
 * Oh 1 long ago, since yesterday,' replied the other. * There 
 was a bit of a mill on leaving Mother Baquet's. I don't 
 care for fisticuffs. But there was a row, you know, with 
 Mother Baquet's potboy, because he wanted to make us pay 
 for a quart twice over. And then I sloped and went to have 
 a snooze.* 
 
 He was still gaping, though he had slept ten hours at a 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 253 
 
 stretch. But on the other hand he was quite sobered. His 
 jacket was covered with fluff; no doubt he had tumbled into 
 bed with his clothes on. 
 
 ' And you don't know where my husband is, sir ? ' asked 
 the laundress. 
 
 * Well, no, not a bit. It was five o'clock when we left 
 Mother Baquet's. That's all I know about it. Perhaps he 
 went down the street. Yes, I fancy now that I saw him go to 
 the " Buttterfly " with a coachman. Oh 1 how stupid it all 
 is I Really, we deserve to be shot I * 
 
 Lantier and Gervaise spent a very pleasant evening at the 
 music-hall. At eleven o'clock, when the place closed, they 
 strolled home without hurrying. It was rather chilly, the 
 spectators were going off in parties, and there were girls 
 laughing under the trees, ai the pleasantries of the men who 
 accompanied them. Lantier, between his teeth, sang one of 
 Mademoiselle Amanda's songs, ' It's in the nose that it tickles 
 me,* and Gervaise, who was in a giddy state, as though 
 intoxicated, took up the chorus. She had felt very warm all 
 the evening. Moreover, the two drinks which she had had, 
 the tobacco smoke, and the odour of so many people crowded 
 together had helped to upset her. Nevertheless, she came 
 away with a very Hvely impression of Mademoiselle Amanda. 
 She herself would never have dared to appear before the 
 public in so scanty a toilet. Still she had to admit that the 
 lady had a very fine figure, and she listened with curiosity to 
 various particulars concerning her, which Lantier began to 
 retail. 
 
 ' Every one's asleep,' exclaimed Gervaise, when they had 
 reached the house and had rung the bell three times, without 
 getting the Boches to pull the string by which the door was 
 opened. 
 
 At length, however, it did open, but all was dark under 
 the porch, and when the young woman knocked at the window 
 of the doorkeeper's room to ask for her key, Madame 
 Boche, who was half asleep, called out some rigmarole of 
 which she could at first make nothing. She eventually 
 understood that Poisson, the policeman, had brought Coupeau 
 home in a frightful state, and that the key was no doubt in 
 the lock. 
 
 ' Good heavens I * murmured Lantier, when they had gone 
 in, * whatever has he been up to here ? The smell is 
 abominable.' 
 
254 THE DRAM'SHOP 
 
 When Gervaise, who had been looking for the matches, at 
 last succeeded in lighting a candle, a horrible, a loathsome 
 sight greeted their eyes. Coupeau was on the floor, having 
 fallen no doubt from the bed, where Poisson had thrown him, 
 and there he lay snoring amidst unmentionable filth, like a 
 hog wallowing in the mire. 
 
 * Oh 1 the pig ! the pig 1 * repeated Gervaise, indignant and 
 exasperated. * He's dirtied everything. No, a dog wouldn't 
 have done such a thing, a dead dog is cleaner.* 
 
 Never before had the zinc-worker come home in such a 
 state ; never before had he turned the place into such a pig- 
 stye. The sight dealt a great blow to such affection as his 
 wife still had for him. In the earlier days, when he had 
 returned elevated or even tipsy, she had shown herself kind, 
 without appearance of disgust. But this time it was too 
 much, her whole being revolted. She would not have touched 
 him with a pair of tongs. And she shivered with repugnance 
 at the thought that this disgusting sot was her husband, and 
 she his wife. 
 
 * I must go to bed, however,' she murmured. * I can't 
 sleep in the street. Oh ! I'll tread on him sooner.' 
 
 She tried to step over the drunkard, but had to catch hold 
 of the chest of drawers to save herself from slipping, 
 Coupeau quite blocked the way to the bed. Then, Lantier, 
 silently laughing to himself, took hold of her hand, and said in 
 a low and ardent voice : * Gervaise ; listen, Gervaise.' 
 
 But she had understood. She freed herself, and in her 
 bewilderment addressed him familiarly as in former days. 
 * No, leave me. I implore you, Auguste, go away.' 
 
 * Don't be foolish, Gervaise,' he resumed. *It's too 
 abominable ; you can't remain here.' 
 
 She struggled, and energetically shook her head. And in her 
 confusion, as though to show that she intended to remain there, 
 she divested herself of her silk gown and flung it on a chair. 
 Then twice again she tried to find a clear space to enable her 
 to get past the prostrate Coupeau. 
 
 But Lantier was there, ever seeking to restrain her. 
 Ah ! she was in a terrible position, with a hog of a husband 
 in front of her, and an unscrupulous knave in the rear, whose 
 only thought was to take advantage of her misfortune ! As 
 the hatter raised his voice, she implored him to keep quiet. 
 And then she listened, with her ear inclined towards the little 
 room occupied by Nana and Mother Coupeau. They were no 
 
THE WILES OF THE TEMPTER 955 
 
 dottbt asleep, for one could hear a heavy breathiDg. Then 
 again she begged Lantier to be gone. He no longer spoke, 
 but stood there smiling ; and he slowly kissed her on the 
 ear, just as he had often done in olden time in order to 
 tease her. At this her strength deserted her; she felt a 
 great buzzing in her ears, and a violent tremor shook her. 
 Yet, she took another step forward ; and she was again 
 obliged to draw back. It was not possible, her disgust was 
 too great. 
 
 And this was the outcome of Drink, this was one example 
 of the results of the passion for strong liquor : Man degraded 
 to bestiality, filling the woman who had loved him with horror 
 and loathing, rending the last shred of affection felt for him, 
 snapping every remaining tie. Coupeau, lying there as com- 
 fortably as on a bed of down, was sleeping off his debauch, 
 with hfeless limbs, and mouth all awry. And around him 
 were nameless horrors. 
 
 * So much the worse for him,' stammered Gervaise at last, 
 * it's his fault, his fault 1 Ah ! good heavens ! ah ! good 
 heavens I he himself drives me away ; it's all his fault.' 
 
 She trembled, and lost her head. And as Lantier was 
 drawing her away, Nana's face, pale with sleep, appeared at 
 the glass door of her little chamber. The child had just 
 awoke. She was very grave, and gazed at the others with 
 dilated, wondering eyea. 
 
 IX 
 
 DOWN HILL 
 
 That winter, Mother Coupeau nearly went off in one of her 
 
 stifling fits. Each December she could rely on her asthma 
 keeping her on her back for two and three weeks at a time. 
 She was no longer a girl, she would be seventy-three on 
 Saint-Anthony's day. With that, she was quite worn out, 
 getting a rattling in her throat for nothing at all, though she 
 looked still big and plump. The doctor said she would 
 eventually go off coughing, with just time to say : * Good- 
 night, Jeanneton, the candle's out ! * 
 
 When she was confined to her bed, Mother Coupeau became 
 positively unbearable. It is true that the httle room which 
 she shared with Nana was not at all a gay one. Between 
 
2S6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her bedstead and the child's, there was only just space enough 
 for a couple of chairs. Then the grey wall-paper, old and 
 faded, hung about in shreds ; and the little round window near 
 the ceiling admitted but a pale half light, like that of a cellar. 
 Anyone would soon have got old in such a crib, especially a 
 person who could scarcely breathe. At night-time, when Mother 
 Ooupeau was unable to sleep, she would listen to the child's 
 breathing, and that proved some occupation. But, in the 
 day-time, as the others did not keep her company from morning 
 till night, she was ever grumbling and sobbing, and repeating 
 to herself for hours together, while she rolled her head on the 
 pillow : ' Ah I good heavens I what a miserable creature I 
 am 1 Good heavens ! what a miserable creature I am I 
 They'll leave me to die in prison, yes, in prison ! ' 
 
 Then as soon as anyone called, Virginie or Madame Boche, 
 for instance, to ask after her health, she did not reply, but 
 started on her chapter of grievances : ' Ah ! the bread which 
 I eat here is dear, indeed 1 No, I could not suffer so much 
 if I were among strangers I Listen, I wanted a cup of herb 
 tea ; well I they brought me a water-jug full, just by way of 
 telUng me that I drink too much of it. It's the same with 
 Nana, that child whom I brought up ; she goes off barefooted 
 in the morning, and I don't see her again for the rest of the 
 day. One would think I had something offensive. Yet, at 
 night-time, she sleeps precious sound, and doesn't once wake 
 up to ask me if I'm in pain. In short, I'm in their way, they're 
 waiting for me to croak. Oh 1 it won't take long. I've no 
 son left me now, that hussy of a laundress has taken him 
 from me. She'd beat me and finish me off, if she were not 
 afraid of the police.' 
 
 Gervaise was indeed rather hasty at times. The place was 
 going to the dogs, their tempers were all soured, and they sent 
 one another to the right about for the least word. Coupeau, one 
 morning, when he had his hair out of curl, exclaimed : * The 
 old thing's always saying that she's going to die, and yet she 
 never does ! ' words which struck Mother Coupeau to the heart. 
 She was reproached with what she cost, and it was coolly 
 said that it would be a great saving if she were no longer there. 
 To tell the truth, neither did she behave as she ought to have 
 done. For instance, whenever she saw her eldest daughter, 
 Madame Lerat, she unfolded an exaggerated tale of woe, 
 accusing her son and her daughter-in-law of leaving her to 
 starve — and this she did to wheedle twentv sous out of the 
 
DOWNHILL 257 
 
 artificial flower maker, which twenty sous she spent in sweet- 
 meats. She told the Lorilleux some abominable stories of 
 the laundress spending their monthly contribution of ten 
 rancs in all sorts of fancies of her own, new caps, cakes eaten 
 n sly corners, and so forth. On two or three occasions, she 
 almost caused a general fight among the family by her 
 gossiping propensities. At one moment she was on this side, 
 and the next moment on that ; in short, things were getting 
 into a dreadful mess. 
 
 One afternoon when she was at her worst that winter, and 
 Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat happened to meet at 
 her bedside, Mother Coupeau winked her eye as a signal to 
 them to lean over her. She could scarcely speak, and so 
 rather hissed than articulated : ' Things are getting decent. 
 There's no doubt about the Hobbler and the hatter now. 
 Seeing and hearing's believing, isn't it ? ' 
 
 And, in short sentences, between each of which she coughed 
 and choked, she went on to relate that her son had come 
 home very drunk the night before, and that Gervaise and 
 Lantier had been emboldened by the circumstance. The 
 worst, she added, was that httle Nana, though she said 
 nothing, seemed to be quite aware of what was going on. 
 The other women did not appear at all surprised by 
 these tidings. Madame Lorilleux believed that it all dated 
 from long ago. But, however dreadful it might be, since 
 Coupeau apparently allowed it, she saw no reason to interfere. 
 Madame Lerat, on the contrary, was in favour of frightening 
 Gervaise into more moral courses. In the result the whole 
 neighbourhood soon knew for a fact that Gervaise and Lantier 
 were again on their old footing. 
 
 In the presence of neighbours, Madame Lorilleux waxed 
 noisily indignant ; she pitied her brother, that noodle who, in 
 sheer desperation, had been driven to drink by his depraved 
 wife ; and, if she continued to visit such a home, it was, she 
 said, solely on account of her poor mother, who was obliged 
 to hve amidst those abominations. Then the neighbourhood 
 fell upon Gervaise. It must have been she who had inveigled 
 the hatter. You could tell it by her eyes. Yes, in spite of all 
 the nasty rumours, that sly knave Lantier remained on his 
 pedestal, simply because he still put on his highly respectable 
 ways with everybody, strolled about the streets reading his 
 newspaper like a man of leisure, and invariably showed him- 
 self attentive and gallant with the ladies, always having 
 
 s 
 
258 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 sweets and flowers to give away. And after all, said the 
 gossips, he merely acted his part ; a man is a man, and one 
 can't ask him to resist every woman who throws herself at 
 his head. But she, Gervaise, had no excuse ; she was a 
 disgrace to the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or. And, horrible to relate, 
 the Lorilleux, enticed their goddaughter Nana to their 
 rooms for the purpose of ferreting out particulars. But when 
 they questioned the child in a roundabout way, she put on a 
 stupid air, and lowered her vicious eyes. 
 
 Amidst the general indignation, Gervaise lived on quiet, 
 tired, and somewhat sleepy. At first, she had considered her- 
 self very guilty, an object of horror and disgust. For a while 
 she fled alternately from her husband and her lover. But she 
 gradually became accustomed to the situation, and accepted it. 
 Sloth was destroying all her energy — her longing to be happy 
 made her seek happiness in her very worries. She tried to 
 arrange things in such wise that no one should be over 
 bothered. Provided that the household went on in its usual 
 jog-trot way, that they could laugh from morn till night, one 
 and all of them plump and satisfied with life and taking it 
 easy, there could, thought she, really be nothing to complain of. 
 
 Her sense of wrong-doing was dimmed by the easiness 
 with which things adjusted themselves to general satisfaction. 
 One is usually punished if one does what is wrong, she said ; 
 and as there was to her thinking no sign of punishment, she 
 considered that her behaviour could not be so very culpable. 
 In this wise, misconduct gradually became a habit with her, 
 the more so as Coupeau came home drunk at least every 
 Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. 
 
 Mother Coupeau never dared to speak out plainly about it 
 all. But, after a quarrel, whenever the laundress had rated 
 her, the old woman was unsparing in her allusions. She 
 would say that she knew men who were precious fools, and 
 women who were precious hussies ; and she would mutter far 
 more biting words between her teeth. The first time that 
 this occurred Gervaise looked her straight in the face, without 
 answering. And afterwards, without going into details any 
 more than the other did, she sought to defend herself in a 
 general sort of way. When a woman had a drunkard for a 
 husband, a pig who lived in filth, she had every excuse on 
 her side. If husbands wished their wives to remain attached 
 to them, they should at least hve like men, and not like hogs. 
 And she went even farther, giving it to be understood that 
 
DOWNHILL 259 
 
 Lantier, when all waa said and done, was as much her husband 
 as Coupeau. Had she not borne him children long before she 
 had ever met the zinc- worker ? Well, then, in such circum- 
 stances no one had a right to cast stones at her. She claimed, 
 in fact, that her conduct was simply in accord with the laws 
 of nature. Besides, she would not stand being bothered by 
 any one. She would precious soon give them all a bit of her 
 mind. The Rue de la Goutte-d'Or was not such a very decent 
 place 1 Little Madame Vigouroux, the charcoal-dealer, and 
 Madame Lehongre, the grocer's wife, were even far worse than 
 herself. The clockmaker opposite, who put on the airs of a 
 gentleman, had narrowly escaped the criminal court for most 
 abominable misconduct. And, with sweeping gestures, she 
 denounced the whole neighbourhood, went on for an hour 
 bainging all sorts of dirty linen to light. Truth to tell, 
 vice infected every house around her. In that corner of Paris 
 there were terrible goings on, born of the promiscuity which 
 extreme poverty engenders. 
 
 * It would be just as well for people to keep from spitting 
 in the air, for what they spit only falls again on their own 
 noses,' Gervaise would say, whenever anybody especially 
 aggravated her. * Every one for himself or herself, is it not 
 so ? So others should let people live in their own way, if they 
 wish to live in theirs. For myself, I'm agreeable to every- 
 thing, provided that I'm not dragged through the gutter by 
 people who have already plunged into it head first.' 
 
 Then Mother Coupeau, having one day been more pointed 
 than usual in her remarks, Gervaise answered her with teeth 
 set : * You're confined to your bed, and you take advantage of 
 it. Listen, you're wrong ; I've always behaved nicely to you, 
 I've never thrown your past hfe in your teeth ! Oh ! I know 
 all about it ! A fine life it was ; and whilst old Coupeau was 
 alive, too. No, don't cough, I've finished. I just wanted to 
 tell you to mind your own business — that's aU ! ' 
 
 The old woman almost choked. On the morrow, as 
 Goujet came to the shop about his mother's washing when 
 Gervaise happened to be out. Mother Coupeau called him to 
 her, and kept him for some time seated beside her bed. She 
 knew all about the blacksmith's friendship, and for some time 
 past had noticed that he looked extremely wretched, from a 
 suspicion of the truth. So, out of revenge for the quarrel of 
 .'he day before, she bluntly told him everything, weeping and 
 complaining the while as though she, more than anybody else, 
 
 s2 
 
a6o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 was injured by Gervaise's wicked behaviour. When Goujet 
 quitted the little room, he leant against the wall, almost 
 stifling with grief. And as soon as the laundress returned 
 home. Mother Coupeau called to her that Madame Goujet 
 required her to go round at once with her washing, ironed or 
 not. The old woman spoke with so much animation that 
 Gervaise guessed what had taken place, and had a presenti- 
 ment of the chagrin which awaited her. 
 
 Very pale, her limbs already trembling, she placed the 
 things in a basket and started off. For years past she had 
 not refunded the Goujets a sou of their money. The debt 
 still amounted to four hundred and twenty-five francs. She 
 always spoke of her embarrassments, and thus got paid for 
 the washing. It filled her with shame, because she seemed 
 to be taking advantage of the blacksmith's friendship to 
 swindle him. Coupeau, however, far less scrupulous than 
 formerly, would merely chuckle and call Goujet a silly muff. 
 This pained Gervaise, who would not tolerate a word against 
 Goujet in her presence ; her affection for him remained like 
 a last shred of her honour. And when she took the Goujets' 
 washing home to, them, she felt a spasm at her heart the 
 moment she set foot on their stairs. That day it came on her 
 more acutely than ever. 
 
 ' Ah ! it's you, at last 1 * said Madame Goujet sharply, on 
 opening the door to her. * When I'm in want of death, I'll 
 send you to fetch him.* 
 
 Gervaise entered, feeling so embarrassed that she did not 
 even dare to mutter an excuse. She was no longer punctual, 
 never came at the time arranged, but would even keep her 
 customer waiting for days together. Little by little she was 
 giving way to thorough disorder. 
 
 * I've been expecting you for a week past I ' continued the 
 lace-mender. ' You tell such falsehoods ; you send your 
 apprentice to me with all sorts of stories ; you are busy with 
 my things and will deliver them the same evening, or else 
 you've had an accident, the bundle's fallen into a pail of water. 
 Whilst all this is going on, I waste my time, nothing turns 
 up, and it worries me exceedingly. No, you're most 
 unreasonable. Come, what have you got in your basket ? 
 Is everything there now ? Have you brought me the pair 
 of sheets that you've been keeping back for a month past, and 
 the chemise which was missing the last time you brought 
 home the washing ? * 
 
DOWNHILL a6i 
 
 * Yes, yes,' murmured Gervaise, * the chemise is there. 
 Here it is.' 
 
 But Madame Goujet protested. That chemise was not 
 hers, she would have nothing to do with it. Her things were 
 changed now ; that was worse than anything I Only the week 
 before, Gervaise had brought her two handkerchiefs which 
 hadn't her mark on them. It was not at all nice to have 
 things coming home from no one knew where. Besides, she 
 wished to have her own things. * And the sheets ? ' she 
 resumed. * They're lost, are they ? Well I young woman, 
 you can say what you like, but I insist upon having them to- 
 morrow morning, do you hear ? * 
 
 A silence ensued. What made Gervaise all the more 
 embarrassed was the consciousness that just behind her the 
 door of Goujet's room was ajar. The blacksmith must be 
 inside, she could divine it ; and how unpleasant, if he were 
 listening to all those -well-deserved reproaches, to which she 
 could urge no answer 1 She became very submissive and 
 gentle, bowing her head and placing the clean linen on the 
 bed as quickly as she could. But matters became worse when 
 Madame Goujet began to look over the things, one by one. 
 She took hold of them and threw them down again, saying : 
 ' Ah ! you are fast losing your skill 1 One can't compli- 
 ment you every day now. Yes, you've taken to mucking your 
 work — todoingit in a most slovenly way. Just look at this shirt- 
 front, it's scorched, there's he mark of the iron on the plaits, and 
 the buttons have all been torn off. I don't know how you 
 manage it, but there's never a button left. Oh 1 here's a 
 petticoat body which I certainly won't pay . you for. Look 
 there ! The dirt's still on it, you've simply smoothed it over. 
 So now the things are not even clean 1 ' 
 
 She stopped whilst she counted the different articles. 
 Then she exclaimed, * What I is this all you brought ? There 
 are two pairs of stockings, six napkins, a table-cloth, and 
 several dish-cloths short. You're trifling with me, it seems 1 1 
 sent word that you were to bring me everything, ironed or not. 
 If your apprentice isn't here in an hour's time with the rest 
 of the things, we shall fall out, Madame Coupeau, I warn you.' 
 
 At this moment Goujet coughed in his room. Gervaise 
 gave a slight start. How she was treated before him, good 
 heavens ! And she remained standing in the centre of the 
 room, embarrassed, confused, and waiting for the dirty 
 clothes ; but, after making up the account, Madame Goujet 
 
262 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 quietly returned to her seat near the window, and resumed the 
 mending of a lace shawl. 
 
 * And the dirty things ? ' timidly inquired the laundress. 
 
 * No, thank you,' replied the old woman, * there's nothing 
 this week.* 
 
 Gervaise turned pale. She was no longer to have the 
 washing. Then she quite lost her head ; and was obliged to 
 sit down on a chair, for her legs were giving way. And she 
 did not attempt to defend herself. All that she could find to 
 say was this : * Is Monsieur Goujet ill ? ' 
 
 Yes, he was feeling queer. He had been obliged to come 
 home instead of returning to the forge, and had gone to lie 
 down on his bed to get a rest. Madame Goujet, gowned in 
 black as usual, her white face encircled by a monachal cap, 
 spoke very gravely. The bolt-maker's wages had again been 
 lowered. From nine francs they had fallen to seven, on 
 account of the machinery, which now did almost all the 
 work. And she explained that they were obliged to economise 
 in everything ; so that in future she intended to do her own 
 washing as formerly. In these circumstances she would 
 naturally have been well pleased if the Coupeaus had been 
 able to return her the money lent them by her son ; but she 
 was not going to set the lawyers on them, as they were unable 
 to pay. Since she had begun to speak of the debt, Gervaise, 
 with bowed head, seemed to be following the quick move- 
 ments of her needle, as it went on working fresh meshes 
 wherever there was a rent in the shawl she was mending. 
 
 * All the same,' continued Madame Goujet, 'by pinching 
 yourselves a little you could manage to pay it off. For, really 
 now, you live very well ; you spend a great deal, I'm sure. 
 
 If you were only to pay off ten francs a month * But she 
 
 was interrupted by Goujet calling : * Mamma I mamma 1 ' 
 
 And when she returned to her seat, which was almost 
 immediately, she changed the conversation. The blacksmith 
 no doubt had begged her not to ask Gervaise for money ; but, 
 in spite of herself, some five minutes afterwards she again 
 spoke of the debt. Oh I she had foreseen what was happen- 
 ing — the zinc-worker was drinking up the shop, and would 
 lead his wife a fine dance. Had her son only listened to her 
 he would never have lent the five hundred francs. He would 
 have married, and would not now have been wasting away 
 with sadness, with the prospect of being miserable for all the 
 rest of his life. Going on in this wise, the old woman 
 
DOWNHILL 263 
 
 gradually became excited, and very harsh, plainly accusing 
 Gervaise of having arranged with Coupeau to take advantage 
 of her fooUsh child. Yes, there were women who wore the 
 mask of hypocrisy for years, but whose bad character was at 
 last displayed in the full light of day. 
 
 * Mamma 1 mamma I ' again called Goujet, but this time in 
 a louder, more violent voice. 
 
 She rose from her seat, and when she returned she said, 
 as she resumed her mending, ' Go in, he wishes to see you.' 
 
 Gervaise, all of a tremble, left the door open. The scene 
 filled her with emotion, because it was like an avowal of 
 their affection before Madame Goujet. And once more she 
 beheld the quiet little chamber, with its narrow iron bedstead, 
 and walls covered with pictures from the illustrated papers, 
 the whole looking like the room of some lad of fifteen. 
 Stretched at full length on the bed was that big fellow 
 Goujet, quite overcome by Mother Coupeau's disclosures, his 
 eyes red and swollen, his beautiful yellow beard still wet with 
 the tears that had fallen on it. In the first moment of rage 
 he must have pommelled his pillow with his terrible fists, for 
 the ticking was split and the feathers were coming out. 
 
 * Listen, mamma's wrong,' said he to the laundress, in a 
 voice that was scarcely audible. * You owe me nothing, I 
 won't have it spoken of.' 
 
 He had raised himself up, and was looking at her. Big 
 tears at once came to his eyes again. 
 
 *Do you sufi'er, Monsieur Goujet?* she murmured. 
 * What is the matter with you ? tell me.' 
 
 * Nothing, thanks. I tired myself too much yesterday. I 
 must sleep a bit.' Then, his heart breaking, he could not 
 restrain this cry : * Ah, my God 1 my God 1 it was never to be 
 — never I You swore it 1 And now it is — it is I Ah, my 
 God ! it pains me too much, leave me 1 ' 
 
 And with his hand he gently and imploringly motioned to 
 her to go. She did not draw nearer to the bed, but went off 
 as he requested her to do, in stupor, unable to say anything 
 to soothe him. When she reached the other room, she took 
 up her basket. Still she did not leave, she stood there trying 
 to find something to say. Madame Goujet continued her 
 mending without raising her head. It was she who at length 
 exclaimed : * Well I good-night ; send me back my things, 
 we will settle afterwards.' 
 
 * Yes, it will be best so — good-night,' stammered Gervaise. 
 
264 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 She closed the door slowly, giving a last glance at that 
 clean and tidy home, where she seemed to be leaving behind 
 her a part of her respectabihty. And she walked back to her 
 shop in much the same stupid manner as cows return to their 
 Bhed, without troubling themselves about the road. Mother 
 Coupeau, who had just left her bed for the first time, wag 
 sitting on a chair beside the big stove. But the laundress 
 did not even utter a reproach. She felt too weary, her bones 
 ached as though she had been beaten. She was thinking 
 that life was indeed too hard, and that unless one wanted to 
 kill oneself right off, one could not well tear one's heart 
 out. 
 
 From that time forward, Gervaise became indifferent to 
 everything. With a vague gesture of her hand, she would 
 send everybody about his or her business. At each worry she 
 buried herself deeper in her only pleasure, which was to have 
 three meals a day. The shop might have collapsed, so long 
 as she was not beneath it : she would have gone off willingly 
 without a chemise to her back. And the shop was collapsing, 
 not suddenly, but little by little, morning and evening. One 
 by one her customers got angry with her, and sent their 
 washing elsewhere. M. Madinier, Mademoiselle Eemanjou, 
 and even the Boches returned to Madame Fauconnier, with 
 whom they could count on greater punctuality. People get 
 tired of asking for a pair of stockmgs for three weeks together, 
 and of putting on shirts with grease stains dating from the 
 previous Sunday. Gervaise, however, without missing a bite, 
 wished them a pleasant journey, and spoke her mind about 
 them, saying that she was precious glad she would no longer 
 have to poke her nose into their horrid rags. Ah, well I the 
 whole neighbourhood might withdraw its custom, it would 
 rid her of a fine lot of dirt. And besides, there would be so much 
 work the less. Meanwhile, she merely retained such customers 
 as paid badly, disreputable characters, and persons like the 
 Gaudrons. whose washing not a laundress of the Rue Neuve 
 would touch. The shop was done for. She had to discharge 
 her last workwoman, Madame Putois ; and was left alone 
 with her apprentice, that squint-eyed Augustine, who became 
 more and more stupid ihe bigger she grew. Yet even the pair of 
 them did not always have sufficient work. They would sit on 
 their stools doing nothing for entire afternoons. In short, 
 there was a regular collapse. The whole place smelt of ruin. 
 
 Naturally enough, the entrance of idleness and poverty 
 
DOWNHILL 265 
 
 was attended by that of dirt. One would never have recog- 
 nised the beautiful blue shop, the colour of heaven, -which had 
 once been Gervaise's pride. Its window-frames and panes, 
 which were never washed, remained covered with splashes 
 from passing vehicles. From the brass rods of the shop-front 
 hung three grey rags, left by customers ^ho had died in some 
 hospital. And the place inside was more pitiable still ; the 
 damp from the clothes hung up to dry had loosened all the 
 wall-paper ; that imitation Pompadour chintz hung in strips 
 like cobwebs heavy with dust; the big stove, broken, per- 
 forated by the rough handling of the poker, looked like some 
 remnant belonging to a dealer in old iron ; and one might 
 have thought that a whole regiment had tippled and guttled 
 at the work-table, covered as it was with wine and coffee 
 Btains, sticky with jam, greasy from Monday junketings. 
 And there was an odour of stale starch, a stench of mustiness, 
 burnt fat, and filth. But Gervaise felt very comfortable there. 
 She had not noticed that the shop was getting dirty ; she 
 surrendered herself to her surroundings as it were, grew used 
 to the torn wall-paper and the greasy wood-work, even as she 
 got into the way of wearing torn skirts, and of scarcely 
 washing herself. To her the dirt even formed a warm nest 
 which she enjoyed. To let things take care of themselves, to 
 wait for the dust to stop up all chinks, and cover everything 
 as with a coat of velvet, to feel the house grow heavy and 
 lifeless with sloth, was a voluptuous pleasure which intoxi- 
 cated her. 
 
 Her own ease was her sole consideration ; she did not care 
 a pin for anything else. Her debts, though they were still 
 increasing, no longer troubled her. Her probity was 
 gradually disappearing ; whether she would be able to pay or 
 not was uncertain, and she preferred not to know. When 
 her credit was stopped at one shop, she opened an account at 
 another. She was in debt all over the neighbourhood, at 
 every few yards there was some place where she owed money. 
 To take merely the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, she no longer 
 dared to pass the grocer's, or the charcoal-dealer's, or the 
 greengrocer's ; and this obliged her whenever she went to the 
 wash-house, to make a circuitous round by way of the Rue 
 des Poissonniers. At last the tradespeople came and called 
 her a swindler. One evening, the man who had sold the 
 furniture for Lantier's room drew a crowd round the place, 
 by shouting that he would spank her if she did not fork out 
 
266 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 his money. Such scenes, of course, left her trembling ; still, 
 she soon shook herself like a cur that had been beaten, and 
 there was an end of it ; she did not dine any the worse after- 
 wards. The tradespeople were a lot of insolent scoundrels to 
 come bothering her I She had no money ; she could not 
 make any, could she ? Besides, tradespeople robbed everyone ; 
 they were made to wait. And then she would again fall 
 asleep in her hole, careful not to dream of what must some 
 day surely happen. She would take the leap, no doubt ; but 
 until the time came she was determined not to be bothered. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mother Coupeau had recovered, and for another 
 year the household jogged along. Duiing the summer there 
 was naturally a little more work, such as the white petticoats 
 and cambric dresses of the hussies of the exterior Boulevard. 
 The catastrophe was approaching slowly ; the home sank a 
 little deeper into the mire every week. There were ups and 
 downs, however — days when the cupboard was quite bare, 
 and others when one ate enough veal to make one burst. 
 Mother Coupeau was for ever being seen in the street. With 
 bundles hidden under her apron, she strolled in the direction 
 of the pawn- place in the Rue Polonceau. She put on the 
 pious, yearning air of a devotee going to mass ; for she did 
 not dislike these errands ; haggling about money amused her ; 
 to play the part of a garrulous old clo' dealer tickled her fancy, 
 old gossip as she was. The clerks in the Rue Polonceau 
 knew her well, and called her mother ' Four Francs,' because 
 she invariably asked for four francs when they offered her three 
 on her parcels, which were scarcely bigger than a pat of butter. 
 Such a mania for * popping ' things had now come upon 
 Gervaise, that if it had been possible, she would have pawned 
 the whole place, have had her head shaved, if she could only 
 have got a loan on her hair. It was too convenient ; one 
 could not help sending to the pawn-shop for money when one 
 was in want of a four-pound loaf. Everything found its way 
 thither — linen, coats and gowns, even tools and furniture. At 
 first, she took advantage of her good weeks to get various 
 articles out again, even though she had to send them back 
 the week afterwards. But at last she gave up caring for 
 her things, and either let the tickets run out, or sold them. 
 
 One thing alone gave her a pang — it was having to pawn 
 her clock to pay an acceptance for a petty amount to a pro- 
 cess server, who threatened to seize her goods. Until then, 
 she had sworn that she would rather die of hunger than part 
 
DOWNHILL 267 
 
 with her clock. When Mother Coupeau carried it away in a 
 little bonnet-box, she sank upon a chair, strengthless, her 
 eyes full of tears, as though a fortune were being torn from 
 her. But when Mother Coupeau reappeared with five francs 
 more than the amount required to get rid of the man, this 
 unexpected profit on the transaction consoled her. She at 
 once sent the old woman out again for four sous' worth of 
 brandy in a glass, in order just to toast the five-franc piece. 
 Often now, when they were on good terms together, they 
 would share a drink, generally a mixture, half brandy and 
 half black currant ratafia, on a corner of the work-table. 
 Mother Coupeau had the knack of bringing back the glass in 
 her apron pocket without spilling a drop of the liquor. 
 There was no need for the neighbours to know, was there ? 
 In point of fact, however, the neighbours knew perfectly well. 
 The greengrocer, the tripe-seller, the grocer's men would often 
 Bay to one another : * Hallo ! the old woman's off to uncle's,* 
 or else : * Hallo I the old girl's bringing her liquor in her 
 pocket.' And naturally enough this increased the general out- 
 cry against Gervaise. She guttled everything ; she would soon 
 have made an end of her shanty. Yes, yes, only three or four 
 more mouthfuls, and there wouldn't be a straw left. 
 
 In the midst of the general collapse, Coupeau continued 
 to prosper. This abominable tippler enjoyed remarkable 
 health. Green wine and 'vitriol' positively fattened him. 
 He ate a great deal, and, laughing at Lorilleux, who accused 
 drink of killing people, he slapped himself on the stomach, 
 which was getting as big as a drum. Lorilleux, annoyed at 
 being so thin himself, declared that his brother-in-law was 
 simply putting on bad fat. But all the same, Coupeau went 
 on carousing, just for the sake of his health, as he was in the 
 habit of saying. His wavy hair, now all pepper and salt, was 
 burning away like hghted punch ; his sottish face, with its 
 apish jaw, was colouring after the fashion of a pipe, assuming 
 the purple tinge of wine. And gaiety remained his only care ; 
 he treated his wife quite roughly whenever she took it into 
 her head to tell him of her embarrassments. Were men made 
 to go into any such bothering matters ? The show might 
 want bread, but that was nothing to him. He required his fill 
 morning and evening, and never troubled himself as to where 
 it came from. Indeed, during weeks of idleness he became 
 more exacting than ever. At the same time, he still gave 
 Lantier friendly slaps on the shoulders ; and whatever his sister, 
 
268 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Madame Lerat, might insinuate to the contrary, it seemed 
 certain that he was ignorant of his wife's misconduct. Lantier 
 also continued to thrive. He took great care of himself, measur- 
 ing his girth by the waistband of his trousers, with a constant 
 fear of having to loosen the buckle or draw it tighter, for he 
 considered his figure just perfect as it was, and did not wish to 
 get either fatter or thinner. This made him hard to please 
 in the matter of food, for he studied every dish from the 
 standpoint of his waist. Even when there was no money in 
 the house, he required eggs, cutlets, all sorts of light and 
 nourishing things. Nowadays, he considered himself 
 entitled to fully half of everything in 'the place ; picked up 
 any twenty-sou pieces which happened to be lying about, 
 made Gervaise obey all his behests, grumbled, yelled, and 
 seemed more at home than the zinc-worker himself. In 
 short, the place had two masters, the more cunning of whom 
 — Lantier — secured the best share of everything. Briefly, he 
 was skimming the Coupeaus, and no longer took the trouble 
 to hide it. Nana continued to be his favourite, because he 
 liked nice little girls ; and he paid less and less attention to 
 ifetienne, for boys, said he, ought to know how to get on by 
 themselves. Whenever anyone called and asked for 
 Coupeau, the hatter was always to be found there, in slippers 
 and shirt sleeves, and would answer for Coupeau, saying that 
 it was just the same. 
 
 Between these two gentlemen, Gervaise did not lead a very 
 merry life. She had nothing to complain of as regards 
 her health, thank goodness ! She also was growing too fat. 
 But Coupeau and Lantier were always falling foul of her. 
 They, themselves, got on very well together. They never 
 quarrelled, but of an evening after dinner would sit chuckling 
 in each other's faces, with their elbows resting on the table. 
 And all day long, too, they chummed together. On the 
 occasions when they came home in a rage, it was on Gervaise 
 that they vented their feelings. Go it ! hammer and tongs ! 
 She had broad shoulders, and to yell in unison made them 
 all the better friends. And it never did for her to give them 
 tit-for-tat. 
 
 At first, whenever one of them shouted, she would give 
 the other an imploriuig look to obtain a good word from him. 
 Only, this seldom succeeded, so now she bent her fat 
 shoulders and bore it all meekly enough, realising that it 
 amused them to jostle her about, she was so round, a perfect 
 
DOWNHILL 269 
 
 ball. Coupean, who was very foul-mouthed, often treated 
 her to some abominable language ; Lantier, on the contrary, 
 chose his insults, thinking of words which no one else 
 made use of, and which wounded her all the more. Luckily, 
 people get accustomed to everything ; and so the bad words and 
 injustice of the two men ended by gliding off her smooth skin 
 as off oil-cloth. And at last she even preferred them angry, 
 for when they were in a good humour they bothered her far 
 more. They would pester her for dainty dishes : she was to 
 Bait this, and not to salt that, say white and say black, nurse 
 them, and make much of them in turn. At the week's 
 end her brain was in a whirl, and her eyes looked like a 
 lunatic's. Such an existence soon wears out a woman. 
 
 This was exactly the case with Gervaise. One night, she 
 dreamt that she was at the edge of a well ; Coupeau was 
 knocking her into it with a blow of his fist, whilst Lantier 
 tickled her in the ribs to make her fall the quicker. Well 1 
 that just resembled her life. With such surroundings, it was 
 not at all surprising if she fell lower and lower. The people 
 of the neighbourhood were not altogether just when they 
 reproached her, for her misfortune was not of her own 
 making. At times, when she began to ponder, a shiver 
 coursed through her frame. But then she would think that 
 things might have turned out even worse than they had. 
 And finally, it seemed to her that her position was perfectly 
 natural ; for there were so many similar households scattered 
 through Paris. And her one thought was to make the best she 
 could of it. Things were settling down indeed in such wise that 
 she no longer disliked Coupeau any more than she did Lantier. 
 Yet at the outset of this new chapter in her life she had regarded 
 the drunkard with horror and loathing. That had been the 
 immediate cause of her downfall. But when once one is 
 familiar with degradation, one regards with equanimity things 
 that previously appalled one. In a play, at the Gaiety, 
 Gervaise saw a hussy who abhorred her husband poison him 
 for her lover's sake ; and this made her angry, because she 
 felt nothing of the sort in her own heart. Was it not more 
 sensible to live on all together in a friendly manner ? No, no, 
 none of such nonsense ; it upset one's Ufe, which was not so 
 amusing as it was. In short, in spite of all the debts, in spite 
 of the poverty which threatened them, she would have been 
 comfortable and content, if the zinc-worker and the hatter 
 had only behaved to her more reasonably than they did. 
 
a7o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Towards the autumn, unfortunately, things became worse, 
 Lantier pretended that he was getting thin, and pulled a 
 longer and longer face every day. He grumbled at everything, 
 sniffed at the dishes of potatoes — a mess that he could not 
 eat, he would say, without getting ill. And the least jangling 
 now turned to quarrels, in which they accused one another of 
 being the cause of all the troubles of the household. When 
 there is no bran left, the donkeys fight together, do they not ? 
 Lantier scented the coming destitution, and it exasperated 
 him to find that the place was already eaten up, so completely 
 cleaned out, that before long he must needs take his hat and 
 seek both nest and grub elsewhere. He had grown accustomed 
 to this nook, where he had fallen into little habits and been 
 coddled by every one ; a regular happy land, the delights of 
 which he would never be able to replace. But then one 
 cannot stuff oneself and still have all that one has swallowed 
 on one's plate. He became enraged with his stomach, for 
 after all, it was into his stomach that everything had gone. 
 But he did not reason in that way ; he felt fiercely indignant 
 with the others for having allowed themselves to be cleared 
 out in two years. Eeally now, the Coupeaus were not shrewd. 
 And he maintained, too, that Gervaise was not sufficiently 
 economical. Jove's thunder I what would become of them all ? 
 His friends were failing him just as he was on the point of 
 concluding a fine stroke of business, six thousand francs salary 
 in a manufactory, sufficient to enable the whole little family 
 to lead an easy life. 
 
 Qoe evening in December they had no dinner at all. There 
 was not a radish left. Lantier, who was very glum, would 
 now often go off early, wandering about in search of some 
 other den where the smell of cookery made people cheerful. 
 At other times he would remain for hours beside the stove 
 wrapt in thought. Then, suddenly, he began to evince great 
 friendship for the Poissons. He no longer chaffed the 
 policeman by calling him Badinguet, but even went so far as 
 to admit that the Emperor was perhaps a decent fellow. And 
 he seemed to entertain particular esteem for Virginie, a woman 
 of sense, he would say, who would know right well how to 
 bring her ship home. It was evident that he was getting on 
 the right side of the Poissons. One might even have thought 
 that he was trying to arrange to board with them. But he 
 had a far more intricate plan than that in his head. Virginie, 
 having acquanted him with her desire to set up in some sort 
 
DOWNHILL 271 
 
 of business, he had eagerly declared her idea to be a brilliant 
 one. She was just the person for trade — tall, engaging, and 
 active. Oh ! she would make as much profit as she liked. 
 As the needful money — a legacy from an aunt — was there 
 already, it was quite right of her to throw up the few dresses 
 she had to make each season, and start in business ; and he 
 mentioned persons who were making their fortunes : for 
 instance, the greengrocer at the corner of the street, and a 
 little china-dealer on the outer Boulevard ; for the times were 
 splendid, one might even have sold the sweepings from one's 
 counters. Nevertheless, Virginie hesitated ; she was looking 
 for a vacant shop, and did not wish to leave the neighbourhood. 
 Then, Lantier would take her into corners and converse with 
 her in undertones for ten minutes at a time. He seemed to 
 be urging her to do something, and she no longer said * No,* 
 but appeared to authorise him to act. It was a secret between 
 them, a frequent exchange of winks and rapid words, some 
 mysterious understanding, the existence of which could be 
 divined merely by the manner in which they shook hands. 
 
 From that time forward the hatter would covertly watch 
 the Coupeaus whilst eating their dry bread, and, growing 
 very talkative again, would deafen them with continual 
 jeremiads. So persistently did he enlarge on the poverty of 
 the household, that Gervaise could no longer forget it for an 
 instant. He did not speak for himself, of course not I He 
 would starve with his friends as much as one Uked. Only, 
 prudence required that the position should be fully understood. 
 They owed at least five hundred francs in the neighbourhood 
 — to the baker, the charcoal-dealer, the grocer, and the others. 
 Moreover, they were two quarters' rent in arrear, which meant 
 two hundred and fifty francs ; the landlord, M. Marescot, had 
 even spoken of having them evicted, if they did not pay him 
 by January 1. Finally, the pawn- place had absorbed every- 
 thing, one could not have got three francs' worth of odds and 
 ends together, so complete had been the clearance. The naila 
 remained in the walls, and that was all, and perhaps there 
 were two pounds weight of them, worth three sous a pound. 
 At this Gervaise, thoroughly entangled in it all, her nerves 
 quite upset by Lantier's arithmetic, would fly into a passion 
 and bang her fists upon the table, or else burst into tears like 
 a fool. One night she exclaimed : * I'll be off to-morrow ! I 
 prefer to put the key under the door and sleep on the pave- 
 ment rather than continue living in such frights.* 
 
27a THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 ' It would be wiser,' said Lantier slyly, * to get rid of the 
 lease, if you could find some one to take it. When you both 
 have made up your minds to give up the shop ' 
 
 She interrupted him yet more violently : ' At once, at 
 once ! Ah ! it'll be a good riddance ! ' 
 
 Then the hatter became very practical. By giving up the 
 lease, one might no doubt get the two overdue quarters from 
 the new tenant. And he ventured to mention the Poissons, 
 reminded the Coupeaus that Virginie was looking for a 
 shop, and suggested that theirs might perhaps suit her. He 
 remembered that he had heard her say she longed for one just 
 like it. But at the mention of Virginie, the laundress 
 suddenly regained her composure. One would see about it ; 
 one always talked of giving up everything when one was in a 
 passion, only the thing did not seem quite so easy when one 
 took time to think it over. 
 
 In vain did Lantier harp upon the subject during the 
 ensuing days; Gervaise replied that she had seen herself 
 worse off and had pulled through. How would she be any the 
 better off when she no longer had her shop ? The loss of it 
 would not put bread into her mouth. No, on the contrary, 
 she would engage some fresh workwomen, and work up a fresh 
 connection. She said this for the sake of struggling against 
 the sound arguments of the hatter, who showed her that she 
 was on the ground, crushed by the weight of expenses, and 
 without the least prospect of ever getting into the saddle 
 again. But he once more made the mistake of mentioning 
 Virginie, and Gervaise then became furiously obstinate. No, 
 no, never ! She had always had her doubts of Virginie ; if 
 Virginie coveted the shop, it was for the purpose of humbling 
 her. She would perhaps have handed it over to the first 
 woman in the street, but not to that big hypocrite who had 
 certainly been waiting for years to see her take the plunge. 
 Oh, that explained everything. She could now understand 
 why yellow sparks had shone at times in that creature's cat- 
 like eyes 1 Yes, Virginie still remembered the spanking she 
 had received at the wash-house ; she had been quietly nursing 
 her rancour all along. Well, she would do wisely to put her 
 spanking under glass, if she did not wish to receive a second 
 one. It would not take long ; she could get ready for it at 
 once. 
 
 In face of this outpour of spiteful words, Lantier began 
 by attacking Gervaise, calling her wooden-head, slander-box 
 
DOWNHILL 273 
 
 mother grumbler, and so forth ; and afterwards he abused 
 Coupeau, who, said he, did not know how to make his wife 
 respect his friends. Then, realising that passion might com- 
 promise everything, he swore that he would never again 
 interest himself in other people's affairs, for one always got 
 more kicks than thanks ; and indeed he appeared to give up 
 all idea of urging them to part with the lease, though in 
 reality he was simply watching for a favourable opportunity 
 to broach the subject again, and bring the laundress round to 
 his own views. 
 
 January had now arrived, with horrible weather, both 
 damp and cold. Mother Coupeau, who had coughed and 
 choked throughout December, was obliged to take to her bed 
 after Twelfth-night. This was her annuity, which she looked 
 forward to every winter. But that time, every one who knew 
 her said that she would only leave her room feet foremost ; 
 and she had in all truth an awful rattling in her throat, with 
 the real coffin ring about it. Moreover, she was already blind 
 of one eye, and one half of her face was twisted, albeit she still 
 remained big and plump. Her children, sure enough, would 
 never have finished her off, only she had been lingering so 
 long, and proved such an encumbrance that her death was 
 secretly desired — as a deliverance for everybody. She herself 
 would be far happier if she went off, for she had lasted her 
 time, had she not ? and when one has lasted one's time, one 
 has nothing to regret. The doctor who had been called in 
 once had not even taken the trouble to return. The others 
 gave her some diet-drink, by way of not abandoning her 
 entirely ; and every hour or so some one looked in to see if 
 she were still alive. She no longer spoke, the stifling sensa- 
 tion which she experienced was too great ; but with her eye 
 that was still hale and bright, she looked fixedly at those who 
 came near her. And many were the things which her glance 
 expressed : regret for youth, sadness at seeing her family so 
 anxious to be rid of her, and anger with Nana, who, now that 
 the old woman was impotent, openly indulged in all sorts of 
 pranks. 
 
 One Monday evening, Coupeau came home in a fearful 
 state of intoxication. Ever since his mother had been in 
 danger, he had hved in a state of deep emotion, which only 
 copious hbations could soothe. When he was in bed, snoring 
 soundly, Gervaise turned about the place for a while. She 
 was in the habit of watching Mother Coupeau during part of 
 
274 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the night. Nana, however, showed herself very brave, always 
 sleeping beside the old woman, and saying that if she should 
 hear her die, she would warn everyone. That night, as the 
 child was asleep, and the invalid appeared to be dozing 
 peaceably, the laundress at last thought that she also might 
 lie down. But, towards three o'clock, she abruptly jumped 
 out of bed, shivering and oppressed with anguish, for it had 
 seemed to her as if a cold breath had just passed over her. 
 She tied on her petticoats in the dark, all bewildered, and with 
 feverish hands ; and it was only when she got into the little 
 room, after knocking against the furniture, that she was able 
 to light a small lamp. In the dark and oppressive silence, the 
 zinc-worker's snores alone were to be heard. Nana, stretched 
 on her back, was breathing gently between her pouting lips ; 
 and Gervaise, holding down the lamp, which sent big shadows 
 dancing about the room, cast the light on Mother Coupeau's 
 face, and saw that she was quite white, with her head lying 
 on one shoulder, and her eyes wide open. She was dead. 
 
 Gently, without uttering a cry, icy cold yet prudent, the 
 laundress went to warn Lantier. He was in bed and appar- 
 ently asleep. She bent over him, and murmured: *I say, 
 it's all over, she's dead.* 
 
 Half waking, he at first merely grunted : * Leave me alone. 
 We can't do her any good if she's dead.' Then raising him- 
 self on his elbow, he inquired : ' What's the time ? * 
 
 * Three o'clock.* 
 
 * Only three o'clock I Only three o'clock I Oh ! that's too 
 early, and it's so precious cold. When it's daylight, we'll see 
 what's to be done.' 
 
 At this she began to protest, but he rolled himself up in 
 his blanket again, and turned his face to the wall, muttering 
 something about the obstinacy of women. What need was 
 there of such a hurry to let everyone know that there was a 
 death in the house ? It was doubly dismal in the middle of 
 the night ; and he was exasperated at having his rest broken 
 by unpleasant thoughts. However, when Gervaise had re- 
 turned to her own room, she sat down and sobbed to her 
 heart's content. At bottom, she really loved Mother Coupeau, 
 and though at first she had only experienced the usual 
 feeling of dread which the presence of death induces, coupled 
 with annoyance at the choice of such an awkward hour for 
 going off, she now felt genuine grief. And she wept abun- 
 dantly and all alone in the silence, while the zinc-worker 
 
DOWN HILL 275 
 
 never once paused in his snoring. He heard nothing ; she 
 had shaken and called him, and then had decided to let him 
 sleep on, reflecting that there would only be fresh worry if he 
 should awake. On returning to the body, she found Nana 
 sitting up and rubbing her eyes. The child understood what 
 had happened, and, with vicious curiosity, stretched out her 
 neck to get a better view of her grandmother. She said 
 nothing, but trembled slightly, alike surprised and satisfied 
 in presence of this death which she had been coveting for 
 two days past, even as children wiU covet and desire hidden, 
 forbidden things. And her young cat-like eyes dilated at 
 sight of that white face, emaciated at the last hiccough by 
 the passion of life ; and she remained there, stiffened, rooted to 
 the spot as it were, just as at other times she remained behind 
 the glass door of the room spying on what did not concern her. 
 
 ' Come, get up,' said her mother in a low voice. * You 
 can't remain here.' 
 
 At last Nana regretfully slipped out of bed, turning her 
 head and keeping her eyes upon the corpse. Gervaise waa 
 much worried about her, not knowing where to put her till 
 day-time. And she was about to tell her to dress herself, 
 when Lantier entered in his trousers and sHppers. He had 
 been unable to get to sleep again, and felt rather ashamed 
 of his previous behaviour. Then everything was speedily 
 arranged. * She can sleep in my bed,' he murmured. 
 * She'll have plenty of room.' 
 
 Looking at her mother and Lantier with her big clear 
 eyes. Nana put on her stupid air, the same that she assumed on 
 New Year's day when anyone made her a present of a box of 
 chocolate drops. And there was no need for them to hurry 
 her ; she trotted off in her night-gown, her bare feet scarcely 
 touching the tiled floor, glided like a snake into the bed which 
 was still warm, and promptly buried herself in it. However, 
 she did not sleep. Her mother, whenever she entered the 
 room, found her lying there, with eyes wide open, apparently 
 deep in thought. 
 
 Lantier assisted Gervaise to dress Mother Coupeau, which 
 was not an easy matter, for the body was a heavy weight. 
 One would never have thought that the old woman was so 
 fat, and so white. They put on some stockings, a white 
 petticoat, a short linen jacket, and a white cap ; in short, the 
 best of her linen. Coupeau meantime continued to snore, 
 now venting a high note, and now a low one, the first sharp, 
 
 t2 
 
276 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the other flat ; one might almost have fancied that he wag 
 playing some funereal church music. When the corpse was 
 dressed and properly laid out on the bed, Lantier poured 
 himself out a glass of wine, for he felt quite upset. Gervaise 
 was searching the chest of drawers for a little brass crucifix 
 which she had brought from Plassans ; but she suddenly 
 recollected that Mother Coupeau herself had sold it. They 
 had lighted the stove ; and they passed the rest of the night 
 dozing on chairs, and finishing the bottle of wine that had 
 been opened, worried and grumpish the while as though it 
 was all their own fault. 
 
 Towards seven o'clock, just before daylight, Coupeau at 
 length awoke. When he learnt his loss he at first stood 
 still with dry eyes, stuttering, and vaguely thinking that they 
 were playing some joke on him. Then, he threw himself on 
 the floor beside the corpse ; he kissed it and wept like a calf, 
 with such a copious flow of tears that in wiping his cheeks 
 he quite wetted the sheet. Gervaise, on her side, had begun 
 to sob again, deeply affected by her husband's grief, and once 
 more good friends with him ; yes, he was better at heart 
 than she had thought he was. However, a violent headache 
 was mingled with Coupeau' s grief. He passed his fingers 
 through his hair ; his mouth was dry, as was always the case 
 on the morrow of a carouse ; and he was still a little * on * in 
 spite of the ten hours' sleep that he had taken. And, 
 clinching his fists, he complained aloud. Dash it ! she was 
 gone now, his poor mother whom he loved so much ! Ah ! 
 what a headache he had, that would settle him ! It was as 
 though he had a wig of fire on his skull, and at the same 
 time they were tearing out his heart 1 Ah! it was not •just 
 of fate to set itself against a man like that ! 
 
 ' Come, cheer up, old fellow,' said Lantier, raising him 
 from the floor ; * you must pull yourself together.' 
 
 He poured him out a glass of wine, but Coupeau refused to 
 drink. 
 
 ' What's the matter with me ? I've copper in my throat. 
 It's all through mamma ; directly I saw her I got a taste of 
 copper in my mouth. Mamma, my God I mamma, mamma I ' 
 
 Then he again began to cry like a child. All the same, 
 he drank the glass of wine just to put out the fire which was 
 burning his chest. Lantier soon went off on the pretext of 
 informing the other members of the family and of registering 
 the death at the town hall. He felt a need of some fresh air 
 
DOWN HILL 277 
 
 And so he did not hurry, but strolled along smoking cigarettes 
 and enjoying the sharp cold of the morning. On leaving 
 Madame Lerat's, he entered a Batignolles cremerie, and 
 drank a good cup of hot coffee. And he stayed there quite 
 an hour wrapt in thought. 
 
 However, towards nine o'clock the family was assembled 
 in the shop, the shutters of which were kept up. Lorilleux 
 did not cry ; moreover, he had some pressing work to attend 
 to, so after stalking about for a short time with a face 
 assumed for the occasion, he returned to his own rooms. 
 Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat meantime embraced 
 the Coupeaus and wiped their eyes, from which a few tears 
 were falling. But the first named, after glancing hastily 
 round the body, raised her voice to say that it was unheard 
 of, that one never left a lighted lamp beside a corpse. There 
 ought to be some candles, and so Nana was sent to purchase 
 a packet of tall ones. Ah well ! it was hardly the thing to 
 die at the Hobbler's, she laid one out in such a funny fashion ! 
 What a fool, not even to know how she ought to behave with 
 a corpse ! Had she never buried any one in her life then ? 
 Madame Lerat had to go to some neighbours to borrow a 
 crucifix, and came back with one which was much too big, a 
 cross of blackened wood with a cardboard Christ fastened to 
 it, which quite covered Mother Coupeau's chest, and seemed 
 to crush her with its weight. Then they tried to obtain some 
 holy water, but no one had any, and it was again Nana who 
 was sent to the church to fetch some in a bottle. Then in a 
 jiffy quite another appearance was given to the little room ; a 
 candle burnt on a little table, beside a glass full of holy water, 
 into which a sprig of box was dipped. And now, if anyone 
 should come, the place would at least look decent. And they 
 arranged the chairs in a semicircle in the shop for receiving 
 people. 
 
 Lantier only came back at eleven o'clock. He had been 
 to the Office of the Burial Service for information.^ 
 
 * The coffin costs twelve francs,' said he. * If you desire 
 a mass, that will be ten francs more. Then there's the 
 hearse, which is charged for according to the ornaments.' 
 
 * Oh I that's quite unnecessary,' murmured Madame 
 Lorilleux, raising her head with surprise and anxiety. * We 
 
 * There are no private undertakers in Paris. A special municipal 
 service manages all funerals at fixed rates. 
 
278 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 can't bring mamma to life again, can we? One must do 
 things according to one's means.* 
 
 ' Of course, that's just what I think,' resumed the hatter. 
 
 * I merely asked the prices to guide you. Tell me what you 
 desire, and after lunch I'll give the orders.' 
 
 They talked in low tones, in the dim light which filtered 
 mto the shop through the cracks in the shutters. The door 
 of the little room remained wide open ; and from that gaping 
 aperture came the great stillness of death. Children's 
 laughter arose in the courtyard, however, for a troop of 
 urchins were dancing in a ring in the pale winter sunshine. 
 And all of a sudden, one heard Nana, who had escaped from 
 the Boches', whither she had been sent. She gave her 
 commands in a shrill voice, and the children's heels beat time 
 on the paving-stones, whilst these words were sung and flew 
 away in the air like the noise of some chattering birds : 
 
 * Our donkey, our donkey, 
 His leg's so very bad, 
 That Madame's had him made 
 A pretty little sock, 
 And lilac-coloured shoe, shoe, shoes, 
 And lilac-coloured shoes ! ' 
 
 Gervaise waited till the verse was sung to say in her turn : 
 
 * We're not rich, certainly ; but all the same we wish to act 
 decently. Even if Mother Coupeau has left us nothing, that's 
 no reason for pitching her into the ground like a dog, is it ? 
 No, we must have a mass, and a hearse with a few orna- 
 ments.' 
 
 * And who will pay for them ? ' shouted Madame Lorilleux. 
 ' Not we, who lost money last week ; nor you either, as you're 
 stumped. Ah ! you surely ought to realise to what point all 
 your trying to flabbergast people has brought you ! ' 
 
 Coupeau, on being consulted, mumbled something with a 
 gesture of profound indifference, and then again fell asleep on 
 his chair. Madame Lerat, however, said that she would pay 
 her share. She was of Gervaise's opinion, they ought to do 
 things decently. Then, the two of them fell to making 
 calculations on a piece of paper ; in all, it would amount to 
 about ninety francs, because, after a long discussion, they 
 decided to have a hearse ornamented with a narrow scallop- 
 ing with white cotton fringe. 
 
 'We're three,' concluded the laundress. * We'll %vj^ 
 thirty francs a-piece. It won't ruin us.' 
 
DOWNHILL 279 
 
 But Madame Lorilleux burst forth infuriated : * Well 1 I 
 refuse, yes, I refuse I It's not for the thirty francs. I'd give 
 a hundred thousand, if I had them, and they could bring 
 mamma to life again. Only, I don't like stuck-up people. 
 You've got a shop, you only dream of showing off before the 
 neighbours. But that's no concern of ours. We don't try 
 to make ourselves out what we are not. Oh I you can manage 
 things as you please. Put plumes on the hearse if it amuses 
 you.' 
 
 * No one asks you for anything,* Gervaise ended by 
 answering. * Even though I should have to sell myself, I'll 
 not have any cause for self-reproach. I've fed Mother Coupeau 
 without your help, and I can certainly bury her without your 
 help either. I gave you a bit of my mind once before : I pick 
 up stray cats, so I'm not likely to leave your mother in the 
 mire.' 
 
 Then Madame Lorilleux burst into tears, and Lantier had 
 to prevent her from leaving. The quarrel had become so 
 noisy, that Madame Lerat interposed with an energetic 
 ' Hush ! hush I ' and thought it her duty to go softly into the 
 little room and give an annoyed and anxious glance at the 
 dead woman, as though she feared she might find her alive 
 and awake, and listening to the discussion going on so near 
 her. At that moment the troop of little girls in the courtyard 
 again broke into song, Nana's piercing voice being heard high 
 above the others : 
 
 * Our donkey, our donkey, 
 
 Has got a stomach-ache. 
 
 So Madame's had him made 
 
 A nice little waist-band. 
 
 And lilac-coloured shoe, shoe, shoes, 
 
 And lilac-coloured shoes I ' 
 
 * Dear me ! how those children grate on one's nerves with 
 their singing 1 ' said Gervaise to the hatter. She seemed 
 quite upset, and on the point of sobbing with impatience and 
 sadness. ' Do please make them leave off, and send Nana 
 back to the doorkeeper's with a kick.' 
 
 Then Madame Lerat and Madame Lorilleux went away to 
 have their lunch, but promised to return. The Coupeaus sat 
 down to table, and ate some ham, though they had no appetite, 
 and were fearful of clattering their forks against their plates. 
 They were very much bothered and bewildered with poor 
 Mother Coupeau, whose corpse seemed to weigh on their 
 
28o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 shoulders, and fill every room. Their life seemed turned 
 topsy-turvy. At first they wandered about unable to find 
 things ; and they felt as stiff as on the morrow of a jollification. 
 Lantier, however, soon made for the door to go back to the 
 Burial Office, with Madame Lerat's thirty francs and sixty 
 francs which Gervaise, bareheaded and excited like a mad- 
 woman, had gone to borrow of Goujet. In the afternoon 
 some visitors called, neighbours devoured by curiosity, who 
 arrived sighing and rolling doleful eyes. They entered the 
 little room and stared at the defunct, making a sign of the 
 cross and shaking the sprig of box dipped in holy water over 
 the body. Then they sat down in the shop, where they went 
 on talking interminably of the poor dear woman, never tiring 
 of repeating the same phrase for hours together. Mademoiselle 
 Eemanjou had noticed that the defunct's right eye had 
 remained open ; Madame Gaudron obstinately kept on say- 
 ing that she thought she had a beautiful colour for her age ; 
 and Madame Fauconnier was stupefied by the recollection 
 that she had seen her drinking coffee only three days previously. 
 Eeally now, one went off precious quick ; they had better all 
 make their preparations. 
 
 Towards evening the Coupeaus began to have enough of 
 it. It was too great an affliction for a family to have to keep 
 a corpse at home so long. The Government ought to have 
 made a new law on the matter. What I they were to spend 
 the whole of another evening, another night and another 
 morning, like that ! Surely it would never come to an end. 
 When one has finished weeping, grief turns to irritation ; does 
 it not ? And there is a risk that one may end by behaving 
 with impropriety. Mother Coupeau, though dumb and stiff 
 in the rear of the little room, seemed to pervade the whole 
 lodging yet more and more, becoming heavy enough to crush 
 its occupants. And the family, in spite of itself, gradually 
 relapsed into its ordinary courses, losing some part of its 
 respect for death. 
 
 * You must have a bite with us,* said Gervaise to Madame 
 Lerat and Madame Lorilleux, when they returned towards the 
 evening. ' We're too sad ; we must keep together.' 
 
 They laid the cloth on the work-table and each, on seeing 
 the plates, thought of the junketings they had indulged in 
 there. Lantier had now returned, and Lorilleux once more 
 came down. A pastry-cook had just brought a meat pie, for 
 the laundress was too upset to attend to any cooking. How- 
 
DOWN HILL 281 
 
 ever, just as they were taking their seats, Boche came in to 
 say that M. Marescot asked to be admitted, and forthwith the 
 landlord appeared, looking very grave, with the broad bow of 
 his decoratica in the top buttonhole of his frock-coat. He 
 bowed in silence, ajid went straight to the little room, where 
 he knelt down. He was very devout ; he prayed in the 
 solemn manner of a priest, then made a sign of the cross in 
 the air, and sprinkled the corpse with the sprig of box. The 
 whole family had left the table, and stood up greatly impressed. 
 Having finished his devotions, M. Marescot returned to the 
 shop and said to the Coupeaus : ' I have called for the two 
 quarters' rent that's overdue. Are you prepared to pay ? * 
 
 * No, sir, not quite,' stammered Gervaise, greatly put out at 
 hearing this mentioned before the Lorilleux. * You see, with 
 the misfortune which has fallen upon us * 
 
 * No doubt, but every one has his troubles,' resumed the 
 landlord, spreading out the big fingers with which he had once 
 toiled. ' I am very sorry, but I can wait no longer. If I am 
 not paid by the morning after to-morrow, I shall be obUged 
 to have you put out.* 
 
 Gervaise, whose eyes filled with tears, clasped her hands 
 in mute entreaty. But with an energetic shake of his big bony 
 head, he gave her to understand that all supplications were 
 useless. Besides, the respect due to the dead forbade all dis- 
 cussion. He discreetly retired, walking backwards. ' A 
 thousand apologies for having disturbed you,' he murmured. 
 * The morning after to-morrow ; do not forget.' 
 
 And as, in withdrawing, he again passed the little room, 
 he saluted the corpse a last time through the open doorway 
 by devoutly bending his knee. 
 
 The family commenced by eating quickly, so that it might 
 not seem that they took any pleasure in feeding. But on 
 reaching the dessert, they lingered over it, overcome by a 
 desire to enjoy their ease. Now and again Gervaise, or one 
 of Coupeau's sisters, went to peep into the little room, with 
 her mouth full, and without even laying down her napkin ; 
 and when she returned to her seat, finishing what she was 
 eating, the others just glanced at her to ascertain if everything 
 was going on all right close by. But afterwards the ladies 
 disturbed themselves less frequently ; Mother Coupeau was 
 forgotten. They had made a pailful of coffee, and very 
 strong too, so as to keep themselves awake all night. The 
 Poissons looked in towards eight o'clock, and were invited to 
 
a83 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 take a glass. Then Lantier, who had been watching Gervaise's 
 face, profited by an opportunity for which he had been waiting 
 ever since the morning. Speaking of the indecency of land- 
 lords who forced their way into houses where there was a 
 corpse, to demand money, he suddenly exclaimed : ' He's a 
 Jesuit, that brute is, with his air of officiating at mass I But, 
 in your place, I'd just chuck up his shop altogether.' 
 
 Gervaise, quite worn out, weak and nerveless, gave way 
 and replied : * Yes, I certainly sha'n't wait for the bailiffs. 
 I'm sick and tired of it all, sick and tired of it.' 
 
 The Lorilleux, delighted at the idea that the Hobbler 
 would no longer have a shop, approved the plan immensely. 
 People could hardly imagine how great was the cost of a shop. 
 If she only earned three francs a day in working for others, 
 she would at least have no expenses, and would not risk losing 
 large sums of money. They repeated this argument to Coupeau, 
 urging him on. He was drinking a great deal, overcome by 
 an endless fit of sensibility, and weeping all by himself in his 
 plate. Then, as the laundress seemed on the point of being 
 convinced, Lantier looked at thePoissons and winked. Forth- 
 with Virginie intervened, making herself as amiable as she 
 could. 
 
 ' We might arrange the matter between us,* said she. * I 
 would relieve you of the rest of the lease, and settle your 
 matter with the landlord. In short, you would at all events 
 be more at ease.' 
 
 * No, thanks,' declared Gervaise, shaking herself, as though 
 she felt a shudder passing through her. * I know how to 
 find the rent I owe, if I like. I'll work ; I've my arms, thank 
 heaven I to help me out of my difficulties.' 
 
 ' "We can talk it over some other time,' hastily interposed 
 the hatter. * It's not the thing to do this evening. Some 
 other time — to-morrow, for instance.* 
 
 Just at that moment, Madame Lerat, who had gone into 
 the little room, raised a faint cry of fright, for she had found 
 the candle burnt out. They all busied themselves in lighting 
 another ; and shook their heads, saying that it was not a good 
 sign when a light went out beside a corpse. 
 
 The wake commenced. Coupeau had gone to lie down, 
 not to sleep, said he, but to think ; however, five minutes 
 afterwards he was snoring. When Nana was sent off to sleep 
 at the Boches*, she began to cry ; for ever since the morning 
 she had been looking forward to a nice cosy snooze in her 
 
DOWN HILL 283 
 
 good friend Lantier'a big bed. The Poissons stayed till mid- 
 night. Some hot wine was made in a salad-bowl, because 
 the coffee affected the ladies' nerves. Then the conversation 
 became affectionately effusive. Virginie talked of the country ; 
 she wished to be buried at the verge of a wood, and to have 
 wild flowers growing on her grave. Next, Madame Lerat 
 declared that she had already put by the sheet which was to 
 serve as her shroud, and kept it in her wardrobe, perfumed 
 with a bunch of lavender ; for she wished to have a nice smell 
 near her nose when the time came for her to eat dandelions 
 by the roots. Then, without any transition, the policeman 
 related that he had arrested a fine strapping girl that morning 
 who had been stealing from a pork-butcher's shop ; the female 
 searcher at the station-house had found ten big sausages 
 hanging round her. At this the party burst out into a soft 
 laugh, and the wake became livelier, though appearances were 
 still kept up. 
 
 When the Poissons at length withdrew, Lantier also went 
 off. He was going to sleep at a friend's, said he, so as to 
 leave his bed for the ladies, who might rest upon it each in 
 turn. Lorilleux, on his side, went up to bed alone, repeating 
 that such a thing had never happened to him since his 
 marriage. Then, Gervaise and the two sisters, left with the 
 sleeping Coupeau, settled themselves round the stove, on 
 which some coffee was kept warm. Conversing in undertones, 
 amid the deep silence which had now fallen on the neighbour- 
 hood, they sat there, huddled together, bending low, with their 
 hands under their aprons, and their noses over the fire. 
 Madame Lorilleux lamented that she had no black dress, and 
 would much have liked to avoid having to purchase one, for 
 they were very hard up, very hard up, indeed ; and she 
 questioned Gervaise, asking her if Mother Coupeau had not 
 left a black skirt behind her, a skirt which had been given her 
 on her saint's day. Gervaise was obhged to fetch the skirt, 
 and it was found it would do if it were taken in a little at the 
 waist. But Madame Lorilleux also wanted some old linen, 
 talked of the bed, the wardrobe, and the two chairs, and 
 looked about for any odds and ends which might be divided. 
 There was almost a quarrel ; but Madame Lerat made peace ; 
 she was more just ; the Coupeaus had taken care of the 
 mother, and had well earned the few things that she had left. 
 Then all three again half dozed away over the stove, while 
 gossiping monotonously. 
 
284 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 The night seemed terribly long to them. Now and again 
 they shook themselves, drank some coffee, and turned their 
 heads in the direction of the little room, where the candle, 
 which it was not allowable to snuff, burnt with a dull red flame, 
 swollen by the carbonised ' thieves * on the wick. Towards 
 morning they began to shiver, in spite of the great heat of 
 the stove. They were weary with having talked too much, a 
 kind of oppression stifled them, their mouths were parched, 
 and their eyes ached. Then Madame Lerat threw herself 
 on Lantier's bed, and snored like a man ; whilst the other 
 two, with their heads falling forward, and almost touching 
 their knees, slept on before the fire. At daybreak they awoke 
 shuddering, and found that Mother Coupeau's candle had 
 again gone out. 
 
 The funeral was to take place at half -past ten. A nice 
 morning to add to the night and the previous day I That is to 
 say, Gervaise, though she was penniless, would have given a 
 hundred francs to anybody who would have come and taken 
 Mother Coupeau away three hours sooner. Ah 1 one may love 
 people, no doubt, but they weigh on one too heavily when they 
 are dead ; and indeed the more one has loved them, the sooner 
 would one like to be rid of their bodies. 
 
 Fortunately, the morning of a funeral is a busy one. 
 There are all sorts of preparations to be made. To begin 
 with, they breakfasted. Then, as it happened, it was old 
 Bazouge, the mute, living on the sixth floor of the house, 
 who brought the coffin and the sack of bran. He was never 
 sober, the worthy fellow ; and at eight o'clock that morning, he 
 was still lively from his booze of the day before. * This is for 
 here, isn't it ? ' asked he, as he set down the coffin, which 
 creaked like a new box. But he was just throwing the sack 
 of bran beside it when he perceived Gervaise, and stopped 
 short with wondering eyes and gaping mouth : * Beg pardon, 
 excuse me. I've made a mistake,' he stammered. * I was 
 told it was for here.' 
 
 He had already taken up the sack again, and the laun- 
 dress was obliged to call to him : * Leave it alone, it's for here 
 right enough.' 
 
 * Ah ! thunder ! let's understand each other I ' resumed the 
 mute, slapping his thigh. * Oh 1 I see, it's the old lady, eh ? * 
 
 Gervaise turned quite white. Old Bazouge had brought 
 the coffin, thinking it was for her. By way of apology, he 
 tried to be gallant, and continued : * I'm not to blame, am I ? 
 
DOWN HILL 285 
 
 It was said yesterday that somebody on the ground floor 
 had gone off. So I thought — but— you know, in our line, 
 these things come in by one ear and go out by the other. All 
 the same, allow me to congratulate you. As late as possible, 
 eh ? That's best, isn't it, though life isn't always amusing ; 
 ah ! no, by Jove ! ' 
 
 She listened to him and drew back, with a childish fear 
 lest he should grasp her with his big dirty hands, and carry 
 her away in his box. Once already, on her wedding night, he 
 had told her that he knew women who would thank him if 
 he'd only call to take them away. Well, she hadn't yet got 
 to that point ; and the idea gave her a chill down the back. 
 Her life was spoilt, no doubt ; but she had no wish to go 
 off so soon. Oh, she would rather die slowly of hunger 
 during years and years than depart to kingdom come all at 
 once, in one brief second. 
 
 * He's drunk,' she murmured, with an air of disgust 
 mingled with dread. * They, at least, oughtn't to send us 
 tipplers. We pay dear enough.' 
 
 Then the mute became insolent, and jeered : * Oh I it's 
 only put off till another time, my little woman. I'm quite at 
 your service, remember 1 You've only to make me a sign. 
 I'm the ladies' consoler. And don't turn up your nose at old 
 Bazouge, for he's held in his arms far finer ones than you, 
 who let themselves be tucked in without a murmur, very 
 pleased indeed to continue their by-by in the dark.' 
 
 * Hold your tongue, Bazouge,' peremptorily exclaimed 
 Lorilleux, who had hastened to the spot on hearing the noise, 
 * such jokes are highly improper. If we complained about 
 you, you'd get dismissed. Come, be off, as you've no respect 
 for principles.' 
 
 The mute went off, but for some time one could hear him 
 stuttering on the pavement : 'What ? principles, eh? There's 
 no such thing as principles — there's only honesty ! * 
 
 At length ten o'clock struck. The hearse was late. 
 Several people, friends and neighbours — M. Madinier, My- 
 Boots, Madame Gaudron, Mademoiselle Kemanjou — were 
 already assembled in the shop — and every minute a man's or a 
 woman's head was thrust out of the doorway, gaping between 
 the closed shutters, to see if that creeping hearse were in 
 sight. The family, assembled in the back room, shook hands 
 with each new arrival. Short pauses occurred, followed by 
 rapid whisperings; there was tiresome, feverish waiting, 
 
286 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 interspersed with sudden rushes of skirts, as when Madame 
 Lorilleux found that she had forgotten her handkerchief, and 
 Madame Lerat wanted to borrow a prayer-book. Everyone 
 on arriving could see the open coffin standing alongside the 
 bed in the centre of the httle room ; and despite themselves, 
 the visitors stood covertly studying it, calculating that plump 
 Mother Coupeau would never squeeze into a box of that size. 
 They looked at each other with this thought apparent in 
 their eyes, though they did not give utterance to it. But, all 
 at once, there was some pushing at the street door ; and M. 
 Madinier, extending his arms, came and said, in a low, grave 
 voice : * Here they are 1 ' 
 
 It was not the hearse, however. Four mutes entered 
 hastily in single file, with red faces and slow, heavy hands, 
 like those of men employed by contractors for removals. 
 Their rusty black clothes were worn and whitened by con- 
 stant rubbing against coffins. Old Bazouge walked first, very 
 drunk but dignified. As soon as he got to work he recovered 
 his equilibrium. Neither he nor the others spoke a word ; 
 with their heads slightly bowed, they glanced at Mother 
 Coupeau, mentally weighing her. And they did not dawdle ; 
 the poor old woman was packed away in no more time than 
 one takes to sneeze. The shortest of the men, a young 
 chap who squinted, poured the bran into the coffin, and 
 spread it out, kneading it as though he meant to make some 
 bread. Another mute, a tall lean fellow, with a jocular look, 
 next laid the sheet over the bran. Then one, two, off you 
 go 1 The four of them caught hold of the body and hfted it 
 up, two at the feet and two at the head. Nobody could toss 
 a pancake with more speed. The onlookers, who were 
 stretching their necks, might have thought that Mother 
 Coupeau had jumped into the box herself, for she glided into 
 it as though she were at home. And it was a perfect fit, so 
 perfect that one heard her bones brush against the new wood. 
 She touched the wood on all sides ; she looked like a picture in 
 a frame. And the fact that she had been got into the coffin 
 greatly surprised the beholders, who opined that she had 
 surely diminished in bulk since the previous night. 
 
 The mutes, however, had drawn themselves erect, and 
 remained waiting ; the little one with a squint took up the 
 coffin lid by way of inviting the family to bid their last 
 farewell, whilst Bazouge filled his mouth with nails and held 
 the hammer in readiness. Then Coupeau, his sisters, and 
 
DOWN HILL 287 
 
 Gervaise threw themselves on their knees and, weeping 
 bitterly, kissed the poor old mamma who was leaving them. 
 Their hot tears rained and coursed over the stiff and icy face. 
 There was a prolonged sound of sobbing. But the lid came 
 down, and old Bazouge knocked in the nails in the neat 
 style of a professional packer, two blows sufficing for each. 
 
 And amidst that din which suggested the repairing of old 
 furniture, the others no longer sought to listen to their own 
 weeping. Everything was finished. The time for starting 
 had arrived. 
 
 ' What an idea to try to cut a dash at such a time ! ' said 
 Madame Lorilleux to her husband, as she caught sight of the 
 hearse before the door. 
 
 The hearse was quite revolutionising the neighbourhood. 
 The tripe-seller called to the grocer's men, the Uttle clockmaker 
 stepped on to the pavement, the neighbours leant out of their 
 windows ; and each and all talked about the scalloping with 
 the white cotton fringe. Ah 1 the Coupeaus would have done 
 better to have paid their debts. But, as the Lorilleux said, 
 when a person's proud it shows itself everywhere and in spite 
 of everything. 
 
 * It's shameful I ' repeated Gervaise at the same moment, 
 speaking of the chain-maker and his wife. ' To think that 
 those skinflints haven't even brought a bunch of violets for 
 their mother I ' 
 
 The Lorilleux, true enough, had come empty-handed. 
 Madame Lerat had given a wreath of artificial flowers. And 
 another of immortelles and a bouquet, both purchased by the 
 Coupeaus, were also placed on the bier. The mutes required all 
 their strength to raise the coffin and get it into the hearse. 
 Then the procession was slowly formed. Coupeau and 
 Lorilleux, frock- coated and hat in hand, were chief mourners ; 
 the first, in his emotion which two glasses of white wine taken 
 early in the morning had helped to sustain, clung to his 
 brother-in-law's arm, with sinking legs and splitting head. 
 Then followed the other men : M. Madinier, very grave and 
 all in black, My-Boots, with a great coat over his blouse, 
 Boche, whose incongruous yellow trousers quite startled one, 
 Lantier, Gaudron, Bibi-the- Smoker, Poisson, and others 
 besides. The ladies came next ; in the first row were Madame 
 Lorilleux, wearing the deceased's skirt, which she had altered, 
 and Madame Lerat who hid her improvised mourning, a gown 
 with lilac trimmings, beneath a shawl ; and afterwards came 
 
2»« THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Virginie, Madame Gaudron, Madame Fauconnier, Made- 
 moiselle Eemanjou, and the rest. When the hearse started 
 ofl slowly descendmg the Hue de la Goutte-d'Or, while the 
 bystanders made signs of the cross or bared their heads, the 
 four mutes took the lead, two in front and the others on the 
 right and left. Gervaise had remained behind to close the 
 shop, but after confiding Nana to Madame Boche, she ran off 
 ^}fl .1 procession, whilst the child, whom the doorkeeper 
 held by the hand under the porch, watched with deep interest 
 her grandmother disappear, in that beautiful carriage, round 
 the street corner. ^ ' ^^uuu 
 
 Just as the laundress, all out of breath, reached the tail 
 end of the procession, Goujet also joined it. He took his 
 place among the men ; but looked back and nodded to her so 
 gently that she suddenly felt very wretched, and again burst 
 into tears, bhe was no longer weeping for Mother Coupeau 
 alone ; she was bewailing something abominable, which she 
 could not have expressed in words, but which was stifling her. 
 bhe kept her handkerchief to her eyes the whole way. 
 Madame LoriUeux, whose cheeks were dry and red, looked at 
 alHor slTow' ^'^^ ^^ ^'^ ^^ suggesting that she was doing it 
 The ceremony at the church was soon got through, though 
 the mass dragged a little, as the priest was very old. My-Boots 
 and Bibi-the-Smoker preferred to remain outside, on account 
 of the collection.^ M. Madinier for his part studied the priests, 
 and imparted his observations to Lantier. ' Those fokers ' 
 said he 'ghb as they were with their Latin, didn't know 'a 
 word of^ what they were saying; they conducted a burial 
 service ]ust as they would have conducted a baptism or 
 ?T^^7f 5?®.' ^ij^out the least feehng in their hearts.' Then, 
 M. Madinier blamed all such ceremonies, lights, doleful 
 prayers, and pompous display before bereaved families. One 
 really lost one's relatives twice over, first at home and then 
 at church. And all the men agreed with him ; for another 
 pamlul moment came after the mass, when there was a 
 mumbling of prayers, and everybody present had to pass 
 before the coffin and sprinkle it with holy water. 
 
 Happily, the cemetery was not far off ; it was the little 
 cemetery of La Chapelle, a bit of garden-like ground reached 
 by the Eue Marcadet. The mourners arrived disbanded, 
 stamping their feet and talking of their own affairs. The hard 
 earth resounded beneath their tread ; many would willingly 
 
DOWN HILL 289 
 
 have gone on tapping their heels to keep themselves warm. 
 The gaping cavity, beside which the coffin was laid, was 
 already frozen within, and looked white and stony, like a 
 quarry hole ; and the mourners, grouped round little heaps of 
 gravel, did not find it at all pleasant to stand still in such 
 piercing cold, and gaze into the grave. At length, a priest in 
 a surplice came forth from a little cottage : he was shivering, 
 and one could see his steaming breath at each Be Profimdis 
 that he uttered. At the final sign of the cross he bolted off, 
 without any desire to go through the service again. Then the 
 sexton took his shovel, but on account of the frost was only 
 able to detach some large lumps of soil, which beat a fine 
 tune down below. It was like a bombardment of the corpse, 
 an artillery fire of such volume that one might have thought 
 the coffin was splitting. It is all very well for folks to be cynical, 
 but such music as that soon upsets one. The weeping began 
 afresh, and as they moved off, even when they had got out- 
 side, they still heard the detonations. My-Boots, who was 
 blowing on his fingers, suddenly exclaimed : * Ah 1 thunder 1 
 poor Mother Coupeau won't feel at all warm, that she won't.' 
 
 'Ladies and gentlemen,' then said the zinc- worker to the 
 few friends who remained in the street with the family, * will 
 you permit us to offer you some refreshments ? ' And he was 
 the first to enter a wine-shop in the Rue Marcadet, called the 
 * Return from the Cemetery.' 
 
 Gervaise, who had remained outside, called Goujet, who 
 was moving off, after again nodding to her. Why didn't he 
 accept a glass of wine ? she asked. He was in a hurry, he 
 said, he was going back to the workshop. Then they looked 
 at each other for a moment without speaking. 
 
 * I must beg your pardon for asking you for the sixty 
 francs,' at length murmured the laundress. * I was half crazy, 
 but I thought of you ' 
 
 * Oh ! don't mention it ; you're fuUy forgiven,' interrupted 
 the blacksmith. * And you know, I'm quite at your service if 
 any misfortune should overtake you. But don't say anything 
 to mamma, because she has her ideas, and I don't wish to 
 cause her annoyance.' 
 
 She was still looking at him ; and, seeing him so good 
 and kind and sad, she was on the point of agreeing to his old 
 proposal of going away with him and living happily elsewhere. 
 But another wicked thought came into her head, which was 
 to borrow of him the money for the overdue rent at no matter 
 
 u 
 
290 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 what cost. She trembled, and resumed in a caressing ^oice : 
 * We're not bad friends, are we ? ' 
 
 He shook his head as he answered, * No, certainly not ; 
 we shall never be bad friends. Only, you understand, it's all 
 over.* 
 
 And he strode away, leaving Gervaise bewildered, listening 
 to his last words which rang in her ears like the clang of a 
 big bell. On entering the wine-shop, she seemed to hear a 
 voice within her repeating, * It is all over, well ! if it is all 
 over, there is nothing more for me to do ! ' Then sitting 
 down, she swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese, and 
 emptied a glass full of wine which she found before her. 
 
 The place was a long, low, ground-floor room, furnished 
 with two big tables. Bottles of wine, hunks of bread, and 
 large triangular slices of Brie cheese set upon three plates 
 were spread out in a row. The party was just having a snack, 
 without either table-cloth or covers. Farther off, beside the 
 roaring stove, the four mutes were finishing their lunch. 
 
 • Well, well I ' explained M. Madinier, ' we each have our 
 turn. The old folks make room for the young ones. Your 
 lodging will seem very empty to you now when you go home.* 
 
 ' Oh ! my brother's going to give notice,' hastily said 
 Madame Lorilleux. ' That shop's ruination.' 
 
 They had been working upon Coupeau. Every one was 
 urging him to give up the lease. Madame Lerat herself, who 
 had been on very good terms with Lantier and Virginie for 
 some time past, and who entertained the idea that they were 
 a trifle smitten with one another, talked of bankruptcy and 
 imprisonment, putting on most terrified airs. And, suddenly, 
 the emotion of the zinc-worker, who was already overdosed 
 with liquor, turned to fury. * Listen,' cried he, poking hia 
 nose in his wife's face ; * I intend that you shall listen to me ! 
 You're so stubborn that you'll always have your own way. 
 But, this time, I intend to have mine, I warn you ! ' 
 
 * Ah ! well,' said Lantier, ' one never yet brought her to 
 reason by fair words ; it wants a mallet to drive any sense 
 into her head.' 
 
 And both fell to abusing her for a while. This did not 
 interfere, however, with the eating and drinking — the Brie 
 cheese disappeared, and the wine flowed freely. Meantime, 
 Gervaise fast gave way before the attack. She answered 
 nothing, but hurried herself, her mouth ever full, as though 
 she had been very hungry. And when they got tired of 
 
DOWNHILL 291 
 
 shouting, she gently raised her head and said, * That's enough, 
 isn't it ? I don't care a straw for the shop 1 I want no more 
 of it. Do you understand ? It can go to blazes I All is over ! ' 
 
 Then they ordered some more bread and cheese and talked 
 business. The Poissons took the rest of the lease and agreed 
 to be answerable for the overdue rent. Boche, moreover, 
 pompously agreed to the arrangement in the landlord's name. 
 He even then and there let the Coupeaus a lodging on the 
 sixth floor, in the same passage as the Lorilleux apartment. 
 As for Lantier, well I he would rather like to keep his room, 
 if it did not inconvenience the Poissons. The poUceman 
 bowed ; it did not inconvenience him at all ; friends always 
 get on together, whatever be the difference in their political 
 ideas. And then Lantier, like a man who has at length 
 settled his own little business, refrained from any further 
 interference in the matter. He spread some Brie over a huge 
 slice of bread, leant back in his chair and ate with gusto, hi3 
 blood meanwhile tingling beneath his skin, his whole body 
 glowing with crafty joy, as he blinked his eyes to peep first at 
 Gervaise and then at Virginie. 
 
 * Hi ! old Bazouge 1 * suddenly called Coupeau, * come and 
 have a drink. We're not proud, you kncrw ; we're all workers.* 
 
 The four mutes who were going off thereupon came back 
 to chink glasses with the company. They didn't want to 
 complain, said they, but the lady they had been handling 
 weighed precious heavy, and such work was well worth a glass 
 of wine. Although old Bazouge did not utter a single un- 
 becoming word, he nevertheless stared at the laundress so 
 persistently that she felt uneasy and rose to leave the men, 
 who, by the way, were all getting tipsy. Coupeau, who was 
 already as drunk as a pig, began bellowing once more, and 
 said that it was with grief. 
 
 That evening, when Gervaise found herself at home again, 
 she remained huddled on a chair in a state of stupor. The 
 rooms seemed to her immense and quite deserted. That death 
 was really a good riddance. But it was certain that she had 
 not merely left Mother Coupeau in that hole in the little 
 garden ground of the Rue Marcadet. She missed too many 
 things, most likely some part of her life, and her shop too 
 and her pride of position, and other feelings besides, all which 
 she had buried that very day. Yes, the walls were bare, and 
 her heart was bare also ; the clear-out was complete, she had 
 rolled to the bottom of the pit. And she felt too weary to do 
 
 u 2 
 
292 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 anything ; she would pick herself up again some other time, 
 if she could. 
 
