Complete Works of Emile Zola (1643 page)

Luc often took long walks for pure pleasure across the fertile fields, where he sometimes met Feuillat, Boisgelin’s farmer, who would also be taking his ease, with his hands in his pockets, contemplating, with his silent and enigmatical air, the beautiful crops growing on these well-cultivated lands. Luc was aware what a large share he had taken in the action of Lenfant and Yvonnot, and he also knew that it was by Feuillat’s advice that they were still guided. Therefore it was a constant source of surprise to him to see in what a wretched condition Feuillat was leaving the land that he had leased — that domain of Guerdache, the poor fields of which, now almost sterile, seemed like a barren desert as compared with the rich domain of Combettes.

One morning, as both of them were following a road which separated the two properties, engaged in conversation, Luc could not refrain from making a remark about it “Tell me, Feuillat,” he said, “do you not feel ashamed of the bad condition of your property, when the land belonging to your neighbors, upon the other side of the road, is so admirably cultivated? Your own interest alone, I should think, would stimulate you to the active and intelligent labor of which I know you to be capable.”

The farmer at first merely smiled. Then he ventured to speak without fear.

“
Oh, Monsieur Luc, shame is too refined a sentiment for us poor creatures; and as to my own interest, that lies in drawing nothing but a bare existence from these lands which are not mine. What I aim to do is to cultivate them sufficiently to have daily bread, and no more, for it would be foolishness to till them, to fertilize them, and to make excellent lands of them, when all that would simply enrich Monsieur Boisgelin, who can turn me out whenever my lease expires. No, no, if one undertakes to make a field a good field, it must be one’s own, or, better still, it must belong to every one.”

And he proceeded to jeer at and make fun of those who say to the peasants, “Love the land! love the land!” He wished very much to love it himself; but all the same he wished to be loved by it in return — that is to say, he did not wish to love it for others. He repeated several times that his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather had lived under the rod of the exploiters, and had received nothing in return but wretchedness and tears. For himself, he had seen enough of this sweating system, this sacrifice of a dupe upon the altar of farming, this loving, tending, fertilizing of the land by the farmer, in order that the land-owner, with his wife and child, might enjoy all its riches.

A silence ensued. Then he added, in a low voice, with an air of concentrated passion:

“Yes, yes, the land must belong to every one if it is to be loved and cultivated once more. As for myself, I shall wait.”

Luc looked at him, much struck by his remarks. He perceived a keen intelligence behind his reserved manner. He was also sensible that behind the simple and slightly cunning peasant nature there was a fine instinct for diplomacy and a clear vision into the future which was storing up the experiment at Combettes for a distant end known to himself alone. He suspected the truth, and he wished to be certain of it.

“
Then if you leave your land in such a condition,” said he, “it is because you think that it will be compared with the adjoining property, and eventually included in it? But is not that a dream? Combettes will never spread so as to swallow up Guerdache.”

Feuillat once more smiled, and then, as if not wishing to say anything further, remarked:

“No doubt great changes would have to take place between now and then; but who knows what may happen in the end? I shall wait.”

And, after several minutes, he resumed, taking in the horizon with a broad sweep of his hand:

“What is once set in progress cannot be stopped. Do you remember the desolate prospect that was once to be seen here, in those miserable pieces of land with their scanty crops? And now look, behold! with community of land and of cultivation, with the aid of machinery and science, there is an abundant harvest, and all the surrounding country is being, little by little, taken in. Ah, it is a splendid sight!”

His passionate affection for the soil, which he cherished in secret, from a jealous desire to love it for itself alone, shone in his eyes, and found expression in the enthusiasm of his voice. The great wave of fertility manifested in that field of wheat was a large element in Luc’s prosperity. If he felt that he was firmly established at La Crêcherie, it was because his storehouse was full of grain, and his little population of artisans, having become also a little population of peasants, were assured of daily bread. And his delight in seeing the progress of his city, with its steadily advancing tide of new houses, which in time would overcome the Pit and Beauclair, was not greater than that which he experienced on coming to contemplate the fertile fields of Combettes, which also were steadily on the increase, and including by degrees the adjoining land, and little by little merging their harvests into a boundless ocean extending from one end of Roumagne to the other. It was the same effort, the same civilization drawing near, the humanity that leads to truth and justice, to peace and to happiness.

