Complete Works of Emile Zola (991 page)

Nénesse, who had often heard him prate in this strain be­fore, shrugged his shoulders, and replied:

“It is very easy to talk, but you’ll have to go, all the same. The gendarmes would soon march you off, you know.”

Without making any reply, Delphin turned aside, and with his left hand took hold of a small hatchet hanging against the wall, and used for chopping firewood. Then, without any hesitation he calmly laid the fore-finger of his right hand upon the edge of the table, and, with a smart blow of the hatchet, completely severed it.

“There, that’s what I wanted to show you!” he said. “I want you to be able to tell the others that I have done what a coward would scarcely do.”

“You maniac!” cried Nénesse, quite overcome with the sight of what Delphin had done. “You have crippled yourself for life!”

“I scoff at them all! Let the gendarmes come as soon as they like! I’m quite certain now that I sha’n’t be forced away!”

Then he picked up the severed finger and tossed it into the wood fire. After shaking his bleeding hand, he roughly wrapped his handkerchief round it, fastening it tightly with a piece of string so as to stop the flow of blood.

“Well, this needn’t prevent us finishing the bottle before we join the others,” said he. “Here’s to your health!”

“And here’s to yours!”

By this time there was so much noise and so much tobacco-smoke in Lengaigne’s public-room that it was impossible to see one another or to hear even one’s-self speak. Besides the young fellows who had just returned from balloting, there was a crowd of idlers. Hyacinthe and his friend Canon were there, busily engaged in making old Fouan drunk, the three of them sitting round a bottle of brandy. Bécu, whom his son’s bad luck, combined with the large amount of drink he had swallowed, had quite overcome, was snoring noisily, with his head on one of the tables. Delhomme and Clou were there, too, playing a game of piquet, and also sat there Lequeu, with his nose buried in a book which he was pretending to read in spite of all the surrounding uproar.

A fight among the women had served to increase the general excitement. It had occurred in this way: Flore having gone to the fountain to fill her pitcher with water, there met Cœlina who, bursting with hatred and jealousy, threw her­self upon her, clawing her furiously with her nails, and accusing her of being bribed by the excise officers to betray her neighbours. Macqueron and Lengaigne, who had rushed up, very nearly came to blows themselves; the former swearing that he would contrive to have the latter caught while he was damping his tobacco, and the latter sarcastically asking the former when they might expect to hear of his resignation. A crowd gathered, everybody mingling in the quarrel for the mere pleasure of shaking their fists and hearing themselves shout; and a general murderous engagement seemed at one time inevitable. This was averted, however, and the incident ended, but not without leaving a feeling of unsatisfied anger, and a longing to come to blows.

A passage between Victor, Lengaigne’s son, and the con­scripts almost brought about an explosion. The former having served his time in the army was swaggering before all the young fellows, shouting louder than the loudest of them, and goading them on into making all sorts of idiotic wagers; such as emptying a bottle of wine by holding it in the air and pouring its contents down their throats, or sucking the contents of a glass up through their nostrils, without touching it with their mouths. Suddenly, as some reference was made to the Macquerons, and the approaching marriage of their daughter Berthe, young Couillot began to snigger and titter out the old jokes about the girl. They would be able now, he said, to ask the husband all about her, on the day after the wedding. They had heard such a deal about her, that it would really be satisfactory to get at the truth!

Victor thereupon caused intense surprise by a show of angry warmth. Hitherto he had been one of those who most per­sistently attacked the girl, whereas now he shouted out:

“There, we’ve heard quite enough about it now. She has everything that the others have. She has!”

This assertion provoked a loud clamour. Victor had seen, then? She had been his mistress, eh? While vigorously deny­ing the truth of this accusation, and striking his breast with his fists, he adhered to his recent statement, whereupon young Couillot, who was very drunk, violently contradicted him, though he knew absolutely nothing about the matter. In point of fact, he was simply actuated by pig-headed perversity. Victor bellowed out that he had once said the same as Couillot, and that, if he now said differently, it certainly wasn’t for love of the Macquerons! It was because the truth is the truth! And then he fell upon the conscript, whose friends were obliged to drag him from his grasp.

