_Cori_.--"I have been i' the market place;
...
...all's in anger."
_Coriolanus_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of all French towns, perhaps Charville is the most under female
influence. I do not know how the power has grown up, or whether it is
of any great antiquity, but it is so hard to conceive any thing modern
in connection with the place, that one supposes it to have existed in
remote ages. Women's rights in France are of a more muscular character
than in England; women go out into the fields, dig, reap, and plough: it
is a severe training, from which they come out brown and weather-beaten.
There is plenty of such work in the great monotonous cornfields round
Charville all the year round; but inside the town, a more important,
and, in their eyes, a more honourable occupation, is intrusted to women.
The measuring and selling the grain in the corn-market is carried on by
a corporation of their number. They do their work very quickly and
efficiently. Their code of laws is of long standing, and seldom meets
with a hitch. The owners leave all in their hands; in fact, their
trustworthiness is so proverbial, that as soon might the character of a
judge be assailed, as the honesty of one of this corporate body.
Saturdays are the days when you may see the carts coming in from the
farms laden with little golden grain: the Charville sleepiness seems to
rouse itself into action; there is activity, energy, sometimes even a
little spice of hurry. Those that enter the town at the lower suburb
find it no easy matter to get up the narrow steep streets; the carts
jolt and creak, the horses labour, while all the time there is an
unceasing chorus of the sharp "Heep, heep!"
Inside the market, as I have said, matters move with all imaginable
rapidity and gravity. The women receive the grain, weigh it, and the
sale goes on so briskly that all is over before the end of an hour.
Outside, in the Place, are a crowd of carts, people idling, old women
standing about in their stuff gowns and snowy caps; the country people
meet their relations; there is a din of good-humoured chatter about the
price of corn, the value of samples, the health of the bishop, the
ambition of Madame the Prefet's wife, the chance of gaining a few
_sous_,--all kinds of matters, great and small, but rarely any more
serious disturbance. Monsieur Deshoulieres was surprised one morning as
he passed through the Place to find himself the centre of a hubbub.
Quite a crowd had gathered together at the entrance to the market--men
and women with grave excited faces, a torrent of shrill voices. People
looked out of their windows; the horses, standing unheeded in the carts,
tossed their great manes, and stamped and shook themselves to get rid of
the tormenting flies. The time when business usually concluded was
past; it was evident that something still hindered it, something
unusual.
"What is the matter?" asked M. Deshoulieres, elbowing his way through a
throng of women.
So many voices answered him that he lifted his low hat, and said, with
an appealing gesture, "One at a time, if you please, mesdames."
"Such an affair has never before happened in our town."
"It is a scandal!"
"One will hear next that one sells short measure one's self!"
"Could monsieur conceive the audacity of that unhappy boy!"
"Madame Mathurine will assuredly apply to Monsieur le Maire."
Then they all began again. The doctor could not understand it. He saw,
however, that there were two parties, each enthusiastic for their own
side; and from what he could gather out of the angry waves of talk, he
suspected the town and country people were at variance. Old Nannon was
passionately declaiming in the centre, alternately scolding her
opponents and hugging a white-faced bullet-headed boy in a blouse who
seemed the object of attack. A painter would have been pleased with the
scene, there was so much colour and animation about it. The houses
looked as if each had its history: there were wonderful Gothic arches
with great sombre depths, and above them, perhaps, a scarlet or purple
flower flaming out of a window; a crowd, with its patches of indigo,
olive green, and rich russets, all in harmony with the background; great
white horses, carrying their monstrous collars; yellow corn going away
to the water-mills, hot sunshine, striped awnings, pigeons flying up and
down from the roofs,--while a clear atmosphere brought out all the tints
and soft half-tones, so that it made a beautiful glowing picture. A
fat, comfortably dressed farmer's wife had been leaning against the wall
of the market, more silent than the rest; she pushed her companions on
one side in the midst of the clatter of tongues,--
"_Tenez_," she said, decidedly. "I will explain the affair to
monsieur."
"Is that you, Madame Lemaire?" said the doctor, with a little relief.
"Now perhaps there is a chance that I may understand. What is hindering
the business to-day? Is the market closed?"
"Mesdames are deliberating," replied Madame Lemaire in a slow, solid
voice. "There has been an inconvenient event. The corn was brought in
this morning from Gohon's, as usual, and delivered to Madame Mathurine.
