Claudine at School

by Colette

  Already, we were giving a great deal of thought to what we should wear for the prizegiving. Mademoiselle was getting herself a black silk dress embroidered by her mother, an exquisite needlewoman, who was working a design all over it, in satin-stitch; a pattern of big bundles of flowers and slender garlands that ran round the hem of the skirt and branches that climbed over the bodice – all in subtle, muted shades of violet silk. It was an extremely distinguished affair, a little ‘old-ladyish’ perhaps, but impeccably cut. Always dressed in dark, simple things, the chic of our Headmistress’s clothes eclipses all the lawyers’ and tax-collectors’ and shopkeepers’ and retired businessmen’s wives’ in the place! It is her little revenge – the revenge of an ugly woman with an excellent figure.

  Mademoiselle Sergent was also concerned about dressing her little Aimée charmingly for this great day. They had ordered samples of stuff from the Louvre and the Bon Marché and the two friends, deeply absorbed, made their selection together in our presence, in the playground where we sat working in the shade. I thought that this was going to be a dress that would not cost Mademoiselle Aimée much; really, she would be very wrong to act otherwise. It was not with her seventy-five francs a month – from which she had to deduct thirty francs for her board (which she did not pay), another thirty for her sister’s (which she saved), and twenty francs she sent to her parents, as I knew from Luce – it was not, I declare, with these emoluments that she would pay for the charming dress of white mohair of which I had seen the pattern.

  Among the schoolgirls, it was very much the thing not to seem in the least concerned about what one was going to wear for the prizegiving. All of them were brooding over it a month in advance and tormenting their Mamas to be allowed ribbons or lace or at least alterations which would bring last year’s dress up to date – but it was considered good taste to say nothing about it. We asked each other with detached curiosity, as if out of politeness: ‘What’s your dress going to be like?’ And we appeared hardly to listen to the answer, made in the same off-hand contemptuous tone.

  The gawky Anaïs had asked me the routine question, her eyes elsewhere and her face vacant. With an absent-minded look, and sounding quite indifferent, I explained: ‘Oh, nothing startling … white muslin … a crossed fichu on the bodice, with the neck cut down to a point … and Louis XV sleeves with a muslin frill, stopping at the elbows … That’s all.’

  We were always all in white for the prizegiving, but the dresses were trimmed with light ribbons; these rosettes, bows and sashes whose colour, which we insisted on changing every year, greatly preoccupied us.

  ‘The ribbons?’ inquired Anaïs in an artificial manner.

  (I had been expecting that.)

  ‘White too.’

  ‘My dear, a real bride then! You know, lots of them are going to look as black in all that white as fleas on a sheet.’

  ‘True. Luckily, white suits me quite well.’

  (Fume, dear child! Everyone knows that with your yellow skin, you’re forced to put red ribbons or orange ones on your white frock so as not to look like a lemon.)

  ‘What about you? Orange ribbons?’

  ‘Goodness, no! I had them last year! Louis XV ribbons, striped, in two materials, faille and satin, ivory and scarlet. My dress is cream wool.’

  ‘Me,’ announced Marie Belhomme, who had not been asked anything. ‘It’s white muslin with periwinkle-blue ribbons, a mauvey blue, awfully pretty!’

  ‘Me,’ said Luce, as usual, nestling in my skirts or couched in my shadow, ‘I’ve got the dress, only I don’t know what ribbons to put on it; Aimée would like them blue …’

  ‘Blue? Your sister’s a dolt, saving the respect I owe her. With green eyes like yours, one doesn’t choose blue ribbons – that sets one’s teeth on edge. The hat-shop in the square sells very pretty ribbons, in green and white glacé … your dress is white?’

  ‘Yes … white muslin.’

  ‘Good! Now, bully your sister into buying you green ribbons.’

  ‘No need to. I’m the one who’s buying them.’

  ‘Better still. You’ll see, you’ll look charming; there won’t be three who’ll dare risk green ribbons, they’re too difficult to wear.’

