Complete Works of Emile Zola (975 page)

Thereupon Françoise went off without another word. Buteau then threw down the bill-hook which he had been sharp­ening, and rushed forward in the hope of restoring peace between the two women by the administration of a couple of whacking cuffs. But he was too late, and he could only vent his angry exasperation by dealing a blow at his wife, from whose nose the blood began to stream. The devil take all the women! What he had feared and struggled against so long had come to pass. The girl had taken flight, and now there was a heap of dirty troubles in store for him. He saw in his mind’s eye both the girl and the land scampering away from him.

“I’ll go to Macqueron’s this afternoon,” he roared. “She’ll have to come back, even if I have to kick her here all the way.”

Macqueron’s house was in a state of great excitement that Sunday, for one of the candidates, Monsieur Rochefontaine, the proprietor of the building works at Châteaudun, was expected there. Since the last election Monsieur de Chédeville had fallen into disfavour on account, some people said, of his ostentatious friendship with certain members of the Orleanist party; while others asserted that it was owing to his having offended the Tuileries by a scandalous intrigue with the wife of one of the ushers of the Chamber of Deputies, who was quite infatuated about him, despite his age. However this might be, the patronage of the prefect had certainly been withdrawn from the retiring deputy and conferred upon Monsieur Rochefontaine, the former candidate of the Opposition, whose establishment had just been visited by one of the ministers. Monsieur Rochefontaine had also written a pamphlet on Free Trade, which had been very favour­ably noticed by the Emperor. As for Monsieur de Chédeville, annoyed at being discarded in this way, he persisted in his candidature, being particularly desirous of retaining his position as deputy, since it enabled him to dabble in financial jobbery. The rental of La Chamade was no longer sufficient for his needs, the place being mortgaged, and in a half-ruined con­dition. Thus, by a singular chance, the situation of affairs had been reversed — the landowner had become the independent candidate, while the contractor enjoyed the patronage of the Government.

Although Hourdequin was mayor of Rognes he still re­mained faithful to Monsieur de Chédeville, and had made up his mind not only to ignore any instructions he might receive from official sources, but even to work openly for his candi­date’s cause, should that be necessary. At first he felt that it was not a manly or honourable thing to veer round like a weather-cock at the slightest breath from the prefect’s lips; and then, as this was a struggle between a Protectionist and a Free-trader, he became convinced that, in the present crisis of agricultural affairs, his interests would be better forwarded by the former. The annoyance which Jacqueline caused him, added to the cares and anxieties of his farm, had prevented him for some time past from devoting himself to the duties of his mayoralty. Being always engaged in watching the lascivious wench who, with the luck that so often attaches to wrong­doing, managed to satisfy with impunity her lustful hankering after Tron’s brawny manhood, the mayor left his assessor, Macqueron, to attend to current affairs. Consequently, when he again returned to preside over the council, instigated thereto by the personal interest he took in the election, he was aston­ished to find it rebellious, in fact stiffly hostile.

This was the outcome of Macqueron’s underhand intriguing, which, prosecuted with all a copper-skin’s craft and wiliness, was at last approaching an issue. Ambition had come to this en­riched peasant, who had relapsed into a state of complete idle­ness, and who dragged himself about dirty and slovenly amid all his gentlemanly leisure, which really bored him to death. And this ambition now formed the one pleasure of his existence. Why should not he himself be mayor? Since that idea had first dawned upon his mind, he had striven to undermine Hour-dequin’s position, working upon the ingrained, deep-rooted, though perhaps unconscious hatred that all the natives of Rognes in former times had entertained for their lords, and that they now felt for the son of the townsman who to-day possessed the land. Of course he had got it for nothing! It had been nothing more nor less than a robbery at the time of the Revolu­tion. Poor peasants never had such luck. It was only your scamps and scoundrels who managed to fill their pockets in this way. And there were pretty goings-on, too, at La Borderie with the master’s infatuation for that hussy La Cognette, in spite of her amours with all the farm-hands.

