One Sunday--it was that of the last publication of Brulette's
banns--the Head-Woodsman and his son, who had seemed all day to be
consulting privately, went off together, saying that a matter
connected with the marriage called them to Nohant. Brulette, who
knew all about the arrangements for her wedding, was a good deal
surprised at their sudden activity, and still more that they told her
nothing about it. She was even inclined to pout at Huriel, who said
he should be absent for twenty-four hours; but he would not yield,
and managed to pacify her by letting her think he was only going on
her business and planning to give her some pleasant surprise.
But Thérence, whom I watched narrowly, seemed to me to make an effort
to hide her uneasiness, and as soon as her father and Huriel had
started, she carried me off into the little park and said:--
"Tiennet, I am worried to death, and I don't know what can be done to
remedy matters. Listen to what has happened, and tell me if we can
do anything to prevent harm. Last night as I lay awake I heard my
father and brother agreeing to go and protect Joseph, and from what
they said I made out that Joseph, though very ill-received by the
bagpipers of your parts, to whom he applied for admission to the
guild, is determined to insist on admittance,--a thing that they dare
not refuse him openly without having put his talents to the test. It
appears that the younger Carnat has also applied for admittance in
place of his father, who retires; and his trial was to take place
before the corporation this very day; so that Joseph has put himself
forward to interfere with a claim that was not to be contested, and
which was promised and half-granted in advance. Now, some of our
wood-cutters who frequent the wine-shops have overheard certain
wicked plans which the bagpipers of your neighborhood are making; for
they are resolved to eject Joseph, if they can, by sneering at his
music. If there was no greater risk than his having to bear
injustice and defeat, I should not be so uneasy as you see me; but my
father and brother, who belong to the guild and have a voice in all
proceedings, feel it their duty to be present at this competition
solely to protect Joseph. And, more than that, there was something I
could not make out, because the guild have certain secret terms among
themselves which my father and brother used, and which I did not
understand. But however one looks at it, I am sure they are going
into danger, for they carried under their blouses those little
single-sticks, the harm of which you have already seen, and they even
sharpened their pruning-hooks and hid them under their clothes,
saying to each other early this morning, 'The devil is in that lad;
he can neither be happy himself nor let others be. We must protect
him, however; though he is obstinately rushing among the wolves,
without thinking of his own skin or that of others.' My brother
complained, saying he did not want to break anybody's head or have
his own broken just as he was going to be married. To which my
father replied that there was no use in anticipating evil; what one
had to do was to go where humanity required us to help our neighbor.
As they named Leonard among those who had overheard the malicious
talk, I questioned him hastily just now, and he told me that Joseph,
and consequently those who support him, have been threatened for a
week or more, and that your bagpipers talk of not only refusing him
admittance at this competition, but also of depriving him of the wish
and the power to try again. I know, from having heard it spoken of
as a child when my brother was admitted, that the candidates must
behave boldly and endure all sorts of trials of their strength and
courage. With us, the bagpipers lead a wandering life and do not
make their music so much of a business as yours do; therefore they
don't stand in each other's way and never persecute the candidates.
It seems, from what Leonard told me and from my father's
preparations, that here it is different, and that such matters end in
fights which last till one or the other side gives up. Help me,
Tiennet, for I am half-dead with fear and anxiety. I dare not rouse
our wood-cutters; if my father thought I had overheard and betrayed
the secrets of the guild he would deny me all trust and confidence in
future. He expects me to be as brave as any woman can be in danger;
but ever since that dreadful Malzac affair, I own to you I have no
courage at all, and that I am tempted to fling myself into the middle
of the fight, so much do I dread the results for those I love."
"And you call that want of courage, my brave girl?" I replied. "Now
don't be troubled and leave me to act. The devil will be very
cunning if I can't discover for myself, without suspicion falling on
you, what those bagpipers are about; and if your father blames me, if
he even drives me away and refuses the happiness I have been hoping
to win,--I shall not care, Thérence! So long as I bring him or send
him safe back to you, and Huriel also, I shall have my reward even if
I never see you again. Good-bye; don't give way to anxiety; say
nothing to Brulette, for she would lose her head. I know what should
be done. Look as if you knew nothing. I take it all on my
shoulders."
Thérence flung herself on my breast and kissed me on both cheeks with
the innocence of a pure girl; so, filled to the brim with courage and
confidence, I went to work.
I began by finding Leonard, whom I knew to be a good fellow, very
bold and strong, and much attached to Père Bastien. Though he was
rather jealous of me on the score of Thérence, he entered into my
scheme, and I questioned him as to the number of bagpipers who were
to meet for the competition, and the place where we could watch the
assembly. He could not tell me anything under the first head; as to
the second he knew that the trial was not to be in secret, and the
place appointed was Saint-Chartier, in Benoît's tavern, an hour after
vespers. The deliberation on the merits of the candidates was all
that was to be held in secret, and even that was to be in the same
house, and the decision was to be rendered in public.
