A Family Affair

by Guy de Maupassant

The small engine attached to the Neuilly steam-tram whistled as it passedthe Porte Maillot to warn all obstacles to get out of its way and puffedlike a person out of breath as it sent out its steam, its pistons movingrapidly with a noise as of iron legs running. The train was going alongthe broad avenue that ends at the Seine. The sultry heat at the close ofa July day lay over the whole city, and from the road, although there wasnot a breath of wind stirring, there arose a white, chalky, suffocating,warm dust, which adhered to the moist skin, filled the eyes and got intothe lungs. People stood in the doorways of their houses to try and get abreath of air.The windows of the steam-tram were open and the curtains fluttered in thewind. There were very few passengers inside, because on warm days peoplepreferred the outside or the platforms. They consisted of stout women inpeculiar costumes, of those shopkeepers' wives from the suburbs, who madeup for the distinguished looks which they did not possess by ill-assumeddignity; of men tired from office-work, with yellow faces, stoopedshoulders, and with one shoulder higher than the other, in consequenceof, their long hours of writing at a desk. Their uneasy and melancholyfaces also spoke of domestic troubles, of constant want of money,disappointed hopes, for they all belonged to the army of poor, threadbaredevils who vegetate economically in cheap, plastered houses with a tinypiece of neglected garden on the outskirts of Paris, in the midst ofthose fields where night soil is deposited.A short, corpulent man, with a puffy face, dressed all in black andwearing a decoration in his buttonhole, was talking to a tall, thin man,dressed in a dirty, white linen suit, the coat all unbuttoned, with awhite Panama hat on his head. The former spoke so slowly andhesitatingly that it occasionally almost seemed as if he stammered; hewas Monsieur Caravan, chief clerk in the Admiralty. The other, who hadformerly been surgeon on board a merchant ship, had set up in practice inCourbevoie, where he applied the vague remnants of medical knowledgewhich he had retained after an adventurous life, to the wretchedpopulation of that district. His name was Chenet, and strange rumorswere current as to his morality.Monsieur Caravan had always led the normal life of a man in a Governmentoffice. For the last thirty years he had invariably gone the same way tohis office every morning, and had met the same men going to business atthe same time, and nearly on the same spot, and he returned home everyevening by the same road, and again met the same faces which he had seengrowing old. Every morning, after buying his penny paper at the cornerof the Faubourg Saint Honore, he bought two rolls, and then went to hisoffice, like a culprit who is giving himself up to justice, and got tohis desk as quickly as possible, always feeling uneasy; as though he wereexpecting a rebuke for some neglect of duty of which he might have beenguilty.Nothing had ever occurred to change the monotonous order of hisexistence, for no event affected him except the work of his office,perquisites, gratuities, and promotion. He never spoke of anything butof his duties, either at the office, or at home--he had married theportionless daughter of one of his colleagues. His mind, which was in astate of atrophy from his depressing daily work, had no other thoughts,hopes or dreams than such as related to the office, and there was aconstant source of bitterness that spoilt every pleasure that he mighthave had, and that was the employment of so many naval officials,tinsmiths, as they were called because of their silver-lace as first-class clerks; and every evening at dinner he discussed the matter hotlywith his wife, who shared his angry feelings, and proved to their ownsatisfaction that it was in every way unjust to give places in Paris tomen who ought properly to have been employed in the navy.He was old now, and had scarcely noticed how his life was passing, forschool had merely been exchanged for the office without any intermediatetransition, and the ushers, at whom he had formerly trembled, werereplaced by his chiefs, of whom he was terribly afraid. When he had togo into the rooms of these official despots, it made him tremble fromhead to foot, and that constant fear had given him a very awkward mannerin their presence, a humble demeanor, and a kind of nervous stammering.He knew nothing more about Paris than a blind man might know who was ledto the same spot by his dog every day; and if he read the account of anyuncommon events or scandals in his penny paper, they appeared to him likefantastic tales, which some pressman had made up out of his own head, inorder to amuse the inferior employees. He did not read the politicalnews, which his paper frequently altered as the cause which subsidized itmight require, for he was not fond of innovations, and when he wentthrough the Avenue of the Champs-Elysees every evening, he looked at thesurging crowd of pedestrians, and at the stream of carriages, as atraveller might who has lost his way in a strange country.As he had completed his thirty years of obligatory service that year, onthe first of January, he had had the cross of the Legion of Honorbestowed upon him, which, in the semi-military public offices, is arecompense for the miserable slavery--the official phrase is, loyalservices--of unfortunate convicts who are riveted to their desk. Thatunexpected dignity gave him a high and new idea of his own capacities,and altogether changed him. He immediately left off wearing lighttrousers and fancy waistcoats, and wore black trousers and long coats, onwhich his ribbon, which was very broad, showed off better. He got shavedevery morning, manicured his nails more carefully, changed his linenevery two days, from a legitimate sense of what was proper, and out ofrespect for the national Order, of which he formed a part, and from thatday he was another Caravan, scrupulously clean, majestic andcondescending.At home, he said, "my cross," at every moment, and he had become so proudof it, that he could not bear to see men wearing any other ribbon intheir button-holes. He became especially angry on seeing strange orders:"Which nobody ought to be allowed to wear in France," and he bore Cheneta particular grudge, as he met him on a tram-car every evening, wearing adecoration of one kind or another, white, blue, orange, or green.The conversation of the two men, from the Arc de Triomphe to Neuilly, wasalways the same, and on that day they discussed, first of all, variouslocal abuses which disgusted them both, and the Mayor of Neuilly receivedhis full share of their censure. Then, as invariably happens in thecompany of medical man Caravan began to enlarge on the chapter ofillness, as in that manner, he hoped to obtain a little gratuitousadvice, if he was careful not to show his hand. His