Complete Works of Emile Zola (977 page)

“You’d better try it on!” interrupted Hourdequin. “You’ll find yourself received with pitchforks! The poorest little landowner in the country wouldn’t let you carry off a handful of his soil!”

“Have I said a word about touching poor folks?” replied Canon, blandly. “No, we are not such fools as to quarrel with the small owners. No, no, we shall not touch the land of the poor fellows who are making a starvation livelihood out of a few acres. It’s only the plump gentlemen like yourself, with their four and five hundred acres, who grow rich by the sweat of their labourers, whose possessions we shall confiscate. Ah, confound it, I don’t fancy you’ll find any of your neighbours coming to your defence with their pitchforks. They’d be only too glad to see you stripped.”

Macqueron broke out into a loud laugh, as though he looked upon the whole matter as a joke, and the others followed his example. The farmer turned somewhat pale, feeling that the old hereditary hatred still abode in the peasants’ breasts. The scoundrel was right. Every one of all these peasants, even the honestest of them, would help to plunder him of La Borderie.

“But in my case now,” asked Buteau, gravely; “I own about a score of acres, shall I be allowed to keep them?”

“By all means, my friend; but later on when you see the results attained in the national farms around you you will certainly come of your own accord, without the least solicita­tion, and add your own land to them. We shall do every­thing on a large scale, with the command of great capital, and all the resources of art and science at our disposal. But that’s a matter I don’t know so much about. You ought to hear some of the people up in Paris relate how it is that agricul­ture is hopeless if carried on upon any other basis than this. Yes, you’ll come and offer your land of your own accord.”

Buteau’s face now wore an expression of profound in­credulity. He no longer understood Canon, still he felt reassured at being told that he would not be forced to give up anything. As for Hourdequin, his curiosity was excited upon hearing Canon hazily hold forth on the subject of this great scheme of national farming, and he once more lent an attentive ear. The others awaited the finish as if they had been at the theatre. Lequeu, whose pallid face kept flushing crimson, had twice opened his mouth as though he were going to interpose a remark, but each time, like a prudent man, he had withheld it.

“And what is my share to be?” suddenly exclaimed Hyacinthe. “Every one must have his share! Liberty, equality, and fraternity!”

Canon at once lost his temper, and raised his hand as though he were going to strike his friend.

“Hold your row with your liberty, and equality, and fraternity! Does any one need to be free? No, freedom’s a farce. You want the gentlefolks to put us into their pockets again, eh? No, no, people must be forced into being happy, whether they will or no! And as for equality and fraternity, would you ever consent to being the equal and the brother of a bailiff? No, no; it was by believing nonsense of that kind that the Republicans of ‘48 made fools of themselves!”

Hyacinthe, quite at a loss, simply declared that he was in favour of the great Revolution.

“Hold your tongue; you rile me!” cried Canon. “That’s your tune, eh? A nice pack of lies always being drummed into our ears! Can that ridiculous farce be compared for a single moment with what we mean to do? You’ll see it all when the people are the masters; and it won’t be very long coming, all’s cracking, and I’ll promise you that this century of ours will finish up in a very much prettier fashion than the last one did. There’ll be such a sweeping clean-out as has never yet been witnessed!”

All the company shuddered, and even that sot Hyacinthe drew back, alarmed and disgusted at hearing that they were not all to be brothers. Jean, who had hitherto been interested in what was going on, also made a gesture of repulsion. Canon, however, had sprung to his feet, with his eyes glistening, while his face seemed bathed in a prophetic ecstasy.

“And it must come,” he cried; “it’s fated. It can no more help happening than a stone thrown up in the air can help falling down. And we shall have no more twaddling priests, and stories of another world, and right and justice, things which no one has ever seen any more than they’ve seen God. No, the only thing we shall concern ourselves about is being perfectly happy. Ah! my fine fellow, we shall arrange matters so that every one shall have the greatest amount of enjoyment with the least possible amount of work. We shall make machinery work for us, and four hours’ daily superintendence of it will be the most that will be required. It may be that in time we shall have absolutely nothing to do, and be able to fold our arms in complete idleness. And everywhere there’ll be a glut of pleasure; and all our desires will be pampered and satisfied. Yes, there will be meat, and wine, and women galore, and we shall be able to take treble the quantity of pleasure that we can take now, for we shall be stronger and healthier. There will be no more poverty, no more invalids, no more old folks, thanks to our improved organisation, our easier life, our perfect hospitals, and comfortable free homes. It will be an absolute Paradise! All the science in the world will be called into use for our pleasure! And life will then be real enjoyment!”