I thought of half a dozen resolute lads fully able to keep the peace
if, as Thérence feared, the matter should end in a quarrel; and I
felt that justice being on our side, plenty of other fellows would
come forward to support us. So I chose four who consented to follow
me,--making, with Leonard and myself, six in all. They hesitated
only on one point,--the fear of displeasing their master, the
Head-Woodsman, by giving him help he had never asked for; but I swore
to them that he should never know that they gave it deliberately, for
we could easily pretend we were there by accident, and then, if any
one were blamed, they could throw it all on me, who had asked them
there to drink without their knowing what was going on.
So it was all agreed, and I went to tell Thérence that we were fully
prepared against every danger. After which we started, each carrying
a stout cudgel, and reached Saint-Chartier at the hour named.
Benoît's wine-shop was so full there was no turning round in it, and
we were obliged to take a table outside. Indeed I was not sorry to
leave my contingent there (exhorting them not to get drunk), and to
slip myself into the shop, where I counted sixteen professional
bagpipers, without reckoning Huriel and his father, who were sitting
at table in a dark corner with their hats over their eyes, and all
the less likely to be recognized because few of those present had met
them in our parts. I pretended not to see them, and speaking so that
they could hear me, I asked Benoît what this meeting of bagpipers was
for, as if I had not heard a word about it, and did not understand
its object.
"Why, don't you know," said the host, who was getting over his
illness but was pallid and much reduced, "that your old friend
Joseph, the son of my housekeeper, is going to compete with Carnat's
son? I must say it is great folly on his part," added Benoît,
lowering his voice. "His mother is much distressed, and fears the
ill-will that grows out of these competitions. Indeed, she is so
troubled that she has lost her head, and the customers are
complaining, for the first time, that she does not serve them
properly."
"Can I help you?" I said, glad to get a reason for staying inside and
going about among the tables.
"Faith, my boy," he replied, "if you really mean it, you can do me
good service; for I don't deny that I am still pretty weak, and I
can't stoop to draw the wine without getting giddy. Here is the key
of the cellar. Take charge of filling and bringing in the jugs. I
hope that Mariton and her scullions can do the rest."
I didn't need telling twice; I ran out for an instant to tell my
companions of the employment I had taken for the good of the cause,
and then I went to work as tapster, which enabled me to see and hear
everything.
Joseph and the younger Carnat were at either end of a long table
feasting the guild, each taking the guests half-way down. There was
more noise than pleasure going on. The company were shouting and
singing to avoid talking, for they were all on the defensive, and it
was easy to feel the jealousies and self-interests heaving below. I
soon observed that all the bagpipers were not, as I had feared, in
favor of the Carnats against Joseph; for, no matter how well a guild
is managed, there are always old grudges which set members by the
ears. But I also saw, little by little, that there was no comfort
for Joseph in this, because those who did not want his rival, wanted
him still less, and hoped to get the number of professional bagpipers
lessened by the retirement of old Carnat. I even fancied that the
greater number thought in this way, and I concluded that both
candidates would be rejected.
After feasting for about two hours, the competition began. Silence
was not demanded; for bagpipes in a room are instruments that don't
trouble themselves about other noises, and the shouters and talkers
soon gave up the contest. A crowd of people pressed in from outside.
My five comrades climbed on the open window sill, and I went and
stood near them. Huriel and his father did not stir from their
corner. Carnat, who drew the lot to begin, mounted the bread-box
and, encouraged by his father, who could not restrain himself from
beating time with his sabots, played for half an hour on the
old-fashioned bagpipe of the country with its narrow wind-bag.
He played very badly, being much agitated, and I saw that this
pleased the greater part of the bagpipers. They kept silence, as
they always did, so as to seem solemn and important, but others
present kept silence too. This hurt the poor fellow, who had hoped
for a little encouragement, and his father began to growl, and to
show his revengeful and malicious nature.
When Joseph's turn came, he tore himself away from his mother, who
was still entreating him in a low voice not to compete. He, too,
mounted the box, holding his great Bourbonnaise bagpipe with great
ease, the which quite dazzled the eyes of all present with its silver
ornaments, its bits of looking-glass, and the great length of its
pipes. Joseph carried himself proudly, looking round contemptuously
on those who were to hear him. Everyone noticed his good looks, and
the young fellows about asked if he could really be "José the
dullard," whom they had once thought so stupid, and seen so puny.
But his haughty air disgusted everybody, and as soon as the sound of
his instrument filled the room there was more fear than pleasure in
the curiosity he excited.
