Complete Works of Emile Zola (967 page)

One day as Fouan was returning from Cloyes, where he had been to receive his dividends from the notary, he sat down to rest on the slope of a dry ditch. Hyacinthe, who happened to be prowling about the neighbourhood examining the rabbit holes, observed the old man deeply absorbed in counting a number of five-franc pieces in his handkerchief. He im­mediately stooped down and crawled along in silence till he got close up to his father. As he lay there, concealed from sight, he was much surprised to see Fouan carefully knotting up a considerable sum of money, as much, probably, as eighty francs. Hyacinthe’s eyes glistened at the sight, and his wolfish teeth were bared in a quiet smile. The idea of a secret hoard at once returned to his mind. The old man evidently had some secret investments, the dividends of which he received every quarter, taking advantage of his visits to Monsieur Baillehache to do so without any one being the wiser.

Hyacinthe’s first impulse was to put on a piteous air and beg for twenty francs. On second thoughts, however, this seemed too paltry a scheme, and, thinking of a better plan, he glided away as noiselessly as he had come, with all the sinuous sup­pleness of a snake. Thus Fouan, who had now set off again, did not feel the least suspicion when, a hundred yards further on, he met his son, who seemed merely to be on his way back to Rognes. They walked on together and talked. The father fell foul of the Buteaus, who were destitute of all human feeling, and whom he accused of starving him to death. Then the son, with a filial, sympathetic air, his eyes damp with emotion, offered to rescue his father from these wretches by taking him to live in his own house. Why shouldn’t he come? he asked. There was no worrying or hardship there; they led a merry life from morning till night. La Trouille cooked for two now, and she could just as easily cook for three. And fine cookery hers was whenever there was any money.

Astonished by his son’s offer, and overcome with a feeling of vague uneasiness, Fouan shook his head in token of refusal. No, no, indeed. At his age a man could not flit about in that sort of way from one house to another, changing his mode of life every year.

“Very well, father; but think the matter over. I am quite sincere in my offer. My place will always be open to you. When you have had enough of those filthy scamps, come and live with me.”

Hyacinthe then went off, perplexed and wondering, asking himself how his father spent his income, for he unquestionably had one. A heap of money like that coming in four times a year must amount to a nice sum — at least three hundred francs. If he did not spend the cash he must be hoarding it up some­where. It was clearly a matter to be investigated. It must be a really magnificent hoard by this time!

That day — a mild, damp October day it was — when Fouan returned home, Buteau claimed the thirty-seven francs and a-half which the old man had received, as was usual, every quarter since the sale of his house. It had been agreed that Buteau should receive this money, as well as the two hundred francs paid yearly by the Delhommes, on account of the old man’s board and lodging. That day, however, a couple of five-franc pieces had got mixed up with those which the old man had secured in his handkerchief; and when, after turning out his pockets, he only produced twenty-seven francs and a-half, his son burst into a violent fit of rage, treating him as though he were a thief, and accusing him of having frittered away the missing ten francs in drink and disgraceful dissipation. The old father, in a state of great consternation, and keeping his hand upon his handkerchief, full of alarm lest it should be ex­amined, stammered out excuses, and swore that he must have lost the money in pulling out his handkerchief to blow his nose. Again the house was topsy-turvy until night

What had put Buteau into such a savage temper was, that while bringing his harrow back he had seen Jean and Françoise hurrying away behind a wall. The girl, who had gone out on the pretence of getting some grass for her cows, had not yet returned, for she knew what kind of reception awaited her. The night was already falling, and Buteau, in a furious rage, went out every minute into the yard, and even on to the road, to see if the hussy were coming back. He swore at the top of his voice, and poured out a torrent of filthy language, without observing old Fouan, who was sitting on the stone bench, calming himself after the row, and enjoying the warm softness of the air, which made that sunny October like a spring month.

The sound of clogs was now heard coming up the slope, and Françoise made her appearance, bending double, for her shoulders were laden with an enormous bundle of grass, which she had tied up in an old cloth. She was panting and perspir­ing, almost hidden beneath her burden.

