by Colette
The first word I heard distinctly, was ‘Trollops!’ Armand had dragged his panting colleague right into the classroom where our mute mistresses stood clasping each other tight. He shouted: ‘Whores! I’m not going to go without telling you what you are, even if I do lose my job for it! Filthy little bitch! Ah, so you let yourself be fumbled for money by that swine of a District Inspector! You’re worse than a street walker but that one there is even worse than you, that damned redhead who’s making you like herself. Two bitches, two bitches, you’re two bitches, this house is …’ I did not hear what. Rabastens, who must have double muscles like Tartarin de Tarascon, succeeded in dragging away the unfortunate man who was choking with insults. Mademoiselle Griset, losing her head, pushed the little girls, who were coming out of the small classroom, back into it again and I escaped, my heart rather shaken. But I was glad that Duplessis had exploded without further delay for Aimée could not now accuse me of having warned him.
When we returned in the afternoon, the one and only person we found there was Mademoiselle Griset who repeated the same phrase to each new arrival. ‘Mademoiselle Sergent is ill and Mademoiselle Lanthenay is going home to her family; you’re not to come back to school for a week.’
Fine, so off we went. But, honestly, this is no ordinary school!
DURING THE WEEK of unexpected holidays which this commotion procured for us, I went down with measles. This compelled me to spend three weeks in bed, then another fortnight convalescing. And they kept me in quarantine still another fortnight on the pretext of ‘school safety’. If I hadn’t had books and Fanchette, however should I have got through it! That doesn’t sound very kind to Papa, yet he looked after me as if I were a rare slug. Convinced that one must give a little invalid everything she asks for, he brought me marrons glacés to make my temperature go down! Fanchette spent a whole week on my bed, washing herself from ears to tail, playing with my feet through the blanket and nestling in the hollow of my shoulder as soon as I stopped smelling of fever. I returned to school, a little thinner and paler, and immensely curious to see that extraordinary ‘teaching staff’ again. I’d had so little news during my illness! No one came to see me, not even Anaïs or Marie Belhomme, for fear of possible infection.
Half past seven was striking when I entered the playground on a morning in late February that was as mild as spring. At once I was surrounded and everyone made a fuss of me. The two Jauberts conscientiously asked me whether I was completely cured before coming near me. I was a little stunned by all this noise. At last they let me breathe and I hastily asked the lanky Anaïs the latest news.
‘I’ll tell you all. Armand Duplessis has left, to begin with.’
‘Sacked or sent somewhere else, poor old Richelieu?’
‘Only sent somewhere else. Dutertre got busy finding him another post.’
‘Dutertre?’
‘Naturally! If Richelieu had talked, that would have stopped the District Superintendent from ever becoming a Deputy. Dutertre has been solemnly saying all over town that the unfortunate young man had had a very dangerous attack of brain-fever and that they’d called him in, as school doctor, just in time.’
‘Ah! So they called him in just in time? Providence had planted the remedy next door to the ill … And Mademoiselle Aimée? Sent away too?’
‘Certainly not! Oh, she’s in no danger! By the end of a week, he didn’t appear any more. And she was giggling with Mademoiselle Sergent just as usual.’
It was too much! That odd little creature who had neither heart nor brain, who lived without memory and without remorse, would begin all over again. She would humbug an assistant-master and romp with the District Superintendent until there was another crisis and she would live quite contentedly with that jealous, violent woman who was going to pieces as a result of these adventures. I hardly heard Anaïs telling me that Rabastens was still there and was constantly inquiring after me. I’d forgotten him, that pathetic lout Antonin!
The bell rang but it was the new school that we trooped into now. And the central building that linked the two wings was almost finished.
