A Chambermaid's Diary

embe

(Sunday) I

ers scarcely do it honor. But never mind. When one is unhappy,-and, in our calling, we get more than our share of unhappiness,-it is the only thing that will soothe you. Only that, and love. Yes, but love, that is another sort of consolation. Consequently, even in impious houses, I never missed mass. In the first place, mass is an excursion

at make walking agreeable and sadness less burdensome. I know not why, but, under th

I love the hawthorns. They remind me of things when I was a little girl. Otherwise the country is like the country everywhere else; there is nothing astonishing about it. It is a very wide valley, and then, yond

e does it speak better to my soul. Even among the richest and most fertile fields of Normandy I am homesick for the moors, and for that tragic an

ve not served in Paris. They look at me with curiosity,-a curiosity at once distrustful and sympathetic. They note enviously, in detail, my hat, my closely-fitting gown, my little baize jacket, and my umbrella rolled in its green silk cover. My costume-that of a lady-astonishes them, and especially, I think, my coquettish and smart way of wearing it. They

hear them say to eac

ew chambermaid

in carrying an immense paunch on legs widely spread apart, undoubtedly to the better s

Priory? Your name is Célestine? Yo

re is nothing about this paunchy body, about this walking goatskin, that so amuses

cont

auger's, the next place to yours; he is a form

ademoi

parates the two estates. He is always working i

heezes like a foundered mare. With every breath her chest expands

Oh! how people suffer the

zes and hiccoughs,

matter what, do not hesitate. I am fond of young people. We will drink a littl

, and then, in a lower voice and

more prudent. A bit of good advice that I give you. Madame Lanlaire reads the letters, all the letters.

es and rolls like an old vessel in a heavy sea, Mademoiselle

hem into trouble. A terrible man, Monsieur Lanlaire. The pretty, the ugly, the young, the old,-all are alike to him. Oh! the house is well known. And everybody will tell you what I tell you. You are ill-fed there; you have no li

Her malice gets the better of her asthma. And the scandal of the house goes its course, mingled with the private affairs of the neighborhood. Although already I know them all, Rose's stories

ng with an energetic "For sure" each of the revelations

no manager; he knows nothing of household affairs; he likes to be taken care of and coddled, have his linen well kept, his caprices respected, nice dishes pr

, and her winks, clearly revealed to me he

s ideas. And besides, there is work to do all the

f entering an old man's service. It is disgustin

th high, tottering gables, and bulging stories that project one past the other, in the olden fashion. The people who pass are ugly, ugly, and I have not seen a single handsome fellow. The industry of the neighborhood is the manufac

the dismal sadness of the p

, who, standing at her thre

ent to seven o'clock mass. You have plent

ous woman and speaks ill of everybody, a real pest! Then she begins ag

aptain has

ple, hangers-on, all of whom were plundering him and robbing him. You should have seen that. It was an abomination. So you can imagine whether I set that right,--whether I cleare

intention, which, howeve

oiselle Rose, he will re

ly, she

t he knows life. He knows those who love him, who care for him with disinterestedness, who coddle him. No one need think that he is stupid as certain persons pretend,-Mad

logy for the captain,

ed creatures who come to ask God to do something against somebody. It is impossible for me to concentrate my thoughts, and I feel a sort of cold penetrating me and surrounding me. Perhaps it is because there is not even an organ in this church. Queer, isn't it? but I cannot pray without an organ. An anthem on the organ fills my chest, and then my stomach; it completely restores me, like love. If I could always hear the strains of an organ, I really believe that I should never sin. Here, instead of an or

style. Instead of being lifted up, as at mass in Paris, all my senses take offence, and rebel at once. For distraction, I follow attentively the movements of the officiating priest. Oh! thank you! he is a sort of tall, jovial fellow, very young, with an ordinary face, and a brick-red complexion. With his dishevelled hai

ike him to confess the women. The curate is a holy man, certainly

oes back to her prayer, her

ks more like a ploughman than a priest. For my part, I require delicacy, poetry, t

rds she explains to me that it is necessary to be on good terms with th

n be seen portions of her skull, on top of which a chignon stands up in a ridiculous fashion, like a little broom. At the slightest movement her breast, beneath her brown cl

ng you the new chamb

her eyes fasten themselves upon my waist with an emb

moiselle is a pretty girl. Mademois

dame Gouin, I c

nd of the Parisiennes; they know what it is to live. I too served in Paris, when I was young.

N

it was a long time ago. But c

back shop, where four other domestics

she offered me a chair. "It is not because they do not patronize me at the chateau; but

like gestures and like grimaces,

Gouin c

ally haggling, and crying out, like pole-cats, that they are being

of servan

may go wher

ressing Rose more particul

they, Mam'zelle Rose? Thank God!

oncentrated gall, spite, and contempt at her command. And the huge musketeer hat emphasi

fter a

ut these people. Every time that I

dor of pickle, of rotting vegetables, of red herring, persists around us, impregnating our garments. It is intolerable. Then each of these creatures, heaped up on their chairs like bundles of dirty linen, plunges into the narration of some dirty action, some scandal, some crime. Coward that I am, I try to smile with them, to applaud with them; but I feel something insurmountable, something like frightf

en are odious to me. I detest them, and I say to myself, in a low voice, that I have nothing in common with them. Education, contact with stylish people, the habit of seeing beaut

e grocer says to me,

t your masters do not patronize m

topping. It does not forget anybody or anything. It is astonishing how, in a few minutes, one can dishonor people, in the country. Thus she escorts me back to the Priory gate. Even there she cannot make up her mind to leave me; talks on, talks incessantly, tries to envelop and stun me with her friendship and de

iver running through the plain, yellow and green, shines here and there in silvery curves. And a few clouds decorate the sky with their light and charming frescoes. But I take no pleasure in the contemplation

hand, and presses it affectionately in her fa

you know, is a very amiable and very cle

ger, and adds m

y trouble, they go to her. Neither seen or known. One can tru

fastening her gaze on me with

d. Now, my little one, do not forget to come to see us when you can. And go ofte

irting first the wall and then the hedge with her enormous pers

k that he is going to speak to me; he does not speak to me. He simply lo

his morning, Mo

teeth. He is furious that I have allowed m

nd why does he never say a word to me? And

contented. She gives me a very disagree

to stay out so

d, unnerved. But fortunately I restrain mys

that y

y not

h M. Mauger's servant. She is very bad company for you.

to m

to whom I like. I will see anyone that it pleases

ack from the mass, from the grocer, and from Rose. Rose and the grocer are right; the haberdasher also is right; all of them are right. And I promise myself that I will see Rose; that I w

Camel!

ved if I had had the courage to hurl

, Monsieur's desk, all the closets, all the cupboards, all the sideboards, were locked. What did I

En Famille." What a delightful book! And how well written! It is queer, all the same; I am very fo

Journal" with provoking ostentation. He crumpled the paper, rolling all the time his kind, comical, gentle eyes. Even when he is in anger, Mons

her woman cu

re in her black silk dress, her forehead wrinkled, her

se of me that Madame