When she came to measure the grain, she found, as she says, three of the
sacks deficient. She has a theory," continued Madame Lemaire,
ponderously, "that the boy Jean-Marie, who drove the cart, could explain
the matter if he chose. There are plenty to take his part, and plenty
to take hers. _Voila tout_, monsieur!" There had been a slight lull in
the din of voices, accorded to the position of the well-to-do farmer's
wife, as she made this explanation. When she stopped it broke out
again. Old Nannon had drawn near to listen, dragging the accused after
her, and she took up the cudgels immediately.
"_Voila tout_, madame remarks, but it shall not be all, I say. If
Madame Mathurine supposes she is to take away the character of an
innocent angel like this, she shall learn her mistake. Speak for
thyself, Jean-Marie."
The innocent angel only answered by a howl. The bystanders laughed.
Monsieur Deshoulieres interposed,--
"What have you to do with him, Nannon?" he inquired.
"He is her sister's son."
"He works for Monsieur Gohon," replied a chorus of shrill voices. At
this moment the great doors were flung open, and the people poured into
the market. It all looked grey, cool, business-like: sacks heaped
about, great measures, a few men in blue blouses, and a small knot of
women, in white frilled caps, and little crossed shawls, standing
together in the midst. M. Deshoulieres looked on with a little quiet
amusement, wondering how the women would conduct themselves. A
commotion in the corn-market was almost unprecedented. Just then he saw
a figure standing behind two others in the sunlit doorway. Something in
form or attitude was so unlike the rest, that he looked again and
recognised Therese. She had already noticed him, so that it did not
surprise her when he came back to her and began, in his quick abrupt
manner,--
"You here, mademoiselle?"
She drew back a little, seeing that he was displeased, and lifted her
eyes to his face with the expression that always unconsciously touched
him. It was quite true that a few months ago she would have shrunk from
finding herself among people alone, but since her stay at the Roulleaus,
madame had impressed upon her that she was no longer in a position to
hold such ideas; she made her useful in this as in every other respect,
and Therese had been a little proud of overcoming the dislike which all
French education and habits implant so strongly that it becomes second
nature. She had been passing through the Place, and had paused for a
moment at the entrance to the market, to look at the throng within.
There the sunlight had betrayed her to M. Deshoulieres. The idea of
concealing herself from him, or from any one else, would never have
entered her head, but now she wished heartily that he had not perceived
her. When he went on to ask what had become of her attendant, poor
Therese coloured crimson with vexation.
"I have no _bonne_, monsieur," she answered as composedly as she could.
"In my position I do not expect one."
It was M. Deshoulieres' turn to colour. He walked up to fat Madame
Lemaire, who was standing near, and brought her back with a kind of
ceremonious formality. "There has been a mistake about mademoiselle's
servant," he said, hurriedly; "will you do me the kindness to permit her
to remain under your protection?" Then he went a little aside from
them, and stood watching the proceedings.
The women looked very grave and determined, only Mme. Mathurine was a
little pale. She was the most unpopular of her number among the country
people, and a good many of them, without any real suspicion of her
honesty, were not sorry to inflict a touch of humiliation. Old Nannon,
in her wrath, said openly that she had lined her pockets with the price
of the corn, and then accused the boy of bringing short measure.
Others, who had not the old woman's personal interest in the matter,
would not venture so far, they shook their heads, and shrugged their
shoulders. The majority inclined to the belief that the boy had been
tampered with, and had sold the grain before he reached the market; but
Mme. Mathurine, who was proud and self-reliant, saw only the shakes and
shrugs. She was obliged to appear composed and indifferent, but in her
heart a fierce indignation was burning. She had made a little mistake
in not having at once called one of the other saleswomen to witness the
reality of the short measure, and even to have made a mistake was very
bitter to her pride. She folded her arms and looked round upon the
faces about her with the air of a queen.
"There is no more to be done, messieurs and mesdames," she said. "The
business is concluded. Monsieur Gohon will communicate with the
corporation, if he desires it."
"And our Jean-Marie?" asked Nannon, pressing up and looking warlike.
Madame Mathurine deigned no other answer than a withering glance. Her
companions gathered round her; they made a little compact phalanx and
moved towards the doors. Old Nannon followed, dragging her reluctant
nephew, and pouring out a torrent of words,--
"I appeal to the commissary,--to the mayor," she cried, thrusting
herself before Mme. Mathurine. M. Deshoulieres began to think the old
woman's rage would lead her to a personal attack upon her enemy, and the
other saleswomen thought so too, for the eldest of the group, perceiving
him, came quickly up and said in a low voice,--
"Pray, monsieur, use your influence to prevent scandal."