  That poor kid! At the least kind thing I say to her without meaning to, her face lights up …

  Mademoiselle Sergent, in whom the forthcoming exhibition inspired certain anxieties, hustled us and hurried us up; it snowed punishments, punishments that consisted in doing twenty centimetres of lace, a metre of hem or twenty rows of knitting after class. She herself was working, too, at a pair of magnificent muslin curtains which she embroidered very prettily indeed: when her Aimée left her time to. That charming sluggard of an Assistant, lazy as a cat as she is, sighed and yawned over fifty tapestry stitches, in front of all the pupils and Mademoiselle told her, without daring to scold her, that ‘it was a deplorable example to us’. Whereupon the insubordinate tossed her work in the air, looked at her friend with sparkling eyes and flung herself on her, nibbling her hands. The big ones smiled and nudged each other; the little ones did not raise an eyebrow.

  A large paper, bearing the seal of the Prefecture and the stamp of the Town Hall, which Mademoiselle found in the letter-box, has greatly disturbed this morning which happens, for once, to be cool. All heads are busy about it – and all tongues. The Headmistress unfolded it; read it, re-read it, and said nothing. Her giddy little companion, impatient at not being in the know, snatched it with lively, insistent paws and uttered such cries of ‘Ah!’ and ‘That’s going to cause a lot of fuss’ that we were violently intrigued and positively palpitating.

  ‘Yes,’ Mademoiselle said to her, ‘I was told about it, but I was waiting for the official confirmation; he’s a friend of Doctor Dutertre’s …’

  ‘But that’s not all. You must tell the school, because they’re going to hang out the flags, they’re going to have illuminations, they’re going to have a banquet … Just look at them, they’re sizzling with impatience!’

  Sizzling? Weren’t we just!

  ‘Yes, we must announce it to them … Young ladies, try and listen to me and to take in what I say! The Minister of Agriculture, Monsieur Jean Dupuy, is coming to the main town on the occasion of the forthcoming Agricultural Show, and he will take advantage of this to come and officially open the new schools: the town will be decorated with flags and bunting and illuminated; there will be a reception at the station … and now I’m bored with you all – you’ll soon know all about it because the town-crier will announce it. Only try and “get a move on” more than you’re doing at the moment so that your samples of work will be ready.’

  Profound silence. And then babel broke loose! Ejaculations burst out, everyone talked at once and the tumult grew, pierced by a shrill little voice: ‘Is the Minister going to ask us questions?’

  We howled down Marie Belhomme, the duffer who had asked that.

  Mademoiselle made us get into line, although it wasn’t time yet, and left us screeching and chattering while she went off to sort out her ideas and make arrangements in view of the unheard-of event which was brewing.

  ‘Old thing, what have you got to say about that?’ Anaïs asked me in the street.

  ‘I say that our holidays will begin a week earlier. That’s no joy for me. I’m bored stiff when I can’t come to school.’

  ‘But there’s going to be celebrations and balls and fun and games in the square.’

  ‘Yes, and heaps of people to parade in front of, I know just what’s in your mind! You know, we shall be very much in the public eye. Dutertre, who’s an intimate friend of the new Minister (it’s because of him that this newly-fledged Excellency’s risking himself in a hole like Montigny), will put us forward …’

  ‘No! D’you really think so?’

  ‘Definitely! It’s a plot he’s hatched to get the Deputy pushed out!’

  She went off radiant, dreaming of official celebrations during which ten thousand pairs of eyes would contemp
late her admiringly!

  The town-crier had announced the news: we were promised endless joys: arrival of the ministerial train at nine o’clock; the municipal authorities, the pupils of the two Schools would await the Minister near the station, at the entrance to the town and would conduct him through the decorated streets to the bosom of the Schools. There, on a platform, he would speak! And in the great reception-room of the Town Hall he would banquet, along with a numerous company. After that, distribution of prizes to grown-up people (for Monsieur Jean Dupuy was bringing along a few little green and purple ribbons for those to whom Dutertre was under an obligation – a master-stroke the latter had brought off). In the evening, a great ball in the banqueting room. The brass band of the principal town of the district (something very special!) would graciously lend its assistance. Finally the Mayor invited the inhabitants to hang out flags and bunting on their dwellings and to decorate them with greenery. Ouf! What an honour for us!