Talk of this kind was now freely indulged in in the neigh­bourhood, arousing indignation even among those who would not have hesitated to sell their own daughters to prostitution, or even to commit incest with them themselves, if they had seen their way to profit by so doing. The members of the municipal council said at last that a townsman ought to exer­cise his thievish and wanton propensities amongst his fellows, and that a peasant-community ought to have a peasant-mayor.

It was in a matter concerning the election that Hourdequin, to his great surprise, first became aware of the council’s hostility towards himself. When he began to speak of Mon­sieur de Chédeville, all the councillors sat as expressionless as so many wooden images. Macqueron, seeing that the mayor meant to keep faithful to the old deputy, had realised that this would be the best question on which he could fight the battle, and it seemed to him to afford an excellent chance of over­throwing his opponent. Overflowing with zeal, he had set him­self on the prefect’s side in favour of Monsieur Rochefontaine; loudly asserting that he was doing his duty as became a loyal assessor, and that all honest folks were bound to support the Government. This profession of faith was quite sufficient, and he was under no necessity of indoctrinating the members of the council, for in their fear of the broom they were always on the side of the broom-stick, resolved upon supporting the established powers, so that things might remain unaltered and the price of corn be kept high. These were the views of Delhomme, who had such a reputation for justice and integrity, and he won Clou and others over to his side. It was their duty, he said, to support the Emperor’s nominee, for the Emperor knew what he was about and studied the country’s interests. The fact that Lengaigne, exasperated to find Macqueron in­vested with such importance, was Hourdequin’s only supporter, ended by fully compromising the mayor. Calumnies soon began to be bandied about, and the farmer was accused of being a “Red,” and of holding the same views as the black­guards who wanted a republic, in the hope of exterminating the peasantry. So persistently, indeed, were these reports circulated, that the Abbé Madeline took alarm, and, believing that he owed his cure to the assessor, listened to his talk and worked for Monsieur Rochefontaine, although the bishop him­self still supported Monsieur de Chédeville.

A final blow now destroyed every remaining vestige of the mayor’s influence. It was reported that, when the famous direct road between Rognes and Châteaudun was opened, Hourdequin had put half of the subvention voted for the highway into his own pocket. How he had been able to do such a thing no one could explain; but this only made the matter more mysterious and abominable. When Macqueron was questioned on the subject, he assumed an air of confusion and reserve, like a man who is compelled to keep silent out of a regard for certain proprieties. The truth was that he himself had set the story afloat, in the hope of making his own action in the matter — the gratuitous offer of his land, followed by its sale for three times its value — appear in a more favourable light. The whole village was upset, and the municipal council became divided into two parties, one comprising the assessor and all the councillors excepting Lengaigne, while the other was composed of Lengaigne with the mayor, who at this junc­ture grasped the gravity of the situation for the first time.

A fortnight previously Macqueron had expressly journeyed to Châteaudun for the purpose of prostrating himself before Monsieur Rochefontaine. He had besought him to stay at no other house but his own, if he should condescend to visit Rognes. And this was the reason why the innkeeper, that particular Sunday morning, incessantly went out on to the road on the look-out for the arrival of the candidate. He had fore­warned Delhomme, and Clou, and a few other members of the municipal council, and they were emptying a bottle of wine to get the time over. Old Fouan and Bécu were also of the party, playing cards, as well as the schoolmaster, Lequeu, who pretended that he never took anything to drink, and who was deep in the perusal of a newspaper he had brought with him. The assessor was annoyed, however, by the presence of a couple of other customers, Hyacinthe and his friend Canon, the vagabond working-man, who were sitting there opposite to each other gossipping over a bottle of brandy. Macqueron kept casting furtive glances at them, seeking for some excuse to turn them out, but in vain, for the scamps, contrary to their usual wont, were not shouting. They simply seemed to be deriding every one else. Three o’clock struck, and Monsieur Rochefontaine, who had promised to come at about two, had not yet arrived.

“Cœlina!” suddenly cried Macqueron to his wife, “did you bring up the Bordeaux, as I told you just now?”

