He drew a deep, loud breath, like a traveller who had just returned from a long journey and, looking around him, he contemplated with a new kind of pleasure the sky, the empty flower-beds, the dark tracery of the trees against the light, and his little house … His delight, which was scarcely very complimentary to Rose’s memory, struck me as being quite comic. Hoping to encourage his confidences I said, reproachfully:
‘I don’t think you’re being very fair to Rose, Captain.’
‘Look here, for God’s sake,’ he retorted vigorously, ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea. She wasn’t going to tell you all about the rows she kicked up … her overbearingness … her jealousy … her selfishness. I couldn’t call a thing in the place my own any more. She thought she owned the lot. Why, would you believe it, I wasn’t allowed to sit in my own wing chair any more. She was always taking it. And not only that, she took everything else. Just imagine, we weren’t allowed to eat asparagus because she didn’t like it … No, it’s a good job she’s dead! It was the best thing that could have happened to her for, one way or another, I’d decided not to keep her on … No, damn it, I wouldn’t have kept her on much longer. She was driving me crazy. It was more than I could stand … But I’ll tell you one thing … If I had died before she did, Rose would have been jolly well caught out… I’d got something up my sleeve that would have put her nose out of joint properly. I can tell you that!’
His mouth twisted into a smile that ended as a hideous grimace. And he continued, intercepting his words with damp little puffs:
‘You know I’d drawn up a will leaving everything to her … house, silver, investments, the lot. She must have told you … She used to tell everybody. But what she couldn’t have told you, because she didn’t know about it herself, was that, two months later, I’d made a second will, cancelling the first … and in that I had left her nothing, damn it.’
And he burst out laughing … a strident laugh that scattered through the garden like a flock of twittering sparrows. Then he almost shouted:
‘A good idea, what? Can’t you just see her face when she discovered that I’d left my little fortune to the Academy? For that’s precisely what I did, my dear Mademoiselle Célestine. I left everything I possessed to the Academy.’
Waiting until he had finished laughing, I asked him in a serious voice:
‘And now what are you going to do, Captain?’
He stared at me for a moment or two with a slyly amorous expression, and then replied:
‘Well, that’s just it … It all depends on you.’
‘On me?’
‘Yes, entirely on you.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
There was another short silence, during which, drawing himself up to his full height and jutting his little beard at me, he seemed to be trying to envelop me in an ambience of seduction. Then suddenly he said:
‘Come on now, let’s get down to brass tacks … Putting it bluntly … one man to another … how would you like to take Rose’s place? … It’s yours for the asking.’
I was prepared for this attack. I had seen it maturing in the depths of his eyes, and I met it with a grave, impassive expression.
‘But what about your will, Captain?’
‘Good God, I’ll tear that up.’
‘But I can’t even cook … ,’ I parried.
‘Oh, I’ll do the cooking … and I’ll make the beds … our bed, I mean. Why, damn it all, I’ll do everything.’
His manner had become very amorous and there was a randy glint in his eye … It was lucky for me that there was a hedge between us, otherwise I’m convinced he would have flung himself upon me there and then.
‘But there’s more than one kind of cooking,’ he explained in a hoarse, rattling voice. ‘And the kind I want to do … Oh Célestine, I bet you know how to … I bet you can make it spicy … Oh, for God’s sake …’
I smiled ironically and, shaking my finger at him as though he were a child, I said:
‘Now Captain, now Captain … you’re behaving like a dirty little pig!’
‘Not little,’ he retorted boastfully, ‘a big one, a huge one, damn it! … And there’s another thing, Célestine … I must tell you.’
He leant over the hedge, craning his neck, his eyes bloodshot. And in a lower voice he said:
‘If you come to me, Célestine, you see …’
‘Well, what then?’
‘Why, it would drive the Lanlaires absolutely mad, don’t you see?’
I remained silent, pretending to be pondering some problem … The captain grew more and more impatient, on edge, grinding his heel into the gravel path.
‘Look, Célestine … Thirty-five francs a month … have your meals with me … share my bed … and a new will, damn it all! … What more could you want? Tell me …’
‘We’ll see about that later on … But, in the meantime, find somebody else, damn it all!’
And turning my back on him, I went off towards the house to prevent myself bursting out laughing.
So now I have two of them to choose from … the captain and Joseph. Either I can become the captain’s servant-cum-mistress, with all the risks that entails, that is to say, to be always at the mercy of a coarse, unreliable, stupid man, and dependent upon every kind of unpleasant circumstance and prejudice; or else, by marrying Joseph, I can achieve a measure of tolerable freedom and respect, and live without being continually subject to other people’s orders and all the hazards of existence … which would mean realizing at least part of what I have always dreamt of …
True, I should have preferred something on a rather grander scale. But, considering the few opportunities that are likely to present themselves to a woman in my position, I ought to be glad of what would, after all, be some alternative to everlastingly chopping and changing, to the monotonous succession of different situations, different beds, different faces …
Actually, I have already made up my mind to turn down the captain’s proposal … It didn’t need this last conversation with him to convince me that he is an utterly fantastic specimen of humanity, a grotesque and sinister crackpot. Apart from his sheer physical ugliness—and there’s nothing to be done about that—there’s not the slightest chance of exercising any moral influence over him. Rose firmly believed that he was completely under her thumb, but he was simply leading her up the garden … It’s just as impossible to influence something that doesn’t exist, as it is to act in empty space … Besides, the mere thought of lying in this ridiculous creature’s arms, and kissing him, is simply laughable … not just because he disgusts me, for disgust presupposes the possibility of my doing it, but because I am perfectly certain I never could … If, by some fantastic miracle, I happened to find myself in bed with him, I know perfectly well that every time I tried to kiss him I should burst into uncontrollable laughter. One way and another I have slept with plenty of men—out of love or pleasure, boredom or pity, vanity or self-interest. It seems to me to be a perfectly normal, natural and necessary thing to do. I have no feeling of guilt about it, and there are very few occasions when it has not given me some pleasure … But, with a man as utterly ridiculous as the captain, I just know that it simply couldn’t happen … it would be physically impossible … To me, it would seem completely unnatural … worse even than Cléclé and her little dog … Yet, despite all this, the captain’s proposal still gives me a certain satisfaction, almost a feeling of pride … Sordid as it is, nevertheless it is a tribute to me, and, as such, it gives me added confidence in myself and in my looks.
With regard to Joseph, my feelings are quite different. Joseph has got a real hold over my mind … He dominates and obsesses it … He alternately disturbs, enchants and scares me. True, he’s ugly, brutally, horribly ugly. But when you examine this ugliness closely, there is something formidable about it that is akin to beauty, an elemental force that is more than beauty, beyond beauty. I don’t at all under-estimate the difficulties, the danger ev
en of living with such a man whether married or not … a man that I feel so deeply suspicious of, without really knowing him. But it is precisely this that attracts me to him, till I feel almost giddy … At least he is a man who is capable of achieving a great deal … of evil perhaps, but also, perhaps, of good. I just do not know … What does he want of me? What will he make of me? Shall I become the unwitting instrument of schemes I know nothing about, the plaything of his savage passions? Or does he simply love me … and, if so, why? . .. Because he thinks I’m good … or vicious … or intelligent? Or because I am no more bound by prejudice than he is? I just don’t know .. . Besides the attraction of the mysterious and unknown, the sheer power of the man has cast a bitter, powerful spell upon me. And this spell—for that’s what it is—is more and more getting on my nerves, reducing me to a state of physical passivity and submission. When I am near him my senses are on fire. I have a feeling of exaltation that I have never experienced with any other man. I feel a longing for him, more sombre, more terrible, more violent than the desire that swept me off my feet with Monsieur George … It is something different, something I can’t properly describe, that takes possession of my entire being, spiritual and sexual, revealing instincts that I was previously unaware of, that must, unknown to me, have been asleep within me, and that no love, no shock of passion, had ever before brought to life. And when I remember what Joseph once said to me, I tremble all over:
‘You’re like me, Célestine … Oh, not to look at, of course! … But our souls, they are as alike as twins …’
Can it really be true? These feelings that I am experiencing are so novel, so insistent and tenacious, that they never give me a moment’s respite. I am continually under the influence of their numbing fascination. Though I try to occupy my mind with other things … reading … walking in the garden when the Lanlaires are out … busying myself with mending when they’re at home … it is no use! The thought of Joseph obsesses me. And this complete domination applies not only to the present, but also to the past. Between me and my whole past life, I am so forcefully aware of his presence, that it is as though I can see no one else, and the past with all its faces, ugly or charming, becomes more and more remote, emptied of all colour … Cléophas Biscouille, Monsieur Jean, Monsieur Xavier, William, whom I haven’t mentioned yet, even Monsieur George, who I thought had left a mark upon my soul as indelible as the number branded on a convict’s back, and all those others, to whom freely, gaily, passionately I have given some part of myself, of my trembling flesh and sorrowful heart, are nothing but shadows … Vague, flickering shadows, already disappearing, scarcely memories and soon to become mere troubled dreams … intangible, forgotten realities … smoke fumes disappearing into nothingness … Sometimes, in the kitchen after dinner, looking at Joseph and his criminal mouth, his criminal eyes, the heavy cheekbones and low, rugged brow thrown into relief by the light from the lamp, I tell myself:
‘No, no, it isn’t possible … I’m going crazy … I won’t, I can’t love such a man … No, no! it just isn’t possible!’
But it is possible … It’s true … And it’s time I admitted it to myself, time I shouted aloud ‘I love Joseph!’
Oh, now I realize why one should never laugh at love … Now I know why there are women, driven by the invisible force of nature, who yearn for the kisses of brutes, fling themselves heedlessly into the arms of monsters, moaning with pleasure, their faces contorted like satyrs and demons …
Madame has given Joseph six days’ holiday, and tomorrow, on the pretext of family business, he is going to Cherbourg. He has decided to buy the little café, though for some months he won’t be running it himself. He has a friend there he can rely on, who will look after it for him.
‘You see,’ he said to me, ‘first of all it must be repainted from top to bottom, so that everything will be in first-class order, with a new sign “To the French Army” in gold lettering. Besides, I can’t give up my place here at present … It’s out of the question.’
“Why, Joseph?’
‘Because it wouldn’t do … not now …’
‘But when do you intend to give in your final notice?’
Scratching the back of his neck, and glancing at me slyly, he said: ‘I don’t really know … Maybe in six months’ time from now … It might be a bit sooner, it might be a bit later. You can’t tell … It all depends …’
I knew he didn’t want to talk, but I insisted:
‘All depends on what?’
It was some time before he answered. Then, mysteriously, but at the same time with a kind of excitement, he said:
‘Some business I have to see to … important business.’
‘But what kind of business?’
‘Business … And that’s that.’ He spoke sharply, not exactly angrily, but as though he were on edge and refused any further explanation.
What surprised me was that he had said nothing about me. I was surprised and very disappointed. Could he have changed his mind? Was he fed up with my curiosity, and my continual hesitation? Surely it was quite natural, if I was to share in the success or failure of the undertaking, that I should be interested? … Had my suspicion, which I couldn’t conceal, that it was he who had raped little Clara, decided him to break things off between us? … From the sudden quickening of my heart, I felt that the conclusion I had reached—though from coquetry, just to tease him, I hadn’t yet told him—was nevertheless the right one. To be free, to sit behind the bar giving orders to other people, to know that so many men were looking at me, desiring me, adoring me … Was it to prove yet another of my dreams that never came true? … I did not want Joseph to think I was throwing myself at his head, but I did want to know what was in his mind. Putting on a forlorn expression I murmured:
‘When you go, Joseph, I shan’t be able to stand this house another moment … I’ve got so used to you now … to our little chats.’