Nevertheless, there were present persons who knew good music,
particularly the choir of the parish church and the hemp-spinners,
who are great judges, and even elderly women, guardians of the good
things of the past; and among such as these Joseph's music was
quickly accepted, as much for the easy manner in which he used his
instrument as for the good taste he displayed and the correct
rendering which he gave to the new and very beautiful airs he played.
A remark being made by the Carnats that his bagpipe, having a fuller
sound, gave him an advantage, he unscrewed it and used only the
chanter, which he played so well that the music was even more
delightful than before. Finally, he took Carnat's old fashioned
bagpipe, and played it so cleverly that any one would have said it
was another instrument than the one first used.
The judges said nothing; but all others present trembled with
pleasure and applauded vehemently, declaring that nothing so fine had
ever been heard in our parts; and old mother Bline de la Breuille,
who was eighty-seven years old and neither deaf nor dumb, walked up
to the table and rapping it with her distaff said to the bagpipers,
with the freedom her age warranted:--
"You may make faces as much as you like and shake your heads, but
there's not one of you can play against that lad; he'll be talked of
two hundred years hence; but all your names will be forgotten before
your carcasses are rotten in the earth."
Then she left the room, saying (as did all present) that if the
bagpipers rejected Joseph it would be the worst injustice that was
ever done, and the wickedest jealousy that could be confessed.
The conclave of bagpipers now ascended to an upper room, and I
hurried to open the door, hoping to gather something by overhearing
what they said to each other in going up the stairs. The last to
enter were the Head-Woodsman and his son; as they did so, Père
Carnat, who recognized Huriel from having seen him with us at the
midsummer bonfire, asked what they wanted and by what right they came
to the council.
"The right of membership in your guild," answered Père Bastien; "and
if you doubt it, ask us the usual questions, or try us with any music
you like."
On this they were allowed to enter and the door was shut. I tried to
listen, but every one spoke in a low voice, and I could not be sure
of anything, except that they recognized the right of the two
strangers to be present, and that they were deliberating about the
competition without either noise or dispute. Through a crack in the
door I could see that they divided into parties of five or six,
exchanging opinions in a low voice before they began to vote. But
when the time for voting came, one of the bagpipers looked out to see
if any one were listening, and I was forced to disappear in a hurry
lest I should be caught in a position which would put me to shame
without an excuse; for I certainly could not say that my friends were
in danger in such a peaceful conclave.
I found my young fellows below, sitting at table with others of our
acquaintance, who were toasting and complimenting Joseph. Carnat the
younger was alone and gloomy in a corner,--forgotten and mortified.
The monk was there, too, in the chimney-corner, inquiring of Mariton
and Benoît what was going on. When told all about it he came up to
the long table, where they were drinking with Joseph, and asking him
where and from whom he had got his teaching.
"Friend Joseph," said he, "we know each other, you and I, and I wish
to add my voice to the applause you are now, of good right,
receiving. But permit me to point out that it is generous as well as
wise to console the vanquished, and that in your place, I should make
friendly advances to young Carnat, whom I see over there all alone
and very sad."
The monk spoke so as to be heard only by Joseph and a few others who
were near him, and I thought he did so as much out of
kind-heartedness as by instigation of Joseph's mother, who wanted the
Carnats to get over their aversion to her son.
This appeal to Joseph's generosity flattered his vanity. "You are
right, Brother Nicolas," he said; then, in a loud voice, he called to
young Carnat:--
"Come, François, don't sulk at your friends. You did not play as
well as you know how to, I am quite sure. But you shall have your
revenge another time; besides, judgment is not given yet. So,
instead of turning your back on us, come and drink, and let us be as
quiet together as a pair of oxen yoked to a cart."
Everybody approved of this speech, and Carnat, fearing to seem
jealous, accepted the offer and sat down near him. So far so good,
but Joseph could not keep from showing his opinion that his art was
far above that of others, and in offering civilities to his rival he
put on such a patronizing manner that Carnat was more hurt than ever.
"You talk as if you were already elected," he said, "and it is no
such thing. It is not always for the skill of the fingers and the
cleverest compositions that those who know what they are about select
a man. Sometimes they choose him for being the best-known and most
respected player in the country, for that makes him a good comrade to
the rest of the guild."
"Oh! I expect that," returned Joseph. "I have been long absent, and
though I pique myself on deserving as much respect as any man, yet I
know they will try to fall back on the foolish reason that I am
little known. Well, I don't care for that, François! I did not
expect to find a company of good musicians among you, capable of
judging me or my merits, and lovers enough of true knowledge to
prefer my talent to their own interests and that of their
acquaintances. All that I wanted was to be heard and judged by my
mother and friends,--by intelligent ears and reasonable beings. For
the rest, I laugh at your screaming and bellowing bagpipes, and I
must say, God forgive me! that I shall be prouder of being rejected
than accepted."
The monk remarked gently that he was not speaking judiciously. "You
should not challenge the judges you demanded of your own free-will,"
he said; "pride spoils the highest merit."
"Leave him his pride," said Carnat; "I am not jealous of what he can
show. He ought to have some talent, to cover his other misfortunes.
Remember the old saying: 'Good player, good dupe.'"
"What do you mean by that?" said Joseph, setting down his glass and
looking the other in the eye.
"I am not obliged to tell you," said Carnat; "all the others
understand it."
"But I don't understand it, and as you are speaking to me I'll call
you a coward if you dare not explain yourself."
"Oh, I can tell you to your face," returned Carnat; "it is something
that need not offend you at all, for perhaps it is no more your fault
to be unlucky in love than it is mine to be unlucky to-night in
music."
"Come, come!" said one of the young men who were present; "let
_Josette_ alone. She has found some one to marry her, and that's
enough; it is nobody's business."
"It is my opinion," said another, "that it was not Joseph who was
tricked in that affair, but the other who is going to shoulder his
work."
"Whom are you speaking of?" cried Joseph, as if his head were
reeling. "Who is it you call _Josette_? What wicked nonsense are
you trying on me?"
"Hold your tongues!" cried Mariton, turning scarlet with anger and
grief, as she always did when Brulette was attacked. "I wish your
wicked tongues were torn out and nailed to the church door."
"Speak lower," said one of the young men; "you know that Mariton
won't allow a word against her José's fair friend. All beauties
uphold each other, and Mariton is not yet so old but what she has a
voice in the chapter."
Joseph was puzzling his brains to know whether they were blaming or
ridiculing him.
"Explain it to me," he said, pulling me by the arm. "Don't leave me
without a word to say."
I was just going to meddle, though I had vowed I wouldn't get into
any dispute in which Père Bastien and his son were not concerned,
when François Carnat cut me short. "Nonsense!" he said to Joseph,
with a sneer; "Tiennet can't tell you more than what I wrote you."
"That is what you are talking of, is it?" said Joseph. "Well, I
swear you lie! and that you have written and signed false witness.
Never--"
"Bravo!" cried Carnat. "You knew how to make your profit out of my
letter! and if, as people think, you are the author of that child,
you have not been such a fool, after all, in getting rid of your
property to a friend,--a faithful friend, too, for there he is
upstairs, looking after your interests in the council. But if, as I
now think, you came into these parts to assert your right to the
child, which was refused, that accounts for a queer scene which I saw
from a distance at the castle of Chassin--"
"What scene?" said the monk. "Let me tell you, young man, that I too
may have witnessed it, and I want to know how truly you relate the
things that you see."
"As you please," returned Carnat. "I will tell you what I saw with
my own eyes, without hearing a word that was said; and you may
explain it as you can. You are to know, the rest of you, that on the
last day of last month Joseph got up early in the morning to hang his
May bunch on Brulette's door; and seeing a baby about two years old,
which of course was his, he wanted no doubt to get possession of it,
for he seized it, as if to go off with it; and then began a sharp
dispute, in which his friend the Bourbonnais wood-cutter (the same
that is upstairs now with his father, and who is to marry Brulette
next Sunday) struck him violently and then embraced the mother and
child; after which Joseph was gently shoved out of the door and did
not show his face there again. I call that one of the queerest
histories I ever knew. Twist it as you will, it still remains the
tale of a child claimed by two fathers, and of a girl who, instead of
giving herself to the first seducer, kicks him away as unworthy or
incapable of bringing up the child of their loves."
Instead of answering, as he had proposed to do, Brother Nicolas
returned to the chimney, and talked in a low voice, but very eagerly,
with Benoît. Joseph was so taken aback at the interpretation put
upon a matter of which, after all, he did not know the real meaning,
that he looked all round him for assistance, and as Mariton had
rushed from the room like a crazy woman, there was no one but me to
put down Carnat. The latter's speech had created some astonishment,
but no one thought of defending Brulette, against whom they still
felt piqued. I began to take her part; but Carnat interrupted me at
the first word:--
"Oh! as for you," he said, "no one accuses you. I dare say you
played your part in good faith, though it is known that you were used
to deceive people by bringing the child from the Bourbonnais. But
you are so simple, Tiennet, you may never have suspected
anything.--The devil take me!" he continued, addressing the company,
"if that fellow isn't as stupid as a basket. He is capable of being
godfather to a child believing all the while they were christening a
clock. He probably went into the Bourbonnais to fetch this godson of
his, who, they told him, was found in a cabbage, and he brought it
back in a pilgrim's sack. In fact he is such a slave and good cousin
to the girl, that if she had tried to make him believe the boy was
like him he would have thought so too."