 Later jn, at ten o'clock, there was a scene with Nana, who 
 while undressing began to sob and stamp. She wanted to 
 sleep in Mother Coupeau's bed. Gervaise tried to frighten 
 her ; but the child was too precocious. Corpses only inspired 
 her with great curiosity; and so for the sake of peace, she was 
 at last allowed to lie down in Mother Coupeau's place. She 
 liked big beds, in which she could spread herself out and roll 
 about. And she slept uncommonly well that night amidst 
 the pleasant warmth from the feather mattresses. 
 
 X 
 
 MISERY 
 
 The Coupeaus' new lodging was on the sixth floor, staircase 
 B. After passing Mademoiselle Remanjou's door, it was 
 necessary to take the passage on the left. Then came another 
 turning. The first door was the Bijards', almost in front of 
 which old Bru slept, in a hole under a little staircase, climb- 
 ing to the roof. Two doors farther on one came to Bazouge's ; 
 then the next den was the Coupeaus', a room and closet, over- 
 looking the courtyard. And there were only two more 
 lodgings along the passage before getting to the Lorilleux, 
 who were right at the end. 
 
 A room and a closet, no more, such was the Coupeaus' 
 nest now. And the room was scarcely larger than one's 
 hand. They had to do everything in it — eat, sleep, and all 
 the rest. Nana's bed just squeezed into the closet ; she had 
 to dress in her parents' room, and her door was kept open ai 
 night-time so that she might not stifle. There was so little 
 space that on giving up the shop Gervaise had sold various 
 things to the Poissons, unable as she was to find room for 
 them. What with the bed, the table, and four chairs, the 
 lodging was about full. However, she refused to part with her 
 chest of drawers, and therefore encumbered what little space 
 remained with that lumbering piece of furniture, which 
 blocked up half the window. One side of the latter could 
 never be opened, and thus little light and cheerfulness were 
 able to enter. Whenever she wanted to look down into the 
 
MISERY 293 
 
 courtyard, there was not enough room for her elbows, so 
 stout had she now grown, and she had to lean out sideways, 
 straining her neck in order to see. 
 
 During the first few days, the laundress did little but sit 
 still and cry. It seemed to her too hard to be unable to 
 move about in her home, after having been used to so much 
 room. She felt stifled ; and remained at the window for 
 hours, squeezed between the wall and the drawers, and 
 getting a stiff neck. It was only there that she could breathe 
 freely. And yet the courtyard scarcely inspired her with 
 other than sad thoughts. Opposite to her, on the sunny side, 
 she beheld her dream of bygone days, that fifth floor window, 
 where, every spring-time, some scarlet runners twined their 
 slender stems over an arbour of string. Her room was on 
 the shady side, where pots of mignonette would not last a 
 week. Ah ! no, Ufe was not taking a pleasant turn, this 
 was scarcely the existence she had hoped for. Instead of 
 spending her old age amidst flowers, she was already 
 floundering amidst uncleanliness. 
 
 On leaning out one day, Gervaise experienced a peculiar 
 sensation : she fancied she could see herself down below, near 
 the doorkeeper's room under the porch, examining the house 
 for the first time ; and this leap thirteen years backwards 
 brought a pang to her heart. The courtyard had not 
 changed, the bare frontages were scarcely blacker or more 
 leprous ; a nasty smell still ascended from the rusty sinks ; on 
 the lines at the windows, hnen hung to dry as formerly ; down 
 below, the uneven pavement was littered with cinders from 
 the locksmith's and shavings from the carpenter's ; even, in 
 the damp corner near the water tap, there was a beautiful 
 blue pool that had flowed from the dyer's, a blue as delicate 
 as the blue of bygone days. But she herself felt terribly 
 changed and worn. To begin with, she was no longer there 
 below, her face raised to heaven, happy and courageous 
 and aspiring to a comfortable home. She was right up under 
 the roof among the dirty ones, in the most horrid of dens, 
 which never a ray of sunshine reached. And that explained 
 her tears ; she could not feel enchanted with her lot. 
 
 However, when Gervaise had grown somewhat used to it, 
 things were not so bad for a time in the new home. The 
 winter was almost over, and the little money received for the 
 furniture sold to Yirginie proved of help. Then, with the 
 fine weather came a piece of luck. Coupeau got an engage- 
 
^94 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 ment to work in the country, at Etampes ; and he remained 
 there for nearly three months without once getting drunk, 
 cured for a time by the fresh air. People scarcely have an 
 idea how readily tipplers get rid of their thirst when they 
 leave Paris, where the streets reek with the fumes of wine and 
 brandy. Coupeau, on his return, was as fresh as a rose, and 
 brought back with him four hundred francs, with which they 
 paid the overdue shop-rent, for which the Poissons had 
 become answerable, and also the most pressing of their little 
 debts in the neighbourhood. By this means, Gervaise 
 * opened* two or three streets through which she had not 
 ventured to pass for a long time. She had naturally become 
 a journey woman ironer again. Madame Fauconnier, a very 
 worthy creature, provided one flattered her, had been willing 
 to re-engage her. She even gave her three francs a day, the 
 same as to a first-class workwoman, out of regard for her former 
 position of employer. Thus it seemed as though the couple 
 would manage to jog along. Gervaise could even foresee the 
 day when, by dint of work and economy, they might be able 
 to pay everyone and arrange for themselves a modest exist- 
 ence which would be bearable. This, however, she promised 
 herself in the feverishness born of the big sum of money 
 which her husband had brought home. When she cooled 
 down, she accepted life as it came, saying that fine things 
 never lasted. 
 
 That which caused the Coupeaus most suffering at this 
 time, was to see the Poissons take possession of their shop. 
 They were not naturally jealous, but people aggravated 
 them, by going into ecstasies in their presence over the em- 
 bellishments of their successors. The Boches, and particularly 
 the Lorilleux, never tired. According to them, no one had 
 ever seen so beautiful a shop. And they talked of the dirty 
 state in which the Poissons had found the premises, relating 
 that the cleaning alone had cost them thirty francs. Virginie, 
 after considerable hesitation, had decided to work up a little 
 business in superfine groceries, such as sweetmeats, chocolate, 
 coffee and tea. Lantier had warmly recommended this line 
 to her, saying that enormous sums were to be made out of 
 dainties. The shop was painted black, relieved with yellow 
 fillets, two very genteel colours. Three carpenters worked 
 for eight days in fitting up the pigeon-holes, the glass cases, and 
 the counter with its stands for glass jars, as at a confectioner's. 
 The little legacy which Poisson had held in reserve must 
 
MISERY 295 
 
 have been a good deal broken into by all this ; but Virginie 
 triumphed, and the Lorilleux, assisted by the doorkeepers, 
 did not spare Gervaise the enumeration of a pigeon-hole, a 
 show-case or a glass jar, feeling much amused whenever they 
 saw her change countenance. Yes I a person may not be 
 envious, but nevertheless one loses one's temper when others 
 put on one's boots and stamp upon one. 
 
 There was, too, another question beneath all this. It 
 was asserted that Lantier had broken off with Gervaise, 
 which the neighbourhood declared to be quite right. For 
 at all events there would now be a little more morality in the 
 street. And all the honour of the separation was accorded to 
 the crafty hatter, who was still the favourite of the ladies. 
 As a matter of fact there was certainly a change in the 
 relations of Lantier and Gervaise, for they no longer lived 
 side by side ; but on the other hand, the hatter certainly 
 visited the laundress's sixth floor lodging. Probably, there 
 was little love lost between them ; still there had as yet 
 been no positive rupture. What complicated the situation 
 was that the neighbours soon began to couple Virginie's name 
 with Lantier' s, in which the neighbours went too fast. No 
 doubt the hatter was ogling the tall brunette ; in fact that 
 was part of his plan ; but, so far, he had made little progress 
 in this direction. All the same the Lorilleux talked in sym- 
 pathetic strains of Lantier and Madame Poisson in the hope 
 of making Gervaise jealous ; and the Boches also gave out 
 that they had never before seen so handsome a couple. The 
 strangest part of all this was that the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or 
 did not seem to take offence at the developments which it 
 believed in ; no, the moralists who had been so stern for Ger- 
 vaise, were mild for Virginie. Perhaps the indulgence of the 
 street came from the fact that the husband was a policeman ; 
 any misfortune of any description that may befall a member 
 of the police force being particularly dear to the great bulk 
 of the Parisians. 
 
 Gervaise fortunately was not much troubled by jealousy. 
 "Whatever Lantier might do left her very calm, as for a long 
 time past her heart had played no part in their relations. She 
 had been made acquainted with some very horrid stories 
 about the hatter and all sorts of creatures ; yet none of these 
 had stirred her to anger. However, she did not so quietly 
 accept the coupling of Lantier's name with that of Virginie, 
 for its object seemed to be to annoy and deride her. Perhaps, 
 
296 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 too, it was part of the big brunette's scheme of revenge. And 
 so whenever Madame Lorilleux or some other spiteful 
 creature alluded to the matter in her presence she turned 
 quite pale, with a gnawing at her heart strings, a burning 
 sensation in her bosom. She often bit her lips, and sought 
 to repress an explosion, for she did not wish to give her 
 enemies the pleasure of seeing her in a rage. Nevertheless, 
 she must have picked a quarrel with Lantier, for one after- 
 noon Mademoiselle Eemanjou, her neighbour, thought she 
 heard the sound of a slap ; besides, there certainly was some 
 disagreement between them, for Lantier did not speak to her 
 for a fortnight. Then he was the first to make it up, and 
 everything seemed to jog on again, as though nothing had 
 happened. The laundress preferred to put up with a bad job, 
 not caring to make her life worse than it really was. She 
 was no longer twenty ; she no longer loved Lantier or any 
 other, to the point of spanking such creatures as Virginie, and 
 thereby running the risk of being locked up. Only, she 
 added this fresh piece of deceit on to all the rest. 
 
 Coupeau laughed. This easy-going husband, who was 
 blind at home, indulged in no end of chaff concerning the 
 Poissons and Lantier. And, indeed, he began to jeer at 
 Gervaise — by way of joking, undoubtedly — though she turned 
 green with terror, so piercing was the glance of his little grey 
 eyes as he scoffed about her various admirers — the hatter, 
 the blacksmith, and so forth. She herself could never tell 
 whether he was laughing or not. A man who gets drunk 
 from one end of the year to the other, no longer knows what 
 he says ; and there are husbands who, although they are very 
 jealous at twenty, are, ten years later, so degraded by drink, 
 that they attach little or no importance to conjugal fidelity. 
 
 It was a sight to see Coupeau swaggering about the Rue 
 de la Goutte-d'Or and talking about the Poissons and Lantier. 
 Oh, he knew what he knew. He had heard tittle-tattle about 
 himself and his wife, and if he hadn't given it any notice it 
 was, apparently, because he did not care for rows. But this 
 time the question was not one of mere libellous gossip. The 
 facts were patent, and he, Coupeau, could not understand how 
 a policeman, a person in the employ of the Government, could 
 tolerate such a scandal in his home. However, whilst the 
 zinc-worker thus railed at the Poissons, he did not quarrel 
 with Lantier. 
 
 On the evenings when he felt dull, all alone with his wife 
 
MISERY 2^7 
 
 in their hole under the roof, he would go down for the hatter 
 and carry him off by force. He considered the nest a sad 
 place now that his comrade no longer shared it. He often 
 reconciled him and Gervaise when he saw them sulking ; 
 while, on the other hand, Lantier, who now put on the most 
 consequential airs, showing himself alike paternal and 
 dignified, repeatedly prevented a quarrel between the Coupeaus 
 and the Poissons. A good understanding between the two 
 families formed indeed a part of the hatter's scheme of life. 
 Thanks to the vigilance with which he watched over 
 Gervaise and Virginie, they still pretended to entertain great 
 friendship for one another. He reigned over both blonde and 
 brunette like a pasha, and fattened on his cunning. He was 
 still digesting the Coupeaus' shop when he already began 
 to devour that of the Poissons. Oh, it was all easy work for 
 him 1 as soon as one establishment was swallowed, he 
 started on a second. As people sometimes said, it is only 
 men of his sort who ever have any luck. 
 
 It was in June that year that Nana was confirmed. She 
 was now nearly thirteen years old, bold and impudent, and as 
 tall as an asparagus shoot run to seed. During the previous 
 year she had been dismissed from the catechism class on 
 account of her bad behaviour ; and the priest had only 
 allowed her to join it this time from a fear of losing her 
 altogether, and thus casting one more heathen on to the 
 streets. Nana danced for joy as she thought of the white 
 dress which she was to wear at the ceremony. The Lorilleux, 
 being her godfather and godmother, had promised to provide 
 it, and took good care to let every one in the house know of 
 their intention. Madame Lerat on her side was to give the 
 requisite veil and cap, Virginie the purse, and Lantier the 
 prayer-book ; so that the Coupeaus looked forward to the 
 ceremony without any great pecuniary anxiety. Indeed, the 
 Poissons, wishing to give a house-warming, fixed it for this 
 very occasion, no doubt by the hatter's advice. They invited 
 both the Coupeaus and the Boches, whose little girl was also 
 going to be confirmed ; and it was arranged that the company 
 should partake of a leg of mutton and the usual trimmings. 
 
 It so happened, however, that on the evening prior to the 
 confirmation, Coupeau returned home in a most abominable 
 condition, just as Nana was gazing admiringly at the presents 
 made her, which were spread out upon the chest of drawers. 
 The atmosphere of Paris was again getting the better of the 
 
298 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 zinc-worker, and he fell foul of his wife and child in a dis- 
 gusting drunken way, which was particularly unseemly at 
 such a time. Nana herself, however, was beginning to use 
 Bome very bad expressions, learnt by listening to all the filthy 
 conversation which continually went on around her. Now- 
 adays, when there was a row, she would often call her mother 
 an old camel and a cow. In this way do the children of the 
 poor start on a downward course. 
 
 * And bread I ' yelled the zinc-worker as he came in. * I 
 want my soup, you couple of jades ! There's females for you, 
 always thinking of their finery I I'll sit on those gew-gaws, 
 you know, if I don't get my soup I ' 
 
 * How unbearable he is when he's screwed ! ' muttered 
 Gervaise, out of patience ; and, turning towards him, she 
 exclaimed : ' It's warming, don't bother us.' 
 
 Nana was doing the modest, because she thought it 
 nice and proper on such a day. She continued gazing at the 
 presents on the chest of drawers, affectedly lowering her 
 eyelids, and pretending not to understand her father's vile 
 words. But the zinc-worker became a fearful plague on the 
 nights when he had drunk too much. Poking his face against 
 her neck, he went on : * I'll give you white dresses, you 
 hussy I Are you going to stuff the body full of paper again, 
 as you did last Sunday ? Yes, yes, wait a bit I I know aU 
 about it 1 Just bundle aU that tomfoolery into a drawer, 
 you ugly little slut 1 And make haste, or I'll clean you with 
 it I' 
 
 Nana, whose head was bowed, did not answer a word. 
 She had taken up the little tulle cap given by her aunt Lerat, 
 and was asking her mother how much it cost. And as 
 Coupeau thrust out his hand to clutch hold of the cap, it was 
 Gervaise who pushed him aside, exclaiming: 'Do leave the 
 child alone I she's very good, she's doing no harm.' 
 
 But at this the zinc-worker fired up in real earnest : ' Ah I 
 the hussies ! The mother and daughter make the pair. It's 
 a nice thing to go to church just to show off a lot of finery 
 and ogle the men. But I'll dress you in a sack, you little 
 slattern. Yes, in a sack, just to disgust you and the priests 
 too. And as for all that finery, I'll precious soon tear it up, I 
 wiU.' 
 
 At this, Nana turned round in a fury, whilst Gervaise had 
 to spread out her arms to protect the garments. The child, 
 however, looked her father straight in the face; and, for- 
 
MISERY 999 
 
 getting all the self-restraint inculcated by her confessor, she 
 exclaimed, clenching her teeth, * You pig 1 ' 
 
 Fortunately nothing more came of it. As soon as the 
 zinc-worker had gulped down his soup, he snored. And on 
 the morrow, he awote in a very good humour. He still felt 
 some of the effects of his carouse on the previous day, but 
 only just sufficient to make him amiable. He witnessed 
 the robing of the child with much pleasure, deeply affected 
 by the white dress, and declaring that a mere nothing gave 
 that little vermin quite a young-lady look. And it was, 
 indeed, something to see the stylish airs which Nana put on 
 with her snowy gown, which was rather too short for her. She 
 smiled in an embarrassed way like a young bride. When she 
 went downstairs, and caught sight of Pauline, likewise already 
 robed and standing outside the doorkeeper's room, she stopped 
 and examined her with a clear, keen glance, and became very 
 nice and amiable on noticing that her clothes were not nearly 
 so stylish as her own, and fitted her, moreover, so ill that she 
 looked like a mere bundle. 
 
 The two families started for the church together. Nana 
 and Pauline walked ahead, carrying their prayer-books, and 
 holding down their veils on account of the wind ; they did 
 not speak, but they nearly burst with delight at seeing people 
 come to their shop-doors ; and they assumed devout, demure 
 expressions in order that folks might say as they passed that 
 they looked very nice. Madame Boche and Madame Lorilleux 
 lagged behind, because they wished to exchange opinions 
 about the Hobbler, that gobble-all, whose daughter would 
 never have been confirmed if the family had not found every- 
 thing that was required ; yes, everything, even a new chemise, 
 out of respect for the holy altar. Madame Lorilleux particu- 
 larly busied herself with her own present, the dress ; glancing 
 harshly at Nana, and calling her a * big slut ' each time that 
 a little dust fell on her skirt, through her going too near to the 
 shop fronts. 
 
 At church, Coupeau wept the whole time. It was stupid, 
 but he could not help it. It affected him so much to see the 
 priest waving his arms about, and all the little girls passing 
 angel-Hke before him with clasped hands. The music of the 
 organ, moreover, stirred his very vitals, and the pleasant smell 
 of the incense made him sniff, just as though some one had 
 thrust a bouquet of flowers under his nose. In short, all was 
 azure to his gaze, his very heart was touched. There was 
 
300 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 one canticle especially, something particularly sweet, which 
 was sung whilst the children partook of the Communion, and 
 which seemed to course with a shiver down his neck and 
 backbone. Round about him, too, numerous sensitive people 
 were soaking their pocket handkerchiefs. Really, it was a 
 fine day, the finest day of his life. However, when, on 
 leaving church, he went to drink a glass of wine with Lorilleux, 
 who had kept his own eyes dry, and chaffed him, he flew into 
 a passion, and accused the rooks, as he called the priests, of 
 burning the devil's own herbs in their churches in order to 
 deprive people of all manliness. But, all the same, he made 
 no secret of it, his eyes had indeed melted, which simply 
 proved that he had not got a paving- stone for a heart after all. 
 And thereupon he ordered the glasses to be filled afresh. 
 
 That evening, the Poissons' house-warming was very 
 lively. Friendship reigned without a hitch from one to the 
 other end of the feast. In this wise, however bad the times, 
 one occasionally comes in for a pleasant evening when sworn 
 enemies love one another. Lantier, with Gervaise on his left 
 and Virginie on his right, was most amiable to both of them. 
 Opposite sat Poisson, preserving the calm and dignified air of 
 a policeman who, with dim eyes, remained thinking of nothing 
 during his long beats over the pavements. But the queens of 
 the feast were the two girls, Nana and Pauline, who had been 
 allowed to retain their confirmation finery ; they sat bolt up- 
 right, through fear of spilling anything on their white dresses, 
 and at every mouthful they were told to hold up their chins, 
 and eat in cleanly fashion. Nana, greatly bored by all this 
 fuss, ended by letting some wine fall over the body of her 
 dress, whereupon there was a great to-do, the gown being 
 taken off, and the stains at once washed out with a little water. 
 
 Then, at dessert, the children's future careers were gravely 
 discussed. Madame Boche had already chosen a calling for 
 Pauline, who was to learn gold and silver piercing ; one could 
 earn from five to six francs a day at this work. Gervaise, 
 however, had not made up her mind ; Nana showed no inclina- 
 tion for anything, unless it were for running about the streets. 
 At everything else, she was butter-fingered. 
 
 * In your place,' said Madame Lerat, ' I would bring her 
 up as an artificial flower-maker. It's a clean and pleasant 
 occupation.' 
 
 * Flower-makers, indeed I ' muttered Lorilleux ; * why, they 
 all go to the bad.' 
 
MISERY 301 
 
 * Well ! and I ? * retorted the tall widow, biting her lips. 
 * You're not over- gallant. Have you anything to say against 
 me? Have I ever gone to the bad, indeed?' And she 
 concluded with some coarse remarks, at which the others pro- 
 tested : * Madame Lerat 1 oh 1 Madame Lerat I ' 
 
 Then they drew her attention to the two girls who were 
 dipping their noses in their glasses, in order to avoid laughing. 
 On their account, the men themselves had hitherto carefully 
 chosen their words. But Madame Lerat would not accept the 
 lesson. She flattered herself that she knew her mother 
 tongue, and she had often been complimented, said she, on 
 her ability to speak without ever violating the canons of 
 propriety. And she went on excitedly : ' There are some 
 very respectable women amongst the artificial flower-makers, 
 just understand that 1 They're like other women, of course ; 
 they're not all stone. But if ever they are guilty of a slip 
 they show taste. And that comes from the flowers. It's that 
 which preserved me.' 
 
 * Well, well ! ' ;interrupted Gervaise, * I've no dislike for 
 artificial flower-making. Only, I don't know whether it will 
 please Nana. That's all I care about ; one never ought to 
 thwart children on the question of a calling. Come, Nana, 
 don't be stupid ; tell me now, would you like to make flowers ? * 
 
 The girl was bending over her plate, and gathering up 
 cake crumbs with her wet finger-tips, wlaich she afterwards 
 sucked. At her mother's question, she did not hurry to reply, 
 but grinned in her vicious way. * Why yes, mamma, I should 
 like to,' she ended by declaring. 
 
 Thereupon the matter was settled. Coupeau was quite 
 willing that Madame Lerat should the very next day take 
 Nana with her to the establishment where she worked in the 
 Rue du Cairo. And they all talked gravely of the duties of 
 Life. Boche said that Nana and Pauline were women now that 
 they had partaken of the Communion. Poisson added that 
 for the future they must know how to cook, mend socks, and 
 look after a house. Something was even said of their 
 marrying. The girls listened and laughed in their sleeves, 
 red and awkward in their white dresses, their hearts swelling 
 with pride at being regarded as women. But what tickled 
 their fancy most was Lantier's chaffing inquiry whether they 
 had not already chosen sweethearts. And the others forced 
 Nana to confess that she had great affection for Victor Faucon- 
 nier, the son of Gervaise's employer. 
 
3oa THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 * Ah well 1 * said Madame Lorilleux to the Boches, as they 
 were all leaving, * she's our god-daughter, but as they're going 
 to put her into the artificial flower-making line, we don't wish 
 to have anything more to do with her. She'll go to the bad 
 before six months are over.' 
 
 As for the Coupeaus, on their way up to bed they agreed 
 that everything had passed off pleasantly, and that the 
 Poissons were not at all bad people. Gervaise even considered 
 the shop was nicely got up. She had expected to suffer a 
 great deal at thus spending the evening in her old lodging, 
 where others were now strutting about ; and she was surprised 
 at not having felt a moment's anger. Then Nana, while un- 
 dressing, inquired of her mother if the young lady on the 
 second floor who had been married the previous month had 
 worn a musUn gown like hers. 
 
 But that was the Coupeaus' last happy day. Two years 
 passed by, during which they sank deeper and deeper. The 
 winters in particular quite cleared them out. If they had 
 bread to eat during the fine weather, the rain and cold 
 brought hunger and many a foodless dinner-hour in their little 
 Siberian den. That brutal month December would steal into 
 their home by the space between the ill-fitting door and the 
 flooring, bringing in its train every ill imaginable — the closing 
 of the workshops, the apathetic idleness born of severe frost, 
 the black misery of continual wet weather. During the first 
 winter, they still had a fire at times, and huddled round the 
 stove, preferring warmth to food ; throughout the second 
 winter, however, the stove was not even once cleansed of its 
 rust, but made the room seem colder still, standing there fire- 
 less, lugubrious like a cast-iron milestone. And what took 
 the life out of the Coupeaus' limbs, what above all else helped 
 to crush them, was the rent. Oh ! that January quarter, 
 when there wasn't a copper in the house and old Boche came 
 up with the receipt already prepared ! Then it seemed as if 
 the wind blew colder than ever, like a perfect tempest from the 
 north. M. Marescot arrived on the following Saturday, 
 wrapped in a good warm overcoat, his big luinds thrust into 
 woollen gloves ; and he was for ever talking of ejecting them, 
 whilst the snow went on falling outside, as though it were 
 spreading white sheets for them on the pavement. To have 
 paid that quarter's rent they would have sold their very flesh. 
 It was that rent which emptied the larder and the stove. 
 
 From the whole house, moreover, there ascended a cry of 
 
MISERY 303 
 
 tomentation. There was weeping on every floor ; a doleful 
 music of distress resounding up the staircases and all along 
 the passages. Had there been a corpse in every home, it 
 would not have caused a more abominable noise of wailing. 
 'Twas hke a last judgment day, the end of everything, life an 
 impossibility, the poor crushed, annihilated. One woman on 
 the third floor, unable as she was to find honest work, had no 
 resource but to earn her rent by vice, under penalty of being 
 turned out into the snow, there to freeze and die. To satisfy 
 the landlord, whose cry was ever, ' Pay, or out you go 1 ' a 
 workman, a mason on the fifth floor, robbed his employer. 
 
 As regards the Coupeaus they no doubt had only themselves 
 to blame. Life may be a hard fight, but one pulls through 
 when one is orderly and economical — as witness the Lorilleux, 
 who paid their rent to the day, the money wrapped in a scrap 
 of dirty paper ; but they, it is true, led the life of starving 
 spiders, something to disgust one with work, if that was all it 
 gave. Nana as yet earned nothing at flower-making ; but 
 even cost a good deal for her keep. And as for Gervaise she 
 was beginning to be looked down upon at Madame Fau- 
 connier's. She was fast losing her skill, bungling her work 
 to such an extent that her employer reduced her wages to 
 forty sous a day, the price paid to the clumsiest. Yet she 
 remained very proud and very susceptible, throwing her 
 former position in every one*s teeth whenever occasion arose. 
 Then there were days when she never turned up at all, and 
 others when she would rush away in a huff. For instance, 
 on one occasion she was so annoyed at Madame Fauconnier 
 engaging Madame Putois, and at thus having to iron side by 
 side with her former workwoman, that she hurried off and did 
 not return for a fortnight. When she recovered her temper, 
 she was taken back simply out of charity, which embittered 
 her still more. And naturally enough, with all this, on 
 Saturdays she had not much money to receive ; as she often 
 bitterly observed, some week or other she would end by owing 
 something to her employer. 
 
 As for Coupeau, he perhaps did work, but in that case 
 he certainly made a present of his labour to the revenue ; 
 for since his return from Etampes, Gervaise had 
 never seen the shine of his money. She no longer looked 
 at his hands when he came home on pay-days. He arrived 
 with swinging arms and empty pockets, and often without 
 his handkerchief. Well 1 yes, he had lost his rag, or else 
 
304 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Bome rascally comrade had sneaked it, said he. At first he 
 rendered some accounts, and invented all sorts of lies — ten 
 francs had gone for a subscription, twenty francs had fallen 
 through a hole which he showed in his pocket, fifty francs 
 had been disbursed in paying off imaginary debts. But 
 before long he no longer troubled to give any explanations. 
 The money evaporated, that was all! It went from his 
 pocket to his stomach, and that was a jollier way of bringing 
 it home to the missus. By Madame Boche's advice, the 
 laundress would sometimes go and watch for her husband at 
 the door of his workshop, so as to secure the coin he received. 
 But this did not help her much ; sundry mates would warn 
 Coupeau, and the money would glide into his shoes or some 
 other hiding-place. Madame Boche, for her part, was very 
 cunning in such cases ; for Boche was in the habit of doing 
 her out of ten-franc pieces, for the purpose of standing treat to 
 ladies of his acquaintance. So at each opportunity she in- 
 spected every portion of his clothing ; and she often found the 
 coin that had not answered to the roll-call sewed up in the peak 
 of his cap, between the leather and the cloth. But the zinc- 
 worker unfortunately did not pad his rags with gold ! He 
 stuffed his money under his flesh, and Gervaise could not 
 take her scissors and rip him open. 
 
 Ah I it was their own fault, if every season found them 
 lower and lower. But that's the sort of thing which people 
 never acknowledge, especially when they are down in the 
 mire. The Coupeaus, like others, accused * luck,' and pre- 
 tended that fate was against them. Their home had now 
 become a perfect hell on earth. They wrangled the whole day 
 long. However, they had not yet come to blows, excepting 
 it were a few smacks, which somehow flew about when their 
 quarrels reached a climax. The saddest part of the business 
 was that they had opened the cage of affection ; all better 
 feelings had taken flight like so many canaries. That genial 
 warmth which clings to father, mother, and child, when they 
 remain united, close pressed in love and concord, withdrew from 
 them, and left them shivering, each in his or her corner. All 
 three of them — Coupeau, Gervaise, and Nana — were ever in an 
 abominable temper, biting each other's noses off for a mere 
 nothing, glaring at one another with eyes full of hatred. It 
 seemed as though something had broken : the mainspring of 
 family life, the mechanism which, with happy people, makes 
 every heart beat in unison. Ah 1 it was certain that Gervai^ 
 
MISERY 305 
 
 was no longer moved as of yore, when she saw Coupeau at the 
 edge of a roof, some forty or fifty feet above the pavement. She 
 would not have pushed him off herself; but if he had fallen acci- 
 dentally, the earth, thought she, would truly have been rid of 
 a good-for-nothing. On the days when there was a flare-up 
 she would shout aloud : * Would he never again be brought 
 home on a stretcher I ' She was waiting for that to happen ; 
 for the return of his corpse would be the return of happiness, 
 Of what earthly use was he, that filthy drunkard ? He only 
 served to make her weep, to devour all she possessed, and 
 drive her to sin. Men so useless as he should be thrown aa 
 quickly as possible into the common grave, so that the polka 
 of deliverance might be danced over them I And when the 
 mother said * Kill I ' the daughter responded * Fell 1 ' Nana 
 read all the reports of accidents in the newspapers, and com- 
 mented on them in a way that was unnatural in a daughter. 
 Her father had such wonderful luck that an omnibus had one 
 day knocked him down without even sobering him, said she. 
 "Would the brute never croak ? 
 
 Amidst this existence, embittered still more by misery, 
 Gervaise also suffered from the hungry groans that she heard 
 around her. That corner of the house was the most poverty 
 stricken of all. Three or four families seemed to have agreed 
 together that they would starve there. Doors might open, 
 but seldom indeed was any smell of cooking wafted from the 
 rooms. All along the passage reigned the silence of starva- 
 tion ; the walls gave out a hollow sound as empty stomachs 
 do. At times arose a noise of drubbing, the sobs of women, 
 the plaintive cries of hungry brats. But it was only a family 
 * going ' for one another just to deceive their stomachs. In 
 that corner of the big house cramp in the throat was a 
 general complaint, spreading from every open, yearning 
 mouth ; and chests contracted merely from breathing that 
 empty air, in which even flies could not have lived for lack of 
 food. 
 
 But the one who most roused Gervaise's pity was old Bru, 
 huddled up in his hole under the little staircase. He retired 
 into it like a marmot, and rolled himself up in a ball so as to 
 feel less cold, remaining for days on a heap of straw without 
 moving. Hunger no longer drove him out, for it was useless 
 to go and get up an appetite when nobody had invited him to 
 dinner. Whenever he had not been seen for three or four 
 days, the neighbours would push his door open to ascertain if 
 
 X 
 
3o6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 he had come to an end. But no 1 he lived on all the same ; 
 however faintly, he still existed. Even death was forgetting 
 him ! Directly Gervaise got hold of some bread she would 
 throw him a few crusts. If she was becoming bad-hearted 
 and detested men, on account of her husband, she always felt 
 sincere pity for animals ; and old Bru, that poor old fellow 
 whom everybody left to die because he could no longer hold a 
 tool, seemed to her like a dog, a beast past service, whose 
 skin and fat even the knackers would not buy. It was quite 
 a weight on her heart to know that he was always there, on 
 the other side of the passage, abandoned by God and man, 
 feeding on himself, returning to the size of a child, 
 as shrivelled and dried up as a forgotten orange which 
 hardens on a shelf. 
 
 The laundress also suffered a great deal from the prox- 
 imity of Bazouge, the mute. A mere partition, and a very 
 thin one, separated her room from his. He could not put a 
 finger into his mouth without being heard by her. As soon 
 as he came home of an evening, she listened in spite of 
 herself to everything he did. His black leather hat fell upon 
 the chest of drawers with a dull thud, like a shovelful of 
 earth ; his black cloak rustled like the wings of some night 
 bird against the wall when he hung it up ; all his black 
 toggery, flung into the middle of the room, filled it as 
 with the trappings of mourning. She listened to him stamp- 
 ing about, feehng anxious at his every movement, quite 
 startled if he happened to knock against the furniture, or 
 rattle any of his crockery. That sworn drunkard became a 
 cause of great concern to her, filling her with secret fear, 
 mingled with inquisitiveness. He, on his side, jolly, full of 
 liquor every day, his head all upside down, would cough, 
 spit, sing ' Mother Godichon,' and fight with the four walls 
 before finding his bedstead. And as she heard the racket she 
 remained quite pale, wondering whatever he was up to. She 
 imagined the most frightful things. She got the idea into 
 her head that he must have brought a corpse home and was 
 stowing it away under his bedstead. Well 1 the newspapers 
 had related something of the kind — an employe of the 
 Burial Service had gathered together at home the corpses of 
 a number of infants in their coffins, so as to save himself the 
 trouble of going again and again to the cemetery, as one 
 journey with the lot would be sufficient. 
 
 At all events it was certain that directly Bazouge arrived 
 
MISERY 307 
 
 home a smell of death seemed to come through the partition. 
 One might have thought oneself lodging in front of the Pere 
 Lachaise cemetery in the midst of the kingdom of moles. 
 He was frightful, the brute, to be for ever laughing by himself 
 as if his profession enUvened him. Even when he had finished 
 his rumpus and stretched himself on his back, he snored in 
 so extraordinary a manner that the laundress would gasp 
 with alarm. For hours she lent ear to him, imagining that 
 funeral after funeral was passing with a chant oiI)& Fro- 
 fundis through his room. 
 
 Yes, the worst was that, in spite of her terrors, something 
 incited Gervaise tO' put her ear to the wall, the better to 
 ascertain what was taking place. Bazouge fascinated her, 
 repulsive though he was. He seemed hke a personification of 
 death ; and if fear had not restrained her, she would have 
 liked to just touch and feel death, to see what it was like. 
 Holding her breath, listening attentively, expecting to unravel 
 death's secret by the aid of some movement made by 
 Bazouge, she became at times so peculiar that Coupeau 
 would ask her with a chuckle if she were smitten with the 
 mute next door. Thereupon she grew angry, and talked 
 of moving, as the close proximity of this neighbour of theirs 
 was so repugnant to her ; and yet, in spite of herself, as soon 
 as the old fellow came home, smelling hke a cemetery, she 
 would again relapse into meditation. Had he not twice 
 offered to pack her up, and carry her off with him to some 
 place where sleep is so enjoyable, that in a moment one 
 forgets all one's wretchedness ? Perhaps it was really very 
 pleasant. And little by little a temptation to taste that slumber 
 grew upon Gervaise. She would have liked to try it for a 
 fortnight or a month. Oh I to sleep for a month, especially 
 in winter, the month when the rent fell due, when the 
 troubles of life were overwhelming I But it was not possible 
 — one must sleep that sleep for ever, if one would sleep ii 
 for an hour ; and the thought of this froze her ; her desire 
 for death departed in presence of the stern, eternal attach- 
 ment which Mother Earth demands. 
 
 However, one evening in January, she knocked with both 
 her fists against the partition. She had passed a frightful 
 week, hustled by every one, penniless, and utterly discouraged. 
 That evening, too, she was not at all well ; she shivered with 
 fever, and seemed to see flames dancing before her. And then, 
 instead of throwing herself out of the window, as she had at 
 
 z2 
 
5o8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 one moment thought of doing, she set to knocking and calling : 
 Old Bazouge ! eh, old Bazouge ! ' 
 
 The mute was taking off his shoes and singing, * There 
 were three lovely girls.' He had probably had a good day, 
 for he seemed even more maudhn than usual. 
 
 * Bazouge I eh, old Bazouge 1 * repeated Gervaise, raising 
 her voice. 
 
 Did he not hear her then ? She was ready to give herself 
 at once ; he might come and take her on his neck, and carry 
 her off whithersoever he carried the other women, the poor and 
 the rich, all those whom he consoled. It pained her to hear 
 his song, ' There were three lovely girls,' because she discerned 
 in it the disdain of a man who has too many sweethearts. 
 
 * What is it ? what is it ? ' stuttered Bazouge at last ; * who's 
 unwell ? We're coming, little woman ! ' 
 
 But the sound of his husky voice awoke Gervaise as though 
 from a nightmare. What had she done ? she must have been 
 hammering against the partition. Then she felt as though 
 she had received a heavy blow across her loins ; fright con- 
 tracted every muscle of her body and she drew back, fancying 
 that she already beheld the mute's fat hands passing through the 
 wall to clutch her by the hair. No, no, she would not, she would 
 not, she was not ready yet. If she had knocked, it must have 
 been with her elbow in turning over, without being aware of it. 
 And a feeling of horror ascended to her shoulders at the thought 
 of being carried away for ever, all stiff and white, in that old 
 feUow's arms. 
 
 * Well ! is there no one there now ? ' resumed Bazouge in 
 the silence. * Wait a bit, we're always ready to oblige the 
 ladies.' 
 
 * It's nothing, nothing, said the laundress at length in a 
 choking voice. ' I don't require anything, thanks.' 
 
 Whilst the mute feU asleep grumbUng, she remained 
 anxiously listening, without daring to move for fear he might 
 fancy that he again heard her knocking. She vowed to be 
 very careful now. She might be dying, she would certainly 
 not ask her neighbour for help. And this she vowed in order 
 to reassure herself, for in spite of her fright she still indulged 
 at times in her horrible fancy. 
 
 In that abode of misery, amidst her own cares and the 
 cares of others, Gervaise could at all events find one beautiful 
 example of courage. This was at her neighbours', the Bijards. 
 Little Lalie, that chit of eight, hardly bigger than a pat of 
 
MISERY 309 
 
 butter, looked after everything and kept the place as clean as 
 a grown-up person could have done ; and the work was hard, 
 for she had charge of two children, her brother Jules and her 
 sister Henriette, one only three and the other only five years 
 old, so that she had to watch over them all day long, even 
 whilst sweeping the place or washing up the crockery. 
 
 Ever since Bijardhad killed his wife by kicking her, Lalie had 
 become the little mother of them all. Without saying a word, 
 and of her own accord, she had taken the place of the one who 
 had gone, to such an extent that her brute of a father, probably 
 to perfect the resemblance, now belaboured the daughter even 
 as he had formerly belaboured the mother. Whenever he 
 came home drunk, he required women to massacre. He did 
 not even notice that Lalie was quite little ; he would not have 
 beaten an old hide any harder. One slap of his hand covered 
 her face ; and her flesh was still so delicate that the marks 
 of his five fingers remained there for a couple of days. There 
 were most abominable thrashings, kicks for a mere ' Yes ' or a 
 * No.' It was Uke a mad wolf falling on a poor, timid, coaxing 
 kitten, who was so thin that the mere sight of her might 
 have made one weep, and who submitted to everything with a 
 resigned look in her beautiful eyes, never uttering a single com- 
 plaint. No, Lalie never rebelled. She bent her neck a little 
 to protect her face, and she restrained her cries, so as not to 
 rouse the house. And, when her father was tired of kicking 
 her from one corner of the room to another, she waited tiU 
 she had regained sufficient strength to pick herself up. Then 
 she resumed her work, washed her children, made the soup, 
 and cleaned up, never leaving a speck of dust upon the furni- 
 ture. To be beaten was a part of her daily duties. 
 
 Gervaise had begun to feel great friendship for her little 
 neighbour. She treated her as an equal, as a grown-up 
 woman of experience. It must be said that Lalie had a pale 
 and serious look, and that one might have thought her thirty 
 on hearing her speak. She knew very well how to bargain 
 and buy, mend clothes, and attend to home duties, and she 
 spoke of the children as though she were their real mother. 
 It made people smile at first to hear her talk as she did at 
 eight years of age ; but then a lump would rise in their 
 throats, and they would hurry away so as not to burst into 
 tears. Gervaise drew the child towards her as much as she 
 could and gave her all she could spare, food and old clothing. 
 One day while she was trying one of Nana's old frocks on her, 
 
3IO THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 she almost choked with anger on finding that her back was 
 covered with bruises, that her elbow had its skin broken, and 
 was still bleeding, that all her innocent flesh clinging to her 
 bones bore signs of martyrdom. Ah I old Bazouge might get 
 his box ready ; she would not last long at that rate I But the 
 child begged the laundress not to say a word about it ; she 
 would not have her father bothered on her account ; indeed, 
 she took his part, declaring that he would never have been so 
 wicked if it had not been for the drink. He was mad, he did 
 not know what he did. Oh ! she forgave him, because one 
 ought to forgive madmen everything. 
 
 Nevertheless, from that time forward Gervaise watched, 
 and tried to interfere directly she heard Bijard coming upstairs. 
 However, on most occasions she only caught some whack as 
 a reward for her pains. When she entered the Bijards' room 
 in the day-time, she often found Lalie tied to the foot of the 
 iron bedstead ; it was an idea of the locksmith's, who, before 
 going out, would bind her round the legs and body with some 
 stout rope, without anyone being able to tell why he did it. 
 Doubtless it was a mere whim of his drink-diseased brain, a 
 scheme for tyrannising over the child even when he was no 
 longer there. Lalie, as stiff as a stake, with pins and needles 
 in her legs, remained whole days tied up in this fashion. She 
 once even passed a night without being released, Bijard having 
 forgotten to come home. Whenever Gervaise, carried away 
 by indignation, talked of unfastening her, she implored her 
 not to disturb the rope, as her father became furious if he did 
 not find the knots tied the same as he had left them. And it 
 was really not unpleasant, it rested her, she would say with a 
 smile, whilst her little legs all the time remained swollen and 
 lifeless. What grieved her was that she could not do the 
 housework, fastened as she was to the bedstead, face to face 
 with all the disorder of the home. Her father ought certainly 
 to have invented something else. All the same, she kept 
 watch over her children, made them obey her, and called 
 Henriette and Jules to her to have their noses wiped. As her 
 hands remained free she knitted whilst waiting to be delivered, 
 so as not to waste her time entirely. Her greatest sufferings 
 came when Bijard untied her. For a full quarter of an hour 
 she would crawl about the floor unable to stand up, because 
 her blood no longer circulated. 
 
 The locksmith had also thought of another little game. 
 He heated some sous in the frying-pan, placed them oil a 
 
MISERY 311 
 
 comer of the mantel-piece, and called Lalie, and told her to 
 fetch a couple of pounds of bread. The child took up the coins 
 unsuspectingly, raised a cry, and threw them on the floor, 
 shaking her burnt hand. Then he flew into a fury. Who 
 had saddled him with such carrion? She lost the money 
 now 1 And he threatened to beat her to a jelly if she did not 
 pick up the sous at once. When the child hesitated she 
 received as a first warning a clout of such violence that all 
 danced before her. Then, speechless, and with big tears in 
 the corners of her eyes, she would pick up the coppers and go 
 off, tossing them in the palm of her hand to cool them. 
 
 No, one can hardly imagine what ferocious ideas may 
 sprout from the depths of a drunkard's brain. One afternoon, 
 for instance, Lalie, having made everything tidy, was playing 
 with her children. The window was open, there was a draught, 
 and every now and again the wind blowing along the passage 
 gently shook the door. 
 
 * It's Monsieur Hardy,* the child was saying. * Come in, 
 Monsieur Hardy. Pray have the kindness to walk in.' 
 
 Then she curtsied before the door, and bowed to the wind. 
 Henriette and Jules, just behind her, also bowed, delighted 
 with the game, and laughing as much as if they were being 
 tickled. She became quite rosy at seeing them so heartily 
 amused, and even found some pleasure in it on her own 
 account, though as a rule pleasure only befell her on the thirty- 
 sixth day of each month. 
 
 ' Good-day, Monsieur Hardy. How do you do. Monsieur 
 Hardy ? ' she repeated. 
 
 But a rough hand suddenly pushed open the door, and 
 Bijard entered. Then the scene changed. Henriette and 
 Jules fell down flat against the wall ; whilst Lalie, terrified, 
 remained in the very middle of a curtsey. The locksmith 
 held in his hand a big waggoner's whip, quite new, with a 
 long white wooden handle, and a leather thong, terminating 
 with a bit of fine whip -cord. He placed his whip in the 
 corner by the bed, and did not give his usual kick to the 
 child, who was already preparing herself for it. A chuckle dis- 
 closed his blackened teeth, and he was very lively, very drunk, 
 his face illumined by some idea that amused him immensely. 
 
