“You hear that, everyone? He doesn’t know the date of the Peace of Westphalia! He ought to be ashamed of himself! He’ll be a disgrace to the family, like his Uncle Alphonse. Very well, this afternoon instead of going out to play with his cousins he shall stay with me. The whole time!”
The carriage was filled with a shocked silence. For her brother’s benefit Lucienne mentally recited a prayer recommended by the Demoiselles Hermeline as an aid to recalling the great dates of history. Frederic drew the figures in the air with his finger, and Mme. Haudouin tried to catch her son’s eye in order to comfort him with an affectionate smile. But Antoine, staring down at his boots refused to see anything. Ferdinand repeated:
“The whole time! He shan’t go out of my sight!”
And finally Antoine’s breast heaved with a sob, while his eyes were blurred with the vision of Jasmin. He gulped and muttered in a stifled voice:
“Sixteen forty-eight.”
Seven
On the Sundays when the family from Saint-Margelon came to Claquebue, Honore’s family was on its toes from four o’clock in the morning. Having as usual cleared the dung out of the cowsheds, spread fresh straw, fed the cows, pigs, poultry and rabbits, and then fed themselves, they had to shell beans and prepare salad for a dozen people, wash their feet, put on clean shirts, wash, iron, mend, tidy and sweep, all the time exclaiming that they would never be ready.
At half-past eight Alexis climbed the walnut-tree to watch for the appearance of the carriage over the crest of the Montee-Rouge. He would then cry (but sometimes he gave a false alarm, just for fun, although he knew perfectly well that he would get a sabot in the bottom directly he came down):
“Uncle’s carriage has just come in sight!”
There would then be a dreadful stampede in the kitchen. Honore would use strong language to his wife because he couldn’t find his collar-stud (what the devil could they have done with his collar-stud?) while Adelaide ran round the room with a hot iron in one hand and a needle in the other, ironing and stitching everything in sight, and crying out in a voice even louder than her husband’s that no one did anything to help her, that she was expected to do everything, and that when she died of overwork perhaps they’d begin to realise.
“The sooner the better! Then I’ll be able to marry again!”
“If you can find anyone to have you!”
“I’ll find a woman who doesn’t lose collar-studs!”
“It’s in the drawer. I’ve told you a dozen times! Do you expect me to be everywhere?”
The dog, Blackie, would contrive to get under everyone’s feet, blocking every doorway and being incessantly kicked. Juliette would call Gustave and Clotilde, who never came. They would be found eventually in the ditch or on the midden, mucky from head to foot. However, they were never got into their Sunday clothes until the last minute, since everyone knew it would have been fatal. Juliette would clean them up, brush their hair and dress them while Honore fixed his collar-stud (which really was in the drawer) and Adelaide got into her black dress, at the same time sewing buttons onto the wriggling bodies of her offspring; and when the carriage turned to enter the yard they would all go flocking out of the house, beaming and exclaiming, “Here they are!” Ferdinand (as a rule he was driving his own carriage) would pull up and answer in his prim, inhibited voice, “Yes, here we are!” and would jump down from the driver’s seat to help his wife to alight.
“Yes,” he would repeat, “here we are.”
“That’s it,” Honore would say. “You got here all right.” And the effusions would begin: kisses on the cheeks of cousins and aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters-in-law. .
“The dear children!”
“Were you very hot?”
“I haven’t kissed him yet.”
“You haven’t kissed me either.”
“Have you kissed your uncle?”
“Blackie — good dog!”
“How they’re growing!”
“We had to wait five minutes at the level-crossing.” “Get down, you filthy animal! He’ll make a dreadful mess of your clothes.”
“There’s so much traffic on the roads just now.”
“Mind he doesn’t dirty you with his grubby hands.” “Leave me alone!”
“A horse is so easily startled. .
“You wait! When he’s twelve he'll be taller than Antoine. .
The rejoicings would continue for a good ten minutes. Blackie would get kicked, Gustave would get slapped and Alexis would unharness the horse with a due respect for the handsome trappings which did so much honour to the family. The sisters-in-law would go into the house, and Ferdinand, vet that he was, would sav to Honore:
“Now let’s have a look at the animals.”
Not until they entered the cowsheds would the brothers become conscious of the revival of the latent hostility between them, quite forgotten at the moment of their meeting. Ferdinand would examine the animals with professional gravity.
“This cow’s getting too much drv stuff.”
“Perhaps. But she’s giving three-and-a-half gallons just the same.”
Honore would stand back with an air of detachment, making it clear to Ferdinand that he attached no importance to his views. Ferdinand, however, would continue his inspection, reckoning that this free consultation (worth five francs, if you looked at it like that) was almost enough in itself to pay for the meal he and his familv were going to eat; which meant that the pate and sausage they had brought with them were in the nature of largesse. .
But on this particular Sunday nothing took a normal course. Alexis, from his post of observation in the walnut-tree, saw the carriage, but it was so different from his uncle’s landau that he took no notice of it. The arrival of Mainehal with Ferdinand and his family took them all bv surprise. Honore came out of the house in an old pair of patched trousers unbuttoned in front. The younger children were still in their everyday clothes, and their mother had on a flannel petticoat with red stripes. Ferdinand was displeased, considering that this negligence in the presence of a third party must make a very bad impression. He was also embarrassed for his wife and daughter, and he did his best by gestures to convey to Honore that the wind was blowing through his fly-buttons. Honore, however, was too astonished to understand.
“I never expected you to turn up in Mainehal’s carriage. What’s happened? Is the black horse ill?”
And at this Ferdinand felt his face grow livid. Cutting short the embraces he said in a choking voice:
“Let’s go and look at the animals.”
Honore was saying a few words to Mainehal. He nudged him in the ribs and repeated in supplication:
“The animals. .”
When they were safely in the cowshed he stared apprehensively at his brother.
“Do you mean to say you didn’t get my letter?”
“No. It’ll make you laugh. Deodat lost it. It fell out of his bag while he was having a scrimmage with the kids coming out of school. He had to come and tell me, poor old Deodat — you never saw anyone look so silly!. . But what’s the matter with you?”
Ferdinand had sat down on the three-legged milking-stool.
“My God, my letter! He’s lost my letter!. .”
He hid his face in his hands and groaned in his despair. Honore felt slightly perturbed, recalling that the postman had at first suspected Tintin Maloret. But he was touched by Ferdinand’s evident misery, and helping him to his feet he laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Have a bit of sense, my dear. There’s no need to get in such a state over a letter.”
Ferdinand leaned for a moment on his supporting arm. He felt weak, and the endearment on the lips of his elder brother had caused a sudden pricking in his nose. Honore, too, was moved momentarily to tenderness. He reflected that after all perhaps Ferdinand was not so bad at heart: if he had not been led astray at the College de Saint-Margelon he might have been a good country Haudouin.