A little girl, with her stockingless feet in old shoes, and showing her skin through the rents in her dress, was supplying the women with cider, which she poured out of a jug supported against her hip. The count asked where this child came from, but n.o.body could tell. The women who were making the hay had picked her up to wait on them during the harvesting.
He shrugged his shoulders, and just as he was moving away from the spot, he gave vent to some complaints as to the immorality of our country districts.
Bouvard eulogised his lucern field.
It was fairly good, in spite of the ravages of the _cuscute_.[2]
The future agriculturists opened their eyes wide at the word "cuscute."
On account of the number of his cattle, he resorted to artificial meadowing; besides, it went well before the other crops--a thing that did not always happen in the case of fodder.
"This at least appears to me incontestable."
"Oh! incontestable," replied Bouvard and Pecuchet in one breath. They were on the borders of a field which had been carefully thinned. A horse, which was being led by hand, was dragging along a large box, mounted on three wheels. Seven ploughshares below were opening in parallel lines small furrows, in which the grain fell through pipes descending to the ground.
"Here," said the count, "I sow turnips. The turnip is the basis of my quadrennial system of cultivation."
And he was proceeding to deliver a lecture on the drill-plough when a servant came to look for him, and told him that he was wanted at the chateau.
His manager took his place--a man with a forbidding countenance and obsequious manners.
He conducted "these gentlemen" to another field, where fourteen harvesters, with bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s and legs apart, were cutting down rye. The steels whistled in the chaff, which came pouring straight down. Each of them described in front of him a large semicircle, and, all in a line, they advanced at the same time. The two Parisians admired their arms, and felt smitten with an almost religious veneration for the opulence of the soil. Then they proceeded to inspect some of the ploughed lands. The twilight was falling, and the crows swooped down into the ridges.
As they proceeded they met a flock of sheep pasturing here and there, and they could hear their continual browsing. The shepherd, seated on the stump of a tree, was knitting a woollen stocking, with his dog beside him.
The manager a.s.sisted Bouvard and Pecuchet to jump over a wooden fence, and they pa.s.sed close to two orchards, where cows were ruminating under the apple trees.
All the farm-buildings were contiguous and occupied the three sides of the yard. Work was carried on there mechanically by means of a turbine moved by a stream which had been turned aside for the purpose. Leathern bands stretched from one roof to the other, and in the midst of dung an iron pump performed its operations.
The manager drew their attention to little openings in the sheepfolds nearly on a level with the floor, and ingenious doors in the pigsties which could shut of their own accord.
The barn was vaulted like a cathedral, with brick arches resting on stone walls.
In order to amuse the gentlemen, a servant-girl threw a handful of oats before the hens. The shaft of the press appeared to them enormously big.
Next they went up to the pigeon-house. The dairy especially astonished them. By turning c.o.c.ks in the corners, you could get enough water to flood the flagstones, and, as you entered, a sense of grateful coolness came upon you as a surprise. Brown jars, ranged close to the barred opening in the wall, were full to the brim of milk, while the cream was contained in earthen pans of less depth. Then came rolls of b.u.t.ter, like fragments of a column of copper, and froth overflowed from the tin pails which had just been placed on the ground.
But the gem of the farm was the ox-stall. It was divided into two sections by wooden bars standing upright their full length, one portion being reserved for the cattle, and the other for persons who attended on them. You could scarcely see there, as all the loopholes were closed up. The oxen were eating, with little chains attached to them, and their bodies exhaled a heat which was kept down by the low ceiling. But someone let in the light, and suddenly a thin stream of water flowed into the little channel which was beside the racks. Lowings were heard, and the horns of the cattle made a rattling noise like sticks. All the oxen thrust their muzzles between the bars, and proceeded to drink slowly.
The big teams made their way into the farmyard, and the foals began to neigh. On the ground floor two or three lanterns flashed and then disappeared. The workpeople were pa.s.sing, dragging their wooden shoes over the pebbles, and the bell was ringing for supper.
The two visitors took their departure.
All they had seen delighted them, and their resolution was taken. After that evening, they took out of their library the four volumes of _La Maison Rustique_, went through Gasperin"s course of lectures, and subscribed to an agricultural journal.
In order to be able to attend the fairs more conveniently, they purchased a car, which Bouvard used to drive.
Dressed in blue blouses, with large-brimmed hats, gaiters up to their knees, and horse-dealers" cudgels in their hands, they prowled around cattle, asked questions of labourers, and did not fail to attend at all the agricultural gatherings.
Soon they wearied Maitre Gouy with their advice, and especially by their depreciation of his system of fallowing. But the farmer stuck to his routine. He asked to be allowed a quarter, putting forward as a reason the heavy falls of hail. As for the farm-dues, he never furnished any of them. His wife raised an outcry at even the most legitimate claims. At length Bouvard declared his intention not to renew the lease.
Thenceforth Maitre Gouy economised the manures, allowed weeds to grow up, ruined the soil; and he took himself off with a fierce air, which showed that he was meditating some scheme of revenge.
Bouvard had calculated that 20,000 francs, that is to say, more than four times the rent of the farm, would be enough to start with. His notary sent the amount from Paris.