mother had beencausing him no little anxiety for some time; she had frequent andprolonged fainting fits, and, although she was ninety, she would not takecare of herself.Caravan grew quite tender-hearted when he mentioned her great age, andmore than once asked Doctor Chenet, emphasizing the word doctor--althoughhe was not fully qualified, being only an Offcier de Sante--whether hehad often met anyone as old as that. And he rubbed his hands withpleasure; not, perhaps, that he cared very much about seeing the goodwoman last forever here on earth, but because the long duration of hismother's life was, as it were an earnest of old age for himself, and hecontinued:"In my family, we last long, and I am sure that, unless I meet with anaccident, I shall not die until I am very old."The doctor looked at him with pity, and glanced for a moment at hisneighbor's red face, his short, thick neck, his "corporation," as Chenetcalled it to himself, his two fat, flabby legs, and the apoplecticrotundity of the old official; and raising the white Panama hat from hishead, he said with a snigger:"I am not so sure of that, old fellow; your mother is as tough as nails,and I should say that your life is not a very good one."This rather upset Caravan, who did not speak again until the tram putthem down at their destination, where the two friends got out, and Chenetasked his friend to have a glass of vermouth at the Cafe du Globe,opposite, which both of them were in the habit of frequenting. Theproprietor, who was a friend of theirs, held out to them two fingers,which they shook across the bottles of the counter; and then they joinedthree of their friends, who were playing dominoes, and who had been theresince midday. They exchanged cordial greetings, with the usual question:"Anything new?" And then the three players continued their game, andheld out their hands without looking up, when the others wished them"Good-night," and then they both went home to dinner.Caravan lived in a small two-story house in Courbevaie, near where theroads meet; the ground floor was occupied by a hair-dresser. Two bedrooms, a dining-room and a kitchen, formed the whole of their apartments,and Madame Caravan spent nearly her whole time in cleaning them up, whileher daughter, Marie-Louise, who was twelve, and her son, Phillip-Auguste,were running about with all the little, dirty, mischievous brats of theneighborhood, and playing in the gutter.Caravan had installed his mother, whose avarice was notorious in theneighborhood, and who was terribly thin, in the room above them. She wasalways cross, and she never passed a day without quarreling and flyinginto furious tempers. She would apostrophize the neighbors, who werestanding at their own doors, the coster-mongers, the street-sweepers, andthe street-boys, in the most violent language; and the latter, to havetheir revenge, used to follow her at a distance when she went out, andcall out rude things after her.A little servant from Normandy, who was incredibly giddy and thoughtless,performed the household work, and slept on the second floor in the sameroom as the old woman, for fear of anything happening to her in thenight.When Caravan got in, his wife, who suffered from a chronic passion forcleaning, was polishing up the mahogany chairs that were scattered aboutthe room with a piece of flannel. She always wore cotton gloves, andadorned her head with a cap ornamented with many colored ribbons, whichwas always tilted over one ear; and whenever anyone caught her polishing,sweeping, or washing, she used to say:"I am not rich; everything is very simple in my house, but cleanliness ismy luxury, and that is worth quite as much as any other."As she was gifted with sound, obstinate, practical common sense, she ledher husband in everything. Every evening during dinner, and afterwardswhen they were in their room, they talked over the business of the officefor a long time, and although she was twenty years younger than he was,he confided everything to her as if she took the lead, and followed heradvice in every matter.She had never been pretty, and now she had grown ugly; in addition tothat, she was short and thin, while her careless and tasteless way ofdressing herself concealed her few small feminine attractions, whichmight have been brought out if she had possessed any taste in dress.Her skirts were always awry, and she frequently scratched herself, nomatter on what part of her person, totally indifferent as to who mightsee her, and so persistently, that anyone who saw her might think thatshe was suffering from something like the itch. The only adornments thatshe allowed herself were silk ribbons, which she had in great profusion,and of various colors mixed together, in the pretentious caps which shewore at home.As soon as she saw her husband she rose and said, as she kissed hiswhiskers:"Did you remember Potin, my dear?"He fell into a chair, in consternation, for that was the fourth time onwhich he had forgotten a commission that he had promised to do for her."It is a fatality," he said; "it is no good for me to think of it all daylong, for I am sure to forget it in the evening."But as he seemed really so very sorry, she merely said, quietly:"You will think of it to-morrow, I dare say. Anything new at theoffice?""Yes, a great piece of news; another tinsmith has been appointed secondchief clerk." She became very serious, and said:"So he succeeds Ramon; this was the very post that I wanted you to have.And what about Ramon?""He retires on his pension."She became furious, her cap slid down on her shoulder, and she continued:"There is nothing more to be done in that shop now. And what is the nameof the new commissioner?""Bonassot."She took up the Naval Year Book, which she always kept close at hand, andlooked him up."'Bonassot-Toulon. Born in 1851. Student Commissioner in 1871. Sub-Commissioner in 1875.' Has he been to sea?" she continued. At thatquestion Caravan's looks cleared up, and he laughed until his sidesshook."As much as Balin--as much as Baffin, his chief." And he added an oldoffice joke, and laughed more than ever:"It would not even do to send them by water to inspect the Point-du-Jour,for they would be sick on the penny steamboats on the Seine."But she remained as serious as if she had not heard him, and then shesaid in a low voice, as she scratched her chin:"If we only had a Deputy to fall back upon. When the Chamber hearseverything that is going on at the Admiralty, the Minister will be turnedout----,She was interrupted by a terrible noise on the stairs. Marie-Louise andPhilippe-Auguste, who had just come in from the gutter, were slappingeach other all the way upstairs. Their mother rushed at them furiously,and taking each of them by an arm she dragged them into the room, shakingthem vigorously; but as soon as they saw their father, they rushed up tohim, and he kissed them affectionately, and taking one of them on