“_Mais_,” he went on, “all the _Américains_” (they were chiefly Irish)
“roun' my 'ouse been tellin' me, long time, '_Le_ Boss goin' bounce
Fidèle.' Me, I laugh w'en they say so. I say, '_Le Boss? C'est un
créature d'imagination, pour nous effrayer,' you know, make us scart
'_C'est un loup-garou,' you know,--w'at make 'fraid li'l chil'ren.
That's w'at I tell them. I thing then you would n't been makin' fool of
me.'
“They don't know what they are talking about,” I said. “How can they
know why Fidèle is removed?”
“_Mais_, you jus' wait; I goin' tell you. I fin they do know. Fidèle
take he sol'ier-papers, an' he go see _le chef_” (here Sorel rose, and
acted Fidèle). “Fidèle, 'e show 'is papers to _le chef_; 'e say, 'Now
you boun' tell me why _le bon gouvernement_, w'at 's been my frien',
bounce me now.' 'E say _le chef_ boun' to tell 'im,--_il faut
absolument!_ 'E say 'e won' go, way if _le chef_ don' tell 'im; an' you
know, no man can't scare our Fidèle!”
“Very well,” I said; “what did the collector, the _chef_ tell him?
Fidèle is too lame, I suppose?”
“_Mais, non_,” with a suspicious smile. “_Le chef_, he mos' cry,--yas,
sar,--an' 'e say 'e ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidèle; _la république_,
she ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidèle. 'E say 'e di'n want Fidèle to
go; _le gouvernement_, she d'n want 'im to go. _Mais_, 'e say, 'e can't
help hisself; _le gouvernement_, she can't help herself. Yas, sar. Then
Fidèle know w'at evarybody been tellin' us was true,--'e 'Boss,' 'e make
'im go!” And Sorel sat back in his chair.
“Now, I ax you one time more,” he resumed: “_qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un
'Boss'?_”
What could I say! How could I explain, offhand, to this stranger, the
big boss, the little boss, the State boss, the ward boss, the county
boss, all burrowing underneath our theoretical government! How could
I explain to him that Fidèle's department in the custom-house had been
allotted to a Congressman about to run for a second term, who needed it
to control a few more ward-meetings,--needed, in the third ward caucus,
those very French votes which Carron had been shrewd enough to steal
away and organize! What could I say to Sorel which he, innocent as he
was, would not misconstrue as inconsistent with our past glorifications
of our republic! What did I say! I do not know. I only remember that he
interrupted me, harshly and abruptly, as he rose to go.
“You an' me got great _pitié_, ain' we,” he said, “for _notre France, la
pauvre France_, 'cause she got so many folks w'at _tourbillonnent sous
la surface,--les Orléanistes les Bonapartistes_; don' we say so? _Mais,
il n'y en a pas, ici_,--you know, we ain' got none here; don' we say
so? We ain' got no _factionnaires_ here! _Mais non!_” Then, lowering his
voice to a hoarse whisper: “_Votre bonne république,_” he said,--“_c'est
une république du théâtre!_”
He had hardly closed the door behind him, when he opened it again, and
put in his head, and with his hard, mocking laugh, demanded, “_Qu'est-ce
que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_” And as he walked down the hall, I could still
hear his scornful laughter.
He never came to see me again. I sometimes heard of him through Carron,
who had succeeded to Fidèle's position and had elevated a considerable
part of his following: for several weeks they were employed at three
dollars a day in the navy-yard, where, to their utter mystification,
they moved, with a certain planetary regularity, ship-timber from the
west to the east side of the yard, and then back from the east side to
the west. You remember reading about this in the published accounts of
our late congressional contest.
Though Sorel never visited me again, I occasionally saw him: once near
the evening-school, when I went as a guest; once in the long market;
once in the post-office; and once he touched me on the shoulder, as
I was leaning over the street railing, by the dock, looking down at a
Swedish bark. Each time he had but one thing to say; and having said it,
he would break into his harsh, ironical laugh, and pass along:--
“_Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_”
And Fidèle?
Still, if you will go to Madeira Place at sunset, you may see the cap
and blouse come slowly in. Still the old sergeant sits at the head of
the table. But his ideal is gone; his idol has clay feet. No longer does
he describe to new-comers from France the receipt of his pension. All
the old fond pride in it is gone, and he takes the money now as dollars
and cents.
In the conversation, however, around the table the great government at
Washington is by no means forgotten. Sometimes Sorel tells his guests
about the Boss.