CHAPTER II.
EXPERIMENTS IN AGRICULTURE.
How happy they felt when they awoke next morning! Bouvard smoked a pipe,and Pecuchet took a pinch of snuff, which they declared to be the bestthey had ever had in their whole lives. Then they went to the window toobserve the landscape.
In front of them lay the fields, with a barn and the church-bell at theright and a screen of poplars at the left.
Two principal walks, forming a cross, divided the garden into fourparts. The vegetables were contained in wide beds, where, at differentspots, arose dwarf cypresses and trees cut in distaff fashion. On oneside, an arbour just touched an artificial hillock; while, on the other,the espaliers were supported against a wall; and at the end, a railedopening gave a glimpse of the country outside. Beyond the wall there wasan orchard, and, next to a hedge of elm trees, a thicket; and behind therailed opening there was a narrow road.
They were gazing on this spectacle together, when a man, with hairturning grey, and wearing a black overcoat, appeared walking along thepathway, striking with his cane all the bars of the railed fence. Theold servant informed them that this was M. Vaucorbeil, a doctor of somereputation in the district. She mentioned that the other people of notewere the Comte de Faverges, formerly a deputy, and an extensive owner ofland and cattle; M. Foureau, who sold wood, plaster, all sorts ofthings; M. Marescot, the notary; the Abbe Jeufroy; and the widow Bordin,who lived on her private income. The old woman added that, as forherself, they called her Germaine, on account of the late Germain, herhusband. She used to go out as a charwoman, but would be very glad toenter into the gentlemen's service. They accepted her offer, and thenwent out to take a look at their farm, which was situated over athousand yards away.
When they entered the farmyard, Maitre Gouy, the farmer, was shouting ata servant-boy, while his wife, on a stool, kept pressed between her legsa turkey-hen, which she was stuffing with balls of flour.
The man had a low forehead, a thin nose, a downward look, and broadshoulders. The woman was very fair-haired, with her cheek-bones speckledwith bran, and that air of simplicity which may be seen in the faces ofpeasants on the windows of churches.
In the kitchen, bundles of hemp hung from the ceiling. Three old gunsstood in a row over the upper part of the chimney-piece. A dresserloaded with flowered crockery occupied the space in the middle of thewall; and the window-panes with their green bottle-glass threw over thetin and copper utensils a sickly lustre.
The two Parisians wished to inspect the property, which they had seenonly once--and that a mere passing glance. Maitre Gouy and his wifeescorted them, and then began a litany of complaints.
All the appointments, from the carthouse to the boilery, stood in needof repair. It would be necessary to erect an additional store for thecheese, to put fresh iron on the railings, to raise the boundaries, todeepen the ponds, and to plant anew a considerable number of apple treesin the three enclosures.
Then they went to look at the lands under cultivation. Maitre Gouy ranthem down, saying that they ate up too much manure; cartage wasexpensive; it was impossible to get rid of stones; and the bad grasspoisoned the meadows. This depreciation of his land lessened thepleasure experienced by Bouvard in walking over it.
They came back by the hollow path under an avenue of beech trees. Onthis side the house revealed its front and its courtyard. It was paintedwhite, with a coating of yellow. The carthouse and the storehouse, thebakehouse and the woodshed, made, by means of a return, two lower wings.The kitchen communicated with a little hall. Next came the vestibule, asecond hall larger than the other, and the drawing-room. The four roomson the first floor opened on the corridor facing the courtyard. Pecuchetselected one of them for his collections. The last was to be thelibrary; and, on opening some of the presses, they found a few ancientvolumes, but they had no fancy for reading the titles of them. The mosturgent matter was the garden.
Bouvard, while passing close to the row of elm trees, discovered undertheir branches a plaster figure of a woman. With two fingers she heldwide her petticoat, with her knees bent and her head over her shoulder,as if she were afraid of being surprised.
"I beg your pardon! Don't inconvenience yourself!"--and this pleasantryamused them so much that they kept repeating it twenty times a day forthree months.
Meanwhile, the people of Chavignolles were desirous to make theiracquaintance. Persons came to look at them through the railed fence.They stopped up the openings with boards. This thwarted the inhabitants.To protect himself from the sun Bouvard wore on his head a handkerchief,fastened so as to look like a turban. Pecuchet wore his cap, and he hada big apron with a pocket in front, in which a pair of pruning-shears,his silk handkerchief, and his snuff-box jostled against one another.Bare-armed, side by side, they dug, weeded, and pruned, imposing taskson each other, and eating their meals as quickly as ever they could,taking care, however, to drink their coffee on the hillock, in order toenjoy the view.
If they happened to come across a snail, they pounced on it and crushedit, making grimaces with the corners of their mouths, as if they werecracking nuts. They never went out without their grafting implements,and they used to cut the worms in two with such force that the iron ofthe implement would sink three inches deep. To get rid of caterpillars,they struck the trees furiously with switches.
Bouvard planted a peony in the middle of the grass plot, and tomatoes sothat they would hang down like chandeliers under the arch of the arbour.
Pecuchet had a large pit dug in front of the kitchen, and divided itinto three parts, where he could manufacture composts which would growa heap of things, whose detritus would again bring other crops,providing in this way other manures to a limitless extent; and he fellinto reveries on the edge of the pit, seeing in the future mountains offruits, floods of flowers, and avalanches of vegetables. But thehorse-dung, so necessary for the beds, was not to be had, inasmuch asthe farmers did not sell it, and the innkeepers refused to supply it. Atlast, after many searches, in spite of the entreaties of Bouvard, andflinging aside all shamefacedness, he made up his mind to go for thedung himself.
It was in the midst of this occupation that Madame Bordin accosted himone day on the high-road. When she had complimented him, she inquiredabout his friend. This woman's black eyes, very small and verybrilliant, her high complexion, and her assurance (she even had a littlemoustache) intimidated Pecuchet. He replied curtly, and turned his backon her--an impoliteness of which Bouvard disapproved.
Then the bad weather came on, with frost and snow. They installedthemselves in the kitchen, and went in for trellis-work, or else keptgoing from one room to another, chatted by the chimney corner, orwatched the rain coming down.
Since the middle of Lent they had awaited the approach of spring, andeach morning repeated: "Everything is starting out!" But the season waslate, and they consoled their impatience by saying: "Everything is goingto start out!"
At length they were able to gather the green peas. The asparagus gave agood crop; and the vine was promising.
Since they were able to work together at gardening, they must needssucceed at agriculture; and they were seized with an ambition tocultivate the farm. With common sense and study of the subject, theywould get through it beyond a doubt.
But they should first see how others carried on operations, and so theydrew up a letter in which they begged of M. de Faverges to do them thehonour of allowing them to visit the lands which he cultivated.
The count made an appointment immediately to meet them.
After an hour's walking, they reached the side of a hill overlooking thevalley of the Orne. The river wound its way to the bottom of the valley.Blocks of red sandstone stood here and there, and in the distance largermasses of stone formed, as it were, a cliff overhanging fields of ripecorn. On the opposite hill the verdure was so abundant that it hid thehouse from view. Trees divided it into unequal squares, outliningthemselves amid the grass by more sombre lines.
Suddenly the entire estate came int
o view. The tiled roofs showed wherethe farm stood. To the right rose the chateau with its white facade, andbeyond it was a wood. A lawn descended to the river, into which a row ofplane trees cast their shadows.
The two friends entered a field of lucern, which people were spreading.Women wearing straw hats, with cotton handkerchiefs round their heads,and paper shades, were lifting with rakes the hay which lay on theground, while at the end of the plain, near the stacks, bundles werebeing rapidly flung into a long cart, yoked to three horses.
