Complete Works of Emile Zola (1627 page)

“We must-do something; we must act!” reiterated Laboque, with ever-increasing violence, when Dacheux and Caffiaux came to see him. “If we wait till this madman poisons all the country with his monstrous doctrines, we shall be too late!”

“What can we do?” asked the prudent Caffiaux.

Dacheux was for killing the man at once.

“Some one might wait for him some evening at a street comer, and let fly at him one of those little volleys which make a man reflect on what he has been about.”

But Laboque, a small man, more cunning than Dacheux, preferred surer, quieter means for getting rid of him.

“No, no,” he said; “all the town is up against him. We must make use of that feeling; we have every one on our side.”

The opportunity was at hand.. Old Beauclair for centuries had had a filthy rivulet running through it, a sort of open sewer. It was called the Clouque. Nobody knew where it came from; it seemed as if it had its origin in some old hovels built at the entrance to the ravines of Brias, and the common idea was that it might have been one of those mountain torrents whose source was still unknown. Very old people could remember to have seen it a full stream at certain seasons. But for many years it had rarely had any pure water; what it had was poisoned by the neighboring factories. The good women living on the river-bank had long used it as a natural sink, into which they emptied their slop-pails, so that it was choked with all kinds of filth from the poorer quarter of the town, and gave forth, especially in summer, a horrible smell. At one time there had been serious fears of an epidemic arising from this source, and the mayor and the municipal council had considered the question of covering it, that is, of putting it underground. But the expense seemed too great, and nothing more was said about it. The Clouque, undisturbed, continued to smell horribly, and to contaminate its neighborhood. Then, all of a sudden, it dried up completely, and became nothing more than a rocky pathway without one drop of water. Beauclair was delivered from this source of infection, as if by the wand of a magician. To the Clouque had been attributed the bad fevers that had long infested that part of the country; and the inhabitants of Beauclair were left to wonder where the waters of the torrent could have gone.

At first there was only a vague rumor. Then facts began to come to light. It became certain that it was Monsieur Luc who had begun to turn the course of the torrent on the day when he impounded the water of the springs on the sides of the Monts Bleuses, and that he was using for La Crêcherie all their bright, clear, running water, which gave his new town health and prosperity. Especially had he taken possession of the principal stream, the overflow of which he proposed to store in reservoirs for the use of the people of Combettes. This means of irrigation would make their fortune, and assure the permanence of their happy association, all thanks to this valuable supply of water, which had brought them to a good understanding with each other, and was such a blessing to them all. Before long there was plenty of proof that the water which had disappeared from the Clouque was flowing into the Grand Jean, tenfold more than it had ever been, that it was utilized by intelligence, and had become a source of wealth, instead of death and evil smells. The rancor and anger of Beauclair grew fiercer than ever against Luc, who had so quietly taken possession of what did not belong to him. Why had he stolen the water? Why did he retain it? Why had he given it to his own creatures? People were not to carry off in that way water that belonged to a town — a stream that had always been there, a stream that people were accustomed to see, and that many had found very useful. The tiny thread of water, slowly carrying down with it all kinds of filth, exhaling pestilence and killing people, was forgotten. Nothing more was said about the project of putting it under cover; every one was talking about the great benefit it had been to Beauclair, for irrigation, for washing, for the every-day needs of the townspeople. Such a robbery ought not to be put up with. La Crêcherie would have to give back the Clouque — the filthy drain by which the town was poisoned.

