For five months they had been talking of going to lunch at some country
restaurant in the neighborhood of Paris, on Madame Dufour's birthday,
and as they were looking forward very impatiently to the outing, they
had risen very early that morning. Monsieur Dufour had borrowed the
milkman's tilted cart, and drove himself. It was a very neat, two
wheeled conveyance, with a hood, and in it Madame Dufour, resplendent
in a wonderful, sherry-colored silk dress, sat by the side of her
husband.
The old grandmother and the daughter were accommodated with two chairs,
and a yellow-haired youth, of whom, however, nothing was to be seen
except his head, lay at the bottom of the trap.
When they got to the bridge of Neuilly, Monsieur Dufour said: "Here we
are in the country at last!" At that warning, his wife grew sentimental
about the beauties of nature. When they got to the crossroads at
Courbevoie, they were seized with admiration for the tremendous view
down there: on the right was the spire of Argenteuil church, above it
rose the hills of Sannois and the mill of Orgemont, while on the left,
the aqueduct of Marly stood out against the clear morning sky. In the
distance they could see the terrace of Saint-Germain, and opposite to
them, at the end of a low chain of hills, the new fort of Cormeilles.
Afar--a very long way off, beyond the plains and villages--one could
see the somber green of the forests.
The sun was beginning to shine in their faces, the dust got into their
eyes, and on either side of the road there stretched an interminable
tract of bare, ugly country, which smelled unpleasantly. You would have
thought that it had been ravaged by a pestilence which had even
attacked the buildings, for skeletons of dilapidated and deserted
houses; or small cottages left in an unfinished state, as if the
contractors had not been paid, reared their four roofless walls on each
side.
Here and there tall factory-chimneys rose up from the barren soil, the
only vegetation on that putrid land, where the spring breezes wafted an
odor of petroleum and soot, mingled with another smell that was even
still less agreeable. At last, however, they crossed the Seine a second
time. It was delightful on the bridge; the river sparkled in the sun,
and they had a feeling of quiet satisfaction and enjoyment in drinking
in purer air, not impregnated by the black smoke of factories, nor by
the miasma from the deposits of night-soil. A man whom they met told
them that the name of the place was Bezons; so Monsieur Dufour pulled
up, and read the attractive announcement outside an eating-house:
"Restaurant Poulin, stews and fried fish, private rooms, arbors, and
swings."
"Well! Madame Dufour, will this suit you? Will you make up your mind at
last?"
She read the announcement in her turn, and then looked at the house for
a time.
It was a white country inn, built by the road-side, and through the
open door she could see the bright zinc of the counter, at which two
workmen out for the day were sitting. At last she made up her mind, and
said:
"Yes, this will do; and, besides, there is a view."
So they drove into a large yard studded with trees, behind the inn,
which was only separated from the river by the towing-path, and got
out. The husband sprang out first, and held out his arms for his wife.
As the step was very high, Madame Dufour, in order to reach him, had to
show the lower part of her limbs, whose former slenderness had
disappeared in fat. Monsieur Dufour, who was already getting excited by
the country air, pinched her calf, and then, taking her in his arms,
set her on to the ground, as if she had been some enormous bundle. She
shook the dust out of the silk dress, and then looked round, to see in
what sort of a place she was.
She was a stout woman, of about thirty-six, full-blown and delightful
to look at. She could hardly breathe, as she was laced too tightly,
which forced the heaving mass of her superabundant bosom up to her
double chin. Next, the girl put her hand on to her father's shoulder,
and jumped lightly down. The youth with the yellow hair had got down by
stepping on the wheel, and he helped Monsieur Dufour to get the
grandmother out. Then they unharnessed the horse, which they tied up to
a tree, and the carriage fell back, with both shafts in the air. The
man and boy took off their coats, washed their hands in a pail of
water, and then joined the ladies, who had already taken possession of
the swings.
Mademoiselle Dufour was trying to swing herself standing up, but she
could not succeed in getting a start. She was a pretty girl of about
eighteen; one of those women who suddenly excite your desire when you
meet them in the street, and who leave you with a vague feeling of
uneasiness and of excited senses. She was tall, had a small waist and
large hips, with a dark skin, very large eyes, and very black hair. Her
dress clearly marked the outlines of her firm, full figure, which was
accentuated by the motion of her hips as she tried to swing herself
higher. Her arms were stretched over her head to hold the rope, so that
her bosom rose at every movement she made. Her hat, which a gust of
wind had blown off, was hanging behind her, and as the swing gradually
rose higher and higher, she showed her delicate limbs up to the knees
each time, and the wind from the perfumed petticoats, more heady than
the fumes of wine, blew into the faces of her father and friend, who
were looking at her in admiration.