The count advanced, followed by his manager. He was dressed in dimity;and his stiff figure and mutton-chop whiskers gave him at the same timethe air of a magistrate and a dandy. Even when he was speaking, hisfeatures did not appear to move.
As soon as they had exchanged some opening courtesies, he explained hissystem with regard to fodder: the swathes should be turned withoutscattering them; the ricks should be conical, and the bundles madeimmediately on the spot, and then piled together by tens. As for theEnglish rake, the meadow was too uneven for such an implement.
A little girl, with her stockingless feet in old shoes, and showing herskin through the rents in her dress, was supplying the women with cider,which she poured out of a jug supported against her hip. The count askedwhere this child came from, but nobody could tell. The women who weremaking the hay had picked her up to wait on them during the harvesting.He shrugged his shoulders, and just as he was moving away from the spot,he gave vent to some complaints as to the immorality of our countrydistricts.
Bouvard eulogised his lucern field.
It was fairly good, in spite of the ravages of the _cuscute_.[2]
The future agriculturists opened their eyes wide at the word "cuscute."
On account of the number of his cattle, he resorted to artificialmeadowing; besides, it went well before the other crops--a thing thatdid not always happen in the case of fodder.
"This at least appears to me incontestable."
"Oh! incontestable," replied Bouvard and Pecuchet in one breath. Theywere on the borders of a field which had been carefully thinned. Ahorse, which was being led by hand, was dragging along a large box,mounted on three wheels. Seven ploughshares below were opening inparallel lines small furrows, in which the grain fell through pipesdescending to the ground.
"Here," said the count, "I sow turnips. The turnip is the basis of myquadrennial system of cultivation."
And he was proceeding to deliver a lecture on the drill-plough when aservant came to look for him, and told him that he was wanted at thechateau.
His manager took his place--a man with a forbidding countenance andobsequious manners.
He conducted "these gentlemen" to another field, where fourteenharvesters, with bare breasts and legs apart, were cutting down rye. Thesteels whistled in the chaff, which came pouring straight down. Each ofthem described in front of him a large semicircle, and, all in a line,they advanced at the same time. The two Parisians admired their arms,and felt smitten with an almost religious veneration for the opulence ofthe soil. Then they proceeded to inspect some of the ploughed lands. Thetwilight was falling, and the crows swooped down into the ridges.
As they proceeded they met a flock of sheep pasturing here and there,and they could hear their continual browsing. The shepherd, seated onthe stump of a tree, was knitting a woollen stocking, with his dogbeside him.
The manager assisted Bouvard and Pecuchet to jump over a wooden fence,and they passed close to two orchards, where cows were ruminating underthe apple trees.
All the farm-buildings were contiguous and occupied the three sides ofthe yard. Work was carried on there mechanically by means of a turbinemoved by a stream which had been turned aside for the purpose. Leathernbands stretched from one roof to the other, and in the midst of dung aniron pump performed its operations.
The manager drew their attention to little openings in the sheepfoldsnearly on a level with the floor, and ingenious doors in the pigstieswhich could shut of their own accord.
The barn was vaulted like a cathedral, with brick arches resting onstone walls.
In order to amuse the gentlemen, a servant-girl threw a handful of oatsbefore the hens. The shaft of the press appeared to them enormously big.Next they went up to the pigeon-house. The dairy especially astonishedthem. By turning cocks in the corners, you could get enough water toflood the flagstones, and, as you entered, a sense of grateful coolnesscame upon you as a surprise. Brown jars, ranged close to the barredopening in the wall, were full to the brim of milk, while the cream wascontained in earthen pans of less depth. Then came rolls of butter, likefragments of a column of copper, and froth overflowed from the tin pailswhich had just been placed on the ground.
But the gem of the farm was the ox-stall. It was divided into twosections by wooden bars standing upright their full length, one portionbeing reserved for the cattle, and the other for persons who attendedon them. You could scarcely see there, as all the loopholes were closedup. The oxen were eating, with little chains attached to them, and theirbodies exhaled a heat which was kept down by the low ceiling. Butsomeone let in the light, and suddenly a thin stream of water flowedinto the little channel which was beside the racks. Lowings were heard,and the horns of the cattle made a rattling noise like sticks. All theoxen thrust their muzzles between the bars, and proceeded to drinkslowly.
The big teams made their way into the farmyard, and the foals began toneigh. On the ground floor two or three lanterns flashed and thendisappeared. The workpeople were passing, dragging their wooden shoesover the pebbles, and the bell was ringing for supper.
The two visitors took their departure.
All they had seen delighted them, and their resolution was taken. Afterthat evening, they took out of their library the four volumes of _LaMaison Rustique_, went through Gasperin's course of lectures, andsubscribed to an agricultural journal.
In order to be able to attend the fairs more conveniently, theypurchased a car, which Bouvard used to drive.
Dressed in blue blouses, with large-brimmed hats, gaiters up to theirknees, and horse-dealers' cudgels in their hands, they prowled aroundcattle, asked questions of labourers, and did not fail to attend at allthe agricultural gatherings.
Soon they wearied Maitre Gouy with their advice, and especially by theirdepreciation of his system of fallowing. But the farmer stuck to hisroutine. He asked to be allowed a quarter, putting forward as a reasonthe heavy falls of hail. As for the farm-dues, he never furnished any ofthem. His wife raised an outcry at even the most legitimate claims. Atlength Bouvard declared his intention not to renew the lease.
Thenceforth Maitre Gouy economised the manures, allowed weeds to growup, ruined the soil; and he took himself off with a fierce air, whichshowed that he was meditating some scheme of revenge.
Bouvard had calculated that 20,000 francs, that is to say, more thanfour times the rent of the farm, would be enough to start with. Hisnotary sent the amount from Paris.
The property which they had undertaken to cultivate comprised fifteenhectares[3] of grounds and meadows, twenty-three of arable land, andfive of waste land, situated on a hillock covered with stones, and knownby the name of La Butte.[4]
They procured all the indispensable requirements for the purpose: fourhorses, a dozen cows, six hogs, one hundred and sixty sheep, and for thehousehold two carters, two women, a shepherd, and in addition a big dog.
In order to get cash at once, they sold their fodder. The price was paidto them directly, and the gold napoleons counted over a chest of oatsappeared to them more glittering than any others, more rare andvaluable.
In the month of November they brewed cider. It was Bouvard that whippedthe horse, while Pecuchet on the trough shovelled off the strainedapples.
They panted while pressing the screw, drew the juice off into the vat,looked after the bung-holes, with heavy wooden shoes on their feet; andin all this they found a huge diversion.
Starting with the principle that you cannot have too much corn, they gotrid of a
bout half of their artificial meadows; and, as they had not richpasturing, they made use of oil-cakes, which they put into the groundwithout pounding, with the result that the crop was a wretched one.
The following year they sowed the ground very thickly. Storms broke out,and the ears of corn were scattered.
Nevertheless, they set their hearts on the cheese, and undertook toclear away the stones from La Butte. A hamper carried away the stones.The whole year, from morn to eve, in sunshine or in rain, theeverlasting hamper was seen, with the same man and the same horse,toiling up the hill, coming down, and going up again. Sometimes Bouvardwalked in the rear, making a halt half-way up the hill to dry the sweatoff his forehead.
As they had confidence in nobody, they treated the animals themselves,giving them purgatives and clysters.
