I learned that they had been married just the previous July, my mother having been only three years a widow. There had been rumours enough that they had been lovers during her first husband’s lifetime, but no proof had been forthcoming. I was the proof, the proof they had first hidden, and hoped ultimately to destroy.
“I waited. She reappeared one evening, accompanied, as always, by my father. She seemed to be in a very agitated state that day, I do not know why. Then, just as she was going, she said to me:
“ ‘I wish you well, because I believe you are an honest lad and a good worker; doubtless you will be thinking of getting married some day; I have come to make it possible for you to choose freely any woman you prefer. I myself married the first time against the desires of my heart, and I know how much suffering it brings. Now I am rich, childless, free, mistress of my fortune. Here is your marriage portion.’
“She held out to me a large envelope.
“I stared fixedly at her, then said:
“ ‘Are you my mother?’
“She drew back three paces and hid her eyes in her hand, so that she could see me no more. He, the man, my father, supported her in his arms and shouted at me:
“ ‘You are mad!’
“ ‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘I know very well that you are my parents. I am not to be deceived so easily. Admit it, and I will keep your secret; I will bear no malice, I will remain what I am now, a joiner.’
“He recoiled towards the door, still supporting his wife, who was beginning to sob. I ran and locked the door, put the key in my pocket, and continued:
“ ‘Look at her, then, and continue to deny that she is my mother!’
“At that he lost his self-control and turned very pale, terrified by the thought that the scandal hitherto avoided might suddenly come out; that their position, their good name, their honour would be lost at a blow.
“ ‘You’re a scoundrel,’ he stammered, ‘trying to get money out of us. And yet they tell us to be good to the common people, the louts, to help them and succour them!’
“My mother, bewildered, was repeating over and over again:
“ ‘Let us go. Let us go.’
“Then, as the door was locked, he exclaimed:
“ ‘If you don’t open the door immediately, I’ll have you jailed for blackmail and assault!’
“I had kept my self-control; I opened the door, and saw them disappear in the darkness.
“At that I felt suddenly as though I had just been orphaned, abandoned, cast into the gutter. A dreadful sadness, mingled with rage, hatred, and disgust overwhelmed me. I felt a swollen rush of emotion through my whole being, a rising tide of justice, righteousness, honour, and spurned affection. I set off running in order to catch them up on the bank of the Seine, which they must follow in order to reach Chaton station.
“I overtook them before long. The night became pitch-dark. I slunk along on the grass, so that they did not hear me. My mother was still crying. My father was saying:
“ ‘It is your own fault. Why did you insist on seeing him? It was madness, in our position. We might have done him kindness by stealth, without showing ourselves. Seeing that we could not hope to recognise him, what was the use of these perilous visits?’
“Then I threw myself in their path, a suppliant.
“ ‘Clearly you are my parents,’ I stammered. ‘You have already cast me off once; will you reject me second time?’
“At that, Your Worship, he raised his hand to me, I swear it on my honour, on the law, on the State. He struck me, and as I seized him by his coat-collar, he drew a revolver from his pocket.
“I saw red, I no longer knew what I did. I had my callipers in my pocket; I struck him, struck him with all my force.
“Then the woman began to cry: ‘Help! Murder!’ and tore at my beard. Apparently I killed her too. How can I know what I did at that moment?
“Then, when I saw them both lying on the ground, I threw them into the Seine, without thinking.
“That is all. Now judge me.”
The prisoner sat down again. After this revelation the trial was postponed until the following session. It will soon come on again. If you and I were the jury, what should we do with this parricide?
Pierrot
Madame LeFèvre was a country dame, a widow, one of these half peasants, who wear ribbons and bonnets with lots of trimming, one of those persons who clipped her words and put on great airs in public, concealing the soul of a pretentious animal beneath a comical and bedizened exterior, just as the country-folks hide their coarse red hands in écru silk gloves.
She had a servant, a good simple peasant, called Rose.
The two women lived in a little house with green shutters by the side of the high road in Normandy, in the centre of the country of Caux. As they had a narrow strip of garden in front of the house, they grew some vegetables.
One night someone stole twelve onions. As soon as Rose became aware of the theft, she ran to tell madame, who came downstairs in her woollen petticoat. It was a shame and a disgrace! They had robbed her, Madame Lefèvre! As there were thieves in the country, they might come back.
And the two frightened women examined the foot—tracks, talking, and supposing all sorts of things.
“See, they went that way! They stepped on the wall, they jumped on to the flowerbed.”
And they became apprehensive for the future. How could they sleep in peace now!
The news of the theft spread. The neighbours came, making examinations and discussing the matter in their turn, while the two women explained to each newcomer what they had observed and their opinion.
A farmer who lived near said to them:
“You ought to have a dog.”
That is true,