eachknee, began to talk to them.Philippe-Auguste was an ugly, ill-kempt little brat, dirty from head tofoot, with the face of an idiot, and Marie-Louise was already like hermother--spoke like her, repeated her words, and even imitated hermovements. She also asked him whether there was anything fresh at theoffice, and he replied merrily:"Your friend, Ramon, who comes and dines here every Sunday, is going toleave us, little one. There is a new second head-clerk."She looked at her father, and with a precocious child's pity, she said:"Another man has been put over your head again."He stopped laughing, and did not reply, and in order to create adiversion, he said, addressing his wife, who was cleaning the windows:"How is mamma, upstairs?"Madame Caravan left off rubbing, turned round. pulled her cap up, as ithad fallen quite on to her back, and said with trembling lips:"Ah! yes; let us talk about your mother, for she has made a prettyscene. Just imagine: a short time ago Madame Lebaudin, the hairdresser'swife, came upstairs to borrow a packet of starch of me, and, as I was notat home, your mother chased her out as though she were a beggar; but Igave it to the old woman. She pretended not to hear, as she always doeswhen one tells her unpleasant truths, but she is no more deaf than I am,as you know. It is all a sham, and the proof of it is, that she went upto her own room immediately, without saying a word."Caravan, embarrassed, did not utter a word, and at that moment the littleservant came in to announce dinner. In order to let his mother know, hetook a broom-handle, which always stood in a corner, and rapped loudly onthe ceiling three times, and then they went into the dining-room. MadameCaravan, junior, helped the soup, and waited for the old woman, but shedid not come, and as the soup was getting cold, they began to eat slowly,and when their plates were empty, they waited again, and Madame Caravan,who was furious, attacked her husband:"She does it on purpose, you know that as well as I do. But you alwaysuphold her."Not knowing which side to take, he sent Marie-Louise to fetch hergrandmother, and he sat motionless, with his eyes cast down, while hiswife tapped her glass angrily with her knife. In about a minute, thedoor flew open suddenly, and the child came in again, out of breath andvery pale, and said hurriedly:"Grandmamma has fallen on the floor."Caravan jumped up, threw his table-napkin down, and rushed upstairs,while his wife, who thought it was some trick of her mother-in-law's,followed more slowly, shrugging her shoulders, as if to express herdoubt. When they got upstairs, however, they found the old woman lyingat full length in the middle of the room; and when they turned her over,they saw that she was insensible and motionless, while her skin lookedmore wrinkled and yellow than usual, her eyes were closed, her teethclenched, and her thin body was stiff.Caravan knelt down by her, and began to moan."My poor mother! my poor mother!" he said. But the other Madame Caravansaid:"Bah! She has only fainted again, that is all, and she has done it toprevent us from dining comfortably, you may be sure of that."They put her on the bed, undressed her completely, and Caravan, his wife,and the servant began to rub her; but, in spite of their efforts, she didnot recover consciousness, so they sent Rosalie, the servant, to fetchDoctor Chenet. He lived a long way off, on the quay, going towardsSuresnes, and so it was a considerable time before he arrived. He cameat last, however, and, after having looked at the old woman, felt herpulse, and listened for a heart beat, he said: "It is all over."Caravan threw himself on the body, sobbing violently; he kissed hismother's rigid face, and wept so that great tears fell on the deadwoman's face like drops of water, and, naturally, Madame Caravan, junior,showed a decorous amount of grief, and uttered feeble moans as she stoodbehind her husband, while she rubbed her eyes vigorously.But, suddenly, Caravan raised himself up, with his thin hair in disorder,and, looking very ugly in his grief, said:"But--are you sure, doctor? Are you quite sure?"The doctor stooped over the body, and, handling it with professionaldexterity, as a shopkeeper might do, when showing off his goods, he said:"See, my dear friend, look at her eye."He raised the eyelid, and the old woman's eye appeared altogetherunaltered, unless, perhaps, the pupil was rather larger, and Caravan felta severe shock at the sight. Then Monsieur Chenet took her thin arm,forced the fingers open, and said, angrily, as if he had beencontradicted:"Just look at her hand; I never make a mistake, you may be quite sure ofthat."Caravan fell on the bed, and almost bellowed, while his wife, stillwhimpering, did what was necessary.She brought the night-table, on which she spread a towel and placed fourwax candles on it, which she lighted; then she took a sprig of box, whichwas hanging over the chimney glass, and put it between the four candles,in a plate, which she filled with clean water, as she had no holy water.But, after a moment's rapid reflection, she threw a pinch of salt intothe water, no doubt thinking she was performing some sort of act ofconsecration by doing that, and when she had finished, she remainedstanding motionless, and the doctor, who had been helping her, whisperedto her:"We must take Caravan away."She nodded assent, and, going up to her husband, who was still on hisknees, sobbing, she raised him up by one arm, while Chenet took him bythe other.They put him into a chair, and his wife kissed his forehead, and thenbegan to lecture him. Chenet enforced her words and preached firmness,courage, and resignation--the very things which are always wanting insuch overwhelming misfortunes--and then both of them took him by the armsagain and led him out.He was crying like a great child, with convulsive sobs; his arms hangingdown, and his legs weak, and he went downstairs without knowing what hewas doing, and moving his feet mechanically. They put him into the chairwhich he always occupied at dinner, in front of his empty soup plate.And there he sat, without moving, his eyes fixed on his glass, and sostupefied with grief, that he could not even think.In a corner, Madame Caravan was talking with the doctor and asking whatthe necessary formalities were, as she wanted to obtain practicalinformation. At last, Monsieur Chenet, who appeared to be waiting forsomething, took up his hat and prepared to go, saying that he had notdined yet; whereupon she exclaimed:"What! you have not dined? Why, stay here, doctor; don't go. You shallhave whatever we have, for, of course, you understand that we do not faresumptuously." He made excuses and refused, but she persisted, and said:"You really must stay; at times like this, people like to have friendsnear them, and, besides that, perhaps you will be able to persuade myhusband to take some nourishment; he must keep