The Galley Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn

The moment, however, that the linendraper reached the door, he seemed to change his mind, scratched himself behind the ear, and returned to the Count of Plouernel.

"Well, my dear fellow?" asked the Count, rather astonished at his return. "What is the matter?"

"The matter is," said the merchant, continuing to scratch the back of his ear, "meseems a thought strikes me – I beg your pardon for the great liberty – "

"Zounds! Speak up! Why should you not have an idea – as well as anybody else?"

"That's true, monsieur, it sometimes happens that the common people, like the noble folks, do not desiderate– ideas."

"Do not desiderate– what the devil does that word mean? I do not remember ever to have heard it."

"It is a good, square, old word, monsieur, which means to lack. Moliere often uses it."

"How, Moliere!" exclaimed the astonished Count. "Do you read Moliere, my good fellow? Indeed, I did notice, while you were speaking, that you often used old turns of expression."

"I shall tell you why, monsieur: When I noticed that you spoke to me in the style that Don Juan uses to Monsieur Dimanche, or Dorante to Monsieur Jourdain – "

"What are you driving at?" put in the Count of Plouernel, more and more taken aback, and beginning to suspect that the merchant was not quite so simple as he seemed. "What do you mean?"

"Well," proceeded Lebrenn in his tone of bantering simplicity, "well, when I noticed that, then, in order to reciprocate the honor that you were doing me, monsieur, I, in turn, assumed the language of Monsieur Dimanche, or of Monsieur Jourdain – I beg your pardon for my great liberty – and meseems, according to what little judgment I have, monsieur, meseems you would not greatly object to taking my daughter for your mistress – "

"What!" cried the Count, utterly disconcerted by this brusque apostrophe. "I do not know – I do not understand what you mean – "

"Oh, monsieur! I am but a plain man – I can only speak as my little judgment dictates."

"Your little judgment! It serves you very poorly. Upon my honor, you are crazy! Your idea lacks common sense."

"Indeed? Oh, well, so much the better! I said to myself, follow closely, if you please, my plain way of reasoning – I said to myself: I am a good bourgeois of St. Denis Street; I sell linen; I have a handsome daughter; a young seigneur – because it does seem we are returning to the days of young seigneurs – has seen my daughter; he covets her; he gives me a large order; he adds offers of service, and, under the pretext – "

"Monsieur Lebrenn – there are jokes I do not tolerate from people!"

"I agree – but follow closely my plain way of reasoning, if you please, monsieur: The young seigneur, I said to myself, proposes to give a tournament in honor of my daughter's pretty eyes, and to come frequently to see us, all with the only end in view, by thus playing the good Prince, to succeed in seducing my child."

"Monsieur," cried the Count, growing purple with vexation and rage, "by what right do you allow yourself to impute such intentions to me?"

"That's well, monsieur; I call that speaking to the point. You would not, is it not true? scheme a plot that is not only so unworthy, but so supremely ridiculous?"

"Enough, monsieur, enough!"

"Good! Good! You did not – I shall suppose you did not, and I feel better at ease. Otherwise, you see, I would have been compelled to say to you, humbly, respectfully, as becomes poor people of my class: Pardon me, my young seigneur, for the great freedom that I am taking, but you see, the daughters of the good bourgeois are not to be seduced in that way. Since about fifty years ago, that sort of thing can no longer be done, not at all, absolutely not. Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis still calls the bourgeois, men and women, of St. Denis Street rather familiarly dear Monsieur Thing, dear Madam Thing, looking, with habitual race conceit, upon the bourgeoisie as an inferior species. But, zounds! To go further than that would no longer be prudent! The bourgeois of St. Denis Street are no longer afraid, as once they were, of lettres de cachet to the Bastille. And if Monsieur Duke, or Monsieur Marquis took it into his head to be discourteous to them – to them or to their family – bless my soul! the bourgeois of St. Denis Street might bestow a thorough drubbing – pardon me, monsieur, for this great freedom – I said, might administer a thorough drubbing to Monsieur Marquis or Monsieur Duke – even if he were of royal or imperial lineage."

"'Sdeath, monsieur!" ejaculated the colonel, hardly able to restrain his anger, and turning pale with rage. "Are you making threats to me?"