The most immediate effect of the success of La Crêcherie was to show the small manufactories in the vicinity the advantage that they would receive from following its example, and associating themselves with their larger neighbor. The Chodorge establishment, a nail manufactory, which bought all of its raw material from its powerful sister, set the example by allowing itself to be definitely absorbed in a community of interest. The Hausser establishment, which had formerly forged sabres and was now making a specialty of pruning-knives and scythes, next entered the association, and became, as it were, a natural extension of the great neighboring forge. There were some difficulties with the house of Miranda & Co., which manufactured farming utensils, for one of the two owners was a man of reactionary ideas, and struggled against all novelties; but a crisis became so imminent that he retired, in terror of inevitable ruin, and the other partner saved his manufactory by not losing a moment in consolidating with La Crêcherie. All these establishments thus drawn into the movement for association and co-operation acted in unison, and accepted the same regulations, such as the division of profits, based on the union of capital, labor, and intelligence. The result was that they became a single and united family, divided into a hundred different groups, always ready to receive new adherents, and by this means capable of indefinite extension. They afforded a definite example of reconstructed social conditions, anticipating those of the future, re-established upon a new organization of labor, and advancing steadily towards the freedom and happiness of humanity.

In Beauclair, which was both astonished and disconcerted, uneasiness at last became overwhelming. For what would be the result of all this? Would La Crêcherie continue steadily to increase, to be augmented by every little manufactory which it met upon its road, now this, now that, now another? Would the town itself and the vast neighboring plain be absorbed, and become nothing more than the dependencies, the domain, the very substance of La Crêcherie? Hearts were sore, and thinkers began to ask themselves where lay the real interest of the individual, and in what was his possible fortune. In the little world of tradesmen, and, above all, of contractors, perplexity increased, in face of a daily diminution of receipts; and it became a vital question with each one whether he would not soon be obliged to close his shop altogether. Therefore the consternation became general when it was known that Caffiaux the grocer, who also kept the
cabaret,
had just come to an understanding with La Crêcherie, by which his house was to become a simple depot, a sort of branch of the general stores. He had for a long time been regarded as the chief man of the Pit, acting, to a certain extent, as spy for the management, by poisoning the working-man with alcohol and then selling him to his employers; for the
cabaret
is the firmest support of the wages system. At all events, the man was untrustworthy, ever on the lookout for the victory of the strongest side, continually alert for treachery, and ready to change sides at any time with the ease of a turncoat who cannot accept defeat. And that he should so readily have gone over to La Crêcherie redoubled the distress of the anxious people, who were laboring under the necessity of taking sides sooner or later. Everything indicated a movement towards association, which would no doubt proceed with increasing rapidity as a result of the multiplied force of its own momentum. The beautiful Madame Mitaine, the baker’s wife, had waited for Caffiaux’s conversion to inform herself of what was going on at La Crêcherie, and was disposed to enter the association, although her bakery was still prosperous, thanks, no doubt, to her renown for beauty and goodness, by means of which she had made it popular. The butcher Dacheux alone remained obstinate, in the gloomy rage consequent upon the overthrow of all his ideas. He said that he would prefer to die in the midst of his last quarters of meat upon the day when there should no longer be a
bourgeois
to be found who would give him his price, and this prospect seemed actually likely to be realized, since, as his customers were gradually leaving him, he was seized with such fits of rage that he was in positive danger of a sudden attack of apoplexy.