“So here you are, you filthy hussy!” cried Buteau. “You’ll soon find out your mistake if you imagine you can make a fool of me, and go off with your lover for a couple of hours at a stretch, when there’s work to be done here!”

Then he knocked her over on to the bundle of grass, which had fallen down, and threw himself upon her, just as Lise came out of the house to rave, in her turn, at the girl.

“Ah, you dirty jade,” she cried, “let me get at you and I’ll kick you. Have you no shame at all?”

Buteau had already firmly seized hold of the girl by her petticoats. His outbursts of rage always turned into sharp desire. While he attacked her he growled, nearly choking, with his face empurpled and swollen by the rush of blood.

“You damned cat!” he sputtered out, “I’ll have my turn now! Heaven’s lightning sha’n’t prevent me!”

Then there began a furious struggle. Old Fouan could not see very well in the darkness, but he was able to observe that Lise was standing there, looking on, without making any at­tempt to interfere, while her husband struggled and fought with Françoise, over whom he sprawled. In the end, however, the girl managed to shake him off.

“You swine! You filthy swine!” she cried, in a panting voice, “you haven’t succeeded, and you never shall — no, never! never!”

Then she strode up to Lise and addressed her in taunting triumph. Her sister was just silencing her by a heavy blow on the mouth, when old Fouan, having sprung up from his seat, quite disgusted and horrified at what he had seen, rushed forward, brandishing his stick.

“You filthy brutes, both of you!” he cried; “can’t you leave the girl alone? There’s been more than enough of this!”

Lights were now seen in the neighbouring houses. All these goings-on were beginning to make people feel anxious, so Buteau hurriedly drove his father and Françoise into the kitchen, where the candlelight showed Laure and Jules crouching in a corner, where they had taken refuge in their terror. Lise also had come in, bewildered and silent ever since the old man had issued out of the darkness. Fouan now ad­dressed himself to her again.

“It was too revolting on your part,” he said. “I saw you looking on!”

Buteau now brought down his fist on the table with all his strength.

“Silence!” he cried; “the matter’s done with. I’ll smash the next one who says another word about it!”

“And if I choose to speak,” demanded Fouan, in a quaver­ing voice, “will you smash me?”

“You as soon as another. I’m quite sick of you!”

Françoise bravely came forward between the two men.

“I beg of you not to interfere, uncle. You have seen that I am able to take care of myself.”

The old man, however, pushed her aside.

“Leave me alone. At present you are not concerned. It is my business now. Ah, you would smash me, would you, villain?” he cried, raising his stick. “You had better take care that I don’t chastise you!”

But Buteau quickly snatched the old man’s stick from him, and tossed it under the dresser. Then, with a wicked look in his leering eyes, he planted himself straight in front of Fouan, and spoke to him cheek-by-jowl.

“Will you just leave me alone, eh? Do you think I mean to tolerate your airs? No, no. Just look at me if you want to know who I am.”

Both the men stood silently confronting each other for a moment or two, glaring fiercely, as though they hoped to cow each other by their glance. The son, since the division of the property, had grown stouter and stood more solidly on his legs, and his jaws seemed to project further from his bull-dog shaped skull, with its narrow, retreating brow; while the father, worn out by his sixty years of toil, had shrunk still further, his stoop increasing slightly day by day. His loins seemed broken, and his body bent forward towards the ground.

His huge nose was the only feature which retained its pristine shape and proportions.

“Who you are?” retorted Fouan. “I know it only too well. I begot you.”

Buteau sniggered.

“Ah, you shouldn’t have done so!” he replied. “Every­body his turn. There’s your blood in me, you know, and I hate to be interfered with. So once more I tell you, leave me alone, or it will be worse for you!”

“For yourself, you mean. I never spoke to my father in such a way.”

“Oh, come now, that’s a stiff ‘un! Why, you would have killed your father if he hadn’t died before you had time!”

“You lie, you filthy swine! And, by the Lord God, you shall unsay that this very minute!”