"Nannon," he said, sternly, "this must end. You have been allowed too
much licence already. So much as relates to the affair here is
finished; for the rest, Jean-Marie and his master must settle it between
them."
There was a little murmur of applause among the town-people, an honest
admiration for their doctor made his opinion as decisive as the maire's.
Nannon shook her head, and drew herself up with a certain pathetic
dignity.
"That is easy to say, monsieur," she answered, her poor old voice
tremulous with indignation. "We all know the quantity was just when the
corn left the farm, and if the poor boy goes back with this story, it
does not require to be a witch to know that my sister will have him on
her hands again."
Therese, standing rather behind fat Madame Lemaire, and her basket, was
in a little flame of excitement. Her colour rose, her eye sparkled, one
or two people near looked at her with curiosity and admiration, but she
did not remark it. She liked the old woman with her ugly, half comical,
half-pathetic face, and wanted her to be proved in the right; M.
Deshoulieres, who found himself, to his amusement, constituted a kind of
judge, little knew what a warm partisan of the accused was watching him
from the background with flashing eyes. He asked a few necessary
questions; the sacks had been brought tied and marked as usual, the bill
of the quantity delivered to Madame Mathurine, Jean-Marie stoutly denied
any encounters on the road. M. Deshoulieres felt convinced that he
denied too much; old Nannon, on the contrary, was in triumph.
"Now monsieur sees that he is telling the truth!"
"That is just what he is not doing," said the doctor severely. "If he
can give no other account of himself, and Madame Mathurine does not call
in the commissary of police, it will be Gohon's duty to do so. As for
you, Nannon, you should know better than to encourage him."
"Oh, monsieur!"
Nannon's face was tragic. Therese was altogether on her side against M.
Deshoulieres' harshness. No one can be so unjust as a girl when her
feelings are brought into the battle-field; Nannon's young champion
would have ridden pell-mell over right and wrong, laws and principles,
Madame Mathurine, and the whole corporation, in defence of this old
woman with her foolish, unreasonable love. She detested M.
Deshoulieres when he said:--
"It is true. Listen to me, Jean-Marie. You shall have one chance more.
Whom did you see on your road here to-day?"
Something came out which sounded like "the Simons and Michault." There
was a murmur of indignation.
"Imagine the little wicked one vowing that he met no one!"
"Did monsieur conceive the road to be a desert?" said Nannon, drawing
herself up defiantly.
"Where was Michault?" asked M. Deshoulieres, disregarding.
"He was at Cottereau's."
Between obstinacy and fright it was difficult to extract the truth from
the unhappy Jean-Marie, but the doctor's questions at last elicited the
facts that he had been persuaded to enter the Cottereaus' cottage--one
of those miserable huts which abound in the department--under pretence
of receiving a commission from Mere Cottereau to buy some cotton yarn
for her in Charville. Then it came out that Michault, who was sitting
there, went away, the others gave the boy cider, and detained him for
some time, while no doubt the theft was committed. The Cottereaus'
character was well-known in the district; it all seemed clear enough now
that Jean-Marie acknowledged this much, and M. Deshoulieres did not
think the boy knew more. Notice would be given to the police, but it
was not likely he would suffer from them. M. Deshoulieres bestowed a
few sharp words upon him, meaning all the while to say something to
Gohon on his behalf. This neither Nannon nor Therese guessed; the old
woman's foolish fondness provoked him, and he would not let her see that
he had any compassion for the culprit.
The crowd poured out into the sunshine again, rich colours flashed about
here and there, carts were laden and driven off with great creaks and
rumblings. People were tolerably satisfied with the ending of the
affair, which left them one object for abuse in the treacherous
Michault. The saleswomen congratulated themselves, only Madame
Mathurine walked away alone with an angry indignant heart. It was
nothing to her that her integrity had been proved, since it had once
been doubted. She was not even grateful to M. Deshoulieres.
Poor Max! He had done a good morning's work, perhaps warded off a
serious evil; if they had been men with whom he had to deal, his good
deeds would have held a chance of appreciation. Here, on the contrary,
old Nannon walked off, still erect and defiant; Madame Mathurine was
unthankful; Therese called him unmerciful. Before he had time to look
for her she had wished adieu to Madame Lemaire, who wanted to keep her,
and had slipped out with the crowd. M. Deshoulieres, coming to where
he had left her, found her gone. He was obliged to explain something of
her story to Madame Lemaire, who, with all her solidity, was curious and
a little romantic.
"There must be but one conclusion," she said, laughing good-humouredly
when he had finished; "monsieur should marry her."