"No, monsieur," calmly answered Lebrenn, dropping his tone of banter and proceeding in firm and dignified accents; "no, monsieur; it is not a threat, it is a lesson I am giving you."

"A lesson!" cried the Count of Plouernel, furious with rage. "A lesson! to me!"

"Monsieur, despite all your race prejudice, you are a man of honor – swear to me upon your honor that, in endeavoring to introduce yourself into my house, that in tendering your services to me, it was not your intention to seduce my daughter! Yes, swear to that upon your honor, and, admitting my mistake, I shall retract all I said."

Thrown out of countenance by the alternative offered to him, the Count of Plouernel blushed, lowered his eyes before the steady gaze of the linendraper, and remained silent.

"Oh!" said the linendraper sorrowfully, as if musing to himself, but loud enough to be heard by the Count of Plouernel. "They are incorrigible; they have forgotten nothing, learned nothing; we still are in their estimation a vanquished, conquered, subject race!"

"Monsieur!"

"Well, monsieur! I know my ground! No longer do we live in the days when, after having violated my daughter, you would have ordered me whipped with switches, and hanged afterwards before the gate of your castle, as was the practice in former centuries – and as was done to one of my own ancestors by that seigneur yonder – "

Saying this Lebrenn pointed at one of the portraits that hung from the wall, to the profound astonishment of the Count of Plouernel.

"The matter looked quite simple to you," the merchant proceeded, "the notion of taking my daughter for your mistress. I am no longer your slave, your serf, your vassal, your chattel; playing the good Prince, you graciously condescended to have me take a chair, and you even addressed me patronizingly – 'Dear Monsieur Lebrenn.' There are Counts no longer, still you carry your title and the coat-of-arms of a Count. Civil equality has been declared, and yet nothing would seem more monstrous to you than to marry your daughter or your sister to a bourgeois or a mechanic, whatever their worthiness and the honorable character that they might bear. Would you dare to gainsay my words? No; you might, perhaps, cite some exception, it would be but a fresh proof that such unions remain misalliances in your eyes. Trifles, you may say; they certainly are trifles – but what a grave symptom the attaching of so much importance to trifles is! You and yours, were you to become all-powerful in the nation to-morrow, would fatedly and necessarily, as happened under the Restoration, seek by little and little to re-establish your ancient privileges, which, from being trivial, would then become hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to us, as they were for centuries hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to our ancestors."

So stupefied was the Count of Plouernel at the transformation of the bearing, tone and language of the linendraper that he did not interrupt him. Assuming finally an air of haughtiness he replied ironically:

"I doubt not, monsieur, that the moral of the beautiful lesson in history which you have had the kindness to read to me in your capacity of linendraper probably is that the priests and nobles should be sent to the lamp-post – as was the fashion in the good old days of 1793, and our daughters and sisters married to the nearest valet at hand."

"Oh, monsieur," said the merchant in a tone of lofty sorrow, "let us not mention reprisals. Forget what your fathers suffered during those ominous years – I, on my part, will forget what our ancestors suffered, at the hands of yours, and, not during a few years, but during FIFTEEN CENTURIES OF TORMENT! Marry your daughters and sisters as it may please you, it is your right; believe in misalliances, that is your affair. These are facts that I mention; and, as a symptom, I repeat it, they are grave; they prove that, in your estimation, there are and ever will be two distinct races in the land."

"And supposing it is so, monsieur, what business is it of yours how we look upon things?"

"The devil! It is very much our business, monsieur. The Holy Alliance, the divine and absolute right of Kings, the clerical party, aristocracy by birth and omnipotent in the nation– these are the inevitable consequences of the opinion that there are two races, a superior and an inferior one, one made to rule, the other to obey, and suffer. You asked what was the moral of this lesson in history? It is this, monsieur," the merchant proceeded: "Being jealous of the liberties that our fathers conquered at the price of their blood and their martyrdom; – seeing we do not wish to be treated any longer as a conquered race; I in my capacity of an elector vote against your party so long as it remains upon the field of legality; but when, as happened in 1830, your party leaves the field of legality with the end in view of reducing us back to arbitrary and clerical rule, that is to say, to the system that obtained before 1789 – that moment I go out into the street, and fire bullets into your party."

"And it returns the compliment to yours."

