THERESE RAQUIN
CHAPTER III
A week after the marriage, Camille distinctly told his mother that he
intended quitting Vernon to reside in Paris. Madame Raquin protested: she had
arranged her mode of life, and would not modify it in any way. Thereupon her son
had a nervous attack, and threatened to fall ill, if she did not give way to his
whim.
"Never have I opposed you in your plans," said he; "I married my cousin, I
took all the drugs you gave me. It is only natural, now, when I have a desire of
my own, that you should be of the same mind. We will move at the end of the
month."
Madame Raquin was unable to sleep all night. The decision Camille had come
to, upset her way of living, and, in despair, she sought to arrange another
existence for herself and the married couple. Little by little, she recovered
calm. She reflected that the young people might have children, and that her
small fortune would not then suffice. It was necessary to earn money, to go into
business again, to find lucrative occupation for Therese. The next day she had
become accustomed to the idea of moving, and had arranged a plan for a new life.
At luncheon she was quite gay.
"This is what we will do," said she to her children. "I will go to Paris
to-morrow. There I will look out for a small mercery business for sale, and
Therese and myself will resume selling needles and cotton, which will give us
something to do. You, Camille, will act as you like. You can either stroll about
in the sun, or you can find some employment."
"I shall find employment," answered the young man.
The truth was that an idiotic ambition had alone impelled Camille to leave
Vernon. He wished to find a post in some important administration. He blushed
with delight when he fancied he saw himself in the middle of a large office,
with lustring elbow sleeves, and a pen behind his ear.
Therese was not consulted: she had always displayed such passive obedience
that her aunt and husband no longer took the trouble to ask her opinion. She
went where they went, she did what they did, without a complaint, without a
reproach, without appearing even to be aware that she changed her place of
residence.
Madame Raquin came to Paris, and went straight to the Arcade of the Pont
Neuf. An old maid at Vernon had sent her to one of her relatives who in this
arcade kept a mercery shop which she desired to get rid of. The former mercer
found the shop rather small, and rather dark; but, in passing through Paris, she
had been taken aback by the noise in the streets, by the luxuriously dressed
windows, and this narrow gallery, this modest shop front, recalled her former
place of business which was so peaceful. She could fancy herself again in the
provinces, and she drew a long breath thinking that her dear children would be
happy in this out-of-the-way corner. The low price asked for the business,
caused her to make up her mind. The owner sold it her for 2,000 francs, and the
rent of the shop and first floor was only 1,200 francs a year. Madame Raquin,
who had close upon 4,000 francs saved up, calculated that she could pay for the
business and settle the rent for the first year, without encroaching on her
fortune. The salary Camille would be receiving, and the profit on the mercery
business would suffice, she thought, to meet the daily expenses; so that she
need not touch the income of her funded money, which would capitalise, and go
towards providing marriage portions for her grandchildren.
She returned to Vernon beaming with pleasure, relating that she had found a
gem, a delightful little place right in the centre of Paris. Little by little,
at the end of a few days, in her conversations of an evening, the damp, obscure
shop in the arcade became a palace; she pictured it to herself, so far as her
memory served her, as convenient, spacious, tranquil, and replete with a
thousand inestimable advantages.
"Ah! my dear Therese," said she, "you will see how happy we shall be in that
nook! There are three beautiful rooms upstairs. The arcade is full of people. We
will make charming displays. There is no fear of our feeling dull."
But she did not stop there. All her instinct of a former shopkeeper was
awakened. She gave advice to Therese, beforehand, as to buying and selling, and
posted her up in all the tricks of small tradespeople. At length, the family
quitted the house beside the Seine, and on the evening of the same day, were
installed in the Arcade of the Pont Neuf.
When Therese entered the shop, where in future she was to live, it seemed to
her that she was descending into the clammy soil of a grave. She felt quite
disheartened, and shivered with fear. She looked at the dirty, damp gallery,
visited the shop, and ascending to the first floor, walked round each room.
These bare apartments, without furniture, looked frightful in their solitude and
dilapidation. The young woman could not make a gesture, or utter a word. She was
as if frozen. Her aunt and husband having come downstairs, she seated herself on
a trunk, her hands rigid, her throat full of sobs, and yet she could not cry.