 * Ah 1 ' said he, * you've been playing a nice game you young 
 hussy 1 I could hear you dancing about from downstairs. 
 Now then, come here 1 Nearer, curse you 1 and full face. Ana 
 I touching you, that you tremble like that ? Take my shoes off.' 
 
312 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 Lalie turned quite pale again, and, amazed at not re- 
 ceiving her usual drubbing, duly took his shoes off. He had 
 seated himself or the edge of the bed, and now lay down on 
 it with his clothes on, watching the child move about the 
 room. She busied herself with one thing and another, 
 gradually bewildered by his glance, her limbs quaking with 
 such fright, that she ended by breaking a cup. Then, with- 
 out disturbing himself, he took hold of the whip and showed 
 it to her. 
 
 * I say, you little calf, look at this. It's a present for you. 
 Yes, it's another fifty sous you've cost me. With this little 
 toy I shall no longer have to run after you, and it'll be no 
 use for you to get into the corners. Will you have a try ? 
 Ah 1 you break cups, do you ? Now then, gee up 1 Dance 
 away, make your curtsies to Monsieur Hardy I ' 
 
 He did not even raise himself, but still sprawling on his 
 back with his head resting on his pillow, he made the big 
 whip crack about the room as noisily as might a postillion 
 starting his horses. Then lowering his arm, he lashed Lalie 
 round the middle of the body, encircling her with the whip, 
 and then unwinding it as though she were a top. She fell, 
 and tried to escape on all fours ; but with another lash he 
 set her once more upon her feet. 
 
 ' Gee up, gee up I ' he yelled. * It*s the donkey race ! 
 Eh ! this will be fine of a morning in winter. I can lie snug 
 without getting cold or hurting my chilblains, and still catch 
 the calves from a distance. Ah ! you get in that corner, well 
 there's a hit, you hussy 1 And in that other corner, eh? 
 Well, there's a hit again ! And in that one, another hit. 
 Ah 1 if you crawl under the bed I'll whack you with the 
 handle. Gee up, you jade ! gee up ! gee up ! ' 
 
 A slight foam was coming to his lips, and his yellow eyes 
 were starting from their black orbits. Lalie, maddened, 
 howling, jumped in turn to the four corners of the room, 
 curled herself up on the floor, and clung to the walls ; but 
 the lash at the end of the big whip caught her no matter where 
 she went, cracking near her ears with a report as of fireworks, 
 and streaking her flesh with burning wheals. It was such 
 a dance as an animal is led when being taught its tricks for 
 the stage. The poor little kitten waltzed. It was a sight to 
 see her with her heels in the air Uke a girl playing at skipping, 
 and crying * Vinegar ! ' She was all out of breath, rebound> 
 ing hither and thither like an india-rubber ball, letting herself 
 
MISERY 313 
 
 be beaten, unable to see, or any longer to seek a refuge. And 
 her wolfish father triumphed, calling her ne'er-do-well, asking 
 her if she had had enough, and whether she now understood 
 sufficiently that she must give up all hope of escaping from 
 him. 
 
 But Gervaise suddenly entered the room, attracted by the 
 child's howls. On beholding such a scene she was seized 
 with furious indignation. * Ah ! the brute of a man 1 ' cried 
 she. * Leave her alone, you brigand ! I'll go and denounce 
 you to the police.' 
 
 Bijard growled like an animal who is disturbed, and 
 stuttered, * I say, Limper, just mind your own business. 
 Perhaps you'd like me to put gloves on when I stir her up. 
 It's merely to warn her, as you can see — simply to show her 
 that I've a long arm.' 
 
 And he gave Lalie a final lash with the whip which caught 
 her across the face. Her upper Up was cut, and the blood 
 flowed. Gervaise seized a chair, and was about to fall on 
 the locksmith ; but the child held her hands towards her im- 
 ploringly, saying that it was nothing, that it was all over. 
 And she wiped away the blood with a corner of her apron, 
 and quieted her children, who were sobbing bitterly as though 
 they themselves had received all the blows. ^ 
 
 Whenever Gervaise thought of Lalie, she no longer dared 
 to complain of her own lot. She would have liked to possess 
 the courage of that chit of eight, who endured as much as all 
 the other women of that staircase put together. She had 
 seen her living on nothing but dry bread for three months, 
 not even eating crusts enough to satisfy her hunger, and so 
 thin and weak that she had to cling to the walls when moving 
 about ; and whenever she stealthily took her any bits of meat 
 that she had left, she felt her heart melt as she watched her 
 eat, shedding big silent tears the while, and swallowing but 
 very tiny pieces, as food could now scarcely pass down 
 her contracted throat. Always tender and devoted in spite of 
 everything, reasonable beyond her years, she performed her 
 duties as little mother to such a point that she was dying of 
 precocious maternity. And Gervaise took an example from 
 
 * That the horrible brutality of Bijard is no exaggeration may be 
 shown by many a reference to judicial proceedings both in France and 
 England even during the year of grace 1897. And for one such scoun- 
 drel who is caught and more or less adequately punished, how many 
 remain undetected and altogether escape the penalty of the law 
 
314 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 this dear creature, who was all suffering and all forgiveness ; 
 and tried to learn from her how to conceal one's martyrdom. 
 Lalie only showed her feelings by her silent look, her big, 
 black, resigned eyes, in whose depths one could divine a night 
 of agony and misery. Never a word came from her, only 
 her big black dilated eyes proclaimed the truth. 
 
 And now the * vitriol ' of the * Assommoir ' was also com- 
 mencing to ravage the Coupeaus' home. The laundress could 
 divine the hour approaching when her husband would, like 
 Bijard, take a whip to lead the dance ; and the misfortune 
 which threatened her, naturally rendered her more sensitive 
 to the sufferings of the child. Yes, Coupeau was on a bad 
 tack. The time was past when ardent spirits had given him 
 a colour. He could no longer slap his body and strut about, 
 saying that the stuff fattened him, for the bad yellow fat of 
 the first years had melted away, and he was drying up, with 
 a leaden hue variegated with green, like a corpse rotting in 
 a pond. His appetite also had now quite gone. Little by 
 little he had lost all taste for bread, and had even reached 
 such a point that he spurned meat. One might have placed 
 the most delicious stew before him, his stomach would have 
 none of it, his weakened teeth refused to chew. To keep 
 himself * going ' he required his pint of brandy every day. 
 It was his ration, both his meat and drink, the only food he 
 could digest. In the morniiig, directly he jumped out of bed, 
 he remained for a good quarter of an hour doubled up, 
 coughing and cracking his bones, holding his head and trying 
 to get rid of the phlegm, bitter as gall, which was in his 
 throat. And he never felt steady on his pins till he had 
 drunk his first glass of ' consolation,' a real remedy said he, 
 the fire of which cauterised him internally. Then during 
 the day, his strength returned. At first, as alcohol continued 
 its work, he had felt a tickling sensation, something like pins- 
 and-needles in his hands and feet; and he would joke about 
 it, relating that some one was having a lark with him, that 
 he was sure his wife slipped horse-hair between the sheets. 
 Then, however, his legs became heavy, the tickling sensation 
 finished by turning into a most abominable cramp, which 
 gripped his flesh like a vice. This did not amuse him nearly 
 so much. He no longer laughed, but stopped short on the 
 pavement in a bewildered way, with a singing in his ears, 
 and sparks blazing before his eyes. Everything seemed to 
 him yellow, the houses danced, and he reeled about for three 
 
MISERY 315 
 
 Beconds or bo, with the fear of suddenly finding himself 
 sprawling on the ground. At other times, while the sun was 
 shining full on his back, he would shiver, as though some 
 iced water had been poured down his shoulders. What 
 bothered him the most was a slight trembling of both hands ; 
 the right hand in particular must have been guilty of some great 
 crime, for it suffered from so many nightmares. Curse it I 
 quoth he, was he no longer a man then ? Was he becoming an 
 old woman? And then he furiously strained his muscles, 
 caught hold of his glass and wagered that he would hold it 
 perfectly steady, as with a hand of marble ; but, in spite of 
 his efforts, the glass still danced about, jumped to the right, 
 jumped to the left, with a hasty but regular quivering 
 movement. Then, in a fury, Coupeau emptied it into his 
 gullet, yelling that he would require dozens like it, and would 
 afterwards imdertake to carry a cask without so much as 
 moving a finger. Gervaise, on the other hand, told him to 
 give up drink, if he wished to stop the trembling ; but he 
 laughed at her, emptying quarts until he began the experi- 
 ment again, when he would fly into a rage, and accuse the 
 passing omnibuses of shaking the liquor. 
 
 One evening during the month of March, Coupeau 
 returned home soaked to the bones. He had come with My- 
 Boots from Montrouge, where they had stuffed themselves 
 with eel soup, and the rain had fallen on him all the way 
 from the Barri^re des Fourneaux to the Barri^re Poissonniere, 
 a good long stride. During the night a bad cough came on 
 him ; he got very flushed, suffered from violent fever, and lay 
 panting like a pair of broken bellows. When the Boches' 
 doctor saw him in the morning, and sounded him in the back, 
 he shook his head, and drew Gervaise aside to advise her to 
 Bend him at once to the hospital. It was a case of inflamma- 
 tion of the lungs. 
 
 Gervaise evinced no anger at the suggestion. That was 
 but natural. At one time she would rather have let herself 
 be chopped to pieces than have trusted her man to the saw- 
 bones. After the accident in the Rue de la Nation, she had 
 spent their savings in nursing him. But those beautiful 
 sentiments don't last when men take to wallowing in the 
 mire. No, no, she did not intend to plague herself like that 
 again. They might take him and never bring him back, she 
 would thank them heartily, she muttered to herself. Yet, 
 when the litter arrived, and Coupeau was put into it Uke an 
 
3i6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 article of furniture, she became quite pale and bit her lipa ; 
 and though she grumbled and still said that it was a good 
 job, her heart was no longer in her words. If she had only 
 had ten francs in her drawer she would not have let him go. 
 
 She accompanied him to the Lariboisiere hospital, and saw 
 the attendants put him to bed at the end of a long ward, 
 where the patients, looking like corpses, raised themselves 
 one after the other to gaze at the comrade who had just been 
 brought in. There was a good deal of death hanging about 
 there, a suffocating odour of fever, and a consumptive music 
 sufficient to affect one's own lungs ; without counting the fact 
 that the ward looked like a Pere-Lachaise cemetery on a 
 small scale, with all its white beds forming an alley of tomb- 
 stones. Then, as Coupeau remained flat on his pillow, 
 Gervaise went off, not finding a word to say, and having 
 nothing, unfortunately, in her pocket to ease him. Outside, 
 however, in front of the hospital, she turned round and gave 
 a last glance at the edifice. And she thought of former days, 
 when Coupeau, perched up yonder at the edge of the guttering, 
 had laid his sheets of zinc whilst singing in the sunshine. 
 Ah 1 he hadn't been a drunkard then ! His skin had been as 
 soft as a girl's. She, from her window at the Hotel Boncoeur, 
 sought for him, and recognised him right aloft amidst the 
 very sky ; and they both waved their handkerchiefs, sending 
 one another smiles and kisses by telegraph. Yes, Coupeau 
 had worked up there, and without the faintest idea that he 
 was working for himself. Now he was no longer on the roof 
 like a jovial sparrow. He was under it, he had built his nest 
 in the hospital, and had come thwe to croak, with his soft 
 skin now turned to a rough hide ! Ah I how far, far away 
 had the happy days of courtship flown I 
 
 Two days later, when Gervaise called for news of 
 Coupeau, she found the bed empty. A sister of charity told 
 her that it had been necessary to remove her husband to the 
 Asylum of Sainte-Anne, as on the previous day he had 
 suddenly gone wild. Oh 1 a total leave taking of his senses, 
 with attempts to crack his skull against the wall, and howls 
 which prevented the other patients from sleeping. It all 
 came from drink, it seemed. As soon as pneumonia had 
 laid him strengthless on his back, the drink, which had been 
 brewing within him, had taken advantage of the opportunity 
 to make its onslaught and wring his nerves. The laundress 
 returned home in a state of distraction. So her old man had 
 
MISERY 317 
 
 gone mad now I Life "would become precious queer if they 
 should let him out. Nana exclaimed that he ought to be left 
 where he was, as otherwise he would end by murdering 
 them both. 
 
 Gervaise was not able to go to Sainte-Anne until the 
 Sunday. It was a tremendous journey. Fortunately, the 
 omnibus from the Boulevard Rochechouart to La Glaciere 
 passed close to the asylum. On her way down the Rue de la 
 Sant6, she bought two oranges, so as not to arrive empty- 
 handed. The Asylum was another monumental building, 
 with grey courtyards, interminable corridors, and a smell of 
 medicaments, which scarcely inspired liveliness. But when 
 Gervaise had been admitted into a cell, she was quite sur- 
 prised to find Coupeau almost jolly. 
 
 * And the lungs ? ' inquired the laundress. 
 
 * Fine I * replied he. * They cured them in no time. I 
 still cough a little, but it's only the fag end of it.* 
 
 Then they laughed, gay at heart in spite of everything. 
 And when Gervaise gave Coupeau the two oranges, he was 
 quite moved. He was becoming as nice as ever again now 
 that he was only allowed to imbibe herb drink, and was kept 
 away from the dram-shops. So Gervaise, surprised to hear 
 him reason as in the old times, at last ventured to speak to 
 him about the crack in his nut. 
 
 ' Ah, yes,' said he, joking at his own expense ; * I talked a 
 precious lot of nonsense 1 Just fancy, I saw rats, and ran 
 about on all fours to put a grain of salt on their tails. And 
 you, you called me, for some fellows were trying to kill you. 
 In short, all sorts of stupid things, ghosts in broad daylight. 
 Oh I I remember it very well, my pate's still solid. It's all 
 over now, however ; I dream a bit when I'm asleep, I have 
 nightmares, you know, but everyone has nightmares.' 
 
 Gervaise remained with him until the evening. When 
 the house surgeon came, at the six o'clock inspection, he 
 made him spread out his hands ; they hardly trembled at all, 
 there was scarcely a quiver at the finger-tips. However, as 
 night approached, Coupeau slowly grew uneasy. He twice 
 sat up in bed, looking at the floor or peering into the dark 
 corners of the room. And suddenly he thrust out an arm, 
 as if to crush some animal against the wall. 
 
 * What is it ? ' asked Gervaise feeling frightened. 
 
 * The rats ! the rats 1 * he murmured. 
 
 Then, after a pause, gliding into sleep, he tossed about. 
 
3i8 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 uttering disconnected phrases. * Dash it I they're tearing 
 my skin I — Oh ! the filthy beasts I — Keep steady ! Gervaise I 
 beware of the bloke behind you 1 — Jove's thunder ! she's 
 down, and the scoundrels laugh I — Scoundrels ! blackguards 1 
 brigands 1 ' 
 
 As he spoke he dealt blows at space, caught hold of his 
 blanket, and rolled it into a bundle against his chest, as 
 though to protect the latter from the bearded men he beheld. 
 Then, as an attendant hastened to the cell, Gervaise with- 
 drew, quite frozen by the scene. However, when she 
 returned, a few days later, she found Coupeau completely 
 cured. Even the nightmares had left him ; he could sleep 
 his ten hours right off as peacefully as a child and without 
 stirring a limb. So his wife was allowed to take him away. 
 Only, the house surgeon gave him the usual good advice on 
 leaving, and urged him to follow it. If he lapsed into his 
 drinking habits, he would be taken ill again, and would end 
 by croaking. Yes, it solely depended upon himself. He had 
 seen how jolly and nice one could become, when one didn't 
 get drunk. Well, he must lead at home the same sensible 
 life as he had led at Sainte-Anne, fancy himself under lock 
 and key, and imagine that all the dram-shops had ceased to 
 exist. 
 
 * The gentleman's right,* said Gervaise in the omnibus 
 which was taking them back to the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or. 
 
 * Of course, he's right,* replied Coupeau. Then after 
 pondering for a minute, he resumed : * Oh 1 you know a 
 little glass now and again can't kill a man ; it helps 
 digestion.' 
 
 And that very evening he swallowed a glass of bad spirits, 
 just to keep his stomach in order. Still for eight days or so 
 he was pretty reasonable. He was a great coward at heart, 
 and had no desire to end his days in the Bicetre mad-house, 
 but his passion got the better of him ; the first little glass 
 led him, despite himself, to a second one, a third one, and a 
 fourth one ; and by the end of a fortnight he had got back to 
 his old ration, a pint of ' vitriol * a day. Gervaise was so ex- 
 asperated, that she could have beaten him. To think that 
 on seeing him so sensible at the asylum, she had been stupid 
 enough to indulge once more in the dream of an upright life. 
 Ah ! another hour of joy had flown away, no doubt the last. 
 And now, as nothing could reclaim him, not even the fear 
 of his near end, she swore she would no longer put 
 
MISERY 319 
 
 herself out ; their life might be all sixes and sevens, she did 
 not care a hang : she also would take her ease wherever she 
 might i5nd it. 
 
 Then there was hell upon earth once more ; they sank 
 yet deeper into the mire, without a gleam of any hope in a 
 better season. Nana, whenever her father clouted her, would 
 inquire in a fury why the brute had not remained at the 
 hospital. She longed to be able to earn some money, said 
 she, so as to ply him with brandy and make him croak the 
 quicker. Gervaise, on her side, flew into a terrible passion 
 one day when Coupeau began to regret their marriage. Ah I 
 she had been a cast-off woman, had she I Ah I he had picked 
 her off the pavement, had he I She had trapped him by her 
 wheedling ways I What impudence 1 Every word he said 
 was a lie I She had never wanted him ; she had done her 
 utmost to get rid of him. But he had dragged himself at 
 her feet imploringly whilst she was advising him to look 
 before he leapt. Ah I if it were all to happen over again, 
 she would say no, and stick to it. She would sooner have an 
 arm cut off than take him. No doubt she had been another 
 man's mistress before marrying him, but allowing for all that, 
 when a woman was a worker she was worth far more than a 
 slothful beggar who sullied his honour and that of his family in 
 every dram-shop he came to. That day, for the first time, 
 the Coupeaus had a regular set-to, and whacked one another 
 so furiously that an old umbrella and a broom were 
 broken. 
 
 And Gervaise kept her word. She sank lower and lower ; 
 she stayed more and more frequently away from work, spent 
 whole days in gossiping, and became as limp as a rag whenever 
 she had a task to perform. If anything fell from her hands, 
 it might remain on the floor; it was certainly not she 
 who would have stooped to pick it up. She took her 
 ease about everything, and never handled a broom except 
 when the accumulation of filth almost brought her to the 
 ground. The Lorilleux now made a point of holding their 
 noses whenever they passed her room ; the stench was 
 poisonous, they said. They, for their part, led a sly hidden 
 life at the end of the passage, keeping apart from all the 
 wretchedness which whined in that corner of the house, and 
 often locking themselves in so as to avoid all applications for 
 petty loans. Ah I they were kind-hearted folks, obliging 
 neighbours, and no mistake. One had only to knock and ask 
 
320 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 for a light, or a pinch of salt, or a jug of water, and at once the 
 door was banged in one's face. And besides they had such 
 vipers' tongues. Whenever any question of neighbourly 
 assistance arose they declared that they never occupied 
 themselves with other people's affairs, yet they did so from 
 morning to night if they had a chance of pulling anybody to 
 pieces. With the door bolted and a rug hung up to screen 
 the chinks and the key-hole, they would regale themselves 
 with no end of spiteful gossip, without for a moment ceasing 
 to work at their gold wire. 
 
 The fall of the Hobbler in particular made them purr 
 with pleasure all day long. What poverty, what a tumble 
 was hers I They watched her when she went marketing, 
 and laughed to themselves at the little bit of bread which 
 she brought back under her apron. They calculated the 
 days when she could have only the empty cupboard to look 
 at. They knew how thick the dust lay in her home, how 
 many dirty plates were left lying about ; they were acquain- 
 ted with each sign of the growing neglect which comes in 
 the train of misery and idleness. And her dresses too, disgust- 
 ing tatters which no rag-picker even would have handled! 
 Ah ! she was nicely rigged out nowadays was that beautiful 
 blonde, that good-for-nothing wench who had once given 
 herself such airs in her lovely blue shop. And it was to this 
 that the love of finery and guttling brought one ! 
 
 Gervaise, who had an idea of the way in which they 
 spoke of her, would at first take her shoes off, and apply 
 her ear to their door ; but the rug prevented her from hear- 
 ing. She only caught them one day calling her * Puffy,' on 
 account, no doubt, of the circumstance that her figure re- 
 mained a full one, in spite of the semi-starvation which was 
 emptying her skin. However, it didn't matter — she was 
 heartily sick of them. Just to avoid remarks she con- 
 tinued speaking to them, though she could expect nothing 
 but unpleasantness from such horrid creatures. Still she no 
 longer had strength enough to give them back as much 
 \^ they gave her. And besides, what did she care ? She 
 merely wanted her own ease — to sit in a heap, and twirl 
 her thumbs, and only stir when it was a question of some 
 amusement. 
 
 One Saturday Coupeau had promised to take her to the 
 circus. To see ladies galloping along on horses and jump- 
 ing through paper hoops — that, at all events, was something 
 
MISERY 321 
 
 for which one might well disturb oneself. Coupeau as it 
 happened had just worked for a fortnight right off, so 
 he could well spare a couple of francs. They had also 
 arranged to have a bite together at some eating-house, for 
 Nana had to work till very late that evening at her employer's 
 on account of some pressing order. But at seven o'clock 
 there was no Coupeau ; and at eight o'clock he had still not 
 returned. Gervaise was furious. Her drunkard was cer- 
 tainly squandering his earnings with his mates in the dram- 
 shops of the neighbourhood. She had washed a cap, and 
 had been slaving since the morning over the holes of an old 
 dress, for she wished to look decent. At last, towards nine 
 o'clock, with her stomach empty and her face purple with 
 rage, she decided to go down and hunt up Coupeau. 
 
 * Is it your husband you want ? ' called Madame Boche, 
 seeing how furious she looked. ' He's at old Colombe's. 
 Boche has just been having some cherry brandy with him.' 
 
 Gervaise thanked the doorkeeper, and stalked stiffly along 
 the pavement with the determination of flying at Coupeau's 
 eyes. Some fine rain was falling which made her walk still 
 more unpleasant. However, when she reached the * Assom- 
 moir,' a fear of receiving the drubbing herself, should she 
 badger her old man, suddenly calmed her and made her 
 prudent. The shop was ablaze, the gas all alight, its flames 
 as brilliant as suns, while the bottles and jars illumined the 
 walls with their various colours. Gervaise remained there 
 for an instant, stretching her neck, her eyes close to the 
 window, peering between two bottles placed there for show. 
 She could see Coupeau right at the back ; he sat with some 
 mates of his at a little zinc table. They all looked vague 
 and blue in the tobacco smoke curling around them ; and, as 
 one could not hear their voices, it seemed funny to see them 
 gesticulating, with chins thrust forward and eyes starting out 
 of their heads. Good heavens ! was it really possible that 
 men could leave their wives and their homes to shut them- 
 selves up in a den hke that where they were fairly choking ? 
 
 The rain was trickling down Gervaise's neck ; she drew 
 herself up, and went off along the outer Boulevard, wrapt in 
 thought and not daring to enter. Ah well ! Coupeau would 
 have welcomed her in a pleasant way, he who objected to be 
 spied upon ! Besides, it scarcely seemed to her the proper 
 place for a respectable woman. However, beneath the wet 
 trees, a slight shiver passed through her frame, and still 
 
 Y 
 
322 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 hesitating, she began to think that she was going the right 
 way to catch some serious illness. Then twice she retraced 
 her steps and stood before the shop window, close to the 
 glass, annoyed at seeing those beastly drunkards so cosily 
 gathered together out of the rain, and still yelling and drinking. 
 The lights of the * Assommoir ' were reflected in the puddles 
 which gently bubbled beneath the downpour, and Gervaise 
 hurried off and floundered about in them, as soon as ever the 
 door opened and closed with the clang of its brass facings. At 
 length she thought she was really too foolish, and pushing the 
 door open, she walked straight up to the table where Coupeau 
 was seated. After all, it was her husband that she came for, 
 and she had a right to do so, for he had promised to take her to 
 the circus that evening. And if he shouldn't like it, well, so 
 much the worse. She had no desire to melt away like a cake 
 of soap on the pavement. 
 
 * Hallo I it's you, old woman 1 ' exclaimed the zinc-worker, 
 half choked by a chuckle. * Ah 1 that's a good joke, that 
 is I Isr't it a good joke now ? ' 
 
 They all laughed, My-Boots, Bibi-the- Smoker, and Salted- 
 Chops, otherwise Drink- without-Thirst. Yes, they all thought 
 it a good joke, but they did not explain why. Gervaise re- 
 mained standing, feeling rather bewildered. Then, as Coupeau 
 appeared to her to be in a pleasant humour, she ventured to 
 say : ' You know we've somewhere to go. We must look 
 sharp. We shall still be in time to see something.' 
 
 * But really I can't get up, I'm glued, oh 1 I'm not joking/ 
 resumed Coupeau, who was still laughing. * Try, just to 
 satisfy yourself ; pull my arm, with all your strength, dash 
 it ! come, harder than that, tug away, up with it I You see, 
 it's that idiot, old Colombe, who's screwed me to the seat.' 
 
 Gervaise had humoured him at the game ; and, when she 
 let go of his arm, the comrades thought the joke so good, 
 that they wriggled against one another, braying and rubbing 
 their shoulders like donkeys who have been thrashed. The 
 zinc-worker's mouth was distended by such a laugh, that one 
 could see down his throat. 
 
 ' You big noodle ! ' said he at length, * you can surely sit 
 down for a minute. We're better here than splashing about 
 outside. Well ! yes, I didn't come home, I had business to 
 attend to. Though you may pull a long face, it won't alter 
 matters. Make some room, you others.' 
 
 ' If madame would accept my knees, she would find them 
 softer than the seat,' gallantly said My-Boots. 
 
MISERY 323 
 
 Gervaise, not wishing to attract attention, took a chair 
 and installed herself at a short distance from the table. Then 
 she looked at what the men were drinking; it was some 
 powerful spirit, which shone like gold in their glasses. A 
 little of it had been spilt, and into this Salted-Chops, other- 
 wise Drink-without-Thirst, dipped his finger whilst talking, 
 and traced the name of * Eulalie ' in big letters upon the 
 table. Then Gervaise noticed that Bibi- the- Smoker had 
 become shockingly aged and worn, a mere bag of bones. 
 My-Boot's nose, however, was in full bloom, like a purple 
 Burgundy dahlia. And all four of them were very dirty, 
 with filthy beards bristling like bass brushes, ragged blouses, 
 and black paws, the nails of which were all in mourning. 
 Nevertheless, it was allowable to be seen in their company, 
 for though they had been lushing ever since six o'clock, they 
 still behaved themselves, and were, in fact, but just merry. 
 At the counter Gervaise saw two others who were so intoxi- 
 cated that they tossed the contents of their glasses under 
 their chins and soaked their shirts, fancying all the time that 
 they were rinsing their mouths. 
 
 Meanwhile, stout old Colombo, thrusting out his huge 
 arms, the peace-preservers of his establishment, quietly served 
 the rounds of drinks. The atmosphere was very warm, and 
 the tobacco smoke ascended amidst the blinding glare of the 
 gas, rolling about like dust, steeping the customers in a slowly 
 thickening mist, whence came a deafening babel of cracked 
 voices, chnking glasses, oaths and blows which resounded 
 like detonations. Thus Gervaise pulled a very wry face, for 
 such a scene is hardly a pleasant one for a woman, especially 
 when she is not used to it. Moreover, her lungs were op- 
 pressed, her eyes smarted, and her head already felt heavy 
 from the alcoholic fumes with which the whole place reeked. 
 Then she suddenly became conscious of something still more 
 unpleasant in her rear ; and on turning round she beheld the 
 still, the fuddling machine quivering and rumbling with its 
 heUish brewing as it worked away beneath the glass roof of 
 the narrow courtyard. Of an evening, the copper looked more 
 mournful than ever, lighted only on its rounded surface by 
 one big red star ; and the shadow which the apparatus cast 
 on the wall at the back, suggested some horrible figm'es, 
 bodies with tails, monsters opening their jaws as if ready to 
 B wallow everybody up. 
 
 * I say, Mother Talk-too-much, don't make any of your 
 
 y2 
 
324 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 grimaces here ! * cried Coupeau to his wife. * To Chaillot, 
 you know, with all wet blankets ! What'll you drink ? ' 
 
 * Nothing, of course,' replied the laundress. * I haven't 
 dined yet.' 
 
 * Well ! that's all the more reason for having a glass ; a 
 drop of something keeps one up.* 
 
 Then, as she still retained her glum expression, My-Boots 
 again did the gallant. 
 
 * Madame must Uke sweet things,' he murmured. 
 
 * I hke men who don't get drunk,' she retorted, getting 
 angry. * Yes, I like people who bring their earnings home, 
 and keep their word when they make promises.' 
 
 * Ah ! so that's what upsets you ? ' said the zinc-worker, 
 without ceasing to chuckle. * You want your share. Then, 
 why do you refuse a drink, you goose ? Take it, it's always 
 so much to your profit.* 
 
 She looked at him fixedly, in a grave manner, a wrinkle 
 meantime streaking her forehead as with a black line. And 
 she slowly answered : * Why, you're right, it's a good idea. 
 In that way, we can drink up the coin together.' 
 
 Bibi- the- Smoker rose from his seat to fetch her a glass of 
 aniseed, and she drew her chair to the table. Whilst she was 
 sipping the hquor, a recollection suddenly flashed upon her : 
 she remembered the brandied plum which she had one day 
 taken with Coupeau, near the door, at the time when he was 
 courting her. She had then been wont to leave the spirit in 
 which the fruit Vv'as preserved. But now, here she was, going 
 back to liqueurs ! Oh ! she knew herself well, she had not a bit 
 of will. One need only have given her a little push to send her 
 wallowing in the very midst of drink. The aniseed even 
 seemed to her very nice, though perhaps rather too sweet. 
 And she sipped it, whilst listening to Salted- Chops, otherwise 
 Drink-without- Thirst, who had begun to talk about his sweet- 
 heart, fat Eulalie, a fish hawker. She was a cunning one 
 and no mistake ; she could scent him in the dram-shops in a 
 jiffy whilst she pushed her truck along the streets. It was 
 useless for his pals to warn and hide him, she almost 
 always caught him — why, only the day before, she had flung 
 a plaice at his nose, just to teach him not to miss the work- 
 shop. 
 
 That, now, was really funny ! Bibi-the-Smoker and 
 My-Boots, half- splitting with merriment, began to slap the 
 shoulders of Gervaise, who on her side laughed, as though 
 
MISERY 325 
 
 in spite of herself, and they advised her to take a lesson from 
 Eulalie, and bring her irons, and iron Coupeau's ears for him 
 on the zinc counters of the dram-shops. 
 
 * Ah, well ! ' cried Coupeau, suddenly turning his wife's 
 empty glass upside down, * you get rid of it pretty quickly. 
 Just look, you others, she doesn't take long over it, does she ? ' 
 
 * Will madame take another ? ' asked Salted- Chops, other- 
 wise Drink-without-Thirst. 
 
 No, she had had enough. Yet she hesitated. The aniseed 
 seemed to have a sickening effect. She would rather have 
 taken something stiffer to keep her hungry stomach quiet. 
 And she glanced askance at the fuddling machine near her. 
 The sight of that horrible pot-bellied cauldron, with its long 
 twisted nose, sent a shiver down her back, a commingling of 
 fear and desire. You might have thought the thing to be 
 some round fat witch slowly throwing off liquid fire. A fine 
 poison source it was, a brazen abomination which ought to 
 have been hidden away in a cellar ! But all the same 
 Gervaise would have liked to poke her nose inside it, sniff 
 and taste its contents, even if in doing so the skin should peel 
 off her burnt tongue like the rind off an orange. 
 
 ' What's that you're drinking ? ' she slyly asked the men, 
 her eyes brightening as she noticed the beautiful golden colour 
 of the liquid in their glasses. 
 
 * That, old woman,' answered Coupeau, * is papa Colombe's 
 camphor. Now don't be stupid, we'll just let you taste it.' 
 
 And when they had brought her a glass of the ' vitriol,' 
 and her jaws contracted at the first mouthful, the zinc- worker 
 resumed, slapping his thighs : ' Eh ! it tickles your gullet I 
 Come, drink it off at a go. Each glassful cheats the doctor 
 of six francs.' 
 
 At the second glass, Gervaise no longer felt the hunger 
 which had been tormenting her. She was now good friends 
 again with Coupeau, no longer angry with him for having 
 failed to keep his word. They would go to the circus some 
 other day ; after all it was not so funny to see a lot of 
 mountebanks galloping about on horses. There was no rain 
 inside old Colombe's, and if the money did go in brandy, one 
 at least had it in one's body ; one drank it limpid, glittering 
 like beautiful Hquid gold. Ah ! she was ready to send the 
 whole world to blazes ! Life didn't offer so many pleasures ; 
 besides, it seemed to her some consolation to have her share 
 in squandering the cash. As she was comfortable, why shouldn't 
 
326 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 she remain ? There might be a discharge of artillery ; 
 for her part she never cared to stir, once she had settled 
 down. She was simmering as it were in what seemed to her 
 a pleasant warmth, her bodice clinging to her back, whilst a 
 sensation of comfort stole through her, benumbing her hmbs. 
 She laughed all to herself, her elbows resting on the table, 
 and a vacant look in her eyes, as she gazed, highly amused, 
 at two customers, a fat heavy fellow and a dwarf, who sat at 
 a neighbouring table, so very drunk that they were actually 
 kissing one another. Yes, she laughed at the * Assommoir,' 
 at old Colombe's full moon face, at the customers smoking, 
 yelling and spitting, and at the big gas flames which set the 
 looking-glasses and bottles of liqueurs fairly ablaze. The 
 smell no longer inconvenienced her; on the contrary, it 
 tickled her nose, and she thought it very pleasant. Her eyes 
 closed somewhat whilst she breathed very slowly, but without 
 the least feeling of oppression, enjoying indeed the gentle 
 slumber which was overcoming her. Then, after her third 
 glass, she let her chin fall on her hands, and saw nothing 
 apart from Coupeau and his^mates, with whom she remained 
 cheek by jowl, warmed by their breath, and gazing at their 
 dirty beards as though she were counting the hairs. They 
 were very drunk by this time. My-Boots, his pipe still 
 between his teeth, was drivelling with the dumb grave air of 
 a dozing ox. Bibi-the-Smoker was telling how he emptied 
 a quart bottle at a draught, while Salted-Chops, otherwise 
 Drink- without-Thirst, went to fetch the wheel of fortune from 
 the counter, in order to play Coupeau for drinks. 
 
 * Two hundred 1 You're lucky ; you get the high numbers 
 every time.' 
 
 The needle of the wheel grated, and the figure of Fortune, 
 a big red woman placed under glass, revolved and revolved, 
 until it looked like a mere round splotch, similar to a wme 
 stain. 
 
 * Three hundred and fifty, you blooming lascar 1 Ah ! 
 dash it I I sha'n't play any more ! ' 
 
 Then Gervaise amused herself with the wheel of fortune. 
 She guzzled like a fish and began to call My Boots her * son.' 
 Close to her, the fuddling machine continued working, 
 murmuring like an underground stream ; and she despaired 
 of ever stopping and exhausting it, filled as she was with 
 dark anger against it, experiencing a longing to spring upon 
 it as upon some animal, kick it with her heels and stave it 
 
MISERY 327 
 
 in. Then everything became confused to her eyes, she seemed 
 to see the machine moving, and she felt herself clutched by 
 its copper claws, whilst the stream now flowed along through 
 her own body. 
 
 And afterwards the room danced round, and the gas flames 
 darted about like shooting stars. Gervaise was drunk. She 
 heard a furious wrangle between Salted-Chops, otherwise 
 Drink-without-Thirst, and that rascal Colombe. There was 
 a thief of a landlord for you who wanted one to pay for what 
 one had not had I They were not at Bondy surely.' Suddenly, 
 however, there came a scuffle. Yells rang out, and tables 
 were upset. It was old Colombe, who was turning the party 
 into the street, without the slightest hesitation, and in the 
 twinkling of an eye. From outside the door they railed at 
 him, and called him scoundrel. It stiU rained, and an icy 
 breeze was blowing. Gervaise lost Coupeau, found him, and 
 then lost him again. She wished to go home, and felt the 
 shop fronts to ascertain her way. The sudden darkness sur- 
 prised her immensely. So much so that at the corner of the 
 Kue des Poissonniers, she sat down in the gutter thinking she 
 was at the wash-house. The water which flowed past made 
 her head swim, and she felt very ill. At length, however, she 
 reached the house and passed stiffly before the doorkeepers' 
 room, where she recognised both the Lorilleux and the 
 Poissons who, sitting at the table, made grimaces of disgust 
 at seeing her in such a sorry state. 
 
 On the other hand, she never remembered how she 
 managed to climb the six flights of stairs. Just as she was 
 turning into the passage at the top, little Lalie, who heard 
 her footstep, hastened to meet her, opening her arms caress- 
 ingly, and saying with a smile : * Madame Gervaise, papa has 
 not come back yet ; just come and see my children sleeping. 
 Oh ! they look so pretty.* 
 
 But, at sight of the laundress's besotted face Lalie trembled 
 and drew back. She knew that brandy-laden breath, those 
 pale eyes, and that twisted mouth. And Gervaise stumbled 
 past without uttering a word, whilst the child, from the 
 threshold of her room, watched her with her dark, grave and 
 Bilent glance. 
 
 * The forest of Bondy was formerly famous for foot-pads. 
 
328 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 XI 
 
 NANA 
 
 Nana was growing up and becoming wayward. At jBfteen 
 years old she had expanded like a calf, white skinned and 
 very fat, so plump indeed that you might have called her a 
 ball. Yes, such she was — fifteen years old, with all her teeth 
 and no need of stays. And she had a hussy's phiz, dipped in 
 milk, a skin as soft as peach rind, a funny nose, pink lips and 
 eyes sparkling like tapers. Her pile of fair hair, the colour 
 of fresh oats, seem.ed to have scattered gold dust, freckle-like, 
 over her temples, giving her brow a sunny crown. Ah ! she 
 was a pretty doll, as the Lorilleux said, childish still in some 
 respects, but with shoulders as rounded as those of a full- 
 grown woman. One bad habit which she had acquired 
 was that of protruding the tip of her tongue between her 
 white teeth. No doubt on seeing herself in looking-glasses 
 she had fancied that she was pretty like this ; and so all day 
 long she would poke her tongue out of her mouth in view of 
 improving her appearance. 
 
 'Hide your lying tongue,' cried her mother, to whom, 
 however, she paid so little heed that Coupeau often had to 
 intervene, banging his fist, swearing and shouting : ' Make 
 haste and draw that red rag inside ! ' 
 
 At the same time, Nana showed herself very coquettish. 
 She bought such tight boots that she suffered martyrdom in 
 St. Crispin's prison, and if folks chanced to question her, 
 when she now and again turned purple with pain, she 
 answered that she had the face-ache, so as to avoid con- 
 fessing her coquetry. When bread was lacking at home, it 
 was, of course, difficult for her to trick herself out. But she 
 accomplished miracles, brought ribbons back from the work- 
 shop, and embellished her dirty dresses with bows and puffs. 
 The summer was the season of her triumphs : every Sunday 
 in a cambric dress which had cost her six francs, she filled 
 the whole neighbourhood of the Goutte-d'Or with her fair 
 beauty. She became known from the outer Boulevards to 
 the Fortifications, and from the Chaussee de Clignancourt to 
 the Grande Eue of La Chapelle. Folks called her ' the little 
 pullet,' and really she was as tender and fresh-looking as a 
 chicken. 
 
NANA 329 
 
 One gown in particular suited lier to perfection. It was a 
 white one covered with pink spots, very simply cut and with- 
 out trimmings. The skirt, which was rather short, gave her 
 feet full play. The loose open sleeves allowed her arms to 
 be seen to the elbows. When she went out she often pinned 
 the upper part of her bodice back heart-wise, in view of show- 
 ing her snowy neck. But this she did not do at home, fearful 
 as she was of a clout from father Coupeau. She halted for 
 the purpose in a dark corner of the staircase. And she had 
 no other adornment save a pink ribbon tied round her fair 
 hair, with its ends waving over the nape of her neck. Arranged 
 like this, she looked as fresh as a nosegay, and exhaled all 
 the perfume of youth. 
 
 At this period of her life Sundays were her great days for 
 meeting the crowd. She waited the whole week, quivering 
 with little longings and stifling, impatient for fresh air, for a 
 stroll in the sunlight among the Faubourg crowd, rigged out 
 in its Sunday best. Early in the morning she began to 
 dress, lingering for hours in her shift in front of the bit of 
 glass hanging over the chest of drawers ; and her mother 
 often grew angry, and asked her if she hadn't nearly finished 
 walking about in such scanty attire. Nevertheless, she 
 would quietly continue plastering corkscrew ringlets over her 
 forehead with sugared water, or sewing buttons on her boots, 
 or else mending a rent in her dress. 
 
 Ah ! she was just the ticket like that ! said father Coupeau, 
 sneering and jeering at her. With her dishevelled locks she 
 looked a real Magdalen in despair ! She might have turned 
 ' savage woman ' at some fair ! Just dress yourself, he used 
 to say, and let me eat my bread I Withal she was adorable, 
 white and dainty under her overhanging golden fleece, yet at 
 times losing temper to such a point that her skin turned 
 quite pink. She dared not answer her father, but would cut 
 her thread with her teeth with such a hasty, furious jerk that 
 her whole figure quivered. 
 
 Immediately after dejeuner she tripped downstairs into the 
 courtyard. The house was somnolent with the warm peace- 
 fulness of Sunday, the workshops were closed, the rooms 
 yawned, with open windows throi g 1 which one espied tables 
 already laid for the evening meal, and awaiting households 
 which for the nonce were picking up appetites on the Fortifica- 
 tions. One woman on the thiid floor would occupy her time 
 in cleaning her room, rolUng her bed about, disturbing all her 
 
330 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 furniture and singing the same song for hours in a soft tear- 
 ful voice. Then in the general hush, in the very centre of 
 the empty, echoing courtyard, Nana, PauHne and other big 
 girls would engage in games of battledore and shuttlecock. 
 There were five or six o them who had sprouted up together, 
 and become the young queens of the house. Whenever a 
 man crossed the courtyard shrill laughter rang out and a 
 rustle of starched skirts arose like a gust of wind. Above 
 the girls flamed the holiday atmosphere, hot and heavy, 
 drowsily lazy as it were, and whitened by the dust scattered 
 by all the promenaders. 
 
 But the games were only an excuse to enable the girls to 
 make off. AH at once stillness would fall upon the house. 
 The girls had glided into the street and made for the outer 
 Boulevards. There, linked arm in arm and stretching right 
 across the pavement, they walked along, the whole six of 
 them, clad in light colours, with ribbons round their bare 
 heads. With bright eyes, darting stealthy side glances 
 hither and thither, they took note of everything and every- 
 one, and constantly threw back their heads to laugh and 
 display their rounded chins and white necks. Their line 
 broke at moments of particular gaiety provoked by some 
 passing hunchback or some queer old woman waiting for her 
 dog ; and then some of them remained in the rear, and had 
 to be dragged forward by the others. And meantime they 
 curvetted and pranced so as to make their dresses rustle and 
 attract general attention. The whole street belonged to 
 them ; right through the pale and slow-paced crowd, between 
 the slim trees of the Boulevard, they ran on in straggling 
 order from the Barriere Eochechouart to the Barriere Saint- 
 Denis, pushing against the people they met, winding in zig- 
 zag fashion through groups of bystanders, turning round and 
 exchanging loud remarks amidst fusee-like laughter. And 
 their wavy gowns left in their trail some of the insolence of 
 youth ; they made a display of themselves in the open air, in 
 the broad sunlight, as coarse in manners and language as the 
 very lowest, and yet desirable and tender like virgins return- 
 ing with moist necks from the bath. 
 
 Nana generally placed herself in the centre, with her pink 
 dress all aglow in the sunlight. She gave her arm to Pauline, 
 whose gown, with its yellow flowers on a white ground, 
 glared as it were with little flames. And as these two were 
 the tallest of the band, the most womanlike and impudent of 
 
NANA 33t 
 
 all, they led the troop, and drew themselves up pertly at every 
 glance or complimentary remark. The others — the younger 
 ones — extended to right and left, puffing themselves out in 
 order to appear less childish. At heart Nana and Pauline 
 nursed some very intricate schemes of coquetry. If they ran 
 till they were out of breath, it was to show their white 
 stockings and make the ribbons of their chignons wave in the 
 breeze. And when they stopped, pretending to suffocate, 
 with bosoms palpitating, there was certainly one of their 
 sweethearts, some young blood of the neighbourhood, near 
 by. Then they walked on with languid steps, whispering 
 laughingly to each other and watching stealthily from under 
 their eyelids. They were especially eager for these chance 
 meetings amidst all the josthng on the pavement. Big 
 fellows in Sunday attire, jackets and felt hats, detained them 
 for a moment at the edge of the gutter, bantering and seeking 
 to squeeze their waists. Young workmen, just in the twenties, 
 in slovenly grey blouses, talked slowly to them, with arms 
 crossed, while puffing the smoke of their short pipes into 
 their faces. But all this was of no importance ; these chaps 
 had sprouted up on the pavement at the same time as them- 
 selves. Still amongst the lot they had already made their 
 choice. PauHne was always meeting Madame Gaudron's 
 son, a seventeen-year-old carpenter, who treated her to apples ; 
 and from one end of the street to the other Nana could dis- 
 tinguish young Victor Fauconnier, the washerwoman's son, 
 with whom she exchanged kisses in dark corners. But things 
 did not go any further ; they were not simple Susans. Only 
 the talk was extremely coarse. 
 
 Then, when the sun set, the great delight of these hussies 
 was to stop and look at the mountebanks. Conjurors and 
 strong men made their appearance and spread threadbare 
 carpets on the ground. Loungers assembled, and a circle was 
 formed, whilst the mountebank in the centre tried his muscles 
 under his faded tights. Nana and Pauline would remain 
 standing for hours in the thickest of the crowd. Their pretty 
 fresh-looking dresses were creased and tumbled by long rubbing 
 against men's coats and dirty blouses. Their bare arms, bare 
 necks, and bare heads grew hot amid all the foul breath of 
 those around them, the offensive odour of wine and perspira- 
 tion combined. Yet they laughed with enjoyment, in nowise 
 disgusted, but rather all the rosier, as if they had been on 
 theii native dungheap. Around them rang out coarse words — 
 
332 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 the horrid reroarks of drunken men. But, 'twas their own 
 language, they knew it well, and they simply turned round 
 with a smile, not a flush even tinging their satin-like 
 skins. 
 
 The only thing that vexed them was to meet their fathers, 
 especially when the latter had been drinking. So they watched 
 and warned one another. 
 
 ' I say Nana,' Pauline would suddenly cry out, ' here comea 
 daddy Coupeau 1 * 
 
 * Eh ! he isn't drunk, oh ! dear no, not at all I ' said Nana, 
 greatly bothered. * I shall cut and run, for I don't want a 
 shaking. Hallo ! there he stumbles ! Good Lord, if he 
 would only break his neck I ' 
 
 At other times, when Coupeau came straight towards her 
 without giving her time to run off, she crouched down, made 
 herself small and muttered : * Just you hide me, you others. 
 He's looking for me, and he promised he'd knock my head 
 off if he caught me ganging about.' 
 
 Then, when the drunkard had passed them, she drew her- 
 self up again, and all the others followed her with bursts of 
 laughter. He'll find her — he will— he won't ! It was a real 
 game at hide and seek. One day, however, Boche came after 
 Pauline and caught her by both ears, and Coupeau drove 
 Nana to the house by dint of kicking. 
 
 When the day drew to a close, they took just a last turn and 
 then went homeward in the livid twilight, through the tired 
 crowd. The dust had thickened in the atmosphere, paling the 
 heavy sky. The Rue de la Goutte-d'Or might have been thought 
 a corner of some provincial town with its housewives gossiping 
 on the doorsteps, and their bursts of chatter disturbing the 
 warm silence of the neighbourhood through which no vehicle 
 passed. The girls stopped for a minute in the courtyard, took 
 up their battledores and tried to make folks believe that they 
 hadn't stirred from the spot. Then they went upstairs con- 
 cocting some story which they often had no need to repeat, 
 as, for instance, when they found their parents busy in cuffing 
 one another, because the soup was over salted, or not cooked 
 enough. 
 
 Nana was now a workgirl, and earned forty sous a day at 
 Titreville's place in the Rue du Caire, where she had served 
 as apprentice. The Coupeaus had kept her there, in order 
 that she might remain under the eye of Madame Lerat, who 
 had been forewoman in the workroom for ten years past. Of 
 
NANA 333 
 
 a morning, when her mother had glanced at the cuckoo clock, 
 the girl went off by herself, looking very pretty in her old 
 black dress, which was both too narrow and too short for her ; 
 and Madame Lerat had to note the hour of her arrival and 
 tell it to Gervaise. She was allowed twenty minutes to go 
 from the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or to the Rue du Caire, and this 
 was ample, for young hussies like her are as swift of foot as 
 any roe. At times she arrived to the minute, but so red and 
 so out of breath that she must certainly have sped from the 
 Barriere in ten minutes, after dawdling on the road before- 
 hand. More usually, however, she was seven or eight minutes 
 late ; and then she behaved most coaxingly towards her aunt 
 until night time, looking at her with supphcating eyes and 
 thus trying to touch her and induce her to tell nothing. 
 Madame Lerat who understood youthful vagaries, kept the 
 truth from the Coupeaus, but she rebuked Nana with no end 
 of chatter, talking of her responsibility and of the dangers to 
 which a young girl was exposed in the streets of Paris, where 
 horrid men were ever on the prowl. 
 
 * Do you see,' she repeated to her niece, * you must tell me 
 everything. I'm so fond of you that if any misfortune should 
 befall you, I should go and throw myself in the Seine. Do 
 you hear, my httle puss ? If anybody speaks to you, you 
 must repeat everything to me without omitting a word — eh ? 
 Has anyone said anything to you as yet ? Will you swear 
 it?' 
 
 Nana thereupon laughed, twisting her mouth in a funny 
 manner. No, no, people didn't talk to her. She walked too 
 fast, and besides what could anybody have to say to her? 
 She had nothing to do with strangers ; and putting on the 
 air of a simpleton, she explained how it happened that she 
 was late ; she had stopped to look at some pictures in the 
 shop windows, or else she had accompanied Pauline to hear a 
 story she knew. Folks could follow her if they did not beUeve 
 her : she always kept to the pavement on the left-hand side ; 
 and sped along like a vehicle, overtaking all the other girls 
 and passing them by. To tell the truth, Madame Lerat had 
 one day come upon her in the Rue du Petit-Carreau, while 
 she was laughing with three damsels of her own class, at a 
 man who stood shaving himself at a window ; but when her 
 aunt reproached her for this she turned quite angry and vowed 
 that she had just been to the baker's round the corner to buy 
 a ha'penny roll. 
 
334 THE DRAM-SROP 
 
 * Oh I I watch, you needn't fear,' said the widow to the 
 Coupeaus. * I will answer to you for her as I would answer 
 for myself. And rather than let any scoundrel approach her, 
 why I'd step between them.' 
 
 The workroom at Titreville's was a large first-floor apart- 
 ment, in the centre of which stood a .broad work-table on 
 trestles. Round the four walls, the plaster of which was 
 visible in parts where the dirty, yellowish grey paper had 
 been torn away, there were several stands covered with old 
 cardboard boxes, parcels, and discarded patterns, which lay 
 forgotten there under a thick coat of dust. The gas had left 
 what appeared to be a daub of soot on the ceiling. There 
 were two windows which opened so widely that, without 
 leaving the work-table, the girls could see people passing 
 along the pavement over the way. 
 
 Madame Lerat always arrived the first, in view of setting 
 an example. Then for a quarter of an hour the door swayed to 
 and fro, and all the workgirls straggled in, perspiring and 
 with tumbled hair. One July morning Nana arrived the last, 
 as very often happened. * Ah me I ' she said, ' it won't be a 
 pity when I've a carriage of my own.' And without even 
 taking off her head gear, a * caloquet ' which she called her 
 cap, and which she was weary of patching up, she approached 
 the window, and leant out, looking to right and left to sea 
 what was going on in the street. 
 
 'What are you looking at?' asked Madame Lerat sus- 
 piciously. * Did your father come with you ? ' 
 
 *No, you may be sure of that,' answered Nana coolly, 
 ' I'm looking at nothing — I'm looking — that it's awfully hot. 
 It's enough to make anyone ill to force them to run Hke 
 that.' 
 
 It was indeed a stifling morning. The workgirls had 
 drawn down the Venetian blinds, between which they could 
 spy into the street ; and they at last began their work seated 
 on either side of the table, at the upper end of which was 
 Madame Lerat. They were eight in number, each with her 
 pot of glue, tools, and curHng stands in front of her. On the 
 work-table lay a jumble of wire, reels, cotton wool, green and 
 brown paper, leaves and petals cut out of silk, satin, or velvet. 
 In the centre, in the neck of a large decanter, one flower-girl 
 had thrust a little penny nosegay which had been fading on 
 her breast since the previous day. 
 
 * Ah 1 do you know,' said L^onie, a pretty girl with dark 
 
NANA 335 
 
 hair, who was leaning over her stand and curling the petals 
 of a rose, ' it seems that poor Caroline is awfully miserable 
 with that fellow who used to wait for her every evening.' 
 
 Nana, who was cutting some narrow bands of green 
 paper, declared that the news in nowise surprised her, 
 for the fellow in question was well known for his fickleness ; 
 only she did not employ the word fickleness — a very coarse 
 expression fell from her hps instead. 
 
 An undercurrent of gaiety then spread through the work- 
 room, and Madame Lerat found it needful to make a show of 
 severity. She screwed up her nose and muttered : ' You are 
 nice in your language, my dear, and no mistake. I shall tell 
 your father of it, and we'll see if he's pleased.' 
 
 At this Nana puffed out her cheeks as if striving to repress 
 a laugh. Her father, indeed 1 Why, he used far worse lan- 
 guage himself. But all at once Leonie swiftly whispered : 
 ' Eh I take care ; here comes madame I ' 
 
 And indeed Madame Titreville, a tall withered-looking 
 woman, who as a rule remained in the shop downstairs, now 
 entered the workroom. The girls lived in constant fear of 
 her, for she never joked. She went slowly round the table, 
 over which each of them, silent and active, now bent her head. 
 And after calling one girl a fool, she made her begin a daisy 
 over again. Then she went off, as stiffly as she had come. 
 
 * Bow ! wow ! ' repeated Nana in the midst of a general 
 growl. 
 
 • Young ladies, really, young ladies ! ' said Madame Lerat, 
 striving to assume an air of severity. ' You will compel me 
 to adopt measures ' 
 
 But she was not listened to, for she was scarcely feared at 
 all. She showed herself far too tolerant, pleasantly diverted 
 as it were by associating with those girls whose eyes were full 
 of merriment. She would take them aside to question them 
 about their sweethearts, and even tell them their fortunes 
 with cards, when a corner of the work-table happened to be 
 unencumbered. Hard of skin though she was, built like a 
 gendarme, she nevertheless quivered with delight when any 
 amorous subject was broached. The only thing that she 
 objected to was plain words ; but provided plain words were 
 not used, anything might be insinuated. 
 
 To tell the truth, Nana perfected her education in nice 
 style in that workroom ! No doubt she was badly inclined 
 already ; but this was the finishing stroke — associating with 
 
33^ THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 a number of girls worn out with misery and vice. They all 
 hobnobbed and rotted together ; it was a practical application 
 of the story of the basketful of apples when the bad ones 
 slowly rotted those which were sound. No doubt there was 
 some pretence at decency in the presence of strangers ; but 
 in corners, among themselves, the girls whispered coarse 
 remarks as fast as could be managed. Two of them could 
 not remain together for a moment without wriggling with 
 laughter at some impropriety. Then, in the evening they 
 saw each other home ; and confidential revelations — stories 
 calculated to set the hair of respectable people on end — were 
 exchanged on the pavement, delaying the girls and perturbing 
 them amidst all the elbowing crowd. Moreover, the atmO' 
 sphere of the workroom itself was bad for those who like 
 Nana had hitherto kept from stumbling. The dissolute girls 
 brought with them something of the shameless lives they led, 
 the subtle intoxication and languor of vice, a spirit of perver- 
 sion. In the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or her degrading environ- 
 ment had taught Nana much, and her subsequent companion- 
 ship in the Rue du Caire was like practice following precept. 
 The place was akin to some hot-house where the seeds of 
 vice once sown were forced to sprout and blossom. 
 
 A few minutes' quiet followed Madame Titreville's depar- 
 ture from the workroom. Then Nana, exclaiming, ' Oh ! it's 
 hot enough to make one stifle,' approached a window as 
 if to draw the bhnd farther down ; but instead of doing so 
 she leant forward, and again looked out both to the right and 
 the left. 
 
 At the same moment Leonie, who had been watching a 
 man stationed on the foot pavement over the way, exclaimed : 
 * What's that old fellow about ? He's been spying here for 
 the last quarter of an hour.' 
 
 ' Some scoundrel or other,' said Madame Lerat. ' Nana, 
 just come and sit down ! I forbade you to remain at the 
 window.' 
 
 Nana again took up the violet stems which she had to 
 roll, and the whole workroom turned its attention to the man 
 in question. He was a well-dressed, frock-coated individual, 
 and looked about fifty years of age. He had a pale face, very 
 serious and dignified in expression, and framed with a well- 
 trimmed grey beard. He remained for an hour or so in front 
 of a herbahst's shop with his eyes fixed on the Venetian blinds 
 of the workroom. The girls indulged in little bursts of 
 
NANA 337 
 
 laughter which died away amid the rattle of the street, and 
 while leaning forward, to all appearance busy with their work, 
 they glanced askance so as not to lose sight of the gentleman. 
 
 * Ah ! ' remarked L^onie, * he wears glasses. He's a 
 swell. He's waiting for Augustine, no doubt.' 
 
 But Augustine, a tall, ugly, fair-haired girl, sourly answered 
 that she did not like old men ; whereupon Madame Lerat, 
 jerking her head, answered with a smile : ' That is a great 
 mistake on your part, my dear ; better be an old man's darling 
 than a young man's slave.* 
 
 At this moment another girl, a plump little body, whispered 
 something in L^onie's ear, and Leonie threw herself back on 
 her chair, seized with a fit of noisy laughter, wriggUng, looking 
 at the gentleman and then laughing all the louder. * That's 
 it. Oh! that's it,* she stammered. 'How horrid that 
 Sophie is 1 ' 
 
 'What did she say? What did she say?' inquisitively 
 inquired all the others. 
 
 L6onie wiped the tears from her eyes without answering. 
 When she became somewhat calmer, she began to curl her 
 flowers again and declared, 'It can't be repeated.' 
 
 The others insisted, but she shook her head, with another 
 outburst of gaiety. Thereupon Augustine, her left-hand 
 neighbour, besought her to whisper it to her ; and finally 
 Leonie consented to do so, with her lips close to Augustine's 
 ear. Augustine threw herself back and wriggled with laughter 
 in her turn. Then she repeated the phrase to a girl next to 
 her, and from ear to ear it travelled round the room amid 
 exclamations and stifled laughter. When they were all of 
 them acquainted with what Sophie had said, they looked at 
 one another and burst out laughing together, although a little 
 flushed and confused. Madame Lerat alone was not in the 
 secret, and felt extremely vexed thereat. * That's very impolite 
 on your part, young ladies,' said she. * It is not right to 
 whisper when other people are present. Something indecorous, 
 no doubt ! Ah I that's becoming, I must say I ' 
 
 Still, she did not venture to ask what it was that Sophie 
 had said, however much she might have longed to learn it. 
 She put on a dignified expression, lowered her head, and 
 silently regaled herself with the chatter of the workgirls. 
 None of them could make the most innocent remark about 
 her work, without the others interpreting it maliciously. And 
 as the gentleman was still waiting over the way they invariably 
 
 z 
 
338 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 contrived to associate him with their allusions. Ah ! his eara 
 must have tingled, and no mistake 1 They ended by saying 
 some very stupid things in their anxiety to be witty. Still, 
 this did not prevent them from finding the pastime a very 
 amusing one. 
 
 Nana fairly revelled in it all. Indeed, she was always at 
 home in anything vicious, even as a fish is at home in water. 
 At the same time, however, she kept on preparing her violet 
 stems with wonderful dexterity, completing each of them in 
 less time than a man would have required to roll a cigarette. 
 She just took up a strip of green paper, and then, presto I the 
 paper glided round the wire ; next came a drop of gum on the 
 top, and the stalk was done — a fresh, delicate bit of greenery, 
 fit to lie on a lady's bosom. The dexterity was in N ana's 
 fingers, her hussy's fingers, which were nimble and supple, 
 double -jointed, as it were. This was all she had been able to 
 learn of the flower-making profession, and all the stems of 
 the workroom were entrusted to her, so skilfully did she 
 prepare them. 
 
 However, the gentleman over the road had at last gone 
 off. The girls grew calmer, and worked away in the sultry 
 heat. When twelve o'clock struck — meal-time — they all 
 shook themselves. Nana, who had hastened to the window 
 again, volunteered to do the errands if they liked. And 
 Leonie ordered a penn'orth of shrimps, Augustine a screw of 
 fried potatoes, Lisa a bunch of radishes, and Sophie a sausage. 
 Then as Nana was going downstairs, Madame Lerat, who 
 thought the girl's partiality for the window that morning 
 rather curious, came down after her with all the speed of her 
 long legs. 
 
 ' Wait a bit,' she said. * I'll go with you, I want to buy 
 something too.' 
 
 But in the passage below she perceived the gentleman, 
 stuck there like a candle, and exchanging glances with Nana, 
 who looked very red. Her aunt at once caught her by the 
 arm and bundled her over the pavement, whilst the gentle- 
 man followed behind. Ah I so he had come after Nana. 
 Well, that was nice ! And thereupon Madame Lerat hastily 
 began to question the girl. Oh ! really, Nana didn't know ; 
 but he had been following her for five days past and she 
 could never poke her nose out of doors without stumbling on 
 him. She believed he was in business ; yes, she had been 
 told he was a manufacturer of bone-buttons. This impressed 
 
NANA 339 
 
 Madame Lerat. She turned round and glanced at the gentle- 
 man out of the corner of her eye. * One can see he's got a 
 well-hned purse,' she muttered. * Listen to me, pussy ; you 
 must tell me everything. You have nothing more to fear 
 now.' 
 
 Whilst speakmg, they hastened on from shop to shop — 
 to the pork butcher's, the fruiterer's, and the roaster's ; and 
 there was soon a pile of errands in greasy paper in their 
 hands. Still they remained amiable, curvetting, laughing 
 gaily and casting bright glances behind them. Even Madame 
 Lerat tried to do the graceful and act the young girl, on ac- 
 count of the button manufacturer who was still following 
 them. *He is very distinguished looking,' she declared aa 
 they returned into the passage. * If he only has honourable 
 views.' Then as they were going upstairs she suddenly 
 seemed to remember something. * By the way, what were 
 the girls whispering to each other — you know, what Sophie 
 said ? ' 
 
 Nana did not make any ceremony. Only she caught 
 Madame Lerat by the neck and forced her to descend a couple 
 of steps, in order to repeat the remark to her in a whisper. 
 Her aunt said nothing, but opened her eyes to their fullest 
 extent and pursed her lips. At all events, she knew what it 
 was now, and no longer itched with curiosity. 
 
 It was a rule with the flower-girls to eat off their knees, 
 so as to avoid messing the work-table. They hastily bolted 
 their food, for eating bothered them, and they preferred to 
 spend the hour allowed for their meal in watching the 
 passers-by out of the window, or indulging in confidential 
 chit-chat in the corners. That day they tried to find out 
 what had become of the gentleman who had waited over the 
 way during the morning, but he had altogether disappeared. 
 Madame Lerat and Nana glanced at each other, but kept 
 their mouths shut. It was already ten minutes past one, and 
 the girls did not seem at all in a hurry to take up their pliers 
 again, when Leonie, with a 'prrrout,'' such as house-painters 
 make use of to call one another, signalled the mistress's 
 approach. And forthwith they flopped down on their chairs 
 and bent their heads over their work. The next moment 
 Madame Titreville came in, and sternly made her usual 
 round. 
 
 From that day forward Madame Lerat regaled herself 
 with her niece's first love adventure. She no longer left her, 
 
 z2 
 
340 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 but accompanied her morning and evening, bringing her 
 responsibility well to the fore. This somewhat annoyed 
 Nana; but all the same she dilated with pride at seeing 
 herself guarded like a treasure, and the talk which she and 
 her aunt carried on as they went along the streets with the 
 button manufacturer in the rear was not of a nature to do 
 her any good. Oh ! her aunt understood the feelings of the 
 heart ; she even compassionated the button manufacturer, 
 that elderly gentleman, who looked so respectable ; for, after 
 all, sentimental feelings are more deeply rooted among people 
 of a certain age. Still she watched. And, yes, he would 
 have to deal with her if he should attempt to speak to her 
 niece. 
 
 One evening, however, she herself approached the gentle- 
 man, and plumply told him that his conduct was most offen- 
 sive. He bowed to her politely, without answering, like an 
 old rogue who was accustomed to hear parents tell him to go 
 about his business. She really could not be cross with him, 
 he was too well-mannered. Then, turning to her niece, came 
 practical advice on love, and all sorts of stories about young 
 women who had repented of their folly, which were told in 
 such a way that, far from doing Nana any good, they only 
 disturbed her the more. 
 
 One day, however, in the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonni^re, 
 the button manufacturer ventured to thrust himself between 
 the aunt and the niece, and speak to them ; whereupon 
 Madame Lerat was so frightened that she told the whole 
 business to her brother. Another row ensued. There was 
 a frightful uproar in the Coupeaus' rooms. To begin with, 
 the zinc-worker gave Nana a hiding. Then he swore at her, 
 called her by every vile name that he could think of, threat- 
 ened to kill her, and finally told her that she'd have to walk 
 straight henceforth, for he'd keep a watch on her himself. 
 And afterwards, whenever she came home of an evening, he 
 would turn her round, search her, and hit her for no reason 
 whatever. On other occasions, when he was in a good 
 humour, he would deride her, make fun of her, call her a 
 bag of bones, and declare that, whatever she herself might 
 think, she was far too unattractive for anybody to come 
 courting her. Beaten for things she did not do, badgered 
 with abominable charges couched in the crudest language, 
 Nana on her side displayed the cunnmg but rancorous sub- 
 mis 3ion of a hunted animal. 
 
NANA 341 
 
 * Why don't you leave her alone ? ' repeated Gervaise, who 
 was more reasonable than her husband. * You will end by 
 sending her to the bad by talking to her about it so much.* 
 
 This was quite true. Treated as she was, Nana felt more 
 and more inclined to flee the paternal roof. Coupeau harped 
 on the subject to such a point that amidst such an environ- 
 ment the best of girls might have stumbled. At last, little 
 by little, Nana acquired some singular habits. One morning 
 her father noticed her rummaging in a paper bag and rubbing 
 something on her face. It was rice powder, which, with 
 perverse taste, she was plastering on her delicate satin-like 
 skin. But Coupeau, asking her if she were a miller's daughter, 
 caught up the paper bag and rubbed it over her face violently 
 enough to graze her. On another occasion she brought some 
 red ribbon home for the purpose of re-trimming her old black 
 hat which she was so ashamed of. And thereupon he asked 
 her in a fury where she had got that ribbon from. She 
 must be either a hussy or a thief, and perhaps both together 1 
 Then on various occasions he caught her with something 
 pretty in her hands — a cornelian ring, a pair of cuffs with 
 lace edges, and finally one of those gilt heart-shaped lockets 
 which girls hang at their necks. Coupeau wanted to destroy 
 everything ; but Nana defended her property frantically. It 
 was hers ; a lady had given it to her, or else she had obtained 
 it from a girl at the workroom in exchange for something 
 else. As for the locket, she asserted that she had found it in 
 the Eue d'Aboukir. When her father crushed it with his 
 heel, she remained erect and pale, with clinched hands, whilst 
 a feeling of revolt nearly incited her to spring upon him and 
 tear something off him. For a couple of years she had 
 dreamed of possessing that locket, and there he had gone 
 and flattened it. No, she found that too hard ; there must 
 be an end of it all ! 
 
 Truth to tell, there was more of a badgering propensity 
 than any impulse of rectitude in the manner by which Coupeau 
 sought to cow and rule Nana. He was often in the wrong, 
 and his injustice exasperated the girl. She at last shirked 
 the workshop, and when the zinc-worker gave her a hiding 
 for playing the truant, she declared that she would not return 
 to Titreville's again, for she was always placed next to 
 Augustine, who was of uncleanly habits and had a foul breath. 
 At this Coupeau took her himself to the Eue du Caire, and 
 requested the mistress of the establishment to make a point 
 
342 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 of placing her next to Augustine, by way of punishment. 
 Every morning for a whole fortnight he took the trouble to 
 come down from the Barriere Poissonniere and escort Nana 
 to the door of the flower-shop. And he remained for five 
 minutes on the footway to make sure that she had gone in. 
 One morning, however, while he was drinking a glass with a 
 friend in a wine-shop in the Rue Saint-Denis, he perceived 
 the hussy darting down the street. During the entire fort- 
 night she had been deceiving him ; instead of going into the 
 workroom, she would cHmb a storey higher, and sit dovm on 
 the stairs, waiting there till he had gone off. When Coupeau 
 began to cast the blame of all this on Madame Lerat, the 
 latter flatly replied that she would not accept it. She had 
 told her niece all that she was bound to tell her to keep her 
 on her guard, and it was not her fault if the girl took to her 
 own courses. She, Madame Lerat, therefore, washed her 
 hands of the whole business, and would not mix herself up 
 in it any further, for she knew that there was scandal- 
 mongering in the family ; yes, folks had charged her with 
 being the one cause of Nana's goings-on, and even of taking 
 a wicked delight in the result of her machinations. However, 
 Coupeau learned from Madame Titreville herself that Nana 
 was led astray by another workgirl, Leonie, who had just 
 given up flower-making to lead a vicious life. As yet, no 
 doubt, there was no great harm done, for Nana merely 
 hankered for pastry and gadding about the streets ; but 
 prompt and proper steps were necessary to stay her in her 
 downward course. 
 
 In the house in the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or everybody 
 seemed to be acquainted with Nana's elderly admirer. Oh ! 
 he remained very polite, even a little timid, but at the same 
 time terribly obstinate, following her about everywhere like 
 an obedient poodle. Sometimes, indeed, he ventured into 
 the courtyard, and one evening Madame Gaudron actually 
 met him on the stairs. Then the Lorilleux declared that it 
 was perfectly scandalous, and that they should move if a stop 
 was not put to it all, for they could no longer go out without 
 finding some admirer waiting for their niece. The Boches, 
 for their part, pitied the poor gentleman, such a respectable 
 one too, who had unhappily fallen in love with a little hussy. 
 It was quite true that he was in business, they had seen his 
 button manufactory on the Boulevard de la Villette, in short 
 he was a decided catch. Thanks to these particulars, all the 
 
NANA 
 
 343 
 
 people of the neighbourhood, even the Lorilleux themselves, 
 began to show the greatest respect for the old fellow, when 
 he passed by, following Nana with pale face, hanging lips, and 
 grey beard becomingly cropped. 
 
 For the first month the girl was greatly amused with him. 
 He was comical and no mistake. His legs were perfect 
 lucifers, and he had no more wool on the top of his head, no 
 hair at all in fact, save four lank locks which fell over his 
 neck, so that she was always tempted to ask him where his 
 hairdresser Uved. 
 
 However, on finding him for ever following her, she no 
 longer thought him funny, but became afraid of him. Often, 
 when she stopped in front of a jeweller's shop, she heard him 
 stammering something behind her. And what he said was 
 true ; she would have liked to have had a cross with a velvet 
 neckband, or a pair of tiny coral earrings, so small, you would 
 have thought them mere drops of blood. Moreover, without 
 any question of jewellery, she could not for ever remain all 
 rags and tatters ; she was tired of decking herself with such 
 refuse as she could pick up in the workrooms of the Rue du 
 Caire, and in particular she had seen quite enough of her 
 hat, that old * caloquet,' on which hung some flowers purloined 
 at Titreville's. Trotting along in the mud, splashed by 
 passing vehicles and dazed by the display in the shop windows, 
 she often longed to be well dressed, to eat in the restaurants, 
 to go to the theatre, to have a home of her own with hand- 
 some furniture. At times she paused, pale with desire, 
 hungering to partake of some of the enjoyment which she 
 elbowed in the crowd on the footways. And at those very 
 moments the old gentleman would whisper in her ear. 
 Yet Nana did not stumble. Fear, revolt, disgust lent her 
 timely strength, vicious though she was. 
 
 However, when the winter arrived, life became impossible 
 at home. The girl received her hiding every night. When 
 her father was tired of beating her, her mother smacked her 
 to teach her how to behave. And very often there was a 
 general set-to ; as soon as one of them began to beat her, the 
 other took her part, and all three of them ended by rolling on 
 the tiled floor amidst the broken crockery. And with all this 
 there were short commons, and they shivered with cold. 
 Whenever the girl bought anything pretty, a bow or a pair 
 of sleeve-links, her parents confiscated the purchase and 
 drank what they could get for it. She had nothing of her 
 
344 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 own, excepting her daily allowance of blows before coiling 
 herself up in her ragged sheet, and shivering under her little 
 black skirt, which she stretched over her by way of a blanket. 
 Ah ! that cursed life could not continue ; she was not going 
 to let it kill her. Her father had long since ceased to count 
 for her; when a father gets drunk as hers did, he is no 
 longer a father, but simply a dirty noxious beast that one 
 longs to get rid of. And now, too, her mother was going 
 down-hill in her esteem, for she drank as well. Yes, Gervaise 
 liked to go and fetch her husband at old Colombe's, in order 
 to be treated ; and she sat down there right willingly with 
 none of that air of disgust which she had assumed on the 
 first occasion. Nowadays she would drain her glass at a 
 gulp, drag her elbows over the tables for hours, and only leave 
 the place when her eyes were starting from her head. 
 
 When Nana passed the * Assommoir ' and saw her mother 
 inside, with her nose in her glass, fuddled amidst all the dis- 
 puting men, she was stirred with frantic anger ; for youth, 
 which has other thoughts uppermost, does not understand 
 drink. On those evenings she beheld a pretty sight : father 
 drunk, mother drunk, a hell of a home that stunk of liquor, 
 and where there was no bread. To tell the truth, a saint 
 would not have stayed in the place. So much the worse if 
 she were some day to take French leave ; her parents might 
 say their mea culpa, and confess that they themselves had 
 forced her out of the house. Herein lies yet another of the 
 consequences of Drink. 
 
 One Saturday when Nana came home she found her father 
 and her mother in a shameful condition. Coupeau, who 
 had fallen across the bed, was snoring. Gervaise, crouch= 
 ing on a chair, was swaying her head, with her eyes vaguely 
 and threateningly staring into vacancy. She had forgotten to 
 warm the dinner — the remains of a stew. A tallow dip which 
 she had neglected to snuff revealed the shameful wretchedness 
 of the room. 
 
 'It's you, is it, you caterpillar?' stammered Gervaise. 
 * Ah well, your father will give you a nice dance.' 
 
 Nana did not answer, but remained quite pale, looking at 
 the cold stove, the table on which no plates were laid, the 
 whole lugubrious hovel in which that pair of sots set the pale 
 horror of their drunken stupor. She did not take off her hat, 
 but walked round the room ; then, with her teeth tightly set, 
 she opened the door and went out. 
 
NANA 345 
 
 * You are going down again ? ' asked her mother, who was 
 unable even to turn her head. 
 
 ' Yes ; I've forgotten something. I shall come up again. 
 Good-evening.' 
 
 And she did not return. On the morrow when the Cou- 
 peaus were sobered they fought together, reproaching each 
 other with being the cause of Nana's flight. Ah I she was 
 far away if she were running still ! As children are told of 
 sparrows, her parents might set a pinch of salt on her, and 
 then perhaps they would manage to catch her. It was a 
 great blow, and fell heavily indeed on Gervaise, for, despite 
 the impairment of her faculties, she realised perfectly well 
 that her daughter's misconduct lowered her still more ; she 
 was alone now, with no child to respect, nothing to restrain 
 her from sinking to the lowest depth. Yes, the heartless 
 creature had carried the last remnants of her mother's pride 
 away with her. And for three successive days Gervaise drank 
 to intoxication's point, furious, clenching her fists and pouring 
 forth abominable words respecting her hussy of a daughter. 
 Coupeau, after rolling round the outer Boulevards, and look- 
 ing at every woman who passed, as if trying to find Nana 
 among them, took to smoking his pipe again quietly enough ; 
 only, when he was sitting at table at meal-time, he often 
 sprang to his feet, raising his arms in the air with a knife in 
 his hand, and crying out that he was dishonoured, after which 
 he would sit down again to finish his soup. 
 
 In the house, where girls flew off every month like canaries 
 whose cages are left open, nobody was astonished at the 
 Coupeaus' mishap. But the Lorilleux were triumphant. Ah ! 
 they had predicted that the girl would end in that way. It 
 was deserved ; all artificial flower-girls went to the bad. The 
 Boches and the Poissons also sneered, with an extraordinary 
 display of virtue. Lantier alone covertly defended Nana. 
 No doubt, said he, with his puritanical air, a girl who behaved 
 hke that offended against every law ; but, dash it I Nana was, 
 after all, too pretty to lead such an abominable life of misery 
 at her age. 
 
 Then the Lorilleux began to insinuate the most abomin- 
 able things against Gervaise. She, they said, was responsible 
 for her daughter's misfortune ; she had been in league with 
 the old gentleman ; that was why he had so often prowled 
 round the house. That he was at the bottom of it all was 
 certain, for some neighbours had seen him and Nana together 
 
346 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 at the Ambigu Theatre. Then the Lorilleux* accusations 
 were discussed, and before long the most respectable folks 
 repeated that Gervaise had sold her daughter. 
 
 Gervaise now shuffled along in her slippers, without caring 
 a rap for any one. You might have called her a thief in the 
 street, she wouldn't have turned round. For a month past 
 she had ceased to work at Madame Pauconnier's ; the latter 
 had been obliged to dismiss her to avoid disputes. Then in 
 the course of a few weeks she had entered the service of eight 
 laundresses in turn ; at each establishment she had done two 
 or three days' work, and then had got the sack, so badly did 
 she iron the things entrusted to her, careless and dirty as she 
 had become, losing her head to such a point that she quite 
 forgot her calling. At last, realising her own incapacity, she 
 gave up ironing, and went out washing by the day at the 
 wash-house in the Rue Neuve, where she managed to jog on, 
 floundering about in the water, fighting with filth, reduced 
 to the roughest but easiest work, and yet a bit lower on 
 the down-hill slope. However, the wash-house work scarcely 
 beautified her. She looked like a mud-splashed dog when 
 she came out of it, soaked, and showing her blue skin. And 
 at the same time, she grew stouter and stouter, in spite of 
 her frequent dances before the empty sideboard, while her leg 
 became so crooked that she could no longer walk beside any 
 one without risk of knocking him over, to such a degree did 
 she lurch from side to side. 
 
 Naturally enough, when a woman falls to this point, all 
 her pride forsakes her. Gervaise had cast aside all her old 
 self-respect, coquetry, need of sentiment, propriety, and polite- 
 ness. You might have kicked her, she would not have felt it, 
 she had become too bloated and flabby. Lantier's intrigue 
 with her had now altogether come to an end, and she did not 
 seem to notice this finish of a long connection. Even Lantier's 
 intimacy with Virginie left her calm, so great was her in- 
 difference to everything. The whole neighbourhood was now 
 aware that Madame Poisson had replaced Gervaise in the 
 hatter's affections. And everybody laughed at it, particu- 
 larly because Poisson happened to be a policeman. People 
 thought it a huge joke that a minion of a hateful Govern- 
 ment should be disgraced. Besides, Lantier had conquered 
 the corner. He had recently eaten a washerwoman out of 
 doors ; now he was nibbling at a grocer's business ; and if he 
 chose to turn to the dressmakers and drapers and stationers, 
 
NANA 347 
 
 he had jaws that opened wide enough to swallow them all in 
 turn. 
 
 Never had a man rolled ahout in sweetmeats as he did. 
 He had thought of himself when advising Virginie to deal in 
 dainties. He was too much of a Provengal not to adore 
 sugared things ; in fact, he could have Uved off lozenges, 
 pastilles, sugared almonds, and chocolate. Sugared almonds, 
 especially, left a httle froth on his lips, so keenly did they 
 tickle his palate. For a year he had fed on sweetmeats. He 
 opened the drawers and indulged in a private orgie, whenever 
 Virginie asked him to mind the shop. Often, when he was 
 talMng in presence of five or six people, he would remove 
 the Md from a glass jar on the counter, dip his hand in, and 
 begin to nibble at something sweet ; the jar remained open, 
 and its contents diminished. People ceased paying attention 
 to this practice; it was a mania of his, so he declared. 
 Besides, it had occurred to him to feign an everlasting cold, an 
 irritation of the throat, which he always talked of calming. 
 
 He still did no work, but he had more and more important 
 schemes than ever in view. For the nonce he was nursing a 
 superb invention — the umbrella-hat, a hat which transformed 
 itself into a gingham on your head as soon as a shower began 
 to fall ; and he promised Poisson half shares in the profits 
 of it, and even borrowed twenty-franc pieces of him to defray 
 the cost of experiments. Meanwhile, the shop was melting 
 away on his tongue. The whole stock-in-trade followed suit, 
 down to the chocolate cigars and the pipes in pink caramel. 
 Whenever he was stuffed with sweetmeats, and in a fit of 
 tenderness kissed the groceress in a corner, she found him all 
 sugar, with lips savouring of burnt almonds. Yes, indeed, 
 he was a delightful man to kiss ! He was positively becoming 
 all honey. The Boches declared that he could sweeten his 
 coffee by merely dipping his finger into it. 
 
 Softened by his everlasting dessert, Lantier showed him- 
 self paternal towards Gervaise. He gave her advice and 
 scolded her because she no longer Hked work. The deuce, 
 indeed 1 a woman of her age ought to know how to get along. 
 And he accused her of having always been a glutton. Never- 
 theless, as one ought to hold out a helping hand, even to 
 folks who don't deserve it, he tried to find her a little work, 
 and prevailed on Virginie to let her come once a week to 
 scrub the shop and the rooms. Potash water was in her line, 
 and on each occasion she earned her thirty sous. She arrived 
 
348 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 on tlie Saturday morning with a pail and a scrubbing brush, 
 apparently free from all suffering at having to perform a 
 dirty, humble, menial duty, a charwoman's work, in the very 
 place where she had once reigned as a beautiful fair-haired 
 mistress. It was a final humiliation, the very end of her 
 pride. 
 
 One Saturday she had a hard job of it. It had rained 
 for three days previously, and the customers seemed to have 
 brought all the mud of the neighbourhood into the shop on 
 the soles of their boots. Virginie was at the counter, doing 
 the lady, with her hair well combed, a little white collar round 
 her neck, and a pair of lace cuffs at her wrists. Beside her, 
 on the narrow seat covered with red American cloth, lolled 
 Lantier, looking for all the world as if he were at home, as 
 if he were the real master of the place, and from time to time 
 he carelessly dipped his hand into a jar of peppermint drops, 
 just by way of nibbling something sweet according to his 
 habit. 
 
 * I say, Madame Coupeau ! ' exclaimed Virginie, who was 
 watching the scrubbing with compressed lips, * you have left 
 some dirt over there in that corner. Scrub that rather better, 
 please.' 
 
 Gervaise obeyed. She returned to the corner and began 
 to scrub again. On her knees amidst all the dirty water, she 
 bent nearly double, with her shoulders prominent and her 
 arris stiff and red. Her old skirt, fairly soaked, clung to her 
 figure. And thus huddled upon the floor, she looked like a 
 dirty, fat, ill-combed drab, heaving, swaying, and floundering 
 about. To such a point, too, did she perspire that big drops 
 fell from her moist face. 
 
 * The more elbow grease one uses the more it shines,' 
 said Lantier sententiously, with his mouth full of peppermint 
 drops. 
 
 Virginie, who leant back with the demeanour of a princess, 
 and eyes but partly open, was still watching the scrub- 
 bing, and venting remarks : * A little more on the right there. 
 Take care of the wainscot. You know I was not very well 
 pleased last Saturday. The stains remained.' 
 
 Then both together, the hatter and the groceress assumed 
 a more important air, as if they were on a throne whilst 
 Gervaise dragged herself through the black slush at their feet. 
 Virginie must have enjoyed herself, for a yellowish flame 
 darted from her feline eyes, and she looked at Lantier with 
 
NANA 349 
 
 an insidious smile. At last she was revenged for that hiding 
 which she had received at the wash-house, and which she had 
 never forgotten ! 
 
 However, whenever Gervaise paused in her work, a slight 
 sound of sawing came from the back room. Through the 
 open doorway, Poisson's profile showed against the pale light 
 of the courtyard. He was on leave that day, and was profiting 
 by his leisure to indulge in his mania for making little boxes. 
 Seated at a table, he was very carefully cutting some ara- 
 besques in a piece of mahogany taken from a cigar box. 
 
 * I say, Badinguet I ' cried Lantier, who had given him this 
 surname again, out of friendship, * I shall want that box of 
 yours as a present for a young lady.' 
 
 At this Virginie pinched the hatter, without, however, 
 ceasing to smile ; but the policeman raised his head, showing 
 his red moustaches and imperial bristling on his pallid face. 
 ' As it happens,' said he, * I am working for you, Auguste. I 
 intend this as a token of friendship.' 
 
 ' Oh, dash it 1 if that's the case, I'll keep your little 
 affair I ' rejoined Lantier laughing. * I'll hang it round my 
 neck with a ribbon.' Then all at once, as if this thought 
 brought another to his mind, he exclaimed : ' By the way, I 
 met Nana last night.' 
 
 This news caused Gervaise such emotion that she sank 
 down in the dirty water which covered the shop floor. Per- 
 spiring and out of breath, with her scrubbing brush still in 
 her hand, she muttered ' Ah I ' 
 
 • Yes,' resumed Lantier ; * as I was going down the Eue 
 ies Martyrs, I caught sight of a girl on the arm of an old 
 fellow in front of me, and I said to myself : I surely know 
 that damsel ! So I stepped out and found myself face to face 
 with Nana. She looked ever so happy, with a pretty wooUen 
 dress on her back and a gold cross at her neck.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' repeated Gervaise in a huskier voice. 
 
 Lantier, who had finished the pastilles, took some barley- 
 sugar out of another jar. * Well, do you know,' he resumed, 
 ' she signed to me to follow her, and after leaving the old 
 gentleman somewhere in a caf6 she came and joined me under 
 a doorway. And she was quite merry and affectionate. In 
 fact she kissed me, and wanted to have news of everyone. I 
 was very pleased to meet her.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Gervaise, for the third time, as she drew 
 herself together, and stiU waited. Hadn't her daughter sent 
 
350 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her a word then ? In the silence which ensued Poisson*s saw 
 could again be heard grating. Lantier was sucking his 
 barley-sugar, and smacking his lips. 
 
 * Well, if I were to see her, I should cross to the other 
 side of the street,' interposed Virginie, who had just pinched 
 the hatter most ferociously. * Yes, I should blush to be recog- 
 nised in public by a girl like that. It isn't because you are 
 there, Madame Coupeau, but your daughter is a baggage. 
 Why, Poisson arrests girls who are no better than she is.' 
 
 Gervaise said nothing, nor did she move ; her eyes were 
 fixed on space. At last, however, she began to wag her head 
 to and fro, as if in answer to her thoughts, while Lantier, 
 with a chuckle, remarked : 
 
 * A baggage 1 Well, all I know is that she looked as 
 tender as a chicken.' 
 
 At this Virginie glared at him so threateningly that he 
 deemed it wise to pacify her by some delicate attention. It 
 occurred to him to thrust a stick of barley -sugar into her 
 mouth, at which she laughed at him good-naturedly, and 
 turned all her anger upon the charwoman. ' Just make 
 haste, eh? The work doesn't advance whilst you remain 
 stuck there like a street post. Come, look alive, I don't want 
 to flounder about in the water till night time.' And she 
 added, spitefully, in a lower tone, * It isn't my fault if her 
 daughter's gone to the bad.' 
 
 Gervaise apparently did not hear her. She had begun to 
 scrub the floor again, bending low, and dragging herself 
 along with frog-like motion. With both hands tightly clutch- 
 ing the brush, she drove back the dirty water which splashed 
 her even to the hair. However, when it had been swept into 
 the gutter, she only had to rinse the floor. 
 
 After a pause Lantier, who felt bored, raised his voice 
 again. *Do you know, Badinguet,' he cried, *I met your 
 Emperor yesterday in the Eue de Rivoli. He looked awfully 
 down. He hasn't six months' life left in his body, which 
 isn't surprising, given the existence he leads ' 
 
 The policeman did not raise his eyes, but curtly answered, 
 ' If you were the Government you wouldn't be so fat.' 
 
 * Oh, my dear fellow, if I were the Government,' rejoined the 
 hatter, suddenly putting on an air of gravity, * things would go 
 on rather better than they do, I give you my word for it. For 
 instance, take their foreign policy, why for some time past it 
 has been enough to drive a fellow mad. Ah I if I only knew 
 
NANA %%\ 
 
 a journalist to inspire him with my ideas I * He was becom- 
 ing somewhat excited, and as he had finished crmiching his 
 barley- sugar, he opened a drawer from which he took a 
 number of jujubes which he began to swallow before re- 
 suming : * Why, it's simple enough. Before anything else 
 I'd give Poland her independence back, and I'd establish a 
 great Scandinavian state to keep the Giant of the North at 
 bay. Then I'd make a republic out of all the little German 
 states. As for England, she's scarcely to be feared ; if she 
 budged ever so Uttle, I should send a hundred thousand men 
 to India. Add to that, I*d kick the Sultan back to Mecca and 
 the Pope to Jerusalem. In that way, eh? Europe would 
 soon be clean. Come, Badinguet, just look here.' 
 
