CHAPTER II.
GEORGE DUCHENE.
While the events narrated in the preceding chapter were happening in theshop of Monsieur Lebrenn the linendraper, another scene was taking placeat almost the same hour on the fifth story of an old house, opposite theone which the Breton merchant occupied.
I shall take my reader into a modest little room that is fitted out withextreme neatness; an iron bedstead, a wardrobe, two chairs and a tableabove which stood a shelf filled with books--such was its furniture. Atthe head of the bed hung from the wall a species of trophy, consistingof a military cap and two light infantry under-officer's epaulettes,above which, spread in a black frame, was an honorable discharge fromservice. In a corner of the chamber, and disposed upon a board, wereseveral carpenter's tools.
Upon the bed lay a freshly furbished carbine, and upon a little table alittle heap of balls, a gunpowder pouch, and a mold to preparecartridges in, a number of which had already been gotten ready.
The tenant of the apartment, a young man of about twenty-six, with avirile and handsome face, and wearing a mechanic's blouse, was alreadyup. With his elbows leaning on the sill of his attic window, he seemedto be looking intently at the house of Monsieur Lebrenn, especially atone of the four windows, between two of which the famous sign of _TheSword of Brennus_ was fastened.
That one particular window, furnished with very white curtains closelydrawn together, presented nothing remarkable to the sight, except for awooden box, painted green and daintily wrought with ovolos and othercarvings, that filled the full width of the outer sill and containedseveral winter heliotropes besides some crocuses in full bloom.
The features of the tenant of the attic as he contemplated the window inquestion, bore an expression of such profound melancholy that it wasalmost painful to behold. After a while a tear, that fell from the youngman's eyes, rolled down upon his brown moustache.
The sound of a clock that struck half past six drew George Duchene--thatwas the young man's name--from his revery. He passed his hand over hismoist eyes, and left the window murmuring bitterly:
"Bah! To-day, or to-morrow, a bullet through my breast will deliver mefrom this insane love. Thanks to God, there will soon be a seriousengagement. My death will at least serve the cause of freedom."
George remained pensive for a while, and then added:
"But grandfather--I forgot him!"
He then proceeded to a corner of the room where stood a little stovehalf filled with burning coals, and which he had been using to foundhis bullets. He placed on the fire a small earthen dish filled withmilk, crumbled into it some slices of white bread, and in a few minuteshad ready for use a toothsome bowl of milk soup that the expertesthousekeeper might have been jealous of.
After concealing the carbine and munitions of war under his mattress,George took up the bowl, opened a door that was cut in the boardpartition of his apartment, and passed into a contiguous room, where aman of advanced age and with a kind and venerable face framed in longwhite hair, lay on a much better bed than George's. The old man seemedexceedingly weak; his thin and wrinkled hands were agitated by acontinuous tremor.
"Good morning, grandfather," said George, tenderly embracing the oldman. "Did you rest well during the night?"
"Quite well, my boy."
"Here is your milk soup. I'm afraid I kept you waiting."
"Not at all. It is only just day. I heard you rise and open yourwindow--about an hour ago."
"That's so, grandfather. I felt my head heavy--I wanted to breathe theearly air."
"I also heard you during the night walk up and down your room."
"Poor grandfather! Did I keep you awake?"
"No, I was not sleepy. But, George, be frank with me. There's somethingtroubling you."
"Me? Nothing at all."
"For several months you have looked depressed; you have grown pale; youhave changed so much as not to be recognizable. You are no longer aslight of heart as you were when you returned from your regiment."
"I assure you, grandfather--"
"You assure me--you assure me! I know perfectly well what I see. As faras that is concerned I can not be deceived. I have a mother'seyes--come, now--"
"That's true," replied George smiling. "I think it is _grandmother_ Ishould call you--because you are good, tender and uneasy about me, likea true grandma. But believe me, you alarm yourself unnecessarily. Here,hold your spoon; wait a minute till I place the table on your bed. Youwill be more at ease."