Sitting in the other swing, Madame Dufour kept saying in a monotonous
voice:
"Cyprian, come and swing me; do come and swing me, Cyprian!"
At last he complied, and turning up his shirt-sleeves, as if he
intended to work very hard, with much difficulty he set his wife in
motion. She clutched the two ropes, and held her legs out straight, so
as not to touch the ground. She enjoyed feeling giddy from the motion
of the swing, and her whole figure shook like a jelly on a dish, but as
she went higher and higher, she grew too giddy and got frightened.
Every time she was coming back, she uttered a shriek, which made all
the little urchins come round, and, down below, beneath the garden
hedge, she vaguely saw a row of mischievous heads, making various
grimaces as they laughed.
When a servant girl came out, they ordered lunch.
"Some fried fish, a stewed rabbit, salad, and dessert," Madame Dufour
said, with an important air.
"Bring two quarts of beer and a bottle of claret," her husband said.
"We will have lunch on the grass," the girl added.
The grandmother, who had an affection for cats, had been petting one
that belonged to the house, and had been bestowing the most
affectionate words on it, for the last ten minutes. The animal, no
doubt secretly pleased by her attentions, kept close to the good woman,
but just out of reach of her hand, and quietly walked round the trees,
against which she rubbed herself, with her tail up, purring with
pleasure.
"Hallo!" exclaimed the youth with the yellow hair, who was ferreting
about, "here are two swell boats!" They all went to look at them, and
saw two beautiful skiffs in a wooden boathouse, which were as
beautifully finished as if they had been objects of luxury. They were
moored side by side, like two tall, slender girls, in their narrow
shining length, and aroused in one a wish to float in them on warm
summer mornings and evenings, along flower-covered banks of the river,
where the trees dip their branches into the water, where the rushes are
continually rustling in the breeze, and where the swift kingfishers
dart about like flashes of blue lightning.
The whole family looked at them with great respect.
"They are indeed two swell boats," Monsieur Dufour repeated gravely,
and he examined them closely, commenting on them like a connoisseur. He
had been in the habit of rowing in his younger days, he said, and when
he had that in his hands--and he went through the action of pulling the
oars--he did not care a fig for anybody. He had beaten more than one
Englishman formerly at the Joinville regattas. He grew quite excited at
last, and offered to make a bet that in a boat like that he could row
six miles an hour, without exerting himself.
"Lunch is ready," said the waitress, appearing at the entrance to the
boathouse. They all hurried off, but two young men were already
lunching at the best place, which Madame Dufour had chosen in her mind
as her seat. No doubt they were the owners of the skiffs, for they were
dressed in boating costume. They were stretched out, almost lying on
chairs, and were sunburned, and had on flannel trousers and thin cotton
jerseys, with short sleeves, which showed their bare arms, which were
as strong as blacksmiths'. They were two strong young fellows, who
thought a great deal of their vigor, and who showed in all their
movements that elasticity and grace of limb which can only be acquired
by exercise, and which is so different to the awkwardness with which
the same continual work stamps the mechanic.
They exchanged a rapid smile when they saw the mother, and then a look
on seeing the daughter.
"Let us give up our place," one of them said; "it will make us
acquainted with them."
The other got up immediately, and holding his black and red boating-cap
in his hand, he politely offered the ladies the only shady place in the
garden. With many excuses they accepted, and so that it might be more
rural, they sat on the grass, without either tables or chairs.
The two young men took their plates, knives, forks, etc., to a table a
little way off, and began to eat again. Their bare arms, which they
showed continually, rather embarrassed the young girl, who even
pretended to turn her head aside, and not to see them. But Madame
Dufour, who was rather bolder, tempted by feminine curiosity, looked at
them every moment, and no doubt compared them with the secret
unsightliness of her husband. She had squatted herself on the ground
with her legs tucked under her, after the manner of tailors, and kept
wriggling about continually, under the pretext that ants were crawling
about her somewhere. Monsieur Dufour, whom the politeness of the
strangers had put into rather a bad temper, was trying to find a
comfortable position, which he did not, however, succeed in doing,
while the youth with the yellow hair was eating as silently as an ogre.
"It is lovely weather, Monsieur," the stout lady said to one of the
boating-men. She wished to be friendly, because they had given up their
place.
"It is, indeed, Madame," he replied; "do you often go into the country?"
"Oh! Only once or twice a year, to get a little fresh air; and you,
Monsieur?"
"I come and sleep here every night."
"Oh! That must be very nice?"
"Certainly it is, Madame." And he gave them such a practical account of
his daily life, that in the hearts of these shopkeepers, who were
deprived of the meadows, and who longed for country walks, it roused
that innate love of nature, which they all felt so strongly the whole
year round, behind the counter in their shop.
The girl raised her eyes and looked at the oarsman with emotion, and
Monsieur Dufour spoke for the first time.