Mademoiselle Sergent installed herself at the desk that was all new and shining. Farewell the old rickety, scarred, uncomfortable tables; now we sat down at handsome sloping ones, provided with benches with backs to them and desks with hinged lids. We were only two to a bench now; instead of the lanky Anaïs, I now had as my neighbour … little Luce Lanthenay. Luckily the tables were extremely close together and Anaïs was near me, at a table parallel to mine, so that we could gossip together as comfortably as before. They had put Marie Belhomme beside her for Mademoiselle Sergent had intentionally placed two ‘lively’ ones (Anaïs and me), next to two ‘torpid’ ones (Luce and Marie) so that we should shake them up a little. We certainly would shake them up! At least I would, for I could feel all the rebelliousness that had been suppressed during my illness boiling up in me. I took in my new surroundings and arranged my books and exercise-books, while Luce sat down and watched me with a sidelong, timid glance. But I didn’t deign to speak to her yet: I merely exchanged remarks about the new school with Anaïs who was avidly nibbling some unknown substance that looked to me like green buds.
‘Whatever are you eating – old crab-apples?’
‘Lime buds, old thing. Nothing so good. Now’s just the moment, when it’s getting on for March.’
‘Give us a bit? … Really, it’s awfully good. It’s sticky like the gum on fruit-trees. I’ll get some off the limes in the playground. And what other hitherto unknown delicacies are you stuffing yourself with nowadays?’
‘Oh, nothing startling. I can’t even eat coloured pencils any more. This year’s lot are gritty. Beastly – absolute rubbish. However, to make up for that, the blotting-paper’s excellent. There’s also something good to chew, but not to swallow … the samples of handkerchief linen that the Bon Marché and the Louvre send out.’
‘Ugh! That doesn’t appeal to me in the least … I say, young Luce, are you going to try and be good and obedient sitting here beside me? Otherwise, I promise you slaps and pinches. So beware!’
‘Yes, Mademoiselle,’ answered the little thing, looking none too reassured, with her lashes downcast on her cheeks.
‘You can say tu to me. Look at me, so as I can see your eyes? That’s right. Now, you know that I’m mad, I’m sure you’ve been told that. Well, if anyone annoys me, I become furious and I bite and scratch, especially since my illness. Give me your hand: there, that’s what I do.’
I dug my nails into her hand; she did not squeal, only tightened her lips.
‘You didn’t yell, good. I’ll put you through questioning at recreation.’
*
In the Second classroom, whose door had been left open, I had just witnessed the entrance of Mademoiselle Aimée. Fresh, curled, and rosy, she wore her coaxing, mischievous expression and her eyes were more velvety and golden than ever. Little trollop! She flashed a radiant smile at Mademoiselle Sergent who forgot herself for a moment in contemplating her, then came out of her ecstasy and addressed us sharply:
‘Your exercise-books. History essay: The war of 1870. Claudine,’ she added more gently, ‘can you do this essay in spite of not having followed the classes these last two months?’
‘I’m going to try, Mademoiselle: I’ll do the essay with less detailed development, that’s all.’
I did, in fact, dash off a little essay. It was excessively short and, when I got towards the end, I lingered over it and applied myself to it, spinning out the last fifteen lines so as to be able to spy and ferret out what was going on about me. The Headmistress, the same as ever, preserved her expression of concentrated passion and jealous daring. Her Aimée, who was carelessly dictating problems in the other classroom, wandered closer and closer while she read aloud. All the same, last winter, she did not have that confident, coquettish walk – the walk of a spoilt pussy-cat! Now she was the adored, cherished little animal that is developing into a tyrant, for I caught
glances from Mademoiselle Sergent that implored her to find some pretext to bring her over to her, glances to which the scatterbrained creature replied with capricious shakes of her head and amused eyes that said No. The Redhead, who had definitely become her slave, could bear it no longer and went across to her, asking very loud: ‘Mademoiselle Lanthenay, you haven’t got the Attendance Register in your room, have you?’ Good, she had gone; they were chattering in whispers. I took advantage of this solitude in which we were left to put little Luce through a severe inquisition.
‘Ah, ah, let that exercise-book alone, will you and answer my questions. Is there a dormitory upstairs?’
‘Oh yes. We sleep there now, the boarders and me.’
‘All right. You’re a dolt.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s none of your business. Do you still have singing-lessons on Thursdays and Sundays?’
‘Oh, we tried to have one without you, Mademoiselle … Claudine, I mean, but it didn’t go a bit well. Monsieur Rabastens doesn’t know how to teach us.’
‘Good. Has the cuddler been here while I was ill?’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Dutertre.’
