第 二十四 章 · PART IV. CHAPTER VI.
. PART IV. CHAPTER VI.
The week passed away, and Françoise still persisted in her refusal to
return to her sister's house. There was a terrible scene one day on the
road. Buteau, who was dragging the girl away by the hair, was obliged
to let go on having his thumb severely bitten. Macqueron then became
so alarmed that he turned the girl out of his house, saying that as he
was the representative of the law he could not encourage her in her
rebellion.
La Grande happened to be passing at the time, and she took Françoise
home with her. The old woman was now eighty-eight years of age, but
she never thought about dying except as a means of bequeathing to her
heirs the worry of endless litigation in reference to her fortune. She
had made an extraordinarily complicated will, mixing everything up with
absolute delight; and, under the pretext of wronging no one, she had
left such directions as would compel the heirs to devour one another.
She had done this quite deliberately, feeling a satisfaction in the
thought that although she could not take her property with her to the
grave, she would at any rate go off with the consolation of having
done her very best to set all her relations by the ears. Nothing gave
her more pleasure than to see them quarrelling with one another, and
this it was that prompted her to take her niece into her own house.
Her natural stinginess made her hesitate just for a moment, but she
came to a decision at the thought that she would get a large amount of
work out of the girl in return for a small amount of food. That very
evening, in fact, she made her wash the whole house. When Buteau made
his appearance, she stood up and confronted him with her wicked-looking
old nose which resembled the beak of some aged bird of prey; and he
who had talked of smashing everything at the Macquerons' here began to
tremble and stammer, too much paralyzed by the fear of losing his share
of La Grande's property to dare to engage in a struggle with her.
"I want Françoise here," she said, "and I mean to keep her, since she
is not comfortable with you. Besides, she is of age now, and you have
certain accounts to render her. We shall have to talk about them."
Buteau went off in a furious frame of mind, alarmed at the trouble and
annoyance which he realised were in store for him.
Just a week afterwards, indeed, about the middle of August, Françoise
at last came of age. She was now her own mistress. By her change of
residence, however, she had done little more than change her troubles,
for she, also, trembled before her aunt, and was nearly killed by
over-work in this cold, parsimoniously-managed house, where everything
had to be made shiny without any expenditure upon soap or brushes. Cold
water and elbow-grease had to suffice for everything. One day the girl
almost got her head cut open by a blow from her aunt's stick, merely
for forgetting herself so far as to give the fowls some grain.
Several of the neighbours said that, in her anxiety to spare her horse,
La Grande harnessed her grandson Hilarion to the plough; and, even if
that was an exaggeration, there was no doubt but that she did treat the
lad like a beast of burden, beating him and almost killing him with
work, abusing of his great strength to such a degree that he sank down
quite worn out with exhaustion, and feeding him so miserably, with mere
crusts and leavings, just as though he were a pig, that he was always
on the verge of starvation, as well as being stupefied with fear. When
Françoise discovered that she was meant to make up the second horse in
the pair, her one thought was of how she might get away from the house;
and then it was that she suddenly determined to marry.
She was simply prompted by the wish to finish with it all. With her
ingrained and obstinate ideas of justice, ideas which even in her
childhood had caused her no little trouble, she would rather have
killed herself than have gone back to her sister's. She wanted nothing
but justice, she told herself, and she despised herself for having
submitted so long. She now made no reference to the swinish Buteau; it
was only of her sister that she spoke harshly, saying that if it had
not been for her they could still have continued living all together.
Now that this rupture had taken place between them, a rupture which
could never be healed, she only lived to obtain her property, her share
in the inheritance. The thought of this worried her from morning to
night, and she went wild on account of the endless formalities that
would have to be gone through. What was the good of them all? This is
mine! that is yours! Why couldn't the whole thing be settled in a
couple of minutes? It could only be, she declared, because every one
was in league to rob her. She suspected the whole family, and came to
the conclusion that her only means of extricating herself from this
predicament was to take a husband.
Jean, certainly, had not got an inch of land, and he was fifteen
years her senior. But then no one else had asked for her, and perhaps
no one else would have dared to take her, from fear of Buteau, who
was so generally dreaded in Rognes that no one cared to have him for
an adversary. Then, too, she and Jean had had to do with each other
once; though this fact was not of much importance, since it had had
no consequences. On the other hand, he was gentle, and kindly, and
straightforward. Why not take him, since there was no one else she
cared about, and as her only object in marrying was to get some one to
defend her interests and to do what she could to enrage Buteau? Yes,
she, too, would have a man of her own!
Jean still retained a great affection for her, although with time his
lustful desire to possess her had greatly quieted down. But he still
adhered to her, and looked upon himself as engaged to her by reason of
the promises they had exchanged. He had waited patiently till she was
of age, without harassing her to depart from the waiting course she
had determined upon, and he had even restrained her from acting in any
way against her own interests while she remained at her sister's. As
a result, there was now every reason why all honourable people should
be on her side. And, although he blamed her for the tempestuous way in
which she had left the Buteaus, he repeated that she now had the game
in her hands. Whenever she chose to speak of the other matter he should
be ready and willing to hear her.
Their marriage was agreed upon in this wise, one evening when he had
come to meet her behind La Grande's cow-house. There was a rotten old
gate there, opening into a court, and they were leaning against it,
he outside and she inside, with the stream of liquid manure from the
stable trickling between their feet.
The girl was the first to refer to the subject.
"If you're still of the same mind, Corporal, I'm willing to consent
now," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.
He returned her look, and replied slowly:
"I've not said anything to you about it lately, because it would have
seemed as if I wanted your property. But you are right all the same.
Now's the time."
Then there was a pause. Jean had laid his hand upon the girl's, which
was resting upon the gate. Then he resumed: "You mustn't let any of the
neighbours' gossip about La Cognette trouble you. It's three years and
more since I even touched her."
"And you," she exclaimed, "you mustn't worry yourself about Buteau.
The swine brags everywhere that he has had to do with me. Perhaps you
believe it?"
"Everybody in the neighbourhood believes it," Jean murmured, evading a
direct reply.
Then, seeing that she was still looking at him, he continued:
"Well, yes, I did believe it. I knew the scoundrel so well, that I
didn't see how you could possibly have prevented him."
"Oh, he tried often enough, and I suffered dreadfully at his hands; but
if I swear to you that he never gained his ends, will you believe me?"
"Yes, I believe you."
Then, in token of his pleasure, he closed his fingers round her hand,
and kept it pressed in his own as he stood with his arm resting on the
gate. Noticing that the dribbling stream from the stable was wetting
his boots, he set his legs apart.
"You seemed to stick on there so persistently," he continued, "that it
almost appeared as though you enjoyed his buffetings."
The girl felt ill at ease, and her frank, straightforward gaze was
lowered.
"And the more so," he added, "as you wouldn't have anything more to do
with me. Well, it's all the better now, isn't it? That baby I so wanted
still remains to come. It's altogether more respectable, too."
He stopped to tell her that she was standing in the dirty stream.
"Take care; you are wetting your feet."
She took them out of the slush, and then observed:
"We are agreed about it, then?"
"Yes, we are agreed. Choose any time you like."
They did not even kiss each other, but just shook hands across the gate
like a couple of friends. Then they went off in opposite directions.
When Françoise informed her aunt that same evening of her intention
to marry Jean, explaining to her her need of a husband to assist her
in recovering her property, La Grande at first made no reply. She sat
stiffly in her chair with her eyes widely opened, calculating the
loss and gain and pleasure which she was likely to derive from the
marriage, and it was only the next day that she expressed her approval
of it. She had been thinking the matter over all night long as she lay
on her straw mattress, for she slept very little now, and would lie
with open eyes till day dawned, plotting how she might make things
disagreeable for the different members of her family. This marriage
seemed to her to be so pregnant with unpleasant consequences for
everybody, that she longed to see it come off with quite a youthful
feverishness. She could already foresee even the smallest among the
numerous vexations which would arise from it, and she was scheming how
she might embitter them, and render them as fatal as possible. She was
so pleased, indeed, that she told her niece that she would take the
whole matter upon herself for affection's sake. She emphasised the word
by a terrible shake of her stick. Since the others had cast the girl
off, she would take the place of her mother, and folks would see how
she managed matters.
As a first step, La Grande summoned her brother Fouan to talk to him
about the accounts of the guardianship. The old man, however, could
not give her any information. It wasn't his doing, he said, that he
had been appointed guardian, and as Monsieur Baillehache had managed
everything, he ought to be applied to. Moreover, when he discovered
that the old woman was bent upon annoying the Buteaus, he affected
still greater bewilderment. Age, and the consciousness of his weakness,
filled him with uneasy alarm for himself; he felt that he was at
everybody's mercy. Why should he quarrel with the Buteaus? He had twice
almost made up his mind to return to them after nights of quaking fear,
during which he had seen Hyacinthe and La Trouille ferreting about his
room, and even thrusting their bare arms under his bolster, trying
to rob him of his papers. He felt quite convinced that he would be
murdered some night or other at the Château if he did not escape from
it.
La Grande, being unable to glean anything from him, dismissed him in a
state of great alarm, shouting out that he should be prosecuted if he
had tampered with the girl's property. Then she attacked Delhomme, as a
member of the family council, and gave him such a fright that he went
home ill, Fanny coming at once to tell the old woman that they would
prefer paying money down to being worried with law-suits. La Grande
chuckled. The game was beginning to be very amusing!
The question she now set herself to solve was whether the division of
the property should be pressed forward as the next step, or whether
the marriage should take place first. She pondered over it for two
nights, and pronounced in favour of an immediate marriage. Françoise,
married to Jean and claiming her share of the property, assisted by her
husband, would anger the Buteaus extremely. She then hurried things
forward, seeming to regain the nimble activity of youth, and she busied
herself about obtaining the necessary documents on behalf of Françoise,
and made Jean give her his. Then she made all the arrangements both for
the civil and religious weddings, and her eagerness even carried her
so far that she advanced the necessary money, taking care, however,
to obtain in exchange for it a receipt signed by both Jean and
Françoise--a receipt in which the sum advanced was doubled by way of
providing for the interest. The glasses of wine which she was forced to
offer to the guests during the preparations wrenched her heart-strings
more than anything else, but as she was provided with her vinegary
liquid, her "gnat destroyer," folks were not pressing in this respect.
She decided that there should be no wedding feast on account of the
divided state of the family. After the mass they would merely just
swallow a glass of the "gnat destroyer," by way of drinking the health
of the newly-married pair.
Monsieur and Madame Charles, who were invited, excused themselves
on the ground that they were greatly worried on account of their
son-in-law, Vaucogne. Fouan, who was in a most uneasy state of mind,
went off to bed, and sent a message saying that he was ill. The
only relation present was Delhomme, who consented to act as one of
Françoise's witnesses, to mark the esteem which he felt for that steady
fellow, Jean. The latter, on his side, only brought his witnesses--his
master, Hourdequin, and one of the farm-hands, a companion. Rognes was
topsy-turvy, and at every doorway people watched for this wedding,
which had been so energetically pushed forward, and which seemed likely
to provoke so much quarrelling and fighting.
At the ceremony at the municipal offices Macqueron, inflated with
self-importance, went through the formalities, in presence of the
ex-mayor, in an exaggerated manner. At the church there was a painful
incident. The Abbé Madeline fainted while he was saying mass. He was
not feeling well. He regretted his native mountains since he had begun
to live in flat La Beauce, and he was extremely distressed by the
indifference of his new parishioners for religion, and so upset by the
continued chattering and squabbling of the women, that he no longer
dared even to threaten them with hell. They had realised that he was of
a yielding disposition, and they took advantage of this to tyrannise
over him even in religious matters. However, Cœlina, and Flore, and all
the other women present at the ceremony, expressed extreme sorrow for
his having fallen with his nose against the altar, and they declared
that it was an omen of misfortune and approaching death for the bride
and bridegroom.
It had been settled that Françoise should continue to live at La
Grande's till she had received her share of the property; for, with
her characteristic determination, she had quite made up her mind that
she would have the house. So what was the good of taking one elsewhere
just for a fortnight or so? Jean, who was to retain his post as
waggoner at the farm, would in the meantime join her every evening.
Their wedding night was a very sad and stupid one, though they were
glad to be at last together. When Jean took his wife in his arms, she
began to sob so violently that she almost choked: not that he used
the least roughness towards her; on the contrary, he treated her with
the utmost gentleness. In reply to his questions she told him, still
sobbing bitterly, that she had no complaint to make against him, but
that she could not help crying, though she did not know why she was
doing so. Such a wedding night as this was not calculated to make a man
very ardent. Though he embraced her and held her clasped in his arms, a
feeling of troubled constraint seemed to have come between them. Apart
from that they got on very well together, and being unable to sleep,
they spent the remainder of the night in speculating as to how their
affairs would progress, when they got hold of the house and land.
The next morning Françoise was anxious to demand her share of the
property. But La Grande now showed no great hurry to have the matter
settled. She wanted to make her spiteful enjoyment last as long as
possible, bleeding her relations by slow degrees with pin-thrusts; and
then, again, she profited too much by the services of Françoise and
her husband, who paid the rent of the bedroom by two hours' work every
evening, to be anxious to see them leave her and establish themselves
in a house of their own.
It was necessary, however, to ask the Buteaus how they proposed to
divide the property. La Grande, on behalf of her niece, claimed the
house, half the arable land, and half the meadow, foregoing the half of
the vineyard as a set-off against the house, estimating it as being of
the same value. It was a very fair proposal, and if matters had been
thus arranged in a friendly way, a recourse to the law, which always
retains a good slice of everything it gets hold of, would have been
avoided. Buteau, whom La Grande's arrival had revolutionised--he was
forced to be respectful with her on account of her money--dared not
listen any longer, but rushed out of the room, afraid lest he might so
far forget his own interests as to strike the old woman.
Lise who was left alone with her, and whose ears were red with anger,
stammered out:
"The house, indeed! She wants the house, does she? this heartless
hussy, this good-for-nothing who has got married without even coming to
see me! Well, aunt, you can tell her from me that if ever she gets this
house it will only be because I'm dead!"
La Grande remained perfectly calm.
"All right, all right, my child. There's no occasion to get excited.
You also want the house. Well, you have an equal right to it. We will
see what is to be done."
For the next three days the old woman went backwards and forwards from
one sister to the other, reporting to each of them all the abuse which
the other had indulged in, and exasperating them to such a degree that
both of them almost took to their beds. La Grande, unwearying in her
embassies, impressed upon them how great her affection for them was,
and what an amount of gratitude they owed her for undertaking this
unpleasant task. It was finally settled that the land should be divided
between the two sisters, but that the house, the furniture, and the
live stock should be sold, since they could not agree about them. Both
the sisters swore that they would buy the house, even if they had to
part with their last chemise to do it.
So Grosbois came to survey the land and divide it into two lots. There
were two and a half acres of meadow land, about the same amount of
vineyard, and about five acres of plough land. It was this latter
that Buteau, since his marriage, had been so determined to retain,
for it adjoined a field of his own which he had obtained from his
father, and the two plots together made up a parcel of between seven
and eight acres, such as no other peasant in all Rognes possessed. He
was, consequently, full of bitter wrath when he saw Grosbois setting
up his square and sticking his poles into the ground. La Grande was
there superintending, but Jean had thought it best not to be present,
fearing that there might be a fight if he came. As it was, there was
an angry discussion. Buteau wanted the line of division to be drawn
parallel to the valley of the Aigre, so that his wife's share might
still adjoin his own field; while La Grande, on the other hand,
insisted that the line should be drawn perpendicularly, asserting that
this was the way in which the family property had always been divided
for centuries past. The old woman won the day, and Buteau clenched his
fists and almost choked with suppressed rage.
"Curse it! Why, if the first lot falls to me," he blurted out, "my land
will be cut up into two pieces. There will be this piece in one place,
and my own field in another."
"Well, my lad," rejoined the old woman, "you must draw the lot that
suits you best."
For a month past Buteau had been in a state of the angriest excitement.
In the first place, Françoise was escaping him. He had become quite ill
with longing desire, now that he was no longer able to seize hold of
the girl as he had been wont to do, and to obstinately hope on that he
would succeed in effecting his purpose some day or other. And, now that
she was married, the thought that another man could do as he pleased
with her, ended by putting him in a perfect fever. And then this other
man was now trying to get his land into his possession, too. He felt
that he would as soon lose a limb. The girl he might, perhaps, have,
but not the land; the land which he, Buteau, had always looked upon as
his own, and with which he had sworn never to part! He began to indulge
in the most bloodthirsty thoughts, and ransacked his brains for some
method by which he might be able to keep the land, dreaming vaguely of
murders and acts of violence, which only his terror of the gendarmes
prevented him from committing.
At last a meeting was arranged at Monsieur Baillehache's office, at
which Buteau and Lise, for the first time since the marriage, again
found themselves in the presence of Françoise and Jean, whom La Grande
had accompanied for the pleasure of the thing, and under the pretext
of seeing that nothing wrong was done. The five of them went into
the private office in silence, comporting themselves stiffly. The
Buteaus seated themselves on the right. On the left, Jean remained
standing behind Françoise's chair, as though to express that he was
not of the meeting, but had simply come to support his wife. The aunt,
tall and scrawny, sat down in the middle, turning her round eyes and
her hawk-like beak first on one couple and then on the other with
a satisfied air. The two sisters did not even appear to know each
other. They sat there with a hard expression on their faces, without
exchanging a single word or look. The men, however, had given one
another a rapid glance, gleaming and penetrating like a dagger thrust.
"Now, my friends," said Monsieur Baillehache, who remained calm amid
all these expressions of murderous hate, "we are first of all going to
finish with the division of the land, upon which subject we are now
quite agreed."
He then made them affix their signatures forthwith. The parchment was
already engrossed, blanks being left after the names of the parties for
the description of the various parcels, and they all had to sign before
the lots were drawn, which ceremony was immediately proceeded with, in
order to prevent any trouble.
Françoise, having drawn number two, number one was, of course, left for
Lise, and Buteau's face turned quite purple from the angry surging of
his blood. Luck was always against him! Here was his land cut atwain,
and this hussy and her man had their share between his two parcels!
"The devil take and confound them all!" he growled from between his
clenched teeth.
The notary requested him to restrain his feelings till he got into the
street again.
"This will cut up our land," remarked Lise, without turning towards her
sister. "Perhaps we might be able to make an exchange. It would suit us
better, and be to no one's disadvantage."
"No!" said Françoise, drily.
La Grande nodded her approval. It would bring bad luck to interfere
with the ruling of chance. The result of the drawing made the old woman
gay. As for Jean, who was still standing behind his wife, he seemed so
determined to hold himself aloof from the proceedings that he had not
moved, and his face was a perfect blank.
"Come now, let us finish with it all," said the notary.
The two sisters had, by common consent, deputed him to arrange for the
sale of the house and furniture and live stock. The sale was advertised
to take place in his office on the second Sunday in the month, and the
conditions of the sale stated that the purchaser could have the right
of entering into possession on the same day. When the sale was over,
the notary would at once proceed to balance accounts between the two
co-heiresses. The different parties concerned signified their approval
of all this by silently nodding their heads.
Just at this moment, however, Fouan, who had been summoned to attend
the meeting as Françoise's guardian, was introduced by a clerk, who
prevented Hyacinthe from coming in at the same time, on account of his
intoxicated condition. Although more than a month had elapsed since
Françoise had attained her majority, the accounts of the guardianship
had not yet been rendered; and this fact tended to complicate matters.
It was necessary for the accounts to be passed before the old man could
be released from his responsibility. He looked first at one party,
and then at the other, straining his little eyes, and trembling with
increasing fear lest he should find himself compromised and given up to
justice.
An abstract of the accounts had been prepared, and it was read by the
notary. They all listened to it attentively, full of uneasy anxiety,
since they could not completely understand, and fearing that if they
let a word pass unheard that very word would somehow bring them into
trouble.
"Have you any observations to make, any of you?" asked the notary when
he had finished reading the abstract.
They all looked bewildered. What observations? Perhaps they had
forgotten something, and were allowing themselves to be robbed.
"Excuse me," La Grande suddenly interposed, "but this by no means suits
Françoise. My brother must be intentionally shutting his eyes if he
can't see that the girl's being defrauded."
"I! what? eh?" stammered Fouan. "I haven't taken a copper of hers, so
help me God!"
"I say that Françoise, since her sister's marriage, now nearly five
years ago, has been employed as her servant, and that she is entitled
to wages."
Buteau sprang up from his seat at this unexpected demand, and Lise
almost choked with anger.
"Wages!" she cried; "wages to a sister! That is too ridiculous!"
Monsieur Baillehache hushed them, and declared that the girl was
perfectly entitled to claim wages if she chose to do so.
"Yes, I do claim them," said Françoise; "I wish to have everything that
is my due."
"But then you must take all her food into account!" cried Buteau, wild
with excitement. "She makes short work with bread and meat! Just you
feel her, and say if you think that she's got as fat as that on air!"
"And then there's her linen and dresses!" Lise added furiously; "and
her washing! Why, she used to sweat so much that she'd soil a chemise
in a couple of days."
"If I sweated like that," replied Françoise, with annoyance, "it was
because I worked so hard."
"Sweat dries and doesn't soil," interposed La Grande, curtly.
Monsieur Baillehache again intervened. He told them that a debtor and
creditor account would have to be drawn up, the wages on one side and
the board and lodging and other expenses on the other. Then he took a
pen, and made an attempt to draw up a statement from the information
they gave him. It was a terrible business. Françoise, backed up by La
Grande, showed herself very exacting, setting a high price upon her
services, and detailing at length all that she had done while she was
with the Buteaus: her work in the household, and with the cows, and
out in the fields, where her brother-in-law had made her labour like a
man. The exasperated Buteaus, on the other hand, swelled out the list
of expenses as much as possible, counting up every meal, telling lies
about the girl's clothes, and claiming even the money which had been
spent in presents for her on fête-days. But, despite all they could do,
they found themselves with a balance of a hundred and eighty-six francs
against them. Their hands trembled and their eyes blazed as they tried
to think of something else that they might charge for.
The statement was about to be passed when Buteau suddenly cried out:
"Stop a moment. There's the doctor. He came twice when she was out of
sorts; that makes another six francs."
La Grande was by no means inclined to let the others enjoy this victory
undisturbed, and she stirred up old Fouan to make him recollect how
many days' work the girl had done on the farm while he was living in
the house. Was it five days or six, at a franc and a half the day?
Françoise cried six, and Lise cried five, hurling the words at each
other's heads as though they had been stones. The distracted old man
now supported one and then the other, tapping his forehead with his
fists. Françoise, however, carried the day, and there was now a balance
to her credit of a hundred and eighty-nine francs.
"Well, is everything included now?" asked the notary.
Buteau seemed quite crushed and overwhelmed with this ever-increasing
liability, and no longer struggling, he sat there hoping that affairs
had now seen their worst.
"I'll take off my shirt if they want it," he groaned in a doleful
voice.
La Grande, however, had kept a last terrible bolt in reserve. It was
a very important and simple matter, which everybody seemed to have
forgotten.
"And then there's the five hundred francs compensation for the road up
yonder."
Buteau now sprang wildly to his feet, his eyes projecting out of his
head, and his mouth wide open. He could say nothing, however; no
discussion was possible. He had received the money, and was bound
to hand half of it over. For a moment he ransacked his brains for
something to say, but he could not think of anything at all; and in
the wild anger that was rising and making his head throb, he suddenly
rushed forward at Jean.
"You filthy blackguard!" he cried, "it is you who killed our
friendship! If it hadn't been for you, we should still have all been
living together in peace and quiet!"
Jean, who had very sensibly preserved silence, was now forced to assume
an attitude of defence.
"Keep off!" he said, "or I'll strike."
Françoise and Lise had hastily sprung up and planted themselves in
front of their respective husbands, their faces swollen by their
gradually accumulating hatred, and their nails outstretched and ready
to tear each other's faces. A general engagement, which neither Fouan
nor La Grande seemed inclined to prevent, would certainly have taken
place, and caps and hair would soon have been flying about, if the
notary had not thrown off his professional calmness.
"Confound it all!" he cried, "wait till you've got outside. It's
disgusting that you can't settle your accounts without fighting!"
Then as the quivering antagonists quieted down, he added: "You are now
agreed, I think, eh? Well, I will have the accounts made out in proper
form, and then, when they have been signed, we will proceed to the sale
of the house, and get the whole matter done with. Now you can go, and
mind you are careful. Folly sometimes turns out very expensive!"
This remark finished pacifying them. As they were leaving, however,
Hyacinthe, who had been waiting outside for his father, attacked the
whole family, and roared out that it was a foul shame to involve a poor
old man in their dirty business for the sake of robbing him, no doubt;
and then, as his drunkenness made him affectionate, he took his father
away, as he had brought him, in a cart, bedded with straw, which he had
borrowed from a neighbour. The Buteaus went off on one side, while La
Grande pushed Jean and Françoise towards "The Jolly Ploughman," where
she had herself treated to some black coffee. She was radiant.
"At any rate I've had a good laugh!" she exclaimed, as she put the
remains of the sugar into her pocket.
La Grande had another idea that same day. When she got back to Rognes,
she hurried off to make an arrangement with old Saucisse, who had once
been a lover of hers, so folks declared. The Buteaus having threatened
to bid against Françoise for the house, even though it cost them
all they possessed, it had occurred to her that if Saucisse bid on
Françoise's behalf the others might not have any suspicions, but let
him secure the house; he was their neighbour and might very well wish
to enlarge his premises. In consideration of a present the old man
immediately consented to do as he was asked.
On the second Sunday of the month, when the sale came off, matters
turned out just as La Grande had foreseen. Once more the Buteaus were
seated on one side of Monsieur Baillehache's office, and Françoise
and Jean and La Grande on the other. There were also various other
people there, some peasants, who had come with a vague idea of bidding,
if things went very cheaply. After four or five bids from Lise and
Françoise, the house stood at three thousand five hundred francs,
which was just about its value. When they got to three thousand
eight hundred, Françoise stopped. Then old Saucisse came upon the
scene, pushed the bidding up to four thousand francs, and then on
to an additional five hundred. The Buteaus looked at each other in
consternation. They felt as though they could really go no higher;
the thought of such a large sum of money quite froze their blood.
Lise, however, let herself be carried away as far as five thousand
francs; but then the old man quite crushed her by immediately bidding
five thousand two hundred. That settled the business, and the house
was knocked down to him for the five thousand two hundred francs. The
Buteaus sniggered. It would be very pleasant to handle their share of
this big sum of money, now that Françoise and her filthy blackguard of
a husband had failed to get the house.
However, when Lise, upon her return to Rognes, once more entered
the old house where she had been born and where she had hitherto
lived, she burst into tears. Buteau, also, was dreadfully cut up and
down-hearted, and he relieved his feelings by falling foul of his wife;
swearing that if he had had his own way he would have parted with the
last hair on his head rather than have let the house go. But your
heartless women, he cried, refused to open their purses, except it
were for self-indulgence. In this, however, he was lying, for it was
he himself who had held Lise back. Then they got to blows. Ah! The
poor old patrimonial abode of the Fouans, built by an ancestor three
hundred years previously, and now crazy and cracked, mended and patched
in every part, sunken and thrown forward by the sweeping winds of La
Beauce! To think that the family had lived in it for three hundred
years, that they had grown to love it and honour it as a holy relic,
and that it was counted as a leading item in the inheritances! Buteau,
at the thought of losing it, knocked his wife down with a back-hander,
and when she struggled up again she kicked him so violently that she
nearly broke his leg.
On the evening of the next day matters were even worse--the thunderbolt
fell. Old Saucisse had gone in the morning to complete the sale, and
by noon all Rognes knew that he had bought the house on behalf of
Françoise, with her husband's authorisation; and not only the house,
but the furniture also, and Gédéon and La Coliche. There was a howl of
anguish and distress at the Buteaus', as though lightning had stricken
them. Husband and wife threw themselves upon the ground, and roared and
wept in their wild despair at finding themselves defeated, outwitted,
by that hussy of a girl. What maddened them, perhaps, more than
anything else, was the knowledge that the whole village was laughing
at them for their lack of penetration. To be fooled in this way, and
turned out of their own house by such a trick! No, indeed, it was too
much! They would not submit to it!
When La Grande presented herself the same evening on Françoise's
behalf, and politely inquired of Buteau when it would be convenient for
him to give up possession, he thrust her out of the house, casting all
prudence to the winds and only making use of a foul expression.
The old woman went off chuckling, simply remarking that she would send
the bailiff. The next day, indeed, Vimeux, with a pale, uneasy face,
and looking more pitiable than usual, came up the street and gently
knocked at the door, anxiously watched by all the gossips in the
neighbouring houses. No notice was taken of his knock, and he gave a
louder one, and even summoned up enough courage to call out and explain
that he had come to serve a notice to quit. Then the window of the
garret was opened, and a voice roared out the same foul word as had
been addressed to La Grande; while the contents of a chamber utensil
were flung upon Vimeux, who, soaked from head to foot, had to go off
without serving the notice. For a whole month Rognes roared over his
adventure.
La Grande, however, now immediately went off to Châteaudun with Jean,
to consult a lawyer. The latter explained to her that at least five
days would be necessary before the Buteaus could be ejected. Complaint
would have to be formally laid; then an order would have to be obtained
from the presiding judge; this order would then have to be registered,
and then the ejectment would take place, the bailiff being assisted
by the gendarmes, if necessary. La Grande tried hard to get matters
settled a day sooner, and when she returned to Rognes--it was then
Tuesday--she told every one that on the Saturday evening the Buteaus
would be turned into the street at the point of the sword like thieves,
if they did not voluntarily take themselves off in the meantime.
When this was repeated to Buteau, he made a threatening gesture and
told every one he met that he would never leave the house alive, and
that the soldiers would have to break down the walls before they
dragged him out. His fury acquired such an extravagant character that
the whole neighbourhood was at a loss to know whether he was pretending
to be mad, or really was so. He passed wildly along the roads, standing
in the front of his cart, and keeping his horse at the gallop, without
replying when he was spoken to or warning the foot passengers. He
was met at nights, too, how in one part of the neighbourhood, now
in another, returning from nobody knew where, possibly from seeing
the fiend. One man who had ventured up to him had received a heavy
cut from his whip. He spread terror abroad, and the whole village
was soon constantly on the look-out. One morning it was seen that he
had barricaded the house, and terrible cries were heard from behind
the closed doors, piteous howls in which the neighbours fancied they
could distinguish the voices of Lise and her two children, Laure and
Jules. The whole neighbourhood was revolutionised, and took counsel
together as to what should be done; with the result that an old peasant
risked his life by raising a ladder to one of the windows, in view of
climbing up to see what was going on inside. Buteau, however, opened
the window, and overturned both the ladder and the old man, the latter
almost having his legs broken. Couldn't a chap be left alone in his own
house? Buteau roared as he shook his fists, and he threatened to murder
everybody if they made any further attempt to interfere with him. Lise
also appeared with her two children, and gave utterance to a flood of
virulent language, abusing her neighbours for poking their noses into
what did not concern them. After that no one dared to make any further
attempt at interference; but the general alarm increased at every
fresh outburst, and people shuddered as they listened to the dreadful
uproar. The more cynical fellows thought that Buteau was only acting,
but others swore that he had gone off his nut, and that some terrible
result would ensue. The truth, however, was never known.
On the Friday, the day before the Buteaus were to be ejected, another
scene caused great emotion. Buteau, having met his father near the
church, began to cry like a calf, kneeling down on the ground in
front of the old man, and asking pardon of him for all his previous
misconduct. It was probably owing to that, he said, that his present
troubles had come upon him. He besought his father to return to live
with him, seeming to think that this alone could put fortune again on
his side. Fouan, worried by all this braying, and amazed by his son's
seeming repentance, promised to entertain the proposal some day, when
all the family worries were over.
At last the Saturday arrived. Buteau's excitement had gone on
increasing, and from morn to night he was ever harnessing and
unharnessing his horse again without the slightest reason. Folks fled
out of the way when they saw him driving furiously along, full of
consternation at the sight of all this aimless rushing about. At about
eight o'clock on the Saturday morning Buteau once more put his horse
between the shafts, but did not leave his premises. He took up his
stand at the door, calling out to every one who passed by, sniggering
and sobbing and yelling out his troubles in coarse language. Oh, it was
a nice thing, wasn't it? to be made a fool of by a young hussy who'd
been his keep for the last five years! Yes, she was a strumpet, and
so was his wife! Yes, a couple of fine strumpets, who fought together
as to which of them he should belong. He continued harping upon this
lie, inventing all kinds of nasty details out of spite and revengeful
bitterness. Lise having come to the door, there was another atrocious
scene between them. Buteau thrashed her in sight of everybody, and then
sent her back again, limp and subdued, while he himself felt relieved
by the hiding he had given her. He still remained at the door on the
look-out for the agents of the law, which he jeered at and reviled. Had
the law stopped on the way to make a beast of herself? he cried. At
last, no longer expecting the bailiff, he became triumphant.
It was not till four o'clock that Vimeux made his appearance,
accompanied by a couple of gendarmes. Buteau turned pale, and hastily
closed the yard door. Possibly he had believed that matters would never
be pushed to an extremity. A death-like silence fell upon the house.
Protected by armed men, Vimeux was now quite insolent, and knocked
at the door with his two fists. No answer was vouchsafed. Then the
gendarmes came forward and made the old door shake with the butts of
their guns. A crowd of men, women, and children had followed them; all
Rognes was there, waiting to see the siege. Then suddenly the door was
thrown open again, and Buteau was seen, standing in the front of his
cart, and lashing his horse forward. He came out at a gallop, right
into the midst of the assembled crowd.
"I'm going to drown myself! I'm going to drown myself!" he bellowed out
amid the cries of alarm.
It was all up, and he was going to make an end of it by hurling himself
and his horse and cart into the Aigre!
"Look out, there," he shouted; "I'm going to drown myself!"
Fright dispersed the inquisitive folks, as Buteau lashed his whip and
the cart rushed wildly out. However, just as he was going to dash down
the slope, at the risk of smashing the wheels of the vehicle, several
men ran forward to arrest his course. The obstinate fool was quite
capable of making the plunge, they cried, just for the sake of annoying
people! They caught him up, but there was a struggle; while some sprang
to the horse's head others had to climb into the cart. When they led
him back to the house again, he clenched his teeth and stiffened his
whole body, but said not a single word, letting fate take its course,
with no other protest save the silence of impotent anger.
La Grande now made her appearance with Françoise and Jean, whom she
was bringing to take possession of the house. Buteau contented himself
with staring at them with the sombre gaze with which he now watched
the completion of his misfortune. Lise, however, began to cry out and
struggle, as though she were mad. The gendarmes had ordered her to take
what belonged to her and quit the premises. There was nothing left for
her but to obey, since her husband was poltroon enough, she cried, to
stand by without striking a blow in her defence. With her arms a-kimbo,
she began to abuse him.
"You craven! to stand by and allow us to be turned into the street in
this way! You haven't got any pluck, eh? Why don't you hit the swine!
Get out of my sight, you coward! You're no man!"
As she went on yelling all this in his face, exasperated by his
quiescent demeanour, he at last gave her such a violent shove that she
moaned. However, he still persisted in his silence, and merely glowered
at her with his sombre eyes.
"Come now, look sharp," cried Vimeux, triumphantly, "We shan't go away
till you have given up the keys to the new owners."
Lise thereupon began to remove her goods in a wild paroxysm of rage.
During the last three days she and Buteau had already transferred
a great many things, tools and implements, and the larger domestic
utensils, to the house of their neighbour, La Frimat. It was indeed
evident that they had really anticipated the ejection, for they had
made arrangements with the old woman to have the use of her house
till they had time to settle down again. The place was too big for La
Frimat, who merely retained the bedroom to which her paralysed husband
was confined.
As the furniture and live-stock had been sold together with the house,
Lise merely had to remove her linen, her mattresses, and a few other
trifling articles. Everything was tossed out of the door and windows
into the middle of the yard, while the two little ones yelled as though
they thought that their last day had come, Laure clinging to her
mother's skirts, while Jules, who had tumbled down, was wallowing in
the midst of the ejected property. As Buteau made no attempt to assist
his wife, the gendarmes, like good fellows, began to place the bundles
in the cart, which was still standing in front of the door.
However, the row commenced all over again when Lise caught sight of
Françoise and Jean, standing beside La Grande. She rushed forward and
gave free flow to all her accumulated wrath and spite.
"Ah, you filthy cat, you've come to look on with your tom, have you?
Yes, feast your eyes on our trouble! It's just as though you were
drinking our blood! You thief! you thief! you thief!"
She almost choked as she shouted this last word, which she hurled again
at her sister every time she came out into the yard with some fresh
burden. Françoise did not reply. She was very pale, her lips were
closely pressed together, and her eyes seemed to be on fire. But soon
she assumed an air of suspicious watchfulness, and gazed at everything
that was brought out, as though she wished to make sure that nothing
belonging to herself was taken away. Presently her eye fell upon a
kitchen-stool which had been included in the sale.
"That belongs to me," she exclaimed in a rough voice.
"Belongs to you, does it?" replied her sister; "go and fetch it, then!"
and she hurled the stool into the pond.
