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.