“Say as I say, damn you, or I’ll wring your neck!” In spite of Victor’s violence, however, several of the com­pany still retained their doubts on the subject. No one could understand his hot outburst of anger, for he generally showed himself very hard towards women, and he had publicly repudiated his sister, whom her impure amours, so it was said, had now landed in an hospital. That foul Suzanne! Ah! she did well to keep her tainted carcase away from them!

Flore now brought up fresh supplies of wine, but glasses were chinked in vain; the atmosphere was still heavy with a brooding storm of angry abuse and violence. No one had any idea of going off to dine. Drinking keeps folk from getting hungry. The conscripts at last began to troll out a patriotic song, accompanying it with such heavy blows upon the tables that the flames of the three petroleum lamps flickered wildly, and emitted puffs of acrid smoke. The atmosphere was get­ting unbearable, and Delhomme and Clou opened the window behind them. Just at that moment Buteau entered the room and glided into a corner. His face did not wear its usual air of braggart self-assertion. Indeed there was a look of uneasy anxiety in his little eyes, and he glanced at the company one after another, as though he were trying to read their thoughts. He had doubtless come to listen to the gossip, in view of discovering whether any of his neighbours entertained any sus­picion of him. He had felt quite unable to stay any longer at home, where he had shut himself up since the previous evening without stirring out. The presence of Hyacinthe and Canon seemed to produce a deep effect upon him; so much so, indeed, that he retained from quarrelling with them for making old Fouan drunk. For a long time he sat gazing earnestly at Del­homme. But it was Bécu, sleeping on amid all the surrounding uproar, who more than any one else seemed to exercise his thoughts. Was the rural constable really asleep, or was he only artfully pretending to be so? Buteau nudged him with his elbow, and felt somewhat relieved on discovering that he was slobbering all over his sleeve. He then concentrated his attention upon the schoolmaster, upon whose face he fancied he could detect a most extraordinary expression. Why was he looking so different from what he usually did?

As a matter of fact, Lequeu, although pretending to be absorbed in his book, was shaken by sudden starts, with his features contracted by a rising fit of anger. The conscripts, with their songs and idiotic merriment, seemed to be completely upsetting him.

“The infernal brutes!” he muttered, still managing to restrain himself.

For some months past his position in the village had been growing very uncomfortable. He had always been rough and harsh with the children, and he was given to sending them off home to the paternal dung-heap with a box on the ears. But latterly he had grown still more violent, and there had been a nasty business about a little girl’s ear which he had slit with a blow from a ruler. Several of the children’s parents had then written, asking that he might be removed. Now, too, Berthe Macqueron’s approaching marriage destroyed a long-standing hope of his, annihilating the edifice he had been mentally con­structing for years past. It came upon him like a thunderbolt. Oh, those hateful peasants! a foul brood that denied him its daughters, and was about to get him turned adrift merely on account of a little hussy’s ear!

He now suddenly tapped the book he was holding, just as though he were in his class-room, and cried out to the conscripts:

“For goodness’ sake, let us have a little less noise! You seem to think it would be very amusing to have your brains blown out by the Prussians!”

The company turned their eyes upon him in amazement. Amusing? No there was certainly nothing amusing in that idea! Delhomme observed, however, that every one was bound to defend his own homestead and soil, and that if ever the Prussians came to La Beauce they would find that the Beaucerons were no cowards. But as to being sent off to fight for other folks’ fields! No, there was certainly nothing amus­ing about that!

Just then Delphin now made his appearance, accompanied by Nénesse. His face was greatly flushed, and his eyes were glistening feverishly. He had heard Delhomme’s remark, and, as he seated himself at one of the tables with the conscripts, he shouted out:

“Yes, if the Prussians show their faces here, we’ll make mince-meat of them pretty sharp!”

The handkerchief secured round his hand attracted attention, and inquiries were made as to what was the matter. Oh, nothing at all! he said; he had merely cut himself. Then, bringing down his other fist with such violence as to make the table rattle, he ordered a bottle of wine.