"Very true – my arm was broken in 1830 by a Swiss ball. But, monsieur, listen to reason: Why should there be feud, ever feud, ever bloodshed, useful blood poured out by both sides? Why ever dream of a past that is no more, and can nevermore be? You vanquished, despoiled, dominated, exploited and tortured us fifteen centuries at a stretch! Have you not had enough? Do we contemplate oppressing you, in turn? No, no, a thousand times no! Liberty has cost us too dear to conquer; we prize it too highly to seek to deprive others of it. It is not our fault, it is yours; since 1789 your foreign alliances, civil war instigated by yourselves, your constant attempts at counter-revolution, your intimate relations with the clerical party – all that keeps thoughtful people in alarm and afflicts them, while it irritates and exasperates the men of action. I ask you again – what does it boot? Has mankind ever retrograded? No, monsieur, never. You can, no one questions that, do mischief; much mischief; but your divine right and your privileges are done for. Let your party learn that lesson. You would then save the nation, and yourself, perhaps, who knows what new disasters, because, I tell you, the future belongs to democracy."

The linendraper's voice and accent were so impressive that, although not convinced, the Count of Plouernel was touched by his words. His indomitable race pride struggled with his impulse to acknowledge to the merchant that he at least saw in him a generous adversary.

That moment the door was abruptly thrown open by an officer, the major-adjutant of the Count's regiment, who, rushing in, hastily made the military salute and said hurriedly:

"I beg your pardon, colonel, for coming in without being announced, but orders have just been issued to have the regiment mount horse forthwith, and remain ready for action on the square of the quarter."

The linendraper was about to leave the salon when the Count of Plouernel said to him:

"Well, monsieur, to judge by the course things are taking, together with your republican opinions, it is quite possible that I may have the honor of meeting you to-morrow on a barricade."

"I know not what may happen, monsieur," answered the linendraper; "but I neither fear nor desire such an encounter."

And then, with a smile, he added:

"I think, monsieur, that the order for linen may be canceled."

"I think so, too, monsieur," replied the colonel, bowing stiffly to Lebrenn, who left the salon.

CHAPTER VII.

"THE SWORD OF BRENNUS."

While Marik Lebrenn was holding the conversation, just reported, with the Count of Plouernel, the merchant's wife and daughter were, as was their custom, busy in the shop, over which hung the sign —The Sword of Brennus.

While her daughter was engaged with her needle, Madam Lebrenn saw to the books of the establishment. She was a tall woman of forty. Her face, at once serious and kind, preserved the traces of extraordinary beauty. In the cadence of her voice, her carriage, and her countenance there was a certain calmness and firmness that conveyed a high opinion of her nature. A glance at her was enough to remind one that our mothers, the Gallic women, took part in the councils of the nation on critical occasions, and that such was the valor of those matrons that Diodorus Siculus expresses himself in these terms:

"The women of Gaul vie with the men not in tallness only, they also match them by their moral strength."

And Strabo adds these significant words:

"The Gallic women are fertile and good teachers."

Mademoiselle Velleda Lebrenn sat by the side of her mother. So marked was the girl's exceptional beauty that none could behold her without being struck by its radiance. Her mien was at once proud, ingenuous and thoughtful. Nothing more limpid than the blue of her eyes; nothing more dazzling than her complexion; nothing loftier than the carriage of her charming head, crowned with long tresses of brown hair that here and there gleamed in gold. Tall, lithesome and strong without masculinity, the sight and nature of the beauty explained the paternal whim that caused the merchant to give his child the name Velleda, the name of an illustrious heroine in the patriotic annals of the Gauls. Mademoiselle Lebrenn could be readily imagined with her brow wreathed in oak leaves, clad in a long white robe belted with brass, and vibrating the gold harp of the female druids, those wonderful teachers of our forefathers who, exalting them with the thought of the immortality of the soul, taught them to die with so much grandeur and serenity! In Mademoiselle Lebrenn the type was reproduced of those Gallic women, clad in black, with arms "so wonderfully white and nervy," as Ammienus Marcellinus expresses it, who followed their husbands to battle, with their children in their chariots of war, encouraged the combatants with word and gesture, and mingled among them in the hour of victory or of defeat, ever preferring death to slavery and shame.