George took from a corner a pretty little shining walnut table of theshape of the trays used by patients for eating on in their beds. Afterplacing upon it the bowl of soup, he gently pushed it in front of theold man.
"There is none like you, my boy, for such thoughtfulness," observed thegrandfather.
"It would have been a devilish thing, grandfather, if, with all mycarpenter's skill, I had failed to put together this little table thatis so handy for you."
"Oh! You have an answer for everything--I know that," observed the oldman, smiling.
And with a shaky hand he began his meal. So tremulous were his motionsthat several times the spoon struck against his teeth.
"Oh, my poor boy!" exclaimed the old man sadly. "Just see how my handstremble. It seems to me they grow worse every day."
"Nonsense, grandfather! To me, on the contrary, your hands seem to begrowing steadier--"
"Oh, no! 'Tis all over--all over. There is no remedy can bring me helpin my infirmity."
"Why, do you prefer me to take your hopeless view of the case--"
"That's just what I should have done since this affliction began. And,yet, I can not accustom myself to the idea of being an invalid, and aburden to others unto the end of my life."
"Grandfather! Grandfather! If you talk that way we shall have to fallout."
"I wonder what made me commit the stupidity of taking to the trade ofgilder of metals. At the end of twenty years, often before that,one-half of those artisans shake like myself; but, differently frommyself, they have no grandchildren who spoil them--"
"Grandfather!"
"Yes, you spoil me; I repeat it--you spoil me--"
"Let it be so! Now, then, I shall give you tit for tat; it is the onlyway to spike your guns, as we were taught in the regiment. Well, I knewa fine man; his name was father Morin; he was a widower with a daughterof about eighteen. The worthy man married his daughter to a gallantyoung fellow, but over-much given to resent wrong, and one day hereceived an ugly blow in a fight, so ugly that two years after hismarriage he died, leaving his young wife with a boy in her arms."
"George! George!"
"The poor young mother nursed her child. Her husband's death was such ashock to her that she followed him shortly after--and her little boyremained upon the hands of his grandfather."
"Good God, George! How merciless you are! What is the sense in evercoming back to all that?"
"He loved the boy so much that he would not part with him. During theday, when he had to work in the shop, a good neighbor kept the urchinwith her. But, the instant the grandfather returned home, he had but onethought on his mind, but one cry on his lips--'My little George.' Helooked after him as lovingly as the best and tenderest of mothers. Heruined himself getting pretty clothes and pretty hats for the chap. Herigged the little fellow up to his own taste, and the grandfather wasvery proud of his grandchild. And so it came about that all the peoplein the neighborhood, who loved the worthy man greatly, began to call himthe _nurse-father_."
"But, George!"
"In that way he brought up the boy, cared for him night and day,attended to all his needs, sent him to school, then to hisapprenticeship, until--"
"So much the worse!" cried out the old man, unable any longer to containhimself. "Seeing we are to tell the truth to each other, I shall have myturn, and we shall see! First of all, you were the son of my daughterGeorgiana, whom I doted upon. I only did my duty--take that, to beginwith--"
"Neither have I done any more than my d
uty."
"You? Don't tell me that!" cried the old man, vehemently brandishing hisspoon. "You! This is what you did: Good luck saved you from drawing thelot of going into the army--"
"Grandfather! Take care!"
"Oh, you can not frighten me!"
"You will upset your bowl of soup if you go on in that way."
"I 'go on'! The devil take it! Do you think I have no blood left in myveins? Yes, answer, you who are always speaking of other people! When myinfirmity began, what is it that you did, unhappy boy? You went insearch of a merchant of men."
"Grandfather, your soup will grow cold; for heaven's sake take it whileit is warm."
"Ta, ta, ta! You want to shut my mouth. I am not your dupe. Yes! Andwhat did you say to the merchant of men? 'My grandfather is ailing; hecan hardly any longer earn his living; I am his only support; I may failhim, either through sickness, or through lack of work; he is old; secureto him a little life annuity, and I shall sell myself to you.' And youdid it!" cried the old man with tears in his eyes, and raising his spoonto the ceiling with such vehemence that, if George had not quicklyseized the table it would have tumbled down to the floor with the bowlof soup and all.
