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Bouvard and Pécuchet, part 1
"Ha! this is very fortunate! I have been waiting for you for the last three hours! My poor garden has not a single tulip left! Filth everywhere on the grass! No way of getting rid of him!"
"Who is it?"
"Père Gouy."
He had come with a cartload of manure, and had scattered it pell-mell over the grass.
"He is now digging it up. Hurry on and make him stop."
"I am going with you," said Bouvard.
At the bottom of the steps outside, a horse in the shafts of a dung-cart was gnawing at a bunch of oleanders. The wheels, in grazing the flower borders, had bruised the box trees, broken a rhododendron, knocked down the dahlias; and clods of black muck, like molehills, embossed the green sward. Gouy was vigorously digging it up.
One day Madame Bordin had carelessly said to him that she would like to have it turned up. He set about the job, and, in spite of her orders to desist, went on with it. This was the way that he interpreted the right to work, Gorju's talk having turned his brain.
He went away only after violent threats from Bouvard.
Madame Bordin, by way of compensation, did not pay for the manual labour, and kept the manure. She was wise: the doctor's wife, and even the notary's, though of higher social position, respected her for it.
The charity workshops lasted a week. No trouble occurred. Gorju left the neighbourhood.
Meanwhile, the National Guard was always on foot: on Sunday, a review; military promenades, occasionally; and, every night, patrols. They disturbed the village. They rang the bells of houses for fun; they made their way into the bedrooms where married couples were snoring on the same bolster; then they uttered broad jokes, and the husband, rising, would go and get them a glass each. Afterwards, they would return to the guard-house to play a hundred of dominoes, would consume a quantity of cider there, and eat cheese, while the sentinel, worn out, would keep opening the door every other minute. There was a prevailing absence of discipline, owing to Beljambe's laxity.
When the days of June came, everyone was in favour of "flying to the relief of Paris"; but Foureau could not leave the mayoral premises, Marescot his office, the doctor his patients, or Girbal his firemen. M. de Faverges was at Cherbourg. Beljambe kept his bed. The captain grumbled: "They did not want me; so much the worse!" – and Bouvard had the wisdom to put restraint on Pécuchet.
The patrols throughout the country were extended farther. They were panic-stricken by the shadow of a haystack, or by the forms of branches. On one occasion the entire National Guard turned and ran. In the moonlight they had observed, under an apple tree, a man with a gun, taking aim at them. At another time, on a dark night, the patrol halting under the beech trees, heard some one close at hand.
"Who is there?"
No answer.
They allowed the person to pursue his course, following him at a distance, for he might have a pistol or a tomahawk; but when they were in the village, within reach of help, the dozen men of the company rushed together upon him, exclaiming:
"Your papers!" They pulled him about and overwhelmed him with insults. The men at the guard-house had gone out. They dragged him there; and by the light of the candle that was burning on top of the stove they at last recognised Gorju.
A wretched greatcoat of lasting was flapping over his shoulders. His toes could be seen through the holes in his boots. Scratches and bruises stained his face with blood. He was fearfully emaciated, and rolled his eyes about like a wolf.
Foureau, coming up speedily, questioned him as to how he chanced to be under the beech trees, what his object was in coming back to Chavignolles, and also as to the employment of his time for the past six weeks.
"That is no business of yours. I have my liberty."
Placquevent searched him to find out whether he had cartridges about him.
They were about to imprison him provisionally.
Bouvard interposed.
"No use," replied the mayor; "we know your opinions."
"Nevertheless – "
"Ha! be careful; I give you warning. Be careful."
Bouvard persisted no further.
Gorju then turned towards Pécuchet: "And you, master, have you not a word to say for me?"
Pécuchet hung down his head, as if he had a suspicion against his innocence.
The poor wretch smiled bitterly.
"I protected you, all the same."
At daybreak, two gendarmes took him to Falaise.
He was not tried before a court-martial, but was sentenced by the civil tribunal to three months' imprisonment for the misdemeanour of language tending towards the destruction of society. From Falaise he wrote to his former employers to send him soon a certificate of good life and morals, and as their signature required to be legalised by the mayor or the deputy, they preferred to ask Marescot to do this little service for them.
