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Updated: June 13, 2025
The manager assisted Bouvard and Pécuchet to jump over a wooden fence, and they passed 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.
Bouvard inclined towards Neptunism; Pécuchet, on the contrary, was a Plutonist. "The central fire had broken the crust of the globe, heaved up the masses of earth, and made fissures. It is, as it were, an interior sea, which has its flow and ebb, its tempests; a thin film separates us from it. We could not sleep if we thought of all that is under our heels.
"On the contrary, he will be very happy at this proof of your affection." "Now let us think of serious matters; I will make a package of linen, which I shall find in the drawers, to take to him in prison; Mother Bouvard, whom I shall send here to-morrow, will manage the rest. First, however, I'll open the secretary and take out the papers and money which M. Germain begged me keep for him."
And the doctor declared himself in favour of progress: "For, indeed, gentlemen, we have need of reforms." "Possibly," said Foureau; "but all these ideas are injurious to business." "I laugh at business!" cried Pécuchet. Vaucorbeil went on: "At least let us make allowance for abilities." Bouvard would not go so far. "That is your opinion," replied the doctor; "there's an end of you, then!
The notation appeared to them irregular. The multiple proportions perplexed Pécuchet. "Since one molecule of a, I suppose, is combined with several particles of b, it seems to me that this molecule ought to be divided into as many particles; but, if it is divided, it ceases to be unity, the primordial molecule. In short, I do not understand." "No more do I," said Bouvard.
His dinner this time was better than theirs. The soup was like dish-water, the rabbit had a bad smell, the kidney-beans were underdone, the plates were dirty, and at dessert Bouvard burst into a passion and threatened to break everything on Marcel's head. "Let us be philosophers," said Pécuchet. "A little less money, the intrigues of a woman, the clumsiness of a servant what is it but this?
"I will buy it of you, Mother Bouvard." "Will you though? So much the better, sir; it would have remained on my hands a long time, and I only took it to serve the lady. I then told her what I would give for the things, and I expected she would ask me more than I had offered; but no, she said not a word about it.
Bouvard smiled from time to time, and renewing the conversation, said: "The fact is, it is hard to avoid doubt; thus, for the existence of God, Descartes', Kant's, and Leibnitz's proofs are not the same, and mutually destroy one another. The creation of the world by atoms, or by a spirit, remains inconceivable.
However, the central fire diminishes, and the sun grows more feeble, so much so that one day the earth will perish of refrigeration. It will become sterile; all the wood and all the coal will be converted into carbonic acid, and no life can subsist there." "We haven't come to that yet," said Bouvard. "Let us expect it," returned Pécuchet.
Mélie, just now, had been reading it in the kitchen; and, as one ought to watch over the morals of persons of that class, he thought he was doing the right thing in confiscating the book. Bouvard had lent it to his servant-maid. They chatted about novels. Madame Bordin liked them when they were not dismal. "Writers," said M. de Faverges, "paint life in colours that are too flattering."
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