All the women followed one by one.
They surrounded the Dutch oven, and watched with profound interest as Gervaise and mother Coupeau tried to pull the bird out.
Then a clamor arose, in the midst of which one could distinguish the shrill voices and the joyful leaps of the children.
And there was a triumphal entry.
Gervaise carried the goose, her arms stiff, and her perspiring face expanded in one broad silent laugh; the women walked behind her, laughing in the same way; whilst Nana, right at the end, raised herself up to see, her eyes open to their full extent.
When the enormous golden goose, streaming with gravy, was on the table, they did not attack it at once.
It was a wonder, a respectful wonderment, which for a moment left everyone speechless.
They drew one another’s attention to it with winks and nods of the head.
Golly!
What a bird!
“That one didn’t get fat by licking the walls, I’ll bet!” said Boche.
Then they entered into details respecting the bird. Gervaise gave the facts. It was the best she could get at the poulterer’s in the Faubourg Poissonniers; it weighed twelve and a half pounds on the scales at the charcoal-dealer’s; they had burnt nearly half a bushel of charcoal in cooking it, and it had given three bowls full of drippings.
Virginie interrupted her to boast of having seen it before it was cooked. “You could have eaten it just as it was,” she said, “its skin was so fine, like the skin of a blonde.”
All the men laughed at this, smacking their lips.
Lorilleux and Madame Lorilleux sniffed disdainfully, almost choking with rage to see such a goose on Clump-Clump’s table.
“Well! We can’t eat it whole,” the laundress observed.
“Who’ll cut it up?
No, no, not me!
It’s too big; I’m afraid of it.”
Coupeau offered his services.
Mon Dieu! it was very simple.
You caught hold of the limbs, and pulled them off; the pieces were good all the same.
But the others protested; they forcibly took possession of the large kitchen knife which the zinc-worker already held in his hand, saying that whenever he carved he made a regular graveyard of the platter.
Finally, Madame Lerat suggested in a friendly tone:
“Listen, it should be Monsieur Poisson; yes, Monsieur Poisson.”
But, as the others did not appear to understand, she added in a more flattering manner still:
“Why, yes, of course, it should be Monsieur Poisson, who’s accustomed to the use of arms.”
And she passed the kitchen knife to the policeman.
All round the table they laughed with pleasure and approval.
Poisson bowed his head with military stiffness, and moved the goose before him.
When he thrust the knife into the goose, which cracked, Lorilleux was seized with an outburst of patriotism.
“Ah! if it was a Cossack!” he cried.
“Have you ever fought with Cossacks, Monsieur Poisson?” asked Madame Boche.
“No, but I have with Bedouins,” replied the policeman, who was cutting off a wing.
“There are no more Cossacks.”
A great silence ensued.
Necks were stretched out as every eye followed the knife.
Poisson was preparing a surprise.
Suddenly he gave a last cut; the hind-quarter of the bird came off and stood up on end, rump in the air, making a bishop’s mitre.
Then admiration burst forth.
None were so agreeable in company as retired soldiers.
The policeman allowed several minutes for the company to admire the bishop’s mitre and then finished cutting the slices and arranging them on the platter. The carving of the goose was now complete.
When the ladies complained that they were getting rather warm, Coupeau opened the door to the street and the gaiety continued against the background of cabs rattling down the street and pedestrians bustling along the pavement.
The goose was attacked furiously by the rested jaws.
Boche remarked that just having to wait and watch the goose being carved had been enough to make the veal and pork slide down to his ankles.
Then ensued a famous tuck-in; that is to say, not one of the party recollected ever having before run the risk of such a stomach-ache.
Gervaise, looking enormous, her elbows on the table, ate great pieces of breast, without uttering a word, for fear of losing a mouthful, and merely felt slightly ashamed and annoyed at exhibiting herself thus, as gluttonous as a cat before Goujet.
Goujet, however, was too busy stuffing himself to notice that she was all red with eating.
Besides, in spite of her greediness, she remained so nice and good!
She did not speak, but she troubled herself every minute to look after Pere Bru, and place some dainty bit on his plate.