They were introduced into a dining-room, decorated with dishes of fine old earthenware; a Boule clock occupied the narrowest shelf. On the mahogany table, without a cloth, were two napkins, a teapot and finger-glasses. Madame Marescot crossed the room in a dressing-gown of blue cashmere. She was a Parisian who was bored with the country. Then the notary came in, with his cap in one hand, a newspaper in the other; and at once, in the most polite fashion, he affixed his seal, although their protégé was a dangerous man.
"Really," said Bouvard, "for a few words – "
"But words lead to crimes, my dear sir, give me leave to say."
"And yet," said Pécuchet, "what line of demarcation can you lay down between innocent and guilty phrases? The thing that just now is prohibited may be subsequently applauded." And he censured the harshness with which the insurgents had been treated.
Marescot naturally rested his case on the necessity of protecting society, the public safety – the supreme law.
"Pardon me!" said Pécuchet, "the right of a single individual is as much entitled to respect as those of all, and you have nothing to oppose to him but force if he turns your axiom upon yourself."
Instead of replying, Marescot lifted his brows disdainfully. Provided that he continued to draw up legal documents, and to live among his plates, in his comfortable little home, injustices of every kind might present themselves without affecting him. Business called him away. He excused himself.
His theory of public safety excited their indignation. The Conservatives now talked like Robespierre.
Another matter for astonishment: Cavaignac was flagging; the Garde Mobile was exposing itself to suspicion. Ledru-Rollin had ruined himself even in Vaucorbeil's estimation. The debates on the Constitution interested nobody, and on the 10th of December all the inhabitants of Chavignolles voted for Bonaparte. The six millions of votes made Pécuchet grow cold with regard to the people, and Bouvard and he proceeded to study the question of universal suffrage.
As it belongs to everybody, it cannot possess intelligence. One ambitious man will always be the leader; the others will follow him like a flock of sheep, the electors not being compelled even to know how to read. This was the reason, in Bouvard's opinion, that there were so many frauds at presidential elections.
"None," replied Bouvard; "I believe rather in the gullibility of the people. Think of all who buy the patent health-restorer, the Dupuytren pomatum, the Châtelaine's water, etc. Those boobies constitute the majority of the electorate, and we submit to their will. Why cannot an income of three thousand francs be made out of rabbits? Because the overcrowding of them is a cause of death. In the same way, through the mere fact of its being a multitude, the germs of stupidity contained in it are developed, and thence result consequences that are incalculable."
"Your scepticism frightens me," said Pécuchet.
At a later period, in the spring, they met M. de Faverges, who apprised them of the expedition to Rome. We should not attack the Italians, but we should require guaranties. Otherwise our influence would be destroyed. Nothing would be more legitimate than this intervention.
Bouvard opened his eyes wide. "On the subject of Poland, you expressed a contrary opinion."
"It is no longer the same thing." It was now a question of the Pope.
And M. de Faverges, when he said, "We wish," "We shall do," "We calculate clearly," represented a group.
Bouvard and Pécuchet were disgusted with the minority quite as much as with the majority. The common people, in short, were just the same as the aristocracy.
The right of intervention appeared dubious to them. They sought for its principles in Calvo, Martens, Vattel; and Bouvard's conclusion was this:
"There may be intervention to restore a prince to the throne, to emancipate a people, or, for the sake of precaution, in view of a public danger. In other cases it is an outrage on the rights of others, an abuse of force, a piece of hypocritical violence."
"And yet," said Pécuchet, "peoples have a solidarity as well as men."
"Perhaps so." And Bouvard sank into a reverie.
The expedition to Rome soon began.
At home, through hatred of revolutionary ideas, the leaders of the Parisian middle class got two printing-offices sacked. The great party of order was formed.
It had for its chiefs in the arrondissement the count, Foureau, Marescot, and the curé. Every day, about four o'clock, they walked from one end of the green to the other, and talked over the events of the day. The principal business was the distribution of pamphlets. The titles did not lack attractiveness: "God will be pleased with it"; "The sharing"; "Let us get out of the mess"; "Where are we going?" The finest things among them were the dialogues in the style of villagers, with oaths and bad French, to elevate the mental faculties of the peasants. By a new law, the hawking of pamphlets would be in the hands of the prefects; and they had just crammed Proudhon into St. Pélagie – gigantic triumph!