‘Well, there it is …’
‘I shall pack it up as well.’
He made no reply but began walking up and down the saddle-room frowning and preoccupied, nervously twiddling a pair of secateurs in his apron pocket … There was a nasty expression on his face.
‘Yes, I shall pack up and go back to Paris,’ I repeated.
Still no word of protest, not even a pleading glance in my direction … He put some wood on the dying fire, then resumed his silent pacing … Why was he like this? Had he accepted our separation? Was that what he wanted? Had he lost all confidence in me, all his love for me? Or was it simply that he dreaded my rashness, my everlasting questions? … Trembling a little, I asked:
‘Wouldn’t you mind at all, Joseph, if we were never to see each other again?’
He continued to walk up and down, not so much as looking at me with that funny, oblique expression of his.
‘Of course I should,’ he said. ‘But there it is. You can’t force people to do something if they don’t want to … Either they do or they don’t …’
‘But what have I ever refused to do, Joseph?’
Ignoring my question, he added: ‘Besides, you’ve always had rotten ideas about me.’
‘Me? Why do you say that?’
‘Because …’
‘No, no, Joseph, it’s you that don’t love me any longer … You’ve got some other idea in your head … I’ve never refused anything … I just wanted time to think about it, that’s all. Surely, that’s reasonable? You don’t take somebody on for the rest of your life without thinking about it … On the contrary, you ought to be glad that I hesitated. It proves I’m not just a featherbrain, that I’m a serious woman …’
‘You’re a good woman, Célestine, and a sensible woman.’
‘Well then, so what?’
At last he stopped walking about and, staring at me with a grave expression, still distrustful, yet very gentle, he said slowly:
‘It’s not that, Célestine … That’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t want to stop you thinking about it … For
God’s sake, think about it as much as you like … There’s plenty of time. We’ll talk it over again when I get back … But look, what I don’t like is when anyone is too inquisitive. There are some things that don’t concern women … There are some things …’ And he concluded the sentence by shaking his head.
After a moment’s silence, he went on: ‘I think about nothing else, Célestine … I dream about you … You’ve got right under my skin … as true as God’s in heaven. And when I say a thing once, I say it for keeps … We’ll have another talk about it … But don’t you be too inquisitive … What you do is your business, and what I do is mine … Like that, we shall get along fine.’
He drew closer to me, and took hold of my hand:
I know I’m pig-headed, Célestine … I admit it. But that’s not such a bad thing … It means I’m not one to change my mind … I’m crazy about you, Célestine … you, in our little café.’
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, and I could see the huge supple muscles of his arms, moving swiftly and powerfully beneath the whiteness of his skin … His forearms, and both biceps, were tattooed with flaming hearts and crossed daggers and a vase of flowers … A strong masculine odour, almost like the smell of a wild animal, rose from his broad chest, curved like a cuirass … Intoxicated by this strength, this odour, I leant against the wooden saddle-tree where he had been polishing the harness brasses when I first came in … Neither Monsieur Xavier, nor Monsieur Jean, nor any of the others, handsome and sweet-smelling as they were, had ever made such a profound impression on me as this already ageing man, with his narrow skull and cruel, animal face … And as I clasped him in my arms, pressing my fingertips into the steely bands of muscle, I said in a fainting voice:
‘Joseph, you must take me now, my love … I, too, am crazy about you … You’ve got right under my skin as well.’
But he replied in a gravely, fatherly voice: ‘No, it isn’t possible … not now, Célestine.’
‘Yes, Joseph, straight away, my dearest one.’
The Diary of a Chambermaid Page 26