The property which they had undertaken to cultivate comprised fifteen hectares[3] of grounds and meadows, twenty-three of arable land, and five of waste land, situated on a hillock covered with stones, and known by the name of La b.u.t.te.[4]
They procured all the indispensable requirements for the purpose: four horses, a dozen cows, six hogs, one hundred and sixty sheep, and for the household two carters, two women, a shepherd, and in addition a big dog.
In order to get cash at once, they sold their fodder. The price was paid to them directly, and the gold napoleons counted over a chest of oats appeared to them more glittering than any others, more rare and valuable.
In the month of November they brewed cider. It was Bouvard that whipped the horse, while Pecuchet on the trough shovelled off the strained apples.
They panted while pressing the screw, drew the juice off into the vat, looked after the bung-holes, with heavy wooden shoes on their feet; and in all this they found a huge diversion.
Starting with the principle that you cannot have too much corn, they got rid of about half of their artificial meadows; and, as they had not rich pasturing, they made use of oil-cakes, which they put into the ground without pounding, with the result that the crop was a wretched one.
The following year they sowed the ground very thickly. Storms broke out, and the ears of corn were scattered.
Nevertheless, they set their hearts on the cheese, and undertook to clear away the stones from La b.u.t.te. A hamper carried away the stones.
The whole year, from morn to eve, in sunshine or in rain, the everlasting hamper was seen, with the same man and the same horse, toiling up the hill, coming down, and going up again. Sometimes Bouvard walked in the rear, making a halt half-way up the hill to dry the sweat off his forehead.
As they had confidence in n.o.body, they treated the animals themselves, giving them purgatives and clysters.
Serious irregularities occurred in the household. The girl in the poultry-yard became _enceinte_. Then they took married servants; but the place soon swarmed with children, cousins, male and female, uncles, and sisters-in-law. A horde of people lived at their expense; and they resolved to sleep in the farm-house successively.
But when evening came they felt depressed, for the filthiness of the room was offensive to them; and besides, Germaine, who brought in the meals, grumbled at every journey. They were preyed upon in all sorts of ways. The threshers in the barn stuffed corn into the pitchers out of which they drank. Pecuchet caught one of them in the act, and exclaimed, while pushing him out by the shoulders:
"Wretch! You are a disgrace to the village that gave you birth!"
His presence inspired no respect. Moreover, he was plagued with the garden. All his time would not have sufficed to keep it in order.
Bouvard was occupied with the farm. They took counsel and decided on this arrangement.
The first point was to have good hotbeds. Pecuchet got one made of brick. He painted the frames himself; and, being afraid of too much sunlight, he smeared over all the bell-gla.s.ses with chalk. He took care to cut off the tops of the leaves for slips. Next he devoted attention to the layers. He attempted many sorts of grafting--flute-graft, crown-graft, shield-graft, herbaceous grafting, and whip-grafting. With what care he adjusted the two libers! how he tightened the ligatures!
and what a heap of ointment it took to cover them again!
Twice a day he took his watering-pot and swung it over the plants as if he would have shed incense over them. In proportion as they became green under the water, which fell in a thin shower, it seemed to him as if he were quenching his own thirst and reviving along with them. Then, yielding to a feeling of intoxication, he s.n.a.t.c.hed off the rose of the watering-pot, and poured out the liquid copiously from the open neck.
At the end of the elm hedge, near the female figure in plaster, stood a kind of log hut. Pecuchet locked up his implements there, and spent delightful hours there picking the berries, writing labels, and putting his little pots in order. He sat down to rest himself on a box at the door of the hut, and then planned fresh improvements.
He had put two clumps of geraniums at the end of the front steps.
Between the cypresses and the distaff-shaped trees he had planted sunflowers; and as the plots were covered with b.u.t.tercups, and all the walks with fresh sand, the garden was quite dazzling in its abundance of yellow hues.
But the bed swarmed with larvae. In spite of the dead leaves placed there to heat the plants, under the painted frames and the whitened bell-gla.s.ses, only a stunted crop made its appearance. He failed with the broccoli, the mad-apples, the turnips, and the watercress, which he had tried to raise in a tub. After the thaw all the artichokes were ruined. The cabbages gave him some consolation. One of them especially excited his hopes. It expanded and shut up quickly, but ended by becoming prodigious and absolutely uneatable. No matter--Pecuchet was content with being the possessor of a monstrosity!
Then he tried his hand at what he regarded as the _summum_ of art--the growing of melons.
He sowed many varieties of seed in plates filled with vegetable mould, which he deposited in the soil of the bed. Then he raised another bed, and when it had put forth its virgin buddings he transplanted the best of them, putting bell-gla.s.ses over them. He made all the cuttings in accordance with the precepts of _The Good Gardener_. He treated the flowers tenderly; he let the fruits grow in a tangle, and then selected one on either arm, removed the others, and, as soon as they were as large as nuts, he slipped a little board around their rind to prevent them from rotting by contact with dung. He heated them, gave them air, swept off the mist from the bell-gla.s.ses with his pocket-handkerchief, and, if he saw lowering clouds, he quickly brought out straw mattings to protect them.
He did not sleep at night on account of them. Many times he even got up out of bed, and, putting on his boots without stockings, shivering in his shirt, he traversed the entire garden to throw his own counterpane over his hotbed frames.