‘I can’t remember … Oh yes, he did come once, but not into the classrooms. And he only stayed a few minutes talking to my sister and Mademoiselle Sergent in the playground.’
‘Is she nice to you, the Redhead?’
Her slanting eyes darkened.
‘No … she tells me I’ve no intelligence … that I’m lazy … that my sister must have taken all the intelligence in the family as she’s taken all the beauty … Anyway, it’s always the same story wherever I’ve been with Aimée: people only pay attention to her and I’m pushed into the background …’
Luce was on the verge of tears in her fury against this sister who was more ‘fetching’ as they say here and who thrust her aside and eclipsed her. For all that, I didn’t think her any better than Aimée: only shyer and more timid because she was used to remaining lonely and silent.
‘Poor kid! You’ve left friends over there, where you used to be?’
‘No, I didn’t have any friends. The girls were too rough and used to laugh at me.’
‘Too rough? Then it upsets you when I beat you or push you about?’
She laughed, without raising her eyes:
‘No, because I realize that you … that you don’t do it cruelly, out of beastliness … well, that it’s a kind of joke and you don’t really mean it. It’s like when you call me “dolt”, I know it’s only for fun. In fact, I quite like feeling a bit frightened, when there isn’t the least danger.’
Tralala! They’re both alike, these two little Lanthenays; cowardly, naturally perverse, egotistical and so devoid of all moral sense that it’s amusing to watch them. All the same, this one detested her sister and I thought I could drag any number of revelations about Aimée out of her by cramming her with sweets and also by beating her.
‘Have you finished your essay?’
‘Yes, I’ve finished … but I didn’t know the stuff a bit … I’m sure I’ll get rotten marks …’
‘Give me your exercise-book.’
I read her essay, which was very so-so; then I dictated some things she’d forgotten and remodelled her sentences a little. She was in a welter of joy and astonishment and observed me slyly, with surprised, enchanted eyes.
‘There, you see, it’s better like that … Tell me, do the boarders in the boys’ school have their dormitory opposite yours?’
Her eyes lit up with mischief.
‘Yes, and at night they go to bed the same time as we do, on purpose. And, you know, the windows have no shutters so the boys try and see us in our chemises. We lift up the corners of the curtains to look at them and it’s no good Mademoiselle Griset keeping watch on us till the light’s put out. We always find a way of pulling a curtain right up, all of a sudden, and that makes the boys come back every night to spy.’
‘Well, well! You have a gay time undressing up there!’
‘We certainly do!’
She was becoming lively and more familiar. Mademoiselle Sergent and Mademoiselle Lanthenay were still together in the Second classroom. Aimée showed the Redhead a letter and the two of them burst out laughing, but they kept their laughter very low.
‘Do you know where your sister’s ex-Armand has gone to bury his sorrows, young Luce?’
‘No, I don’t. Aimée never talks to me about her private affairs.’
‘I thought as much. Has she got her room upstairs too?’
‘Yes, the nicest and most comfortable of the assistant-mistresses’ rooms – much prettier and warmer than Mademoiselle Griset’s. Mademoiselle’s had curtains with pink flowers put in it and linoleum on the floor, my dear, and a goatskin rug. And they’ve enamelled the bed white. Aimée even wanted to make me believe that she’d bought all these lovely things out of her savings. I told her straight: “I’ll ask Mamma if it’s true.” Then she said: “If you mention it to Mamma, I’ll have you sent back home on the excuse that you’re not working.” So, as you can imagine, there was nothing for me to do but keep my mouth shut.’
‘Ssh. Mademoiselle’s coming back.’
And, indeed, Mademoiselle was approaching, abandoning her tender, laughing expression for her school-mistress’s face.
‘Have you finished, girls? I am going to dictate you a problem in geometry.’
Dolorous protests arose, demanding another five minutes’ grace. But Mademoiselle Sergent was not moved by these supplications, which were repeated three times a day, and began calmly to dictate the problem. Heaven confound similar triangles!