The trees of liberty were generally torn down. Chavignolles obeyed orders. Bouvard saw with his own eyes the fragments of his poplar on a wheelbarrow. They helped to warm the gendarmes, and the stump was offered to the curé, who had blessed it. What a mockery!
The schoolmaster did not hide his way of thinking.
Bouvard and Pécuchet congratulated him on it one day as they were passing in front of his door. Next day he presented himself at their residence.
At the end of the week they returned his visit.
The day was declining. The brats had just gone home, and the schoolmaster, in half-sleeves, was sweeping the yard. His wife, with a neckerchief tied round her head, was suckling a baby. A little girl was hiding herself behind her petticoat; a hideous-looking child was playing on the ground at her feet. The water from the washing she had been doing in the kitchen was flowing to the lower end of the house.
"You see," said the schoolmaster, "how the government treats us."
And forthwith he began finding fault with capital as an infamous thing. It was necessary to democratise it, to enfranchise matter.
"I ask for nothing better," said Pécuchet.
At least, they ought to have recognised the right to assistance.
"One more right!" said Bouvard.
No matter! The provisional government had acted in a flabby fashion by not ordaining fraternity.
"Then try to establish it."
As there was no longer daylight, Petit rudely ordered his wife to carry a candle to his study.
The lithograph portraits of the orators of the Left were fastened with pins to the plaster walls. A bookshelf stood above a deal writing-desk. There were a chair, stool, and an old soap-box for persons to sit down upon. He made a show of laughing. But want had laid its traces on his cheeks, and his narrow temples indicated the stubbornness of a ram, an intractable pride. He never would yield.
"Besides, see what sustains me!"
It was a pile of newspapers on a shelf, and in feverish phrases he explained the articles of his faith: disarmament of troops, abolition of the magistracy, equality of salaries, a levelling process by which the golden age was to be brought about under the form of the Republic, with a dictator at its head – a fellow that would carry this out for us briskly!
Then he reached for a bottle of aniseed cordial and three glasses, in order to propose the toast of the hero, the immortal victim, the great Maximilian.
On the threshold appeared the black cassock of the priest. Having saluted those present in an animated fashion, he addressed the schoolmaster, speaking almost in a whisper:
"Our business about St. Joseph, what stage is it at?"
"They have given nothing," replied the schoolmaster.
"That is your fault!"
"I have done what I could."
"Ha! really?"
Bouvard and Pécuchet discreetly rose. Petit made them sit down again, and addressing the curé:
"Is that all?"
The Abbé Jeufroy hesitated. Then, with a smile which tempered his reprimand:
"It is supposed that you are rather negligent about sacred history."
"Oh, sacred history!" interrupted Bouvard.
"What fault have you to find with it, sir?"
"I – none. Only there are perhaps more useful things to be learned than the anecdote of Jonas and the story of the kings of Israel."
"You are free to do as you please," replied the priest drily.
And without regard for the strangers, or on account of their presence:
"The catechism hour is too short."
Petit shrugged his shoulders.
"Mind! You will lose your boarders!"
The ten francs a month for these pupils formed the best part of his remuneration. But the cassock exasperated him.
"So much the worse; take your revenge!"
"A man of my character does not revenge himself," said the priest, without being moved. "Only I would remind you that the law of the fifteenth of March assigns us to the superintendence of primary education."
"Ah! I know that well," cried the schoolmaster. "It is given even to colonels of gendarmes. Why not to the rural guard? That would complete the thing!"
And he sank upon the stool, biting his fingers, repressing his rage, stifled by the feeling of his own powerlessness.
The priest touched him lightly on the shoulder.
"I did not intend to annoy you, my friend. Keep yourself quiet. Be a little reasonable. Here is Easter close at hand; I hope you will show an example by going to communion along with the others."
"That is too much! I – I submit to such absurdities!"
At this blasphemy the curé turned pale, his eyeballs gleamed, his jaw quivered.
"Silence, unhappy man! silence! And it is his wife who looks after the church linen!"
"Well, what then? What has she done to you?"
"She always stays away from mass. Like yourself, for that matter!"
"Oh! a schoolmaster is not sent away for a thing of that kind!"
"He can be removed."
The priest said no more.
He was at the end of the room, in the shadow.
Petit was thinking, with his head resting on his chest.