The young man exclaimed:
"'Sdeath, grandfather! Keep quiet! You are carrying on like the devil ina sacristy. You will upset everything."
"I don't care! It will not keep me from telling you why and how it cameabout that you became a soldier, and how you sold yourself for me--to amerchant of men--"
"All that talk is a pretext to keep you from eating your soup. I see,you think it is not well made."
"Just listen to him! I, find his soup bad! Well, well!" exclaimed theold man in pitiful accents, "That devil of a boy has made up his mind tobreak my heart!"
Father Morin furiously dipped his spoon into the bowl, and precipitatelycarrying it to his mouth said while eating: "You see--you see--how bad Ifind your soup--see-see--Oh! it is bad--see--see--Oh, I don't like it atall!"
"For heaven's sake, now you are going too fast," cried George, holdingback his grandfather's arm. "You will choke yourself."
"That's also your fault! To tell me I find your soup bad, while ittastes delicious!" complained the old man, moderating his pace andsmacking his lips with great gusto. "It is the gods' own nectar!"
"Without vainglory," replied George, smiling, "I enjoyed a greatreputation in the regiment for my leek soup. Good, I shall now fill yourpipe."
George then leaned over to the old man and said to him as he patted himon the back:
"That's right--my good old grandfather loves to pull at his little pipein his bed, do you not?"
"What shall I say, George? You turn me into a Pacha; aye, a Pacha!"answered the old man, while his grandson went for the pipe that lay on atable, filled it with tobacco, lighted it, and presented it to oldfather Morin. The old man was thereupon propped up well in his bed, andbegan to smoke his delicious pipe.
George sat down at the foot of the bed, and said:
"What do you propose to do to-day?"
"I shall take my little stroll on the boulevard, where, if the weatheris good, I shall sit down for a while on a bench."
"Hem! Grandfather, I think you would better postpone your promenade. Youmust have noticed yesterday how large the crowds were that gathered atseveral places. They almost came to blows with the municipalists andcity sergeants. It may be even worse to-day."
"I know it, my boy. Are you taking a hand in these tussles? I know fullwell how tempting it is to do so when one's rights are invaded. It isunworthy of the government to forbid the banquets. But I shall feel veryuneasy on your score."
"You need not feel uneasy about me, grandfather. There is nothing tofear, as far as I am concerned. But take my advice. Do not go outto-day."
"Very well, my boy, I shall stay indoors. I shall entertain myself alittle reading your books, and shall look at the passers-by from thewindow, smoking my pipe the while."
"Poor grandfather," observed George with a smile. "From our high flooryou see hardly more than moving hats."
"That's all one. It will be enough to entertain me. Besides, I can lookat the opposite houses. Our neighbors often sit at their windows.But--hold! It strikes me now--by the way of the houses on the other sideof the street, there is a thing I have meant to ask you, and alwaysforgot. Tell me what that sign means which I see before thelinendraper's house. What is the meaning of that helmeted warriorthrowing his sword into the scales? You who did the carpentering work inthe shop, when it was recently renovated, you should know the why andwherefore of its sign."
"I did not know it either until my master detailed me to work inMonsieur Lebrenn's shop."
"All over the quarter people speak of him as a straight-forward man. Allthe same, what devil of a notion is that of choosing such a lookingsign--_The Sword of Brennus!_ If he were an armorer, the thing mightpass. True enough, there are scales in the picture, and scales suggestcommerce--but why does the warrior with his helmet on and the air of anArtaban throw his sword into the scale?"
"I'll tell you. But really, I feel bashful, at my age, to presume tohold a lecture to you."
"Why bashful? Why that? Instead of going out on Sundays for a walkwhere people congregate near the fortifications, you read, you learn,you instruct yourself. You may well hold a lecture to yourgrandfather--there is no harm in that!"