"It is indeed a happy life," he said. And then he added: "A little more
rabbit, my dear?"
"No, thank you," she replied, and turning to the young men again, and
pointing to their arms, asked "Do you never feel cold like that?"
They both laughed, and amazed the family by telling of the enormous
fatigue they could endure, of bathing while in a state of tremendous
perspiration, of rowing in the fog at night, and they struck their
chests violently, to show how they sounded.
"Ah! You look very strong," the husband said and he did not talk any
more of the time when he used to beat the English. The girl was looking
at them askance now, and the young fellow with the yellow hair, as he
had swallowed some wine the wrong way, and was coughing violently,
bespattered Madame Dufour's sherry-colored silk dress. Madame got
angry, and sent for some water to wash the spots.
Meanwhile it had grown unbearably hot, the sparkling river looked like
a blaze of fire and the fumes of the wine were getting into their
heads. Monsieur Dufour, who had a violent hiccough, had unbuttoned his
waistcoat and the top of his trousers, while his wife, who felt
choking, was gradually unfastening her dress. The youth was shaking his
yellow wig in a happy frame of mind, and kept helping himself to wine,
and as the old grandmother felt drunk, she endeavored to be very stiff
and dignified. As for the girl, she showed nothing except a peculiar
brightness in her eyes, while the brown skin on the cheeks became more
rosy.
The coffee finished them off; they spoke of singing, and each of them
sang, or repeated a couplet, which the others repeated
enthusiastically. Then they got up with some difficulty, and while the
two women, who were rather dizzy, were getting some fresh air, the two
males, who were altogether drunk, were performing gymnastic tricks.
Heavy, limp, and with scarlet faces, they hung awkwardly on to the iron
rings, without being able to raise themselves, while their shirts were
continually threatening to part company with their trousers, and to
flap in the wind like flags.
Meanwhile, the two boating-men had got their skiffs into the water.
They came back, and politely asked the ladies whether they would like a
row.
"Would you like one, Monsieur Dufour?" his wife exclaimed. "Please
come!"
He merely gave her a drunken look, without understanding what she said.
Then one of the rowers came up, with two fishing-rods in his hand; and
the hope of catching a gudgeon, that great aim of the Parisian
shopkeeper, made Dufour's dull eyes gleam. He politely allowed them to
do whatever they liked, while he sat in the shade, under the bridge,
with his feet dangling over the river, by the side of the young man
with the yellow hair, who was sleeping soundly close to him.
One of the boating-men made a martyr of himself, and took the mother.
"Let us go to the little wood on the Ile aux Anglais!" he called out,
as he rowed off. The other skiff went slower, for the rower was looking
at his companion so intently, that he thought of nothing else. His
emotion paralyzed his strength, while the girl, who was sitting on the
steerer's seat, gave herself up to the enjoyment of being on the water.
She felt disinclined to think, felt a lassitude in her limbs a complete
self-relaxation, as if she were intoxicated. She had become very
flushed, and breathed pantingly. The effect of the wine, increased by
the extreme heat, made all the trees on the bank seem to bow, as she
passed. A vague wish for enjoyment, a fermentation of her blood, seemed
to pervade her whole body, and she was also a little agitated by this
tete-a-tete on the water, in a place which seemed depopulated by the
heat, with this young man, who thought her so pretty, whose looks
seemed to caress her skin, and whose eyes were as penetrating and
exciting as the sun's rays.
Their inability to speak increased their emotion, and they looked about
them. At last he made an effort and asked her name.
"Henriette," she said.
"Why! My name is Henri," he replied. The sound of their voices calmed
them, and they looked at the banks. The other skiff had gone ahead of
them, and seemed to be waiting for them. The rower called out:
"We will meet you in the wood; we are going as far as Robinson's,[1]
because Madame Dufour is thirsty." Then he bent over his oars again and
rowed off so quickly that he was soon out of sight.
Meanwhile, a continual roar, which they had heard for some time, came
nearer, and the river itself seemed to shiver, as if the dull noise
were rising from its depths.
"What is that noise?" she asked. It was the noise of the weir, which
cut the river in two, at the island. He was explaining it to her, when
above the noise of the waterfall they heard the song of a bird, which
seemed a long way off.
"Listen!" he said; "the nightingales are singing during the day, so the
females must be sitting."
A nightingale! She had never heard one before, and the idea of
listening to one roused visions of poetic tenderness in her heart. A
nightingale! That is to say, the invisible witness of the lover's
interview which Juliette invoked on her balcony[2]; that celestial
music which is attuned to human kisses; that eternal inspirer of all
those languorous romances which open idealized visions to the poor,
tender, little hearts of sensitive girls!
She wanted to hear a nightingale.