They would arrive at the other end of France, their last sou eaten up by the journey, and they would again find down there, under different names, the same curé, the same superintendent, the same prefect – all, even to the minister, were like links in a chain dragging him down. He had already had one warning – others would follow. After that? – and in a kind of hallucination he saw himself walking along a high-road, a bag on his back, those whom he loved by his side, and his hand held out towards a post-chaise.
At that moment his wife was seized with a fit of coughing in the kitchen, the new-born infant began to squeal, and the boy was crying.
"Poor children!" said the priest in a softened voice.
The father thereupon broke into sobs:
"Yes, yes! whatever you require!"
"I count upon it," replied the curé.
And, having made the customary bow:
"Well, good evening to you, gentlemen."
The schoolmaster remained with his face in his hands.
He pushed away Bouvard. "No! let me alone. I feel as if I'd like to die. I am an unfortunate man."
The two friends, when they reached their own house, congratulated themselves on their independence. The power of the clergy terrified them.
It was now employed for the purpose of strengthening public order. The Republic was about to disappear.
Three millions of electors found themselves excluded from universal suffrage. The security required from newspapers was raised; the press censorship was re-established. It was even suggested that it should be put in force against the fiction columns. Classical philosophy was considered dangerous. The commercial classes preached the dogma of material interests; and the populace seemed satisfied.
The country-people came back to their old masters.
M. de Faverges, who had estates in Eure, was declared a member of the Legislative Assembly, and his re-election for the general council of Calvados was certain beforehand.
He thought proper to invite the leading personages in the district to a luncheon.
The vestibule in which three servants were waiting to take their overcoats, the billiard-room and the pair of drawing-rooms, the plants in china vases, the bronzes on the mantel-shelves, the gold wands on the panelled walls, the heavy curtains, the wide armchairs – this display of luxury struck them at once as a mark of courtesy towards them; and, when they entered the dining-room, at the sight of the table laden with meats in silver dishes, together with the row of glasses before each plate, the side-dishes here and there, and a salmon in the middle, every face brightened up.
The party numbered seventeen, including two sturdy agriculturists, the sub-prefect of Bayeux and one person from Cherbourg. M. de Faverges begged his guests to excuse the countess, who was absent owing to a headache; and, after some commendations of the pears and grapes, which filled four baskets at the corners, he asked about the great news – the project of a descent on England by Changarnier.
Heurtaux desired it as a soldier, the curé through hatred of the Protestants, and Foureau in the interests of commerce.
"You are giving expression," said Pécuchet, "to the sentiments of the Middle Ages."
"The Middle Ages had their good side," returned Marescot. "For instance, our cathedrals."
"However, sir, the abuses – "
"No matter – the Revolution would not have come."
"Ha! the Revolution – there's the misfortune," said the ecclesiastic with a sigh.
"But everyone contributed towards it, and (excuse me, Monsieur le Comte) the nobles themselves by their alliance with the philosophers."
"What is it you want? Louis XVIII. legalised spoliation. Since that time the parliamentary system is sapping the foundations."
A joint of roast beef made its appearance, and for some minutes nothing was heard save the sounds made by forks and moving jaws, and by the servants crossing the floor with the two words on their lips, which they repeated continually:
"Madeira! Sauterne!"
The conversation was resumed by the gentleman from Cherbourg:
"How were they to stop on the slope of an abyss?"
"Amongst the Athenians," said Marescot – "amongst the Athenians, towards whom we bear certain resemblances, Solon checkmated the democrats by raising the electoral census."
"It would be better," said Hurel, "to suppress the Chamber: every disorder comes from Paris."
"Let us decentralise," said the notary.
"On a large scale," added the count.
In Foureau's opinion, the communal authorities should have absolute control, even to the extent of prohibiting travellers from using their roads, if they thought fit.
And whilst the dishes followed one another – fowl with gravy, lobsters, mushrooms, salads, roast larks – many topics were handled: the best system of taxation, the advantages of the large system of land cultivation, the abolition of the death penalty. The sub-prefect did not forget to cite that charming witticism of a clever man: "Let Messieurs the Assassins begin!"
Bouvard was astonished at the contrast between the surroundings and the remarks that reached his ears; for one would think that the language used should always harmonise with the environment, and that lofty ceilings should be made for great thoughts. Nevertheless, he was flushed at dessert, and saw the fruit-dishes as if through a fog. Bordeaux, Burgundy, and Malaga were amongst the wines sent round. M. de Faverges, who knew the people he had to deal with, made the champagne flow. The guests, touching glasses, drank to his success at the election; and more than three hours elapsed before they passed out into the smoking-room, where coffee was served.
