Madame Baptiste
The first thing I did was to look at the clock as I entered the waiting-room of the station at Loubain, and I found that I had to wait two hoursand ten minutes for the Paris express.I had walked twenty miles and felt suddenly tired. Not seeing anythingon the station walls to amuse me, I went outside and stood there rackingmy brains to think of something to do. The street was a kind ofboulevard, planted with acacias, and on either side a row of houses ofvarying shape and different styles of architecture, houses such as oneonly sees in a small town, and ascended a slight hill, at the extreme endof which there were some trees, as though it ended in a park.From time to time a cat crossed the street and jumped over the gutterscarefully. A cur sniffed at every tree and hunted for scraps from thekitchens, but I did not see a single human being, and I felt listless anddisheartened. What could I do with myself? I was already thinking ofthe inevitable and interminable visit to the small cafe at the railwaystation, where I should have to sit over a glass of undrinkable beer andthe illegible newspaper, when I saw a funeral procession coming out of aside street into the one in which I was, and the sight of the hearse wasa relief to me. It would, at any rate, give me something to do for tenminutes.Suddenly, however, my curiosity was aroused. The hearse was followed byeight gentlemen, one of whom was weeping, while the others were chattingtogether, but there was no priest, and I thought to myself:"This is a non-religious funeral," and then I reflected that a town likeLoubain must contain at least a hundred freethinkers, who would have madea point of making a manifestation. What could it be, then? The rapidpace of the procession clearly proved that the body was to be buriedwithout ceremony, and, consequently, without the intervention of theChurch.My idle curiosity framed the most complicated surmises, and as the hearsepassed me, a strange idea struck me, which was to follow it, with theeight gentlemen. That would take up my time for an hour, at least, and Iaccordingly walked with the others, with a sad look on my face, and, onseeing this, the two last turned round in surprise, and then spoke toeach other in a low voice.No doubt they were asking each other whether I belonged to the town, andthen they consulted the two in front of them, who stared at me in turn.This close scrutiny annoyed me, and to put an end to it I went up tothem, and, after bowing, I said:"I beg your pardon, gentlemen, for interrupting your conversation, but,seeing a civil funeral, I have followed it, although I did not know thedeceased gentleman whom you are accompanying.""It was a woman," one of them said.I was much surprised at hearing this, and asked:"But it is a civil funeral, is it not?"The other gentleman, who evidently wished to tell me all about it, thensaid: "Yes and no. The clergy have refused to allow us the use of thechurch."On hearing this I uttered a prolonged "A-h!" of astonishment. I couldnot understand it at all, but my obliging neighbor continued:"It is rather a long story. This young woman committed suicide, and thatis the reason why she cannot be buried with any religious ceremony.The gentleman who is walking first, and who is crying, is her husband."I replied with some hesitation:"You surprise and interest me very much, monsieur. Shall I be indiscreetif I ask you to tell me the facts of the case? If I am troubling you,forget that I have said anything about the matter."The gentleman took my arm familiarly."Not at all, not at all. Let us linger a little behind the others, and Iwill tell it you, although it is a very sad story. We have plenty oftime before getting to the cemetery, the trees of which you see upyonder, for it is a stiff pull up this hill."And he began:"This young woman, Madame Paul Hamot, was the daughter of a wealthymerchant in the neighborhood, Monsieur Fontanelle. When she was a merechild of eleven, she had a shocking adventure; a footman attacked her andshe nearly died. A terrible criminal case was the result, and the manwas sentenced to penal servitude for life."The little girl grew up, stigmatized by disgrace, isolated, without anycompanions; and grown-up people would scarcely kiss her, for they thoughtthat they would soil their lips if they touched her forehead, and shebecame a sort of monster, a phenomenon to all the town. People said toeach other in a whisper: 'You know, little Fontanelle,' and everybodyturned away in the streets when she passed. Her parents could not evenget a nurse to take her out for a walk, as the other servants held alooffrom her, as if contact with her would poison everybody who came nearher."It was pitiable to see the poor child go and play every afternoon. Sheremained quite by herself, standing by her maid and looking at the otherchildren amusing themselves. Sometimes, yielding to an irresistibledesire to mix with the other children, she advanced timidly, with nervousgestures, and mingled with a group, with furtive steps, as if consciousof her own disgrace. And immediately the mothers, aunts and nurses wouldcome running from every seat and take the children entrusted to theircare by the hand and drag them brutally away."Little Fontanelle remained isolated, wretched, without understandingwhat it meant, and then she began to cry, nearly heartbroken with grief,and then she used to run and hide her head in her nurse's lap, sobbing."As she grew up, it was worse still. They kept the girls from her, as ifshe were stricken with the plague. Remember that she had nothing tolearn, nothing; that she no longer had the right to the symbolical wreathof orange-flowers; that almost before she could read she had penetratedthat redoubtable mystery which mothers scarcely allow their daughters toguess at, trembling as they enlighten them on the night of theirmarriage."When she went through the streets, always accompanied by her governess,as if, her parents feared some fresh, terrible adventure, with her eyescast down under the load of that mysterious disgrace which she felt wasalways weighing upon her, the other girls, who were not nearly soinnocent as people thought, whispered and giggled as they looked at herknowingly, and immediately turned their heads absently, if she happenedto look at them. People scarcely greeted her; only a few men bowed toher, and the mothers pretended not to see her, while some youngblackguards called her Madame Baptiste, after the name of the footman whohad attacked her."Nobody knew the secret torture of her mind, for she hardly ever spoke,and never laughed, and her parents themselves appeared uncomfortable inher presence, as if they bore her a constant grudge for some irreparablefault."An honest man would not willingly give his hand to a liberated convict,would he, even if that convict were his own son? And Monsieur and MadameFontanelle looked on their daughter as they would have done on a son whohad just been released from the hulks. She was pretty and pale, tall,slender, distinguished-looking, and she would have pleased me very much,monsieur, but for that unfortunate affair."Well, when a new sub-prefect was appointed here, eighteen months ago, hebrought his private secretary with him. He was a queer sort of fellow,who had lived in the Latin Quarter, it appears. He saw MademoiselleFontanelle and fell in love with her, and when told of what occurred, hemerely said:'Bah! That is just a guarantee for the future, and I would rather itshould have happened before I married her than afterward. I shall livetranquilly with that woman.'"He paid his addresses to her, asked for her hand and married her, andthen, not being deficient in assurance, he paid wedding calls, as ifnothing had happened. Some people returned them, others did not; but,at last, the affair began to be forgotten, and she took her proper placein society."She adored her husband as if he had been a god; for, you must remember,he had restored her to honor and to social life, had braved publicopinion, faced insults, and, in a word, performed such a courageous actas few men would undertake, and she felt the most exalted and tender lovefor him."When she became enceinte, and it was known, the most particular peopleand the greatest sticklers opened their doors to her, as if she had beendefinitely purified by maternity."It is strange, but so it is, and thus everything was going on as well aspossible until the other day, which was the feast of the patron saint ofour town. The prefect, surrounded by his staff and the authorities,presided at the musical competition, and when he had finished his speechthe distribution of medals began, which Paul Hamot, his privatesecretary, handed to those who were entitled to them."As you know, there are always jealousies and rivalries, which makepeople forget all propriety. All the ladies of the town were there on theplatform, and, in his turn, the bandmaster from the village of Mourmilloncame up. This band was only to receive a second-class medal, for onecannot give first-class medals to everybody, can one? But when theprivate secretary handed him his badge, the man threw it in his face andexclaimed:"'You may keep your medal for Baptiste. You owe him a first-class one,also, just as you do me.'"There were a number of people there who began to laugh. The common herdare neither charitable nor refined, and every eye was turned toward thatpoor lady. Have you ever seen a woman going mad, monsieur? Well, wewere present at the sight! She got up and fell back on her chair threetimes in succession, as if she wished to make her escape, but saw thatshe could not make her way through the crowd, and then another voice inthe crowd exclaimed:"'Oh! Oh! Madame Baptiste!'"And a great uproar, partly of laughter and partly of indignation, arose.The word was repeated over and over again; people stood on tiptoe to seethe unhappy woman's face; husbands lifted their wives up in their arms,so that they might see her, and people asked:"'Which is she? The one in blue?'"The boys crowed like cocks, and laughter was heard all over the place."She did not move now on her state chair, but sat just as if she had beenput there for the crowd to look at. She could not move, nor concealherself, nor hide her face. Her eyelids blinked quickly, as if a vividlight were shining on them, and she breathed heavily, like a horse thatis going up a steep hill, so that it almost broke one's heart to see her.Meanwhile, however, Monsieur Hamot had seized the ruffian by the throat,and they were rolling on the ground together, amid a scene ofindescribable confusion, and the ceremony was interrupted."An hour later, as the Hamots were returning home, the young woman, whohad not uttered a word since the insult, but who was trembling as if allher nerves had been set in motion by springs, suddenly sprang over theparapet of the bridge and threw herself into the river before her husbandcould prevent her. The water is very deep under the arches, and it wastwo hours before her body was recovered. Of course, she was dead."The narrator stopped and then added:"It was, perhaps, the best thing she could do under the circumstances.There are some things which cannot be wiped out, and now you understandwhy the clergy refused to have her taken into church. Ah! If it had beena religious funeral the whole town would have been present, but you canunderstand that her suicide added to the other affair and made familiesabstain from attending her funeral; and then, it is not an easy matterhere to attend a funeral which is performed without religious rites."We passed through the cemetery gates and I waited, much moved by what Ihad heard, until the coffin had been lowered into the grave, before Iwent up to the poor fellow who was sobbing violently, to press his handwarmly. He looked at me in surprise through his tears and then said:"Thank you, monsieur." And I was not sorry that I had followed thefuneral.
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