think your little man might sometimes have cause for uneasiness.”
“And why, I should like to know? My worst enemy would admit that I am
a woman of my word, if he keeps his part of the bargain, but if he
doesn’t, just let him look out for himself, that’s all I have to say.
If he does his duty, I will do mine!”
“His whole duty?”
“You don’t suppose he would admit that it is too much for him?”
Martine sat back on her heels, her bright eyes sparkling with laughter,
then jumped up and gave me a great push.
“You are wasting my whole day for me, there never was such an old
gossip since the world was made. Get out now, take Glodie with you,
she is forever under my feet, with her fingers in everything that goes
on, (there, she has been in the bakeshop again, I can see dough on her
nose). Get along with you, do, before I sweep you both out!”
So out we had to go, glad enough to be together, and on the way at
last to Rion’s, but there were some fishermen by the riverside, and we
had to stop to look at them, give them some advice and watch the line,
and see the float disappear under the green water with a jerk. Glodie
noticed the worm wriggling on the hook. “Poor thing,” she said, “he is
going to be eaten, and that makes him unhappy.”
“Well, darling, it is rather nasty to be eaten, but then think how nice
for the fish that swallows him, and says, ‘that’s good!’”
“How would you like it, Grandad, if any one swallowed you?”
“I should say, ‘What luck for the man that gets such a toothsome
morsel!’ It is just the way you look at it, ducky, everything is good
if you only see it in the right light; all is for the best to a true
son of Burgundy.”
It was not quite eleven o’clock when we got to Rion’s, and there we
saw Binet, (who like a careful lad had brought his rod), fishing for
gudgeon, while Cagnat lay stretched out on the grass looking on.
I went on to the woodyard, for there is nothing I love so well as to
handle the big logs stripped of their bark, and breathe in the clean
fresh smell of sawdust; on my honor I believe a fine tree appeals to me
even more than a woman, though I am not one of those narrow fools who
can only enjoy one thing at a time. If I were in the slave market at
Constantinople, and saw the girl of my heart there among twenty other
beauties, do you think my love for her would prevent me from seeing
the charms of the others? No, thank Heaven! my eyes are windows wide
open to beauty of every kind, and nothing is lost on me. I am besides
rather a sharp old bird,--long experience, you know,--and can detect
the little tricks and dodges of the fair sex under no matter what
disguise; in the same way beneath the rough skin of my tree-loves I can
see life waiting for me to bring it forth.
Meanwhile Cagnat (who is impatient, like all young men) has been
exchanging pleasantries at the top of his voice with loungers on the
other end of the bridge, for though the people in the two suburbs may
differ in some ways, they both like to spend the livelong day sitting
on the wall of the bridge, with occasional trips to the nearest tavern;
and as you may guess, a conversation between Beuvron and Béyant
consists chiefly of abuse. They call us Burgundy snails and peasants;
we retort with “frogs,” or “pike-eaters,”--I say “we,” because for the
life of me, I never can keep out of any squabble that’s going on; it
seems just ordinary civility to answer when you are spoken to. In the
midst of our little encounter, all at once the clock struck twelve!
Noon already? There must be something wrong with the hourglass, still I
ought to be getting home, so I pressed our friends, who were looking
on, to help us load our planks on the cart, and give us a hand with it
back to Beuvron. “Cheeky devil,” was their first answer, but at bottom
they were good-natured enough, so off we went running up the hill to
the admiration of all beholders. When we got to our own bridge there
were Fétu, Gadin, and Trinquet, just where we left them three hours
ago, still watching the water. They jeered at us for working so hard,
we called them good-for-nothings, and as the issue seemed in doubt, I
sat down on the corner to see how it would all turn out, when suddenly
I heard a well-known voice, and there was the old lady, “Will you tell
me what you have been doing with yourself ever since nine this morning?
It is my belief that you would never come home, if I did not drag you
in by the hair of your head, idle, greedy vagabond! And your dinner is
all burnt to a cinder!”