up his strength."The doctor bowed, and, putting down his hat, he said:"In that case, I will accept your invitation, madame."She gave Rosalie, who seemed to have lost her head, some orders, and thensat down, "to pretend to eat," as she said, "to keep the doctor company."The soup was brought in again, and Monsieur Chenet took two helpings.Then there came a dish of tripe, which exhaled a smell of onions, andwhich Madame Caravan made up her mind to taste."It is excellent," the doctor said, at which she smiled, and, turning toher husband, she said:"Do take a little, my poor Alfred, only just to put something in yourstomach. Remember that you have got to pass the night watching by her!"He held out his plate, docilely, just as he would have gone to bed, if hehad been told to, obeying her in everything, without resistance andwithout reflection, and he ate; the doctor helped himself three times,while Madame Caravan, from time to time, fished out a large piece at theend of her fork, and swallowed it with a sort of studied indifference.When a salad bowl full of macaroni was brought in, the doctor said:"By Jove! That is what I am very fond of." And this time, MadameCaravan helped everybody. She even filled the saucers that were beingscraped by the children, who, being left to themselves, had been drinkingwine without any water, and were now kicking each other under the table.Chenet remembered that Rossini, the composer, had been very fond of thatItalian dish, and suddenly he exclaimed:"Why! that rhymes, and one could begin some lines like this:The Maestro RossiniWas fond of macaroni."Nobody listened to him, however. Madame Caravan, who had suddenly grownthoughtful, was thinking of all the probable consequences of the event,while her husband made bread pellets, which he put on the table-cloth,and looked at with a fixed, idiotic stare. As he was devoured by thirst,he was continually raising his glass full of wine to his lips, and theconsequence was that his mind, which had been upset by the shock andgrief, seemed to become vague, and his ideas danced about as digestioncommenced.The doctor, who, meanwhile, had been drinking away steadily, was gettingvisibly drunk, and Madame Caravan herself felt the reaction which followsall nervous shocks, and was agitated and excited, and, although she haddrunk nothing but water, her head felt rather confused.Presently, Chenet began to relate stories of death that appeared comicalto him. For in that suburb of Paris, that is full of people from theprovinces, one finds that indifference towards death which all peasantsshow, were it even their own father or mother; that want of respect, thatunconscious brutality which is so common in the country, and so rare inParis, and he said:"Why, I was sent for last week to the Rue du Puteaux, and when I went, Ifound the patient dead and the whole family calmly sitting beside the bedfinishing a bottle of aniseed cordial, which had been bought the nightbefore to satisfy the dying man's fancy."But Madame Caravan was not listening; she was continually thinking of theinheritance, and Caravan was incapable of understanding anything further.Coffee was presently served, and it had been made very strong to givethem courage. As every cup was well flavored with cognac, it made alltheir faces red, and confused their ideas still more. To make mattersstill worse, Chenet suddenly seized the brandy bottle and poured out"a drop for each of them just to wash their mouths out with," as hetermed it, and then, without speaking any more, overcome in spite ofthemselves, by that feeling of animal comfort which alcohol affords afterdinner, they slowly sipped the sweet cognac, which formed a yellowishsyrup at the bottom of their cups.The children had fallen asleep, and Rosalie carried them off to bed.Caravan, mechanically obeying that wish to forget oneself which possessesall unhappy persons, helped himself to brandy again several times, andhis dull eyes grew bright. At last the doctor rose to go, and seizinghis friend's arm, he said:"Come with me; a little fresh air will do you good. When one is introuble, one must not remain in one spot."The other obeyed mechanically, put on his hat, took his stick, and wentout, and both of them walked arm-in-arm towards the Seine, in thestarlight night.The air was warm and sweet, for all the gardens in the neighborhood werefull of flowers at this season of the year, and their fragrance, which isscarcely perceptible during the day, seemed to awaken at the approach ofnight, and mingled with the light breezes which blew upon them in thedarkness.The broad avenue with its two rows of gas lamps, that extended as far asthe Arc de Triomphe, was deserted and silent, but there was the distantroar of Paris, which seemed to have a reddish vapor hanging over it.It was a kind of continual rumbling, which was at times answered by thewhistle of a train in the distance, travelling at full speed to theocean, through the provinces.The fresh air on the faces of the two men rather overcame them at first,made the doctor lose his equilibrium a little, and increased Caravan'sgiddiness, from which he had suffered since dinner. He walked as if hewere in a dream; his thoughts were paralyzed, although he felt no greatgrief, for he was in a state of mental torpor that prevented him fromsuffering, and he even felt a sense of relief which was increased by themildness of the night.When they reached the bridge, they turned to the right, and got the freshbreeze from the river, which rolled along, calm and melancholy, borderedby tall poplar trees, while the stars looked as if they were floating onthe water and were-moving with the current. A slight white mist thatfloated over the opposite banks, filled their lungs with a sensation ofcold, and Caravan stopped suddenly, for he was struck by that smell fromthe water which brought back old memories to his mind. For, in his mind,he suddenly saw his mother again, in Picardy, as he had seen her yearsbefore, kneeling in front of their door, and washing the heaps of linenat her side in the stream that ran through their garden. He almostfancied that he could hear the sound of the wooden paddle with which shebeat the linen in the calm silence of the country, and her voice, as shecalled out to him: "Alfred, bring me some soap." And he smelled thatodor of running water, of the mist rising from the wet ground, thatmarshy smell, which he should never forget, and which came back to him onthis very evening on which his mother had died.He stopped, seized with a feeling of despair. A sudden flash seemed toreveal to him the extent of his calamity, and that breath from the riverplunged him into an abyss of hopeless grief. His life seemed cut inhalf, his youth disappeared, swallowed up by that death. All the formerdays were over and done with, all the recollections of his youth had beenswept away; for the future, there would be nobody to talk to him of