Madame Raquin, face to face with reality, felt embarrassed, and ashamed of
her dreams. She sought to defend her acquisition. She found a remedy for every
fresh inconvenience that was discovered, explaining the obscurity by saying the
weather was overcast, and concluded by affirming that a sweep-up would suffice
to set everything right.
"Bah!" answered Camille, "all this is quite suitable. Besides, we shall only
come up here at night. I shall not be home before five or six o'clock. As to you
two, you will be together, so you will not be dull."
The young man would never have consented to inhabit such a den, had he not
relied on the comfort of his office. He said to himself that he would be warm
all day at his administration, and that, at night, he would go to bed early.
For a whole week, the shop and lodging remained in disorder. Therese had
seated herself behind the counter from the first day, and she did not move from
that place. Madame Raquin was astonished at this depressed attitude. She had
thought that the young woman would try to adorn her habitation. That she would
place flowers at the windows, and ask for new papers, curtains and carpets. When
she suggested some repairs, some kind of embellishment, her niece quietly
replied:
"What need is there for it? We are very well as we are. There is no necessity
for luxury."
It was Madame Raquin who had to arrange the rooms and tidy up the shop.
Therese at last lost patience at seeing the good old lady incessantly turning
round and round before her eyes; she engaged a charwoman, and forced her aunt to
be seated beside her.
Camille remained a month without finding employment. He lived as little as
possible in the shop, preferring to stroll about all day; and he found life so
dreadfully dull with nothing to do, that he spoke of returning to Vernon. But he
at length obtained a post in the administration of the Orleans Railway, where he
earned 100 francs a month. His dream had become realised.
He set out in the morning at eight o'clock. Walking down the Rue Guenegaud,
he found himself on the quays. Then, taking short steps with his hands in his
pockets, he followed the Seine from the Institut to the Jardin des Plantes. This
long journey which he performed twice daily, never wearied him. He watched the
water running along, and he stopped to see the rafts of wood descending the
river, pass by. He thought of nothing. Frequently he planted himself before
Notre Dame, to contemplate the scaffolding surrounding the cathedral which was
then undergoing repair. These huge pieces of timber amused him although he
failed to understand why. Then he cast a glance into the Port aux Vins as he
went past, and after that counted the cabs coming from the station.
In the evening, quite stupefied, with his head full of some silly story
related to his office, he crossed the Jardin des Plantes, and went to have a
look at the bears, if he was not in too great a hurry. There he remained half an
hour, leaning over the rails at the top of the pit, observing the animals
clumsily swaying to and fro. The behaviour of these huge beasts pleased him. He
examined them with gaping mouth and rounded eyes, partaking of the joy of an
idiot when he perceived them bestir themselves. At last he turned homewards,
dragging his feet along, busying himself with the passers-by, with the vehicles,
and the shops.
As soon as he arrived he dined, and then began reading. He had purchased the
works of Buffon, and, every evening, he set himself to peruse twenty to thirty
pages, notwithstanding the wearisome nature of the task. He also read in serial,
at 10 centimes the number, "The History of the Consulate and Empire" by Thiers,
and "The History of the Girondins" by Lamartine, as well as some popular
scientific works. He fancied he was labouring at his education. At times, he
forced his wife to listen to certain pages, to particular anecdotes, and felt
very much astonished that Therese could remain pensive and silent the whole
evening, without being tempted to take up a book. And he thought to himself that
his wife must be a woman of very poor intelligence.
Therese thrust books away from her with impatience. She preferred to remain
idle, with her eyes fixed, and her thoughts wandering and lost. But she
maintained an even, easy temper, exercising all her will to render herself a
passive instrument, replete with supreme complaisance and abnegation.
The shop did not do much business. The profit was the same regularly each
month. The customers consisted of female workpeople living in the neighbourhood.
Every five minutes a young girl came in to purchase a few sous worth of goods.
Therese served the people with words that were ever the same, with a smile that
appeared mechanically on her lisp. Madame Raquin displayed a more unbending, a
more gossipy disposition, and, to tell the truth, it was she who attracted and
retained the customers.
For three years, days followed days and resembled one another. Camille did
not once absent himself from his office. His mother and wife hardly ever left
the shop. Therese, residing in damp obscurity, in gloomy, crushing silence, saw
life expand before her in all its nakedness, each night bringing the same cold
couch, and each morn the same empty day.