A caricature from Charivari was trailing on the floor between some copies of the Univers. It represented a citizen the skirts of whose frock-coat allowed a tail to be seen with an eye at the end of it. Marescot explained it amid much laughter.
They swallowed their liqueurs, and the ashes of their cigars fell on the paddings of the furniture.
The abbé, desirous to convince Girbal, began an attack on Voltaire. Coulon fell asleep. M. de Faverges avowed his devotion to Chambord.
"The bees furnish an argument for monarchy."
"But the ants for the Republic." However, the doctor adhered to it no longer.
"You are right," said the sub-prefect; "the form of government matters little."
"With liberty," suggested Pécuchet.
"An honest man has no need of it," replied Foureau. "I make no speeches, for my part. I am not a journalist. And I tell you that France requires to be governed with a rod of iron."
All called for a deliverer. As they were going out, Bouvard and Pécuchet heard M. de Faverges saying to the Abbé Jeufroy:
"We must re-establish obedience. Authority perishes if it be made the subject of discussion. The Divine Right – there is nothing but that!"
"Exactly, Monsieur le Comte."
The pale rays of an October sun were lengthening out behind the woods. A moist wind was blowing, and as they walked over the dead leaves they breathed like men who had just been set free.
All that they had not found the opportunity of saying escaped from them in exclamations:
"What idiots!"
"What baseness!"
"How is it possible to imagine such obstinacy!"
"In the first place, what is the meaning of the Divine Right?"
Dumouchel's friend, that professor who had supplied them with instruction on the subject of æsthetics, replied to their inquiries in a learned letter.
"The theory of Divine Right was formulated in the reign of Charles II. by the Englishman Filmer. Here it is:
"'The Creator gave the first man dominion over the world. It was transmitted to his descendants, and the power of the king emanates from God.'
"'He is His image,' writes Bossuet. 'The paternal empire accustoms us to the domination of one alone. Kings have been made after the model of parents.'
"Locke refuted this doctrine: 'The paternal power is distinguished from the monarchic, every subject having the same right over his children that the monarch has over his own. Royalty exists only through the popular choice; and even the election was recalled at the ceremony of coronation, in which two bishops, pointing towards the king, asked both nobles and peasants whether they accepted him as such.'
"Therefore, authority comes from the people.
"'They have the right to do what they like,' says Helvetius; to 'change their constitution,' says Vattel; to 'revolt against injustice,' according to the contention of Glafey, Hotman, Mably, and others; and St. Thomas Aquinas authorises them to 'deliver themselves from a tyrant.' 'They are even,' says Jurieu, 'dispensed from being right.'"
Astonished at the axiom, they took up Rousseau's Contrat Social. Pécuchet went through to the end. Then closing his eyes, and throwing back his head, he made an analysis of it.
"A convention is assumed whereby the individual gives up his liberty.
"The people at the same time undertook to protect him against the inequalities of nature, and made him owner of the things he had in his possession."
"Where is the proof of the contract?"
"Nowhere! And the community does not offer any guaranty. The citizens occupy themselves exclusively with politics. But as callings are necessary, Rousseau is in favour of slavery. 'The sciences have destroyed the human race. The theatre is corrupting, money fatal, and the state ought to impose a religion under the penalty of death.'"
"What!" said they, "here is the pontiff of democracy."
All the champions of reform had copied him; and they procured the Examen du Socialisme, by Morant.
The first chapter explained the doctrine of Saint-Simon.
At the top the Father, at the same time Pope and Emperor. Abolition of inheritance; all property movable and immovable forming a social fund, which should be worked on a hierarchical basis. The manufacturers are to govern the public fortune. But there is nothing to be afraid of; they will have as a leader the "one who loves the most."
One thing is lacking: woman. On the advent of woman depends the salvation of the world.
"I do not understand."
"Nor I."
And they turned to Fourierism:
"'All misfortunes come from constraint. Let the attraction be free, and harmony will be established.