whathad happened in days gone by, of the people he had known of old, of hisown part of the country, and of his past life; that was a part of hisexistence which existed no longer, and the rest might as well end now.And then he saw "the mother" as she was when young, wearing well-worndresses, which he remembered for such a long time that they seemedinseparable from her; he recollected her movements, the different tonesof her voice, her habits, her predilections, her fits of anger, thewrinkles on her face, the movements of her thin fingers, and all herwell-known attitudes, which she would never have again, and clutchinghold of the doctor, he began to moan and weep. His thin legs began totremble, his whole stout body was shaken by his sobs, all he could saywas:"My mother, my poor mother, my poor mother!"But his companion, who was still drunk, and who intended to finish theevening in certain places of bad repute that he frequented secretly, madehim sit down on the grass by the riverside, and left him almostimmediately, under the pretext that he had to see a patient.Caravan went on crying for some time, and when he had got to the end ofhis tears, when his grief had, so to say, run out, he again felt relief,repose and sudden tranquillity.The moon had risen, and bathed the horizon in its soft light.The tall poplar trees had a silvery sheen on them, and the mist on theplain looked like drifting snow; the river, in which the stars werereflected, and which had a sheen as of mother-of-pearl, was gentlyrippled by the wind. The air was soft and sweet, and Caravan inhaled italmost greedily, and thought that he could perceive a feeling offreshness, of calm and of superhuman consolation pervading him.He actually resisted that feeling of comfort and relief, and kept onsaying to himself: "My poor mother, my poor mother!" and tried to makehimself cry, from a kind of conscientious feeling; but he could notsucceed in doing so any longer, and those sad thoughts, which had madehim sob so bitterly a shore time before, had almost passed away. In afew moments, he rose to go home, and returned slowly, under the influenceof that serene night, and with a heart soothed in spite of himself.When he reached the bridge, he saw that the last tramcar was ready tostart, and behind it were the brightly lighted windows of the Cafe duGlobe. He felt a longing to tell somebody of his loss, to excite pity,to make himself interesting. He put on a woeful face, pushed open thedoor, and went up to the counter, where the landlord still was. He hadcounted on creating a sensation, and had hoped that everybody would getup and come to him. with outstretched hands, and say: "Why, what is thematter with you?" But nobody noticed his disconsolate face, so he restedhis two elbows on the counter, and, burying his face in his hands, hemurmured: "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"The landlord looked at him and said: "Are you ill, Monsieur Caravan?""No, my friend," he replied, "but my mother has just died.""Ah!" the other exclaimed, and as a customer at the other end of theestablishment asked for a glass of Bavarian beer, he went to attend tohim, leaving Caravan dumfounded at his want of sympathy.The three domino players were sitting at the same table which they hadoccupied before dinner, totally absorbed in their game, and Caravan wentup to them, in search of pity, but as none of them appeared to notice himhe made up his mind to speak."A great misfortune has happened to me since I was here," he said.All three slightly raised their heads at the same instant, but keepingtheir eyes fixed on the pieces which they held in their hands."What do you say?""My mother has just died"; whereupon one of them said:"Oh! the devil," with that false air of sorrow which indifferent peopleassume. Another, who could not find anything to say, emitted a sort ofsympathetic whistle, shaking his head at the same time, and the thirdturned to the game again, as if he were saying to himself: "Is that all!"Caravan had expected some of these expressions that are said to "comefrom the heart," and when he saw how his news was received, he left thetable, indignant at their calmness at their friend's sorrow, althoughthis sorrow had stupefied him so that he scarcely felt it any longer.When he got home his wife was waiting for him in her nightgown, andsitting in a low chair by the open window, still thinking of theinheritance."Undress yourself," she said; "we can go on talking."He raised his head, and looking at the ceiling, said:"But--there is nobody upstairs.""I beg your pardon, Rosalie is with her, and you can go and take herplace at three o'clock in the morning, when you have had some sleep."He only partially undressed, however, so as to be ready for anything thatmight happen, and after tying a silk handkerchief round his head, he laydown to rest, and for some time neither of them spoke. Madame Caravanwas thinking.Her nightcap was adorned with a red bow, and was pushed rather to oneside, as was the way with all the caps she wore, and presently she turnedtowards him and said:"Do you know whether your mother made a will?"He hesitated for a moment, and then replied:"I--I do not think so. No, I am sure that she did not."His wife looked at him, and she said, in a law, angry tone:"I call that infamous; here we have been wearing ourselves out for tenyears in looking after her, and have boarded and lodged her! Your sisterwould not have done so much for her, nor I either, if I had known how Iwas to be rewarded! Yes, it is a disgrace to her memory! I dare saythat you will tell me that she paid us, but one cannot pay one's childrenin ready money for what they do; that obligation is recognized afterdeath; at any rate, that is how honorable people act. So I have had allmy worry and trouble for nothing! Oh, that is nice! that is very nice!"Poor Caravan, who was almost distracted, kept on repeating:"My dear, my dear, please, please be quiet."She grew calmer by degrees, and, resuming her usual voice and manner, shecontinued:"We must let your sister know to-morrow."He started, and said:"Of course we must; I had forgotten all about it; I will send her atelegram the first thing in the morning.""No," she replied, like a woman who had foreseen everything; "no, do notsend it before ten or eleven o'clock, so that we may have time to turnround before she comes. It does not take more than two hours to get herefrom Charenton, and we can say that you lost your head from grief. If welet her know in the course of the day, that will be soon enough, and willgive us time to look round."Caravan put his hand to his forehead, and, in the came timid voice inwhich he always spoke of his chief, the very thought of whom made himtremble, he said:"I must let them know at the office.""Why?" she replied. "On occasions like this, it is always excusable toforget. Take my advice, and don't let him know; your chief will not beable