Canon and Hyacinthe were looking at the young fellows, not with any show of anger, but rather with an air of condescend­ing pity. To be so happy, the conscripts must certainly be very young and idiotic. By-and-bye, Canon, who was now very drunk, grew maudlin over his theories for the reorganisation of future happiness. Resting his chin on his hands, he spoke as follows:

“War, confound it! Ah! it’s time we became the masters! You all know my scheme; no more military service, no more taxes; everybody’s appetites and desires completely satisfied with the least possible amount of work. You approved of the plan yourselves, and declared that a man must be his own enemy not to approve of it. And it will soon be realised; the day is fast approaching when you will be able to retain your money and your children, providing you only rally to our side.”

Hyacinthe was just nodding his approval, when Lequeu, quite unable to restrain himself any longer, burst out violently:

“Shut up, you infernal buffoon, with your earthly paradise and your precious schemes of forcing every one to be happy in spite of themselves! It’s all a preposterous lie! Could such a state of affairs possibly exist among us? We are too rotten and polluted. Before such things could happen, some wild, savage crew — Cossacks or Chinese — would have to come and make a clean sweep of us.”

This outburst on the part of the schoolmaster created such a feeling of amazement that every voice was hushed, and com­plete silence reigned in the room. What next? This cold­blooded, sneaking fellow, who had never allowed any one to have the least inkling of his private opinions, had at last spoken out! They all listened to him attentively, especially Buteau, who anxiously waited for the rest of his discourse, as though what he was going to say might have some sort of connection with the subject that was uppermost in his mind.

The smoke had cleared off, thanks to the open window, and the soft, damp, evening air had streamed into the room, remind­ing one of the peacefulness of the slumbering country outside. The schoolmaster, bursting the bonds of timid reserve which had restrained him for ten years, no longer caring for anything, cast all decorum of speech to the winds, smarting under the blow that had wrecked his means of livelihood, and letting off all the accumulated hatred which was choking him.

“Do you think that the people about here are bigger fools than their own calves, that you come telling them that roasted larks will fall from the sky into their mouths? Before any such scheme as yours becomes practicable, the earth itself will have been annihilated.”

Canon, who had never yet come across his match, visibly quailed before the schoolmaster’s violent onslaught. He made an attempt to fall back upon his stories about his friends in Paris, repeating their theories of all the land reverting to the State, which would organise enormous farms, conducted on strictly scientific principles. However, Lequeu cut him short.

“Yes, I know all about that nonsense! But, long before you get a chance of trying your fine system of agriculture, all our French soil will have disappeared, submerged beneath a deluge of corn from America. Listen now for a moment: this little book that I have been reading again supplies a lot of particulars on the subject which will entirely bear me out. I said so, once before. Yes, indeed, our peasants may take themselves off to bed, for the candle is burnt out.”

Then, in the tone of voice in which he was wont to give a lesson to his pupils, he proceeded to speak about the corn supplies of America. There were mighty plains over there, he told them, as large as kingdoms, in the midst of which La Beauce would be quite lost, like a mere clod of earth. The soil, too, was so fertile that, instead of having to manure it, it was necessary to drain off its exuberant richness by a preliminary crop; but, in spite of that, two full crops were harvested every year. There were farms of seventy thousand acres in extent, divided into sections, which were again cut up into sub-sections, each section being under the supervision of a steward, and each sub-section under the direction of a foreman. They were provided with houses for the men, stables for the cattle, sheds for the tools, and other buildings where all the cooking was carried on. There were whole battalions of farm-servants, who were hired at spring-time, and organised just like campaigning armies — boarded, lodged, and physicked, and then paid off in the autumn. The furrows ploughed and sown there were miles in length, and there were spreading seas of ripening corn, the limits of which extended far out of sight. Men were merely employed there as supervisors, all the actual work being done by machinery. There were double-ploughs, furnished with deep-cutting discs; sowing-machines, weeding-machines, reaping-machines, and locomotive threshing-machines, that also stacked the straw. There were ploughmen who were skilful engineers, and squads of workmen who followed every machine on horseback, always ready to dismount and tighten a screw, or change a bolt, or hammer a bar. The soil was, in fact, like a sort of bank, managed by financiers. It was treated systemati­cally, and cropped smooth and close to the very surface, yield­ing to impersonal and mechanical science ten times as much as it offered to men’s loving arms.