"'In our souls are shut up a dozen leading passions: five egoistical, four animistic, and three distributive. The first class have reference to individuals, the second to groups, the last to groups of groups, or series, of which the whole forms a phalanx, a society of eighteen hundred persons dwelling in a palace. Every morning carriages convey the workers into the country, and bring them back in the evening. Standards are carried, festivities are held, cakes are eaten. Every woman, if she desires it, can have three men – the husband, the lover, and the procreator. For celibates, the Bayadère system is established – '"
"That fits me!" said Bouvard. And he lost himself in dreams of the harmonious world.
"'By the restoration of climatures, the earth will become more beautiful; by the crossing of races, human life will become longer. The clouds will be guided as the thunderbolt is now: it will rain at night in the cities so that they will be clean. Ships will cross the polar seas, thawed beneath the Aurora Borealis. For everything is produced by the conjunction of two fluids, male and female, gushing out from the poles, and the northern lights are a symptom of the blending of the planets – a prolific emission.'"
"This is beyond me!" said Pécuchet.
After Saint-Simon and Fourier the problem resolves itself into questions of wages.
Louis Blanc, in the interests of the working class, wishes to abolish external commerce; Lafarelle to tax machinery; another to take off the drink duties, to restore trade wardenships, or to distribute soups.
Proudhon conceives the idea of a uniform tariff, and claims for the state the monopoly of sugar.
"These socialists," said Bouvard, "always call for tyranny."
"Oh, no!"
"Yes, indeed!"
"You are absurd!"
"Well, I am shocked at you!"
They sent for the works of which they had only summaries. Bouvard noted a number of passages, and, pointing them out, said:
"Read for yourself. They offer as examples to us the Essenes, the Moravian Brethren, the Jesuits of Paraguay, and even the government of prisons."
"'Amongst the Icarians breakfast was over in twenty minutes; women were delivered at the hospitals. As for books, it was forbidden to print them without the authorisation of the Republic.'"
"But Cabet is an idiot."
"Here, now, we have from Saint-Simon: 'The publicists should submit their works to a committee of manufacturers.'
"And from Pierre Leroux: 'The law will compel the citizens to listen to an orator.'
"And from Auguste Comte: 'The priests will educate the youth, will exercise supervision over literary works, and will reserve to themselves the power of regulating procreation.'"
These quotations troubled Pécuchet. In the evening, at dinner, he replied:
"I admit that there are absurdities in the works of the inventors of Utopias; nevertheless they deserve our sympathy. The hideousness of the world tormented them, and, in order to make it beautiful, they endured everything. Recall to mind More decapitated, Campanella put seven times to the torture, Buonarotti with a chain round his neck, Saint-Simon dying of want; many others. They might have lived in peace; but no! they marched on their way with their heads towards the sky, like heroes."
"Do you believe," said Bouvard, "that the world will change, thanks to the theories of some particular gentleman?"
"What does it matter?" said Pécuchet; "it is time to cease stagnating in selfishness. Let us look out for the best system."
"Then you expect to find it?"
"Certainly."
"You?"
And, in the fit of laughter with which Bouvard was seized, his shoulders and stomach kept shaking in harmony. Redder than the jams before them, with his napkin under his armpits, he kept repeating, "Ha! ha! ha!" in an irritating fashion.
Pécuchet left the room, slamming the door after him.
Germaine went all over the house to call him, and he was found at the end of his own apartment in an easy chair, without fire or candle, his cap drawn over his eyes. He was not unwell, but had given himself up to his own broodings.
When the quarrel was over they recognised that a foundation was needed for their studies – political economy.
They inquired into supply and demand, capital and rent, importation and prohibition.
One night Pécuchet was awakened by the creaking of a boot in the corridor. The evening before, according to custom, he had himself drawn all the bolts; and he called out to Bouvard, who was fast asleep.
They remained motionless under the coverlets. The noise was not repeated.
The servants, on being questioned, said they had heard nothing.
But, while walking through the garden, they remarked in the middle of a flower-bed, near the gateway, the imprint of a boot-sole, and two of the sticks used as supports for the trees were broken. Evidently some one had climbed over.
It was necessary to give notice of it to the rural guard.
As he was not at the municipal building, Pécuchet thought of going to the grocer's shop.
Who should they see in the back shop, beside Placquevent, in the midst of the topers, but Gorju – Gorju, rigged out like a well-to-do citizen, entertaining the company!