 He paused to take five or six more jujubes, and then went 
 on : * Why, it wouldn't take longer than to swallow these.' 
 And he threw one jujube after the other into his open 
 mouth, 
 
 ' The Emperor has another plan,' said the policeman, 
 after reflecting for fully a couple of minutes. 
 
 * Oh, leave me alone 1 ' rejoined the hatter. * We know 
 what his plan is 1 Europe doesn't care a curse for us. 
 Every evening the Tuileries footmen pick your boss up 
 from under the table.' 
 
 But Poisson had risen to his feet, and, stepping forward, 
 with his hand on his heart, he said : * You hurt me, Auguste. 
 Discuss matters, but don't indulge in personalities.' 
 
 Thereupon Virginie intervened, bidding them stop their 
 row. She didn't care a fig for Europe. How was it that two 
 friends like them should always be disputing about politics ? 
 For a minute they went on mumbling. Then the policeman, 
 in order to show that he harboured no spite, produced the cover 
 of the little box which he had just finished. It bore this 
 inscription in marquetry : * To Auguste, a token of friend- 
 ship.' Thereupon Lantier, feeling exceedingly flattered, 
 lounged back and spread himself out in such fashion that he 
 almost sat upon Virginie. And the husband gazed on the 
 scene in silence, without a flush on his face or a gleam in his 
 bleared eyes. Still, every now and then his red moustaches 
 bristled in a very singular fashion, which would have cer- 
 tainly alarmed any other man than Lantier. 
 
 The latter was undoubtedly one of the most impudent 
 rascals of his class. As soon as Poisson had turned his 
 back it occurred to him to print a kiss on Madame Poisson 's 
 
352 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 left eye. As it happened, however, he had forgotten the 
 presence of Gervaise. She had just finished rinsing and 
 wiping the shop, and stood near the counter waiting for her 
 thirty sous. However, Lantier's kiss left her perfectly calm, 
 as if it were something quite natural with which she had no 
 business to interfere. Virginie, on her side, seemed rather 
 vexed, and hastily threw the thirty sous upon the counter. 
 Nevertheless, Gervaise remained there waiting, still palpi- 
 tating with the effort she had made in scrubbing, and looking 
 as soaked and as ugly as a dog fished out of a sewer. 
 
 * So she didn't tell you anything ? ' she eventually asked 
 the hatter. 
 
 * Who ? ' he cried. * Ah, yes, you mean Nana. No, 
 nothing else. But what a pretty little mouth she has I real 
 strawberry jam.' 
 
 Then Gervaise went ofl; with her thirty sous in her hand. 
 The holes in her shoes threw out water like pumps ; indeed, 
 they were musical shoes, and played quite a tune as they 
 went flopping along the pavement, leaving behind them moist 
 traces of their broad soles. 
 
 In the neighbourhood, the feminine bibbers of the same 
 class as Gervaise now related that she drank to console 
 herself for her daughter's misconduct. She herself, when 
 she ordered her nip of spirits at the counter, would assume a 
 dramatic air, and toss the liquor into her mouth, with a wish 
 that it might * do ' for her. And on the days when she came 
 home drunk she would stammer that it was all through grief. 
 But respectable folks shrugged their shoulders ; they knew 
 what that meant. A fine idea it was to ascribe the effects of 
 the ' Assommoir's ' liquid pepper to grief ; at all events, she 
 ought to have called it bottled grief. No doubt, at the 
 beginning, she had really been affected by Nana's flight. All 
 the honest feelings remaining in her had revolted at the thought 
 of it. But she was already too degraded by drink to brood 
 over shame for long. With her it came and went. She 
 would remain for a week without once thinking of her hussy ; 
 and then suddenly a tender or an angry feeling would come 
 upon her, sometimes when she had her stomach empty, at 
 others when it was full, a furious longing to catch Nana in 
 some corner, where she would perhaps have kissed her, or 
 perhaps have beaten her, according to her fancy of the 
 moment. 
 
 And whenever these thoughts came over her, she searched 
 
JVA.VA 353 
 
 the streets like a gendarme. Ah, if she had only seen her 
 baggage, how quickly she would have brought her home 
 again ! As it happened, the neighbourhood was being turned 
 topsy-turvy that year. The Boulevard Magenta and the 
 Boulevard Ornano were being pierced, doing away with the 
 old Barriere Poissonniere, and cutting right through the 
 outer Boulevard. The district could not be recognised. All 
 one side of the Eue des Poissonniers had been pulled down, 
 and from the Eue de la Goutte-d'Or a large clearing could 
 now be seen, a dash of sunlight and open air. In place of 
 the gloomy buildings which had hidden the view in that 
 direction there rose up, on the Boulevard Ornano, a perfect 
 monument, a six- storey ed house, carved all over like a 
 church, with large windows, whose embroidered curtains 
 seemed symbolical of wealth. This white house, standing 
 just in front of the street, illumined it with a jet of light as 
 it were, and every day it fomented discussions between 
 Lantier and Poisson. The hatter, indeed, was never tired of 
 talking about the demolitions of Paris. He accused the 
 Emperor of setting up palaces everywhere, so as to drive the 
 working classes into the provinces ; and the policeman, pale 
 with concentrated anger, retorted that the Emperor thought 
 of the working classes before aught else, and would raze 
 Paris to the ground if need were, for the sole purpose of 
 procuring them employment. 
 
 Gervaise, for her part, was extremely annoyed by these 
 embellishments, which disturbed her dark corner of the 
 Faubourg. Her vexation came from the circumstance that 
 the neighbourhood was being embellished just as she was 
 going downhill to ruin. When a person is in the gutter he 
 doesn't care for a sunray to dart upon his head ; and so, on 
 the days when Gervaise looked for Nana, it put her into a 
 terrible rage to have to stride over building materials, flounder 
 about on unfinished footways, and knock against temporary 
 hoardings. As for the fine house on the Boulevard Ornano 
 it was altogether too much for her patience. Such houses as 
 that were only for creatures like Nana. 
 
 However, she several times had tidings of the girl. There 
 are always ready tongues anxious to pay one a sorry com- 
 pliment. Yes, she had been told that the hussy, like the 
 inexperienced girl she was, had abruptly quitted the old 
 button manufacturer for some stripling or other whom nobody 
 knew. Then a little latw: other persons swore they had seer 
 
 A A 
 
354 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her kicking up her heels at the ' Grand Hall of Folly/ in the 
 Rue de la Chapelle; and at these tidings Gervaise took it 
 into her head to frequent all the dancing-places of the neigh- 
 bourhood. She never passed a pubhc ball-room without 
 going in. Coupeau accompanied her. At first they merely 
 made the round of the room, looking at the girls who were 
 jumping about. But one evening, as they had some cash, 
 they sat down and ordered a large bowl of hot wine, with the 
 view of regaling themselves and waiting to see if Nana would 
 turn up. Then a month went by, and they forgot her, but 
 they still patronised the balls for their own amusement, 
 finding a pleasure in looking at the dancers. With their 
 elbows resting on a table, they would remain for hours with- 
 out exchanging a word, stupid as it were amidst the ceaseless 
 quaking of the floor, and yet no doubt enjoying themselves 
 as they stared with pale eyes at the Barriere hussies who 
 careered through the stifling atmosphere and ruddy glow of 
 the hall. 
 
 It happened one November evening that they went into 
 the ' Grand Hall of Folly ' to warm themselves. Out of doors 
 a sharp wind cut one across the face. But the hall was 
 crammed. There was a thundering big swarm inside ; people 
 at every table, people in the centre, people up above — any 
 number of people. When the Coupeaus had twice made the 
 round without finding a vacant table they decided to remain 
 standing and wait till somebody should go off. Coupeau was 
 swaying about in a dirty blouse, with an old cloth cap, which 
 had lost its peak, flattened down on his head. He stood there 
 in such wise as to intercept the way, and all at once he saw a 
 short, scraggy young fellow wipe his coat-sleeve after elbowing 
 him. 
 
 • I say ! ' cried Coupeau in a fury, as he took his short 
 clay out of his black mouth. * Can't you apologise ? You 
 play the disgusted, eh ? because a fellow wears a blouse 1 I'll 
 teach you, you scraggy young scamp, that the blouse is the 
 finest garment out ; yes ! the garment of work. I'll wipe you, 
 if you hke, with my fists. Did one ever hear of such a thing 
 — a ne'er-do-well insulting a workman ? ' 
 
 Gervaise tried to calm him, but in vain. He drew him- 
 self up in his rags, in full view of everybody, and struck his 
 blouse, roaring : * There's a man's chest under that 1 ' 
 
 Thereupon the young man dived into the crowd, mutter- 
 ing : * What a dirty blackguard 1 ' 
 
NANA 355 
 
 Coupeau wanted to follow and catch him. He wasn't 
 going to let himself be insulted by a fellow in a coat. That 
 one wasn't even paid for I It was some second-hand toggery, 
 no doubt, to impose upon a girl with. If he could catch the 
 chap again, he'd bring him down on his knees and make him 
 bow to the blouse. But the crush was too great for the zinc- 
 worker to run after the other; in fact, one could scarcely 
 walk. So Coupeau and Gervaise turned slowly round the 
 dancers. There were three serried rows of sightseers, whose 
 faces lighted up whenever a man sprawled or a woman kicked 
 up her heels ; and as Coupeau and Gervaise were both short, 
 they constantly raised themselves upon tiptoe, trying to see 
 something at all events, if only the chignons and hats which 
 were bobbing about. Meantime, the cracked brass instru- 
 ments of the orchestra were thundering forth a quadrille — a 
 perfect tempest of sound, which made the hall shake ; while 
 the dancers, striking the floor with their feet, raised a cloud 
 of dust which dimmed the brightness of the gas. The heat 
 was unbearable. 
 
 * Look there ! * Gervaise suddenly exclaimed. 
 
 * Look at what ? ' 
 
 * Why, at that velvet hat over yonder.* 
 
 They raised themselves as much as they could. Over 
 yonder, on the left hand, there was an old black velvet hat 
 trimmed with ragged, bobbing feathers — perfect hearse's 
 plumes, as it were. The hat was dancing a devil of a dance, 
 curvetting and whirling round, diving down and then 
 springing up again. Coupeau and Gervaise lost sight of it at 
 times, as the people around them moved their heads, but all 
 at once they saw it again, swaying farther off with such droll 
 effrontery that one laughed merely at the sight of it, without 
 knowing what might be underneath. 
 
 * Well ? ' asked Coupeau. 
 
 * Don't you recognise that chignon ? * muttered Gervaise 
 in a stifled voice. ' May my head be cut off if it isn't her.' 
 
 Then with one push the zinc-worker made his way through 
 the crowd. By the name of heaven, yes, it was Nana ! And 
 in a nice pickle, too 1 She was wearing an old silk dress, 
 stained and sticky from having wiped the tables of innume- 
 rable drinking dens, and with flounces so torn that they fell 
 in tatters around her. There wasn't even a scrap of a shawl 
 over her shoulders ; no, there she was, in bare bodice, with 
 torn button-holes. And to think that she had fallen to this 
 
 ▲ a2 
 
3S6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 condition, merely for the sake of some scoundrel, who, doubt- 
 less, beat her ! Nevertheless, she had remained fresh and 
 pretty, with her hair as frizzly as a poodle's, and her mouth 
 bright pink under her big, comical hat. 
 
 * Wait a bit, 1*11 make her dance ! * resumed Coupeau. 
 Naturally enough, Nana was not on her guard. She 
 
 twisted to the right and to the left, bending double as if she 
 were about to break in halves, and then kicking up her feet in 
 the most amazing style. There was a crowd around her, and 
 she was applauded as, catching up her skirts and quivering 
 with the movement of the dance, she spun round and round 
 like a v/hipping-top, till she fell on the floor in the posture 
 known as the grand tcart. But, rising to her feet, she after- 
 wards indulged in a modest little dance, undulating in won- 
 derful style just as her father made his way through the 
 throng. As he fell into the very midst of the pastourelle he 
 disarranged the figure, and was cuffed for his pains by the 
 bystanders, to whom he shouted : * I tell you it's my 
 daughter ! Let me pass.' 
 
 At that moment Nana was going backwards, sweeping 
 the floor with her flounces, and rounding her figure. But all 
 at once she received a masterly kick, and, as she raised 
 herself in surprise, and recognised her father and mother, 
 she turned quite pale. It was bad luck for her, and no 
 mistake. 
 
 ' Turn him out I * howled the dancers, infuriated with the 
 zinc-worker's interference. But Coupeau, who had just re- 
 cognised his daughter's cavalier as the scraggy young man in 
 the coat, did not care a fig for what people said. ' Yes, it's 
 us,' he roared. * Eh ? you didn't expect it. So we catch you 
 here and with a whipper-snapper, too, who insulted me just a 
 little while ago ! ' 
 
 However, Gervaise, whose teeth were tight set, pushed 
 him aside, exclaiming : * Shut up. There's no need of so 
 much explanation.' And, forthwith stepping forward, she 
 dealt Nana a couple of resounding slaps. The first knocked 
 the feathered hat on one side, and the second left a red mark 
 on the girl's white cheek. 
 
 Nana for her part was altogether too stupefied either to 
 cry or resist. The orchestra continued playing, while the 
 crowd, growing more and more angry, repeated, ' Turn them 
 out ! Turn them out ! ' 
 
 * Come, make haste I ' resumed Gervaise. * Just walk in 
 
NANA 357 
 
 front, and don't try to run olf. You shall sleep in prison if 
 you do.* 
 
 The scraggy young man had prudently disappeared. Nana 
 walked ahead, very stiff and still stupefied by her bad luck. 
 Whenever she showed the least unwillingness, a cuff from 
 behind brought her back to the direction of the door. And 
 thus they went out, all three of them, amid the jeers and 
 hisses of the spectators, whilst the orchestra finished playing 
 the pastourelle with such a thunderous sound that the trom- 
 bones seemed to be spitting bullets. 
 
 Then the old life began again. After sleeping for twelve 
 hours in her closet, Nana behaved very well for a week or so. 
 She concocted herself a modest little dress, and wore a cap with 
 strings tied under her chignon. Seized, indeed, with remark- 
 able fervour, she declared that she would work at home, 
 where one could earn what one hked without hearing any 
 nasty workroom talk ; and she secured some orders and 
 installed herself at a table with her tools, getting up at five 
 o'clock in the morning on the first few days in order to roll 
 her violet stems. But when she had delivered a few gross of 
 them, she stretched her arms and yawned over her work. 
 Her hands were cramped, she had lost the knack of stem 
 rolling, and she suffocated, shut up in this wise at home after 
 indulging in so much freedom during the previous six months. 
 Then the gum dried, the petals and the green paper became 
 stained with grease, and the flower-dealer came three times 
 in person to make a fuss and claim his spoiled materials. 
 
 For a little while longer Nana jogged on there, constantly 
 beaten by her father, and wrangling night and morning with 
 her mother, when the pair of them would fling the most hor- 
 rible words at each other's head. It couldn't last ; and, 
 indeed, on the twelfth day the hussy took herself off, with no 
 other luggage than her modest dress and cap. The Lorilleux, 
 who had pursed their lips on hearing of her return and re- 
 pentance, nearly died of laughter now. So this was the 
 second performance, they said, eclipse number two. It was 
 really comical, for Nana took herself off in such a cunning 
 style. Well, if the Coupeaus wanted to keep her in future 
 they would have to shut her up in a cage. 
 
 In presence of other people the Coupeaus pretended that 
 they were very glad to be rid of the girl. But in reality they 
 were enraged. However, rage can't last for ever, and soon 
 they heard without blinking of Nana's new goings on. Ger- 
 
358 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 raise, indeed, set herself above scandal, and declared that she 
 wouldn't even dirty her hand to cuff her daughter should she 
 meet her. In fact, said she, she might find her croaking on 
 the pavement, and none the less would pass her by. 
 
 Nana, meanwhile, was the success of all the dancing-halls 
 of the neighbourhood. She was known from the 'Ball of 
 Queen Blanche * to the • Grand Hall of Folly.* When she 
 entered the * Elys6e-Montmartre ' folks climbed upon the 
 tables to see her do the * sniffing crawfish ' in the pastourelle. 
 As she had twice been turned away from the * Chateau Eouge ' 
 ball, she walked about the doorway waiting for acquaintances 
 to escort her inside. The * Black Ball ' on the outer Boule- 
 vard and the * Grand Turk ' in the Eue des Poissonniers 
 were semi-respectable places, where she only went when she 
 was fairly well dressed. Of all the jumping dens of the dis- 
 trict, those which she most preferred were the * Hermitage 
 Ball ' in a damp courtyard and * Robert's Ball ' in the Impasse 
 du Cadran, two horrible little places, lighted by half a dozen 
 oil lamps, where the utmost freedom reigned. And mean- 
 while Nana had numerous ups and downs, underwent all sorts 
 of transformations, now in silk and satin, and now all dirt 
 and rags. Ah ! she led a fine life, and no mistake ! 
 
 On several occasions the Coupeaus fancied they saw their 
 daughter, but they at once turned their backs and decamped, 
 so as not to be obliged to recognise her. They didn't care to be 
 laughed at again by a whole dancing-hall for the sake of 
 bringing such a creature home. One night, how^ever, just as 
 they were going to bed, there was a knock at the door, and 
 outside they found Nana, who had quietly come to ask for a 
 shelter ; and in what a state, good heavens ! her head bare, 
 her dress in tatters, and her boots full of holes — such a toilet, 
 indeed, as might have led the police to run her in to the 
 Depot. Naturally enough she received a hiding, and then 
 she gluttonously fell upon a crust of stale bread and went to 
 sleep, worn out, with the last mouthful between her teeth. 
 And this sort of life continued. When the girl had picked up 
 a bit, she took herself off; and then weeks and months 
 elapsed and she seemed lost until suddenly up she turned 
 again without even saying whence she came, sometimes in 
 such a filthy state that one wouldn't have taken hold of her 
 with a pair of tongs, at others well-dressed but so weakened 
 by riotous living that she could no longer stand. Her parents 
 had to accustom themselves to it. Thrashings were of no 
 
NANA 359 
 
 good. They stamped on her, but that did not prevent her 
 from looking on home as an inn, where she could lodge by the 
 week. She knew that she should pay for her lodging with a 
 hiding, so she thought the matter over and came to receive it, 
 if she considered it an advantage. Besides, people grow tired 
 of striking, and in the end the Coupeaus let Nana do as she 
 pleased. She came home or stayed away ; provided she didn't 
 leave the door open there was nothing to be said. After all, 
 habit wears out self-respect hke it wears out everything else. 
 
 There was only one thing that really infuriated Gervaise. 
 This was to see her daughter come home in a dress with a 
 train and a hat covered with feathers. No, she couldn't allow 
 that display. Nana might go her way if she chose, but when 
 she came home to her mother's she ought to dress like a 
 workgirl. The dresses with trains caused quite a revolution 
 in the house : the Lorilleux sneered ; Lantier chuckled ; the 
 Boches forbade Pauline to associate with such an outrageously- 
 dressed creature. 
 
 However, taunts and reproaches had even less effect than 
 blows. One day when Gervaise reproached Nana with the 
 terrible life she was leading, the girl simply retorted : * That's 
 enough, mamma. It would be better not to talk about the 
 matter. You did as you liked, and now I do as I like.' 
 
 * What ! what ! ' stammered Gervaise in amazement ; but 
 in the same way as she herself had once reproached Mother 
 Coupeau with misconduct, so Nana now reproached her with 
 her connection with Lantier. She, the girl, knew all about 
 it, and if her mother had wished to keep her in the straight 
 path she ought not to have set her a bad example. 
 
 At this outburst Gervaise remained pale, with trembling 
 hands, turning round without knowing what she was about, 
 while Coupeau growled, no longer sane enough even to think 
 of launching out a blow. He was altogether losing his 
 mind. And really there were no grounds for calling him an 
 unprincipled father, for liquor deprived him of all conscious- 
 ness of good and evil. 
 
 It was now a settled thing : he wasn't sober once in six 
 months ; at the end of which period he invariably had to go 
 to the Sainte-Anne hospital ; a pleasure trip for him as it 
 were. The Lorilleux were wont to say that the Duke of Bowel- 
 Twister had gone to visit his estates. After a few weeks, how- 
 ever, he left the asylum, repaired and set together again, and 
 then he began to pull himself to bits once more, till he was 
 
36o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 down on his back and needed another mending. In three 
 years he went to Sainte-Anne m this fashion seven times. 
 The neighbours declared that his cell was kept ready for him. 
 But the worst of the matter was that this obstinate tippler 
 damaged himself more and more each time, so that from 
 relapse to relapse one could foresee the final tumble, the last 
 cracking of that shaky cask, every hoop of which was in turn 
 breaking away. 
 
 At the same time, he forgot to improve in appearance ; he 
 was now a perfect ghost to look at. The poison was having 
 terrible effects on him. By dint of imbibing alcohol, his body 
 shrank, and when he approached a window you could almost 
 see through his ribs, so thin had he become. With sunken 
 cheeks, and dripping eyes from which exuded sufficient wax 
 for a set of cathedral tapers, he only kept his truffle nose red 
 and flowery, like a carnation blooming in the midst of his 
 ravaged face. Those who knew his age, only forty years just 
 told, shuddered when he passed by, bent and unsteady, look- 
 ing as old as the streets themselves. And the trembling of 
 his hands increased ; the right one danced to such an extent 
 that sometimes he had to take his glass between both paws to 
 carry it to his lips. Oh ! that fearful trembling ! it was the 
 only thing that still worried his addled brains. You could 
 hear him growling ferocious insults against those hands of 
 his. On other occasions you might see him silently contem- 
 plating them for hours, watching them dance like frogs, no 
 longer angry, but looking rather as though he were trying to 
 discover what internal mechanism made them bob up and 
 down like that ; and one evening Gervaise found him thus 
 occupied with two big tears dripping down his withered 
 cheeks. 
 
 The last summer during which Nana still lodged on and 
 off with her parents, was a particularly bad one for Coupeau. 
 His voice changed entirely as if liquor had set a new music in 
 his throat. He became deaf of one ear, and then in a few 
 days his sight grew dim, and on the stairs he had to clutch 
 hold of the balusters to prevent himself from falling. At the 
 same time, he had abominable headaches and fits of dizziness. 
 All at once he would feel acute pains in his arms and legs, 
 turn pale, and be obliged to sit down, and remain on a chair 
 witless for hours. Indeed, after one such attack, his arm 
 remained paralysed for the whole day. He took to his bed 
 several times, rolled himself up in it, and hid himself under 
 
NANA 361 
 
 the sheet, breathing hard and continuously like a suffering 
 animal. Then the strange scenes of Sainte-Anne began 
 again. Suspicious and nervous, a prey to a burning fever, he 
 rolled about in a mad rage, tearing his blouse and biting the 
 furniture with his convulsed jaws ; or else he sank into a 
 great state of emotion, complaining like a child, sobbing and 
 lamenting because nobody loved him. One night when Ger- 
 vaise and Nana returned home together they were surprised 
 not to find him in bed. He had laid the bolster in his place ; 
 and when they discovered him, hiding between the bed and 
 the wall, his teeth were chattering, and he related that some 
 men had come to murder him. The two women were obliged 
 to put him to bed again and quiet him like a child. 
 
 For all this Coupeau only knew one remedy, which was to 
 screw a pint of spirits inside him, a whack in his stomach, 
 which set him up again. This was how he doctored himself 
 every morning. His memory had left him long ago, his brain 
 was empty ; and he no sooner found himself on his feet than 
 he poked fun at illness. He had never been ill, he often said. 
 Yes, he had reached the point when a man croaks while 
 declaring that he is perfectly well. And his wits were going 
 a-wool-gathering in other respects too. When Nana came 
 home after gadding about for six weeks or so, he seemed to 
 fancy that she had simply returned from doing some errand 
 in the neighbourhood. Often when she was hanging on an 
 acquaintance's arm she met him and laughed at him without 
 his recognising her. In short, he no longer counted for any- 
 thing ; she might have sat down on him if she had been at a 
 loss for a chair. 
 
 It was when the first frosts came that Nana took herself off 
 once more, this time under the pretence of going to the fruiterer's 
 to see if there were any baked pears. She scented winter, and 
 didn't want to let her teeth chatter in front of the fireless 
 stove. The Coupeaus simply called her bad names because 
 they had waited for the pears. No doubt she would come 
 back again in due course. The other winter she had stayed 
 away three weeks just to fetch her father a screw of tobacco. 
 But the months went by, and the girl did not show herself. 
 This time she must have indulged in a hard gallop. When 
 June arrived, she did not even put in an appearance with the 
 sunshine. Evidently it was all over, she had found new 
 bread somewhere or other. And so, one day when the 
 Coupeaus were hard-up they sold her iron bedstead for six 
 
362 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 francs down, which they spent in drink at Saint-Ouen. The 
 bedstead had been in their way, they said. 
 
 A little later, one morning in July, Virginie called to Gervaise, 
 who was passing, and asked her to lend a hand in the washing 
 up, for Lantier had entertained a couple of friends on the 
 previous evening. And while Gervaise was cleaning the 
 plates and dishes, greasy with the traces of the spread, the 
 hatter, who was still digesting his food in the shop, suddenly 
 called out: *I say, do you know I saw Nana the other 
 day ? ' 
 
 Virginie, who sat at the counter, looking very careworn in 
 front of the jars and drawers which were already three parts 
 emptied, jerked her head in a temper. She considered that 
 Lantier met Nana much too often. Madame Lerat, very 
 intimate just then with Virginie who confided in her, had that 
 moment entered the shop ; and she, in her usual free way, 
 more than hinted her suspicions. 
 
 ' Oh I ' answered the hatter, who began to laugh and 
 twirl his moustaches. * She was in a vehicle ; and I was 
 floundering on the pavement. It really was so, I swear it ! * 
 and turning towards Gervaise, who was standing in the rear 
 of the shop wiping a dish, he went on : ' Yes, she was in a 
 carriage, and wore such a stylish dress ! I myself didn't 
 recognise her at first, she looked so much like a lady of the 
 upper set, with her white teeth in her fresh face. It was she 
 who waved her glove to me. She has fascinated a viscount, 
 I believe, and can afford to do without any of us now I What 
 a love of a little kitten she looked! Ahl you've no idea 
 what a little kitten she seemed ! ' 
 
 Gervaise was still wiping her dish, although it had long 
 since been clean and shiny. Virginie was reflecting, anxious 
 about a couple of acceptances which would mature on the 
 morrow, and which she didn't know how to pay; whilst 
 Lantier, stout and fat, went on venting his enthusiasm for well- 
 dressed little hussies in the centre of the shop, which was 
 already three parts eaten up, and smelt of ruin. Yes, there 
 were only a few more burnt almonds to nibble, a few more 
 sticks of barley-sugar to suck, and the Poissons' business would 
 be cleaned out. Suddenly, on the pavement over the way, the 
 hatter perceived the policeman pass by on duty, with his 
 sword dangling by his side. And this made him all the gayer. 
 He compelled Virginie to glance at her husband. 'Dear 
 me,' he muttered, * Badinguet has a wonderfully fine appear- 
 
NANA 363 
 
 ance iliis morning ! He looks as if he had stuck a glass eye 
 in his back so as to catch his criminals unawares.* 
 
 When Gervaise went home upstairs, she found 
 Coupoau sitting on the bed, in the torpid state induced by 
 one oJf his attacks. He was looking at the tiled floor with 
 dim expressionless eyes. She seated herself on a chair tired 
 out, her hands hanging beside her dirty skirts \ and for a 
 quarter of an hour she remained in front of him without 
 saying a word. * I've had some news,' she muttered at last. 
 * Your daughter's been seen. Yes, your daughter's precious 
 stylish and has no more need of you. She's awfully happy 
 she is I Ah ! God of heaven ! I'd give a great deal to be 
 in her place.' 
 
 Coupeau was still staring at the tiled floor. But suddenly 
 he raised his ravaged face, and stammered with an idiotic 
 laugh : * Oh I my duck, if it pleases you, you know, I won't 
 detain you. You're not as yet so bad-looking when you wash 
 yourself,* 
 
 xn 
 
 HUNGBB 
 
 It must have been the Saturday after quarter day,' something 
 like the 12th or 13th January — Gervaise didn't quite know. 
 She was losing her wits, for it was centuries since she had had 
 anything warm in her stomach. Ah I what an infernal week 
 it had been ! A complete clear out. Two loaves each of four 
 pounds' weight on Tuesday, which had lasted till the 
 Thursday ; then a dry crust found the previous night, and 
 finally not a crumb for thirty- six hours, a real dance before 
 the cupboard ! What she did know, by the way, what she felt 
 on her back, was the frightful cold, a black cold, with a sky 
 as grimy as a frying-pan, thick with snow which obstinately 
 refused to fall. When one feels both winter and hunger 
 inside one, tightening one's waistband can scarcely serve as 
 food. 
 
 Perhaps Coupeau would bring back some money in the 
 evening. He had said that he was working. Everything 
 is possible, is it not ? And Gervaise, although she had been 
 
 * At the winter quarter in Paris rents under 20Z. per annum are 
 payable on January 8, above that amount on January 15. 
 
364 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 caught many and many a time, had ended by relying on this 
 cash. After all sorts of troubles, she herself couldn't find as 
 much as a duster to wash in the whole neighbourhood ; and 
 even an old lady, whose rooms she cleaned, had just 
 dismissed her after charging her with swilling her liqueurs. 
 Yes, nobody would engage her, things w^ere too hot for her 
 everywhere : and this secretly suited her, for she had fallen 
 to that state of bestial indifference, when one prefers to croak 
 rather than move one's fingers. At all events, if Coupeau 
 should bring his pay home they would have something warm 
 to eat. And meanwhile, as it wasn't yet noon, she remained 
 on the mattress, for one doesn't feel so cold or so hungry 
 when one is lying down. 
 
 Gervaise called it a mattress, but truth to tell, it was 
 merely a heap of straw in the corner. By degrees the 
 bedding had found its way to the second-hand furniture 
 dealers in the neighbourhood. First of all, on penniless 
 days, she had unsewn the woollen mattress, and taken 
 out handfuls of wool which she had hidden in her apron, and 
 sold for ten sous a pound in the Rue Belhomme. Then, 
 when the mattress was emptied, she had obtained thirty sous 
 for the ticking one morning, so as to treat herself to some 
 coffee. The pillows had followed, and then the bolster. 
 There remained the wooden framework of the bed, which she 
 couldn't put under her arm on account of the Boches, who 
 would have called everyone in the house to the spot if they 
 had seen the landlord's guarantee going off. 
 
 And yet, one evening, with Coupeau' s assistance, she 
 watched the Boches, and as they were busy gorging, she 
 quietly removed the bedstead, bit by bit, the sides, the 
 front and back, and the framework at the bottom. With the 
 ten francs thus procured they fed for three days. Didn't 
 the straw mattress suffice? Even its ticking soon joined 
 that of the woollen one, and so thus they finished eating up 
 their sleeping accommodation, allowing themselves an indi- 
 gestion of dry bread after a twenty-fou]: hours' starve. The 
 straw was swept aside with a broom, the dust was always 
 turned over, and it wasn't dirtier than anything else. 
 
 And now, lying on the heap of straw, with her clothes on, 
 Gervaise bent herself like a gun-trigger, her feet drawn up under 
 her rag of a skirt, by way of keeping them warm. Huddled up 
 in this wise, with her eyes wide open, she dwelt that morning 
 on some scarcely amusing thoughts. Ah ! no, dash it all, 
 
HUNGER 365 
 
 she couldn't continue living without food. She no longer 
 felt her hunger, only she had a weight on her chest, and her 
 brain seemed empty. Certainly, there was nothing gay to 
 look at in the four corners of the hovel. It was a perfect 
 kennel now, where the greyhounds, who wear wrappers in 
 the streets, would not even have lived in effigy. Her pale 
 eyes stared at the bare walls. Everything had long since 
 gone to * uncle's.* All that remained were the chest of 
 drawers, the table, and a chair. Even the marble top of the 
 chest of drawers, and the drawers themselves, had evaporated 
 in the same direction as the bedstead. A fire could not have 
 cleared the place more completely. The little nick-nacks had 
 melted, beginning with the ticker, a twelve franc watch, 
 down to the family photos, the frames of which had been 
 bought by a woman keeping a second-hand store ; a very 
 obliging woman, by the way, to whom Gervaise would carry 
 a saucepan, an iron, or a comb, and receive five, three, or two 
 sous in exchange, according to the article ; enough, at all 
 events, to enable her to go upstairs again with a bit of bread. 
 But now there was nothing left excepting a broken pair of 
 snuffers, for which the woman had refused to give her even 
 a sou. 
 
 Oh ! if she could only have sold the rubbish and refuse, 
 the dust and dirt, how speedily she would have opened shop, 
 for the room was filthy to behold ! She saw plenty of cob- 
 webs in the corners, but although cobwebs are perhaps good 
 for cuts, there are, so far, no merchants who buy them. So, 
 turning her head, relinquishing the idea of doing a bit of 
 trade, Gervaise gathered herself together more closely on her 
 straw, preferring to stare through the window at the snow- 
 laden sky, at the dreary dayhght, which froze the marrow in 
 her bones. 
 
 What a lot of worry ! Though, after all, what was the 
 use of her putting herself in such a state, and puzzling her 
 brains ? Ah ! if she had only been able to have a snooze. 
 But her hole of a home wouldn't go out of her mind. M. 
 Marescot, the landlord, had come in person on the previous 
 day to tell them that he should turn them into the street if 
 the two quarters' rent now overdue were not paid during the 
 ensuing week. Well, so he might, they certainly couldn't be 
 worse off on the pavement ! Just fancy that ape, in his over- 
 coat and his woollen gloves, coming upstairs to talk to them 
 about rent, as if they had had a treasure hidden somewhere 
 
366 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 In that case, instead of tightening her throat, she would have 
 begun by stuffing something into her maw 1 Keally, now, 
 she found that fat glutton altogether too provoking, and she 
 wished him in a nameless place. 
 
 It was just the same way with that brute of a Coupeau, 
 who couldn't come home now without beating her ; she 
 wished him in the same place as the landlord. She sent 
 them all thither, wishing to rid herself of everyone, and of 
 life too. She was becoming a real storehouse for blows. 
 Coupeau had a cudgel, which he called his donkey's fan, and 
 he fanned his old woman. You should have just seen him 
 giving her a sweating ; he made her perspire all over. How- 
 ever, she was no better than he was, for she bit and scratched 
 him. Then they stamped about in the empty room, and gave 
 each other such drubbings as were likely to ease them for 
 good of all appetite for bread. Yet Gervaise ended by caring 
 no more for these whackings than for anything else. Coupeau 
 might celebrate Saint Monday for weeks together, go off on 
 the spree for months at a time, come home mad with liquor, 
 and seek to sharpen her as he said — she had grown so accus- 
 tomed to it all that she thought him plaguy, but nothing 
 more. It was on those occasions that she wished him some- 
 where. Yes, somewhere, her beast of a man, and the Loril- 
 leux, the Boches, and the Poissons too ; in fact, the whole 
 neighbourhood, which treated her with such contempt. She 
 sent all Paris thither with a gesture of supreme carelessness, 
 yet pleased to be able to revenge herself in that style. 
 
 Unfortunately, although people may accustom themselves 
 to a good many things, nobody has yet been able to acquire 
 the habit of never feeding. And it was merely this that 
 irritated Gervaise. She didn't care a fig whether she were 
 the lowest of the low, fairly in the gutter ; it was all the same 
 to her if folks wiped themselves whenever she passed near 
 them. Bad manners no longer worried her, hunger and its 
 constant onslaughts alone gave her cause for complaint. Oh I 
 she had bidden tit-bits good-bye, she had fallen to devouring 
 whatever she could get. On festive occasions nowadays, she 
 bought parings and scraps of meat at the butcher's, at the rate 
 of four sous a pound. It was meat which was tired of lying 
 about and blackening on a plate, and she cooked it in a sauce- 
 pan with a mess of potatoes. Or else she fried some bullock's 
 heart, a dish that made her lick her lips. On other occasions, 
 when she had some wine, she treated herself to a sop, a true 
 
HUNGER 367 
 
 tippler's potage. Two sous' worth of Italian cheese, bushels 
 of white apples, quarts of dry beans, cooked in their own 
 juice, these were dainties she was not often able to indulge in 
 now. She came down to the * arlequins ' of low-eating deDS, 
 where, for a sou, she obtained a pile offish bones, mixed with 
 the parings of spoilt roast meat. She fell even lower, she 
 begged a charitable eating-house keeper to give her his 
 customers' dry crusts, and made herself a bread sop, letting 
 the crusts simmer as long as possible on a neighbour's fire. 
 On the days when there was no hope of anything she searched 
 about with the dogs, to see what might be lying outside 
 tradespeople's doors before the dustmen went by ; and thus, 
 at times, she came across rich men's food : rotten melons, 
 stinking mackerel, and chops which she carefully inspected, 
 for fear of maggots. 
 
 Yes, she had come to that ! The idea may be a repugnant 
 one to delicate-minded readers, but if they were to chew 
 nothing for three days running, they would not care to 
 quarrel with their stomachs ; they would go down on all fours 
 and eat filth like other people. Ah ! the death of the poor, 
 the empty entrails howling hunger, the animal appetite that 
 leads one with chattering teeth to fill one's stomach with 
 beastly refuse in that great city of Paris, so bright and golden ! 
 And to think that Gervaise had formerly gorged herself with fat 
 goose ! Now, she might wipe her nose with what was left of it. 
 One day, when Coupeau stole two bread tickets from her to go 
 and sell them for the purpose of getting some liquor, she 
 nearly killed him with a blow of a shovel, so hungered and so 
 enraged was she by this theft of a bit of bread. 
 
 However, after a long contemplation of the pale sky, she 
 had fallen into a painful doze. She dreamt that the snow 
 filHng the sky was falling upon her, so cruelly did the cold 
 pinch. Then suddenly she sprang to her feet, awakened with 
 a start by a shudder of anguish. Good heavens ! was she 
 going to die ? Shivering and haggard, she perceived that it 
 was still daylight. Wouldn't the night come then? Hov/ 
 long the time seems when the stomach is empty ! Hers was 
 waking up in its turn, and beginning to torture her. Sinking 
 on to the one chair in the room with her head bowed, she 
 began to think of what they would have for dinner, as soon 
 as Coupeau should bring the money home : a loaf, a quart of 
 wine, and two platefuls of tripe in the Lyonnese fashion. But 
 three o'clock struck by old Bazouge's clock. Good heavens I 
 
368 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 so it was only three. Then she began to cry. She would 
 never have strength enough to wait till seven. Her body swayed 
 backwards and forwards, she oscillated like a child nursing 
 some sharp pain, bending double and crushing her stomach, 
 so as not to feel it. And unable to ease herself, seized with 
 rage, she rose and stamped about, hoping to send her hunger 
 to sleep by walking it to and fro like an infant. For half an 
 hour or so, she knocked against the four corners of the empty 
 room. Then, suddenly, she paused with a fixed stare. So 
 much the worse ! They might say what they liked ; she 
 would lick their feet if need were, but she would go and ask 
 the Lorilleux to lend her ten sous. 
 
 At winter time, up those stairs of the house, the paupers* 
 stairs, there was a constant borrowing of ten sous and twenty 
 sous, petty services which these hungry beggars rendered one 
 another. Only they would rather have died than have applied 
 to the Lorilleux, for they knew that they were too hard-fisted. 
 Thus Gervaise displayed remarkable courage in going to knock 
 at their door. She had felt so frightened in the passage, that 
 as she knocked she experienced the sudden relief of people 
 who ring a dentist's bell. 
 
 ' Come in ! ' cried the chain-maker in a sour voice. 
 
 How warm and nice it was inside I The forge was blazing, 
 its white flame lighting up the narrow workroom, whilst 
 Madame Lorilleux set a coil of gold wire to heat. Lorilleux, 
 in front of his work-table, was perspiring with the warmth as 
 he soldered the links of a chain. And the place smelt nice ; 
 some cabbage soup was simmering on the stove, exhaling a 
 steam which turned Gervaise's heart topsy-turvy, and almost 
 made her faint. 
 
 ' Ah ! it's you, growled Madame Lorilleux, without even 
 asking her to sit down. * What do you want ? ' 
 
 Gervaise did not answer. She was not on such very bad 
 terms with the Lorilleux that week. But the request of the ten 
 sous stuck in her throat at sight of Boche seated at his ease 
 near the stove and talking scandal. He looked as if he didn't 
 care a curse for anyone, the animal ! He laughed like a fool, 
 with his mouth curved and his cheeks so puffed out that they 
 almost hid his nose. 
 
 * What do you want ? ' repeated Lorilleux. 
 
 * You haven't seen Coupeau ? ' Gervaise stammered at last. 
 * I thought he might be here.* 
 
 The chain-makers and the doorkeeper sneered. No, for 
 
HUNGER 369 
 
 certain, they hadn't seen Coupeau. They didn't stand treat 
 often enough to see Coupeau like that. Then Gervaise made 
 an effort and resumed, stuttering : * It's because he promised 
 to come home. Yes, he's to bring me some money. And as 
 I have absohite need of something ' 
 
 Silence followed. Madame Lorilleux was roughly fanning 
 the fire of the stove ; Lorilleux had lowered his nose over the 
 bit of chain between his fingers, while Boche continued laugh- 
 ing, puffing out his face till it looked like a full moon. 
 
 *If I only had ten sous,' muttered Gervaise in a low 
 voice ? 
 
 The silence continued. 
 
 * Couldn't you lend me ten sous ? Oh ! I would return 
 them to you this evening ! ' 
 
 Madame Lorilleux turned round and stared at her. There 
 was a wheedler for you trying to get round them ! That day 
 she asked them for ten sous, on the morrow it would be for 
 tw^enty, and then there would be no reason to stop. No, 
 indeed ; they didn't mean to lend her anything. 
 
 * But, my dear,' exclaimed Madame Lorilleux. * You know 
 very well that we haven't any money ! Look I there's the 
 lining of my pocket. You can search us. If we could, it 
 would be with a willing heart, of course.' 
 
 ' The heart's always there,* growled Lorilleux. *■ Only 
 when one can't, one can't.' 
 
 Gervaise looked very humble, and nodded her head 
 approvingly. However, she did not take herself off. She 
 squinted at the gold, at the coils of gold hanging on the 
 walls, at the gold wire which the wife was drawing with all 
 the strength of her little arms, at the gold links lying in a 
 heap under the husband's knotty fingers. And she thought 
 that a tiny bit of that ugly black metal would have sufficed 
 to buy her a good dinner. The workroom was as dirty as 
 ever, full of old iron, coal dust, and sticky oil stains half- wiped 
 away ; but now, as Gervaise saw it, it seemed resplendent 
 with treasure, like a money-changer's shop. And so she 
 ventured to repeat very gently : * I wOuld return them to you, 
 return them without fail. Ten sous wouldn't inconvenience 
 you.' 
 
 Her heart was swelling with the effort she made not to 
 own that she had eaten nothing since the day before. Then 
 she felt her legs give way ; she was much afraid that she 
 might burst into tears, and she stammered yet again : * It 
 
 B B 
 
370 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 would be so kind of you ! You don't know. Yes, Tm 
 reduced to that, good Lord— reduced to that ! ' 
 
 Thereupon the Lorilleux pursed then* lips, and exchanged 
 covert glances. So the Hobbler was begging now ! Well, 
 the fall was complete. But they did not care for that kind 
 of thing by any means I If they had known, they would 
 have barricaded the door, for people should always be on 
 their guard against beggars, folks who make their way into 
 apartments under any pretext, and carry precious objects 
 away with them ; and especially so in this place, as there was 
 something well worth stealing. One might lay one's fingers 
 no matter where, and carry off thirty or forty francs by 
 merely closing the hand. They had felt suspicious several 
 times already on noticing how strange Gervaise looked 
 whenever she stationed herself in front of the gold. This 
 time, however, they meant to watch her. And as she ap- 
 proached nearer, with her feet on the floor screen, the chain- 
 maker, without giving any further answer to her question, 
 roughly exclaimed : * Look out — take care ; you'll be carry- 
 ing some scraps of gold away on the soles of your shoes. 
 One would think you had greased them on purpose to make 
 the gold stick to them.* 
 
 Gervaise slowly drew back. For a moment she leant 
 against a rack, and seeing that Madame Lorilleux was looking 
 at her hands, she opened them and showed them, saying 
 softly, without the least anger, like a fallen woman who puts 
 up with every humiliation : * I have taken nothing, you can 
 look.' And then she went off, because the strong smell of 
 cabbage soup and the warmth of the workroom made her 
 feel so ill. 
 
