Coupeau was a raving madman, the same as one sees at the Charenton mad-house!
He was throwing himself about in the center of the cell, slamming his fists everywhere, on himself, on the walls, on the floor, and stumbling about punching empty space. He wanted to open the window, and he hid himself, defended himself, called, answered, produced all this uproar without the least assistance, in the exasperated way of a man beset by a mob of people.
Then Gervaise understood that he fancied he was on a roof, laying down sheets of zinc.
He imitated the bellows with his mouth, he moved the iron about in the fire and knelt down so as to pass his thumb along the edges of the mat, thinking that he was soldering it.
Yes, his handicraft returned to him at the moment of croaking; and if he yelled so loud, if he fought on his roof, it was because ugly scoundrels were preventing him doing his work properly.
On all the neighboring roofs were villains mocking and tormenting him.
Besides that, the jokers were letting troops of rats loose about his legs.
Ah! the filthy beasts, he saw them always!
Though he kept crushing them, bringing his foot down with all his strength, fresh hordes of them continued passing, until they quite covered the roof.
And there were spiders there too!
He roughly pressed his trousers against his thigh to squash some big spiders which had crept up his leg.
Mon Dieu! he would never finish his day’s work, they wanted to destroy him, his employer would send him to prison.
Then, whilst making haste, he suddenly imagined he had a steam-engine in his stomach; with his mouth wide open, he puffed out the smoke, a dense smoke which filled the cell and found an outlet by the window; and, bending forward, still puffing, he looked outside of the cloud of smoke as it unrolled and ascended to the sky, where it hid the sun.
“Look!” cried he, “there’s the band of the Chaussee Clignancourt, disguised as bears with drums, putting on a show.”
He remained crouching before the window, as though he had been watching a procession in a street, from some rooftop.
“There’s the cavalcade, lions and panthers making grimaces — there’s brats dressed up as dogs and cats — there’s tall Clemence, with her wig full of feathers. Ah!
Mon Dieu! she’s turning head over heels; she’s showed everything — you’d better run, Duckie.
Hey, the cops, leave her alone! — just you leave her alone — don’t shoot!
Don’t shoot — “
His voice rose, hoarse and terrified and he stooped down quickly, saying that the police and the military were below, men who were aiming at him with rifles.
In the wall he saw the barrel of a pistol emerging, pointed at his breast.
They had dragged the girl away.
“Don’t shoot! Mon Dieu!
Don’t shoot!”
Then, the buildings were tumbling down, he imitated the cracking of a whole neighborhood collapsing; and all disappeared, all flew off.
But he had no time to take breath, other pictures passed with extraordinary rapidity.
A furious desire to speak filled his mouth full of words which he uttered without any connection, and with a gurgling sound in his throat.
He continued to raise his voice, louder and louder.
“Hallow, it’s you?
Good-day!
No jokes!
Don’t make me nuzzle your hair.”
And he passed his hand before his face, he blew to send the hairs away.
The house surgeon questioned him.
“Who is it you see?”
“My wife, of course!”
He was looking at the wall, with his back to Gervaise.
The latter had a rare fright, and she examined the wall, to see if she also could catch sight of herself there.
He continued talking.
“Now, you know, none of your wheedling — I won’t be tied down!
You are pretty, you have got a fine dress.
Where did you get the money for it, you cow?
You’ve been at a party, camel!
Wait a bit and I’ll do for you!
Ah! you’re hiding your boy friend behind your skirts.
Who is it?
Stoop down that I may see. Damnation, it’s him again!”
With a terrible leap, he went head first against the wall; but the padding softened the blow. One only heard his body rebounding onto the matting, where the shock had sent him.
“Who is it you see?” repeated the house surgeon.
“The hatter!