“He knows everything! I can’t say more than that. Little beast! Get down and ask forgiveness on your knees! You shall go without dessert until you come of age!”
For a long time after this Ferdinand could not meet his son’s eyes without blushing to the roots of his hair. Nor did his daughter escape his zeal. Catching her in a gesture which he thought open to suspicion, he condemned her to sleep for six months with her hands tied behind her back.
These maniac perturbations in no way affected his professional activities. Indeed, the reverse was the case. Driven by a relentless energy he spent his life upon the roads, proceeding from calving cow to carbuncular pig; and was no less relentless in demanding that his sons should be at the head of their respective classes, and that Lucienne should be a model among accomplished young ladies. Since the Church had no power to exorcise and no balance in which to weigh his phantom sins, and since he was as it were rejected by his true community, or ignored, or invalided out, he sought to compensate himself through his family, which by diligence and unexceptionable behaviour must bear witness to his singular virtues. He drove them heavenwards as though he were building a Tower of Babel.
“Antoine, take your hands out of your pockets and let me here you say your grammar. . The word ‘erection’ is a noun, not an adjective. It. And suddenly he was blushing furiously. “Why are you looking at me like that? What have I said to make you look like that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!…”
During the winter they rarely went to Claquebue, but spent their Sunday afternoons at home. I was a witness of those dismal gatherings. Helene and her daughter occupied themselves with needlework while the boys learnt their lessons, or pretended to, all of them oppressed by that sense of collective unease that weighs upon silence-rooms. For their father was there, bringing his accounts and his correspondence up to date, and looking up sharply from time to time to glance at them with apprehension and misgiving: to assure himself, perhaps, that his wife and children were not taking advantage of his preoccupation with honest toil to indulge in furtive and shameful gestures or pass round dirty postcards: and then he would lower his head again, troubled by some passing image evoked in his mind by the sight of the keyhole or the candles on the piano. . Of the five, he was probably the most unhappy; but not all his suffering was comparable with my own when his gaze rested upon me. All that tumultuous,
static life which the brush of Murdoire had caused to pulsate beneath my green coat seemed turned to stone. Even now, after forty years, the recollection of it makes my blood run cold.
Six
Ferdinand and his wife walked to the station one on either side of their daughter Lucienne, who wore a white frock which she had herself embroidered under the guidance of the Demoiselles Hermeline. The two boys, well enough pleased with themselves in their school uniforms, walked in front carrying the parcels. The prospect of a day at Claquebue during which they would to some extent escape the parental supervision had made them talkative.
“You don't have to worry,” said Antoine. “You’re bound to get at least one distinction, and that means you’ll be let alone all the holidays. But as for me-”
“You can’t tell. You may get one or two credits.”
“No, the head of our class saw my marks. All I’ve got is a couple of passes. The old man’s going to cut up rough about that. Can’t you hear him? ‘The sacrifices I have made to equip vou for a career worthv of the family!. .’ Old idiot!”
Frederic had not been able to prevent himself getting a distinction, and he almost regretted it, since Antoine would suffer all the more by comparison. That morning, indeed, he had been feeling quite remorseful; but his brother’s scathing reference to their father so offended him that he suppressed the words that had been on the tip of his tongue. Antoine changed the subject.
“Did you notice that girl, Jasmin, just now? We passed her at the corner of the Rue de l’Ogre. Pretty, isn’t she?” Frederic was still ruffled. He shook his head. No, he didn’t think all that much of the girl, Jasmin.
“Her nose is too long and sharp, and her hair’s too straight and she doesn’t brush it properly. . Anyway, she’s still only a kid.”
“All the same. .” murmured Antoine with enthusiasm. “Well, that’s all she is, nothing but a kid. She hasn’t got any tits yet. That’s what makes a woman, my lad.”
They were about fifty yards ahead of the others. Their father could not hear what they were saying, but he nevertheless craned his neck and his nose twitched slightly, sniffing the air. Frederic was pleased with himself at having expressed these man-of-the-worldly views on the subject of women, and with a freedom of language which bespoke both the sophisticated undergraduate and the gay dog. Antoine candidly considered the matter, his forehead wrinkled. At length he said:
“Well, naturally I’ve nothing against tits, but what difference does it make when you don’t do anything with girls anyway? All that matters is the face, and especially the eyes. You must admit Jasmin has very pretty eyes.” “You’re only thirteen, you see,” said Frederic indulgently.
“And just because you’re fifteen you want me to think. . Well, what are you trying to say? Go on, let’s hear it!”
“Nothing, nothing. .” said Frederic with a lordly nonchalance. “Let’s not talk about it any more.” And noting the approach of Antoine’s wrath he waited for their parents to catch up.
Ferdinand, who had a plan at the back of his mind, was asking Lucienne how she was getting on with the piano.
“If you were to spend your holiday at Claquebue, would you be able to play the harmonium in church?”
Torn between her dislike of the idea of spending two months on the farm, and the possibility of distinguishing herself, Lucienne was slow to reply. Since the cure’s niece had married, the Claquebue congregation had only heard the church harmonium one week in five, when the Com-tesse de Bombrion came to the village to attend Mass. It would be something, after all, to take the place of a countess. Ferdinand meanwhile was explaining to Helene: “It would be a gesture which would not commit anyone;
a trifle, if you like, but still a step in the direction of the Clericals; and for the more half-hearted Republicans it would be a sign that the wind is changing. I daresay no more will be necessary provided Honore shows a little goodwill, or even if he simply doesn’t interfere. Maloret will know how to make the most of it: the atmosphere of an election is very often decided by trifles of that sort, which are a reassurance for one party and a hint for the other. And in any case, I repeat, it wouldn’t compromise vie in any way. The child would be on holiday, and since there’s no piano she would simply use the harmonium to practise on. It would all seem perfectly natural.”
Helene listened abstractedly. She could never work up any interest in these stratagems of local politics, anxious though she was that Valtier should assist the career of her son, Frederic. Nevertheless, she had agreed to take a hand in the plot which her husband was so meticulously weaving. Since Honore had always shown her an especial friendliness she was to do her best to talk him round, using sentiment where Ferdinand’s logical arguments failed.
At the booking-office Ferdinand asked for five second-class tickets. His social status ruled out the third class, and his politics made it undesirable for him to travel first. He therefore went second, but with regret that no class should exist which might testify to his affluence and personal distinction — for example, a separate coach for the use of the notable and well-to-do: Second class (elite).