"We must not make a noise," her companion said, "and then we can go
into the wood, and sit down close to it."
The skiff seemed to glide. They saw the trees on the island, the banks
of which were so low that they could look into the depths of the
thickets. They stopped, he made the boat fast, Henriette took hold of
Henri's arm, and they went beneath the trees.
"Stoop," he said, so she bent down, and they went into an inextricable
thicket of creepers, leaves, and reed-grass, which formed an
impenetrable retreat, and which the young man laughingly called "his
private room."
Just above their heads, perched in one of the trees which hid them, the
bird was still singing. He uttered shakes and roulades, and then long,
vibrating sounds that filled the air and seemed to lose themselves in
the distance, across the level country, through that burning silence
which hung low upon the whole country round. They did not speak for
fear of frightening the bird away. They were sitting close together,
and slowly Henri's arm stole round the girl's waist and squeezed it
gently. She took that daring hand, but without anger, and kept removing
it whenever he put it round her; not, however, feeling at all
embarrassed by this caress, just as if it had been something quite
natural which she was resisting just as naturally.
She was listening to the bird in ecstasy. She felt an infinite longing
for happiness, for some sudden demonstration of tenderness, for a
revelation of divine poesy. She felt such a softening at her heart, and
such a relaxation of her nerves, that she began to cry, without knowing
why. The young man was now straining her close to him, and she did not
remove his arm; she did not think of it. Suddenly the nightingale
stopped, and a voice called out in the distance:
"Henriette!"
"Do not reply," he said in a low voice, "you will drive the bird away."
But she had no idea of doing so, and they remained in the same position
for some time. Madame Dufour had sat down somewhere or other, for from
time to time they heard the stout lady break out into little bursts of
laughter.
The girl was still crying; she was filled with strange sensations.
Henri's head was on her shoulder, and suddenly he kissed her on the
lips. She was surprised and angry, and, to avoid him, she stood up.
They were both very pale when they quitted their grassy retreat. The
blue sky looked dull to them, the ardent sun was clouded over to their
eyes, they perceived not the solitude and the silence. They walked
quickly side by side, without speaking or touching each other,
appearing to be irreconcilable enemies, as if disgust had sprung up
between them, and hatred between their souls. From time to time
Henriette called out: "Mamma!"
By and by they heard a noise in a thicket, and Madame Dufour appeared,
looking rather confused, and her companion's face was wrinkled with
smiles that he could not check.
Madame Dufour took his arm, and they returned to the boats. Henri went
on first, still without speaking, by the girl's side, and at last they
got back to Bezons. Monsieur Dufour, who had sobered up, was waiting
for them very impatiently, while the youth with the yellow hair was
having a mouthful of something to eat before leaving the inn. The
carriage was in the yard, with the horse in, and the grandmother, who
had already got in, was frightened at the thought of being overtaken by
night, before they got back to Paris, the outskirts not being safe.
The young men shook hands with them, and the Dufour family drove off.
"Good-bye, until we meet again!" the oarsmen cried, and the answers
they got were a sigh and a tear.
* * * * *
Two months later, as Henri was going along the Rue des Martyrs, he saw
"Dufour, Ironmonger," over a door. So he went in, and saw the stout
lady sitting at the counter. They recognized each other immediately,
and after an interchange of polite greetings, he inquired after them
all.
"And how is Mademoiselle Henriette?" he inquired, specially.
"Very well, thank you; she is married."
"Ah!" Mastering his feelings, he added: "To whom was she married?"
"To that young man who went with us, you know; he has joined us in
business."
"I remember him, perfectly."
He was going out, feeling unhappy, though scarcely knowing why, when
Madame called him back.
"And how is your friend?" she asked, rather shyly.
"He is very well, thank you."
"Please give him our compliments, and beg him to come and call when he
is in the neighborhood." She then added: "Tell him it will give me
great pleasure."
"I will be sure to do so. Adieu!"
"I will not say that; come again, very soon."
* * * * *
The next year, one very hot Sunday, all the details of that memorable
adventure suddenly came back to him so clearly that he revisited the
"private room" in the wood, and was overwhelmed with astonishment when
he went in. She was sitting on the grass, looking very sad, while by
her side, again in his shirt-sleeves, the young man with the yellow
hair was sleeping soundly, like some brute.
She grew so pale when she saw Henri, that at first he thought she was
going to faint; then, however, they began to talk quite naturally. But
when he told her that he was very fond of that spot, and went there
very often on Sundays, she looked into his eyes for a long time. "I,
too, often think of it," she replied.
"Come, my dear," her husband said, with a yawn; "I think it is time for
us to be going."
[1] A well-known restaurant on the banks of the Seine, much frequented
by the bourgeoisie.
[2] "Romeo and Juliet," Act III., Scene V.