CHAPTER IV.
RESEARCHES IN ARCHAEOLOGY.
Six months later they had become archaeologists, and their house was likea museum.
In the vestibule stood an old wooden beam. The staircase was encumberedwith the geological specimens, and an enormous chain was stretched onthe ground all along the corridor. They had taken off its hinges thedoor between the two rooms in which they did not sleep, and hadcondemned the outer door of the second in order to convert both into asingle apartment.
As soon as you crossed the threshold, you came in contact with a stonetrough (a Gallo-Roman sarcophagus); the ironwork next attracted yourattention. Fixed to the opposite wall, a warming-pan looked down on twoandirons and a hearthplate representing a monk caressing a shepherdess.On the boards all around, you saw torches, locks, bolts, and nuts ofscrews. The floor was rendered invisible beneath fragments of red tiles.A table in the centre exhibited curiosities of the rarest description:the shell of a Cauchoise cap, two argil urns, medals, and a phial ofopaline glass. An upholstered armchair had at its back a triangle workedwith guipure. A piece of a coat of mail adorned the partition to theright, and on the other side sharp spikes sustained in a horizontalposition a unique specimen of a halberd.
The second room, into which two steps led down, contained the old bookswhich they had brought with them from Paris, and those which, on theirarrival, they had found in a press. The leaves of the folding-doors hadbeen removed hither. They called it the library.
The back of the door was entirely covered by the genealogical tree ofthe Croixmare family. In the panelling on the return side, a pastel of alady in the dress of the period of Louis XV. made a companion picture tothe portrait of Pere Bouvard. The casing of the glass was decorated witha sombrero of black felt, and a monstrous galoche filled with leaves,the remains of a nest.
Two cocoanuts (which had belonged to Pecuchet since his younger days)flanked on the chimney-piece an earthenware cask on which a peasant satastride. Close by, in a straw basket, was a little coin brought up by aduck.
In front of the bookcase stood a shell chest of drawers trimmed withplush. The cover of it supported a cat with a mouse in its mouth--apetrifaction from St. Allyre; a work-box, also of shell work, and onthis box a decanter of brandy contained a Bon Chretien pear.
But the finest thing was a statue of St. Peter in the embrasure of thewindow. His right hand, covered with a glove of apple-green colour, waspressing the key of Paradise. His chasuble, ornamented withfleurs-de-luce, was azure blue, and his tiara very yellow, pointed likea pagoda. He had flabby cheeks, big round eyes, a gaping mouth, and acrooked nose shaped like a trumpet. Above him hung a canopy made of anold carpet in which you could distinguish two Cupids in a circle ofroses, and at his feet, like a pillar, rose a butter-pot bearing thesewords in white letters on a chocolate ground: "Executed in the presenceof H.R.H. the Duke of Angouleme at Noron, 3rd of October, 1847."
Pecuchet, from his bed, saw all these things in a row, and sometimes hewent as far as Bouvard's room to lengthen the perspective.
One spot remained empty, exactly opposite to the coat of arms, thatintended for the Renaissance chest. It was not finished; Gorju was stillworking at it, jointing the panels in the bakehouse, squaring them orundoing them.
At eleven o'clock he took his breakfast, chatted after that with Melie,and often did not make his appearance again for the rest of the day.
In order to have pieces of furniture in good style, Bouvard and Pecuchetwent scouring the country. What they brought back was not suitable; butthey had come across a heap of curious things. Their first passion was ataste for articles of _virtu_; then came the love of the Middle Ages.
To begin with, they visited cathedrals; and the lofty naves mirroringthemselves in the holy-water fonts, the glass ornaments dazzling ashangings of precious stones, the tombs in the recesses of the chapels,the uncertain light of crypts--everything, even to the coolness of thewalls, thrilled them with a shudder of joy, a religious emotion.
They were soon able to distinguish the epochs, and, disdainful ofsacristans, they would say: "Ha! a Romanesque apsis!" "That's of thetwelfth century!" "Here we are falling back again into the flamboyant!"
They strove to interpret the sculptured symbols on the capitals, such asthe two griffins of Marigny pecking at a tree in blossom; Pecuchet reada satire in the singers with grotesque jaws which terminate themouldings at Feugerolles; and as for the exuberance of the man thatcovers one of the mullions at Herouville, that was a proof, according toBouvard, of our ancestors' love of broad jokes.
They ended by not tolerating the least symptom of decadence. All wasdecadence, and they deplored vandalism, and thundered against badigeon.
But the style of a monument does not always agree with its supposeddate. The semicircular arch of the thirteenth century still holds swayin Provence. The ogive is, perhaps, very ancient; and authors dispute asto the anteriority of the Romanesque to the Gothic. This want ofcertainty disappointed them.
After the churches they studied fortresses--those of Domfront andFalaise. They admired under the gate the grooves of the portcullis, and,having reached the top, they first saw all the country around them, thenthe roofs of the houses in the town, the streets intersecting oneanother, the carts on the square, the women at the washhouse. The walldescended perpendicularly as far as the palisade; and they grew pale asthey thought that men had mounted there, hanging to ladders. They wouldhave ventured into the subterranean passages but that Bouvard found anobstacle in his stomach and Pecuchet in his horror of vipers.
They desired to make the acquaintance of the old manor-houses--Curcy,Bully, Fontenay, Lemarmion, Argonge. Sometimes a Carlovingian towerwould show itself at the corner of some farm-buildings behind a heap ofmanure. The kitchen, garnished with stone benches, made them dream offeudal junketings. Others had a forbiddingly fierce aspect with theirthree enceintes still visible, their loopholes under the staircase, andtheir high turrets with pointed sides. Then they came to an apartment inwhich a window of the Valois period, chased so as to resemble ivory, letin the sun, which heated the grains of colza that strewed the floor.Abbeys were used as barns. The inscriptions on tombstones were effaced.In the midst of fields a gable-end remained standing, clad from top tobottom in ivy which trembled in the wind.
A number of things excited in their breasts a longing to possess them--atin pot, a paste buckle, printed calicoes with large flowerings. Theshortness of money restrained them.
By a happy chance, they unearthed at Balleroy in a tinman's house aGothic church window, and it was big enough to cover, near the armchair,the right side of the casement up to the second pane. The steeple ofChavignolles displayed itself in the distance, producing a magnificenteffect. With the lower part of a cupboard Gorju manufactured a prie-dieuto put under the Gothic window, for he humoured their hobby. Sopronounced was it that they regretted monuments about which nothing atall is known--such as the villa residence of the bishops of Seez.
