Provincial backwaters:
The decline of Issoudun is explained by this spirit of sluggishness,
sunken to actual torpor, which a single fact will illustrate. When the
authorities were talking of a highroad between Paris and Toulouse, it
was natural to think of taking it from Vierzon to Chateauroux by way
of Issoudun. The distance was shorter than to make it, as the road now
is, through Vatan, but the leading people of the neighborhood and the
city council of Issoudun (whose discussion of the matter is said to be
recorded), demanded that it should go by Vatan, on the ground that if
the highroad went through their town, provisions would rise in price
and they might be forced to pay thirty sous for a chicken. The only
analogy to be found for this proceeding is in the wilder parts of
Sardinia, a land once so rich and populous, now so deserted. When
Charles Albert, with a praiseworthy intention of civilization, wished
to unite Sassari, the second capital of the island, with Cagliari by a
magnificent highway (the only one ever made in that wild waste by name
Sardinia), the direct line lay through Bornova, a district inhabited
by lawless people, all the more like our Arab tribes because they are
descended from the Moors. Seeing that they were about to fall into the
clutches of civilization, the savages of Bornova, without taking the
trouble to discuss the matter, declared their opposition to the road.
The government took no notice of it. The first engineer who came to
survey it, got a ball through his head, and died on his level. No
action was taken on this murder, but the road made a circuit which
lengthened it by eight miles!
The continual lowering of the price of wines drunk in the
neighborhood, though it may satisfy the desire of the bourgeoisie of
Issoudun for cheap provisions, is leading the way to the ruin of the
vine-growers, who are more and more burdened with the costs of
cultivation and the taxes; just as the ruin of the woollen trade is
the result of the non-improvement in the breeding of sheep. Country-
folk have the deepest horror of change; even that which is most
conducive to their interests. In the country, a Parisian meets a
laborer who eats an enormous quantity of bread, cheese, and
vegetables; he proves to him that if he would substitute for that diet
a certain portion of meat, he would be better fed, at less cost; that
he could work more, and would not use up his capital of health and
strength so quickly. The Berrichon sees the correctness of the
calculation, but he answers, "Think of the gossip, monsieur." "Gossip,
what do you mean?" "Well, yes, what would people say of me?" "He would
be the talk of the neighborhood," said the owner of the property on
which this scene took place; "they would think him as rich as a
tradesman. He is afraid of public opinion, afraid of being pointed at,
afraid of seeming ill or feeble. That's how we all are in this
region." Many of the bourgeoisie utter this phrase with feelings of
inward pride.
While ignorance and custom are invincible in the country regions,
where the peasants are left very much to themselves, the town of
Issoudun itself has reached a state of complete social stagnation.
Obliged to meet the decadence of fortunes by the practice of sordid
economy, each family lives to itself. Moreover, society is permanently
deprived of that distinction of classes which gives character to
manners and customs. There is no opposition of social forces, such as
that to which the cities of the Italian States in the Middle Ages owed
their vitality. There are no longer any nobles in Issoudun. The
Cottereaux, the Routiers, the Jacquerie, the religious wars and the
Revolution did away with the nobility. The town is proud of that
triumph. Issoudun has repeatedly refused to receive a garrison, always
on the plea of cheap provisions. She has thus lost a means of
intercourse with the age, and she has also lost the profits arising
from the presence of troops. Before 1756, Issoudun was one of the most
delightful of all the garrison towns. A judicial drama, which occupied
for a time the attention of France, the feud of a lieutenant-general
of the department with the Marquis de Chapt, whose son, an officer of
dragoons, was put to death,--justly perhaps, yet traitorously, for
some affair of gallantry,--deprived the town from that time forth of a
garrison. The sojourn of the forty-fourth demi-brigade, imposed upon
it during the civil war, was not of a nature to reconcile the
inhabitants to the race of warriors.
Bourges, whose population is yearly decreasing, is a victim of the
same social malady. Vitality is leaving these communities.
Undoubtedly, the government is to blame. The duty of an administration
is to discover the wounds upon the body-politic, and remedy them by
sending men of energy to the diseased regions, with power to change
the state of things. Alas, so far from that, it approves and
encourages this ominous and fatal tranquillity. Besides, it may be
asked, how could the government send new administrators and able
magistrates? Who, of such men, is willing to bury himself in the
arrondissements, where the good to be done is without glory? If, by
chance, some ambitious stranger settles there, he soon falls into the
inertia of the region, and tunes himself to the dreadful key of
provincial life. Issoudun would have benumbed Napoleon.
...............................
A father trains his son:
So, while he
continued to search for a daughter-in-law whose sentiments and
education offered some guarantees for the future, he endeavored to
push his son into the ways of avarice; meaning to give the poor fool a
sort of instinct that might eventually take the place of intelligence.
He trained him, in the first place, to mechanical habits of life; and
instilled into him fixed ideas as to the investment of his revenues:
and he spared him the chief difficulties of the management of a
fortune, by leaving his estates all in good order, and leased for long
periods. Nevertheless, a fact which was destined to be of paramount
importance in the life of the poor creature escaped the notice of the
wily old doctor. Timidity is a good deal like dissimulation, and is
equally secretive. Jean-Jacques was passionately in love with the
Rabouilleuse. Nothing, of course, could be more natural. Flore was the
only woman who lived in the bachelor's presence, the only one he could
see at his ease; and at all hours he secretly contemplated her and
watched her. To him, she was the light of his paternal home; she gave
him, unknown to herself, the only pleasures that brightened his youth.
Far from being jealous of his father, he rejoiced in the education the
old man was giving to Flore: would it not make her all he wanted, a
woman easy to win, and to whom, therefore, he need pay no court? The
passion, observe, which is able to reflect, gives even to ninnies,
fools, and imbeciles a species of intelligence, especially in youth.
In the lowest human creature we find an animal instinct whose
persistency resembles thought.
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