Dacheux one day betook himself to the Laboques’, where he had begged Madame Mitaine meet him. The moral and commercial interests of the whole town, he said, were concerned. Rumor reported that the Laboques, in order to avoid a failure, were on the point of making peace with Luc, and of joining his association, in such a manner as to become simple depositories of La Crêcherie. Ever since the latter had been exchanging directly their iron and steel, their implements and machinery, for bread furnished by Combettes and other villages in the syndicate, the Laboques had lost their best customers, the peasants in the neighborhood, without mentioning the small housekeepers among the Beauclair middle-class, who effected a great saving by dealing with the shops at the works, which, by a brilliant idea of Luc’s, were opened to every one. This caused the death of trade, as it had been understood up to that time, for it did away with any middleman between the producer and the consumer — that is, with the person who raised the value of living, and himself lived like a parasite on the necessities of others. He was now a useless piece of machinery, whose disappearance was certain from the moment when experience should demonstrate with what facility he could be abolished in the interest of others. And the Laboques bewailed themselves in the midst of their deserted shop.

When Dacheux arrived, the wife, dark and thin, was at the counter, entirely unoccupied, not having even spirit left to knit stockings, while the husband, with eyes and nose like a ferret, went and came like a troubled spirit, looking along cases of merchandise which were covered with dust.

“What is this I hear?” cried the butcher, purple with rage. “You are going to betray us, Laboque; you are on the point of giving in! You who lost your lawsuit against this robber, you who swore the death of him, you are going to desert simply to save your own skin! Is it you who are going to turn against us and complete our ruin?”

Laboque, in his despair, gave way to a storm of rage.

“I have enough trouble; leave me in peace! As to that idiotic lawsuit, it was forced upon me by all of you. Now you do not supply me with enough money to pay my expenses at the end of the month. Then, why do you come and talk to me about saving my own skin?”

He waved his hand towards the unpurchased merchandise.

“There is my skin,” said he, “and if I do not bestir myself the sheriff’s officers will be here next Wednesday. Yes! it is true, since you wish to hear it from me, yes! I am negotiating with La Crêcherie; I have made terms, and I shall sign the contract this evening. I am still hesitating, but I shall be worried into it at last.”

He let himself drop into a chair, while Dacheux, stupefied and choked with passion, could find nothing to stammer forth but oaths. Then Madame Laboque, in her turn, from behind her counter, gave vent to her complaint in a low, monotonous voice.

“After working so hard; just think of it! We had so much trouble at first, when we began by selling hardware from village to village And then, later, we had such a struggle to open this shop and to build up the business year by year! Still we had our reward; it did increase, and we could even cherish a dream of buying a house in the open country in order to retire upon our investments. Then, all at once, everything crumbles to pieces, and Beauclair goes mad. I have not yet been able to understand why.”

“Why, why!” stormed Dacheux; “because this is a revolution, and the
bourgeois
, who do not dare to defend themselves, are cowards. For myself, if I am pushed too far, I shall take one of my knives one of these fine mornings, and you shall see what will happen.”

Laboque shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s a fine business,” said he. “It is all very well when one has the world on his side; but when a man feels that he is going to be left entirely alone, the best thing he can do is to go the way others go, no matter how angry he may be. Caffiaux understood this very well.”

“Ah, that drunkard of a Caffiaux!” howled the butcher, seized with a fresh fit of rage. “He is a traitor; he has been bought and paid for! You know that this robber, Monsieur Luc, gave him a hundred thousand francs to abandon us.”

“A hundred thousand francs,” repeated the ironmonger, with flaming eyes, and an affectation of sceptical irony. “I should like very much to have them offered to me, and I should take them fast enough. No, it is foolish to be obstinate, and the part of wisdom is to keep always on the side of the strongest.”

“What wretchedness, what wretchedness!” resumed Madame Laboque, in her dolorous voice. “The whole world is beginning to turn inside out for sure; and it is the end of the world.”

The beautiful Madame Mitaine, who entered at that moment, overheard these words.