Cœlina, who was looking after the customers, expressed by a gesture her sorrow for her forgetfulness, whereupon her husband himself rushed off to the cellar. In the next room, where the haberdashery business was carried on, and the door of which was always kept open, Berthe was playing the fine lady, and showing some pink ribbons to three peasant girls; while Françoise, who had already settled down to her new duties, was dusting the drawers with a feather broom, despite the fact that it was Sunday. The assessor, glad of any opportunity that ministered to his craving for authority, had at once taken the girl into his house, flattered by the fact of her seeking his protection. His wife happened to be in want of an assistant, and he undertook to board and lodge Françoise until he could bring about a reconciliation between her and the Buteaus. The girl swore that she would kill herself if she were taken back to their house by force.

A landau, drawn by two superb Percheron horses, now suddenly halted before the door, and Monsieur Rochefontaine, who was its only occupant, alighted, surprised and hurt that there was no one to receive him. He was hesitating about entering the tavern when Macqueron came up from the cellar, holding a bottle in each hand. The sight of the candidate overwhelmed him with confusion and despair. He was at a loss how to get rid of his bottles, and he stammered out:

“Oh, sir, how very unfortunate! I have been waiting for you for two hours without stirring, and then directly I go down into the cellar for a moment you arrive! And it was altogether on your account that I went, too! Will you have a glass of wine, Mr. Deputy?”

Monsieur Rochefontaine, who was as yet only a candidate, and who ought to have been touched by the poor devil’s evi­dent trouble, now seemed only the more put out. He was a tall fellow, barely twenty-eight years of age, with closely-cropped hair and squarely-cut beard, and carefully, though not elegantly dressed. His manner was cold and abrupt; he spoke in a curt, imperious style, and everything about him told of one who was accustomed to command, and of the state of obedience in which he kept the twelve hundred workmen employed in his works. He seemed determined to drive these peasants along as with a whip.

Cœlina and Berthe had darted forward, the latter’s bright eyes glistening boldly beneath their reddened lids.

“Please do us the honour of coming in, sir,” she said.

The candidate, however, surveying her with a quick glance, had at once estimated her at her worth. Still he entered the house, but refused to sit down, remaining standing.

“Here are some of our friends of the council,” said Mac­queron, who was beginning to recover his equanimity. “They are delighted to make your acquaintance, I’m sure. Are you not, gentlemen?”

Delhomme, Clou, and the others had risen from their seats, thunderstruck by Monsieur Rochefontaine’s stiff demeanour. Their feeling of deference became one of the deepest respect, that awe and cringing humility which every manifestation of superior power and authority awoke in them. In the profound­est silence they listened to what the deputy had decided to tell them; the theories which he held in common with the Emperor, and more especially his ideas about national progress, to which he owed the Government’s favour, in preference to the former deputy, whose opinions were condemned. Then he began to promise them new roads, railways, and canals; yes, a canal which would traverse La Beauce, and at last slake the thirst which had been parching it up for centuries. The peasants listened to him in stupefaction. What was he talking about? Water through their fields! He went on for some time longer, and then concluded by threatening those who voted wrongly with the severity of the Government and bad seasons. His listeners looked at one another. Here, indeed, was a man who could make them tremble, and whom it would be well to have for a friend.

“Of course, of course!” Macqueron kept repeating after each of the candidate’s sentences, though, at the same time, he felt a little uneasy at his stern manner.

Bécu, however, wagged his chin energetically in approval of this military kind of speech; and old Fouan, with his eyes wide open, seemed to be declaring that here, indeed, was a man! Lequeu, who usually preserved such an impassible demeanour, had grown very red, though it was impossible to guess whether he felt pleased or angered. It was only different with those two scamps, Hyacinthe and his friend Canon, whose faces plainly expressed contempt, and who felt so vastly superior to their neighbours that they sniggered and shrugged their shoulders.

As soon as Monsieur Rochefontaine had finished speaking, he turned towards the door. The assessor was overwhelmed with despair.

“What, sir, won’t you do us the honour of taking a glass of wine?” he cried.

“No, thank you; I am already very late. They are ex­pecting me at Magnolles, at Bazoches, and at a score of other places. Good day!”

Then he was gone. Berthe made no attempt to accom­pany him to the door. In fact, on returning into the haber­dashery shop, she exclaimed to Françoise: