CHAPTER VII
Gervaise’s saint’s day fell on the 19th of June.
On such occasions, the Coupeaus always made a grand display; they feasted till they were as round as balls, and their stomachs were filled for the rest of the week.
There was a complete clear out of all the money they had.
The moment there were a few sous in the house they went in gorging.
They invented saints for those days which the almanac had not provided with any, just for the sake of giving themselves a pretext for gormandizing.
Virginie highly commended Gervaise for stuffing herself with all sorts of savory dishes.
When one has a husband who turns all he can lay hands on into drink, it’s good to line one’s stomach well, and not to let everything go off in liquids.
Since the money would disappear anyway, surely it was better to pay it to the butcher.
Gervaise used that excuse to justify overeating, saying it was Coupeau’s fault if they could no longer save a sou.
She had grown considerably fatter, and she limped more than before because her leg, now swollen with fat, seemed to be getting gradually shorter.
That year they talked about her saint’s day a good month beforehand.
They thought of dishes and smacked their lips in advance.
All the shop had a confounded longing to junket.
They wanted a merry-making of the right sort — something out of the ordinary and highly successful.
One does not have so many opportunities for enjoyment.
What most troubled the laundress was to decide whom to invite; she wished to have twelve persons at table, no more, no less.
She, her husband, mother Coupeau, and Madame Lerat, already made four members of the family.
She would also have the Goujets and the Poissons.
Originally, she had decided not to invite her workwomen, Madame Putois and Clemence, so as not to make them too familiar; but as the projected feast was being constantly spoken of in their presence, and their mouths watered, she ended by telling them to come.
Four and four, eight, and two are ten.
Then, wishing particularly to have twelve, she became reconciled with the Lorilleuxs, who for some time past had been hovering around her; at least it was agreed that the Lorilleuxs should come to dinner, and that peace should be made with glasses in hand.
You really shouldn’t keep family quarrels going forever.
When the Boches heard that a reconciliation was planned, they also sought to make up with Gervaise, and so they had to be invited to the dinner too.
That would make fourteen, not counting the children.
Never before had she given such a large dinner and the thought frightened and excited her at the same time.
The saint’s day happened to fall on a Monday.
It was a piece of luck. Gervaise counted on the Sunday afternoon to begin the cooking.
On the Saturday, whilst the workwomen hurried with their work, there was a long discussion in the shop with the view of finally deciding upon what the feast should consist of.
For three weeks past one thing alone had been chosen — a fat roast goose.
There was a gluttonous look on every face whenever it was mentioned.
The goose was even already bought.
Mother Coupeau went and fetched it to let Clemence and Madame Putois feel its weight.
And they uttered all kinds of exclamations; it looked such an enormous bird, with its rough skin all swelled out with yellow fat.
“Before that there will be the pot-au-feu,” said Gervaise, “the soup and just a small piece of boiled beef, it’s always good. Then we must have something in the way of a stew.”
Tall Clemence suggested rabbit, but they were always having that, everyone was sick of it.
Gervaise wanted something more distinguished.
Madame Putois having spoken of stewed veal, they looked at one another with broad smiles.
It was a real idea, nothing would make a better impression than a veal stew.
“And after that,” resumed Gervaise, “we must have some other dish with a sauce.”
Mother Coupeau proposed fish.
But the others made a grimace, as they banged down their irons.
None of them liked fish; it was not a bit satisfying; and besides that it was full of bones.
Squint-eyed Augustine, having dared to observe that she liked skate, Clemence shut her mouth for her with a good sound clout.
At length the mistress thought of stewed pig’s back and potatoes, which restored the smiles to every countenance.
Then Virginie entered like a puff of wind, with a strange look on her face.
“You’ve come just at the right time!” exclaimed Gervaise.
“Mother Coupeau, do show her the bird.”
And mother Coupeau went a second time and fetched the goose, which Virginie had to take in her hands. She uttered no end of exclamations.
By Jove!