"Say on," said my uncle, "we are listening."
Then said the muleteer: "My name is Jean Huriel, muleteer by trade,
son of Sebastien Huriel, otherwise called Bastien, the Head-Woodsman,
a renowned bagpiper, and considered the best worker in the forests of
the Bourbonnais. Those are my names and claims, to which I can bring
honorable proof. I know that to win your confidence I ought to
present myself in the guise in which I have the right to appear; but
men of my calling have a custom--"
"I know your custom, my lad," said Père Brulet, who watched him
attentively. "It is good or bad, according as you yourselves are
good or bad. I have not lived till now without knowing what the
muleteers are; I have travelled outside our own borders, and I know
your customs and behavior. They say your fraternity are given to
evil deeds,--they are known to abduct girls, attack Christian people,
and even kill them in pretended quarrels so as to get their money."
"Well," said Huriel, laughing, "I think that is an exaggerated
account of us. The things you speak of are long passed away; you
would not hear of such deeds now-a-days. But the fear your people
had of us was so great that for years the muleteers did not dare to
leave the woods unless in troops and with great precautions. The
proof that they have mended their ways and are no longer to be feared
is that they no longer fear for themselves; so here I am, alone in
the midst of you."
"Yes," said Père Brulet, who was not easy to convince; "but your face
is blackened all the same. You have sworn to follow the rule of your
fraternity, which is to travel thus disguised through the districts
where you are still distrusted, so that if folks see you do an evil
deed they can't say afterwards, when they meet your companions, 'That
is he,' or, 'That is not he.' You consider yourselves all
responsible for one another. This has its good side, for it makes
you faithful friends, and each man has the help and good-will of all;
but, nevertheless, it leaves the rest of us in doubt as to the
character of your morality, and I shall not deny that if a
muleteer--no matter how good a fellow he may be nor how much money he
may have--comes here to ask for my alliance, I'll cheerfully offer
him bite and sup, but I'll not invite him to marry my daughter."
"And I," said the muleteer, his eyes flashing as he boldly looked at
Brulette, who pretended to be thinking of something else, "had no
such idea in coming here. You are not called upon to refuse me, Père
Brulet, for you don't know whether I am married or single. I have
said nothing about it."
Brulette dropped her eyes, and I could not tell whether she was
pleased or displeased. Then she recovered spirit, and said to the
muleteer: "This has nothing to do with the matter--which is José.
You have brought news of him; I am distressed at heart about his
health. This is my grandfather, who brought him up and takes an
interest in him. Please talk of Joseph instead of other things."
Huriel looked steadily at Brulette, seeming to struggle with a
momentary vexation and to gather himself together before he spoke;
then he said:--
"Joseph is ill,--so ill that I resolved to come and say to the woman
who is the cause of it, 'Do you wish to cure him, and are you able to
do so?'"
"What are you talking about?" said my uncle, pricking up his ears,
which were beginning to be a little hard of hearing. "How can my
daughter cure the lad?"
"If I spoke of myself before I spoke of him," continued Huriel, "it
was because I have delicate things to say of him which you would
scarcely allow a total stranger to mention. Now, if you think me a
decent man, allow me to speak my mind freely and tell you all I know."
"Explain everything," said Brulette, eagerly. "Don't be afraid; I
shall not care for any idea people take of me."
"I have none but good ideas of you, Brulette," replied the muleteer.
"It is not your fault if Joseph loves you; and if you return his love
in your secret heart no one can blame you. We may envy Joseph in
that case, but not betray him or do anything to trouble you. Let me
tell you how things have gone between him and me since the day we
first made friends, when I persuaded him to come over to our parts
and learn the music he was so crazy about."
"I don't think you did him much good by that advice," observed my
uncle. "It is my opinion he could have learned it just as well here,
without grieving and distressing his family."
"He told me," replied Huriel, "and I have since found it true, that
the other bagpipers would not allow it. Besides, I owed him the
truth, because he trusted me at first sight. Music is a wild flower
which does not bloom in your parts. It loves our heather; but I
can't tell you why. In our woods and dells it lives and thrives and
lives again, like the flowers of spring; there it sows and harvests
ideas for lands that are barren of them. The best things your pipers
give you come from there; but as your players are lazy and niggardly,
and you are satisfied to hear the same things over and over again,
they only come to us once in their lives, and live on what they learn
then for the rest of their days. At this very time they are teaching
pupils to strum a corruption of our old music, and they never think
of consulting at the fountainhead to find how such airs should be
played. So when a well-intentioned young fellow like your José (as I
said to him) comes to drink at the spring, he is sure to return so
fresh and full that the other players could not stand up against him.