 Ah ! the Lorilleux did not detain her. Good riddance 
 to her, the deuce if they opened the door to her again. 
 They had seen enough of her face. They didn't want 
 other people's misery in their rooms, especially when 
 that misery was so well deserved. They revelled in their 
 selfish delight at being seated so cosily in a warm room, 
 with a fine soup preparing for them. Boche also stretched 
 himself, puffing out his cheeks still more and more. They 
 were all nicely revenged on the Hobbler for her former 
 manners, her blue shop, her spreads, and all the rest. The 
 result was complete ; it showed whither the love of riotous 
 living led one. That was what became of women who 
 were gluttonous and idle and immoral I 
 
HUNGER 371 
 
 * So that is the style now ? Begging for ten sous ! ' cried 
 Madame Lorilleux behind Gervaise's back. * Wait a bit ; I'll 
 lend her ten sous, and no mistake, to go and get drunk 
 with ! ' 
 
 Gervaise meantime was shuffling along the passage in her 
 slippers, bending her back and feeling heavy. On reaching 
 her door she did not open it — her room frightened her. It 
 would be better to walk about — she would learn patience. 
 As she passed she craned her neck and peered into father 
 Bru's kennel under the stairs. There, for instance, wag 
 another one who must have a fine appetite, for he had break- 
 fasted and dined by heart during the last three days. However, 
 he wasn't at home, there was only his hole, and Gervaise felt 
 somewhat jealous, thinking that perhaps he had been invited 
 somewhere. Then, on reaching the Bijards', she heard some 
 one complaining, and, as the key was in the lock as usual, 
 she opened the door and went in. 
 
 * What is the matter ? * she asked. 
 
 The room was very clean. One could see that Lalie 
 had carefully swept it, and arranged everything during the 
 morning. Misery might blow into the room as much as it 
 liked, carry off the chattels and spread all its dirt and refuse 
 about ; Lalie, however, came along in the rear and tidied 
 everything, imparting, at least, some appearance of comfort 
 within. The place might not suggest wealth, but you 
 reahsed that there was a housewife in it. That afternoon 
 the two little ones, Henriette and Jules, had found some old 
 pictures which they were cutting out in a corner. But 
 Gervaise was greatly surprised to see Lalie herself in bed, 
 looking very pale, with the sheet drawn up to her chin. In 
 bed, indeed, then she must be seriously ill 1 
 
 ' What is the matter with you ? ' repeated Gervaise 
 feeling anxious. 
 
 Lalie no longer complained. She slowly raised her white 
 eyelids, and tried to compel her Hps to smile, although they 
 were twisted by a shudder. 'There's nothing the matter 
 with me,' she whispered very softly. ' Keally nothing at alL* 
 Then, closing her eyes again, she added with an effort, * I 
 tired myself too much during the last few days, and so I'm 
 doing the idle ; I'm nursing myself, as you see.* 
 
 But her childish face, flecked with livid splotches, 
 assumed such an expression of mortal pain that Gervaise, 
 forgetting her own a^ony, joined her hands and fell on her 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 knees near the bed. For the last month she had seen the 
 girl clinging to the walls for support when she went about, 
 bent double, indeed, by a cough which seemed to presage a 
 coffin. And now the poor child could not even cough. She 
 retched, and drops of blood oozed from the corners of her 
 mouth. 
 
 ' It isn't my fault if I hardly feel strong,' she murmured, 
 as if relieved. ' I've tired myself to-day in trying to put 
 things to rights. It's pretty tidy, isn't it ? And I wa,nted to 
 clean the windows as well, but my legs failed me. How 
 stupid I However, when one has finished one can go to 
 bed.' 
 
 Then she paused to say, * Pray see if my little ones are 
 not cutting themselves with their scissors.' And afterwards 
 she relapsed into silence, trembling and listening to a heavy 
 footfall which was approaching up the stairs. 
 
 Suddenly father Bijard flung the door open. As usual he 
 was far gone, and his eyes shone with the furious madness 
 imparted by the ' vitriol ' he had swallowed. When he 
 perceived Lalie in bed, he tapped his thighs with a sneer, 
 and took the whip from where it hung. * Ah ! blazes, that's 
 too strong,' he growled, ' we'll just have a laugh. So the 
 cows lie down on their straw at noon, now ! Are you poking 
 fun at me, you lazy beggar ? Come, quick now, up you get.' 
 And he already cracked the whip over the bed. 
 
 But the child beggingly replied : * Pray, papa, don't, don't 
 strike me. I swear to you that you would regret it. Don't 
 strike ! ' 
 
 ' Will you jump up ? ' he roared still louder, * or else I'll 
 tickle your ribs ! Jump up, you little hound ! ' 
 
 Then she softly said, * I can't— do you understand ? I'm 
 going to die.' 
 
 Gervaise had sprung upon Bijard and torn the whip away 
 from him. He stood bewildered in front of the bed. What 
 was the dirty nose talking about ? Do girls die when they 
 are so young as that, without even having been ill ? It was 
 some excuse to get sugar out of him no doubt. Ah ! he'd 
 make inquiries, and if she lied she'd catch it ! 
 
 * You'll see it's the truth,' she continued. * As long as I 
 could I avoided worrying you ; but be kind now, and bid me 
 good-bye, papa.' 
 
 Bijard wriggled his nose as if he fancied she was deceiving 
 him. And yet it was true that she had a singular look, the 
 
HUNGER 373 
 
 serious mien of a grown-up person. The breath of death 
 which passed through the room in some measure sobered 
 him. He gazed around Uke a man awakened from a long 
 sleep, saw the place so tidy, the two children clean, playing 
 and laughing. And then he sank upon a chair stammering, 
 ' Our little mother, our little mother.' 
 
 These were the only words he could find to say, and yet 
 they were very tender ones for Lalie, who had never been so 
 much spoiled. She consoled her father. What particularly 
 worried her was that she should have to go off like that 
 without having finished the rearing of her little ones. He 
 would take care of them, would he not ? With her dying 
 breath she told him how they ought to be cared for and kept 
 clean. But he, brutified, with the fumes of drink seizing 
 hold of him again, wagged his head, and watched her pass 
 away with an uncertain stare. All kinds of things were 
 touched in him, but he could find no more to say, and he 
 was too burnt by liquor to shed a tear. 
 
 * Listen,' resumed Lalie, after a pause. *We owe four 
 francs and seven sous to the baker ; you must pay that. 
 Madame Gaudron has an iron of ours, which you must get 
 from her. I wasn't able to make any soup this evening ; but 
 there's some bread left, and you can put some potatoes to 
 warm.' 
 
 Till her last rattle the poor kitten still remained *the 
 little mother.' Surely enough it would be impossible to 
 replace her ! She was dying because, younsf as she was, she 
 had possessed a true mother's reason, because her breast was 
 too small and weak for such breadth of maternity. And if 
 her ferocious beast of a father lost this treasure, it was his 
 own fault. After kicking the mother to death, hadn't he 
 murdered the daughter as well ? The two good angels would 
 lie in the grave, and all that could be in store for him was to 
 croak like a dog in the gutter. 
 
 However, Gervaise restrained herself so that she might 
 not burst out sobbing. She extended her hands, desirous of 
 easing the child ; and as the shred of a sheet was falling, she 
 wished to tuck it in, and arrange the bed. Then the dying 
 girl's poor little body was seen. Ah ! Lord God, what misery ! 
 what woe I Stones might have wept at such a sight. Lalie 
 had no flesh left ; her bones seemed to protrude through her 
 skin. From her ribs to her thighs there extended a number 
 of violet stripes — the marks of the whip forcibly imprinted on 
 
374 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her. A livid mark, moreover, encircled her left arm, as if 
 the tender limb, scarcely larger than a Incifer, had been 
 crushed in a vice. There was also an imperfectly closed 
 wound on her right leg, which had been left there by some 
 ugly blow, and which opened again and again of a morning 
 when she went about doing her errands. From head to foot, 
 indeed, she was but one bruise ! Oh ! that murdering of 
 childhood ; those heavy hands crushing that dear girl ! How 
 abominable that such weakness should have such a weighty 
 cross to bear ! Again did Gervaise crouch down, no longer 
 thinking of tucking in the sheet, but overwhelmed by the 
 pitiful sight of that martyrdom ; and her trembling lips 
 seemed to be seeking for words of prayer. 
 
 * Madame Coupeau,* murmured the child, * I beg you ' 
 
 With her little arms she tried to draw up the sheet again, 
 ashamed as it were for her father. Bijard, in a state of 
 brutish stupor, with his eyes on the corpse which was his 
 own work, still wagged his head, but more slowly, like a 
 worried animal might do. 
 
 When she had covered Lalie up again, Gervaise felt that 
 she could not remain there. The dying girl was growing 
 weaker, and no longer spoke ; all that was left to her was her 
 gaze — the dark look which she had shown as a resigned and 
 thoughtful child, and which she now fixed on her two little 
 ones, who were still cutting out their pictures. The room 
 was growing gloomy, and Bijard sat working off his liquor 
 amidst the stupor of that agony. Ah I life was too abomin- 
 able ! _ How full of filth it was ! how full of filth ! Then 
 Gervaise took herself off, and went down the stairs unwittingly, 
 her head wandering, so full of disgust that she would willingly 
 have thrown herself under the wheels of a passing omnibus 
 to have finished with her own existence. 
 
 As she hastened on, growling against bard fate, she sud 
 denly found herself in front of the place where Coupeau pre- 
 tended that he worked. Her legs had brought her thither, 
 and now her stomach resumed its song, the complaint of 
 hunger in ninety verses— a complaint she knew by heart. 
 However, if she could catch Coupeau as he left, she would 
 pounce upon the cash at once, and buy some food. There 
 would be a short hour's waiting at the utmost; she could 
 surely stay that out, she who had sucked her thumbs since 
 the day before. 
 
 The place was in the Bue de la Charbonnike, at the 
 
HUNGER 375 
 
 corner of the Rue de Chartres, an open space where the wind 
 played at hide-and-seek. Stalking the pavement there didn't 
 warm one, particularly when one had no furs. The sky re- 
 tained its ugly leaden hue, and the snow, collected up above, 
 covered the neighbourhood as with an icy cap. Nothing fell, 
 but the air was profoundly still, indicating that there would 
 be a complete disguise for Paris by-and-by — a pretty ball- 
 dress, quite white and new. Gervaise raised her head, 
 begging Providence not to let the muslin fall yet awhile. 
 Then she stamped her feet, looked at a grocer's shop over the 
 way, and turned on her heels, since it was not worth while for 
 her to sharpen her appetite by contemplating dainty things. 
 There was nothing amusing roundabout. The few passers-by, 
 with comforters wrapped round their necks, strode swiftly on ; 
 for, naturally enough, one does not care to tarry in such 
 bitter cold. However, Gervaise perceived four or five women 
 who, hke herself, were mounting guard outside the zinc- 
 works— other unhappy creatures, no doubt — wives watching 
 for their husbands' pay, so as to prevent it from going to the 
 dram-shop. Close to the wall stood a tall creature with a 
 gendarme's face, who was ready to spring on her husband as 
 soon as he should show himself. A dark httle woman with 
 a delicate, humble air was walking about on the other side 
 of the road. Another one — a fat creature — had brought two 
 urchins with her, and was dragging them along, one by eithei 
 hand, and both of them shivering and sobbing. And one and 
 all of these women — Gervaise like the others — passed and re- 
 passed, exchanging glances, but never speaking to one another. 
 It was a pleasant meeting and no mistake. They didn't need 
 to form acquaintance to know each other's address. They 
 all lodged on the premises of * Misery & Co.' It seemed to 
 make one feel even colder to see them ever stamping about 
 and passing each other in silence in that terrible January 
 weather. 
 
 For a time nobody left the zinc-works. But presently 
 one workman appeared, then two, and then three ; however, 
 these were, no doubt, decent fellows who took their pay home 
 regularly, for they jerked their heads significantly as they saw 
 the shadows prowling up and down. The tall creature stuck 
 closer than ever to the side of the door, and suddenly fell 
 upon a pale little man who was prudently poking his head 
 out. Oh 1 it was soon settled 1 She searched him, and 
 collared his coin. He was fairly caught; he'd no more 
 
376 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 money left, not even enough to pay for a dram I Then, look- 
 ing very vexed and downcast, the little man followed his 
 gendarme, weeping like a child. The workmen were still 
 coming out ; and as the fat mother with the two boys 
 approached the door, a tall fellow, with a cunning look, 
 who noticed her, hastily went inside again to warn her 
 husband, and when the latter arrived he had stuffed a couple 
 of cart-wheels away — two beautiful new five-franc pieces — one 
 in each of his shoes. He took one of the kids on his arm, 
 and went off telling crams to his old woman, who was com 
 plaining. There were other workmen also — gloomy, wretched 
 looking fellows who carried in their clenched fists the pay 
 for the three or five days' work that they had done during a 
 fortnight, and who reproached themselves with their own 
 laziness, and took drunkards' oaths of reformation. But the 
 saddest thing of all was the grief of the dark little woman 
 with the humble, delicate look. Her husband, a handsome 
 fellow, bolted under her very nose, and so brutally indeed 
 that he almost knocked her down, and she went home alone, 
 stumbUng past the shops and weeping all the tears in her 
 body. 
 
 At last the procession finished. Gervaise, who stood 
 erect in the middle of the street, was still watching the door. 
 The look-out seemed a bad one. A couple more workmen 
 who were late appeared on the threshold, but there were still 
 no signs of Coupeau. And when she asked the workmen if 
 Coupeau wasn't coming, they, being up to snuff, answered, 
 banteringly, that he had just gone off by the back-door with 
 Lantimeche. Gervaise understood what that meant. So 
 that pretence at work was another of Coupeau's lies ; she 
 might whistle for him if she liked. Then, shuffling along in 
 her worn-out shoes, she went slowly down the Kue de la 
 Charbonniere. Her dinner was going off fast in front of her, 
 and she shuddered as she saw it running away in the yellow 
 twilight. This time it was all over. Not a copper, not a 
 hope, nothing but night and hunger. Ah ! 'twas a fine 
 night to kick the bucket, that murky night which was now 
 falling over her shoulders ! 
 
 However, while she was walking heavily up the Eue des 
 Poissonniers she suddenly heard Coupeau's voice. Yes, he 
 was there, in the * Little Civet,' with My-Boots, who was 
 treating him. That jester, My-Boots, had been cunning 
 enough at the end of the previous summer to espouse in 
 
HUNGER 377 
 
 authentic fashion a person who, although advanced in years 
 and no longer fresh, had preserved some traces of beauty. 
 She was one of the Hue des Martyrs set, and My-Boots now 
 lived like a man of means, well clad and well fed. He could 
 hardly be recognised, so fat had he grown. And so Coupeau 
 squinted admiringly at him. "Why, the lucky dog even had 
 a gold ring on his little finger I 
 
 However, Gervaise touched Coupeau on the shoulder just 
 as he was coming out of the * Little Civet.' * I say,' she 
 exclaimed, * I'm waiting. I'm hungry. Is that all you 
 stand ? ' 
 
 But he silenced her in first-rate style. * You're hungry, 
 eh ? Well, then eat your hand, and keep t'other for to-mor- 
 row.' 
 
 He considered it highly improper for her to do the dramatic 
 in other people's presence. What, he hadn't worked, and 
 yet the bakers kneaded bread all the same. Did she take 
 him for a Juggins that she came and tried to frighten him 
 with her stories ? 
 
 * Do you want me to turn thief ? ' she muttered, in a 
 husky voice. 
 
 My-Boots stroked his chin in conciliatory fashion. * No, 
 that's forbidden,' said he. * But when a woman knows how 
 to manage ' 
 
 And Coupeau interrupted him to call out * Bravo ! ' Yes, 
 a woman ought to know how to manage. But his wife had 
 always been a helpless thing. It would be her fault if they 
 should die in the straw. And then he again vented his 
 admiration for My-Boots. How awfully fine he looked I A 
 regular landlord, with clean linen and swell shoes ! They 
 were no common stuff I His wife, at all events, knew how 
 to row the boat ! 
 
 The two men walked towards the outer Boulevard, and Ger- 
 vaise followed them. After a pause, she resumed, addressing 
 Coupeau: 'I'm hungry; you know, I relied on you. You must 
 find me something to nibble.' 
 
 He did not answer, and she repeated, in a tone of despair- 
 ing agony : * Is that all you stand then ? ' 
 
 'But, dash it all, I've got no coin,' he roared, turning 
 round in a fury. * Just leave me alone, eh ? or else I'll hit 
 you.' 
 
 He was already raising his fist when she drew back, and 
 seemed to make up her mind. * ALL right, I'U leave you. I 
 
378 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 shall always be able to find some one who'll treat me better 
 than you.' 
 
 The zinc-worker laughed and pretended to make a joke of 
 the matter, but the result was to strengthen her in her pur- 
 pose. That was a fine idea of hers, and no mistake 1 said he. 
 In the evening, by gaslight, she might still make a conquest. 
 And as she went off along the Boulevard, looking pale and 
 furious, he added some abominable suggestions, couched 
 however in such language that one could not tell whether he 
 was still jesting or speaking seriously. 
 
 With his words ringing in her ears, Gervaise walked 
 quickly away. But when she found herself alone amidst the 
 crowd, she slackened her pace. She was quite resolute. 
 Between thieving and the other alternative, she preferred 
 the latter. To steal would be to do an injury to others, 
 whereas her shame could only recoil upon herself. It might 
 be wrong, but when one is dying of hunger, one doesn't 
 philosophise, one eats whatever bread may turn up. She had 
 gone as far as the Chaussee-Clignancourt. It seemed as if 
 the night would never come. Still, she followed the Boule- 
 vards like a lady who is taking a stroll before dinner. The 
 district in which she nowadays felt so ashamed of herself, so 
 greatly was it being embellished, lay open to the fresh air. 
 The Boulevard Magenta, ascending from the heart of Paris, 
 and the Boulevard Ornano stretching into the country, had 
 transpierced the neighbourhood in the vicinity of the old 
 Barriere, levelling a large number of houses ; however, beside 
 the two long avenues, still white with plaster, one could see 
 the Faubourg-Poissonniere and the Bue des Poissonniers, 
 dark, dingy, and crooked. On the other hand, the demolition 
 of the octroi wall had long since widened the outer Boulevard, 
 allowing space for two paved roads, with a central foot-walk 
 planted with four rows of scrubby plane trees. The view 
 extended to the horizon, along far- stretching highways 
 swarming with people, and ending in a chaos of half-built 
 houses. But among the lofty new buildings there still re- 
 mained Diany tottering hovels. Between the carved frontages 
 of recent erection black cavities opened, wretched kennels 
 yawned, with rags hanging from their windows. The misery 
 of the Faubourg burst through all the rising luxury of Paris, 
 smirching the new city which was being built so hastily. 
 
 And lost in the crowd on the broad footway, walking past 
 the httle plane trees, Gervaise felt quite alone, forsaken. The 
 
HUNGER 379 
 
 far vistas of avenues seen over yonder seemed to empty her 
 stomach all the more ; and to think that among that stream 
 of people there were many in easy circumstances, and yet not 
 a Christian soul who could guess her position, and slip a ten- 
 sous piece into her hand 1 Yes, the scene was too great and 
 too beautiful; her head swam, and her legs tottered under 
 the expanse of grey sky which stretched over the vast open 
 space. The twilight had the dirty-yellowish hue of Parisian 
 twilights, a tint that gives one a longing to die at once, so 
 ugly does street-hfe become. And gradually the last gleams 
 departed, it was a murky hour, and things at any distance 
 were blurred as by a muddy veil. Gervaise, who was already 
 weary, found all the workpeople returning home. The ladies 
 in bonnets and the well-dressed gentlemen who lived in the 
 new houses were swamped by the masses, the long processions 
 of men and women who hurried on still pale from inhaling 
 the tainted atmosphere of their workshops. From the Boule- 
 vard Magenta and the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonni^re, came 
 bands of people, breathless from their uphill walk. Amidst 
 the rumbling of the omnibuses and the cabs, among the vans 
 and drays returning home empty at a gallop, an ever increasing 
 sw^arm of blouses and blue vests covered the pavement. Com- 
 missionaires were returning with their crotchets on their backs. 
 Two workmen, stepping out and taking long strides side by 
 side, talked together in loud voices, with any amount of 
 gesticulation, but without looking at one another ; others, who 
 were alone, in overcoats and caps, followed the curbstones 
 with lowered heads ; while others, again, came in parties of 
 five or six, following each other in silence, their eyes dim, 
 and their hands in their pockets. Some still had their pipes, 
 which had gone out, between their teeth. Four masons poked 
 their white faces out of the windows of a cab which they had 
 hired between them, and on the roof of which their mortar 
 troughs were rocking to and fro. Then house-painters swung 
 their colour pots ; a zinc-worker came by laden with a long 
 ladder, with which he almost poked people's eyes out ; whilst 
 a belated dealer in filter-taps, with his box on his back, played 
 the tune of ' The Good King Dagobert ' on his little trumpet. 
 Ah ! the mournful music, a fitting accompaniment to the 
 flock-like tramping, the dragging tread of the exhausted beasts 
 of burden. 
 
 So another day's work was over ! Really work lasted too 
 long and came too often. There would hardly be time to fill 
 
58o THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 one's maw and digest one's food before daylight would come 
 again, and the collar of drudgery must be resumed. But, 
 nevertheless, the plucky ones whistled and stamped on the 
 pavement, as they darted along, erect, with their mouths 
 turned supperwards. And Gervaise let the crowd flow past 
 her, careless of being knocked against, elbowed to the right, 
 and elbowed to the left, rolled hither and thither by the force 
 of the tide. For men have no time to indulge in gallantry when 
 they are bent double by fatigue and pinched by hunger. 
 
 Suddenly, however, on raising her eyes she noticed the 
 old Hotel Boncoeur in front of her. After becoming an_ ill- 
 famed cafe, which the police authorities had shut up, the little 
 house was now abandoned; its shutters were covered with 
 posters, its lantern was broken, it was rotting and crumbling 
 away, the whole of it, from top to bottom, with its claret 
 coloured paint turning quite mouldy. However, a stationer's 
 and a tobacconist's which she recollected were still there. In 
 the rear, over some low buildings, she could also see the 
 leprous fa9ades of several five-storeyed houses rearing battered 
 silhouettes against the sky. The * Grand Balcony ' dancing 
 hall, alone, no longer existed; some sugar-cutting works, 
 which hissed continually, had been installed in the hall 
 whose ten windows had once flamed forth so brightly. And 
 yet it was there, in that den — the Hotel Boncoeur — that the 
 whole cursed life had begun. Gervaise remained looking 
 at the first floor window, from which hung a broken shutter, 
 and recalled to mind her youth with Lantier, their first rows 
 and the ignoble way in which he had abandoned her. But 
 no matter, she had been young then, and it all seemed gay to 
 her, seen from a distance. Only twenty years, God of 
 heaven ! and yet she had fallen to the pavement. Then the 
 sight of the lodging-house oppressed her, and she walked up 
 the Boulevard in the direction of Montmartre. 
 
 The night was gathering, but children were still playing 
 on the heaps of sand between the benches. The march past 
 continued ; work-girls now went by, trotting along, hurrying 
 to make up for the time which they had lost in looking at 
 the shop windows. One tall girl stopped, and let her hand 
 linger in that of a big fellow, who had accompanied her, three 
 doors off from her home ; others, as they parted from one 
 another, made appointments for the night at the 'Grand Hall 
 of Folly ' or the ' Black Ball.' In the midst of the groups, 
 piece-workers went by, carrying the gowns or mantles which 
 
HUNGER 381 
 
 they had to make up, under their arms. Then a chimney- 
 doctor, harnessed with leather braces, and drawing a plaster- 
 laden truck, was nearly crushed by an omnibus, owing to hia 
 carelessness. And meantime among the crowd, which was 
 now dwindling, there ran various bareheaded housewives 
 who, after lighting the fire, had come downstairs again, and 
 were hastily making their purchases for dinner. They jostled 
 the people they met, darted into the bakers' and the pork 
 butchers', and went off again with all despatch, their pro- 
 visions in their hands. There were also little girls, eight 
 years old or so, who had been sent out on errands, and who 
 walked past the shops, with long loaves of four pounds' 
 weight, as tall as they were themselves, pressed like beautiful 
 yellow dolls against their breasts ; and at times these little 
 ones forgot themselves for five minutes or so, in front of some 
 pictures in a shop window, and rested their cheeks against 
 the bread. Then the flow began to subside, the groups 
 became more scattered, toil had gone home ; and amidst the 
 flare of the gas, now thac the day's labour was over, there 
 came the revenge of awakening idleness and jollity. 
 
 Ah ! yes, Gervaise's day also was over I She felt more 
 exhausted than even all that mob of toilers which had shook 
 her as it passed. She might lie down there and croak, for 
 work would have nothing more to do with her, and she had 
 laboured enough in her time to say : * Whose turn now ? I've 
 had enough.' At present everybody was eating. This was 
 really the end, the sun had blown out its candle, and the 
 night would be a long one. Ah ! God ! To stretch oneself 
 at one's ease and never rise again, to think that one has put 
 one's tools by for good, and that one will henceforth lie lazy 
 for ever ! That's what is good, after one has tired oneself 
 out during twenty years ! And despite herself Gervaise, as 
 hunger twisted her stomach, thought of the fete days, the 
 spreads and the revelry of her life. On one occasion espe- 
 cially, an awfully cold day, a mid-Lent Thursday, she had 
 enjoyed herself wonderfully well. She was very pretty, fair- 
 haired and fresh-looking at that time. Her wash-house in 
 the Eue Neuve had chosen her as Queen in spite of her 
 lameness. And they had all had a jaunt along the Boule- 
 vards in vehicles decked with green stuff, amidst stylish 
 people who had never ceased to ogle her. Real gentlemen 
 had put up their glasses as if she had been a true queen. 
 And in the evening there had been a wonderful spread, and 
 
382 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 afterwards dancing until daylight. Queen ! yes, she had been 
 Queen ; with a crown and a sash for twenty-four hours — 
 twice round the clock I And now, heavy and tortured by 
 hunger, she looked on the ground, as if she were seeking for 
 the gutter in which she had let her fallen majesty tumble. 
 
 She raised her eyes again. She was now in front of the 
 slaughterhouses which were being pulled down. Through 
 the gaps in the frontage one could see the dark, stinking 
 courtyards still damp with blood. And when she had gone 
 down the Boulevard again, she also saw the Lariboisiere 
 Hospital, with its long grey wall, above which its mournful 
 wings, pierced with windows at even distances, spread out 
 fanlike. One door in the wall terrified the neighbourhood ; it 
 was the door of the dead, and its panel of massive oak, with- 
 out a single chink, remained as stern and as silent as a tomb- 
 stone. Then to escape her thoughts, she hurried yet farther 
 down until she reached the railway bridge. High parapets of 
 riveted sheet-iron hid the line from view ; she could only dis- 
 tinguish a part of the station, a vast roof black with coal dust, 
 showing against the luminous horizon of Paris. And in this 
 clear spacious spot she could hear engines whistling, turn- 
 tables shaking rhythmically, and other sounds betokening 
 colossal, hidden activity. Then a train passed by, leaving 
 Paris, with puffing breath and growing rumble. And all that 
 she perceived of this train was a white plume, a sudden gust 
 of steam which rose above the parapet and then evaporated. 
 But the bridge had shaken, and she herself was stirred by this 
 departure at full speed. She turned round as if to follow the 
 invisible engine, whose uproar was dying away. In that 
 direction she divined the existence of the country and fresh 
 air, far away beyond a cutting where to right and left were tall 
 isolated houses erected without order, now showing frontages, 
 and now side-walls, some unplastered, others painted over 
 with giant advertisements, and all of them dirtied in like 
 fashion by the smoke from the engines. Oh I if she had only 
 been able to go off like that, to go off yonder far from those 
 abodes of misery and suffering. Perhaps she might then have 
 begun her life afresh ! Then she found herself stupidly 
 reading the bills posted on the sheet- iron parapet. They 
 were of every tint. One of them — a little one, of a pretty 
 shade of blue — promised fifty francs reward for a dog which 
 had been lost. That animal had been loved, plainly enough. 
 
 Gervaise slowly resumed her walk. In the misty, smoky 
 
HUNGER 383 
 
 darkness which was falling, the gas lamps were being lighted ; 
 and the long avenues, which had gradually grown black and 
 indistinct, again showed plainly, sparkhng, stretching away, 
 transpiercing the night, even to the vague gloom of the 
 horizon. A great gust swept by ; the district seemed to 
 expand, throwing out girdle after girdle of httle flames, under 
 the far-spreading moonless sky. It was the hour when from 
 one to the other end of the Boulevards the dram-shops and 
 the dancing and concert halls one after the other flamed 
 gaily, amidst the merriment of the first round of drinks and 
 the first dance. And as this was the great fortnightly pay- 
 day, the pavement was crowded with jostling revellers. 
 There was a breath of revelry in the air—downright revelry, 
 but so far kept within limits. Folks were filling themselves 
 in the eating-houses ; through the lighted windows you could 
 see them feeding, with their mouths full, and laughing with- 
 out taking the trouble to swallow. Drunkards were already 
 installed in the wine-shops, squabbling and gesticulating. 
 And there was a hubbub on all sides, shrill and husky voices 
 alike shouting amid the constant clatter of feet on the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 * I say 1 are you coming to have a drop ? * * Make haste, 
 old man ; I'll pay for a glass of bottled wine.* * Hallo I 
 here's Pauline ! Shan't we just laugh 1 ' The doors swung 
 to and fro, letting a smell of wine and a stream of cornet 
 playing escape into the open air. There was a gathering in 
 front of old Colombe's ' Assommoir,' which was lighted up 
 like a cathedral for high mass ; and indeed one might have 
 thought that a real ceremony was going on, for several hail- 
 well-met fellows with rounded paunches and swollen cheeks, 
 looking for all the world like professional choristers, were 
 singing inside.. Of course they were celebrating Saint-Pay — 
 a very amiable saint who no doubt keeps the cash-box in 
 Paradise. Only, on seeing how gaily the evening began, the 
 retired tradesmen who had taken their wives out for a stroll 
 wagged their heads and repeated that there would be any 
 number of drunken men in Paris that night. And the night 
 stretched very dark, dead-like and icy above the revelry, 
 illumined only by the lines of gas-lamps which extended to 
 the four corners of heaven. 
 
 Gervaise stood in front of the * Assommoir,* thinking that 
 if she had only possessed a couple of sous she could have 
 gone inside for a nip. A nip no doubt would have quieted 
 
384 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 her hunger. Ah ! what a number of nips she had drunk in 
 her time ! Liquor seemed good stuff to her after all. And 
 from outside she watched the fuddling machine, reahsing that 
 her misfortunes came from it, and yet dreaming of finishing 
 herself off with brandy whenever she should have some cash. 
 But a shudder passed through her hair, as she saw that it 
 was now quite dark. She must show some courage if she 
 didn't wish to croak amidst the general revelry. The sight of 
 other people gorging didn't precisely fill her own maw. She 
 slackened her pace again, and looked around her. There was 
 a darker shade under the trees. Only few people passed, 
 folks in a hurry who swiftly crossed the Boulevards. But on 
 the broad, dark, deserted, central foot walk, where the sound 
 of the revelry died away, women stood for long moments 
 motionless, as stiff-looking as the scrubby little plane trees 
 beside them. Then they slowly began to move, dragging their 
 slippers over the frozen soil, taking ten steps or so and then 
 halting once more. There was one with a huge frame and 
 insect-hke limbs who swayed about in a black silk rag, with a 
 yellow scarf over her head ; there was another tall and bony, 
 bareheaded and wearing a servant's apron ; and others, too — 
 both old and young. And Gervaise tried to imitate them, 
 though an attack of girlish emotion contracted her throat. 
 She seemed to be Hving in a horrible dream. For a quarter 
 of an hour she remained standing erect, but people hurried 
 by without even turning their heads. Then she in her turn 
 moved about, and as a man passed near her whistling, with 
 his hands in his pockets, she murmured in a strangled voice : 
 ' Sir, just listen.' 
 
 The man gave her a side glance and then went off, 
 whistling all the louder. 
 
 Then Gervaise grew bolder, the hunger which griped and 
 tortured her, urging her into this wild chase for a meal, the 
 chance of which seemed to grow fainter and fainter. For a 
 long while she walked about, without thinking of the flight of 
 time or of the direction she took. Around her the dark mute 
 women went to and fro under the trees like wild beasts in a 
 cage. Whenever they passed a gas-lamp they emerged from 
 the shade like apparitions ; then as they went off into the 
 darkness they grew vague once more. Now and again some 
 individual halted, jested with them, and then walked away, 
 laughing. There was a deal of murmuring, of quarrelling in 
 undertones, which suddenly gave nlace to silence. And aa 
 
 1 
 
HUNGER 385 
 
 far as Gervaise went she saw these women standing at 
 intervals like sentinels ; they seemed to be posted along the 
 whole length of the Boulevards. All Paris was encompassed 
 by them. For her part, in her sore need of bread, she again 
 and again ragefully changed her place, finally walking up 
 and down between the Chaussee Clignancourt and the Grande 
 Rue of La Chapelle. 
 
 * Sir, just listen.' 
 
 But those whom she addressed passed by. She started from 
 the slaughterhouses, which reeked of blood; she glanced on her 
 way at the old Hotel Boncoeur, now closed ; she passed in 
 front of the Lariboisiere Hospital, and mechanically counted 
 the windows which were illumined by a pale quiet glimmer, 
 like that of night-lights at the bedsides of agonising sufferers. 
 And she also crossed the railway bridge, beneath which the 
 trains rushed with a noisy rumble, rending the air atwain 
 with their shrill whistling. Ah I how sad did everything 
 seem at night-time ! Then she turned on her heels again, 
 and filled her eyes with the sight of the same houses, doing 
 this ten and twenty times without pausing, without resting 
 for a minute on a bench. But none would listen to her. Her 
 shame seemed to be increased by this contempt. Nevertheless, 
 she went down towards the hospital again, and then returned 
 towards the slaughterhouses. It was her last promenade — 
 from the blood-stained yards, where animals were stricken 
 low, to the pale hospital wards, where death was stiffening the 
 patients stretched between the sheets. It was between these 
 limits that she had passed her life. 
 
 * Sir, just listen.' 
 
 But suddenly she perceived her shadow on the ground. 
 "Whenever she came near to a gas-lamp it gradually drew 
 itself together, became less vague, more clearly defined, and 
 terribly grotesque, so portly had she nowadays grown. And 
 such, moreover, was her lameness that the shadow seemed to 
 turn a somersault at every step she took. It looked like a 
 real Punch I Then as she left the lamp behind her, the 
 Punch grew taller, becoming in fact gigantic, filling the whole 
 Boulevard, and bobbing to and fro in such a style that it 
 seemed likely to smash its nose against the trees or the houses. 
 Good heavens I how frightful she was 1 Never before had 
 she realised her disfigurement so thoroughly. And from that 
 moment she could not refrain from looking at her shadow ; 
 she even waited for the gas-lamps, ever watching the bobbing 
 
 c 
 
386 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 of that Punch-like reflection. Ah ! she had a pretty com- 
 panion with her I What a figure 1 It could scarcely be 
 attractive ! And at the thought of her unsightliness, she 
 lowered her voice, and scarcely dared to stammer : * Sir, just 
 listen.' 
 
 It must now be very late, she thought. Things were 
 growing unpleasant in the neighbourhood. The eating- 
 houses had shut up, and voices, gruff with drink, could be 
 heard disputing in the wine-shops. Kevelry was turning to 
 quarrelling and fisticuffs. A big ragged chap roared out, 
 
 * I'll knock you to bits ; just number your bones.' A woman 
 who had quarrelled with a man outside a dancing place, was 
 calling him blackguard and pig, whilst he kept on repeating, 
 
 * How about your sister ? ' as though he could think of 
 nothing else. Drink seemed to have brought the revellers a 
 fierce desire to indulge in blows, and the passing pedestrians, 
 who were now less numerous, hurried on with pale contracted 
 faces. There was a battle at last; one drunken man came 
 down on his back, with arms and legs in the air, whilst his 
 comrade, thinking that he had done for him, ran off with his 
 heavy shoes clattering over the pavement. 
 
 Then after bands of fellows had gone by braying coarse 
 Bongs, a deep silence came, interrupted only by the hiccoughs 
 and the falls of drunkards. The fortnightly spree always 
 finished in this fashion. If a foreigner had visited the neigh- 
 bourhood at that hour he would have gone away with a nice 
 opinion of Paris. But the drunkards were at home, and 
 didn't care a rap for Europe or America either. Knives were 
 at last slipped out, and the little fete ended in bloodshed. 
 Women now walked on more hastily, and men prowled 
 wolfishly around, while the night grew denser, heavy with 
 abomination. 
 
 And Gervaise still hobbled up and down, as with the idea 
 of walking for ever. At times she became drowsy, and went 
 to sleep, rocked, as it were, by her lame leg ; then she started 
 and looked around her, and found that she had taken a 
 hundred paces quite unconsciously. Her feet were swelling 
 'n her ragged shoes, but she no longer felt anything. The 
 last clear thought that came to her was that her hussy of a 
 daughter was perhaps at that very moment eating oysters. 
 Then everything clouded over ; although her eyes remained 
 open, she found it impossible to think, as that required 
 far too great an effort. The only thmg of which she con- 
 
HUNGER 387 
 
 tinued conscious, in her utter annihilation, was that it was 
 frightfully cold, so bitterly, so mortally cold, that she had 
 never known the Hke before. Why, even the dead could not 
 feel so cold as that in their graves I At last with difficulty 
 she raised her head, and something icy lashed her face. It 
 was the snow, which had at last made up its mind to come 
 down from the murky sky — fine fast-falling snow it was, 
 which the breeze swept round and round. For three days 
 it had been expected. It fell at the right time, and no 
 mistake. 
 
 Roused by the first gusts, Gervaise began to walk faster. 
 Men, eager to get home, were now running past with their 
 shoulders already white. But, as she suddenly saw one who, 
 on the contrary, was slowly coming towards her under the 
 trees, she approached him, and again repeated : * Sir, just 
 listen.' 
 
 The man had stopped ; but he did not seem to have heard 
 her. He held out his hand, and muttered in a low voice : 
 ' Charity, if you please ! ' 
 
 Then they looked at one another. God of Heaven ! So 
 they had fallen to this — father Bru and Madame Coupeau I 
 They remained stupefied in front of each other. They could 
 well shake hands now. The old workman had prowled around 
 throughout the evening, never daring to stop anyone, and the 
 first person whom he accosted was one as hungry as himself. 
 Lord God, was it not pitiful ? To have toiled for fifty years, 
 and now be obhged to beg ! To have been one of the most 
 prosperous laundresses of the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, and to 
 end beside the gutter ! They still looked at one another. 
 Then, without saying a word, they went off in different 
 directions under the lashing snow. 
 
 There was a perfect tempest now. On those heights, in 
 that open expanse, the fine snow revolved round and round, 
 as if blown from the four corners of heaven. One could not 
 see ten paces off, everything was blurred by that flying dust. 
 The surroundings had disappeared, the Boulevard seemed life- 
 less, as if the storm had cast the silence of its white sheet 
 over the hiccoughs of the last drunkards. Gervaise still went 
 on painfully, bhnded, lost. She felt her way by touching the 
 trees. As she advanced, the gas lamps shone out amidst the 
 whiteness like torches. Then, suddenly, whenever she crossed 
 an open space, these lights failed her; she found herself 
 enveloped by the whirUng snow, unable to distinguish any- 
 
 oc2 
 
388 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 thing. Below her stretched the ground, vaguely white ; grey 
 walls surrounded her ; and when she paused, hesitating, and 
 turning her head, she could only divine that behind that icy 
 veil there extended immense avenues, and endless rows of 
 gas-lamps— all the deserted Infinite of slumbering Paris. 
 
 She was standing where the outer Boulevard meets the 
 Boulevards Magenta and Ornano, thinking of lying down upon 
 the ground, when suddenly she heard a footfall. At this she 
 began to run, but the snow blinded her, and the footsteps 
 went off, without it being possible for her to tell whether it 
 were to the right or left. At last, however, she perceived a 
 man's broad shoulders, a dark form which was disappearing 
 amid the snow. Oh ! she'd stop that one, he shouldn't escape 
 her 1 And she ran on all the faster, reached him, and caught 
 him by the blouse : * Sir, sir, just listen.' 
 
 The man turned round. It was Goujet. 
 
 Ah ! what had she done to be tortured in that wise by 
 Providence ? To stumble against Goujet, of all men, was 
 the crowning blow. And this happened just under a gas- 
 lamp ; she could see her deformed shadow swaying to and 
 fro on the snow like a real caricature. One might have said 
 she was drunk. Good Lord ! to have neither a crust of bread 
 nor a drop of wine in her body, and to be taken for a drunken 
 woman ! It was her own fault, however, why did she tipple ? 
 Goujet doubtless thought that she had been drinking, and was 
 up to some nasty pranks. However, he looked at her while 
 the snow scattered daisies over his beautiful yeUow beard. 
 Then, as she lowered her head and stepped back, he detained 
 her. * Come,' said he. 
 
 And he walked on first. She followed him. Gliding 
 noiselessly past the walls, they both crossed the silent district. 
 Poor Madame Goujet had died of rheumatism in the month 
 of October ; however, her son still dwelt, alone and gloomy, 
 in the little house in the Eue Neuve. On this occasion he 
 had been belated by nursing an injured comrade. When he 
 had opened the door and lighted a lamp, he turned towards 
 Gervaise, who had remained humbly on the landing, and, in 
 a low voice, as if he were afraid that his mother might still 
 hear him, he exclaimed, ' Come in.' 
 
 The first room, Madame Goujet's, was piously kept in the 
 same state as she had left it. The tambour lay near the 
 window beside the large arm-chair, which seemed to be wait- 
 ing for the old lace-worker's return. The bed was made, and 
 
HUNGER 389 
 
 she might have stretched herself beneath the sheets had she 
 left the cemetery to spend the evening with her child. And 
 there was something solemn, a perfume of honesty and good- 
 ness about the whole room. 
 
 * Come in,' repeated the blacksmith in a louder tone. 
 
 Gervaise went in, half frightened, like a hussy gliding into 
 a respectable place. Goujet was quite pale, and trembled at 
 the thought of thus ushering a woman into his dead mother's 
 abode. They crossed the room on tiptoe, as if they were 
 ashamed to be heard. Then, when he had pushed Gervaise 
 into his own room, he closed the door. There he was at 
 home. It was the little closet she was acquainted with ; a 
 schoolboy's room, with a small iron bedstead hung with white 
 curtains. On the walls the engravings cut out of the illus- 
 trated newspapers had increased and spread in suchwise that 
 they now reached the ceiling. The room looked so pure and 
 childish that Gervaise did not dare to advance, but retreated 
 as far as she could from the lamp. Then without a word, in 
 a transport as it were, he put out his arm to draw her to 
 him. But her strength was giving Y:ay, and she murmured : 
 ♦Oh, my God! my God ! ' 
 
 The fire in the stove, which had been covered with 
 some coke- dust, was still alight, and the remainder of a stew 
 which Goujet had put to warm, thinking that he should 
 be home to dinner, was smoking in front of the cinder- 
 box. Gervaise, who felt her numbness leave her in that 
 pleasant warmth, would have gone down on all fours to eat 
 out of the saucepan. Her hunger was stronger than her will; 
 her stomach seemed rent atwain ; and she stooped down with 
 a sigh. But Goujet had realised the truth. He placed the 
 stew upon the table, cut some bread, and poured her out a 
 glass of wine. 
 
 ' Thanks ! thanks ! ' said she. * Oh, how kind you are ! 
 Thanks I ' 
 
 She stammered ; she could hardly articulate. When she 
 caught hold of her fork she began to tremble so acutely that 
 she let it fall again. The hunger that possessed her made 
 her wag her head. She was obliged to carry the food to her 
 mouth with her fingers. And as she thrust the first potato 
 into her mouth, she burst out sobbing. Big tears coursed 
 down her cheeks and fell upon her bread. But she went on 
 eating gluttonously, devouring the bread thus moistened by 
 her tears, and breathing very hard. Goujet compelled her to 
 
390 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 drink to prevent her from stifling, and when she carried her 
 glass to her mouth, it shook and grated against her teeth, 
 
 * Will you have some more bread ? ' he asked in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 She wept, she answered * No,' she answered * Yes,* she 
 couldn't tell. Ah, Lord I how nice and yet how sad it is to 
 eat when one is starving ! 
 
 And he, standing in front of her, looked at her the whole 
 time ; in the bright light that fell from the lamp-shade he 
 could see her well. How aged and altered she was 1 The 
 warmth was melting the snow on her hair and clothes, and 
 she was dripping. Her poor wagging head was quite grey ; 
 there were any number of grey locks which the wind had dis- 
 arranged. With her neck sinking between her shoulders, she 
 was becoming a mere heap of flesh, so fat and ugly that one 
 might have cried on noticing the change. And he recollected 
 their loves when she had been quite rosy, and had plied her 
 irons so vigorously, showing her neck with its pretty babyish 
 fold. In those times he had watched her for hours, content 
 merely with looking at her. Later on, she had come to the 
 forge, and there they had been very happy whilst he beat the 
 iron bolts, and she stood by watching the dance of his ham- 
 mer. Ah I in those days, how he had loved her I And now 
 she was there finishing her bread, scouring the saucepan, while 
 her big silent tears still fell upon her food. 
 