Buteau, fairly carried away, brought his fist down upon the table with a bang as he shouted:

“No more taxes! no more conscription! no more worries of any sort! nothing but pleasure! Yes, I’m quite willing to sign that programme.”

“Certainly,” observed Delhomme, sagaciously. “A man would be his own enemy not to sign it.”

Fouan also expressed his approval, as did Macqueron, Clou, and the others. Bécu, who, with his authoritative principles, was quite stupefied and overcome, stepped up to Hourdequin, and asked him in a whisper if he ought not to take this black­guard who attacked the Emperor to the lock-up. The farmer, however, calmed him by shrugging his shoulders. Happiness! Ah, yes, they now dreamed of winning it through science, as they had previously dreamed of winning it through right and justice! Perhaps the new theory might be the more logical, but anyway it was not likely to bear the expected fruit yet awhile! The farmer then again prepared to leave, and called to Jean, who was still absorbed in the discussion, but just at that moment Lequeu suddenly yielded to his eager longing to join in the debate. He had for some time past been choking with suppressed rage.

“Take care,” he burst out in his shrill voice, “take care that you are not all killed before this fine state of affairs comes off; killed by hunger, or by the bullets of the gendarmes, if starvation should make you refractory—”

The others looked at him without understanding him.

“Nothing can be more certain,” he continued, “if corn con­tinues to be imported from America, in a hundred years from now there won’t be a single peasant left in all France. Do you think that our land can contend with yonder one? Long before we have had time to put these new plans in practice, the foreigners will have inundated us with grain. I have read a book which tells all about it. You fellows are all doomed—”

In his angry excitement, he suddenly became aware that all the scared faces were turned towards him; and he did not even finish the sentence he was uttering, but making an angry gesture, pretended to bury himself in his newspaper again.

“The American corn will certainly do for you all,” exclaimed Canon, “unless the people take possession of the large holdings.”

“And I,” said Hourdequin in conclusion, “I tell you again that this American corn must not be allowed to enter the country. And now go and vote for Monsieur Rochefontaine if you are tired of having me for your mayor, and want to see corn at forty-three francs.”

He then mounted into his gig, followed by Jean, who exchanged a meaning glance with Françoise. As the young man whipped the horse on, he said to his master:

“It doesn’t do to think too much about all those affairs, they would drive one crazy.”

Hourdequin signified his approval by nodding his head.

In the tavern, Macqueron was now talking in a low but animated tone with Delhomme, while Canon, who had once more assumed an air of supercilious scorn for everybody, finished the brandy, and ridiculed the snubbed Hyacinthe, dubbing him “Miss Ninety-three.” Buteau, waking up from a reverie, now suddenly noticed that Jean had gone away, and he was surprised to see Françoise still standing at the door of the room, where she and Berthe had come to listen to what was going on. He felt annoyed with himself for having wasted his time over politics, when he had serious business on hand. Those wretched politics seemed able to make a man forget everything else. He now entered into a long conversation with Cœlina, who ultimately prevented him from making an immediate scandal. It would be much preferable, she said, if Françoise returned to his house of her own accord, when they had succeeded in calming her. Then he went off, threatening, however, that he would return to fetch the girl with a rope and a stick, if the Macquerons did not prevail upon her to come back.

On the following Sunday Monsieur Rochefontaine was elected deputy; and Hourdequin having sent in his resignation to the prefect, to avoid being dismissed, Macqueron at last became mayor, and almost burst through the skin in his insolent triumph.

CHAPTER VI

The week passed away, and Françoise still persisted in her refusal to return to her sister’s house. There was a terrible scene one day on the road. Buteau, who was dragging the girl away by the hair, was obliged to let go on having his thumb severely bitten. Macqueron then became so alarmed that he turned the girl out of his house, saying that as he was the representative of the law he could not encourage her in her rebellion.

La Grande happened to be passing at the time, and she took Françoise home with her. The old woman was now eighty-eight years of age, but she never thought about dying except as a means of bequeathing to her heirs the worry of endless litigation in reference to her fortune. She had made an extraordinarily complicated will, mixing everything up with absolute delight; and, under the pretext of wronging no one, she had left such directions as would compel the heirs to devour one another. She had done this quite deliberately, feeling a satisfaction in the thought that although she could not take her property with her to the grave, she would at any rate go off with the consolation of having done her very best to set all her relations by the ears. Nothing gave her more plea­sure than to see them quarrelling with one another, and this it was that prompted her to take her niece into her own house. Her natural stinginess made her hesitate just for a moment, but she came to a decision at the thought that she would get a large amount of work out of the girl in return for a small amount of food. That very evening, in fact, she made her wash the whole house. When Buteau made his appearance, she stood up and confronted him with her wicked-looking old nose which resembled the beak of some aged bird of prey; and he who had talked of smashing everything at the Macquerons’ here began to tremble and stammer, too much paralyzed by the fear of losing his share of La Grande’s property to dare to engage in a struggle with her.

“I want Françoise here,” she said, “and I mean to keep her, since she is not comfortable with you. Besides, she is of age now, and you have certain accounts to render her. We shall have to talk about them.”

Buteau went off in a furious frame of mind, alarmed at the trouble and annoyance which he realised were in store for him.

Just a week afterwards, indeed, about the middle of August, Françoise at last came of age. She was now her own mistress. By her change of residence, however, she had done little more than change her troubles, for she, also, trembled before her aunt, and was nearly killed by over-work in this cold, parsi­moniously-managed house, where everything had to be made shiny without any expenditure upon soap or brushes. Cold water and elbow-grease had to suffice for everything. One day the girl almost got her head cut open by a blow from her aunt’s stick, merely for forgetting herself so far as to give the fowls some grain.

Several of the neighbours said that, in her anxiety to spare her horse, La Grande harnessed her grandson Hilarion to the plough; and, even if that was an exaggeration, there was no doubt but that she did treat the lad like a beast of burden, beating him and almost killing him with work, abusing of his great strength to such a degree that he sank down quite worn out with exhaustion, and feeding him so miserably, with mere crusts and leavings, just as though he were a pig, that he was always on the verge of starvation, as well as being stupefied with fear. When Françoise discovered that she was meant to make up the second horse in the pair, her one thought was of how she might get away from the house; and then it was that she suddenly determined to marry.

She was simply prompted by the wish to finish with it all. With her ingrained and obstinate ideas of justice, ideas which even in her childhood had caused her no little trouble, she would rather have killed herself than have gone back to her sister’s. She wanted nothing but justice, she told herself, and she despised herself for having submitted so long. She now made no reference to the swinish Buteau; it was only of her sister that she spoke harshly, saying that if it had not been for her they could still have continued living all together. Now that this rupture had taken place between them, a rupture which could never be healed, she only lived to obtain her property, her share in the inheritance. The thought of this worried her from morning to night, and she went wild on account of the endless formalities that would have to be gone through. What was the good of them all? This is mine! that is yours! Why couldn’t the whole thing be settled in a couple of minutes? It could only be, she declared, because every one was in league to rob her. She suspected the whole family, and came to the conclusion that her only means of extricating herself from this predicament was to take a husband.

Jean, certainly, had not got an inch of land, and he was fifteen years her senior. But then no one else had asked for her, and perhaps no one else would have dared to take her, from fear of Buteau, who was so generally dreaded in Rognes that no one cared to have him for an adversary. Then, too, she and Jean had had to do with each other once; though this fact was not of much importance, since it had had no consequences. On the other hand, he was gentle, and kindly, and straightforward. Why not take him, since there was no one else she cared about, and as her only object in marrying was to get some one to de­fend her interests and to do what she could to enrage Buteau? Yes, she, too, would have a man of her own!