That is why José agreed to go over into the Bourbonnais the following
midsummer, where he could have enough work in the woods to support
him, and lessons from our best master. I must tell you that the
finest bagpipers are in Upper Bourbonnais, among the pine forests,
over where the Sioule comes down from the Dôme mountains; and that my
father, born in the village of Huriel, from which he takes his name,
has spent his life among these players, and keeps his wind in good
order and his art well-trained. He is a man who does not like to
work two years running in the same place, and the older he gets the
livelier and more fond of change he is. Last year he was in the
forest of Troncay; since then he has been in that of Éspinasse. Just
now he is in the woods of Alleu, where Joseph has followed him
faithfully, chopping and felling and bagpiping by his side,--for he
loves him like a son and boasts that the love is returned. The lad
has been as happy as a lover can be when parted from his mistress.
But life is not as easy and comfortable with us as with you; and
though my father, taught by experience, tried to prevent Joseph (who
was in a hurry to succeed) from straining his lungs on our
pipes,--which are, as you may have noticed, differently made from
yours, and very fatiguing to the chest until you know how to use
them,--the poor fellow took a fever and began to spit blood. My
father, who understood the disease and knew how to manage it, took
away his bagpipe and ordered him to rest; but then, though his bodily
health improved, he took sick in another way. He ceased to cough and
spit blood, but he fell into a state of depression and weakness which
made them fear for his life. So that when I got home from a trip
eight days ago I found him so pallid that I scarcely knew him, and so
weak on his legs that he could not stand. When I questioned him he
burst into tears and said, very sadly: 'Huriel, I know I shall die in
the depths of these woods, far from my own country, from my mother
and my friends, unloved by her to whom I long to show the art I have
learned. This dreadful dulness eats into my mind, impatience withers
my heart. I wish your father would give me back my bagpipe and let
me die of it. I could draw my last breath in sending from afar to
her I love the sweetness my lips can never utter to her, dreaming for
a moment that I was at her side. No doubt Père Bastien meant kindly;
I know I was killing myself with eagerness. But what do I gain by
dying more slowly? I must renounce life any way. On the one hand, I
can't chop wood and earn my bread, and must live at your expense; on
the other, my chest is too weak to pipe. No, it is all over with me.
I shall never be anything; I must die without the joy of remembering
a single day of love and happiness.'"
"Don't cry, Brulette," continued the muleteer, taking the hand with
which she wiped her tears; "all is not hopeless. Listen to me.
Seeing the poor lad's misery, I went after a good doctor, who
examined him, and then told us that it was more depression than
illness, and he would answer for his cure if Joseph would give up
music and wood-cutting for another month. As to that last matter, it
was quite convenient, for my father, and I too, thank God, are not
badly off, and it is no great merit to us to take care of a friend
who can't work. But the doctor was wrong; the same causes remain,
and José is no better. He did not want me to let you know his state,
but I made him agree to it and I even tried to bring him here with
me. I put him carefully on one of my mules, but at the end of a few
miles he became so weak I was obliged to take him back to my father,
who thereupon said to me: 'Do you go to the lad's people and bring
back either his mother or his sweetheart. He is homesick, that's
all, and if he sees one or the other of them he will recover health
and courage enough to finish his apprenticeship here; or else he must
go home with them.' That being said before Joseph, he was much
excited. 'My mother!' he cried, like a child; 'my poor mother, make
her come quickly!' Then checking himself, he added, 'No, no; I don't
want her to see me die; her grief would kill me all the faster.'
'How about Brulette?' I whispered to him. 'Oh! Brulette would not
come,' he answered. 'Brulette is good; but she must have chosen a
lover by this time who would not let her come and comfort me.' Then
I made José swear he would have patience till I returned, and I came
off. Père Brulet, decide what ought to be done; and you, Brulette,
consult your heart."
"Maître Huriel," said Brulette, rising, "I will go, though I am not
Joseph's sweetheart, as you called me, and nothing obliges me to go
to him except that his mother fed me with her milk and carried me in
her arms. Why do you think the young man is in love with me? Just
as true as that my grandfather is sitting there, he never said the
first word of it to me."
"Then he did tell me truth!" cried Huriel, as if delighted with what
he heard; but catching himself hastily up, he added, "It is none the
less true that he may die of it, and all the more because he has no
hope; I must therefore plead his cause and explain his feelings."
"Are you deputed to do so?" asked Brulette, haughtily and as if
annoyed with the muleteer.
"Deputed or not, I must do it," said Huriel; "I must clear my
conscience of it,--for his sake who told me his troubles and asked my
help. This is what he said to me: 'I always longed to give myself up
to music, as much because I loved it as for love of my dear Brulette.
She considers me as a brother; she has always shown me the greatest
kindness and true pity; but for all that she received everybody's
attentions except mine, and I can't blame her. The girl loves finery
and all that sets her off. She has a right to be coquettish and
exacting. My heart aches for it, but if she gives her affections to
those who are worth more than I the fault is mine for being worth so
little. Such as I am--unable to dig hard, or speak soft, or dance,
or jest, or even sing, feeling ashamed of myself and my condition, I
deserve that she should think me the lowest of those who aspire to
her hand. Well, don't you see that this grief will kill me if it
lasts? and I want to find a cure for it. I feel within me something
which declares that I can make better music than any one else in our
parts; if I could only succeed I should be no longer a mere nothing.
I should become even more than others; and as that girl has much
taste and a gift for singing, she would understand, out of her own
self, what I was worth; moreover, her pride would be flattered at the
praises I should receive.'"
"You speak," said Brulette, smiling, "as if I had an understanding
with him; whereas he has never said a word of all this to me. His
pride has always been up in arms, and I see that it is through pride
that he expects to influence me. However, as his illness puts him
really in danger of dying, I will, in order to give him courage, do
everything that belongs to the sort of friendship I feel for him. I
will go to see him with Mariton, provided my grandfather advises and
is willing I should do so."
"I don't think it possible that Mariton can go with you," said Père
Brulet, "for reasons which I know and you will soon know, my
daughter. I can only tell you just now that she cannot leave her
master, because of some trouble in his affairs. Besides, if Joseph's
illness can really be cured it is better not to worry and upset the
poor woman. I will go with you, because I have great confidence that
you, who have always managed Joseph for the best, will have influence
enough over his mind to bring him back to reason and give him
courage. I know what you think of him, and it is what I think too;
well, if we find him in a desperate condition we can write to his
mother at once to come and close his eyes."
"If you will allow me in your company," said Huriel. "I will guide
you as the swallow flies to where Joseph is. I can even take you in
a single day if you are not afraid of bad roads."
"We will talk about that at table," replied my uncle. "As for your
company, I wish for it and claim it; for you have spoken well, and I
know something of the family of honest folks to whom you belong."
"Do you know my father?" cried Huriel. "When he heard us speaking of
Brulette he told us, Joseph and me, that his father had had an early
friend named Brulet."
"It was I, myself," said my uncle. "I cut wood for a long time,
thirty years ago, in the Saint-Amand region with your grandfather,
and I knew your father when a boy; he worked with us and played the
bagpipes wonderfully well, even then. He was a fine lad, and years
can't trouble him much yet. When you named yourself just now I did
not wish to interrupt you, and if I twitted you a little about your
customs, it was only to draw you out. Now, sit down, and don't spare
the food at your service."
During supper Huriel showed as much good sense in his talk and
pleasantness in his gravity as he had wit and liveliness on the night
of his first appearance at midsummer. Brulette listened attentively
and seemed to get accustomed to his blackened face; but when the
journey was talked of and the method of making it was mentioned, she
grew uneasy about her grandfather, fearing the fatigue and the
upsetting of his habits; so, as Huriel could not deny that the
journey would be painful to a man of his years, I offered to
accompany Brulette in place of my uncle.
"That's the very thing," said Huriel. "If we are only three we can
take the cross-cut, and by starting to-morrow morning we can get
there to-morrow night. I have a sister, a very steady, good girl,
who will take Brulette into her own hut; for I must not conceal from
you that where we are now living you will find neither houses nor
places to sleep in such as you are accustomed to here."
"It is true," replied my uncle, "that I am too old to sleep on the
heather; and though I am not very indulgent to my body, if I happened
to fall ill over there, I should be a great trouble to you, my dear
children. So, if Tiennet will go, I know him well enough to trust
his cousin to him. I shall rely on his not leaving her a foot's
length in any circumstances where there may be danger for a young
girl; and I rely on you, too, Huriel, not to expose her to any risks
on the way."
I was mightily pleased with this plan, which gave me the pleasure of
escorting Brulette and the honor of defending her in case of need.
We parted early and met again before daylight at the door of the
house,--Brulette all ready and holding a little bundle in her hand,
Huriel leading his _clairin_ and three mules, one of which was
saddled with a very soft, clean pad, on which he seated Brulette.
Then he himself mounted the horse and I another mule, which seemed
much surprised to find me on his back. The other, laden with new
hampers, followed of her own accord, while Satan brought up the rear.
Nobody was yet afoot in the village; for which I was sorry, for I
would have liked to make Brulette's other lovers jealous in return
for the rage they had often put me in. But Huriel seemed anxious to
get away without being noticed and criticised under Brulette's nose
for his blackened face.
We had not gone far before he made me feel that I should not be
allowed to manage everything as I liked. We reached the woods of
Maritet at noon, which was nearly half-way. There was a little
inclosure near by called "La Ronde," where I should have liked to go
and get a good breakfast. But Huriel laughed at what he called my
love for a knife and fork, and as Brulette, who was determined to
think everything amusing, agreed with him, he made us dismount in a
narrow ravine, through which ran a tiny river called "La
Portefeuille."--so-called because (at that season at least) the water
was covered with the green trays of the water-lily and shaded with
the leafage of the woods which came to the very banks of the river on
either side. Huriel let the animals loose among the reeds, selected
a pretty spot covered with wild flowers, opened the hampers, uncorked
the flask, and served as good a lunch as we could have had at
home,--all so neatly done and with such consideration for Brulette
that she could not help showing pleasure. When she saw that before
touching the bread to cut it, and before removing the white napkin
which wrapped the provisions, he carefully washed his hands, plunging
his arms above the elbows in the river, she smiled and said to him,
with her gracious little air of command: "While you are about it,
could not you also wash your face, so that we might see if you were
really the handsome bagpiper of the midsummer dance?"
"No, my pretty one," he replied, "you must get used to the reverse of
the coin. I make no claims upon your heart but those of friendship
and esteem, though I am only a heathen of a muleteer. Consequently I
need not try to please you by my face, and it will not be for your
sake that I wash it."
She was mortified, but she would not give up the point.
"You ought not to frighten your friends," she said; "and the fear of
you, looking as you now do, takes away my appetite."
"In that case I'll go and eat apart, so as not to upset you."
He did as he said, and sat down upon a little rock which jutted into
the water behind the place where we were sitting, and ate his food
alone, while I enjoyed the pleasure of serving Brulette.
At first she laughed, thinking she had provoked him, and taking
pleasure in it, like all coquettes; but when she got tired of the
game and wanted to recall him, and did her best to excite him by
words, he held firm, and every time she turned her head toward him he
turned his back on her, while answering all her nonsense very
cleverly and without the least vexation, which, to her, was perhaps
the very worst of the thing. So presently she began to feel sorry,
and, after a rather sharp speech which he launched about haughty
minxes, and which she fancied was meant for her, two tears rolled
from her eyes though she tried hard to keep them back in my presence.
Huriel did not see them, and I took very good care not to show her
that I did.
When we had eaten all we wanted, Huriel packed up the remainder of
the provisions, saying,--
"If you are tired, children, you can take a nap, for the animals want
a rest in the heat of the day; that's the time when the flies torment
them, and in this copse they can rub and shake themselves as much as
they please. Tiennet, I rely on you to keep good guard over our
princess. As for me, I am going a little way into the forest, to see
how the works of God are going on."
Then with a light step, and no more heed to the heat than if we were
in the month of April, instead of the middle of July, he sprang up
the slope, and was lost to sight among the tall trees.