"Well--the warrior with a helmet, that Brennus, was a Gaul, one of ourancestors, the chieftain of the army which, two thousand years and howmuch more ago I do not know, marched into Italy to attack Rome in orderto punish the city for some act of treachery. The city surrendered tothe Gauls and was spared in consideration of a ransom in gold. But, notconsidering the ransom large enough, Brennus threw his sword into thescale that held the weights."
"In order to secure a larger ransom, the shrewd old fellow! He did theopposite of what the fruit-venders do who help the scales in theirinterest with their thumbs. I understand that part of it. But there areyet two things I do not understand at all. In the first place you saidthat that warrior, who lived more than two thousand years ago, was oneof our ancestors!"
"Yes, that Brennus and the Gauls of his army belonged to the race fromwhich we descend--almost all of us in this country of France."
"One moment--you say they were Gauls?"
"Yes, grandfather."
"Then we are descendants of the Gallic race?"
"Certainly."
"But we are Frenchmen. How do you account for that, my boy?"
"Simply this way--our country, our mother country, was not always calledFrance."
"Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!" exclaimed the old man, taking the pipe outof his mouth. "How is that? France was not always called France?"
"No, grandfather. During ages immemorial our country was called _Gaul_,and was a republic, as glorious, as powerful, but happier, and twice aslarge as France during the Empire."
"The devil you say!"
"Unfortunately, about two thousand years ago--"
"Is that all? Two thousand years! How you do fling around the years, myboy!"
"Dissensions broke out in Gaul; the several provinces rose against oneanother--"
"Ah! That's ever the trouble! That was the very trick of the clergy andthe royalists during the Revolution--"
"And so, grandfather, that befell to Gaul, centuries ago, that befell toFrance in 1814 and 1815."
"A foreign invasion!"
"Exactly. The Romans, once vanquished by Brennus, had in the meantimebecome powerful. They profited by the divisions among our fathers; andthey invaded the land--"
"Exactly as the Cossacks and the Prussians invaded us!"
"Exactly so. But what the Cossack and Prussian Kings, the good friendsof the Bourbons, did not dare to do--not that they lacked the wish--theRomans did. Despite a heroic resistance, our ancestors, ever brave aslions, but unfortunately divided, were reduced to slavery, as theNegroes are to-day in some colonies."
"Is such a thing possible!"
"Yes. They wore iron collars, bearing the initials of their masters,when those initials were not branded on their foreheads with a hotiron."
"Our fathers!" cried the old man, joining his hands with pain andindignation. "Our fathers!"
"And when they tried to run away, their masters had their noses and earscropped, if not their hands and feet."
"Our fathers!"
"Other times their masters would cast them to wild beasts for amusement,or cause them to be put to death under frightful tortures if theyrefused to cultivate, under the conqueror's lash, the very lands thathad belonged to them--"
"But listen," interposed the old man, gathering his recollections; "thatputs me in mind of a song of our old friend, the friend of us poorfolks--"
"The song of our Beranger, not so, grandfather--_The Gallic Slaves_?"
"Yes, my boy. It begins--let me see--yes--this is it:
"Some ancient Gauls, the wretched slaves, One night, when all around were sleeping--
And the refrain ran:
"Poor Gauls, 'fore whom the world once trembled, Let us drink to intoxication!"
Then it was our own fathers, the Gauls, that Beranger was referring to?Alas! Poor fellows, like so many others, no doubt, they took todrunkenness in order to forget their misfortunes."
"Yes, grandfather; but soon they realized that to forget one's sorrowsdoes not deliver one therefrom; that to break the yoke is better."
"Right they were!"
"Accordingly, the Gauls, after innumerable insurrectionary efforts--"
"Well, my boy, meseems the method is not new, but ever is the right one.Ha! Ha!" added the old man, striking the bowl of his pipe with his nail."Ha! Ha! Do you notice, George, sooner or later, it has to come to aRevolution--so it was in '89--so it was in 1830--so it may be to-morrow,perhaps!"