to say anything to you, and you will put him in a nice fix."Oh! yes, that I shall, and he will be in a terrible rage, too, when henotices my absence. Yes, you are right; it is a capital idea, and when Itell him that my mother is dead, he will be obliged to hold his tongue."And he rubbed his hands in delight at the joke, when he thought of hischief's face; while upstairs lay the body of the dead old woman, with theservant asleep beside it.But Madame Caravan grew thoughtful, as if she were preoccupied bysomething which she did not care to mention, and at last she said:"Your mother had given you her clock, had she not--the girl playing atcup and ball?"He thought for a moment, and then replied:"Yes, yes; she said to me (but it was a long time ago, when she firstcame here): 'I shall leave the clock to you, if you look after me well.'"Madame Caravan was reassured, and regained her serenity, and said:"Well, then, you must go and fetch it out of her room, for if we get yoursister here, she will prevent us from taking it."He hesitated."Do you think so?"That made her angry."I certainly think so; once it is in our possession, she will knownothing at all about where it came from; it belongs to us. It is justthe same with the chest of drawers with the marble top, that is in herroom; she gave it me one day when she was in a good temper. We willbring it down at the same time."Caravan, however, seemed incredulous, and said:"But, my dear, it is a great responsibility!"She turned on him furiously."Oh! Indeed! Will you never change? You would let your children die ofhunger, rather than make a move. Does not that chest of drawers belongto us, as she gave it to me? And if your sister is not satisfied, lether tell me so, me! I don't care a straw for your sister. Come, get up,and we will bring down what your mother gave us, immediately."Trembling and vanquished, he got out of bed and began to put on histrousers, but she stopped him:"It is not worth while to dress yourself; your underwear is quite enough.I mean to go as I am."They both left the room in their night clothes, went upstairs quitenoiselessly, opened the door and went into the room, where the fourlighted tapers and the plate with the sprig of box alone seemed to bewatching the old woman in her rigid repose, for Rosalie, who was lyingback in the easy chair with her legs stretched out, her hands folded inher lap, and her head on one side, was also quite motionless, and wassnoring with her mouth wide open.Caravan took the clock, which was one of those grotesque objects thatwere produced so plentifully under the Empire. A girl in gilt bronze washolding a cup and ball, and the ball formed the pendulum."Give that to me," his wife said, "and take the marble slab off the chestof drawers."He put the marble slab on his shoulder with considerable effort, and theyleft the room. Caravan had to stoop in the doorway, and trembled as hewent downstairs, while his wife walked backwards, so as to light him, andheld the candlestick in one hand, carrying the clock under the other arm.When they were in their own room, she heaved a sigh."We have got over the worst part of the job," she said; "so now let us goand fetch the other things."But the bureau drawers were full of the old woman's wearing apparel,which they must manage to hide somewhere, and Madame Caravan soon thoughtof a plan."Go and get that wooden packing case in the vestibule; it is hardly worthanything, and we may just as well put it here."And when he had brought it upstairs they began to fill it. One by onethey took out all the collars, cuffs, chemises, caps, all the well-wornthings that had belonged to the poor woman lying there behind them, andarranged them methodically in the wooden box in such a manner as todeceive Madame Braux, the deceased woman's other child, who would becoming the next day.When they had finished, they first of all carried the bureau drawersdownstairs, and the remaining portion afterwards, each of them holding anend, and it was some time before they could make up their minds where itwould stand best; but at last they decided upon their own room, oppositethe bed, between the two windows, and as soon as it was in its placeMadame Caravan filled it with her own things. The clock was placed onthe chimney-piece in the dining-room, and they looked to see what theeffect was, and were both delighted with it and agreed that nothing couldbe better. Then they retired, she blew out the candle, and sooneverybody in the house was asleep.It was broad daylight when. Caravan opened his eyes again. His mind wasrather confused when he woke up, and he did not clearly remember what hadhappened for a few minutes; when he did, he felt a weight at his heart,and jumped out of bed, almost ready to cry again.He hastened to the room overhead, where Rosalie was still sleeping in thesame position as the night before, not having awakened once. He sent herto do her work, put fresh tapers in the place of those that had burntout, and then he looked at his mother, revolving in his brain thoseapparently profound thoughts, those religious and philosophicalcommonplaces which trouble people of mediocre intelligence in thepresence of death.But, as his wife was calling him, he went downstairs. She had writtenout a list of what had to be done during the morning, and he washorrified when be saw the memorandum:1. Report the death at the mayor's office.2. See the doctor who had attended her.3. Order the coffin.4. Give notice at the church.5. Go to the undertaker.6. Order the notices of her death at the printer's.7. Go to the lawyer.8. Telegraph the news to all the family.Besides all this, there were a number of small commissions; so he tookhis hat and went out. As the news had spread abroad, Madame Caravan'sfemale friends and neighbors soon began to come in and begged to beallowed to see the body. There had been a scene between husband and wifeat the hairdresser's on the ground floor about the matter, while acustomer was being shaved. The wife, who was knitting steadily, said:"Well, there is one less, and as great a miser as one ever meets with.I certainly did not care for her; but, nevertheless, I must go and have alook at her."The husband, while lathering his patient's chin, said: "That is anotherqueer fancy! Nobody but a woman would think of such a thing. It is notenough for them to worry you during life, but they cannot even leave youat peace when you are dead:" But his wife, without being in the leastdisconcerted, replied: "The feeling is stronger than I am, and I must go.It has been on me since the morning. If I were not to see her, I shouldthink about it all my life; but when I have had a good look at her, Ishall be satisfied."The knight of the razor shrugged his shoulders and remarked in a lowvoice to the gentleman whose cheek he was scraping: "I just ask you, whatsort of ideas do you think these confounded females have? I should notamuse myself by