Françoise, for the second time, now tried to interpose; and Lise herself, terrified by this fresh outbreak, made a similar effort. But the two men thrust the women aside, and con­fronted each other, breathing violently in each other’s faces, as they stood there, father against son, boiling over with that spirit of overweening despotism which the one had bequeathed to the other.

Fouan wanted to exalt himself by attempting to regain his old absolute supremacy as head of the family. For half a century, in the days when he still retained his property and authority, his wife, his children, and his cattle had trembled at his word.

“Say that you have lied, you filthy swine; say that you have lied, or I will make you dance, as surely as that candle is burning there!”

Raising his hand, he threatened his son with that gesture which had once made all his family sink to the ground.

“Say that you have lied!”

Whenever Buteau in his younger days had felt a buffet coming he had raised his elbow to shield himself, his teeth chattering the while; but now he merely shrugged his shoulders with an air of insolent contempt.

“You are vastly mistaken. You imagine that you frighten me,” he said. “It was all very well when you were the master to treat us like that!”

“I am the master — the father!”

“Nonsense, you old joker; you are nothing at all. Ah, so you won’t leave me alone, won’t you?”

Then seeing that the old man’s unsteady arm was descending to deal a blow, he seized hold of it, and crushed it in his rough grasp.

“What a pig-headed fellow you are!” he cried. “Can’t you get it into that old noddle of yours that no one cares a fig about you now? Do you suppose that you are good for any­thing at all? You are so much expense, and that’s all! When a man has outlived his time, and passed his land over to others, he ought to be content with chewing his grub quietly, and keep from being a nuisance to other folks.”

He shook his father to emphasise what he was saying; and then, giving the old man a final shake, he hurled him back­wards, trembling and quaking, upon a chair near the window. And there the old man remained, half choking, for a moment, conquered and humiliated by the complete loss of his old authority. It was all over with him. He counted for nothing at all, now that he had stripped himself of his property.

Complete silence reigned in the kitchen, and all remained in embarrassed inactivity. The children had scarcely dared to breathe for fear of receiving a cuffing. Presently, however, work was begun again as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Is that grass going to be left out in the yard?” asked Lise.

“I’ll go and put it in the cowhouse,” replied Françoise.

When she had returned, and after they had dined, Buteau, who was quite incorrigible, thrust his hand into her bodice, to hunt for a flea which she said was biting her. She no longer showed any signs of annoyance, and, indeed, she joked about it.

Fouan had never moved, but still remained stiff and silent in his dark corner. Two big tears were rolling down his cheeks. He called to mind the evening when he had broken with the Delhommes; and now again on this evening he ex­perienced the same bitterness and humiliation at finding himself no longer the master; the same anger which had then made him obstinately refuse to eat. They had called to him three times, but he refused to join in the meal. Presently he sprang up, and went off to his bedroom. The next morning, as soon as it was light, he left the Buteaus, to take up his quarters with Hyacinthe.

CHAPTER III

Hyacinthe was a very windy individual, and he was con­stantly going off in explosions, which kept the house in a lively state, for he never allowed one of these reports to pass without indulging in some facetious jest. He had a contempt for your timid little reports, suppressed as much as possible, and sounding as though they were ashamed of themselves. He himself never let off aught but loud detonations, crisp and crackling, like gun shots; and every time, as he raised his leg with a gesture of self-satisfied complacency, he summoned his daughter in a tone of urgent command and with an air of serious gravity.

“Come here, you troll, come here at once!”

As soon as the girl hurried forward, the explosion was allowed to take place, going off with such a sharp vibrating report that La Trouille quite started at the noise it made.

“Quick, run after it and catch it, and see if it’s come out straight!”

At other times when she approached him, he would give her his hand.

“Pull hard, now, you jade! Make it go off with a good crack!”

Then, when the explosion took place with all the sputter and row of a tightly jammed charge, he exclaimed:

“Ah, that’s a hard one! but I’m much obliged to you all the same.”

Then at other times he would hold an imaginary gun to his shoulder and pretend to take aim carefully; and when the ex­plosion had taken place, he would cry out:

“Run off and retrieve, you lazy bitch!”