I was careful to bring sweets to school often with the object of seducing young Luce completely. She took them, hardly saying thank you, filled her little hands with them and hid them in an old mother-of-pearl rosary-case. For ten sous’ worth of too-hot English peppermints, she would have sold her big sister and one of her brothers into the bargain. She opened her mouth, breathed in the air as to feel the cold of the peppermint and exclaimed: ‘My tongue’s freezing, my tongue’s freezing,’ her eyes rapturous. Anaïs shamelessly begged sweets off me, stuffed her cheeks with them, then hastily asked again, with an irresistible grimace of affected disgust:
‘Quick, quick … give me some more to take the taste away – those had gone bad.’
As if by chance, while we were playing ‘He’, Rabastens came into the playground, bearing some exercise-books or other as an excuse. He feigned an amiable surprise at seeing me again and profited by the occasion to thrust a love-song under my nose. He proceeded to read its amorous words in a cooing voice. Poor noodle of an Antonin, you’re no longer any use to me now – and you never were much use! The very most you’re good for is to keep me amused for a little while and to excite the jealousy of my schoolfriends. If only you’d go away …
‘Monsieur, you’ll find those ladies in the end classroom. I think I saw them coming downstairs … weren’t they, Anaïs?’
Thinking I was sending him away on account of the malignant glances of my companions, he threw me an eloquent look and departed. I shrugged my shoulders at the ‘Hmm-Hms’ I heard from the lanky Anaïs and from Marie Belhomme and we went on with an exciting game of ‘turn-the-knife’ in which the beginner, Luce, made mistake after mistake. She’s young, poor thing, she doesn’t know! The bell rang for class.
It was a sewing-lesson, a test for the examination. That is to say they made us do the samples of sewing, demanded in the exam, in one hour. We were handed out small squares of linen and Mademoiselle Sergent wrote up on the blackboard, in her clear writing, full of strokes like hammers:
Buttonhole – Ten centimetres of whipping. Initial G in marking-stitch. Ten centimetres of hem in running-stitch.
I groaned at this announcement because I could just manage the buttonhole and the whipping but the running-stitch hem and the initial in marking-stitch were things I didn’t ‘execute to perfection’, as Mademoiselle Aimée noted w
ith regret. Luckily I had recourse to a simple and ingenious device. I gave little Luce, who sews divinely, some sweets and she worked a marvellous G for me. ‘We must help one another.’ (Very appropriately, we had commented on this charitable aphorism only the day before.)
Marie Belhomme had confected a letter G that looked like a squatting monkey and, in her usual cheerful, crazy way, was roaring with laughter at her own work. The boarders, with their heads bent and their elbows held in were talking imperceptibly as they sewed. From time to time they exchanged meaning looks with Luce in the direction of the boys’ school. I suspected that, at night, they spied some amusing spectacles from the vantage-point of their peaceful white dormitory.
Mademoiselle Lanthenay and Mademoiselle Sergent had exchanged desks; it was Aimée who invigilated our sewing-lesson while the Headmistress was making the girls in the Second Class read aloud. The favourite was occupied in inscribing the title of an Attendance Register in a beautiful round hand when her Redhead called out to her from the distance:
‘Mademoiselle Lanthenay!’
‘What do you want?’ cried Aimée. Thoughtlessly, she used the familiar tu.
There was a stupefied silence. We all looked at each other: Anaïs began to clutch her ribs so as to be able to laugh longer; the two Jauberts bent their heads over their sewing; the boarders slyly dug each other with their elbows; Marie Belhomme burst out in a stifled laugh that sounded like a sneeze, and, at the sight of Aimée’s face of consternation, I exclaimed out loud:
‘Ah! She’s so awfully kind!’
Little Luce was hardly laughing at all. It was obvious that she must have heard them address each other in that intimate way before. But she was staring at her sister with mocking eyes.
Mademoiselle Aimée turned on me furiously:
‘Anyone may happen to make a mistake at times, Mademoiselle Claudine! And I apologize to Mademoiselle Sergent for my slip of the tongue!’
But the latter, having recovered from the shock, was quite aware that we should not swallow the explanation. She shrugged her shoulders as a sign of giving up in face of the irremediable blunder. This made a gay finale to the boring sewing-lesson. I’d badly needed this sprightly distraction.
