After all, he wasn’t dressed in white muslin – and cloth in this heat! …
A minute of interested silence greeted him, then, immediately, came extravagant cries of
‘Long live the Minister!
Long live Agriculture!
Long live the Republic! …’ Monsieur Jean Dupuy thanked them with a cramped, but adequate gesture.
A fat gentleman, embroidered in silver, wearing a cocked hat, his hand on the mother-of-pearl hilt of a little sword, came and placed himself on the left of the illustrious man; an old general with a little white goatee, a tall, bent man, flanked him on the right.
And the imposing trio came forward, escorted by a troop of men in black evening clothes adorned with red ribbons, rows of decorations or military medals.
Between the heads and shoulders I made out the triumphant face of that blackguard of a Dutertre. He was acclaimed by the crowd who made much of him being both the Minister’s friend and the future Deputy.
I sought Mademoiselle’s eyes and asked, with my chin and my eyebrows:
‘Should I get on with the little speech?’
She signalled ‘Yes’ and I advanced with my two acolytes.
A startling silence suddenly descended; – Heavens! How was I going to dare to speak in front of all these people?
If only I wasn’t choked with that beastly stage-fright! – first of all, keeping well together, we dived into our skirts in a magnificent curtsy that made our dresses frou-frou and I began, my ears buzzing so much that I couldn’t hear my own voice:
Mr Minister, – The children of the schools of Montigny, bearing the flowers of their native countryside, come to you, full of gratitude …
And then my voice suddenly became firmer and I went on, clearly articulating the prose in which Rabastens guaranteed our ‘unshakeable loyalty to Republican institutions’, as calm now as if I were reciting Eugene Manuel’s The Dress in class.
In any case, the official trio wasn’t listening to me; the Minister was reflecting that he was dying of thirst and the two other great personages were exchanging appreciative remarks in whispers:
‘Mr Prefect, wherever does that little peach spring from?’
‘Not the faintest idea, General. She’s as pretty as a picture.’
‘A little Primitive (he too!).
If she looks in the least like a Fresnois girl, I’ll eat my …’
‘Pray accept these flowers of our maternal soil!’ – I concluded, offering my bouquet to His Excellency.
Anais, looking supercilious as she always does when she is aiming at being distinguished, handed hers to the Prefect, and Marie Belhomme, crimson with emotion, presented hers to the General.
The Minister mumbled a reply in which I caught the words
‘Republic … solicitude of the Government … confidence in the loyalty’; he got on my nerves.
Then he remained motionless and so did I; everyone was waiting expectantly, then Dutertre bent down to his ear and prompted him:
‘Come on, you must kiss her!’
Thereupon he kissed me, but clumsily (his harsh beard scratched me).
The brass band of the main town blared the Marseillaise, and, doing an about-turn, we marched towards the town, followed by the banner-bearers; the rest of the Schools made way for us and, leading the majestic procession, we passed under the ‘fortified castle’, and returned once more under the leafy arches. All about us, people were shouting in a shrill, frenzied way, but we honestly gave no sign that we heard anything!
Erect and crowned with flowers, it was the three of us they were acclaiming, quite as much as the Minister … Ah! if I had any imagination, I should have seen us at once as three king’s daughters, entering some ‘loyal town’ with their father; the girls in white would be our ladies-in-waiting, we would be being escorted to the tournament where the noble knights would dispute for the honour of … Heaven send that those wretched boys hadn’t overfilled the little coloured lamps with oil earlier this morning!
With the jolts those urchins were giving to the posts on which they were perched, yelling, we should be a nice sight!
We did not talk, we had nothing to say to each other; we had quite enough to do throwing out our chests the way people do in Paris and leaning our heads in the direction of the wind to make our hair stream out …
We arrived in the front-courtyard of the Schools, we halted and massed in close formation. The crowd surged in on all sides, beat up against the walls and climbed up on to them.
With the tips of our fingers, we rather icily pushed away our companions who were over-anxious to surround us and overwhelm us.
There were sharp exchanges of
‘Do be careful!’
‘Well, you needn’t look as much as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth!
You’ve had enough people staring at you all the morning!’
The lanky Anais greeted these jeers in disdainful silence; Marie Belhomme became fidgety; I restrained myself with great difficulty from pulling off one of my strapless shoes and applying it to the face of the bitchier of the two Jauberts who had slyly jostled me.
The Minister, escorted by the General, the Prefect and a host of councillors, secretaries, and I don’t know what else (I’m not up in that world) who had forced a way for him through the crowd, had mounted the platform and installed himself in the handsome, over-gilded armchair that the Mayor had specially provided from his own drawing-room.
A meagre consolation for the poor man who was tied to his bed with gout on that unforgettable day!
Monsieur Jean Dupuy sweated and mopped himself; what would he not have given for it to be tomorrow!
Still, that’s what he’s paid for … Behind him, in concentric semi-circles, sat the district councillors and the municipal council of Montigny … all those perspiring people couldn’t smell very agreeable … Well, and what about us?
Was it over, our glory?
Were we to be left down there, without anyone so much as offering us a chair?
That was really too much!
‘Come on, all of you, we’re going to sit down.’
Not without difficulty, we made ourselves a gangway as far as the platform, we, the flag, and all the pennant-bearers. There, lifting my head, I hailed Dutertre in an undertone – he was chatting, leaning over the back of the Prefect’s chair right at the edge of the platform.
‘Sir, hi, Sir!
Monsieur Dutertre, I say! … Doctor!’
He heard that appeal better than the others and bent down, smiling and showing his fangs: