have done." – "The green peas are late." – "Candidly, this corner is not all right." – "With such pruning you'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 the gate with the pipes. Looks of amazement were exchanged. Bouvard observed the 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 curé giving a sort of cluck like a hen, Hurel coughing, the doctor mourning over it, while his wife had a nervous spasm, and Foureau, an unceremonious type of man, breaking an Abd-el-Kader and putting it into his pocket as a souvenir.
When they had left the tree-hedge, Bouvard, to astonish the company with the echo, exclaimed with all his strength:
"Servant, ladies!"
Nothing! No echo. This was owing to the repairs made in the barn, the gable and the roof having been demolished.
The coffee was served on the hillock; and the gentlemen were about to begin a game of ball, when they saw in front of them, behind the railed fence, a man staring at them.
He was lean and sunburnt, with a pair of red trousers in rags, a blue waistcoat, 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 Abbé Jeufroy had at once recognised him. He had formerly been a joiner at Chavignolles.
"Come, Gorju! take yourself off," said M. Foureau. "You ought not to be asking for alms."
"I! Alms!" cried the exasperated man. "I served seven years in the wars in Africa. I've only just got up out of a hospital. Good God! must I turn cutthroat?"
His anger subsided of its own accord, and, with his two fists on his hips, he surveyed the assembled guests with a melancholy and defiant air. The fatigue of bivouacs, absinthe, and fever, an entire existence of wretchedness and debauchery, stood revealed in his dull eyes. His white lips quivered, exposing the gums. The vast sky, empurpled, enveloped him in a blood-red light; and his obstinacy in remaining there caused a species of terror.
Bouvard, to have done with him, went to look for the remnants of a bottle. The vagabond swallowed the wine greedily, then disappeared amongst the oats, gesticulating as he went.
After this, blame was attached by those present to Bouvard. Such kindnesses encouraged disorder. But Bouvard, irritated at the ill-success of his garden, took up the defence of the people. They all began talking at the same time.
Foureau extolled the government. Hurel saw nothing in the world but landed property. The Abbé Jeufroy complained of the fact that it did not protect religion. Pécuchet attacked the taxes. Madame Bordin exclaimed at intervals, "As for me, I detest the Republic." And the doctor declared himself in favour of progress: "For, indeed, gentlemen, we have need of reforms."
"Possibly," said Foureau; "but all these ideas are injurious to business."
"I laugh at business!" cried Pécuchet.
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 your basin!"
"And I, too, am going," said M. Foureau the next moment; and, pointing to the pocket where the Abd-el-Kader was, "If I feel the want of another, I'll come back."
The curé, before departing, timidly confided to Pécuchet that he did not think this imitation of a tomb in the midst of vegetables quite decorous. Hurel, as he withdrew, made a low bow to the company. M. Marescot had disappeared after dessert. Madame Bordin again went over her recipe for gherkins, promised a second for plums with brandy, and made three turns in the large walk; but, passing close to the linden tree, 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 their resentment.
No doubt one might find fault with two or three little details here and there in the dinner; and yet the guests had gorged themselves like ogres, showing that it was not so bad. But, as for the garden, so much depreciation 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 a swan 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 right to erect one in his own demesne? I even intend to be buried in it!"
"Don't talk like that!" said Pécuchet.
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! you should 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 live exclusively by themselves and for themselves.
And they spent days in the wine-cellar, picking the tartar off the bottles, re-varnished all the furniture, enamelled the rooms; and each evening, as they watched the wood burning, they discussed the best system of fuel.
Through economy they tried to smoke hams, and attempted to do the washing themselves. Germaine, whom they inconvenienced, used to shrug her shoulders. When the time came for making preserves she got angry, and they took up their station in the bakehouse. It was a disused wash-house, where there was, under the faggots, a big, old-fashioned tub, excellently fitted for their projects, the ambition having seized them to manufacture preserves.
Fourteen glass bottles were filled with tomatoes and green peas. They coated the stoppers with quicklime and cheese, attached to the rims silk cords, and then plunged them into boiling water. It evaporated; they poured in cold water; the difference of temperature caused the bowls to burst. Only three of them were saved. Then they procured old sardine boxes, put veal cutlets into them, and plunged them into a vessel of boiling water. They came out as round as balloons. The cold flattened them out afterwards. To continue their experiments, they shut up in other boxes eggs, chiccory, lobsters, a hotchpotch of fish, and a soup! – and they applauded themselves like M. Appert, "on having fixed the seasons." Such discoveries, according to Pécuchet, carried him beyond the exploits of conquerors.
They
