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 Lamondois,
an old aunt.
M. Sauvetanin had been told off to give Anna his arm, as they were
looked upon as the two most important and most distinguished 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,"
while the invited guests followed more slowly. 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
neighbouring restaurant, and decanters full of wine glittered under the
rays of the sun, which shone in through the window.
The ladies went into the bedroom to take off their shawls and bonnets,
and Old Touchard, who was standing at the door, squinted at the low, wide
bed, and made funny signs to the men, with many a wink and nod. Old
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 backward and forward, and 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. M. Sauvetanin never took his eyes
off Anna; he no doubt felt that ardour, that sort of expectation which
all men, even if they are old and ugly, feel for women of easy virtue, as
if their trade, their professional duty compelled them to give a little
of themselves to every male.
They sat down, and the wedding breakfast began; the relatives 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 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 Mme 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 neighbours 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.
Il est un pain béni qu'à la terre économe
Il nous faut arracher d'un bras victorieux.
C'est le pain du travail, celui que l'honnête homme.
Le soir, à ses enfants, apporte tout joyeux.
Mais il en est un autre, à mine tentatrice,
Pain maudit que l'enfer pour nous damner sema, (_bis_)
Enfant, n'y touchez pas car c'est le pain du vice!
Chers enfants, gardez vous de toucher ce pain-là. (_bis_)
They all applauded frantically. Old Touchard declared the sentiments
excellent. The cook, who was one of the guests, twisted in her hands a
crust at which she gazed tenderly. M. Sauvetanin murmured, "Bravo!" Aunt
Lamondois had already begun to wipe away her tears with her napkin.
The bridegroom announced: "Second verse," and launched forth with
renewed vigour:
Respect au malheureux qui, tout brisé par l'âge.
Nous implore en passant sur le bord du chemin.
Mais flétrissons celui qui, désertant l'ouvrage.
Alerte et bien portant, ose tendre la main.
Mendier sans besoin, c'est voler la vieillesse.
C'est voler l'ouvrier que le travail courba, (_bis_)
Honte à celui qui vit du pain de la paresse.
Chers enfants, gardez-vous de toucher ce pain-là. (_bis_)
They all yelled the refrain in chorus, even the two servants who
were standing against the wall. The falsetto, piercing voices of the
women put the deeper voices of the men out of tune.
The aunt and the bride wept outright. Old Taille blew his nose with
the noise of a trombone, and old Touchard madly brandished a whole loaf
over the centre of the table. The friendly cook dropped a few silent tears
on the crust with which she was still fumbling.
Amid the general emotion M. Sauvetanin said:
"That is the right sort of song; very different from the usual smut."
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:
Dans ton simple réduit, ouvrière gentille.
Tu sembles écouter la voix du tentateur.
Pauvre enfant, va, crois-moi, ne quitte pas l'aiguille.
Tes parents n'ont que toi, toi seule es leur bonheur.
Dans un luxe honteux trouveras-tu des charmes.
Lorsque, te maudissant, ton père expirera, (_bis_)
Le pain du déshonneur se pétrit dans les larmes
Chers enfants, gardez-vous de toucher ce pain-là. (_bis_)
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.
M. Sauvetanin said solemnly, in order to save the situation: "That last
couplet is not at all necessary;" and Old Taille, who had got red up to
his 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 their faces
became radiant again. Old Touchard, who had seen, felt, and understood
nothing of what was going on, was still brandishing his loaf, and singing
to himself, as he showed it to the guests:
Chers enfants, gardez-vous de toucher ce pain-là.
The whole party, electrified by the sight of the bottles with their
silver foil, loudly took up the refrain:
Chers enfants, gardez-vous de toucher ce pain-là.