Simon had just come in, and he said with a laugh: "So! You have made
grandpapa's acquaintance. He is priceless, is that old man. He is the
delight of the children, and he is so greedy that he almost kills
himself at every meal. You have no idea what he would eat if he were
allowed to do as he pleased. But you will see, you will see. He looks
all the sweets over as if they were so many girls. You have never seen
anything funnier; you will see it presently."
I was then shown to my room to change my dress for dinner, and hearing
a great clatter behind me on the stairs, I turned round and saw that
all the children were following me behind their father--to do me honor,
no doubt.
My windows looked out on to a plain, a bare, interminable plain, an
ocean of grass, of wheat, and of oats, without a clump of trees or any
rising ground, a striking and melancholy picture of the life which they
must be leading in that house.
A bell rang; it was for dinner, and so I went downstairs. Madame
Radevin took my arm in a ceremonious manner, and we went into the
dining-room. A footman wheeled in the old man's arm-chair, who gave a
greedy and curious look at the dessert, as with difficulty he turned
his shaking head from one dish to the other.
Simon rubbed his hands, saying: "You will be amused." All the children
understood that I was going to be indulged with the sight of their
greedy grandfather and they began to laugh accordingly, while their
mother merely smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Simon, making a
speaking trumpet of his hands, shouted at the old man: "This evening
there is sweet rice-cream," and the wrinkled face of the grandfather
brightened, he trembled violently all over, showing that he had
understood and was very pleased. The dinner began.
"Just look!" Simon whispered. The grandfather did not like the soup,
and refused to eat it; but he was made to, on account of his health.
The footman forced the spoon into his mouth, while the old man blew
energetically, so as not to swallow the soup, which was thus scattered
like a stream of water on to the table and over his neighbors. The
children shook with delight at the spectacle, while their father, who
was also amused, said: "Isn't the old man funny?"
During the whole meal they were all taken up solely with him. With his
eyes he devoured the dishes which were put on the table, and with
trembling hands tried to seize them and pull them to him. They put them
almost within his reach to see his useless efforts, his trembling
clutches at them, the piteous appeal of his whole nature, of his eyes,
of his mouth, and of his nose as he smelled them. He slobbered on to
his table napkin with eagerness, while uttering inarticulate grunts,
and the whole family was highly amused at this horrible and grotesque
scene.
Then they put a tiny morsel on to his plate, which he ate with feverish
gluttony, in order to get something more as soon as possible. When the
rice-cream was brought in, he nearly had a fit, and groaned with
greediness. Gontran called out to him: "You have eaten too much
already; you will have no more." And they pretended not to give him
any. Then he began to cry--cry and tremble more violently than ever,
while all the children laughed. At last, however, they gave him his
helping, a very small piece. As he ate the first mouthful of the
pudding, he made a comical and greedy noise in his throat, and a
movement with his neck like ducks do, when they swallow too large a
morsel, and then, when he had done, he began to stamp his feet, so as
to get more.
I was seized with pity for this pitiable and ridiculous Tantalus, and
interposed on his behalf: "Please, will you not give him a little more
rice?"
But Simon replied: "Oh! no my dear fellow, if he were to eat too much,
it might harm him at his age."
I held my tongue, and thought over these words. Oh! ethics! Oh! logic!
Oh! wisdom! At his age! So they deprived him of his only remaining
pleasure out of regard for his health! His health! What would he do
with it, inert and trembling wreck that he was? They were taking care
of his life, so they said. His life? How many days? Ten, twenty, fifty,
or a hundred? Why? For his own sake? Or to preserve for some time
longer, the spectacle of his impotent greediness in the family.
There was nothing left for him to do in this life, nothing whatever. He
had one single wish left, one sole pleasure; why not grant him that
last solace constantly, until he died?
After playing cards for a long time, I went up to my room and to bed: I
was low-spirited and sad, sad, sad! I sat at my window, but I heard
nothing but the beautiful warbling of a bird in a tree, somewhere in
the distance. No doubt the bird was singing thus in a low voice during
the night, to lull his mate, who was sleeping on her eggs.
And I thought of my poor friend's five children, and to myself pictured
him snoring by the side of his ugly wife.