On Horseback
The poor people lived miserably on the husband’s salary. Since their marriage two children had been born, and their previous lack of means had developed into that frightened, timid, shamefaced poverty peculiar to families of good position who try to keep up appearances in spite of everything.
Hector de Gribelin had been brought up in the country, in the paternal manor, by an old Abbé who acted as his tutor. They were not rich, but pulled the devil by the tail and kept up their position. When he was twenty he had gone into the ministry of marine, as a clerk at fifteen hundred francs a year. He had landed there like all those who have not been prepared in early years for the harsh struggle for life, those who see this world through a haze, knowing neither how to get on nor how to meet difficulties, people in whom no special aptitudes or talents have been developed from childhood, no keen energy for the struggle; in whose hands neither a weapon nor a tool has been placed. His first three years at the office were horrible.
He had renewed acquaintance with some friends of his family, old people, behind the times and poor like himself, who lived in select streets, the depressing streets of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and he had made a circle of friends.
Unfamiliar with modern life, humble but proud, these needy aristocrats lived on the top floors of sleepy old houses. From top to bottom these houses were inhabited by titled tenants, but money was as scarce on the second as on the top floor. Their eternal prejudices, preoccupation with their rank, the dread of descending in the scale, haunted these erstwhile brilliant families, ruined by the inaction of their men folk. It was in these circles that Hector de Gribelin met and married a titled but penniless young girl like himself. Two children had been born to them in four years and for the past four years the household, harassed by poverty, had known no other distractions than a walk on Sunday to the Champs-Élysées, and a few evenings at the theatre, one or two each winter, thanks to free tickets received from a friend.
But, as spring approached, his chief entrusted him with some extra work and he received the extra compensation of three hundred francs. Coming home that night he said to his wife:
“My dear Henriette, we ought to do something with this money; a little outing in the country for the children, for instance.”
They had a lengthy discussion, and finally decided on a family picnic.
“We have had so very few outings,” said Hector, “that we may as well do things right. We will hire a break for you and the little ones, and I will hire a horse; it will do me good.”
They talked of nothing else all week. Each night, when he came home from his office he would dance his elder son up and down on his knee and say:
“This is the way papa will ride next Sunday.” And the boy would ride chairs all day screaming:
“This is papa on horseback.” Even the servant looked at the master in wonder, as she thought of his riding beside the carriage on horseback, and at every meal she heard him tell of his feats in horsemanship when he was home. Oh, he had been well trained. Once he felt a horse between his legs, he was afraid of nothing, absolutely nothing.
He would say to his wife, rubbing his hands: “If they could give me a frisky animal I would like it all the better. You will see how I ride, and, if you like, we can come back by the Champs-Élysées when everybody is coming home. We shall cut quite a figure, and I should not be sorry to meet someone from the office; there is nothing like it to inspire respect.”
On the appointed day the carriage and the horse arrived together at the door, and Hector came down immediately, to look the horse over. He had had straps sewn to his trousers, and was playing with a riding-whip purchased the day before. He raised and felt, one after the other, the animals four legs, felt its neck, its ribs, its hocks, tested its back with his hands, opened its mouth, and told its age, and as the family was coming out at that moment, he discoursed on horses in general and that one in particular, which he declared to be an excellent animal.
When everyone was comfortably placed in the carriage, Hector examined the saddle, and mounting with a spring, dropped on the horse with such force that he immediately set up a dance which almost threw his rider. Hector became flustered and tried to calm him, saying: “Come, old fellow, be quiet.” And when they both had calmed down a little he asked:
“Is everybody ready?”
Everybody said they were and the party proceeded. All eyes were turned on Hector, who affected the English seat and leaped up and down on his saddle in an exaggerated manner. He often looked as if he were going to fall forward on the horse’s mane, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, contracting his brow and looking very pale. His wife and the servant each held one of the boys on their lap and every minute they would say:
“Look at papa!” And the boys, excited by the movement, the fresh air, and their delight, uttered piercing screams.
The horse, frightened at so much noise, started off at a gallop and while Hector tried to stop him his hat fell off. The driver had to come down and pick it up, and having recovered it, Hector shouted to his wife:
“Make the children stop screaming, will you? They will make the horse run away.”
They lunched on the grass in the woods of Vésinet, having brought their food in baskets. Although the driver looked after the horses, Hector went every minute to see if his horse wanted anything. He patted it and fed it with bread, cake, and sugar.
“He is a great trotter,” he said to his wife. “He shook me at first, but you saw how quick I subdued him. He knows his master now.”