Serious irregularities occurred in the household. The girl in thepoultry-yard became _enceinte_. Then they took married servants; but theplace soon swarmed with children, cousins, male and female, uncles, andsisters-in-law. A horde of people lived at their expense; and theyresolved to sleep in the farm-house successively.
But when evening came they felt depressed, for the filthiness of theroom was offensive to them; and besides, Germaine, who brought in themeals, grumbled at every journey. They were preyed upon in all sorts ofways. The threshers in the barn stuffed corn into the pitchers out ofwhich they drank. Pecuchet caught one of them in the act, and exclaimed,while pushing him out by the shoulders:
"Wretch! You are a disgrace to the village that gave you birth!"
His presence inspired no respect. Moreover, he was plagued with thegarden. All his time would not have sufficed to keep it in order.Bouvard was occupied with the farm. They took counsel and decided onthis arrangement.
The first point was to have good hotbeds. Pecuchet got one made ofbrick. He painted the frames himself; and, being afraid of too muchsunlight, he smeared over all the bell-glasses with chalk. He took careto cut off the tops of the leaves for slips. Next he devoted attentionto the layers. He attempted many sorts of grafting--flute-graft,crown-graft, shield-graft, herbaceous grafting, and whip-grafting. Withwhat care he adjusted the two libers! how he tightened the ligatures!and what a heap of ointment it took to cover them again!
Twice a day he took his watering-pot and swung it over the plants as ifhe would have shed incense over them. In proportion as they became greenunder the water, which fell in a thin shower, it seemed to him as if hewere quenching his own thirst and reviving along with them. Then,yielding to a feeling of intoxication, he snatched off the rose of thewatering-pot, and poured out the liquid copiously from the open neck.
At the end of the elm hedge, near the female figure in plaster, stood akind of log hut. Pecuchet locked up his implements there, and spentdelightful hours there picking the berries, writing labels, and puttinghis little pots in order. He sat down to rest himself on a box at thedoor of the hut, and then planned fresh improvements.
He had put two clumps of geraniums at the end of the front steps.Between the cypresses and the distaff-shaped trees he had plantedsunflowers; and as the plots were covered with buttercups, and all thewalks with fresh sand, the garden was quite dazzling in its abundance ofyellow hues.
But the bed swarmed with larvae. In spite of the dead leaves placed thereto heat the plants, under the painted frames and the whitenedbell-glasses, only a stunted crop made its appearance. He failed withthe broccoli, the mad-apples, the turnips, and the watercress, which hehad tried to raise in a tub. After the thaw all the artichokes wereruined. The cabbages gave him some consolation. One of them especiallyexcited his hopes. It expanded and shut up quickly, but ended bybecoming prodigious and absolutely uneatable. No matter--Pecuchet wascontent with being the possessor of a monstrosity!
Then he tried his hand at what he regarded as the _summum_ of art--thegrowing of melons.
He sowed many varieties of seed in plates filled with vegetable mould,which he deposited in the soil of the bed. Then he raised another bed,and when it had put forth its virgin buddings he transplanted the bestof them, putting bell-glasses over them. He made all the cuttings inaccordance with the precepts of _The Good Gardener_. He treated theflowers tenderly; he let the fruits grow in a tangle, and then selectedone on either arm, removed the others, and, as soon as they were aslarge as nuts, he slipped a little board around their rind to preventthem from rotting by contact with dung. He heated them, gave them air,swept off the mist from the bell-glasses with his pocket-handkerchief,and, if he saw lowering clouds, he quickly brought out straw mattings toprotect them.
He did not sleep at night on account of them. Many times he even got upout of bed, and, putting on his boots without stockings, shivering inhis shirt, he traversed the entire garden to throw his own counterpaneover his hotbed frames.
The melons ripened. Bouvard grinned when he saw the first of them. Thesecond was no better; neither was the third. For each of them Pecuchetfound a fresh excuse, down to the very last, which he threw out of thewindow, declaring that he could not understand it at all.
The fact was, he had planted some things beside others of a differentspecies; and so the sweet melons got mixed up with the kitchen-gardenmelons, the big Portugal with the Grand Mogul variety; and this anarchywas completed by the proximity of the tomatoes--the result beingabominable hybrids that had the taste of pumpkins.
Then Pecuchet devoted his attention to the flowers. He wrote toDumouchel to get shrubs with seeds for him, purchased a stock of heathsoil, and set to work resolutely.
But he planted passion-flowers in the shade and pansies in the sun,covered the hyacinths with dung, watered the lilies near their blossoms,tried to stimulate the fuchsias with glue, and actually roasted apomegranate by exposing it to the heat of the kitchen fire.
When the weather got cold, he screened the eglantines under domes ofstrong paper which had been lubricated with a candle. They looked likesugarloaves held up by sticks.
The dahlias had enormous props; and between these straight lines couldbe seen the winding branches of a Sophora Japonica, which remainedmotionless, without either perishing or growing.
However, since even the rarest trees flourish in the gardens of thecapital, they must needs grow successfully at Chavignolles; and Pecuchetprovided himself with the Indian lilac, the Chinese rose, and theeucalyptus, then in the beginning of its fame. But all his experimentsfailed; and at each successive failure he was vastly astonished.
Bouvard, like him, met with obstacles. They held many consultations,opened a book, then passed on to another, and did not know what toresolve upon when there was so much divergence of opinion.
Thus, Puvis recommends marl, while the Roret Manual is opposed to it. Asfor plaster, in spite of the example of Franklin, Riefel and M. Rigauddid not appear to be in raptures about it.
According to Bouvard, fallow lands were a Gothic prejudice. However,Leclerc has noted cases in which they are almost indispensable. Gasparinmentions a native of Lyons who cultivated cereals in the same field forhalf a century: this upsets the theory as to the variation of crops.Tull extols tillage to the prejudice of rich pasture; and there is MajorBeetson, who by means of tillage would abolish pasture altogether.
In order to understand the indications of the weather, they studied theclouds according to the classification of Luke Howard. They contemplatedthose which spread out like manes, those which resemble islands, andthose which might be taken for mountains of snow--trying to distinguishthe nimbus from the cirrus and the stratus from the cumulus. The shapeshad altered even before they had discovered the names.
The barometer deceived them; the thermometer taught them nothing; andthey had recourse to the device invented in the time of Louis XIV. by apriest from Touraine. A leech in a glass bottle was to rise up in theevent of rain, to stick to the bottom in settled weather, and to moveabout if a storm were threatening. But nearly always the atmospherecontradicted the leech. Three others were put in along with it. Theentire four behaved differently.
After many reflections, Bouvard realised that he had made a mistake. Hisproperty required cultivation on a large scale, the concentrated system,and he risked all the disposable capital that he had left--thirtythousand francs.
Stimulated by Pecuchet, he began to rave about pasture. In the pit forcomposts were heaped up branches of trees, blood, guts,feathers--everything that he could find. He used Belgian cordial, Swisswash, lye, red herrings, wrack, rags; sent for guano, tried tomanufacture it himself; and, pushing his principles to the farthestpoint, he would not suffer even urine or other refuse to be lost. Intohis farmyard were carried carcasses of animals, with which he manuredhis lands. Their cut-up carrion strewed the fields. Bouvard smiled inthe midst of this stench. A pump fixed to a dung-cart spattered theliquid manure over the crops. To those who assumed an air of disgust, heused to say, "But 'tis gold! 'tis gold!" And he was sorry that he hadnot still more manures. Happy the land where natural grottoes are foundfull of the excrements of birds!
The colza was thin; the oats only middling; and the corn sold very badlyon account of its smell. A curious circumstance was that La Butte, withthe stones cleared away from it at last, yielded less than before.
