Sons of the Soil. Honore de Balzac

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ business is bad in Blangy, and there’ll be notes to protest, and writs to issue,” remarked Pere Fourchon, filling a glass for his friend.

      “That APE of ours is right behind me,” replied Vermichel, with a backward gesture.

      In workmen’s slang “ape” meant master. The word belonged to the dictionary of the worthy pair.

      “What’s Monsieur Brunet coming bothering about here?” asked Tonsard.

      “Hey, by the powers, you folks!” said Vermichel, “you’ve brought him in for the last three years more than you are worth. Ha! that master at Les Aigues, he has his eye upon you; he’ll punch you in the ribs; he’s after you, the Shopman! Brunet says, if there were three such landlords in the valley his fortune would be made.”

      “What new harm are they going to do to the poor?” asked Marie.

      “A pretty wise thing for themselves,” replied Vermichel. “Faith! you’ll have to give in, in the end. How can you help it? They’ve got the power. For the last two years haven’t they had three foresters and a horse-patrol, all as active as ants, and a field-keeper who is a terror? Besides, the gendarmerie is ready to do their dirty work at any time. They’ll crush you – ”

      “Bah!” said Tonsard, “we are too flat. That which can’t be crushed isn’t the trees, it’s ground.”

      “Don’t you trust to that,” said Fourchon to his son-in-law; “you own property.”

      “Those rich folks must love you,” continued Vermichel, “for they think of nothing else from morning till night! They are saying to themselves now like this: ‘Their cattle eat up our pastures; we’ll seize their cattle; they can’t eat grass themselves.’ You’ve all been condemned, the warrants are out, and they have told our ape to take your cows. We are to begin this morning at Conches by seizing old mother Bonnebault’s cow and Godin’s cow and Mitant’s cow.”

      The moment the name of Bonnebault was mentioned, Marie, who was in love with the old woman’s grandson, sprang into the vineyard with a nod to her father and mother. She slipped like an eel through a break in the hedge, and was off on the way to Conches with the speed of a hunted hare.

      “They’ll do so much,” remarked Tonsard, tranquilly, “that they’ll get their bones broken; and that will be a pity, for their mothers can’t make them any new ones.”

      “Well, perhaps so,” said old Fourchon, “but see here, Vermichel, I can’t go with you for an hour or more, for I have important business at the chateau.”

      “More important than serving three warrants at five sous each? ‘You shouldn’t spit into the vintage,’ as Father Noah says.”

      “I tell you, Vermichel, that my business requires me to go to the chateau des Aigues,” repeated the old man, with an air of laughable self-importance.

      “And anyhow,” said Mam Tonsard, “my father had better keep out of the way. Do you really mean to find the cows?”

      “Monsieur Brunet, who is a very good fellow, would much rather find nothing but their dung,” answered Vermichel. “A man who is obliged to be out and about day and night had better be careful.”

      “If he is, he has good reason to be,” said Tonsard, sententiously.

      “So,” continued Vermichel, “he said to Monsieur Michaud, ‘I’ll go as soon as the court is up.’ If he had wanted to find the cows he’d have gone at seven o’clock in the morning. But that didn’t suit Michaud, and Brunet has had to be off. You can’t take in Michaud, he’s a trained hound! Ha, the brigand!”

      “Ought to have stayed in the army, a swaggerer like that,” said Tonsard; “he is only fit to deal with enemies. I wish he would come and ask me my name. He may call himself a veteran of the young guard, but I know very well that if I measured spurs with him, I’d keep my feathers up longest.”

      “Look here!” said Mam Tonsard to Vermichel, “when are the notices for the ball at Soulanges coming out? Here it is the eighth of August.”

      “I took them yesterday to Monsieur Bournier at Ville-aux-Fayes, to be printed,” replied Vermichel; “they do talk of fireworks on the lake.”

      “What crowds of people we shall have!” cried Fourchon.

      “Profits for Socquard!” said Tonsard, spitefully.

      “If it doesn’t rain,” said his wife, by way of comfort.

      At this moment the trot of a horse coming from the direction of Soulanges was heard, and five minutes later the sheriff’s officer fastened his horse to a post placed for the purpose near the wicket gate through which the cows were driven. Then he showed his head at the door of the Grand-I-Vert.

      “Come, my boys, let’s lose no time,” he said, pretending to be in a hurry.

      “Hey!” said Vermichel. “Here’s a refractory, Monsieur Brunet; Pere Fourchon wants to drop off.”

      “He has had too many drops already,” said the sheriff; “but the law in this case does not require that he shall be sober.”

      “Please excuse me, Monsieur Brunet,” said Fourchon, “I am expected at Les Aigues on business; they are in treaty for an otter.”

      Brunet, a withered little man dressed from head to foot in black cloth, with a bilious skin, a furtive eye, curly hair, lips tight-drawn, pinched nose, anxious expression, and gruff in speech, exhibited the phenomenon of a character and bearing in perfect harmony with his profession. He was so well-informed as to the law, or, to speak more correctly, the quibbles of the law, that he had come to be both the terror and the counsellor of the whole canton. He was not without a certain popularity among the peasantry, from whom he usually took his pay in kind. The compound of his active and negative qualities and his knowledge of how to manage matters got him the custom of the canton, to the exclusion of his coadjutor Plissoud, about whom we shall have something to say later. This chance combination of a sheriff’s officer who does everything and a sheriff’s officer who does nothing is not at all uncommon in the country justice courts.

      “So matters are getting warm, are they?” said Tonsard to little Brunet.

      “What can you expect? you pilfer the man too much, and he’s going to protect himself,” replied the officer. “It will be a bad business for you in the end; government will interfere.”

      “Then we, poor unfortunates, must give up the ghost!” said Mam Tonsard, offering him a glass of brandy on a saucer.

      “The unfortunate may all die, yet they’ll never be lacking in the land,” said Fourchon, sententiously.

      “You do great damage to the woods,” retorted the sheriff.

      “Now don’t believe that, Monsieur Brunet,” said Mam Tonsard; “they make such a fuss about a few miserable fagots!”

      “We didn’t crush the rich low enough during the Revolution, that’s what’s the trouble,” said Tonsard.

      Just then a horrible, and quite incomprehensible noise was heard. It seemed to be a rush of hurried feet, accompanied with a rattle of arms, half-drowned by the rustling of leaves, the dragging of branches, and the sound of still more hasty feet. Two voices, as different as the two footsteps, СКАЧАТЬ