Those whose minds were not stored with these tragic and glorious remembrances of the past saw in Mademoiselle Lebrenn a beautiful girl of eighteen, coiffed in her magnificent head of brown hair, and whose elegant shape outlined itself under a pretty high-necked robe of light blue poplin, which set off a little orange cravat tied around her neat, white collar.

While Madam Lebrenn was casting up her accounts and her daughter sewed, occasionally exchanging a few words with her mother, Gildas Pakou, the shop-boy, stood at the door. The youngster was uneasy and greatly disturbed in mind, so very much disturbed that it never occurred to him, as was otherwise his wont, to recite promiscuously favorite passages from his beloved Breton songs.

The worthy fellow was preoccupied with just one thought – the strange contrast that he found between the reality and his mother's promises, she having informed him that St. Denis Street in general, and the house of Monsieur Lebrenn in particular, were particularly quiet and peaceful spots.

Gildas suddenly turned about and said to Madam Lebrenn in a high state of alarm:

"Madam! Madam! Listen!"

"What is it, Gildas?" asked Madam Lebrenn, proceeding unperturbed to make her entries in the large ledger.

"But, madam, it is the drum! Listen! Besides – Oh, good God! – I see some men running!"

"What of it, Gildas," returned Madam Lebrenn; "let them run."

"Mother," put in Velleda after listening a few seconds, "it is the call to arms. There must be some fear that the agitation that has reigned in Paris since yesterday may spread."

"Jeanike," Madam Lebrenn called out to the maid servant, "Monsieur Lebrenn's National Guard uniform must be got ready. He may want it on his return home."

"Yes, madam, I shall see to it," answered Jeanike, going to the rear room.

"Gildas," Madam Lebrenn proceeded, "can you see the St. Denis Gate from where you are?"

"Yes, madam," answered Gildas, all in a tremble; "would you want me to go there?"

"No; be at ease; only let me know whether there is much of a crowd gathering at that end of the street."

"Oh! yes, madam," answered Gildas, craning his neck. "It looks like an ant-hill. Oh, good God! Madam! Madam! Oh, my God!"

"What is it now, Gildas?"

"Oh, madam! Down there – the drums – they were about to turn the corner – "

"Well?"

"A lot of men in blouses stopped them – they have broken the drums. Listen! Madam! Look! The whole crowd is running this way. Do you hear them screaming, madam? Should we not close the shop?"

"It is very evident, Gildas, you are none too brave," said Mademoiselle Lebrenn without raising her eyes from her needlework.

At that moment a man clad in a blouse and dragging with difficulty a small handbarrow that seemed to be heavily loaded, stopped before the door, pulled the barrow up alongside the sidewalk, stepped into the shop, and accosted the merchant's wife:

"Monsieur Lebrenn, madam?"

"This is his place."

"I have here four bales for him."

"Linen, I suppose?" asked Madam Lebrenn.

"Well, madam, I think so," answered the messenger with a smile.

"Gildas," she resumed, addressing the good fellow, who was casting ever more uneasy glances into the street, "help monsieur carry the bales to the rear of the shop."

The messenger and Gildas raised the bales out of the barrow. They were long and thick rolls, and were wrapped in coarse grey cloth.

"This must be fiercely close-packed linen," remarked Gildas as, with great effort, he was helping the barrowman to carry in the last of the four rolls. "This thing is as heavy as lead."

"Do you really think so, my friend?" said the man in the blouse, fixedly looking at Gildas, who modestly lowered his eyes and blushed.

The barrowman thereupon addressed himself to Madam Lebrenn, saying:

"There, my errand is done, madam. I must, above all things, recommend to you that the bales be kept in a dry place, and no fire near, until Monsieur Lebrenn arrives. That linen is very – very delicate."

And the barrowman mopped the sweat from his forehead.

"You must have had work to wheel those bales here all alone," remarked Madam Lebrenn kindly; and opening the drawer in which she kept the small change, she took out a ten-sou piece, which she pushed over the desk to the barrowman. "Take this for your pains."

"Thank you very much, madam," answered the man, smiling. "I have been paid."

"A messenger thanks very much, and refuses a tip!" said Gildas to himself. "A puzzling – a very puzzling house this is!"

Herself considerably surprised at the manner in which the barrowman formulated his declination, Madam Lebrenn raised her eyes and saw a man of about thirty years, of an agreeable face, and who, an exceptional thing with package carriers, had remarkably white hands, carefully trimmed nails, and a neat gold ring on his little finger.