They came back by the Champs-Élysées as agreed. The huge avenue was crowded with carriages and the sidewalks lined with so many pedestrians, that they looked like two long black ribbons unrolling from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde. A sun shower was falling on the crowd, making the varnish of the carriages, the steel of the harness and the door handles glitter. The whole mass seemed to be seized by a frenzy of motion, an intoxication of life. In the distance the Obelisk arose in a golden mist. As soon as they passed the Arc de Triomphe Hector’s horse was suddenly possessed by a new ardour. It dashed at a rapid trot between the carriages in the direction of the stables, and the rider’s efforts to stop him were unavailing. The carriage containing his family was far behind. In front of the Palais de l’Industrie, the horse turned to the right at a gallop. An old woman was at that moment leisurely crossing the street, and Hector, who was unable to stop the horse, shouted: “Hey there, hey!” But the old woman was deaf, perhaps, for she slowly kept on until the horse struck her with such force that she turned a triple somersault and landed ten feet away. Several people shouted: “Stop him.”
Hector was distracted and held on desperately to the horse’s mane, crying: “Help, help!” A terrible shock sent him over the horse’s head like a bomb, and he landed in the arms of a policeman who was running toward him. An angry crowd gathered. An old gentleman wearing a decoration was especially angry.
“Confound it, sir!” he said, “if you cannot ride a horse why do you not stay at home instead of running over people!”
Four men appeared carrying the old woman, who to all appearances was dead, with her yellow face, and her bonnet awry and covered with dust.
“Take this woman to a chemist’s,” said the old gentlemen, “and let us go to the station-house.”
A crowd followed Hector, who walked between two policemen, while a third led his horse. At that moment the carriage appeared, and his wife, taking in the situation at a glance, ran toward him; the servant and the children came behind crying. He explained that his horse had knocked a woman down, but it was nothing, he would be home very soon. And his frightened family went away.
At the station-house, the explanation was brief. He gave his name, his place of employment, and awaited news of the injured woman. A policeman came back with the information that the woman’s name was Mme. Simon, and that she was a charwoman sixty-five years old. She had regained consciousness, but she suffered internally, she claimed. When Hector found that she was not dead, he recovered his spirits and promised to defray the expenses of her illness. He went to the drugstore where they had taken the old woman. An immense crowd blocked the doorway. The old woman was whining and groaning pitifully. Two doctors were examining her.
“There are no bones broken,” they said, “but we are afraid she is hurt internally.”
“Do you suffer much?” asked Hector.
“Oh, yes.”
“Where?”
“I feel as if my inside was on fire.”
“Then you are the cause of the accident?” said a doctor approaching.
“Yes, sir,” said Hector.
“This woman must go to a convalescent home. I know one where they will take her for six francs a day; shall I arrange this for you?”
Hector thanked him gratefully and went home relieved. He found his wife in tears, and he comforted her, saying:
“Don’t worry, she is much better already. I sent her to a convalescent home, and in three days she will be all right.”
After his work the next day he went to see Mme. Simon. She was eating some beef soup which she seemed to relish.
“Well,” said Hector, “how do you feel?”
“No better,” she answered. “I feel as good as dead. I don’t feel any better.”
The doctor advised waiting; complications might arise. He waited three days, then went to see the old woman again. Her skin was clear, her eyes bright, but as soon as she saw Hector she commenced to whine:
“I can’t move any more; l’ll be like this for the rest of my days!”
Hector felt a shiver running up and down his back. He asked for the doctor and inquired about the patient.
“I am puzzled,” the doctor said. “Every time we try to lift her up, or even change the position of her chair, she utters heartrending screams; still, I am forced to believe her. I cannot say that she shams until I have seen her walk.”
The old woman listened attentively; a sly look on her face. A week passed, then two, then a month, and still Mme. Simon did not leave her chair. Her appetite was excellent, she gained flesh and joked with the other patients. She seemed to accept her lot as a well-earned rest after fifty years of labour as a charwoman.
Hector came every day and found her the same; always repeating:
“I can’t move, I can’t!”
When Hector came home, his wife would ask with anxiety:
“How is Mme. Simon?”
“Just the same; absolutely no change,” answered Hector dejectedly.
They dismissed the servant, whose wages became too much of a strain, and economized more than ever. The money received from his chief had been spent. Then Hector called four doctors to hold a consultation on Mme. Simon. She let them press and poke her, while she watched them slyly.
“We must make her walk,” said one of the doctors.
“I can’t, gentlemen; I can’t!”
They took hold of her and dragged her a few steps, but she freed herself, and sank to the floor emitting such piercing screams, that they carried her back to her chair very gently.
They reserved their opinion, but concluded, however, that she was incapacitated for work.
When Hector brought the news to his wife, she collapsed.
“We had much better take her here, it would cost us less.”
“In our own house! What are you thinking of?”
“What else can we do, dear? I am sure it is no fault of mine!”