He deemed it advisable to renew his material. He bought a Guillaumescarifier, a Valcourt weeder, an English drill-machine, and the greatswing-plough of Mathieu de Dombasle, but the ploughboy disparaged it.
"Do you learn to use it!"
"Well, do you show me!"
He made an attempt to show, but blundered, and the peasants sneered. Hecould never make them obey the command of the bell. He was incessantlybawling after them, rushing from one place to another, taking downobservations in a note-book, making appointments and forgetting allabout them--and his head was boiling over with industrial speculations.
He got the notion into his head of cultivating the poppy for the purposeof getting opium from it, and above all the milk-vetch, which heintended to sell under the name of "family coffee."
Finally, in order to fatten his oxen the more quickly, he blooded themfor an entire fortnight.
He killed none of his pigs, and gorged them with salted oats. The pigstysoon became too narrow. The animals obstructed the farmyard, broke downthe fences, and went gnawing at everything.
In the hot weather twenty-five sheep began to get spoiled, and shortlyafterwards died. The same week three bulls perished owing to Bouvard'sblood-lettings.
In order to destroy the maggots, he thought of shutting up the fowls ina hencoop on rollers, which two men had to push along behind theplough--a thing which had only the effect of breaking the claws of thefowls.
He manufactured beer with germander-leaves, and gave it to theharvesters as cider. The children cried, the women moaned, and the menraged. They all threatened to go, and Bouvard gave way to them.
However, to convince them of the harmlessness of his beverage, heswallowed several bottles of it in their presence; then he got cramps,but concealed his pains under a playful exterior. He even got themixture sent to his own residence. He drank some of it with Pecuchet inthe evening, and both of them tried to persuade themselves that it wasgood. Besides, it was necessary not to let it go to waste. Bouvard'scolic having got worse, Germaine went for the doctor.
He was a grave-looking man, with a round forehead, and he began byfrightening his patient. He thought the gentleman's attack of cholerinemust be connected with the beer which people were talking about in thecountry. He desired to know what it was composed of, and found faultwith it in scientific terms with shruggings of the shoulders. Pecuchet,who had supplied the recipe for it, was mortified.
In spite of pernicious limings, stinted redressings, and unseasonableweedings, Bouvard had in front of him, in the following year, a splendidcrop of wheat. He thought of drying it by fermentation, in the Dutchfashion, on the Clap-Meyer system: that is to say, he got it thrown downall of a heap and piled up in stacks, which would be overturned as soonas the damp escaped from them, and then exposed to the open air--afterwhich Bouvard went off without the least uneasiness.
Next day, while they were at dinner, they heard under the beech treesthe beating of a drum. Germaine ran out to know what was the matter, butthe man was by this time some distance away. Almost at the same momentthe church-bell rang violently.
Bouvard and Pecuchet felt alarmed, and, impatient to learn what hadhappened, they rushed bareheaded along the Chavignolles road.
An old woman passed them. She knew nothing about it. They stopped alittle boy, who replied:
"I believe it's a fire!"
And the drum continued beating and the bell ringing more loudly thanbefore. At length they reached the nearest houses in the village. Thegrocer, some yards away, exclaimed:
"The fire is at your place!"
Pecuchet stepped out in double-quick time; and he said to Bouvard, whotrotted by his side with equal speed:
"One, two! one, two!"--counting his steps regularly, like the chasseursof Vincennes.
The road which they took was a continuously uphill one; the slopingground hid the horizon from their view. They reached a height close toLa Butte, and at a single glance the disaster was revealed to them.
All the stacks, here and there, were flaming like volcanoes in the midstof the plain, stripped bare in the evening stillness. Around the biggestof them there were about three hundred persons, perhaps; and under thecommand of M. Foureau, the mayor, in a tricoloured scarf, youngsters,with poles and crooks, were dragging down the straw from the top inorder to save the rest of it.
Bouvard, in his eagerness, was near knocking down Madame Bordin, whohappened to be there. Then, seeing one of his servant-boys, he loadedhim with insults for not having given him warning. The servant-boy, onthe contrary, through excess of zeal, had at first rushed to the house,then to the church, next to where Monsieur himself was staying, and hadreturned by the other road.
Bouvard lost his head. His entire household gathered round him, alltalking together, and he forbade them to knock down the stacks, beggedof them to give him some help, called for water, and asked where werethe firemen.
"We've got to get them first!" exclaimed the mayor.
"That's your fault!" replied Bouvard.
He flew into a passion, and made use of improper language, and everyonewondered at the patience of M. Foureau, who, all the same, was a surlyindividual, as might be seen from his big lips and bulldog jaw.
The heat of the stacks became so great that nobody could come close tothem any longer. Under the devouring flames the straw writhed with acrackling sound, and the grains of corn lashed one's face as if theywere buckshot. Then the stack fell in a huge burning pile to the ground,and a shower of sparks flew out of it, while fiery waves floated abovethe red mass, which presented in its alternations of colour parts rosyas vermilion and others like clotted blood. The night had come, the windwas swelling; from time to time, a flake of fire passed across the blacksky.
Bouvard viewed the conflagration with tears in his eyes, which wereveiled by his moist lids, and his whole face was swollen with grief.Madame Bordin, while playing with the fringes of her green shawl, calledhim "Poor Monsieur!" and tried to console him. Since nothing could bedone, he ought to do himself justice.
Pecuchet did not weep. Very pale, or rather livid, with open mouth, andhair stuck together with cold sweat, he stood apart, brooding. But thecure who had suddenly arrived on the scene, murmured, in a wheedlingtone:
"Ah! really, what a misfortune! It is very annoying. Be sure that Ienter into your feelings."
The others did not affect any regret. They chatted and smiled, withhands spread out before the flame. An old man picked out burning strawsto light his pipe with; and one blackguard cried out that it was veryfunny.
"Yes, 'tis nice fun!" retorted Bouvard, who had just overheard him.
The fire abated, the burning piles subsided, and an hour later onlyashes remained, making round, black marks on the plain. Then allwithdrew.
Madame Bordin and the Abbe Jeufroy led MM. Bouvard a
nd Pecuchet back totheir abode.
On the way the widow addressed very polite reproaches to her neighbouron his unsociableness, and the ecclesiastic expressed his great surpriseat not having up to the present known such a distinguished parishionerof his.
When they were alone together, they inquired into the cause of theconflagration, and, in place of recognising, like the rest of the world,that the moist straw had taken fire of its own accord, they suspectedthat it was a case of revenge. It proceeded, no doubt, from Maitre Gouy,or perhaps from the mole-catcher. Six months before Bouvard had refusedto accept his services, and even maintained, before a circle oflisteners, that his trade was a baneful one, and that the governmentought to prohibit it. Since that time the man prowled about thelocality. He wore his beard full-grown, and appeared to themfrightful-looking, especially in the evening, when he presented himselfoutside the farmyard, shaking his long pole garnished with hangingmoles.
The damage done was considerable, and in order to know their exactposition, Pecuchet for eight days worked at Bouvard's books, which hepronounced to be "a veritable labyrinth." After he had compared theday-book, the correspondence, and the ledger covered with pencil-notesand discharges, he realised the truth: no goods to sell, no funds to getin, and in the cash-box zero. The capital showed a deficit ofthirty-three thousand francs.
Bouvard would not believe it, and more than twenty times they went overthe accounts. They always arrived at the same conclusion. Two yearsmore of such farming, and their fortune would be spent on it! The onlyremedy was to sell out.
To do that, it was necessary to consult a notary. The step was adisagreeable one: Pecuchet took it on himself.
