cised a tranquilising influence in the home. She died three years after the signing of peace of some rather mysterious wasting disease concerning which the doctors were unable to make any pronouncement.
In his state of widowerhood Jules Haudouin treated his elder sons w ith a greater indulgence. He became particularly attached to his granddaughter, Juliette, the second of Honore’s five children, and thought better of his daughter-in-law in consequence. A few months before his death he told his three sons the terms of his will. He had set aside a sum of 10,000 francs as a dowry for Juliette, who would dispose of it freely from the day of her marriage. The rest was to be equally divided between his sons: but impartial though it appeared, the will was in fact a masterpiece of calculated slyness. Since money is more readily squandered titan real estate, he had left Alphonse his share in the form of negotiable securities: for he felt sure that his eldest son would quickly ruin himself, and he did not want the Haudouin land to fall into the hands of strangers. In doing this he exposed Alphonse to all the perilous incitements of ready money, much to the former sergeant’s delight. Honore received the farmhouse with its surrounding land, and the working capital of the horse-trading business. Ferdinand’s share consisted of pasture, arable land and woods.
When Ferdinand protested at the dowry for Juliette, which only benefited Honore’s family, his father replied:
“You’re quite right to complain. One should always try to get more than one’s share. I wouldn’t want it to be said that complaining has got you nothing, and so this very day I will give you the picture of the Green Mare. You shall hang it in vour salon.”
Ferdinand accepted the gift with filial devoutness, had a handsome black frame made for it, and hung it in the place of honour over the piano. Visitors unaware of the facts mistook it for the insignia of a veterinary surgeon, but those in the know gazed at it with respect.
Old Haudouin, who had never been ill in his life, took to his bed one afternoon and died within a week. He was buried beside his wife, and Ferdinand had two big tomb-
stones made for them in black marble, such as had never before been seen in Claquebue. The dead on either side, wretchedly stretched beneath mere mounds of earth, turned unhappily in their sleep.
Before long it became apparent that the Green Mare was a talisman. Ferdinand was awarded a Grand Diploma of Honour and a bronze medal, became deputy mayor of Saint-Margelon, won 10,000 francs in the State Lottery and shortly afterwards was elected to the Regional Council. He was said to be worth 200,000 francs. Finally, when he was nearing his fortieth year, a sublime triumph fell to him: thanks to his political influence he was able to obtain the post of municipal street-sweeper for the former schoolfellow who had christened him “rubber-bum.”
His brothers, in the meantime, saw their respective legacies rapidly diminish. Although Honore knew all the ins and outs of horse-coping, he had never been moved by his father’s example to fake a horse or do anything to conceal its imperfections. He had a great fondness for animals, and sometimes lost a sale simply for the pleasure of keeping a horse a little longer; or sold it for no more than he had paid in order to oblige a friend. Worse still, he lent money left and right. His horse-trading business rapidly declined, and in the end he gave it up, without regret, to become a plain farmer. Since he had fallen into debt his situation became increasingly difficult, until Ferdinand, after lending him various sums and in order to “straighten out the position,” bought the house and land from him at a low price, leaving him in occupation, however, on the understanding that he would supply him with beans, potatoes, spring greens, fruit and salt pork.
Alphonse, even more than Honore, brought upon himself the calamities by which he was overtaken. His stiff leg made it difficult for him to work in the fields, but he might have sold linens or groceries, or at the worst made do on the modest income from his capital. Instead of this he swigged good wine, smoked thirty sous worth of cigars a day, and fed richly every day of the week. He lived this life of dissipation not only at home but in the town as well, where sometimes for days on end he infested the quarters of ill-fame in company with the most disreputable characters. And having frittered away half his fortune he married a girl more notable for her legs than her moral principles, who ate up what was left. Ferdinand, justly incensed at this conduct, did nothing to help him. Too often had he suffered the humiliation of having the ex-sergeant, always in liquor, burst into the salon of the Green Mare and scandalise the guests with his outrageous talk (on one occasion he had even sung the Internationale). Nevertheless, when his ruin was complete Ferdinand showed his goodness of heart by paying the family’s fare to Lyons, where Alphonse seemed to want to settle.
Thus the ill-fortune of the two elder brothers bore witness to the tutelary powers of the Green Mare. A benevolent deity, the guardian of solid principles and saving traditions, she bestowed honours and fortune upon Haudouins of good will — those who showed themselves to be prudent, industrious, calculating and possessed of an eye for sound securities.
On the days when his family was gathered together in the salon, and when he knew his accounts to be in good order, Ferdinand would experience a slight sense of intoxication arising out of the sheer happiness of living reasonably. Looking back over the way he had come since he was first installed in Saint-Margelon, it seemed to him in his modesty, forgetful of his own toil and shrewd contrivance, that he had done no more than cull the rich fruits of a mystical tree growing from the very entrails of the Green Mare. These were the occasions when the three young Haudouins were required to listen to the story of the fabulous animal that had attracted the notice of an emperor. Frederic, the eldest, never wearying of this epic, would listen with a beating heart, sometimes recalling a detail overlooked by his father, or adding some pious embellishment. Lucienne, concealing a desire to yawn, would exclaim politely in the right places. As for Antoine, the youngest, one might already suspect, from his sardonic grin, that he would come to no good in the world.
Mme. Haudouin detested these tales of the mare. Although she dared not say so, she considered that her hus-
band was blunting the sensibilities of their children. She was a gentle, affectionate mother, always in secret revolt against their father’s severity. Her days beneath the roof of the Demoiselles Hermeline had imbued her with a strong feeling for music and poetry, and she still knew by heart a number of the poems of Casimir Delavigne. Unknown to her husband, she gathered the children around her to teach them to appreciate the works of the more purely romantic poets, which they read together. Floods of heartrending verse were poured out in the salon, and there were occasions when they were all in tears except Lucienne, who remained unmoved. Lucienne was a well-behaved and quite pretty child of whom it might be hoped that some day she would marry well, but who took no interest in poetry. H er first concern was to keep her dresses clean and to please her schoolmistresses and parents. A good little girl, in short.
The boys enjoyed their mother’s poetry recitals, especially Antoine, who knew at least a thousand lines of poetry by heart and enjoyed making use of them to confound his father. This boy’s hatred of his father was final and unalterable. He made a point of being among the last in his class at school in order to displease him. When he brought home his weekly report for signature, Ferdinand would threaten in a fury to send him to boarding-school. His mother would have great difficulty in smoothing things over, because Antoine’s attitude to the paternal threats was always one of defiance. Not only was he dawdling, idle and disobedient, but he was wholly lacking in filial respect.