"Could you tell me, monsieur," asked the merchant's wife, "whether the excitement in Paris is on the increase?"

"Very much so, madam. One can hardly move on the boulevard. Troops are pouring in from all sides. Artillerymen are posted in front of the Gymnasium with their fuses lighted. I came across two squadrons of dragoons on patrol duty, with loaded carbines. Everywhere the roll of the drum is calling to arms – although, I must say, the National Guard does not seem to be in any great hurry. But you must excuse me, madam," added the barrowman, bowing politely to Madam Lebrenn and her daughter. "It will be soon four o'clock. I am in a hurry."

He went out, took his handbarrow and wheeled it rapidly away.

On hearing of artillerymen stationed in the neighborhood with lighted fuses in hand, Gildas was overwhelmed with a fresh flood of misgivings. Nevertheless, rocked between fear and curiosity, he risked another peep into the fearful St. Denis Street, which lay so near to the artillery station.

At the moment that Gildas stretched his neck outside of the shop again, the young girl who had taken breakfast with the Count of Plouernel that very morning, and who improvised such giddy-headed ditties, emerged from the alley of the house where George Duchene lodged, and which, as was stated before, stood opposite the linendraper's shop.

Pradeline looked sad and uneasy. After taking a few steps on the sidewalk, she approached the shop of Lebrenn as near as she dared, in order to cast an inquisitive look within. Unfortunately, the shade over the window intercepted the sight. True enough, the door was ajar. But Gildas, who stood before it, entirely obstructed the passage. Nevertheless, Pradeline, believing herself unobserved, persevered in her efforts to obtain a look at the interior of the place. For some time Gildas watched with increasing curiosity the suspicious manoeuvres of the young girl. Appearances deceived him; he took himself to be the object of Pradeline's obstinate glances. The prudish youngster lowered his eyes and blushed till his ears tingled. His alarmed modesty ordered him to go into the shop in order to prove to the brazen girl how little he cared for her blandishments. Nevertheless certain promptings of self-esteem held him nailed to the threshold, and more than ever he muttered to himself:

"A puzzling town this is, where, not far from the artillery where fuses are held lighted, young girls come to devour shop-boys with their eyes!"

He noticed that Pradeline crossed the street once more and stepped into a neighboring cafe.

"The unfortunate girl! She surely means to drown her disappointment in several glasses of wine. If she does she will be capable of coming out again and pursuing me straight into the shop. Good God! What would Madam Lebrenn and mademoiselle think of that!"

A new incident cut short, for a while, the chaste apprehensions of Gildas. A four-wheeled truck, drawn by a strong horse, and containing three large, flat chests about two meters high and inscribed Glass, drew up before the shop. The vehicle was in charge of two men in blouses. One of these, named Dupont, was the same who had been to the shop early that morning in order to recommend to Monsieur Lebrenn not to inspect his supply of grain. The other wore a thick grey beard. They alighted from their seat, and Dupont, the driver, stepping into the shop, greeted Madam Lebrenn and said:

"Has Monsieur Lebrenn not yet returned, madam?"

"No, monsieur."

"We have brought him three cases of looking glasses."

"Very well, monsieur," answered Madam Lebrenn. And calling Gildas, she added:

"Help these gentlemen to bring in the looking glasses."

The shop-assistant obeyed, saying to himself:

"A puzzling house! Three chests with looking glasses – and so heavy! Master, his wife and daughter must be very fond of looking at themselves!"

Dupont and his grey-bearded companion had helped Gildas to place the chests in the room behind the shop, as directed by Madam Lebrenn, when she said to them:

"What is the news, messieurs? Is the agitation in Paris subsiding?"

"On the contrary, madam, 'tis getting hotter – and still hotter," answered Dupont with barely concealed satisfaction. "They have commenced to throw up barricades in the St. Antoine quarter. To-night the preparations – to-morrow, battle."

Hardly had Dupont uttered these words, when a formidable clamor was heard from the distance, the words "Long live the Reform!" being distinctly audible.

Gildas ran to the door.

"Let's hurry," said Dupont to his companion. "Our truck may be taken for the center of a barricade; it would be premature – we have still several errands to attend to;" and bowing to Madam Lebrenn, he added, "Our regards to your husband, madam."