"Poor grandfather!" thought George to himself. "He little knows how nearthe truth he is."
And he proceeded aloud:
"Right you are! When it comes to the matter of freedom, the people musthelp themselves, and stick their own fingers into the dish--otherwisethere will be only crumbs to pick, and the people will be robbed, asthey were robbed eighteen years ago."
"And brazenly were they robbed, my poor boy! I saw it done, myself. Iwas there."
"Fortunately you know the proverb, grandfather--_The scaldedcat_--enough said. The lesson will have been a good one. But to returnto our Gauls. They did as you say--resorted to Revolution. She neverleaves her children in the lurch. The latter, by dint of perseverance,of energy and of their own blood copiously poured out, succeeded inre-conquering a portion of their former freedom from the mailed hand ofthe Romans, who, moreover, had not un-christened Gaul, but only calledher 'Roman' Gaul."
"Just as we to-day speak of French Algeria, I suppose?"
"Exactly so, grandfather."
"Well, thanks to God, our brave Gauls did, with the help ofInsurrection, get back a little into the saddle! That soothes my bloodsomewhat."
"Oh, grandfather, wait, only wait!"
"Why?"
"What our fathers suffered was as nothing to what they were still tosuffer."
"Think of it! And I thought they were out of the woods. What's it thathappened to them?"
"Figure to yourself a horde of barbarians, semi-savages, named _Franks_.Thirteen or fourteen hundred years ago they emerged from the recesses ofthe forests of Germany. Genuine Cossacks they were, in their way. Theyfell upon the Roman armies. These, enervated by their conquest of Gaul,were rolled in the dust and driven out, and then the Frankishconquerors, in turn, took possession of our poor country. They strippedher even of her name. They called her _France_, after themselves, intoken of possession."
"The brigands!" cried the old man. "I like the Romans better, by myfaith! At least they left us our name."
"That's so. Besides, the Romans were, at least, the most civilizedpeople then living, except for the barbarity of their system of slavery.They covered Gaul with magnificent structures, and will ye nil ye, theyrestored to our ancestors a part of their pristine freedom. The Franks,on the contrary, were, as I said, genuine Cossacks. Under theirdomination the Gauls had to start all over again."
"Good God! Good God!"
"Those hordes of Frankish bandits--"
"Call them Cossacks! Give their true name!"
"They were even worse, if possible, grandfather! Those Frankish bandits,those Cossacks, if you prefer, called their chiefs _Kings_. The kinglyleaven perpetuated itself in our country, whence it happens that for somany years we have tasted the sweets of Kings of Frankish origin, whomthe royalists call _Kings by divine right_."
"Say by _Cossack right_! A fine present!"
"The chiefs of lower category were called _dukes_, and _counts_. Theirseed likewise perpetuated itself upon our soil, whence it happens thatfor so long a time we have enjoyed the luxury of a nobility of Frankishorigin, who treated us as a conquered race."
"What's that you are telling me!" ejaculated the perplexed-looking oldman. "If I grasp the meaning of what you say, my boy, the Frankishbandits, those Cossacks, Kings and chieftains, once masters of Gaul,parceled out among themselves the lands that the Gauls had partlyreconquered from the Romans?"
"Yes, grandfather. The Frankish Kings and seigneurs robbed the Gauls oftheir property, and divided among themselves the soil and the peopleupon it, just as a domain and its live stock are divided."
"And our fathers, despoiled of their goods by those Cossacks--"
"Our fathers were anew reduced to slavery, as they were under theRomans, and were forced to cultivate for the benefit of the FrankishKings and seigneurs the land that had belonged to themselves, to themthe Gauls since Gaul was Gaul."