The house was at last evacuated. Buteau took hold of the horse's
bridle, while Lise picked up her two children, her two last bundles,
Jules in her right arm and Laure in the left. Then, as she finally left
her home, she stepped up to Françoise and spat in her face.
"There! take that for yourself!"
Her sister immediately spat back at her.
"And you take that!"
After these farewell words, the offspring of their bitter hatred, Lise
and Françoise slowly wiped their faces, without taking their eyes off
one another. They were sundered for ever now; there was henceforth
nothing in common between them save their kindred blood, which surged
with such hot hate.
Finally, Buteau opened his mouth again to roar out the order to start,
which he coupled with a threatening gesture in the direction of the
house.
"It won't be long before we come back again!"
La Grande followed them to see the end of it all; and, indeed, now that
the Buteaus were completely overthrown, she resolved to turn against
Françoise and Jean, who had left her so speedily, and whom she already
found much too happy together. For a long time the villagers continued
standing about in groups, talking to each other in undertones.
Françoise and Jean had entered the empty house.
While the Buteaus were unloading their bundles at La Frimat's they were
amazed to see old Fouan appear. With a frightened look, and glancing
behind him as though he was afraid of being pursued, he asked: "Is
there a corner here for me? I have come to sleep here."
He had just fled in terror from Hyacinthe's. For a long time past
whenever he awoke during the night he always saw that bony creature
La Trouille prowling in her chemise about his room, searching for the
papers, which he had now taken the precaution to conceal out-of-doors
in a hole in a rock, which he had stopped up with earth. The girl was
sent on this errand by her father on account of her light suppleness,
and she glided about with bare feet just like a snake, insinuating
herself everywhere, between the chairs and under the bed. She evinced
the greatest enthusiasm in the search, feeling certain that the old
man placed the papers somewhere about his person when he dressed
himself, and exasperated that she could not discover where he hid
them on going to bed. She had convinced herself that he did not put
them in the bed itself, for she had felt everywhere with her slender
arm, with such skilful dexterity that Fouan had scarcely known that
she had touched him. On that particular day, however, soon after
breakfast, he had had a fainting fit, falling against the table in
a state of unconsciousness; and, as he came to himself again, still
so overcome that he kept his eyes closed, he realised that he was
lying on the ground near where he had fallen, and he could feel that
Hyacinthe and La Trouille were undressing him. Instead of doing what
they could to bring him round, the wretches had had but one idea,
that of at once profiting by the fit to search him. La Trouille
manifested an angry roughness in her search, not going about it in
her wonted gentle manner, but pulling roughly at his jacket and
trousers, and even examining every corner of his flesh to make sure
that he had not concealed his treasure there. She turned him round,
and then, stretching out his limbs, she searched him as though she
were ransacking some old bag. Nothing! Where could he have hidden the
papers? It was enough to make one cut him open and look inside!
The old man was in such terror lest he should be murdered if he moved
that he still feigned unconsciousness, and kept his eyes closed and
his legs and arms rigid. But as soon as he found himself free again he
fled, firmly resolved never to spend another night at the Château.
"Tell me, can you give me a corner?" he asked again.
Buteau's spirits seemed to revive at his father's unexpected return. It
was money that was coming back.
"Certainly I can, dad! We'll squeeze together to find a corner for you.
It will bring us luck, too. Ah, I should be a rich man, if merely a
good heart were needed to make one so!"
Françoise and Jean had slowly entered the empty house. The night was
closing in, and the rooms lay silent in the mournful, fading light.
Everything there was very old. This patrimonial roof had sheltered
the toil and wretchedness of three centuries, and there was an air of
solemnity about the place such as dwells in the gloom of an ancient
village church. The doors were still standing open. It seemed as
though a storm of wind had blown through the house; the chairs lay
overturned on the ground amid the general chaos of the removal. The
place looked as though it were dead.
Françoise slowly went over it, examining every corner. Vague
recollections and confused sensations awoke in her as she proceeded. In
that spot she had played as a child. It was in the kitchen, near that
table, that her father had died. As she stood in the bedroom, in front
of the bed stripped of its mattress, she thought of Lise and Buteau,
and of the nights when they had embraced each other so vigorously that
she could hear the sound of their panting breath through the ceiling.
Was she even now to be tormented by them? She felt as though Buteau
were still there. Here he had seized hold of her one night, and she had
bitten him. And here again, too, and here. There was not a corner in
the whole house that did not suggest some painful recollection.
Then as Françoise turned round, she started at seeing Jean. What was
this stranger doing in the house? There was an air of constraint about
him, as though he were on a visit, and did not like to take the liberty
of touching anything. She felt overwhelmed with a feeling of solitude,
and grew sick at heart to find that her victory had not made her more
joyful. She had fancied she would enter the house, full of happiness,
triumphant in the thought of having ejected her sister; but now the
house afforded her no pleasure, and her heart was heavy and ill at
ease. Perhaps it was the dying day that was filling her with melancholy!
When the night had quite fallen, she and her husband were still
wandering from one room to another in the darkness, without having had
the courage even to light a candle.
Presently, however, a noise brought them back into the kitchen, and
they became merry on recognising Gédéon, who had effected an entrance
after his usual custom, and had his head inside the side-board, which
had been left open. Close by, inside the stable, they could hear old La
Coliche lowing.
Then Jean, taking Françoise in his arms, kissed her tenderly, as though
to say that, despite everything, they would be happy.
PART V.