In M. Marescot's opinion, it was better not to put up any posters. Hewould speak about the farm to respectable clients, and would let themmake proposals.
"Very well," said Bouvard, "we have time before us." He intended to geta tenant; then they would see. "We shall not be more unlucky thanbefore; only now we are forced to practise economy!"
Pecuchet was disgusted with gardening, and a few days later he remarked:
"We ought to give ourselves up exclusively to tree culture--not forpleasure, but as a speculation. A pear which is the product of threesoils is sometimes sold in the capital for five or six francs. Gardenersmake out of apricots twenty-five thousand livres in the year! At St.Petersburg, during the winter, grapes are sold at a napoleon per grape.It is a beautiful industry, you must admit! And what does it cost?Attention, manuring, and a fresh touch of the pruning-knife."
It excited Bouvard's imagination so much that they sought immediately intheir books for a nomenclature for purchasable plants, and, havingselected names which appeared to them wonderful, they applied to anurseryman from Falaise, who busied himself in supplying them with threehundred stalks for which he had not found a sale. They got a lock-smithfor the props, an iron-worker for the fasteners, and a carpenter for therests. The forms of the trees were designed beforehand. Pieces of lathon the wall represented candelabra. Two posts at the ends of theplat-bands supported steel threads in a horizontal position; and in theorchard, hoops indicated the structure of vases, cone-shaped switchesthat of pyramids, so well that, in arriving in the midst of them, youimagined you saw pieces of some unknown machinery or the framework of apyrotechnic apparatus.
The holes having been dug, they cut the ends of all the roots, good orbad, and buried them in a compost. Six months later the plants weredead. Fresh orders to the nurseryman, and fresh plantings in stilldeeper holes. But the rain softening the soil, the grafts buriedthemselves in the ground of their own accord, and the trees sproutedout.
When spring had come, Pecuchet set about the pruning of pear trees. Hedid not cut down the shoots, spared the superfluous side branches, and,persisting in trying to lay the "duchesses" out in a square when theyought to go in a string on one side, he broke them or tore them downinvariably. As for the peach trees, he got mixed up with over-motherbranches, under-mother branches, and second-under-mother branches. Theempty and the full always presented themselves when they were notwanted, and it was impossible to obtain on an espalier a perfectrectangle, with six branches to the right and six to the left, notincluding the two principal ones, the whole forming a fine bit ofherringbone work.
Bouvard tried to manage the apricot trees, but they rebelled. He loweredtheir stems nearly to a level with the ground; none of them shot upagain. The cherry trees, in which he had made notches, produced gum.
At first, they cut very long, which destroyed the principal buds, andthen very short, which led to excessive branching; and they oftenhesitated, not knowing how to distinguish between buds of trees and budsof flowers. They were delighted to have flowers, but when theyrecognised their mistake, they tore off three fourths of them tostrengthen the remainder.
Incessantly they kept talking about "sap" and "cambium," "paling up,""breaking down," and "blinding of an eye." In the middle of theirdining-room they had in a frame the list of their young growths, as ifthey were pupils, with a number which was repeated in the garden on alittle piece of wood, at the foot of the tree. Out of bed at dawn, theykept working till nightfall with their twigs carried in their belts. Inthe cold mornings of spring, Bouvard wore his knitted vest under hisblouse, and Pecuchet his old frock-coat under his packcloth wrapper; andthe people passing by the open fence heard them coughing in the dampatmosphere.
Sometimes Pecuchet drew forth his manual from his pocket, and he studieda paragraph of it standing up with his grafting-tool near him in theattitude of the gardener who decorated the frontispiece of the book.This resemblance flattered him exceedingly, and made him entertain moreesteem for the author.
Bouvard was continually perched on a high ladder before the pyramids.One day he was seized with dizziness, and, not daring to come downfarther, he called on Pecuchet to come to his aid.
At length pears made their appearance, and there were plums in theorchard. Then they made use of all the devices which had beenrecommended to them against the birds. But the bits of glass madedazzling reflections, the clapper of the wind-mill woke them during thenight, and the sparrows perched on the lay figure. They made a second,and even a third, varying the dress, but without any useful result.
However, they could hope for some fruit. Pecuchet had just given anintimation of the fact to Bouvard, when suddenly the thunder resoundedand the rain fell--a heavy and violent downpour. The wind at intervalsshook the entire surface of the espalier. The props gave way one afterthe other, and the unfortunate distaff-shaped trees, while swaying underthe storm, dashed their pears against one another.
Pecuchet, surprised by the shower, had taken refuge in the hut. Bouvardstuck to the kitchen. They saw splinters of wood, branches, and slateswhirling in front of them; and the sailors' wives who, on the sea-shoreten leagues away, were gazing out at the sea, had not eyes more wistfulor hearts more anxious. Then, suddenly, the supports and wooden bars ofespaliers facing one another, together with the rail-work, toppled downinto the garden beds.
What a picture when they went to inspect the scene! The cherries andplums covered the grass, amid the dissolving hailstones. The PasseColmars were destroyed, as well as the Besi des Veterans and theTriomphes de Jordoigne. There was barely left amongst the apples even afew Bon Papas; and a dozen Tetons de Venus, the entire crop of peaches,rolled into the pools of water by the side of the box trees, which hadbeen torn up by the roots.
After dinner, at which they ate very little, Pecuchet said softly:
"We should do well to see after the farm, lest anything has happened toit."
"Bah! only to find fresh causes of sadness."
"Perhaps so; for we are not exactly lucky."
And they made complaints against Providence and against nature.
Bouvard, with his elbows on the table, spoke in little whispers; and asall their troubles began to subside, their former agricultural projectscame back to their recollection, especially the starch manufacture andthe invention of a new sort of cheese.
Bouvard cast a gloomy look around him.
"Faith! I'm anxious to get rid of all this, in order that we may settledown somewhere else!"
"Just as you like," said Pecuchet; and the next moment: "The authorsrecommend us to suppress every direct passage. In this way the sap iscounteracted, and the tree necessarily suffers thereby. In order to bein good health, it would be necessary for it to have no fruit! However,those which we prune and which we never manure produce them not so big,it is true, but more luscious. I require them to give me a reason forthis! And not only each kind demands its particular attentions, butstill more each individual tree, according to climate, temperature, anda heap of things! Where, then, is the rule? and what hope have we ofany success or profit?"
Bouvard replied to him, "You will see in Gasparin that the profit cannotexceed the tenth of the capital. Therefore, we should be doing better byinvesting this capital in a banking-house. At the end of fifteen years,by the accumulation of interest, we'd have it doubled, without havingour constitutions ground down."
Pecuchet hung down his head.
"Arboriculture may be a humbug!"
"Like agriculture!" replied Bouvard.
Then they blamed themselves for having been too ambitious, and theyresolved to husband thenceforth their labour and their money. Anoccasional pruning would suffice for the orchard. The counter-espalierswere forbidden, and dead or fallen trees should not be replaced; but hewas going to do a nasty job--nothing less than to destroy all the otherswhich remained standing. How was he to set about the work?
Pecuchet made several diagrams, while using his mathematical case.Bouvard gave him advice. They arrived at no satisfactory result.Fortunately, they discovered amongst their collection of books Boitard'swork entitled _L'Architecte des Jardins_.
