Le Calvaire by Octave Mirbeau

Author:Octave Mirbeau [Mirbeau, Octave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781909232525
Publisher: Dedalus
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

It was not long before Juliette grew bored in that lovely apartment where she had promised herself such tranquillity and happiness. Once her cupboards had been put in order and her knick-knacks set out, she did not know what to do and she fretted. Tapestry work irritated her, reading afforded her no enjoyment. She went from one room to the other, not knowing how to occupy her hands, or her mind, yawning and stretching her arms. She took refuge in her dressing room, where she spent long hours getting dressed, trying out new hair-styles in front of her mirror, playing with the bath-taps, which kept her amused for a while; cleaning Spy of fleas, and making elaborate bows for him out of her old hat-ribbons. Running the household might have filled the emptiness of her days, but I soon realised with dismay that Juliette was not the housekeeper she prided herself on being. She had no care or concern and took no responsibility for anything but her underwear and her dog. Everything else was of little importance to her, and things were left to sort themselves out, or rather left to the servants to sort out. Our new staff consisted of a cook – a filthy, grasping and bad-tempered old woman whose talents did not extend beyond tapioca, veal stew and salad; a chambermaid – Celestine, a brazen and vicious girl who had respect only for people who spent a lot of money; and finally a housekeeper, Mère Sochard, who was continually taking snuff and got terribly drunk, in order, she said, to forget her sorrows – a husband who beat her and took advantage of her, and a daughter who had gone to the bad. So there was terrible waste, and we fared very poorly, both at table and in every other respect. If by chance we had visitors, Juliette would order very expensive and pretentious dishes from Bignon. I watched with displeasure as an injudicious familiarity, some kind of friendly relationship grew up between Juliette and Celestine. While helping her mistress to dress, Celestine told stories that Juliette revelled in, disclosed unsavoury secrets of the households where she had worked before, and offered advice … At Madame K’s they did this, at Madame V’s they did that … Well, these were ‘smart addresses’, after all. Juliette would often visit the linen room where Celestine was sewing, and stay there for hours on end, sitting of a pile of sheets, listening to the maid’s inexhaustible tittle-tattle. From time to time arguments arose over some missing object, some failure of the chambermaid to do her job properly. Celestine would fly into a rage, hurl the most coarse insults, bang the furniture, screech in her grating voice.

‘Well, thank you very much! A fine place this is, where floozies of the sort take the liberty of making accusations against you! Well, let me tell you, sweetheart, I don’t give a damn about you or your sapheaded boyfriend over there … who

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