After the civil formalities and the religious ceremony the wedding party
went to Anna's house. Among those whom the Tailles had brought was a
cousin of a certain age, a M. Sauvetanin, a man given to philosophical
reflections, serious, and always very self-possessed, and Mme.
Lamonoois, an old aunt.
M. Sauvetanin had been told off to give Anna his arm, as they were
looked upon as the two most important persons in the company.
As soon as they had arrived at the door of Anna's house she let go her
companion's arm, and ran on ahead, saying, "I will show you the way,"
and ran upstairs while the invited guests followed more slowly; and,
when they got upstairs, she stood on one side to let them pass, and they
rolled their eyes and turned their heads in all directions to admire
this mysterious and luxurious dwelling.
The table was laid in the drawing-room as the dining-room had been
thought too small. Extra knives, forks, and spoons had been hired from
a neighboring restaurant, and decanters full of wine under the rays of
the sun which shown in through the window.
The ladies went into the bedroom to take off their shawls and bonnets,
and Father Touchard, who was standing at the door, squinted at the low
wide bed, and made funny and suggestive signs to the men, with many a
wink and a nod. Daddy Taille, who thought a great deal of himself,
looked with fatherly pride at his child's well-furnished rooms, and went
from one to the other holding his hat in his hand, making a mental
inventory of everything, and walking like a verger in a church.
Anna went backwards and forwards, ran about giving orders and hurrying
on the wedding feast. Soon she appeared at the door of the dining-room,
and cried: "Come here, all of you, for a moment," and when the twelve
guests did as they were asked they saw twelve glasses of Madeira on a
small table.
Rose and her husband had their arms round each other's waists, and were
kissing each other in every corner. Mons. Sauvetanin never took his eyes
off Anna; he no doubt felt that ardor, that sort of expectation which
all men, even if they are old and ugly, feel for women of a certain
stamp, as if they owed a little of themselves, professionally, to all
males.
They sat down, and the wedding-breakfast began; the relations sitting at
one end of the table and the young people at the other. Mme. Touchard,
the mother, presided on the right and the bride on the left. Anna looked
after everybody, saw that the glasses were kept filled and the plates
well supplied. The guests evidently felt a certain respectful
embarrassment at the sight of all the sumptuousness of the rooms and at
the lavish manner in which they were treated. They all ate heartily of
the good things provided, but there were no jokes such as are prevalent
at weddings of that sort; it was all too grand, and it made them feel
uncomfortable. Old Madame Touchard, who was fond of a bit of fun, tried
to enliven matters a little, and at the beginning of the dessert she
exclaimed: "I say, Philip, do sing us something." The neighbors in their
street considered that he had the finest voice in all Havre.
The bridegroom got up, smiled, and turning to his sister-in-law, from
politeness and gallantry, tried to think of something suitable for the
occasion, something serious and correct, to harmonize with the
seriousness of the repast.
Anna had a satisfied look on her face, and leaned back in her chair to
listen, and all assumed looks of attention, though prepared to smile
should smiles be called for.
The singer announced, "The Accursed Bread," and extending his right arm,
which made his coat ruck up into his neck, he began.
It was decidedly long, three verses of eight lines each, with the last
line and the last line but one repeated twice.
All went well for the first two verses; they were the usual commonplaces
about bread gained by honest labor and by dishonesty. The aunt and the
bride wept outright. The cook, who was present, at the end of the first
verse looked at a roll which she held in her hand with running eyes, as
if they applied to her, while all applauded vigorously. At the end of
the second verse the two servants, who were standing with their backs
to the wall, joined loudly in the chorus, and the aunt and the bride
wept outright. Daddy Taille blew his nose with the noise of a trombone,
and old Touchard brandished a whole loaf half over the table, and the
cook shed silent tears on the crust which she was still holding.
Amidst the general emotion M. Sauvetanin said:
"That is the right sort of song; very different to the nasty, risky
things one generally hears at weddings."
Anna, who was visibly affected, kissed her hand to her sister, and
pointed to her husband with an affectionate nod, as if to congratulate
her.
Intoxicated by his success, the young man continued, and unfortunately
the last verse contained the words about the bread of dishonor gained by
young girls who had been led astray from the paths of virtue. No one
took up the refrain about this bread, supposed to be eaten with tears,
except old Touchard and the two servants. Anna had grown deadly pale,
and cast down her eyes, while the bridegroom looked from one to the
other without understanding the reason for this sudden coldness, and the
cook hastily dropped the crust as if it were poisoned.
Mons. Sauvetanin said solemnly, in order to save the situation: "That
last couplet is not at all necessary;" and Daddy Taille, who had got red
up to the ears, looked round the table fiercely.
Then Anna, with her eyes swimming in tears, told the servants, in the
faltering voice of a woman trying to stifle her sobs, to bring the
champagne.
All the guests were suddenly seized with exuberant joy, and all their
faces became radiant again. And when old Touchard, who had seen, felt,
and understood nothing of what was going on, and, pointing to the guests
so as to emphasize his words, sang the last words of the refrain:
"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread," the whole company,
when they saw the champagne bottles, with their necks covered with gold
foil appear, burst out singing, as if electrified by the sight:
"Children, I warn you all to eat not of that bread."