"Accordingly, my boy, the Frankish Kings and seigneurs, after havingrobbed our fathers of their property, started to live on their sweat--"
"Just so, grandfather. They sold them--men, women, children, girls--inopen market. If they resisted at work, their masters whipped them asrecalcitrant animals are whipped, if they did not kill them in theiranger, or out of pure cruelty, as often happened, just as one might killhis dog or horse. The theory was that our fathers and mothers belongedto the Frankish Kings and seigneurs neither more nor less than cattlebelong to their owner. All this by virtue of the Frankish conquest ofGaul[6]. This state of things lasted until the revolution of 1789, whichyou witnessed, grandfather. You will remember the enormous differencethere still existed at that time between a nobleman and a workingman,between a seigneur and a peasant."
"'Sdeath! It was the difference between master and slave."
"Or, if you prefer the term, between _Frank_ and _Gaul_, grandfather."
"But, my little man, how did it happen that our forefathers the Gaulsallowed themselves to be martyrized in that fashion by a handful ofFranks--no, Cossacks, I mean, for so many centuries?"
"Oh, grandfather! The Franks possessed the soil which they had stolen;hence they possessed the fullness thereof. Their army, a numerous body,consisted of pitiless recruits from their own country. Besides, almostexhausted by their long struggle against the Romans, a frightfulaffliction was furthermore in store for our fathers--the priests."
"That's all that was wanting to finish them up!"
"To their eternal shame, the larger portion of the Gallic bishops,immediately upon the Frankish invasion, betrayed their own country, andmade common cause with the Frankish Kings and seigneurs, whom theyspeedily dominated through cunning and flattery, and from whom theywheedled all the lands and money possible. Accordingly, just as with theconquerors themselves, a large number of holy priests held serfs whomthey either sold or exploited, and lived amidst shocking debauchery,degrading, tyrannizing and brutifying at their own sweet pleasure theGallic masses to whom they preached resignation, and respect for, andobedience to the Franks, threatening with the devil and his hornswhatever wretched being might attempt a revolt for the independence ofhis country from the foreign Kings and seigneurs, the only source ofwhose power
and wealth was violence, rapine and murder."[7]
"I see it all! But, my little man, did our forefathers allow themselvesto be shorn without kicking--all that time, from the conquest down tothe Revolution, when we turned upon those Frankish Kings and seigneurs,and, along with them, their clergy, who stuck to the habit of gatheringfat upon their ribs?"
"It is not likely that everything went on without numerous revolts onthe part of the serfs against the Kings, the seigneurs and the priests.But, grandfather, I have told you the little that I know, and even thatlittle I learned only while carpentering in the shop of MonsieurLebrenn, the linendraper opposite us."
"How did it happen, my boy?"
"While I was at work, Monsieur Lebrenn, who is the best man I know, usedto chat with me. He would talk about the history of our fathers, ofwhich I knew as little as you. Once my curiosity was pricked--and itwas not slight--"
"I can well imagine that."
"I put a thousand questions to Monsieur Lebrenn, all the while hammeringand joining. He answered me with truly paternal kindness. In that way Icame to know the little that I have told you. But," added George with asigh that he was unable to suppress, "my job being done, the historylessons were interrupted. Accordingly, I have told you all I know,grandfather."
"So, then, the linendraper who lives opposite is as learned as allthat?"
"He is as learned as he is a true patriot. He is an _old Gaul_, as heloves to style himself. And sometimes," added George, unable to avoidblushing slightly, "I heard him say to his daughter, as he proudlyembraced her on account of some clever answer or other that she made,'Oh, as to you--you are a true Gallic girl!'"
At this moment father Morin and George heard someone rapping at the doorof the first chamber.
"Walk in!" cried George.
Someone stepped into the front room that connected with the one occupiedby the old man.
"Who is there?" George asked.
"I--Lebrenn," answered a voice.
"What! The worthy linendraper that we have been speaking about? The _oldGaul_?" whispered the venerable grandfather. "Go quick and see what hewants, my boy, and shut the door after you."
As much embarrassed as surprised at this visit, George stepped out ofhis grandfather's room, and found himself facing Marik Lebrenn.