  This morning, in class, Mademoiselle solemnly announced to us – we saw at once that great things were brewing – the visit of her dear Dutertre who would give us, with his customary obligingness, ample details about the way in which the ceremony was to be ordered.

  Whereupon, he did not come.

  It was only in the afternoon, just before four o’clock, at the moment when we were folding away our lace and knitting and tapestry-work into our little baskets that Dutertre arrived, as usual, like a whirlwind, without knocking. I had not seen him since his ‘attempt’; he had not changed. He was dressed with his usual carefully thought-out negligence – coloured shirt, almost white jacket and trousers, a big, light-coloured, sailor-knotted tie tucked into the cummerbund that served him as a waistcoat. Mademoiselle Sergent, like Anaïs, like Luce, like Aimée Lanthenay, like all of them, found his taste in clothes supremely distinguished.

  While he was talking to those ladies, he let his eyes wander in my direction, long eyes, tilting up at the outer corners – the eyes of a vicious animal, which he knew how to make gentle. He won’t catch me again letting him take me out into the corridor; those days are over!

  ‘Well, little ones,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re pleased to be seeing a Minister?’

  We answered in vague, respectful murmurs.

  ‘Attention! You’re going to give him an elegant reception at the station, all in white! That’s not all, you must offer him bouquets, three of the big ones, one of whom will recite a little compliment; yes, definitely!’

  We exchanged looks of feigned shyness and untruthful fright.

  ‘Don’t behave like little geese! There must be one in pure white, one in white with blue ribbons, one in white with red ribbons, to symbolize a flag of honour. Sh! Eh! not a bad little flag at all! You’re in it, of course, in the flag, you (that was me) … you’re decorative and besides I want you to be seen. What are your ribbons for the prizegiving like?’

  ‘As it happens, this year, I’m white all over.’

  ‘That’s fine, you little virginal type, you’ll be the middle of the flag. And you’ll recite a speech to my friend the Minister. He won’t be bored looking at you, you know!’ (He was completely crazy to let out things like that here! Mademoiselle Sergent would kill me!)

  ‘Who’s got red ribbons?’

  ‘Me!’ shrieked Anaïs who was palpitating with hope.

  ‘Right, you then. I’m quite agreeable.’

  It was a half-lie on the part of Anaïs, who was determined at all costs to be in the picture, since her ribbons were striped.

  ‘Who’s got blue ones?’

  ‘Me, S-sir,’ stammered Marie Belhomme, choking with terror.

  ‘That’s fine, you won’t make a repulsive trio. By the way, about the ribbons, don’t spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar, let yourselves go, I’m doing the paying! (Hum!) Magnificent sashes, fine dashing bows – and I’m buying you bouquets to match your colours!’

  ‘So far ahead!’ I observed. ‘They’ll have plenty of time to get faded.’

  ‘Be quiet, you little hoyden, you’ll never develop the bump of reverence. I like to think you’ve already developed two others more pleasantly situated!’

  The entire class burst into enthusiastic giggles; Mademoiselle gave a sickly smile. As to Dutertre, I could have sworn he was drunk.

  They threw us out before he left. I was bombarded with cries of: ‘My dear, there’s no denying it, you’re always the lucky one!’ ‘All the honours for you, as usual!’ ‘It wouldn’t have been anyone else, no fear!’ I did not answer a word but went off to comfort poor little Luce who was heartbroken at not having been chosen as one of the flag. ‘There, there, green will suit you better than anything … And, besides, it’s your own fault. Why didn’t you put yourself forward like Anaïs?’

  ‘Oh,’ sighed the little thing, ‘it doesn’t matter. I lose my head in front of lots of people and I should have done something silly. But I’m glad that you’re reciting the compliment and not that great gawk Anaïs.’

  Papa, when informed of the glorious part I was to play in the opening of the schools, wrinkled his Bourbon nose and inquired:

  ‘Ye gods! Am I going to have to show myself over there?’

  ‘Certainly not, Papa. You remain in the shadow!’

  ‘Then you really mean I haven’t got to bother about you?’

  ‘Really and truly not, Papa. Don’t change your usual ways!’

