It was over.
The time for starting had arrived.
“What a fuss to make at such a time!” said Madame Lorilleux to her husband as she caught sight of the hearse before the door.
The hearse was creating quite a revolution in the neighborhood.
The tripe-seller called to the grocer’s men, the little clockmaker came out on to the pavement, the neighbors leant out of their windows; and all these people talked about the scallop with its white cotton fringe.
Ah! the Coupeaus would have done better to have paid their debts.
But as the Lorilleuxs said, when one is proud it shows itself everywhere and in spite of everything.
“It’s shameful!” Gervaise was saying at the same moment, speaking of the chainmaker and his wife.
“To think that those skinflints have not even brought a bunch of violets for their mother!”
The Lorilleuxs, true enough, had come empty-handed.
Madame Lerat had given a wreath of artificial flowers.
And a wreath of immortelles and a bouquet bought by the Coupeaus were also placed on the coffin.
The undertaker’s helpers had to give a mighty heave to lift the coffin and carry it to the hearse.
It was some time before the procession was formed.
Coupeau and Lorilleux, in frock coats and with their hats in their hands, were chief mourners.
The first, in his emotion which two glasses of white wine early in the morning had helped to sustain, clung to his brother-in-law’s arm, with no strength in his legs, and a violent headache.
Then followed the other men — Monsieur Madinier, very grave and all in black; My-Boots, wearing a great-coat over his blouse; Boche, whose yellow trousers produced the effect of a petard; Lantier, Gaudron, Bibi-the-Smoker, Poisson and others.
The ladies came next — in the first row Madame Lorilleux, dragging the deceased’s skirt, which she had altered; Madame Lerat, hiding under a shawl her hastily got-up mourning, a gown with lilac trimmings; and following them, Virginie, Madame Gaudron, Madame Fauconnier, Mademoiselle Remanjou and the rest.
When the hearse started and slowly descended the Rue de la Goutte-d’Or, amidst signs of the cross and heads bared, the four helpers took the lead, two in front, the two others on the right and left.
Gervaise had remained behind to close the shop.
She left Nana with Madame Boche and ran to rejoin the procession, whilst the child, firmly held by the concierge under the porch, watched with a deeply interested gaze her grandmother disappear at the end of the street in that beautiful carriage.
At the moment when Gervaise caught up with the procession, Goujet arrived from another direction.
He nodded to her so sympathetically that she was reminded of how unhappy she was, and began to cry again as Goujet took his place with the men.
The ceremony at the church was soon got through.
The mass dragged a little, though, because the priest was very old.
My-Boots and Bibi-the-Smoker preferred to remain outside on account of the collection.
Monsieur Madinier studied the priests all the while, and communicated his observations to Lantier. Those jokers, though so glib with their Latin, did not even know a word of what they were saying.
They buried a person just in the same way that they would have baptized or married him, without the least feeling in their heart.
Happily, the cemetery was not far off, the little cemetery of La Chapelle, a bit of a garden which opened on to the Rue Marcadet.
The procession arrived disbanded, with stampings of feet and everybody talking of his own affairs.
The hard earth resounded, and many would have liked to have moved about to keep themselves warm.
The gaping hole beside which the coffin was laid was already frozen over, and looked white and stony, like a plaster quarry; and the followers, grouped round little heaps of gravel, did not find it pleasant standing in such piercing cold, whilst looking at the hole likewise bored them.
At length a priest in a surplice came out of a little cottage.
He shivered, and one could see his steaming breath at each de profundis that he uttered.
At the final sign of the cross he bolted off, without the least desire to go through the service again.
The sexton took his shovel, but on account of the frost, he was only able to detach large lumps of earth, which beat a fine tune down below, a regular bombardment of the coffin, an enfilade of artillery sufficient to make one think the wood was splitting.
One may be a cynic; nevertheless that sort of music soon upsets one’s stomach.
The weeping recommenced.
They moved off, they even got outside, but they still heard the detonations.
My-Boots, blowing on his fingers, uttered an observation aloud.
“Tonnerre de Dieu! poor mother Coupeau won’t feel very warm!”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the zinc-worker to the few friends who remained in the street with the family, “will you permit us to offer you some refreshments?”
He led the way to a wine shop in the Rue Marcadet, the
“Arrival at the Cemetery.”
Gervaise, remaining outside, called Goujet, who was moving off, after again nodding to her.
Why didn’t he accept a glass of wine?
He was in a hurry; he was going back to the workshop.
Then they looked at each other a moment without speaking.
“I must ask your pardon for troubling you about the sixty francs,” at length murmured the laundress.
“I was half crazy, I thought of you — “