going to see a corpse!" But his wife had heard him andreplied very quietly: "But it is so, it is so." And then, putting herknitting on the counter, she went upstairs to the first floor, where shemet two other neighbors, who had just come, and who were discussing theevent with Madame Caravan, who was giving them the details, and they allwent together to the death chamber. The four women went in softly, and,one after the other, sprinkled the bed clothes with the salt water, kneltdown, made the sign of the cross while they mumbled a prayer. Then theyrose from their knees and looked for some time at the corpse with round,wide-open eyes and mouths partly open, while the daughter-in-law of thedead woman, with her handkerchief to her face, pretended to be sobbingpiteously.When she turned about to walk away whom should she perceive standingclose to the door but Marie-Louise and Philippe-Auguste, who werecuriously taking stock of all that was going on. Then, forgetting herpretended grief, she threw herself upon them with uplifted hands, cryingout in a furious voice, "Will you get out of this, you horrid brats!"Ten minutes later, going upstairs again with another contingent ofneighbors, she prayed, wept profusely, performed all her duties, andfound once more her two children, who had followed her upstairs. Sheagain boxed their ears soundly, but the next time she paid no heed tothem, and at each fresh arrival of visitors the two urchins alwaysfollowed in the wake, kneeling down in a corner and imitating slavishlyeverything they saw their mother do.When the afternoon came the crowds of inquisitive people began todiminish, and soon there were no more visitors. Madame Caravan,returning to her own apartments, began to make the necessary preparationsfor the funeral ceremony, and the deceased was left alone.The window of the room was open. A torrid heat entered, along withclouds of dust; the flames of the four candles were flickering beside theimmobile corpse, and upon the cloth which covered the face, the closedeyes, the two stretched-out hands, small flies alighted, came, went andcareered up and down incessantly, being the only companions of the oldwoman for the time being.Marie-Louise and Philippe-Auguste, however, had now left the house andwere running up and down the street. They were soon surrounded by theirplaymates, by little girls especially, who were older and who were muchmore interested in all the mysteries of life, asking questions as if theywere grown people."Then your grandmother is dead?" "Yes, she died yesterday evening.""What does a dead person look like?"Then Marie began to explain, telling all about the candles, the sprig ofbox and the face of the corpse. It was not long before great curiositywas aroused in the minds of all the children, and they asked to beallowed to go upstairs to look at the departed.Marie-Louise at once organized a first expedition, consisting of fivegirls and two boys--the biggest and the most courageous. She made themtake off their shoes so that they might not be discovered. The troupefiled into the house and mounted the stairs as stealthily as an army ofmice.Once in the chamber, the little girl, imitating her mother, regulated theceremony. She solemnly walked in advance of her comrades, went down onher knees, made the sign of the cross, moved her lips as in prayer, rose,sprinkled the bed, and while the children, all crowded together, wereapproaching--frightened and curious and eager to look at the face andhands of the deceased--she began suddenly to simulate sobbing and to buryher eyes in her little handkerchief. Then, becoming instantly consoled,on thinking of the other children who were downstairs waiting at thedoor, she ran downstairs followed by the rest, returning in a minute withanother group, then a third; for all the little ragamuffins of thecountryside, even to the little beggars in rags, had congregated in orderto participate in this new pleasure; and each time she repeated hermother's grimaces with absolute perfection.At length, however, she became tired. Some game or other drew thechildren away from the house, and the old grandmother was left alone,forgotten suddenly by everybody.The room was growing dark, and upon the dry and rigid features of thecorpse the fitful flames of the candles cast patches of light.Towards 8 o'clock Caravan ascended to the chamber of death, closed thewindows and renewed the candles. He was now quite composed on enteringthe room, accustomed already to regard the corpse as though it had beenthere for months. He even went the length of declaring that, as yet,there were no signs of decomposition, making this remark just at themoment when he and his wife were about to sit down at table. "Pshaw!"she responded, "she is now stark and stiff; she will keep for a year."The soup was eaten in silence. The children, who had been left tothemselves all day, now worn out by fatigue, were sleeping soundly ontheir chairs, and nobody ventured to break the silence.Suddenly the flame of the lamp went down. Madame Caravan immediatelyturned up the wick, a hollow sound ensued, and the light went out. Theyhad forgotten to buy oil. To send for it now to the grocer's would keepback the dinner, and they began to look for candles, but none were to befound except the tapers which had been placed upon the table upstairs inthe death chamber.Madame Caravan, always prompt in her decisions, quickly despatched Marie-Louise to fetch two, and her return was awaited in total darkness.The footsteps of the girl who had ascended the stairs were distinctlyheard. There was silence for a few seconds and then the child descendedprecipitately. She threw open the door and in a choking voice murmured:"Oh! papa, grandmamma is dressing herself!"Caravan bounded to his feet with such precipitance that his chair fellover against the wall. He stammered out: "You say? . . . . What are yousaying?"But Marie-Louise, gasping with emotion, repeated: "Grand--grand--grandmamma is putting on her clothes, she is coming downstairs."Caravan rushed boldly up the staircase, followed by his wife, dumfounded;but he came to a standstill before the door of the second floor, overcomewith terror, not daring to enter. What was he going to see? MadameCaravan, more courageous, turned the handle of the door and steppedforward into the room.The old woman was standing up. In awakening from her lethargic sleep,before even regaining full consciousness, in turning upon her side andraising herself on her elbow, she had extinguished three of the candleswhich burned near the bed. Then, gaining strength, she got off the bedand began to look for her clothes. The absence of her chest of drawershad at first worried her, but, after a little, she had succeeded infinding her things at the bottom of the wooden box, and was now quietlydressing. She emptied the plateful of water, replaced the sprig of boxbehind the looking-glass, and arranged the chairs in their places, andwas ready to go downstairs when there appeared before her her son anddaughter-in-law.Caravan rushed forward, seized her by the hands, embraced her with tearsin his eyes, while his wife, who was behind him, repeated in ahypocritical tone of voice: "Oh, what a blessing! oh, what a blessing!"But the old woman, without being at all moved, without even appearing tounderstand, rigid as a statue, and with glazed eyes, simply asked: "Willdinner soon be ready?"He stammered out, not knowing what he said:"Oh, yes, mother, we have been waiting for you."And with an alacrity unusual in him, he took her arm, while MadameCaravan, the younger, seized the candle and lighted them downstairs,walking backwards in front of them, step by step, just as she had donethe previous night for her husband, who was carrying the marble.On reaching the first floor, she almost ran against people who wereascending the stairs. It was the Charenton family, Madame Braux,followed by her husband.The wife, tall and stout, with a prominent stomach, opened wide herterrified eyes and was ready to make her escape. The husband, asocialist shoemaker, a little hairy man, the perfect image of a monkey,murmured quite unconcerned: "Well, what next? Is she resurrected?"As soon as Madame Caravan recognized them, she made frantic gestures tothem; then, speaking aloud, she said: "Why, here you are! What apleasant surprise!"But Madame Braux, dumfounded, understood nothing. She responded in a lowvoice: "It was your telegram that brought us; we thought that all wasover."Her husband, who was behind her, pinched her to make her keep silent.He added with a sly laugh, which his thick beard concealed: "It was verykind of you to invite us here. We set out post haste," which remarkshowed the hostility which had for a long time reigned between thehouseholds. Then, just as the old woman reached the last steps, hepushed forward quickly and rubbed his hairy face against her cheeks,shouting in her ear, on account of her deafness: "How well you look,mother; sturdy as usual, hey!"Madame Braux, in her stupefaction at seeing the old woman alive, whomthey all believed to be dead, dared not even embrace her; and herenormous bulk blocked up the passageway and hindered the others fromadvancing. The old woman, uneasy and suspicious, but without speaking,looked at everyone around her; and her little gray eyes, piercing andhard, fixed themselves now on one and now on the other, and they were sofull of meaning that the children became frightened.Caravan, to explain matters, said: "She has been somewhat ill, but she isbetter now; quite well, indeed, are you not, mother?"Then the good woman, continuing to walk, replied in a husky voice, asthough it came from a distance: "It was syncope. I heard you all thewhile."An embarrassing silence followed. They entered the dining-room, and in afew minutes all sat down to an improvised dinner.Only M. Braux had retained his self-possession. His gorilla featuresgrinned wickedly, while he let fall some words of double meaning whichpainfully disconcerted everyone.But the door bell kept ringing every second, and Rosalie, distracted,came to call Caravan, who rushed out, throwing down his napkin. Hisbrother-in-law even asked him whether it was not one of his receptiondays, to which he stammered out in answer: "No, only a few packages;nothing more."A parcel was brought in, which he began to open carelessly, and themourning announcements with black borders appeared unexpectedly.Reddening up to the very eyes, he closed the package hurriedly and pushedit under his waistcoat.His mother had not seen it! She was looking intently at her clock whichstood on the mantelpiece, and the embarrassment increased in midst of adead silence. Turning her wrinkled face towards her daughter, the oldwoman, in whose eyes gleamed malice, said: "On Monday you must take meaway from here, so that I can see your little girl. I want so much tosee her." Madame Braux, her features all beaming, exclaimed: "Yes,mother, that I will," while Madame Caravan, the younger, who had turnedpale, was ready to faint with annoyance. The two men, however, graduallydrifted into conversation and soon became embroiled in a politicaldiscussion. Braux maintained the most revolutionary and communisticdoctrines, his eyes glowing, and gesticulating and throwing about hisarms. "Property, sir," he said, "is a robbery perpetrated on the workingclasses; the land is the common property of every man; hereditary rightsare an infamy and a disgrace." But here he suddenly stopped, looking asif he had just said something foolish, then added in softer tones: "Butthis is not the proper moment to discuss such things."The door was opened and Dr. Chenet appeared. For a moment he seemedbewildered, but regaining his usual smirking expression of countenance,he jauntily approached the old woman and said: "Aha! mamma; you arebetter to-day. Oh! I never had any doubt but you would come round again;in fact, I said to myself as I was mounting the staircase, 'I have anidea that I shall find the old lady on her feet once more';" and as hepatted her gently on the back: "Ah! she is as solid as the Pont-Neuf,she will bury us all; see if she does not."He sat down, accepted the coffee that was offered him, and soon began tojoin in the conversation of the two men, backing up Braux, for he himselfhad been mixed up in the Commune.The old woman, now feeling herself fatigued, wished to retire. Caravanrushed forward. She looked him steadily in the eye and said: "You, youmust carry my clock and chest of drawers upstairs again without amoment's delay." "Yes, mamma," he replied, gasping; "yes, I will do so."The old woman then took the arm of her daughter and withdrew from theroom. The two Caravans remained astounded, silent, plunged in thedeepest despair, while Braux rubbed his hands and sipped his coffeegleefully.Suddenly Madame Caravan, consumed with rage, rushed at him, exclaiming:"You are a thief, a footpad, a cur! I would spit in your face! I--I--would----" She could find nothing further to say, suffocating as she waswith rage, while he went on sipping his coffee with a smile.His wife returning just then, Madame Caravan attacked her sister-in-law,and the two women--the one with her enormous bulk, the other epilepticand spare, with changed voices and trembling hands flew at one anotherwith words of abuse.Chenet and Braux now interposed, and the latter, taking his better halfby the shoulders, pushed her out of the door before him, shouting: "Goon, you slut; you talk too much"; and the two were heard in the streetquarrelling until they disappeared from sight.M. Chenet also took his departure, leaving the Caravans alone, face toface. The husband fell back on his chair, and with the cold sweatstanding out in beads on his temples, murmured: "What shall I say to mychief to-morrow?"

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