"Bayeux," says M. de Caumont, "must have possessed a theatre." Theysearched for the site of it without success.
The village of Montrecy contained a meadow celebrated for the number ofmedals which chanced formerly to have been found there. They calculatedon making a fine harvest in this place. The caretaker refused to admitthem.
They were not more fortunate as to the connection which existed betweena cistern at Falaise and the faubourg of Caen. Ducks which had been putin there reappeared at Vaucelles, quacking, "Can, can, can"--whence isderived the name of the town!
No step, no sacrifice, was too great for them.
At the inn of Mesnil-Villement, in 1816, M. Galeron got a breakfast forthe sum of four sous. They took the same meal there, and ascertainedwith surprise that things were altered!
Who was the founder of the abbey of St. Anne? Is there any relationshipbetween Marin Onfroy, who, in the twelfth century, imported a new kindof potato, and Onfroy, governor of Hastings at the period of theConquest? How were they to procure _L'Astucie
use Pythonisse_, a comedyin verse by one Dutrezor, produced at Bayeux, and just now exceedinglyrare? Under Louis XIV., Herambert Dupaty, or Dupastis Herambert,composed a work which has never appeared, full of anecdotes aboutArgentan: the question was how to recover these anecdotes. What havebecome of the autograph memoirs of Madame Dubois de la Pierre, consultedfor the unpublished history of L'Aigle by Louis Daspres, curate of St.Martin? So many problems, so many curious points, to clear up.
But a slight mark often puts one on the track of an invaluablediscovery.
Accordingly, they put on their blouses, in order not to put people ontheir guard, and, in the guise of hawkers, they presented themselves athouses, where they expressed a desire to buy up old papers. Theyobtained heaps of them. These included school copybooks, invoices,newspapers that were out of date--nothing of any value.
At last Bouvard and Pecuchet addressed themselves to Larsoneur.
He was absorbed in Celtic studies, and while summarily replying to theirquestions put others to them.
Had they observed in their rounds any traces of dog-worship, such as areseen at Montargis, or any special circumstances with regard to the fireson St. John's night, marriages, popular sayings, etc.? He even begged ofthem to collect for him some of those flint axes, then called _celtae_,which the Druids used in their criminal holocausts.
They procured a dozen of them through Gorju, sent him the smallest ofthem, and with the others enriched the museum. There they walked withdelight, swept the place themselves, and talked about it to all theiracquaintances.
One afternoon Madame Bordin and M. Marescot came to see it.
Bouvard welcomed them, and began the demonstration in the porch.
The beam was nothing less than the old gibbet of Falaise, according tothe joiner who had sold it, and who had got this information from hisgrand-father.
The big chain in the corridor came from the subterranean cells of thekeep of Torteval. In the notary's opinion it resembled the boundarychains in front of the entrance-courts of manor-houses. Bouvard wasconvinced that it had been used in former times to bind the captives. Heopened the door of the first chamber.
"What are all these tiles for?" exclaimed Madame Bordin.
"To heat the stoves. But let us be a little regular, if you please. Thisis a tomb discovered in an inn where they made use of it as ahorse-trough."
After this, Bouvard took up the two urns filled with a substance whichconsisted of human dust, and he drew the phials up to his eyes, for thepurpose of showing the way the Romans used to shed tears in it.
"But one sees only dismal things at your house!"
Indeed it was a rather grave subject for a lady. So he next drew out ofa case several copper coins, together with a silver denarius.
Madame Bordin asked the notary what sum this would be worth at thepresent day.
The coat of mail which he was examining slipped out of his fingers; someof the links snapped.
Bouvard stifled his annoyance. He had even the politeness to unfastenthe halberd, and, bending forward, raising his arms and stamping withhis heels, he made a show of hamstringing a horse, stabbing as if with abayonet and overpowering an enemy.
The widow inwardly voted him a rough person.
She went into raptures over the shell chest of drawers.
The cat of St. Allyre much astonished her, the pear in the decanter notquite so much; then, when she came to the chimney-piece: "Ha! here's ahat that would need mending!"
Three holes, marks of bullets, pierced its brims.
It was the head-piece of a robber chief under the Directory, David de laBazoque, caught in the act of treason, and immediately put to death.
"So much the better! They did right," said Madame Bordin.
Marescot smiled disdainfully as he gazed at the different objects. Hedid not understand this galoche having been the sign of a hosier, northe purport of the earthenware cask--a common cider-keg--and, to becandid, the St. Peter was lamentable with his drunkard's physiognomy.
Madame Bordin made this observation:
"All the same, it must have cost you a good deal?"
"Oh! not too much, not too much."
A slater had given it to him for fifteen francs.
After this, she found fault on the score of propriety with the low dressof the lady in the powdered wig.
"Where is the harm," replied Bouvard, "when one possesses somethingbeautiful?" And he added in a lower tone: "Just as you are yourself, I'msure."
(The notary turned his back on them, and studied the branches of theCroixmare family.)
She made no response but began to play with her long gold chain. Herbosom swelled out the black taffeta of her corsage, and, with hereyelashes slightly drawn together, she lowered her chin like aturtle-dove bridling up; then, with an ingenuous air:
"What is this lady's name?"
"It is unknown; she was one of the Regent's mistresses, you know; he whoplayed so many pranks."
"I believe you; the memoirs of the time----"
And the notary, without giving her time to finish the sentence, deploredthis example of a prince carried away by his passions.
"But you are all like that!"
The two gentlemen protested, and then followed a dialogue on women andon love. Marescot declared that there were many happy unions; sometimeseven, without suspecting it, we have close beside us what we require forour happiness.
The allusion was direct. The widow's cheeks flushed scarlet; but,recovering her composure almost the next moment:
"We are past the age for folly, are we not, M. Bouvard?"
"Ha! ha! For my part, I don't admit that."
And he offered his arm to lead her towards the adjoining room.
"Be careful about the steps. All right? Now observe the church window."
They traced on its surface a scarlet cloak and two angels' wings. Allthe rest was lost under the leads which held in equilibrium the numerousbreakages in the glass. The day was declining; the shadows werelengthening; Madame Bordin had become grave.
Bouvard withdrew, and presently reappeared muffled up in a woollenwrapper, then knelt down at the prie-dieu with his elbows out, his facein his hands, the light of the sun falling on his bald patch; and he wasconscious of this effect, for he said:
"Don't I look like a monk of the Middle Ages?"
Then he raised his forehead on one side, with swimming eyes, and tryingto give a mystical expression to his face. The solemn voice of Pecuchetwas heard in the corridor:
"Don't be afraid. It is I." And he entered, his head covered with ahelmet--an iron pot with pointed ear-pieces.
Bouvard did not quit the prie-dieu. The two others remained standing. Aminute slipped away in glances of amazement.
Madame Bordin appeared rather cold to Pecuchet. However he wished toknow whether everything had been shown to them.
"It seems to me so." And pointing towards the wall: "Ah! pray excuse us;there is an object which we may restore in a moment."
The widow and Marescot thereupon took their leave. The two friendsconceived the idea of counterfeiting a competition. They set out on arace after each other; one giving the other the start. Pecuchet won thehelmet.
Bouvard congratulated him upon it, and received praises from his friendon the subject of the wrapper.
Melie arranged it with cords, in the fashion of a gown. They took turnsabout in receiving visits.
They had visits from Girbal, Foureau, and Captain Heurtaux, and thenfrom inferior persons--Langlois, Beljambe, their husbandmen, and eventhe servant-girls of their neighbours; and, on each occasion, they wentover the same explanations, showed the place where the chest would be,affected a tone of modesty, and claimed indulgence for the obstruction.
Pecuchet on these days wore the Zouave's cap which he had formerly inParis, considering it more in harmony with an artistic environment. Ata particular moment, he would put the helmet on his head, and inclineit over the back of his neck, in order to have his face free. Bouvarddid not forge
t the movement with the halberd; finally, with one glance,they would ask each other whether the visitor was worthy of having "themonk of the Middle Ages" represented.
What a thrill they felt when M. de Faverges' carriage drew up before thegarden gate! He had only a word to say to them. This was the occasion ofhis visit:
Hurel, his man of business, had informed him that, while searchingeverywhere for documents, they had bought up old papers at the farm ofAubrye.
That was perfectly true.
Had they not discovered some letters of Baron de Gonneval, a formeraide-de-camp of the Duke of Angouleme, who had stayed at Aubrye? Hewished to have this correspondence for family reasons.
They had not got it in the house, but they had in their possessionsomething that would interest him if he would be good enough to followthem into their library.
Never before had such well-polished boots creaked in the corridor. Theyknocked against the sarcophagus. He even went near smashing severaltiles, moved an armchair about, descended two steps; and, when theyreached the second chamber, they showed him under the canopy, in frontof the St. Peter, the butter-pot made at Noron.
Bouvard and Pecuchet thought that the date might some time be of use.Through politeness, the nobleman inspected their museum. He keptrepeating, "Charming! very nice!" all the time giving his mouth littletaps with the handle of his switch; and said that, for his part, hethanked them for having rescued those remains of the Middle Ages, anepoch of religious faith and chivalrous devotion. He loved progress, andwould have given himself up like them to these interesting studies, butthat politics, the General Council, agriculture, a veritable whirlwind,drove him away from them.
"After you, however, one would have merely gleanings, for soon you willhave captured all the curiosities of the department."
"Without vanity, we think so," said Pecuchet.
However, one might still discover some at Chavignolles; for example,there was, close to the cemetery wall in the lane, a holy-water basinburied under the grass from time immemorial.
They were pleased with the information, then exchanged a significantglance--"Is it worth the trouble?"--but already the Count was openingthe door.
Melie, who was behind it, fled abruptly.
As he passed out of the house into the grounds, he observed Gorjusmoking his pipe with folded arms.
"You employ this fellow? I would not put much confidence in him in atime of disturbance."
And M. de Faverges sprang lightly into his tilbury.
Why did their servant-maid seem to be afraid of him?
They questioned her, and she told them she had been employed on hisfarm. She was that little girl who poured out drink for the harvesterswhen they came there two years before. They had taken her on as a helpat the chateau, and dismissed her in consequence of false reports.
As for Gorju, how could they find fault with him? He was very handy, andshowed the utmost consideration for them.
Next day, at dawn, they repaired to the cemetery. Bouvard felt with hiswalking-stick at the spot indicated. They heard the sound of a hardsubstance. They pulled up some nettles, and discovered a stone basin, abaptismal font, out of which plants were sprouting. It is not usual,however, to bury baptismal fonts outside churches.
Pecuchet made a sketch of it; Bouvard wrote out a description of it; andthey sent both to Larsoneur. His reply came immediately.
"Victory, my dear associates! Unquestionably, it is a druidical bowl!"
However, let them be careful about the matter. The axe was doubtful; andas much for his sake as for their own, he pointed out a series of worksto be consulted.
In a postscript, Larsoneur confessed his longing to have a look at thisbowl, which opportunity would be afforded him in a few days, when hewould be starting on a trip from Brittany.
Then Bouvard and Pecuchet plunged into Celtic archaeology.
According to this science, the ancient Gauls, our ancestors, adored Kirkand Kron, Taranis Esus, Nelalemnia, Heaven and Earth, the Wind, theWaters, and, above all, the great Teutates, who is the Saturn of thePagans; for Saturn, when he reigned in Phoenicia, wedded a nymph namedAnobret, by whom he had a child called Jeued. And Anobret presents thesame traits as Sara; Jeued was sacrificed (or near being so), like Isaac;therefore, Saturn is Abraham; whence the conclusion must be drawn thatthe religion of the Gauls had the same principles as that of the Jews.
Their society was very well organised. The first class of personsamongst them included the people, the nobility, and the king; thesecond, the jurisconsults; and in the third, the highest, were ranged,according to Taillepied, "the various kinds of philosophers," that is tosay, the Druids or Saronides, themselves divided into Eubages, Bards,and Vates.
One section of them prophesied, another sang, while a third gaveinstruction in botany, medicine, history, and literature, in short, allthe arts of their time.
Pythagoras and Plato were their pupils. They taught metaphysics to theGreeks, sorcery to the Persians, aruspicy to the Etruscans, and to theRomans the plating of copper and the traffic in hams.
But of this people, who ruled the ancient world, there remain onlystones either isolated or in groups of three, or placed together so asto resemble a rude chamber, or forming enclosures.
Bouvard and Pecuchet, filled with enthusiasm, studied in succession thestone on the Post-farm at Ussy, the Coupled Stone at Quest, the StandingStone near L'Aigle, and others besides.
All these blocks, of equal insignificance, speedily bored them; and oneday, when they had just seen the menhir at Passais, they were about toreturn from it when their guide led them into a beech wood, which wasblocked up with masses of granite, like pedestals or monstroustortoises. The most remarkable of them is hollowed like a basin. One ofits sides rises, and at the further end two channels run down to theground; this must have been for the flowing of blood--impossible todoubt it! Chance does not make these things.