  The town and the School are upside down. If it goes on like this, I shall no longer have time to describe anything in my diary. This morning we were in class by seven o’clock, though class was hardly the word! The Headmistress had had enormous parcels of tissue-paper sent over from the main town; pink, pastel blue, red, yellow, and white. In the central classroom, we gutted the parcels – the biggest girls were constituted chief assistants – and off we went, counting the huge flimsy sheets, folding them in six lengthwise, cutting them into six strips and tying these strips in little bundles which were carried to Mademoiselle’s desk. She scalloped them along the edges with pinking-shears, then Mademoiselle Aimée distributed them to the entire First Class and the entire Second Class. Nothing to the Third; those kids were too little – they would ruin the paper, the pretty paper of which every strip would become a crumpled, bloated rose at the end of a wire stalk.

  We lived in a state of ecstasy! Text-books and exercise-books slept in closed desks and it was a question of who could get up first and rush off at once to the School, now transformed into a florist’s workroom.

  I no longer lingered lazily in bed and I was in such a hurry to get there in good time that I fastened my belt in the street. Sometimes we were all assembled in the classrooms already when their Ladyships came down at last. They were taking things easy too, in the matter of costume! Mademoiselle Sergent displayed herself in a red cotton dressing-gown (without any corsets, proudly); her winsome assistant followed her, in bedroom slippers, her eyes sleepy and tender. The atmosphere has become completely homely; the day before yesterday, Mademoiselle Aimée, having washed her hair, appeared in the morning with her hair down and still damp. Her golden hair was as fine as silk, rather short and curling softly at the ends; she looked like a scamp of a little page and her Headmistress, her kind Headmistress, devoured her with her eyes.

  The playground was deserted; the drawn serge curtains enveloped us in a blue, fantastic twilight. We made ourselves comfortable; Anaïs left off her apron and turned up her sleeves like a pastry-cook; little Luce, who hopped and ran behind me all day long, had pulled up her dress and her petticoat like a washerwoman, a pretext for displaying her rounded calves and slender ankles. Mademoiselle, moved to pity, had allowed Marie Belhomme to shut away her books. Wearing a linen blouse with black and white stripes and looking, as usual, rather like a Pierrot, she flapped around with us, cutting the strips crooked, making mistakes, catching her feet in the wire, in utter despair or swooning with joy all in the same minute, but so gentle and inoffensive that we didn’t even tease her.

  Madem
oiselle Sergent stood up and with a brusque gesture drew the curtain on the side that overlooked the boys’ playground. We could hear, from the school opposite, the braying of harsh, badly-pitched young voices; it was Monsieur Rabastens teaching his pupils a Republican song. Mademoiselle waited a moment or two, then waved her arm. The obliging Antonin promptly came running up, bareheaded, with a La France rose adorning his buttonhole.

  ‘Would you be kind enough to send two of your boys over to the workshop and make them cut this brass-wire into lengths of twenty-five centimetres?’

  ‘Rright away, Mademoiselle! Are you still working at your flowers?’

  ‘We shan’t be finished for a long time; it needs five thousand roses for the school alone and we’re also commissioned to decorate the banqueting room!’

  Rabastens went off, running bareheaded under the ferocious sun. A quarter of an hour later, there was a knock on our door which opened to admit two big boobies of fourteen or fifteen, bringing back the lengths of wire. Not knowing what to do with their lanky bodies, they stood there, red-faced and stupid, excited to find themselves in the midst of fifty little girls who, bare-necked and bare-armed, with their bodices undone, laughed mischievously at the two boys. Anaïs brushed against them in passing, I gently stuffed serpentine trails of paper into their pockets; they escaped at last, both pleased and sorry, while Mademoiselle was prodigal of ‘Shs’s’ to which we paid scant attention.

  Along with Anaïs, I was a folder and cutter; Luce tied up the bundles and carried them to the Headmistress; Marie put them in a heap. At eleven in the morning, we left everything and formed into a group to rehearse the Hymn to Nature. Towards five o’clock, we smartened ourselves up a little; tiny mirrors emerged from pockets; some smaller fry of the Second Class obligingly stretched their black aprons behind the panes of an open window and, in front of this sombre looking-glass, we put on our hats again, I fluffed up my curls, Anaïs pinned up her collapsing chignon, and we went off home.