Excerpt of Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky
(Page 3 of 9)
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The drawing room, where the radio was now playing, was enormous
and well-proportioned, with four windows overlooking the
Boulevard Delessert. It was furnished in traditional style, with
large armchairs and settees upholstered in golden yellow. Next
to the balcony, the elder Monsieur Péricand sat in his
wheelchair. He was an invalid whose advancing age meant that he
sometimes lapsed back into childhood and only truly returned to
his right mind when discussing his fortune, which was
considerable (he was a Péricand-Maltête, heir of the Maltête
family of Lyon). But the war, with its trials and tribulations,
no longer affected him. He listened, indifferent, steadily
nodding his beautiful silvery beard. The children stood in a
semi-circle behind their mother, the youngest in his nanny's
arms. Nanny had three sons of her own at the front. She had
brought the little boy downstairs to say goodnight to his family
and took advantage of her brief entry into the drawing room to
listen anxiously to what they were saying on the radio.
The door was slightly ajar and Madame Péricand could sense the
presence of the other servants outside. Madeleine, the maid, was
so beside herself with worry that she came right up to the
doorway. To Madame Péricand, such a breach of the normal rules
seemed a frightening indication of things to come. It was in
just this manner that the different social classes all ended up
on the top deck during a shipwreck. But working-class people
were highly strung. "How they do get carried away," Madame
Péricand thought reproachfully. She was one of those
middle-class women who generally trust the lower classes. "They're not so bad if you know how to deal with them," she
would say in the same condescending and slightly sad tone she
used to talk of a caged animal. She was proud that she kept her
servants for a long time. She insisted on looking after them
when they were ill. When Madeleine had had a sore throat, Madame Péricand herself had prepared her gargle. Since she had no time
to administer it during the day, she had waited until she got
back from the theatre in the evening. Madeleine had woken up
with a start and had only expressed her gratitude afterwards,
and even then, rather coldly in Madame Péricand's opinion. Well,
that's the lower classes for you, never satisfied, and the more
you go out of your way to help them, the more ungrateful and
moody they are. But Madame Péricand expected no reward except
from God.
She turned towards the shadowy figures in the hallway and said
with great kindness, "You may come and listen to the news if you
like."
"Thank you, Madame," the servants murmured respectfully and
slipped into the room on tiptoe.
They all came in: Madeleine; Marie; Auguste, the valet and
finally Maria, the cook, embarrassed because her hands smelled
of fish. But the news was over. Now came the commentaries on the
situation: "Serious, of course, but not alarming," the speaker
assured everyone. He spoke in a voice so full, so calm, so
effortless, and used such a resonant tone each time he said the
words "France," "Homeland" and "Army," that he instilled hope in
the hearts of his listeners. He had a particular way of reading
such communiqués as "The enemy is continuing relentless attacks
on our positions but is encountering the most valiant resistance
from our troops." He said the first part of the sentence in a
soft, ironic, scornful tone of voice, as if to imply, "At least
that's what they'd like us to think." But in the second part he
stressed each syllable, hammering home the adjective "valiant"
and the words "our troops" with such confidence that people
couldn't help thinking, "Surely there's no reason to worry so
much!"
Excerpted from Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky
Copyright © 2006 by Irene Nemirovsky. Excerpted by
permission of Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. All
rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced
or reprinted without permission in writing from the
publisher.