The author divides them into a great number of styles. First there isthe melancholy and romantic style, which is distinguished byimmortelles, ruins, tombs, and "a votive offering to the Virgin,indicating the place where a lord has fallen under the blade of anassassin." The terrible style is composed of overhanging rocks,shattered trees, burning huts; the exotic style, by planting Peruviantorch-thistles, "in order to arouse memories in a colonist or atraveller." The grave style should, like Ermenonville, offer a temple tophilosophy. The majestic style is characterised by obelisks andtriumphal arches; the mysterious style by moss and by grottoes; while alake is appropriate to the dreamy style. There is even the fantasticstyle, of which the most beautiful specimen might have been lately seenin a garden at Wuertemberg--for there might have been met successively awild boar, a hermit, several sepulchres, and a barque detaching itselffrom the shore of its own accord, in order to lead you into a boudoirwhere water-spouts lave you when you are settling yourself down upon asofa.
Before this horizon of marvels, Bouvard and Pecuchet experienced a kindof bedazzlement. The fantastic style appeared to them reserved forprinces. The temple to philosophy would be cumbersome. The votiveoffering of the Madonna would have no signification, having regard tothe lack of assassins, and--so much the worse for the colonists and thetravellers--the American plants would cost too much. But the rocks werepossible, as well as the shattered trees, the immortelles, and the moss;and in their enthusiasm for new ideas, after many experiments, with theassistance of a single man-servant, and for a trifling sum, they madefor themselves a residence which had no analogy to it in the entiredepartment.
The elm hedge, open here and there, allowed the light of day to fall onthe thicket, which was full of winding paths in the fashion of alabyrinth. They had conceived the idea of making in the espalier wall anarchway, through which the prospect could be seen. As the arch could notremain suspended, the result was an enormous breach and a fall ofwreckage to the ground.
They had sacrificed the asparagus in order to build on the spot anEtruscan tomb, that is to say, a quadrilateral figure in dark plaster,six feet in height, and looking like a dog-hole. Four little pine treesat the corners flanked the monument, which was to be surmounted by anurn and enriched by an inscription.
In the other part of the kitchen garden, a kind of Rialto projected overa basin, presenting on its margin encrusted shells of mussels. The soildrank up the water--no matter! they would contrive a glass bottom whichwould keep it back.
The hut had been transformed into a rustic summer-house with the aid ofcoloured glass.
At the top of the hillock, six trees, cut square, supported a tinhead-piece with the edges turned up, and the whole was meant to signifya Chinese pagoda.
They had gone to the banks of the Orne to select granite, and had brokenit, marked the pieces with numbers, and carried them back themselves ina cart, then had joined the fragments together with cement, placing themone above the other in a mass; and in the middle of the grass arose arock resembling a gigantic potato.
Something further was needed to complete the harmony. They pulled downthe largest linden tree they had (however, it was three quarters dead),and laid it down the entire length of the garden, in such a way that onewould imagine it had been carried thither by a torrent or levelled tothe ground by a thunderstorm.
The task finished, Bouvard, who was on the steps, cried from a distance:
"Here! you can see best!"--"See best!" was repeated in the air.
Pecuchet answered:
"I am going there!"--"Going there!"
"Hold on! 'Tis an echo!"--"Echo!"
The linden tree had hitherto prevented it from being produced, and itwas assisted by the pagoda, as it faced the barn, whose gables roseabove the row of trees.
In order to try the effect of the echo, they amused themselves by givingvent to comical phrases: Bouvard yelled out language of a blackguarddescription.
He had been several times at Falaise, under the pretence of going thereto receive money, and he always came back with little parcels, which helocked up in the chest of drawers. Pecuchet started one morning torepair to Bretteville, and returned very late with a basket, which hehid under his bed. Next day, when he awoke, Bouvard was surprised. Thefirst two yew trees of the principal walk, which the day before werestill spherical, had the appearance of peacocks, and a horn with twoporcelain knobs represented the beak and the eyes. Pecuchet had risen atdawn, and trembling lest he should be discovered, he had cut the twotrees according to the measurement given in the written instructionssent him by Dumouchel.
For six months the others behind the two above mentioned assumed theforms of pyramids, cubes, cylinders, stags, or armchairs; but there wasnothing equal to the peacocks. Bouvard acknowledged it with manyeulogies.
Under pretext of having forgotten his spade, he drew his comrade intothe labyrinth, for he had profited by Pecuchet's absence to do, himselftoo, something sublime.
The gate leading into the fields was covered over with a coating ofplaster, under which were ranged in beautiful order five or six bowls ofpipes, representing Abd-el-Kader, negroes, naked women, horses' feet,and death's-heads.
"Do you understand my impatience?"
"I rather think so!"
And in their emotion they embraced each other.
Like all artists, they felt the need of being applauded, and Bouvardthought of giving a great dinner.
"Take care!" said Pecuchet, "you are going to plunge intoentertainments. It is a whirlpool!"
The matter, however, was decided. Since they had come to live in thecountry, they had kept themselves isolated. Everybody, through eagernessto make their acquaintance, accepted their invitation, except the Countde Faverges, who had been summoned to the capital by business. They fellback on M. Hurel, his factotum.
Beljambe, the innkeeper, formerly a _chef_ at Lisieux, was to cookcertain dishes; Germaine had engaged the services of the poult
ry-wench;and Marianne, Madame Bordin's servant-girl, would also come. Since fouro'clock the range was wide open; and the two proprietors, full ofimpatience, awaited their guests.
Hurel stopped under the beech row to adjust his frock-coat. Then thecure stepped forward, arrayed in a new cassock, and, a second later, M.Foureau, in a velvet waistcoat. The doctor gave his arm to his wife,who walked with some difficulty, assisting herself with her parasol. Astream of red ribbons fluttered behind them--it was the cap of MadameBordin, who was dressed in a lovely robe of shot silk. The gold chain ofher watch dangled over her breast, and rings glittered on both herhands, which were partly covered with black mittens. Finally appearedthe notary, with a Panama hat on his head, and an eyeglass--for theprofessional practitioner had not stifled in him the man of the world.The drawing-room floor was waxed so that one could not stand uprightthere. The eight Utrecht armchairs had their backs to the wall; a roundtable in the centre supported the liqueur case; and above themantelpiece could be seen the portrait of Pere Bouvard. The shades,reappearing in the imperfect light, made the mouth grin and the eyessquint, and a slight mouldiness on the cheek-bones seemed to produce theillusion of real whiskers. The guests traced a resemblance between himand his son, and Madame Bordin added, glancing at Bouvard, that he musthave been a very fine man.
After an hour's waiting, Pecuchet announced that they might pass intothe dining-room.
The white calico curtains with red borders were, like those of thedrawing-room, completely drawn before the windows, and the sun's rayspassing across them, flung a brilliant light on the wainscotings, theonly ornament of which was a barometer.
Bouvard placed the two ladies beside him, while Pecuchet had the mayoron his left and the cure on his right.
They began with the oysters. They had the taste of mud. Bouvard wasannoyed, and was prodigal of excuses, and Pecuchet got up in order togo into the kitchen and make a scene with Beljambe.
During the whole of the first course, which consisted of a brill with avol-au-vent and stewed pigeons, the conversation turned on the mode ofmanufacturing cider; after which they discussed what meats weredigestible or indigestible. Naturally, the doctor was consulted. Helooked at matters sceptically, like a man who had dived into the depthsof science, and yet did not brook the slightest contradiction.
At the same time, with the sirloin of beef, Burgundy was supplied. Itwas muddy. Bouvard, attributing this accident to the rinsing of thebottles, got them to try three others without more success; then hepoured out some St. Julien, manifestly not long enough in bottle, andall the guests were mute. Hurel smiled without discontinuing; the heavysteps of the waiters resounded over the flooring.