The roots of the trees were intertwined with these rugged pedestals. Inthe distance rose columns of fog like huge phantoms. It was easy toimagine under the leaves the priests in golden tiaras and white robes,and their human victims with arms bound behind their backs, and at theside of the bowl the Druidess watching the red stream, whilst around herthe multitude yelled, to the accompaniment of cymbals and of trumpetsmade from the horns of the wild bull.
Immediately they decided on their plan. And one night, by the light ofthe moon, they took the road to the cemetery, stealing in like thieves,in the shadows of the houses. The shutters were fastened, and quietreigned around every dwelling-place; not a dog barked.
Gorju accompanied them. They set to work. All that could be heard wasthe noise of stones knocking against the spade as it dug through thesoil.
The vicinity of the dead was disagreeable to them. The church clockstruck with a rattling sound, and the rosework on its tympanum lookedlike an eye espying a sacrilege. At last they carried off the bowl.
They came next morning to the cemetery to see the traces of theoperation.
The abbe, who was taking the air at his door, begged of them to do himthe honour of a visit, and, having introduced them into hisbreakfast-parlour, he gazed at them in a singular fashion.
In the middle of the sideboard, between the plates, was a soup-tureendecorated with yellow bouquets.
Pecuchet praised it, at a loss for something to say.
"It is old Rouen," returned the cure; "an heirloom. Amateurs set a highvalue on it--M. Marescot especially." As for him, thank God, he had nolove of curiosities; and, as they appeared not to understand, hedeclared that he had seen them himself stealing the baptismal font.
The two archaeologists were quite abashed. The article in question wasnot in actual use.
No matter! they should give it back.
No doubt! But, at least, let them be permitted to get a painter to makea drawing of it.
"Be it so, gentlemen."
"Between ourselves, is it not?" said Bouvard, "under the seal ofconfession."
Th
e ecclesiastic, smiling, reassured them with a gesture.
It was not he whom they feared, but rather Larsoneur. When he would bepassing through Chavignolles, he would feel a hankering after the bowl;and his chatterings might reach the ears of the Government. Out ofprudence they kept it hidden in the bakehouse, then in the arbour, inthe trunk, in a cupboard. Gorju was tired of dragging it about.
The possession of such a rare piece of furniture bound them the closerto the Celticism of Normandy.
Its sources were Egyptian. Seez, in the department of the Orne, issometimes written Sais, like the city of the Delta. The Gauls swore bythe bull, an idea derived from the bull Apis. The Latin name ofBellocastes, which was that of the people of Bayeux, comes from BeliCasa, dwelling, sanctuary of Belus--Belus and Osiris, the same divinity!
"There is nothing," says Mangou de la Londe, "opposed to the idea thatdruidical monuments existed near Bayeux." "This country," adds M.Roussel, "is like the country in which the Egyptians built the temple ofJupiter Ammon."
So then there was a temple in which riches were shut up. All the Celticmonuments contain them.
"In 1715," relates Dom Martin, "one Sieur Heribel exhumed in thevicinity of Bayeux, several argil vases full of bones, and concluded (inaccordance with tradition and authorities which had disappeared) thatthis place, a necropolis, was the Mount Faunus in which the Golden Calfis buried."
In the first place, where is Mount Faunus? The authors do not point itout. The natives know nothing about it. It would be necessary to devotethemselves to excavations, and with that view they forwarded a petitionto the prefect, to which they got no response.
Perhaps Mount Faunus had disappeared, and was not a hill but a barrow?
Several of them contain skeletons that have the position of the foetusin the mother's womb. This meant that for them the tomb was, as it were,a second gestation, preparing them for another life. Therefore thebarrow symbolises the female organ, just as the raised stone is the maleorgan.
In fact, where menhirs are found, an obscene creed has persisted.Witness what took place at Guerande, at Chichebouche, at Croissic, atLivarot. In former times the towers, the pyramids, the wax tapers, theboundaries of roads, and even the trees had a phallic meaning. Bouvardand Pecuchet collected whipple-trees of carriages, legs of armchairs,bolts of cellars, apothecaries' pestles. When people came to see themthey would ask, "What do you think that is like?" and then they wouldconfide the secret. And, if anyone uttered an exclamation, they wouldshrug their shoulders in pity.
One evening as they were dreaming about the dogmas of the Druids, theabbe cautiously stole in.
Immediately they showed the museum, beginning with the church window;but they longed to reach the new compartment--that of the phallus. Theecclesiastic stopped them, considering the exhibition indecent. He cameto demand back his baptismal font.
Bouvard and Pecuchet begged for another fortnight, the time necessaryfor taking a moulding of it.
"The sooner the better," said the abbe.
Then he chatted on general topics.
Pecuchet, who had left the room a minute, on coming back slipped anapoleon into his hand.
The priest made a backward movement.
"Oh! for your poor!"
And, colouring, M. Jeufroy crammed the gold piece into his cassock.
To give back the bowl, the bowl for sacrifices! Never, while they lived!They were even anxious to learn Hebrew, which is the mother-tongue ofCeltic, unless indeed the former language be derived from it! And theyhad planned a journey into Brittany, commencing with Rennes, where theyhad an appointment with Larsoneur, with a view of studying that urnmentioned in the Memorials of the Celtic Academy, which appeared to havecontained the ashes of Queen Artimesia, when the mayor enteredunceremoniously with his hat on, like the boorish individual he was.
"All this won't do, my fine fellows! You must give it up!"
"What, pray?"
"Rogues! I know well you are concealing it!"
Someone had betrayed them.
They replied that they had the cure's permission to keep it.
"We'll soon see that!"
Foureau went away. An hour later he came back.
They were obstinate.
In the first place, this holy-water basin was not wanted, as it reallywas not a holy-water basin at all. They would prove this by a vastnumber of scientific reasons. Next, they offered to acknowledge in theirwill that it belonged to the parish. They even proposed to buy it.
"And, besides, it is my property," Pecuchet asseverated.
The twenty francs accepted by M. Jeufroy furnished a proof of thecontract, and if he compelled them to go before a justice of the peace,so much the worse: he would be taking a false oath!
During these disputes he had again seen the soup-tureen many times, andin his soul had sprung up the desire, the thirst for possession of thispiece of earthenware. If the cure was willing to give it to him, hewould restore the bowl, otherwise not.
Through weariness or fear of scandal, M. Jeufroy yielded it up. It wasplaced amongst their collection near the Cauchoise cap. The bowldecorated the church porch; and they consoled themselves for the lossof it with the reflection that the people of Chavignolles were ignorantof its value.
But the soup-tureen inspired them with a taste for earthenware--a newsubject for study and for explorations through the country.
It was the period when persons of good position were looking out for oldRouen dishes. The notary possessed a few of them, and derived from thefact, as it were, an artistic reputation which was prejudicial to hisprofession, but for which he made up by the serious side of hischaracter.
When he learned that Bouvard and Pecuchet had got the soup-tureen, hecame to propose to them an exchange.
Pecuchet would not consent to this.
"Let us say no more about it!" and Marescot proceeded to examine theirceramic collection.
All the specimens hung up along the wall were blue on a background ofdirty white, and some showed their horn of plenty in green or reddishtones. There were shaving-dishes, plates and saucers, objects longsought for, and brought back in the recesses of one's frock-coat closeto one's heart.
Marescot praised them, and then talked about other kinds of faience, theHispano-Arabian, the Dutch, the English, and the Italian, and havingdazzled them with his erudition:
"Might I see your soup-tureen again?"
He made it ring by rapping on it with his fingers, then he contemplatedthe two S's painted on the lid.
"The mark of Rouen!" said Pecuchet.
"Ho! ho! Rouen, properly speaking, would not have any mark. WhenMoutiers was unknown, all the French faience came from Nevers. So withRouen to-day. Besides, they imitate it to perfection at El-boeuf."
"It isn't possible!"
"Majolica is cleverly imitated. Your specimen is of no value; and as forme, I was about to do a downright foolish thing."
When the notary had gone, Pecuchet sank into an armchair in a state ofnervous prostration.
"We shouldn't have given back the bowl," said Bouvard; "but you getexcited, and always lose your head."
"Yes, I do lose my head"; and Pecuchet, snatching up the soup-tureen,flung it some distance away from him against the sarcophagus.
Bouvard, more self-possessed, picked up the broken pieces one by one;and some time afterwards this idea occurred to him: "Marescot, throughjealousy, might have been making fools of us!"
"How?"
"There's nothing to show me that the soup-tureen was not genuine!Whereas the other specimens which he pretended to admire are perhapscounterfeit."
And so the day closed with uncertainties and regrets.
This was no reason for abandoning their tour into Brittany.
They even purposed to take Gorju along with them to assist them in theirexcavations.
For some time past, he had slept at the house, in order to finish themore quickly the repairing of the chest.
The prospect of a change of place anno
yed him, and when they talkedabout menhirs and barrows which they calculated on seeing: "I knowbetter ones," said he to them; "in Algeria, in the South, near thesources of Bou-Mursoug, you meet quantities of them." He then gave adescription of a tomb which chanced to be open right in front of him,and which contained a skeleton squatting like an ape with its two armsaround its legs.
Larsoneur, when they informed him of the circumstance, would not believea word of it.
Bouvard sifted the matter, and started the question again.
How does it happen that the monuments of the Gauls are shapeless,whereas these same Gauls were civilised in the time of Julius Caesar? Nodoubt they were traceable to a more ancient people.
Such a hypothesis, in Larsoneur's opinion, betrayed a lack ofpatriotism.
No matter; there is nothing to show that these monuments are the work ofGauls. "Show us a text!"
The Academician was displeased, and made no reply; and they were veryglad of it, so much had the Druids bored them.
If they did not know what conclusion to arrive at as to earthenware andas to Celticism, it was because they were ignorant of history,especially the history of France.
The work of Anquetil was in their library; but the series of "do-nothingkings" amused them very little. The villainy of the mayors of the Palacedid not excite their indignation, and they gave Anquetil up, repelled bythe ineptitude of his reflections.
Then they asked Dumouchel, "What is the best history of France?"
Dumouchel subscribed, in their names, to a circulating library, andforwarded to them the work of Augustin Thierry, together with twovolumes of M. de Genoude.
According to Genoude, royalty, religion, and the nationalassemblies--here are "the principles" of the French nation, which goback to the Merovingians. The Carlovingians fell away from them. TheCapetians, being in accord with the people, made an effort to maintainthem. Absolute power was established under Louis XIII., in order toconquer Protestantism, the final effort of feudalism; and '89 is areturn to the constitution of our ancestors.
Pecuchet admired his ideas. They excited Bouvard's pity, as he had readAugustin Thierry first: "What trash you talk with your French nation,seeing that France did not exist! nor the national assemblies! and theCarlovingians usurped nothing at all! and the kings did not set free thecommunes! Read for yourself."
Pecuchet gave way before the evidence, and surpassed him in scientificstrictness. He would have considered himself dishonoured if he had said"Charlemagne" and not "Karl the Great," "Clovis" in place of "Clodowig."
Nevertheless he was beguiled by Genoude, deeming it a clever thing tojoin together both ends of French history, so that the middle periodbecomes rubbish; and, in order to ease their minds about it, they tookup the collection of Buchez and Roux.
But the fustian of the preface, that medley of Socialism andCatholicism, disgusted them; and the excessive accumulation of detailsprevented them from grasping the whole.
They had recourse to M. Thiers.
It was during the summer of 1845, in the garden beneath the arbour.Pecuchet, his feet resting on a small chair, read aloud in his cavernousvoice, without feeling tired, stopping to plunge his fingers into hissnuff-box. Bouvard listened, his pipe in his mouth, his legs wide apart,and the upper part of his trousers unbuttoned.
Old men had spoken to them of '93, and recollections that were almostpersonal gave life to the prosy descriptions of the author. At that timethe high-roads were covered with soldiers singing the "Marseillaise." Atthe thresholds of doors women sat sewing canvas to make tents. Sometimescame a wave of men in red caps, bending forward a pike, at the end ofwhich could be seen a discoloured head with the hair hanging down. Thelofty tribune of the Convention looked down upon a cloud of dust, amidwhich wild faces were yelling cries "Death!" Anyone who passed, atmidday, close to the basin of the Tuileries could hear each blow of theguillotine, as if they were cutting up sheep.
And the breeze moved the vine-leaves of the arbour; the ripe barleyswayed at intervals; a blackbird was singing. And, casting glancesaround them, they relished this tranquil scene.
What a pity that from the beginning they had failed to understand oneanother! For if the royalists had reflected like the patriots, if thecourt had exhibited more candour, and its adversaries less violence,many of the calamities would not have happened.
By force of chattering in this way they roused themselves into a stateof excitement. Bouvard, being liberal-minded and of a sensitive nature,was a Constitutionalist, a Girondist, a Thermidorian; Pecuchet, beingof a bilious temperament and a lover of authority, declared himself a_sans-culotte_, and even a Robespierrist. He expressed approval of thecondemnation of the King, the most violent decrees, the worship of theSupreme Being. Bouvard preferred that of Nature. He would have salutedwith pleasure the image of a big woman pouring out from her breasts toher adorers not water but Chambertin.
In order to have more facts for the support of their arguments theyprocured other works: Montgaillard, Prudhomme, Gallois, Lacretelle,etc.; and the contradictions of these books in no way embarrassed them.Each took from them what might vindicate the cause that he espoused.
Thus Bouvard had no doubt that Danton accepted a hundred thousand crownsto bring forward motions that would destroy the Republic; while inPecuchet's opinion Vergniaud would have asked for six thousand francs amonth.
"Never! Explain to me, rather, why Robespierre's sister had a pensionfrom Louis XVIII."
"Not at all! It was from Bonaparte. And, since you take it that way, whois the person that a few months before Egalite's death had a secretconference with him? I wish they would reinsert in the _Memoirs of LaCampan_ the suppressed paragraphs. The death of the Dauphin appears tome equivocal. The powder magazine at Grenelle by exploding killed twothousand persons. The cause was unknown, they tell us: what nonsense!"For Pecuchet was not far from understanding it, and threw the blame forevery crime on the manoeuvres of the aristocrats, gold, and theforeigner.
In the mind of Bouvard there could be no dispute as to the use of thewords, "Ascend to heaven, son of St. Louis," as to the incident aboutthe virgins of Verdun, or as to the _culottes_ clothed in human skin. Heaccepted Prudhomme's lists, a million of victims, exactly.
But the Loire, red with gore from Saumur to Nantes, in a line ofeighteen leagues, made him wonder. Pecuchet in the same degreeentertained doubts, and they began to distrust the historians.
For some the Revolution is a Satanic event; others declare it to be asublime exception. The vanquished on each side naturally play the partof martyrs.
Thierry demonstrates, with reference to the Barbarians, that it isfoolish to institute an inquiry as to whether such a prince was good orwas bad. Why not follow this method in the examination of more recentepochs? But history must needs avenge morality: we feel grateful toTacitus for having lacerated Tiberius. After all, whether the Queen hadlovers; whether Dumouriez, since Valmy, intended to betray her; whetherin Prairial it was the Mountain or the Girondist party that began, andin Thermidor the Jacobins or the Plain; what matters it to thedevelopment of the Revolution, of which the causes were far to seek andthe results incalculable?
Therefore it was bound to accomplish itself, to be what it was; but,suppose the flight of the King without impediment, Robespierre escapingor Bonaparte assassinated--chances which depended upon an innkeeperproving less scrupulous, a door being left open, or a sentinel fallingasleep--and the progress of the world would have taken a differentdirection.
They had no longer on the men and the events of that period a singlewell-balanced idea. In order to form an impartial judgment upon it, itwould have been necessary to have read all the histories, all thememoirs, all the newspapers, and all the manuscript productions, forthrough the least omission might arise an error, which might lead toothers without limit.
They abandoned the subject. But the taste for history had come to them,the need of truth for its own sake.
Perhaps it is easier to find it in more ancient epochs? The aut
hors,being far removed from the events, ought to speak of them withoutpassion. And they began the good Rollin.
"What a heap of rubbish!" exclaimed Bouvard, after the first chapter.
"Wait a bit," said Pecuchet, rummaging at the end of their library,where lay heaped up the books of the last proprietor, an old lawyer, anaccomplished man with a mania for literature; and, having put out oftheir places a number of novels and plays, together with an edition ofMontesquieu and translations of Horace, he obtained what he was lookingfor--Beaufort's work on Roman History.
Titus Livius attributes the foundation of Rome to Romulus; Sallust givesthe credit of it to the Trojans under AEneas. Coriolanus died in exile,according to Fabius Pictor; through the stratagems of Attius Tullius, ifwe may believe Dionysius. Seneca states that Horatius Cocles came backvictorious; and Dionysius that he was wounded in the leg. And La Mothele Vayer gives expression to similar doubts with reference to othernations.
There is no agreement as to the antiquity of the Chaldeans, the age ofHomer, the existence of Zoroaster, the two empires of Assyria. QuintusCurtius has manufactured fables. Plutarch gives the lie to Herodotus. Weshould have a different idea of Caesar if Vercingetorix had written hisCommentaries.
Ancient history is obscure through want of documents. There is anabundance of them in modern history; and Bouvard and Pecuchet came backto France, and began Sismondi.
The succession of so many men filled them with a desire to understandthem more thoroughly, to enter into their lives. They wanted to read theoriginals--Gregory of Tours, Monstrelet, Commines, all those whose nameswere odd or agreeable. But the events got confused through want ofknowledge of the dates.
Fortunately they possessed Dumouchel's work on mnemonics, a duodecimo inboards with this epigraph: "To instruct while amusing."
It combined the three systems of Allevy, of Paris, and of Fenaigle.
Allevy transforms numbers into external objects, the number 1 beingexpressed by a tower, 2 by a bird, 3 by a camel, and so on. Parisstrikes the imagination by means of rebuses: an armchair garnished withclincher-nails will give "Clou, vis--Clovis"; and, as the sound offrying makes "ric, ric," whitings in a stove will recall "Chilperic."Fenaigle divides the universe into houses, which contain rooms, eachhaving four walls with nine panels, and each panel bearing an emblem. Apharos on a mountain will tell the name of "Phar-a-mond" in Paris'ssystem; and, according to Allevy's directions, by placing above amirror, which signifies 4, a bird 2, and a hoop 0, we shall obtain 420,the date of that prince's accession.
For greater clearness, they took as their mnemotechnic basis their ownhouse, their domicile, associating a distinct fact with each part of it;and the courtyard, the garden, the outskirts, the entire country, hadfor them no meaning any longer except as objects for facilitatingmemory. The boundaries in the fields defined certain epochs; the appletrees were genealogical stems, the bushes battles; everything becamesymbolic. They sought for quantities of absent things on their walls,ended by seeing them, but lost the recollection of what dates theyrepresented.
Besides the dates are not always authentic. They learned out of a manualfor colleges that the birth of Jesus ought to be carried back five yearsearlier than the date usually assigned for it; that there were amongstthe Greeks three ways of counting the Olympiads, and eight amongst theLatin of making the year begin. So many opportunities for mistakesoutside of those which result from the zodiacs, from the epochs, andfrom the different calendars!
And from carelessness as to dates they passed to contempt for facts.
What is important is the philosophy of history!
Bouvard could not finish the celebrated discourse of Bossuet.
"The eagle of Meaux is a farce-actor! He forgets China, the Indies, andAmerica; but is careful to let us know that Theodosius was 'the joy ofthe universe,' that Abraham 'treated kings as his equals,' and that thephilosophy of the Greeks has come down from the Hebrews. Hispreoccupation with the Hebrews provokes me."
Pecuchet shared this opinion, and wished to make him read Vico.
"Why admit," objected Bouvard, "that fables are more true than thetruths of historians?"
Pecuchet tried to explain myths, and got lost in the _Scienza Nuova_.
"Will you deny the design of Providence?"
"I don't know it!" said Bouvard. And they decided to refer to Dumouchel.
The professor confessed that he was now at sea on the subject ofhistory.
"It is changing every day. There is a controversy as to the kings ofRome and the journeys of Pythagoras. Doubts have been thrown onBelisarius, William Tell, and even on the Cid, who has become, thanks tothe latest discoveries, a common robber. It is desirable that no morediscoveries should be made, and the Institute ought even to lay down akind of canon prescribing what it is necessary to believe!"
In a postscript he sent them some rules of criticism taken from Daunou'scourse of lectures:
"To cite by way of proof the testimony of multitudes is a bad method ofproof; they are not there to reply.
"To reject impossible things. Pausanias was shown the stone swallowed bySaturn.
"Architecture may lie: instance, the arch of the Forum, in which Titusis called the first conqueror of Jerusalem, which had been conqueredbefore him by Pompey.
"Medals sometimes deceive. Under Charles IX. money was minted from thecoinage of Henry II.
"Take into account the skill of forgers and the interestedness ofapologists and calumniators."
Few historians have worked in accordance with these rules, but all inview of one special cause, of one religion, of one nation, of one party,of one system, in order to curb kings, to advise the people, or to offermoral examples.
The others, who pretend merely to narrate, are no better; for everythingcannot be told--some selection must be made. But in the selection ofdocuments some special predilection will have the upper hand, and, asthis varies according to the conditions under which the writer views thematter, history will never be fixed.
"It is sad," was their reflection. However, one might take a subject,exhaust the sources of information concerning it, make a good analysisof them, then condense it into a narrative, which would be, as it were,an epitome of the facts reflecting the entire truth.
"Do you wish that we should attempt to compose a history?"
"I ask for nothing better. But of what?"
"Suppose we write the life of the Duke of Angouleme?"
"But he was an idiot!" returned Bouvard.
"What matter? Personages of an inferior mould have sometimes an enormousinfluence, and he may have controlled the machinery of public affairs."
The books would furnish them with information; and M. de Faverges, nodoubt, would have them himself, or could procure them from some elderlygentleman of his acquaintance.
They thought over this project, discussed it, and finally determined tospend a fortnight at the municipal library at Caen in making researchesthere.
The librarian placed at their disposal some general histories and somepamphlets with a coloured lithograph portrait representing atthree-quarters' length Monseigneur the Duke of Angouleme.
The blue cloth of his uniform disappeared under the epaulets, the stars,and the large red ribbon of the Legion of Honour; a very high collarsurrounded his long neck; his pear-shaped head was framed by the curlsof his hair and by his scanty whiskers and heavy eyelashes; and a verybig nose and thick lips gave his face an expression of commonplacegood-nature.
When they had taken notes, they drew up a programme:
"Birth and childhood but slightly interesting. One of his tutors is theAbbe Guenee, Voltaire's enemy. At Turin he is made to cast a cannon; andhe studies the campaigns of Charles VIII. Also he is nominated, despitehis youth, colonel of a regiment of noble guards.
"1797.--His marriage.
"1814.--The English take possession of Bordeaux. He runs up behind themand shows his person to the inhabitants. Description of the prince'sperson.
"1815.--Bonaparte su
rprises him. Immediately he appeals to the King ofSpain; and Toulon, were it not for Massena, would have been surrenderedto England.
"Operations in the South. He is beaten, but released under the promiseto restore the crown diamonds carried off at full gallop by the King,his uncle.
"After the Hundred Days he returns with his parents and lives in peace.Several years glide away.
"War with Spain. Once he has crossed the Pyrenees, victories everywherefollow the grandson of Henry IV. He takes the Trocadero, reaches thepillars of Hercules, crushes the factions, embraces Ferdinand, andreturns.
"Triumphal arches; flowers presented by young girls; dinners at thePrefecture; 'Te Deum' in the cathedrals. The Parisians are at the heightof intoxication. The city offers him a banquet. Songs containingallusions to the hero are sung at the theatre.
"The enthusiasm diminishes; for in 1827 a ball organised by subscriptionproves a failure.
"As he is High Admiral of France, he inspects the fleet, which is goingto start for Algiers.
"July 1830.--Marmont informs him of the state of affairs. Then he getsinto such a rage that he wounds himself in the hand with the general'ssword. The King entrusts him with the command of all the forces.
"He meets detachments of the line in the Bois de Boulogne, and has not aword to say to them.
"From St. Cloud he flies to the bridge of Sevres. Coldness of thetroops. That does not shake him. The Royal family leave Trianon. He sitsdown at the foot of an oak, unrolls a map, meditates, remounts hishorse, passes in front of St. Cyr, and sends to the students words ofhope.
"At Rambouillet the bodyguards bid him good-bye. He embarks, and duringthe entire passage is ill. End of his career.
"The importance possessed by the bridges ought here to be noticed.First, he exposes himself needlessly on the bridge of the Inn; hecarries the bridge St. Esprit and the bridge of Lauriol; at Lyons thetwo bridges are fatal to him, and his fortune dies before the bridge ofSevres.
"List of his virtues. Needless to praise his courage, to which he joineda far-seeing policy. For he offered every soldier sixty francs to desertthe Emperor, and in Spain he tried to corrupt the Constitutionalistswith ready money.
"His reserve was so profound that he consented to the marriage arrangedbetween his father and the Queen of Etruria, to the formation of a newcabinet after the Ordinances, to the abdication in favour ofChambord--to everything that they asked him.