 But at last Gervaise rose ; she had finished. She remained 
 for a moment with her head lowered, and ill at ease. She 
 fancied that she detected a gleam in Goujet's eyes ; but he, 
 all at once, knelt down beside her, and taking hold of her 
 hands, exclaimed softly, * I love you, Madame Gervaise ; oh 1 
 I love you still and in spite of everything, I swear it to you.' 
 
 * Don't say that, Monsieur Goujet ! ' she cried, distracted 
 at seeing him at her feet. ' No, don't say that ; you grieve 
 me too much.' And as he repeated that he could never love 
 twice in his life, she felt yet greater despair. * No, no,' said 
 she, ' I am too ashamed. For the love of God get up. It is 
 my place to be on the ground.* 
 
 He rose, trembling all over, and stammered, * Will you 
 allow me to kiss you ? ' 
 
 Overcome by surprise and emotion she could not speak, 
 but assented with a nod of the head. 
 
 * That suffices between us, Madame Gervaise. It is all our 
 friendship, is it not ? ' he muttered, as he kissed her on the 
 
HUNGER 391 
 
 brow, on a lock of her grey straggling hair. He had not 
 kissed anybody since his mother's death. His sweetheart 
 Gervaise alone remained to him. And when he had kissed her 
 m that wise, with so much respect, he fell back across his bed 
 half-choked by his sobs. And Gervaise could remain there no 
 longer. When one loved it was too sad and too abominable 
 to meet again under such circumstances as those. ' I love you, 
 Monsieur Goujet,' she exclaimed. ' I also love you dearly. 
 Oh ! I may not stay, for I understand, I understand — Good- 
 bye, good-bye, it would stifle us both.* 
 
 And then she darted through Madame Goujet's room and 
 once more found herself outside on the pavement. When she 
 recovered her senses she had rung at the door in the Rue de 
 la Goutte-d'Or, and Boche was pulling the string. The house 
 was quite dark, and in the black night the yawning, dilapi- 
 dated porch looked like a huge open mouth. To think that she 
 had once been ambitious of securing a corner in that barracks I 
 Had her ears been stopped up that she had not heard the 
 fearful music of despair which sounded behind the walls ? 
 Since the day when she had set foot in the place she had 
 begun to go downhill. Yes, it must bring bad luck to be 
 jumbled, one a-top of another, in those big workmen's houses ; 
 the cholera of misery was contagious there. That night every- 
 one seemed to have croaked. She could only hear the Boches 
 snoring on the right-hand side, and on reaching the courtyard 
 she fancied that she was in a perfect cemetery ; the snow 
 paved the ground with white ; the high frontages, livid grey 
 in hue, rose up unlighted like ruined walls, and not a sigh 
 could be heard ; it seemed as if a whole village, stiffened by 
 cold and hunger, were buried there. And she had to step over 
 a stream of black water from the dye-works, which steamed 
 and coursed hke mud athwart the whiteness of the snow. 
 That stream was the colour of her thoughts. The beautiful 
 waters, softly blue or softly pink, had long since flowed away ! 
 
 Then, as she cUmbed the six flights of stairs in the dark, 
 she could not refrain from laughing with an ugly laugh, which 
 hurt her. She recalled her ideal of former times : to be able 
 to work in peace, always to have bread to eat, and a tidy home 
 to sleep in, to bring up her children properly, to live without 
 being beaten, and to die in her bed. Eeally now it was 
 comical how all that was being reahsedl She no longer 
 worked, she no longer ate, she slept on filth, her daughter had 
 gone to the bad, and her husband drubbed her ; aU that was 
 
392 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 left for her to do was to die on the pavement, and that would 
 not take long if on reaching her room she could only pluck up 
 enough courage to fling herself from the window. Might one 
 not have imagined that she had asked heaven for thirty 
 thousand francs a year and no end of respect ? Ah ! really, 
 it is of no use being modest in this Ufe ; one only gets sat 
 upon for one's pains 1 Not even food and a nest, such is the 
 common lot. And her ugly laugh became broader at the 
 recollection of her grand hope of retiring into the country after 
 she had spent twenty years as a laundress. Well I she was 
 on her way to the country now. She would have her green 
 corner in the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise. 
 
 When she entered the passage, she was like a mad 
 woman. Her poor head was whirling. In reality her great 
 grief came from having bid the blacksmith an eternal fare- 
 well. All was ended between them, they would never see 
 each other more. Then, too, every other subject of grief and 
 woe pressed upon her and made her head split. As she 
 passed, she peeped in at the Bijards' and saw Lalie lying dead, 
 with a look of contentment on her face at being at last 
 stretched out and slumbering for ever. Ah well I thought 
 Gervaise, children were luckier than grown-up people ! And, 
 as a glimmer of light escaped from under old Bazouge's door, 
 she walked boldly in, with a rageful desire to depart on the 
 same journey as the little one. 
 
 That old jester Bazouge had come home that night in an 
 extraordinary state of gaiety. He had indulged in such a 
 carouse, that he was snoring on the floor in spite of the cold ; 
 which apparently did not prevent him from dreaming of 
 something pleasant, for he seemed to be laughing as he slept. 
 The candle, which he had not blown out, lighted up all his 
 old toggery, his hat which lay flattened in a corner, and his 
 black cloak which he had drawn over his knees, as though it 
 had been a rug. 
 
 On beholding him Gervaise gave vent to such a loud 
 wail, that he awoke. ' Confound it I just shut the door ! 
 It's so cold ! Ah ! it's you I What's the matter ? what do 
 you want ? ' he asked. 
 
 Then Gervaise, stretching out her arms, and no longer 
 knowing what she stuttered, began to implore him pas- 
 sionately : * Ah ! take me away, I've had enough of it all ; I 
 want to go off. You mustn't bear me any grudge. I didn't 
 know, good heavens I One never knows till one's ready. 
 
HUNGER 393 
 
 Oh I yes, one is indeed glad to go one day I Take me away, 
 take me away, and I will thank you.' 
 
 She fell upon her knees, quivering and paling with desire 
 for death. Never before had she thus dragged herself at a 
 man's feet. Old Bazouge's phiz, with mouth distorted, 
 and dirty skin, seemed to her as beautiful and resplendent 
 as the sun. However, the old fellow, who was scarcely awake, 
 thought that this must all be some practical joke. *Isay 
 now,' he mm'mured * you mustn't try to get at me ! ' 
 
 '• Take me away,' repeated Gervaise, more ardently still. 
 * You remember that I knocked one evening against the par- 
 tition, and then said that I hadn't done so. But that was 
 because I was still a fool. See 1 give me your hands, I'm no 
 longer frightened now. Take me away to by-by ; you'll see 
 how still I'll be. Oh ! that's all I care for. Oh 1 do take me 
 away, I'll love you so much, so much I ' 
 
 Bazouge, ever gallant, thought that he ought not to be 
 hasty with a lady who appeared to have taken such a fancy to 
 him. Her mind was wandering, but all the same she seemed 
 by no means bad looking in her excitement. 
 
 ' What you say is very true,' he said, with an air of con- 
 viction. * I packed up three more to-day, who would have 
 given me a handsome gratuity, if they could only have got 
 their hands to their pockets. But you know, my little woman, 
 it's not so easily settled as all that ' 
 
 * Oh ! Take me away, take me away,' Gervaise still went 
 on, * I want to go off ' 
 
 ' Ah ! but there's a little operation to be gone through 
 beforehand — you know, crick 1 ' he replied, bringing a sound 
 from his throat as though he were swallowing his tongue. 
 And then thinking this a good joke, he chuckled. 
 
 Gervaise slowly rose to her feet. So he too could do 
 nothing for her. And thereupon she returned to her room 
 and threw herself upon her straw, regretting that she had 
 eaten. Ah 1 no, indeed, misery did not kill one quick enough. 
 
 XIII 
 
 DEATH 
 
 That night, Coupeau went on the batter. On the 
 morrow, Sunday, Gervaise received ten francs from her son 
 Etienne, who was now an engineer on a railway line. The 
 
394 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 youngster sent her a few francs from time to time, knowing 
 that there were very short commons at home. So she made 
 some beef soup, and ate it all alone, for that scoundrel 
 Coupeau did not return. On the Monday he was still absent, 
 and on the Tuesday also. In fact the whole week went by 
 without sign of him. Ah ! if only some lady had carried him 
 off, that would indeed be a piece of good luck 1 But on the 
 ensuing Sunday it happened that Gervaise received a printed 
 paper, which at first frightened her, because it looked like a 
 communication from the commissary of police. However, she 
 was soon at ease, for it was merely to inform her that her pig 
 was in a fair way to croak at the Sainte-Anne Asylum. The 
 paper was worded more politely than that, only it amounted 
 to the same thing. And so it was, indeed, a lady who had 
 got hold of Coupeau, and her name was Sophie-Put-'em-to- 
 Sleep, the drunkard's last good friend. 
 
 Truth to tell, Gervaise did not disturb herself 1 Coupeau 
 knew the way, and could very well get home from the asylum 
 by himself. They had cured him there so often that they 
 would no doubt once more do him the sorry service of setting 
 him on his pins again. Had she not heard that very morning 
 that all through the week he had been seen roUing about Belle- 
 ville from one dram-shop to another in the company of My- 
 Boots I Yes, indeed, and it was My-Boots, too, who stood 
 treat. He must have secured the stocking in which his wife 
 kept all her savings. Gervaise was particularly furious that 
 these selfish topers had not even thought of calhng for her 
 and standing her a drink. Had any one ever heard of such a 
 thing ?— a whole week's carouse, and not the least gallantry 
 shown to the ladies I When men swill by themselves, they 
 may croak by themselves, that was her view of the matter. 
 
 However, on the Monday, as Gervaise had a nice little 
 meal in reserve for the evening, the remains of some beans, 
 and a pint of wine, she pretended to herself chat a walk would 
 give her an appetite. The letter from the asylum, which she 
 had left lying on the drawers, had ended by bothering her. 
 The snow having melted, the weather was mild and grey, and 
 on the whole fine, with just a slight keenness in the air which 
 was invigorating. She started at noon, for the walk was a 
 long one. She had to cross Paris, and her lame leg was 
 always lagging. Besides, the streets were crowded. However, 
 the people amused her, and she reached her destination very 
 pleasantly. When she had given her name, she was told a 
 
DEATH 395 
 
 most astounding story, to the effect that Coupeau had been 
 fished out of the river, near the Pont-Neuf. He had jumped 
 over the parapet of the bridge, under the impression that a 
 bearded man was barring his way. A fine jump, was it not ? 
 And as for finding out how Coupeau had happened to be on 
 the Pont-Neuf, that was a matter which even he himself 
 could not explain. 
 
 However, one of the keepers escorted Gervaise, who was 
 ascending a staircase, when she heard a loud howling which 
 made her shiver to her bones. 
 
 * Eh ! he's playing a nice music, isn't he ? ' observed the 
 keeper. 
 
 * Who is ? ' she asked. 
 
 * Why, your old man ! He's been yelling like that ever 
 since the day before yesterday ; and he dances, you'll just 
 see.* 
 
 Ah, good heavens ! what a sight it was ! She stood as 
 one transfixed. The cell was padded from floor to ceiling. 
 On the floor were two straw mats, one above the other ; while 
 in a corner were spread a mattress and a bolster, nothing 
 more. Inside the place Coupeau was dancing and yelling. 
 He looked like a regular guy of the faubourgs, with his blouse 
 in tatters and his limbs beating the air ; but not a funny guy — 
 oh dear no I — rather a guy whose terrible capers made every 
 hair of your head stand up on end. He wore the mask of one 
 who is about to die. And what a breakdown dance his was ! 
 He bumped up against the window, then retired backwards, 
 beating time with his arms, and shaking his hands as though 
 he were trying to wrench them off and fling them in some- 
 body's face. One may meet jokers in low dancing places, who 
 imitate the drunkard's rigadoon, only they imitate it badly. 
 If one would wish to know what it is really like, one must see 
 it when it is gone through in earnest. The song also has its 
 merits, a continuous carnivalesque yell, with mouth wide 
 open and sending forth the same hoarse trombone notes for 
 hours together. Coupeau, for his part, vented the howl of a 
 beast with a crushed paw. And it was strike up music ! 
 Gentlemen, choose your partners ! 
 
 * Good Lord ! what is the matter with him ?, What is the 
 matter with him ? ' repeated Gervaise, full of fear. 
 
 A house-surgeon, a big, fair, rosy-cheeked fellow, wearing 
 a white apron, sat there quietly taking notes. The case was 
 a curious one ; and he did not leave the patient. ' Stay a 
 
396 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 while if you like,* he said to the laundress ; * but keep quiet. 
 You may speak to him, but he won't recognise you.' 
 
 Coupeau, indeed, did not even appear to see his wife. She 
 had obtained but a bad view of him on entering, as he was 
 wriggling about so much. When she looked him full in the 
 face, she stood aghast. Good heavens I was it possible that 
 he had such a countenance as that, with bloodshot eyes and 
 scabby lips ? She would certainly never have known him. 
 To begin with, he made too many senseless grimaces, 
 suddenly twisting his phiz, curling up his nose, and drawing 
 in his cheeks till he had quite an animal's muzzle. His skin 
 was so hot, too, that the air steamed around him ; and his 
 hide was as though varnished, covered with a heavy sweat 
 which trickled off him. Despite his mad dance, one could 
 divine that he was not at his ease, that his head was heavy, 
 and that his limbs ached. 
 
 Gervaise drew near to the house-surgeon, who was 
 strumming a tune with his finger-tips on the back of his 
 chair. 
 
 * I say, sir, it's serious then, this time ? * she said. 
 The house-surgeon nodded without answering. 
 
 * I say, isn't he jabbering to himself ? ' continued Gervaise. 
 * Eh 1 don't you hear ? what's it all about ? ' 
 
 ' About things he sees,' murmured the young man. * Keep 
 quiet, let me listen.' 
 
 Coupeau was speaking in a jerky voice while a glimmer of 
 fun Ut up his eyes. He looked at the floor, to the right, and 
 to the left, and turned about as though he had been strolling 
 in the Bois de Vincennes, conversing with himself. * Ah ! 
 that's nice, that's fine ! — There are a lot of chalets, a regular 
 fair, in fact. And some jolly fine music I What a feast, too ! 
 They're smashing the crockery in there — Ah ! that's the 
 ticket ! Now it's being lit up ; why there are some red balls 
 in the air, and they jump about and fly away ! Oh I oh ! 
 what a lot of lanterns in the trees ! — It's awfully pleasant. 
 There's water flowing everywhere, fountains, cascades of it, 
 and water that sings, too, oh ! with the voice of a chorister — 
 those cascades are grand, and no mistake ! ' 
 
 Then he drew himself up, as though the better to hear 
 the delicious song of the water ; and inhaled the air, fancying 
 all the time that he was drinking the fresh spray blown from 
 the fountains. But, little by Httle, an expression of anguish 
 again came over his face. Then he crouched down, and flew 
 
DEATH 397 
 
 quicker than ever round the walls of the cell, while uttering 
 low threats. 
 
 * More traps 1 I thought as much — Silence, you loafers I 
 Yes, you're making a fool of me. It's for that you're drinking 
 and bawling inside there with your hussies. But I'll demolish 
 you, you and your chalet I Damnation I will you leave me 
 in peace ? * 
 
 He clinched his fists, then uttered a hoarse cry, stooping 
 as he ran ; and afterwards, his teeth chattering with fright, 
 he stuttered: ' It's just to make me kill myself. But no, I 
 won't throw myself in 1 All that water means that I've no 
 heart. No, I won't throw myself in ! ' 
 
 The cascades, which fled at his approach, advanced when 
 he retired. And all at once he looked stupidly around him, 
 mumbling, in a scarcely audible voice : ' It isn't possible, 
 they've set conjurers against me I ' 
 
 * I'm off, sir, good-evening I ' at that moment saidGervaise 
 to the house-surgeon. * It upsets me too much ; I'll come 
 again.' 
 
 She was quite white. Coupeau meantime was continuing 
 his break-down dance from the window to the mattress, and 
 from the mattress to the window, ever perspiring,_ exerting 
 himself and beating the same measure. She hurried away, 
 but although she scrambled down the stairs, she heard her 
 husband's fearful jig until she reached the bottom. Ah I 
 good heavens I how much pleasanter it was out of doors, one 
 could breathe there ! 
 
 That evening every occupant of the house in the Eue de la 
 Goutte-d'Or talked of old Coupeau's strange illness. The 
 Boches, though they now treated the Hobbler in a most off- 
 hand manner, offered her a drink in their room, just to 
 obtain particulars. Madame Lorilleux looked in, Madame 
 Poisson also, and there were endless remarks. Boche had 
 been acquainted with a carpenter, an absinthe drinker, who 
 in his last attack had gone along the Rue Saint-Martin stark 
 naked, and had there died dancing the polka. The ladies 
 laughed at this, because it seemed to them very funny, 
 although it was sad. Then, as they did not quite compre- 
 hend the drunkard's dance, Gervaise pushed them aside, and 
 called for room ; and, in the centre of the apartment, she 
 acted Coupeau, bawling, jumping, and throwing herself about 
 with the most abominable grimaces. Yes, honour bright ! 
 Baid she, it was exactly like that / Then the others expressed 
 
398 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 their amazement : it could not be possible ! a man could 
 never have lasted three hours at such a game. Well ! she 
 swore it was so by all she held most sacred : Coupeau had 
 been at it since the previous day, thirty-six hours already. 
 Besides, if they did not believe her, they could go and see for 
 themselves. 
 
 Madame Lorilleux, however, declared — thank you foi 
 nothing 1 — that she had had enough of Sainte-Anne ; she 
 would even prevent Lorilleux from putting a foot inside the 
 place. As for Virginie, whose shop was now going from bad 
 to worse, and who had a most funereal countenance, she con- 
 tented herself with murmuring that life was not always gay, 
 ah 1 indeed, no I Then the glasses being empty, Gervaise 
 wished the company good-night. Directly she had left off 
 speaking, she looked dazed, bewildered, half -mad herself, her 
 eyes dilating as if she could still see her husband stepping his 
 crazy waltz. 
 
 On getting up the next morning, she said to herself that 
 she would not return to Sainte-Anne again. What use would 
 it be ? Besides she did not want to go off her chump as 
 Coupeau had done. However, every ten minutes or so she 
 fell into a musing fit. It would be curious to know if he 
 were still throwing his legs about. And when twelve o'clock 
 struck, she could no longer resist the impulse to return to the 
 asylum ; she started off and did not even notice how long the 
 walk was, to such a degree was she possessed by inquisitive- 
 ness and dread as to what might be awaiting her. 
 
 Oh I there was no occasion to ask for news. She heard 
 Coupeau's song as soon as she reached the foot of the stair- 
 case. It was just the same tune, just the same dance as on 
 the day before. She might have thought she was going up 
 again after a moment's absence. The attendant of the 
 previous day, who was carrying some jugs full of diet drink 
 along the corridor, winked as he met her, by way of doing 
 the amiable. 
 
 ' Still the same, then ? ' said she. 
 
 • Oh ! still the same I ' he replied without stopping. 
 
 She entered, but remained near the door on seeing that 
 there were some people with Coupeau. The fair-haired, rosy- 
 cheeked house-surgeon was standing erect, having given his 
 chair to a bald-headed old gentleman who had a face like a 
 martin, and was decorated. He was no doubt the chief 
 
DEATH 399 
 
 doctor, for his glance was as sharp and piercing as a gimlet. 
 All the dealers in sudden death have a glance like that. 
 
 Gervaise, however, had not come to look at this gentleman, 
 BO she raised herself on tiptoe behind his bald pate, with her 
 eyes fixed on Coupeau, who was dancing and yelling yet 
 louder than on the previous day. She remembered that in 
 former times, at the Mid-Lent balls, for instance, she had 
 seen sturdy wash-house porters cutting capers for a whole 
 night ; but never, no never, would she have imagined that a 
 man could take pleasure in it so long as Coupeau did. And 
 when she talked of pleasure, this was merely a figure of 
 speech, for there can be no pleasure in turning somersault 
 after somersault in spite of oneself, as though one has 
 swallowed a powder magazine. The only difference which 
 she noticed in Coupeau was that he steamed rather more than 
 on the previous afternoon, and that his mouth seemed to have 
 grown larger through force of shouting. And he had walked 
 BO often from the mattress to the window, that he had made 
 quite a little path along the floor ; the matting was worn 
 away by his old shoes. 
 
 Really, now, it was not a pretty sight ; and Gervaise, all 
 in a tremble, asked herself why she had returned. To think 
 that they had accused her at the Boches' of having exaggerated 
 the picture ! Ah ! well, she had not done half enough ! She 
 now saw better how Coupeau set about it, and most assuredly 
 she would never be able to forget it ; whenever she might 
 stare into space it would be there before her. However, she 
 overheard a few words which the house-surgeon and the 
 head-doctor exchanged. The former was giving some par- 
 ticulars of the night which her husband had passed. She did 
 not understand all the words which were used, but they simply 
 amounted to this — he had chattered and thrown himself 
 about. Then the bald-headed old gentleman, who, by the 
 way, was not very polite, at length appeared to notice her 
 presence ; and when the house-surgeon had informed him 
 that she was the patient's wife, he began to question her in 
 the harsh manner of a commissary of police. 
 
 * Did this man's father drink ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir, just a little, like every one. He killed himself 
 by falling from a roof, one day when he was tipsy.' 
 
 * Did his mother drink ? ' 
 
 ' Well 1 sir, like every one else, you know, a drop here, a 
 
400 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 drop there. Oh ! the family is very respectable I There was 
 a brother who died very young in convulsions.' 
 
 The doctor looked at her with his piercing eyes, and then 
 resumed in his rough voice : ' And you, do you drink ? ' 
 
 Gervaise stammered, protested, and placed her hand on 
 her heart as though to take a solemn oath. But the doctor 
 went on : * You drink 1 Take care, see where drink leads to. 
 One day or another, you will die like this.' 
 
 Then she remained close to the wall. The doctor had 
 turned his back on her. He squatted down, never troubling 
 as to whether his overcoat might pick up the dust on the 
 matting ; and for a long while he studied Coupeau's trembhng, 
 waiting for its reappearance, and following it with his glance. 
 That day the legs were going in their turn, the trembling had 
 descended from the hands to the feet ; and Coupeau looked 
 like a real puppet whose strings were being pulled ; his limbs 
 darting hither and thither, whilst the trunk of his body 
 remained as stiff as a piece of wood. The disease spread 
 little by little. It was as if there had been a musical box 
 beneath Coupeau's skin ; the trembling started afresh every 
 three or four seconds, continued for an instant, then stopped, 
 and then started again, just like the little shiver which shakes 
 stray dogs in winter, when they halt in some doorway for 
 protection. And at last even Coupeau's abdomen and 
 shoulders began to quiver like water on the point of boiling. 
 It was a strange ending all the same, to die wriggling like a 
 girl who is being tickled. 
 
 However, Coupeau was complaining in a hollow voice. 
 He seemed to suffer far more than on the previous day. His 
 broken murmurs allowed one to divine that he experienced 
 all sorts of ailments. Thousands of pins were pricking him. 
 He felt something heavy all over his body ; some cold wet 
 animal was crawling over his thighs and digging its fangs 
 into his flesh. Then other animals were clinging to his 
 shoulders and tearing his back with their claws. 
 
 ' I'm thirsty, oh ! I'm thirsty ! ' he groaned continually. 
 
 At last the house-surgeon took a jug of lemonade from a 
 small shelf and gave it to him. He caught hold of it with 
 both hands, and greedily took a mouthful, spilling half the 
 liquid over himself ; but with furious disgust he at once spat 
 out the little which had entered his mouth and exclaimed : 
 * Damnation, it's brandy ! ' 
 
 Then, on a sign from the head doctor, the house-surgeon 
 
DEATH 401 
 
 tried to make him drink some water, and this time, he 
 swallowed a mouthful, yelling, however, as though he had 
 swallowed fire : * It's brandy, damnation 1 it's brandy 1 ' 
 
 Since the previous night, everything given him to drink 
 was to his taste brandy. It increased his thirst, and he 
 could no longer drink, because everything burnt him. They 
 had brought him some broth, but, in his opinion, they were 
 trying to poison him, for the broth smelt of ' vitriol.' The 
 bread, too, was sour and mouldy. There was nothing but 
 poison around him. The cell stank of sulphur. Indeed, he 
 even accused persons of striking lucifers under his nose in 
 order to infect him. 
 
 The doctor had now risen, and was listening to Coupeau, 
 who in the full daylight was again troubled with visions of 
 phantoms. He fancied that he saw cobwebs on the walls as 
 big as the sails of ships I Then these cobwebs became nets, 
 whose meshes grew smaller or larger, a queer sort of play- 
 thing ! Black balls, too, passed in and out of the meshes, 
 perfect juggler's balls, at first as small as marbles, and then 
 as big as round shot ; and they increased and they decreased 
 in size, just with the object of bothering him. And all of a 
 sudden, he exclaimed : * Oh 1 the rats, there are the rats, 
 now 1 ' 
 
 It was the balls that were changing into rats. These 
 filthy animals grew fatter and fatter, passed through the net, 
 and jumped upon the mattress where they vanished. There 
 was also a monkey which came out of the wall, and went 
 back into the wall, each time approaching so closely to 
 Coupeau that he drew back through fear of having his nose 
 bitten off. Suddenly, there was yet another change ; to his 
 eyes no doubt the walls seemed to be cutting capers, for, 
 choking with terror and rage, he yelled : * That's it, gee up ! 
 go it ! shake me, I don't care ! — Gee up I shanty I gee up ! 
 tumble down 1 Yes, ring the bells, you set of crows ! play 
 the organ to prevent me from calling the police 1 — And 
 they've put a machine behind the wall, the scoundrels! I 
 can hear it ! it snorts, they're going to blow us up — Fire I 
 damnation ! fire 1 There's a cry of fire ! there it blazes, see ! 
 Oh ! it's getting lighter, lighter 1 all the sky's burning, red 
 fires, green fires, yellow fires — Hi ! help ! fire 1 ' 
 
 His cries died away in a rattle. He now only mumbled 
 disconnected words, foaming at the mouth, and his chin wet 
 with saliva. The doctor rubbed his nose with his finger, a 
 
 DD 
 
402 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 movement which was no doubt habitual with him when he 
 was in the presence of serious cases. And he turned to the 
 house-surgeon, and asked him in a low voice : * And the 
 temperature, still a hundred and four degrees, is it not ? * 
 
 * Yes, sir.' 
 
 The doctor pouted. He remained there for another two 
 minutes with his eyes fixed on Coupeau, and then shrugging 
 his shoulders, he added : * The same treatment, broth, milk, 
 lemonade, and the potion of extract of quinine. Don't 
 leave him, and call me if necessary.' 
 
 He went out, and Gervaise followed him, to ask him if 
 there were any hope. But he walked so stiffly along the 
 corridor, that she did not dare to approach him. For a 
 moment she remained there, hesitating whether she ought to 
 return to her husband. The time that she had already passed 
 with him had been far from pleasant ; and as she again heard 
 him bawling that the lemonade smelt of brandy, she hurried 
 away, having had enough of the performance. In the streets, 
 the galloping of the horses and the clatter of the vehiclea 
 made her fancy that all the inmates of Sainte-Anne were at 
 her heels. And she thought too of that doctor who had 
 threatened her, and already fancied that she herself had tha 
 complaint. 
 
 In the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, the Boches and the othera 
 naturally enough were waiting for her. The moment she 
 appeared she was called into the doorkeepers' room. Well I 
 was old Coupeau still in the land of the living ? Good 
 heavens 1 yes, he still lived. Boche seemed amazed, con- 
 founded at hearing it ; he had wagered a quart of wine that 
 Coupeau would not last till the evening. What I he still 
 lived 1 And they all displayed their astonishment, and 
 slapped their thighs. There was a sturdy fellow for you I 
 Madame Lorilleux reckoned up the hours: thirty-six and 
 twenty-four made sixty hours. To think of it I he had 
 already been performing with his mouth and legs for sixty 
 hours I Such a feat of strength had never been seen before I 
 However, Boche, who on account of his wager was laughing 
 on the wrong side of his mouth, began to question Gervaise 
 with an air of doubt, asking her if she were quite sure that 
 he had not filed off behind her back. Oh 1 no, he had no 
 desire to, he jumped about too much, said she. Then Boche, 
 still doubting, begged her to show them again how he went 
 on. Yes, yes, a little more I the request was general. The 
 
DEATH 403 
 
 company told her that it would be very amiable of her to 
 repeat her performance, for two neighbours, who had not 
 been present on the previous day, had come down purposely 
 to see it. Then the doorkeeper called to the company to 
 make room ; and they cleared the centre of the apartment, 
 nudging one another, and quivering with curiosity. Gervaise, 
 however, hung her head. Eeally now, she was afraid 
 of making herself ill. Nevertheless, desirous as she was of 
 showing that she did not refuse for the sake of being pressed, 
 she tried two or three little leaps ; but she at once became 
 quite queer, and threw herself back ; no, really, on her word 
 of honour, she was not equal to it ! 
 
 There was a murmur of disappointment ; what a pity, for 
 on the previous day she had imitated it perfectly. However, 
 if she could not do it, it was of no use insisting 1 And then, 
 on Virginie returning to her shop, the others forgot old 
 Coupeau, to gossip about the Poissons and their home, which 
 was now a regular bear-garden. On the day before, the 
 bailiffs had called there ; the policeman, too, was about to be 
 dismissed, while as for Lantier, he was now making up to the 
 girl of the adjoining eating-house, a fine young woman, who 
 talked of setting up as a tripe-seller. Ah ! it was amusing, 
 and no mistake, everyone already beheld a tripe-seller 
 occupying the Poissons' shop ; after the sweeties there would 
 come something substantial. Poisson, by the way, was 
 altogether a funny card. How could a man, whose business 
 it was to be sharp, prove such a noodle in his own home ? 
 But they suddenly stopped talking on noticing Gervaise, 
 whom they had ceased watching, and who was now trying 
 her performance in a corner of the room, with hands and 
 feet trembling like Coupeau's. Bravo 1 that was it, that was 
 all they wanted. She paused with a bewildered look, as 
 though she was just awaking from a dream, and then she 
 hurried off, wishing everyone good-night, as she was going to 
 try to get a little sleep. 
 
 On the morrow, the Boches saw her start at noon as 
 on the previous occasions. They wished her a pleasant 
 journey. That day the corridor at Sainte-Anne positively 
 shook with Coupeau's yells and kicks. She was still climbing 
 the stairs, when she heard him bellow : ' What a lot of 
 bugs I — Let them come this way again that I may squash 
 them ! Ah ! they want to kill me I do they ? Well, I'm 
 
 D D 9 
 
404 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 more cunning than the lot of them. Clear out I damnation 1 
 clear out 1 ' 
 
 For a moment Gervaise stood panting before the door. 
 Was he fighting against an army then ? When she entered, 
 the performance had increased and embellished. Coupeau 
 was a raving madman, such as one sees at Charenton! He 
 was throwing himself about in the centre of the cell, thrust- 
 ing his hands out on every side, striking himself, the walls, 
 and the floor, then turning head over heels and hitting into 
 space ; and he wanted to open the window, and he hid him- 
 self, and defended himself, called and answered, raising all 
 this racket without the least assistance, in the exasperated 
 way of a man beset by a mob of people. Then Gervaise 
 understood that he fancied he was laying sheets of zinc on a 
 roof. He imitated the bellows with his mouth, he moved the 
 irons in the fire, and knelt down to pass his thumb alongside 
 the edge of the mat, thinking all the time that he was solder- 
 ing it. Yes, his handicraft returned to him at the moment of 
 croaking ; and if he yelled and fought on his roof, it was 
 because a lot of ugly scoundrels were preventing him from 
 doing his work properly. On all the neighbouring roofs were 
 villains mocking and tormenting him. Besides which, the 
 jokers let troops of rats loose about his legs. Ah I the filthy 
 beasts, he always saw them I Although he kept on crushing 
 them, bringing his foot down with all his strength, fresh 
 strings of them continued passing, until they quite covered 
 the roof. And there were spiders also ! He roughly pressed 
 his trousers against his thigh to squash some big spiders 
 which had crept up his leg. Ah I thunder ! he would never 
 finish his day's work, they wanted to destroy him, his em- 
 ployer would send him to the Mazas prison. Then, while he 
 made all haste, he suddenly imagined that he had a steam- 
 engine in his stomach ; and, with his mouth wide open, he 
 belched forth the smoke, a dense smoke which filled the cell, 
 and found an outlet by the window; and, bending forward 
 and still puffing, he watched the cloud of smoke unroll and 
 ascend to the sky, where it hid the sun from view. 
 
 Then all at once he cried : * Hallo I there goes the Chauss6e 
 Clignancourt gang, all disguised as bears, with drums.* 
 
 He was now crouching before the window, as though he 
 were watching some street procession from a house-top. 
 
 * Yes, there's the cavalcade,' he continued ; * there are a lot 
 of lions and panthers making grimaces — And there are some 
 
DEATH 405 
 
 brats dressed up as dogs and cats — There's tall Cl^mence, too, 
 with her wig full of feathers. Ah ! dash it all ! she's turning 
 head over heels 1 Eh 1 you confounded coppers, just leave 
 her alone I — don't fire, thunder I don't fire * 
 
 His voice rose, hoarse and terror-fraught, and he quickly 
 stooped, declaring that the poUce and the military were below, 
 aiming at him with their rifles. In the wall he saw the barrel 
 of a pistol pointed at his chest. They had come to take the 
 
 girl from him. * Don't fire, damnation I don't fire ' he 
 
 shouted. 
 
 Then, as the houses began to fall in, he imitated the 
 crackling of a whole district sinking to the ground. And all 
 disappeared, all flew away from before his gaze. But he had 
 no time to take breath, for other pictures passed before him 
 with extraordinary rapidity. A furious desire to speak filled 
 his mouth with words which he uttered disconnectedly, his 
 throat gurgling the while. And his voice became even louder 
 and louder. 
 
 * Hallo, it's you ? Good-day 1 — No jokes I I don't want to 
 swallow your hair.' 
 
 And, so saying, he passed his hand before his face, and 
 blew as if to drive the hair away. The house-surgeon ques- 
 tioned him. * Who is it you see ? ' 
 
 ' My wife, of course I ' 
 
 He was looking at the wall, with his back to Gervaise. 
 Thus his words gave the latter quite a fright, and she exam- 
 ined the wall to ascertain if by any chance she could catch 
 sight of herself in it. However, he continued talking. * Now, 
 you know, none of your wheedling — I won't be tied up — 
 Jupiter 1 you are smart, you have, got a fine dress I Where 
 did you get it from, eh ? You've been after him again, you 
 camel I Wait a bit and I'll do for you ! — Ah I you're hiding 
 your gentleman behind you, are you ? Who is it, eh ! Just 
 let me see — Damnation I it's him again I ' 
 
 Taking a terrible spring as he spoke, he went head first 
 against the wall ; but the padding deadened the blow. One 
 only heard his body rebounding upon the matting, whither 
 the shock sent him. 
 
 * Who is it you see ? ' repeated the house-surgeon. 
 
 * The hatter 1 the hatter 1 ' yelled Coupeau. 
 
 Then, as the house-surgeon questioned Gervaise, she began 
 to stutter, unable to give any answer, for this scene had stirred 
 up the memory of all the worries of her life. 
 
4o6 THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 The zinc-worker, however, had thrust out his fists. * We'll 
 Bettle this between us, young 'un I ' he shouted. * It's full 
 time I did for you 1 Ah 1 you coolly come, with that hussy on 
 your arm, just to make a fool of me before everyone. "Well I 
 I'm going to throttle you — yes, yes, I am 1 and without put- 
 ting any gloves on either 1 I'll stop your swaggering, I will — 
 Take that. And that, and that, and that I ' 
 
 He hit about at space, full of rageful fury. Havhag 
 bumped against the wall as he drew back, he thought that he 
 was being attacked from the rear. So he turned round and 
 hammered away at the padding. He sprang about, jumped 
 from one corner to another, dealt blows with his stomach, his 
 back, and his shoulders, rolled over, and then picked himself 
 up again. His bones were softening, his flesh gave out a 
 sound as of damp tow. And as an accompaniment to this 
 pretty game, he vented atrocious threats, all sorts of wild, 
 guttural cries. However, the battle must have been going 
 badly for him, for his breathing became quicker, his eyes 
 started from his head, and little by little he seemed to be 
 overcome by child-like cowardice. 
 
 ' Murder 1 murder I — Be off with you both. Oh ! the 
 brutes, they're laughing. There she is on her back, the 
 hussy ! She must give in, it's settled. Ah ! the brigand, he's 
 murdering her ! He's cutting off her leg with his knife. The 
 other leg's on the ground, the body's in two, it's full of blood. 
 Oh ! my God — oh I my God — oh ! my God ' 
 
 Then, fearful to behold, covered with perspiration, his hair 
 standing upon end, he retired backwards, wildly waving his 
 arms, as though to drive away the abominable sight. And, 
 uttering two heart-rending wails, he fell flat upon his back on 
 the mattress, against which his heels had caught. 
 
 * He's dead, sir, he's dead ! * said Gervaise, clasping her 
 hands. 
 
 The house-surgeon had already drawn near to Coupeau, 
 and was pulling him into the middle of the mattress. No, he 
 was not dead. His shoes had been taken off, and his bare 
 feet, one beside the other, were dancing in time a little and 
 quick, but regular dance. 
 
 Just then the head doctor entered. He had brought two 
 colleagues with him — one thin and the other fat, and both 
 decorated, like himself. All three stooped down without a 
 word and examined the patient all over ; then they rapidly 
 conversed in undertones. They had uncovered Coupeau from 
 
DEATB 40) 
 
 his thighs to hia shoulders, and Gervaise, by standing on tip- 
 toe, could see his naked trunk. And what a sight it was I 
 The trembling had descended from the arms and ascended 
 from the legs, so that now the trunk itself was growing lively ! 
 Yes, the puppet was positively wriggling its stomach. Smilea 
 coursed along the ribs, the breEid- basket was splitting, breath- 
 less with laughter. And everything was moving, there was 
 no denying it. The muscles danced like vis-d-viSj the skin 
 vibrated like a drum, the very hairs bowed to one another as 
 they waltzed. In short, it was probably the great breakdown, 
 the final gallop, so to say, as when day breaks and the dancers 
 take each other by the hand and stamp upon the floor. 
 
 * He's sleeping,' murmured the head doctor. 
 
 And he called the others' attention to the man's counte- 
 nance. Coupeau's eyes were closed, and little nervous twinges 
 contracted his whole face. He looked more hideous than ever 
 thus flattened, with his jaw projecting, and his visage deformed 
 like a corpse's that suffered from nightmare ; but the doctors, 
 having caught sight of his feet, went to poke their noses over 
 them, with an air of profound interest. The feet were still 
 dancing. Although Coupeau slept the feet danced. Oh I 
 their owner might snore, that did not concern them, they 
 kept up their Uttle diversion without either hurrying or slack- 
 ening. Perfect mechanical feet they were, feet which took 
 their pleasure where they found it. 
 
 However, Gervaise, having seen the doctors lay their 
 hands on her old man, wished to feel him also. She softly 
 approached, laid a hand upon his shoulder, and kept it there 
 for a minute. Good heavens 1 whatever could be taking place 
 inside ? The dancing extended into the very depths of the 
 flesh, the bones themselves must have been jumping about. 
 Quiverings, ripplings, coming from far beneath, flowed river- 
 like under the skin. When she pressed a little, it seemed to 
 her that she could distinguish a cry of suffering from the 
 marrow. "With the naked eye one only saw the Httle wavy rip- 
 phngs, creating dimple-like depressions, as on the surface of 
 an eddy ; but within there must have been terrible devasta- 
 tion. What fearful work, a work worthy of a mole 1 It was 
 the * vitriol ' of the * Assommoir ' pickaxing away in there. 
 Coupeau's whole body was soaked with it, and, well, the work 
 had to be finished, crumbling him to pieces and carrying him 
 off with the continuous trembhng of his entire carcass. 
 
 The chief doctors went away ; and at the end of another 
 
4oS THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 hour Gervaise, who had remained with the house-surgeon, 
 repeated in a low voice, ' He's dead, sir — he's dead I * 
 
 But the house-surgeon, who was still watching the feet, 
 shook hia head. Those bare feet, projecting beyond the 
 mattress, still danced on ; and, indeed, several more hours 
 passed by. Then, all of a sudden they stiffened and became 
 motionless. And thereupon the house-surgeon turned towards 
 Gervaise, saying, * It's over now.' 
 ^^ Death alone had been able to stop those feet. 
 
 When Gervaise got back to the Rue de la Goutte-d'Or, 
 she found a number of women cackling excitedly in the 
 Boches' room. She fancied that they were awaiting her to 
 have the latest news, as on the other days. 
 
 * He's croaked,' said she, quietly, as she pushed open the 
 door, looking tired out and stupid. 
 
 But nobody listened to her. The whole house was topsy- 
 turvy. Ohl a most extraordinary thing had happened. 
 Poisson had surprised his wife and Lantier. How it had 
 happened was not exactly known, because everybody had a 
 different version to relate. However, there could be no doubt 
 about it. And naturally enough Poisson had fired up, like a 
 perfect tiger. This man, who talked but little and walked so 
 stiffly, had begun to roar and jump about. Then nothing 
 more had been heard. Lantier had most likely explained the 
 matter. Anyhow, the hatter's intrigue with the groceress 
 could not have lasted much longer : Boche announced for 
 certain that the girl of the eating-house next door was going 
 to take the Poissons' shop and set up in business as a tripe- 
 seller. That rogue of a hatter adored tripe. 
 
 However, on seeing Madame Lorilleux and Madame Lerat 
 arrive, Gervaise repeated faintly : * He's dead. Gracious 
 goodness I four days' dancing and yelling ' 
 
 The two sisters could not do otherwise than pull out their 
 handkerchiefs. Their brother had had many faults, but after 
 all he had been their brother. Boche, however, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and said loud enough to be heard by everyone : 
 * Bah I it's only a drunkard the less ! ' 
 
 From that day forward, as Gervaise often lost her head, 
 one of the amusements of the house was to see her imitate 
 Coupeau. It was no longer necessary to press her, she gave 
 the performance gratis, her hands and her feet trembling 
 while she vented little involuntary shrieks. No doubt she had 
 contracted this habit at Sainte-Anne through looking at her 
 
DEATH 409 
 
 old man too long. But she had no luck, for it did not kill 
 her, as it had killed him. In her case it went no further than 
 an impulse to make grimaces like an escaped monkey, which 
 often caused the street urchins to pelt her with cabbage 
 stalks. 
 
 In this wise Gervaise lasted for several months. She fell 
 lower and lower still, submitting to the grossest outrages, 
 and dying of starvation a little more every day. As soon as 
 ever she had a few sous, she drank and fought the walls. 
 M. Marescot had decided to turn her out of her room on the 
 sixth floor. But, as old Bru was just about that time found 
 dead in his hole under the staircase, the landlord kindly 
 allowed her to turn into it. And now she roosted there in 
 the place of old Bru. It was there, on some old straw, that 
 she lay with chattering teeth, empty stomach, and frozen 
 bones. Mother earth would not have her apparently. She 
 became idiotic, and did not even think of making an end of 
 herself by jumping from a sixth floor window on to the pave- 
 ment of the courtyard. Death was to take her little by little, 
 bit by bit, dragging her thus to the bitter end through all the 
 accursed existence that she had made for herself. And indeed 
 it was never exactly known what she did die of. There was 
 some talk of a cold ; but the truth was she died of privation, 
 of the filth and hardships of her wrecked life. According to 
 the Lorilleux she simply rotted away. One morning, as there 
 was a bad smell in the passage, it was remembered that she 
 had not been seen for two days past, and she was discovered 
 already mortifying in her hole. 
 
 As it happened it was old Bazouge who came with the 
 pauper's coffin to pack her up. He was again precious drunk 
 that day, but a jolly fellow all the same, and as lively as a 
 cricket. When he had recognised the customer whom he had 
 to deal with, he vented several philosophical reflections whilst 
 preparing for his little business. 
 
 ' Every one goes. There's no occasion for jostling, there's 
 room for every one. And it's stupid to be in a hurry, because 
 one does not arrive so quick. For my part all I want to do 
 is to please everybody. Some will, others won't. What's 
 the result ? There's one who wouldn't, then she would. So 
 she was made to wait. Anyhow, it's all right now, and, 
 faith I she's earned it I So, now then, merrily 1 ' 
 
 And as he took hold of Gervaise with his big dirty paws 
 he was seized with emotion, and with great gentleness raised 
 
 £ E 
 
4IO THE DRAM-SHOP 
 
 this woman who had so fervently longed for his ministry. 
 He laid her with paternal care at the bottom of the coffin, 
 and then stuttered, between two hiccoughs : ' There you are — 
 just listen — it's me, Bibi-the-Gay, called the ladies' consoler. 
 Come, you're happy now ; by-by, my beauty ! ' 
 
 TBB SNOf 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., COLCHESTER 
 
 LONDON AND ETON 
 
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