Madame Vaucorbeil, who was dumpy and waddling in her gait (she was nearher confinement), had maintained absolute silence. Bouvard, not knowingwhat to talk to her about, spoke of the theatre at Caen.
"My wife never goes to the play," interposed the doctor.
M. Marescot observed that, when he lived in Paris, he used to go only tothe Italian operas.
"For my part," said Bouvard, "I used to pay for a seat in the pitsometimes at the Vaudeville to hear farces."
Foureau asked Madame Bordin whether she liked farces.
"That depends on what kind they are," she said.
The mayor rallied her. She made sharp rejoinders to his pleasantries.Then she mentioned a recipe for preparing gherkins. However, her talentsfor housekeeping were well known, and she had a little farm, which wasadmirably looked after.
Foureau asked Bouvard, "Is it your intention to sell yours?"
"Upon my word, up to this I don't know what to do exactly."
"What! not even the Escalles piece?" interposed the notary. "That wouldsuit you, Madame Bordin."
The widow replied in an affected manner:
"The demands of M. Bouvard would be too high."
"Perhaps someone could soften him."
"I will not try."
"Bah! if you embraced him?"
"Let us try, all the same," said Bouvard.
And he kissed her on both cheeks, amid the plaudits of the guests.
Almost immediately after this incident, they uncorked the champagne,whose detonations caused an additional sense of enjoyment. Pecuchet madea sign; the curtains opened, and the garden showed itself.
In the twilight it looked dreadful. The rockery, like a mountain,covered the entire grass plot; the tomb formed a cube in the midst ofspinaches, the Venetian bridge a circumflex accent over thekidney-beans, and the summer-house beyond a big black spot, for they hadburned its straw roof to make it more poetic. The yew trees, shaped likestags or armchairs, succeeded to the tree that seemed thunder-stricken,extending transversely from the elm row to the arbour, where tomatoeshung like stalactites. Here and there a sunflower showed its yellowdisk. The Chinese pagoda, painted red, seemed a lighthouse on thehillock. The peacocks' beaks, struck by the sun, reflected back therays, and behind the railed gate, now freed from its boards, a perfectlyflat landscape bounded the horizon.
In the face of their guests' astonishment Bouvard and Pecuchetexperienced a veritable delight.
Madame Bordin admired the peacocks above all; but the tomb was notappreciated, nor the cot in flames, nor the wall in ruins. Then each inturn passed over the bridge. In order to fill the basin, Bouvard andPecuchet had been carrying water in carts all the morning. It hadescaped between the foundation stones, which were imperfectly joinedtogether, and covered them over again with lime.
While they were walking about, the guests indulged in criticism.
"In your place that's what I'd have done."--"The green peas arelate."--"Candidly, this corner is not all right."--"With such pruningyou'll never get fruit."
Bouvard was obliged to answer that he did not care a jot for fruit.
As they walked past the hedge of trees, he said with a sly air:
"Ah! here's a lady that puts us out of countenance: a thousand excuses!"
It was a well-seasoned joke; everyone knew "the lady in plaster."
Finally, after many turns in the labyrinth, they arrived in front of thegate with the pipes. Looks of amazement were exchanged. Bouvard observedthe faces of his guests, and, impatient to learn what was their opinion,asked:
"What do you say to it?"
Madame Bordin burst out laughing. All the others followed her example,after their respective ways--the cure giving a sort of cluck like a hen,Hurel coughing, the doctor mourning over it, while his wife had anervous spasm, and Foureau, an unceremonious type of man, breaking anAbd-el-Kader and putting it into his pocket as a souvenir.
When they had left the tree-hedge, Bouvard, to astonish the company withthe echo, exclaimed with all his strength:
"Servant, ladies!"
Nothing! No echo. This was owing to the repairs made in the barn, thegable and the roof having been demolished.
The coffee was served on the hillock; and the gentlemen were about tobegin a game of ball, when they saw in front of them, behind the railedfence, a man staring at them.
He was lean and sunburnt, with a pair of red trousers in rags, a bluewaistcoat, no shirt, his black beard cut like a brush. He articulated,in a hoarse voice:
"Give me a glass of wine!"
The mayor and the Abbe Jeufroy had at once recognised him. He hadformerly been a joiner at Chavignolles.
"Come, Gorju! take yourself off," said M. Foureau. "You ought not to beasking for alms."
"I! Alms!" cried the exasperated man. "I served seven years in the warsin Africa. I've only just got up out of a hospital. Good God! must Iturn cutthroat?"
His anger subsided of its own accord, and, with his two fists on hiships, he surveyed the assembled guests with a melancholy and defiantair. The fatigue of bivouacs, absinthe, and fever, an entire existenceof wretchedness and debauchery, stood revealed in his dull eyes. Hiswhite lips quivered, exposing the gums. The vast sky, empurpled,enveloped him in a blood-red light; and his obstinacy in remaining therecaused a species of terror.
&nbs
p; Bouvard, to have done with him, went to look for the remnants of abottle. The vagabond swallowed the wine greedily, then disappearedamongst the oats, gesticulating as he went.
After this, blame was attached by those present to Bouvard. Suchkindnesses encouraged disorder. But Bouvard, irritated at theill-success of his garden, took up the defence of the people. They allbegan talking at the same time.
Foureau extolled the government. Hurel saw nothing in the world butlanded property. The Abbe Jeufroy complained of the fact that it did notprotect religion. Pecuchet attacked the taxes. Madame Bordin exclaimedat intervals, "As for me, I detest the Republic." And the doctordeclared himself in favour of progress: "For, indeed, gentlemen, we haveneed of reforms."
"Possibly," said Foureau; "but all these ideas are injurious tobusiness."
"I laugh at business!" cried Pecuchet.
Vaucorbeil went on: "At least let us make allowance for abilities."
Bouvard would not go so far.
"That is your opinion," replied the doctor; "there's an end of you,then! Good evening. And I wish you a deluge in order to sail in yourbasin!"
"And I, too, am going," said M. Foureau the next moment; and, pointingto the pocket where the Abd-el-Kader was, "If I feel the want ofanother, I'll come back."
The cure, before departing, timidly confided to Pecuchet that he did notthink this imitation of a tomb in the midst of vegetables quitedecorous. Hurel, as he withdrew, made a low bow to the company. M.Marescot had disappeared after dessert. Madame Bordin again went overher recipe for gherkins, promised a second for plums with brandy, andmade three turns in the large walk; but, passing close to the lindentree, the end of her dress got caught, and they heard her murmuring:
"My God! what a piece of idiocy this tree is!"
At midnight the two hosts, beneath the arbour, gave vent to theirresentment.
No doubt one might find fault with two or three little details here andthere in the dinner; and yet the guests had gorged themselves likeogres, showing that it was not so bad. But, as for the garden, so muchdepreciation sprang from the blackest jealousy. And both of them,lashing themselves into a rage, went on:
"Ha! water is needed in the basin, is it? Patience! they may see even aswan and fishes in it!"
"They scarcely noticed the pagoda."
"To pretend that the ruins are not proper is an imbecile's view."
"And the tomb objectionable! Why objectionable? Hasn't a man the rightto erect one in his own demesne? I even intend to be buried in it!"
"Don't talk like that!" said Pecuchet.
Then they passed the guests in review.
"The doctor seems to me a nice snob!"
"Did you notice the sneer of M. Marescot before the portrait?"
"What a low fellow the mayor is! When you dine in a house, hang it! youshould show some respect towards the curios."
"Madame Bordin!" said Bouvard.