Laboque, of course, was the man who made the loudest outcry. He made an official visit to Gourier, the mayor, to find out what steps he intended to take to bring the subject before the municipal council. Laboque professed himself to be particularly interested in the question, as the Clouque passed just at the back of his house, at the end of his little garden, and was of great use to him in many ways. No doubt if he set to work to collect signatures for a petition on the subject, he could have got the names of all the inhabitants in his quarter. But his idea was that the town ought to take the matter in hand, and go to law with La Crêcherie in order to get the stream restored to Beauclair, with damages. Gourier listened to him, and, nodding his head, apparently approved of all he said. But he went no further, though he nourished a strong personal dislike to Luc. Then he asked for a few days in which to consider the matter. He said he wished to think over the case, and to consult the people about him. He knew very well that Laboque wanted the town to take the matter up rather than appear foremost in it in his own person. The sub-prefect Châtelard, with whom Gourier shut himself up in consultation for two hours, must have convinced him, by acting on his dread of complications, that the course he had always taken was a wise one, that course being to let lawsuits be brought by individuals, for he sent for the hardware dealer and explained to him, at great length, that a suit brought by the town would be long in reaching a decision, and probably would amount to nothing, while a suit brought by a citizen would much more probably go against La Crêcherie, especially if, after one party had gained damages, another should bring suit, and so on.

A few days later Laboque brought his suit, in which he claimed twenty-five thousand francs damages. And as if that day were a
fête
day, he had a gathering of all his friends at his house, on the pretext that his son and daughter wanted to give their playfellows a luncheon.

So Eulalie and Auguste had Honorine Caffiaux, Evariste Mitaine, and Julienne Dacheux. All these little people had grown older in four years. Auguste was sixteen and Eulalie was nine, while Evariste at fourteen was already a serious and reflective boy, and Honorine, at nineteen, was at an age to be married, so that she seemed like a mother to the eight-year-old Julienne, who was the youngest of the party. They all went into the narrow strip of garden, and played and laughed like mad creatures, whose consciences were clear and their spirits gay, for they took no part in the hatreds and quarrels of their parents.

“At last we have him!” cried Laboque. “Monsieur Gourier as good as told me that if we carry the thing out to the end we shall ruin the works.... Even supposing the court gives me but ten thousand franca, there are a hundred more of you who can bring suit, and get the same damages, so he will have to pay out of his pocket a nice little million. And that is not all; he will have to give back the torrent, and will be forced to demolish the water-works he has constructed, which will deprive him of that nice clear water which he is so proud of.... Ah! my friends, it is going to be a success!”

All were excited and triumphant at the idea of ruining the new works, and, above all, of putting down Luc, the madman, who wanted to destroy trade, inheritance, money, and the most valuable foundations of the social system. Caffiaux was the only one who seemed to hesitate.

“
I should have preferred,” he said at last, “that the town should have brought the suit. When there is to be a fight we tradespeople always prefer to have the lead taken by other people. Who are the hundred others who will bring suit against La Crêcherie?”

Dacheux burst out laughing.

“Ah! I would have gladly brought suit myself if my house had not stood on the other side of the street! And even now I am not sure I may not, for the Clouque passes by the end of my mother-in-law’s yard. I must have a finger in the business; thunder and lightning!”

“But,” resumed Laboque, “in the first place, there is Madame Mitaine, who is in the same position that I am, and whose property, like mine, has been injured since the stream has dried up.... You will bring suit, won’t you, Madame Mitaine?”

He had asked her to come, with a secret intention of making her formally join his party, for he knew that she desired to live peaceably and to respect the peace of others — good woman that she was! At first she began to laugh.

“Oh! as to the harm done my house by the loss of the Clouque! No — no, neighbor. The truth is, I had given orders never to use a drop of that poisonous water, for fear of making my customers ill. It was so dirty, and it smelled so bad, that if it is ever given back to us we shall have to spend money to get rid of it by putting it underground, as there once was a plan of doing.”

Laboque made believe that he did not hear.

“But anyhow, Madame Mitaine, you are with us. Your interests are the same as ours, and if I gain my lawsuit you will do like others whose property is on the riverside — you will stand by the
chose jugée?’

“We’ll see — we’ll see about it,” replied the handsome wife of the baker. “I always like to take sides with the law — when it is just.”