"Firmness, however, was not wanting in him. At Angers, he cashiered theinfantry of the National Guard, who, jealous of the cavalry, hadsucceeded by means of a stratagem in forming his escort, so that hisHighness found himself jammed into the ranks at the cost of having hisknees squeezed. But he censured the cavalry, the cause of the disorder,and pardoned the infantry--a veritable judgment of Solomon.
"His piety manifested itself by numerous devotions, and his clemency byobtaining the pardon of General Debelle, who had borne arms against him.
"Intimate details; characteristics of the Prince:
"At the chateau of Beauregard, in his childhood, he took pleasure indeepening, along with his brother, a sheet of water, which may still beseen. On one occasion, he visited the barracks of the chasseurs, calledfor a glass of wine, and drank the King's health.
"While walking, in order to mark the step, he used to keep repeating tohimself: 'One, two--one, two--one, two!'
"Some of his sayings have been preserved:--
"To a deputation from Bordeaux:
"'What consoles me for not being at Bordeaux is to find myself amidstyou.'
"To the Protestants of Nismes:
"'I am a good Catholic, but I shall never forget that my distinguishedancestor was a Protestant.'
"To the pupils of St. Cyr, when all was lost:
"'Right, my friends! The news is good! This is right--all right!'
"After Charles X.'s abdication:
"'Since they don't want me, let them settle it themselves.'
"And in 1814, at every turn, in the smallest village:
"'No more war; no more conscription; no more united rights.'
"His style was as good as his utterance. His proclamations surpassedeverything.
"The first, of the Count of Artois, began thus:
"'Frenchmen, your King's brother has arrived!'
"That of the prince:
'"I come. I am the son of your kings. You are Frenchmen!'
"Order of the day, dated from Bayonne:
"'Soldiers, I come!'
"Another, in the midst of disaffection:
"'Continue to sustain with the vigour which befits the French soldierthe struggle which you have begun. France expects it of you.'
"Lastly, at Rambouillet:
"'The King has entered into an arrangement with the governmentestablished at Paris, and everything brings us to believe that thisarrangement is on the point of being concluded.'
"'Everything brings us to believe' was sublime."
"One thing vexed me," said Bouvard, "that there is no mention of hislove affairs!" And they made a marginal note: "To search for theprince's amours."
At the moment when they were taking their leave, the librarian,bethinking himself of it, showed them another portrait of the Duke ofAngouleme.
In this one he appeared as a colonel of cuirassiers, on avaulting-horse, his eyes still smaller, his mouth open, and his hairstraight.
How were they to reconcile the two portraits? Had he straight hair, orrather crisped--unless he carried affectation so far as to get itcurled?
A grave question, from Pecuchet's point of view, for the mode of wearingthe hair indicates the temperament, and the temperament the individual.
Bouvard considered that we know nothing of a man as long as we areignorant of his passions; and in order to clear up these two points,they presented themselves at the chateau of Faverges. The count was notthere; this retarded their work. They returned home annoyed.
The door of the house was wide open; there was nobody in the kitchen.They went upstairs, and who should they see in the middle of Bouvard'sroom but Madame Bordin, looking about her right and left!
"Excuse me," she said, with a forced laugh, "I have for the last hourbeen searching for your cook, whom I wanted for my preserves."
They found her in the wood-house on a chair fast asleep. They shook her.She opened her eyes.
"What is it now? You are always prodding at me with your questions!"
It was clear that Madame Bordin had been putting some to her in theirabsence.
Germaine got out of her torpor, and complained of indigestion.
"I am remaining to take care of you," said the widow.
Then they perceived in the courtyard a big cap, the lappets of whichwere fluttering. It was Madame Castillon, proprietress of a neighbouringfarm. She was calling out: "Gorju! Gorju!"
And from the corn-loft the voice of their little servant-maid answeredloudly:
"He is not there!"
At the end of five minutes she came down, with her cheeks flushed andlooking excited. Bouvard and Pecuchet reprimanded her for having been soslow. She unfastened their gaiters without a murmur.
Then they went to look at the chest. The bakehouse was covered with itsscattered fragments; the carvings were damaged, the leaves broken.
At this sight, in the face of this fresh disaster, Bouvard had to keepback his tears, and Pecuchet got a fit of nervous shivering.
Gorju, making his appearance almost immediately, explained the matter.He had just put the chest outside in order to varnish it, when awandering cow knocked it down on the ground.
"Whose cow?" said Pecuchet.
"I don't know."
"Ah! you left the door open, as you did some time ago. It is yourfault."
At any rate, they would have nothing more to do with him. He had beentrifling with them too long, and they wanted no more of him or his work.
"These gentlemen were wrong. The damage was not so great. It would beall settled before three weeks." And Gorju accom
panied them into thekitchen, where Germaine was seen dragging herself along to see after thedinner.
They noticed on the table a bottle of Calvados, three quarters emptied.
"By you, no doubt," said Pecuchet to Gorju.
"By me! never!"
Bouvard met his protest by observing:
"You are the only man in the house."
"Well, and what about the women?" rejoined the workman, with a sidewink.
Germaine caught him up:
"You'd better say 'twas I!"
"Certainly it was you."
"And perhaps 'twas I smashed the press?"
Gorju danced about.
"Don't you see that she's drunk?"
Then they squabbled violently with each other, he with a pale face and abiting manner, she purple with rage, tearing tufts of grey hair fromunder her cotton cap. Madame Bordin took Germaine's part, while Melietook Gorju's.
The old woman burst out:
"Isn't it an abomination that you two should be spending days togetherin the grove, not to speak of the nights?--a sort of Parisian, eating uphonest women, who comes to our master's house to play tricks on them!"
Bouvard opened his eyes wide.
"What tricks?"
"I tell you he's making fools of you!"
"Nobody can make a fool of me!" exclaimed Pecuchet, and, indignant ather insolence, exasperated by the mortification inflicted on him, hedismissed her, telling her to go and pack. Bouvard did not oppose thisdecision, and they went out, leaving Germaine in sobs over hermisfortune, while Madame Bordin was trying to console her.
In the course of the evening, as they grew calmer, they went over theseoccurrences, asked themselves who had drunk the Calvados, how the chestgot broken, what Madame Castillon wanted when she was calling Gorju, andwhether he had dishonoured Melie.
"We are not able to tell," said Bouvard, "what is happening in our ownhousehold, and we lay claim to discover all about the hair and the loveaffairs of the Duke of Angouleme."
Pecuchet added: "How many questions there are in other respectsimportant and still more difficult!"
Whence they concluded that external facts are not everything. It isnecessary to complete them by means of psychology. Without imagination,history is defective.
"Let us send for some historical romances!"