"Ah! that one's a schemer. Don't annoy me by talking about her."
Disgusted with society, they resolved to see nobody any more, but liveexclusively by themselves and for themselves.
And they spent days in the wine-cellar, picking the tartar off thebottles, re-varnished all the furniture, enamelled the rooms; and eachevening, as they watched the wood burning, they discussed the bestsystem of fuel.
Through economy they tried to smoke hams, and attempted to do thewashing themselves. Germaine, whom they inconvenienced, used to shrugher shoulders. When the time came for making preserves she got angry,and they took up their station in the bakehouse. It was a disusedwash-house, where there was, under the faggots, a big, old-fashionedtub, excellently fitted for their projects, the ambition having seizedthem to manufacture preserves.
Fourteen glass bottles were filled with tomatoes and green peas. Theycoated the stoppers with quicklime and cheese, attached to the rims silkcords, and then plunged them into boiling water. It evaporated; theypoured in cold water; the difference of temperature caused the bowls toburst. Only three of them were saved. Then they procured old sardineboxes, put veal cutlets into them, and plunged them into a vessel ofboiling water. They came out as round as balloons. The cold flattenedthem out afterwards. To continue their experiments, they shut up inother boxes eggs, chiccory, lobsters, a hotchpotch of fish, and asoup!--and they applauded themselves like M. Appert, "on having fixedthe seasons." Such discoveries, according to Pecuchet, carried himbeyond the exploits of conquerors.
They improved upon Madame Bordin's pickles by spicing the vinegar withpepper; and their brandy plums were very much superior. By the processof steeping ratafia, they obtained raspberry and absinthe. With honeyand angelica in a cask of Bagnolles, they tried to make Malaga wine; andthey likewise undertook the manufacture of champagne! The bottles ofChablis diluted with water must burst of themselves. Then he no longerwas doubtful of success.
Their studies widening, they came to suspect frauds in all articles offood. They cavilled with the baker on the colour of his bread; they madethe grocer their enemy by maintaining that he adulterated his chocolate.They went to Falaise for a jujube, and, even under the apothecary's owneyes, they submitted his paste to the test of water. It assumed theappearance of a piece of bacon, which indicated gelatine.
After this triumph, their pride rose to a high pitch. They bought up thestock of a bankrupt distiller, and soon there arrived in the housesieves, barrels, funnels, skimmers, filters, and scales, withoutcounting a bowl of wood with a ball attached and a Moreshead still,which required a reflecting-furnace with a basket funnel. They learnedhow sugar is clarified, and the different kinds of boilings, the largeand the small system of boiling twice over, the blowing system, themethods of making up in balls, the reduction of sugar to a viscousstate, and the making of burnt sugar. But they longed to use the still;and they broached the fine liqueurs, beginning with the aniseed cordial.The liquid nearly always drew away the materials with it, or rather theystuck together at the bottom; at other times they were mistaken as tothe amount of the ingredients. Around them shone great copper pans;egg-shaped vessels projected their narrow openings; saucepans hung fromthe walls. Frequently one of them culled herbs on the table, while theother made the ball swing in the suspended bowl. They stirred theladles; they tasted the mashes.
Bouvard, always in a perspiration, had no garment on save his shirt andhis trousers, drawn up to the pit of his stomach by his short braces;but, giddy as a bird, he would forget the opening in the centre of thecucurbit, or would make the fire too strong.
Pecuchet kept muttering calculations, motionless in his long blouse, akind of child's smock-frock with sleeves; and they looked uponthemselves as very serious people engaged in very useful occupations.
At length they dreamed of a cream which would surpass all others. Theywould put into it coriander as in Kummel, kirsch as in Maraschino,hyssop as in Chartreuse, amber-seed as in Vespetro cordial, and sweetcalamus as in Krambambuly; and it would be coloured red with sandalwood.But under what name should they introduce it for commercialpurposes?--for they would want a name easy to retain and yet fanciful.Having turned the matter over a long time, they determined that itshould be called "Bouvarine."
About the end of autumn stains appeared in the three glass bowlscontaining the preserves. The tomatoes and green peas were rotten. Thatmust have been due to the way they had stopped up the vessels. Then theproblem of stoppage tormented them. In order to try the new methods,they required money; and the farm had eaten up their resources.
Many times tenants had offered themselves; but Bouvard would not havethem. His principal farm-servant carried on the cultivation according tohis directions, with a risky economy, to such an extent that the cropsdiminished and everything was imperilled; and they were talking abouttheir embarrassments when Maitre Gouy entered the laboratory, escortedby his wife, who remained timidly in the background.
Thanks to all the dressings they had got, the lands were improved, andhe had come to take up the farm again. He ran it down. In spite of alltheir toils
, the profits were uncertain; in short, if he wanted it, thatwas because of his love for the country, and his regret for such goodmasters.
They dismissed him coldly. He came back the same evening.
Pecuchet had preached at Bouvard; they were on the point of giving way.Gouy asked for a reduction of rent; and when the others protested, hebegan to bellow rather than speak, invoking the name of God, enumeratinghis labours, and extolling his merits. When they called on him to statehis terms, he hung down his head instead of answering. Then his wife,seated near the door, with a big basket on her knees, made similarprotestations, screeching in a sharp voice, like a hen that has beenhurt.
At last the lease was agreed on, the rent being fixed at three thousandfrancs a year--a third less than it had been formerly.
Before they had separated, Maitre Gouy offered to buy up the stock, andthe bargaining was renewed.
The valuation of the chattels occupied fifteen days. Bouvard was dyingof fatigue. He let everything go for a sum so contemptible that Gouy atfirst opened his eyes wide, and exclaiming, "Agreed!" slapped his palm.
After which the proprietors, following the old custom, proposed thatthey should take a "nip" at the house, and Pecuchet opened a bottle ofhis Malaga, less through generosity than in the hope of elicitingeulogies on the wine.
But the husbandman said, with a sour look, "It's like liquorice syrup."And his wife, "in order to get rid of the taste," asked for a glass ofbrandy.
A graver matter engaged their attention. All the ingredients of the"Bouvarine" were now collected. They heaped them together in thecucurbit, with the alcohol, lighted the fire, and waited. However,Pecuchet, annoyed by the misadventure about the Malaga, took the tinboxes out of the cupboard and pulled the lid off the first, then off thesecond, and then off the third. He angrily flung them down, and calledout to Bouvard. The latter had fastened the cock of the worm in order totry the effect on the preserves.
The disillusion was complete. The slices of veal were like boiledboot-soles; a muddy fluid had taken the place of the lobster; thefish-stew was unrecognisable; mushroom growths had sprouted over thesoup, and an intolerable smell tainted the laboratory.
Suddenly, with the noise of a bombshell, the still burst into twentypieces, which jumped up to the ceiling, smashing the pots, flatteningout the skimmers and shattering the glasses. The coal was scatteredabout, the furnace was demolished, and next day Germaine found a spatulain the yard.
The force of the steam had broken the instrument to such an extent thatthe cucurbit was pinned to the head of the still.
Pecuchet immediately found himself squatted behind the vat, and Bouvardlay like one who had fallen over a stool. For ten minutes they remainedin this posture, not daring to venture on a single movement, pale withterror, in the midst of broken glass. When they were able to recover thepower of speech, they asked themselves what was the cause of so manymisfortunes, and of the last above all? And they could understandnothing about the matter except that they were near being killed.Pecuchet finished with these words:
"It is, perhaps, because we do not know chemistry!"
Bouvard and Pécuchet: A Tragi-comic Novel of Bourgeois Life, part 1 Page 2
