All of a sudden, this enthusiastic dancer shot past, as brutally as a cyclone, carrying his partner like a parcel, for he had betted a ‘boocket of white wine’, payable at the buffet installed in the courtyard, that he would ‘do’ the whole length of the room in six steps of a galop; everyone had gathered round to admire him. Monmond won his bet, but his partner – Fifine Baille, a little slut who brought milk to the town to sell, and something else too, for anyone else who wanted it – left him in a furious temper and cursed him:
‘You great clumsy b—! You might easy have gone and split me dress! You ask me to dance again, and I’ll clout you over the ear!’
The audience was convulsed with laughter and the boys took advantage of their being jammed together to pinch, tickle and stroke whatever was within reach of their hands. It was becoming altogether too gay; I would soon go home to bed. The lanky Anaïs, who had at last vanquished a lingering ‘dress-suit’, was promenading about the room with him, fanning herself, and giving high, warbling laughs, rapturous at seeing the ball warming up and the boys getting excited; there would be at least one of them who would kiss her on the neck, or somewhere!
Where on earth had Dutertre got to? Mademoiselle had ended by driving her little Aimée into a corner and was making a jealous scene; after leaving her handsome District Superintendent, she had once more become tyrannous and tender; the other was listening, shaking her shoulders, her eyes far away and her brow obstinate. As to Luce, she was dancing desperately – ‘I’m not missing one’ – passing from arm to arm without getting breathless; the boys did not think her pretty but, once they had asked her to dance, they came back again; she felt so supple and small, melting into their arms, light as a snowflake.
Mademoiselle Sergent had disappeared now, vexed perhaps by seeing her favourite waltzing, in spite of her objurgations, with a tall fair counter-jumper who was squeezing her tight and brushing her with his moustache and his lips without her objecting in the least. It was one o’clock, I wasn’t enjoying myself a bit any more and I was going home to bed. During the break in a polka (here, they dance the polka in two parts, between which the couples promenade arm in arm round the room in Indian file), I stopped Luce as she was passing and forced her to sit down for a minute.
‘Aren’t you getting tired of all this business?’
‘Be quiet! I could dance for a whole week on end! I can’t feel my legs …’
‘So you are thoroughly enjoying yourself?’
‘I’ve no idea! I’m not thinking about anything at all, my head’s in a whirl, it’s simply marvellous! Still I like it awfully when they hold me tight … When they hold me tight and we’re doing a fast waltz, it makes me want to scream!’
What was that we suddenly heard? The trampling of feet, the shrill cries of a woman who was being hit, screamed insults … Were the boys fighting among themselves? But no, the noise definitely came from upstairs! The screams suddenly became so shrill that the couples stopped their promenade; everyone became anxious and one good soul, the gallant and absurd Antonin Rabastens, rushed to the door of the inside staircase and opened it … the tumult grew louder and I was thunderstruck to recognize the voice of Mademoiselle Sergent’s mother, that harsh old peasant-woman’s voice, yelling quite appalling things. Everyone listened, nailed to the spot, in absolute silence; their eyes fixed on that little doorway from which so much noise was coming.
‘Ah! you bitch of a girl! It serves you right! Yes, I’ve broken my broom-handle on his back, that swine of a doctor of yours! Yes, I’ve given him a good whack on the bum all right! Ah, I’ve smelt a rat a good long time now! No, no, my beauty, I’m not going to hold my tongue, I don’t care a f—, I don’t for the fine folk at the ball! Let ’em hear, they’ll hear a nice thing to be sure! Tomorrow morning, no, not tomorrow – this very minute – I’m packing my bag. I won’t sleep in such a house, I won’t! You dirty little beast, you took advantage of him being drunk and incapable (sic) to get him into bed with you, that fellow that’ll grub in any muckheap! So that’s why you got a rise in pay, you bitch on heat, you! If I’d made you milk the cows like I did, you’d never have come to this! But you’ll suffer for it, I’ll shout it everywhere, I’d like to see them point their fingers at you in the streets, I’d like to see you a laughingstock! He can’t do nothing to me, your dirty dog of a District Superintendent, however much him and the Min’ster’s in each other’s pockets; I gave him such a whack that he ran away from me. He’s frightened of me, he is! Comes and does his filthy business here, in a room where I make the bed with my own hands every morning – and doesn’t even lock the door! Runs off he does, half in his shirt and nothing on his feet, so that his dirty boots are still there! Look, there’s his boots – take a good look at ’em!’
We could hear them being thrown down the stairs, bumping against the steps; one fell right down to the bottom and lay in the doorway, in the full glare of light, a patent-leather boot, all shining and elegant … No one dared touch it. The infuriated voice grew less loud, retreated along the passages to the accompaniment of banging doors, and suddenly ceased. Then everyone looked at each other; no one could believe their own ears. The couples, still arm in arm, stood there perplexed, keyed-up for what might happen next; then, little by little, sly smiles appeared on mocking lips and ran all through the room, gradually turning into bantering laughter till the band on the platform caught the infection and laughed as heartily as everyone else.
I looked round for Aimée and saw that she was as white as the bodice of her dress, her eyes were stretched wide, staring at the boot, the focal point of the entire room’s gaze. A young man charitably went up to her, and offered to take her outside for a little to recover herself … She cast panic-stricken glances all around her, then burst into sobs and rushed hurriedly from the room. (Weep, weep, my girl, these painful moments will bring you hours of even sweeter pleasures.) After this flight, no one hesitated to restrain their wholehearted amusement; everyone was nudging each other and saying: ‘I say, did you see that!’
It was then that I heard just beside me a hysterical laugh, a piercing, suffocating laugh, vainly stifled in a handkerchief. It was Luce, who was writhing, doubled-up, on a sofa, crying with pleasure, and wearing such an expression of unmitigated bliss on her face that I was overcome with laughter too.
‘You’ve not gone out of your mind, have you, Luce, laughing like that?’
‘Ah! Ah! … oh! let me alone … it’s too good … Oh! I’d never have dared to hope for that! Ah! Ah! I can go now, that’ll keep me bucked for ages … Lord, how that’s done me good! …’
I took her off into a corner to calm her down a little. In the ballroom, everyone was chattering hard and no one was dancing any more … What a scandal there would be in the morning! … But a violin launched a stray note, the cornets and trombones took it up; a couple timidly began a polka step, two others imitated them, then all the rest followed suit; someone shut the little door to hide the scandalous boot and the dance started up again, all the gayer and wilder for having witnessed such a comic, such a totally unexpected interlude! As for myself, I was going home to bed, completely happy at having crowned my schooldays with such a memorable night.
Farewell to the classroom; farewell, Mademoiselle and her girl friend; farewell, feline little Luce and spiteful Anaïs! I am going to leave you to make my entry into the world; – I shall be very much astonished if I enjoy myself there as much as I have at school.
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781446475058
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Vintage 2001
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Copyright © Martin Secker and Warburg Ltd, 1956
Claudine à l’école,
attributed to Willy, first published in 1900
This translation published by Martin Secker and Warburg Ltd 1956
Vintage
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
Random House UK Limited Reg. No. 954009
www.randomhouse.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Colette, Claudine at School
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