And Laboque had to content himself with this conditional promise. Besides, the excitement into which he had been thrown by his fierce anger against Luc had deprived him of his usual sense. He felt perfectly certain of victory; he knew that he should crush the mad socialist whose experiment had in four years so lowered prices that his receipts were not half what they once were. ‘He felt himself the champion of society, as, sitting at table with Dacheux, he pounded it with his fists; while prudent Caffiaux, a diplomat by nature, waited to see whether old Beauclair or La Crêcherie would triumph before he went too deeply into the quarrel. The children, meantime, at their table, where cakes and syrups were served, paid no attention to the coming battle, but fraternized like a flock of happy birds, soaring in a clear sky away to a free and happy future.

All Beauclair was in commotion when people knew of the suit instituted by Laboque, with his demand for twenty-five thousand francs damages; it was like an ultimatum or a declaration of war. From that time forward there was a great rally of the Beauclair forces, all the scattered opponents of the new town; they met and grouped themselves into an active army of enemies who declared openly against Luc and his works, that diabolical establishment where he was forging the ruin of venerable and respectable institutions, government, property, religion, and the family. They all banded together to defend them. All Beauclair took part in the dispute; all the contractors who felt themselves injured brought their people into the town, and the tradespeople, always horrified by new ideas, did likewise. There was no little stockholder who did not feel himself threatened by a horrible cataclysm, which would wreck his trifling means. Women grew angry and indignant as soon as it was represented to them that La Crêcherie was becoming a place of vice where any man who chose to seize on one of them might have her. Even the workmen, even the very poor, who were starving, grew excited, and began cursing the man who so ardently dreamed of saving them from poverty, and whom they now accused of aggravating their wretchedness by making their employers and the rich people harder on them. But, above all, that which most poisoned and misled Beauclair was a violent campaign opened against Luc by the local newspaper, a little sheet published by Lebleu, the printer. On this occasion the paper came out semi-weekly, and Captain Jollivet was supposed to be the author of articles whose violence produced a great sensation. The attack was, indeed, a mere volley of errors and falsehoods, all the foolish mud that it is the fashion to sling at socialism, caricaturing its intentions and sullying its ideal. But the success of such a form of attack was certain when it had to take effect on weak, ignorant people, and it was wonderful how mere excitement flew from one person to another in the midst of real complicated intrigues, which united all classes against the disturber of the public peace. All were furious to find themselves likely to be driven out of their own social cesspool, under pretext that they might be led into a healthy city, the just and happy city of the future, and live in peace with one another.

Two days before the case of Laboque against Luc was to be tried before the Civil Court of Beauclair, a great breakfast was given at the Pit by the Delaveaus, whose real object was that the leaders of the movement should meet and talk it over before the fight came on. The Boisgelins were, of course, invited, Mayor Gourier, the sub-prefect Châtelard, Judge Gaume, and his son-in-law, Captain Jollivet, and Abbé Marie. Ladies, too, were there to give the entertainment the appearance of a social gathering.

Châtelard, as was his custom, called at the mayor’s house about half-past eleven, to go with him and his wife, still the handsome Leonore. Since La Crêcherie had proved a success, Gourier had had some unpleasant moments of disquietude and doubt. In the first place, he had perceived among the workpeople he employed in his great shoe-factory in the Rue de Brias, a certain restless feeling, a new thrill of excitement, a menace of association. Then he had asked himself if it would not be better to yield to it; to himself enter this association, which possibly might ruin him if he did not join. But this anxiety he kept to himself, for he had an open wound, a grievance which made him the personal enemy of Luc ever since his son Achille, a stout, independent fellow, had broken with him and taken a position at La Crêcherie, where he was near Ma Bleue, where on clear nights he could visit his sweetheart. The mayor had forbidden his son’s name to be uttered in his presence. The lad was an ungrateful deserter from the ranks of the
bourgeoisie;
he had gone over to the enemies of social order. And though he did not choose to say so, this defection of his son increased his secret uncertainty of action, for he had a feeling that some day he would be forced to follow his example.

“Well,” said he to Châtelard, as soon as he saw him come in, “so the trial is about to begin. Laboque came to see me again to obtain the certificate. His idea is still to bring the town into the affair, and it is very difficult to avoid giving him a little help, when we have been pushing him on as we have done.”