“You win!” said I, laughing; “there’s not one of these boys that can
stand up to you when it comes to talking--but I was on my way home
truly. I had only stopped to rest,--go ahead, I’ll be there in a
minute.”
The two apprentices, my wife, and Glodie went off towards home at a
brisk pace, and I followed in a more leisurely manner--I was going as
I was bid, when down from the upper town came the sound of voices, of
horns, and the gay chimes from St. Martin’s tower; and I remembered
that the wedding of Mademoiselle Lucretia Champeaux, and Monsieur
d’Amazy, the Receiver of Taxes, was to take place today. Every one made
a bee-line for the castle, and rushed off at the top of his speed, I
among the foremost, for shows like that don’t come our way often. Fétu,
Gadin, and Trinquet were the only ones who stayed behind, as if they
were glued to the wall of the bridge; they said it was undignified to
put themselves out for those upper-towners, and as a rule I agree with
them, and stand on my dignity as much as any man, but not when it comes
between me and my amusement,--there is reason in all things! I took
the flight of thirty-six steps up to St. Martin’s at one jump, but all
the same by ill-luck I was not in time to see the wedding procession,
which had already gone into church; naturally there was nothing left
for me to do but to wait and see it come out, but as the service seemed
interminably long--the clergy love the sound of their own voices,--I
managed to squeeze my way between the bulging corporations of my
fellow-citizens, till I found myself just inside the door under a
regular human feather-bed. I am the last man to forget the respect due
to the sacred edifice otherwise I might have been up to some of my
jokes, but I know what’s what, and can be solemn as an owl at the right
moment. Only sometimes even owls lose their gravity, and that is what
happened to me, for while I was standing there, a model of propriety
and devotion, the service went on, and as Monsieur d’Amazy is a great
votary of the chase, hunting-horns were introduced at suitable moments.
If only the pack of hounds had been there too! I did not dare to laugh,
of course, but I whistled a flourish under my breath, and just then
came the crucial point of the ceremony when the bride answers “Yes”
to the fatal question. At once the horns burst out with the “set to,”
and that was too much for me; I cried, “Hallali!” and the whole church
roared with laughter, so that the beadle came to restore order, and I
thought it a good time to make my way out, as quiet as a mouse.
There were plenty of people outside, many like myself who are aware
that ears were made to hear, eyes to see, and tongues to tell what
takes place--or what does not,--in the world around us; so it seemed
but a moment before the great doors swung open again, and the sound of
the organ came pouring out, as the bridal party appeared. First came
the Amazy, leading his beautiful prize, her large eyes glancing to
right and left like a frightened doe as she advanced. Lovely creature!
I wish she had fallen to my charge, but to whom much is given, of him
much is demanded, and Amazy has his work cut out for him. Unfortunately
I saw little more, so that afterwards I could not even describe the
dresses of the bride and bridegroom, for just then we were distracted
by a grave question of precedence which arose among the dignitaries who
formed part of the procession.
I shall never get over having missed the entrance into the church,
for it seems that the Chief Magistrate of the Manor, and the Provost,
acting as Mayor, had locked horns in the doorway like two old rams, and
the Mayor being the bigger man got through first; the great question
now was which of the two would be first coming out, so bets were freely
offered, and meanwhile the head of the procession went on its way,
but the tail delayed its appearance. We could see, just inside the
entrance, that a furious dispute was in progress between the rival
officials, and as they could not talk loud in church, there they were,
scolding, puckering their faces into the most portentous frowns and
scowls, and cursing at each other, all in dumb show. It was enough to
make one die of laughing, but we all ended by taking part with one
side or the other; the older ones for the Judge, because he was the
Duke’s representative, and you must respect others, if you would be
respected yourself; but the young men inclined to the side of the Mayor
as champion of our liberties, and personally I backed the better man.
We all shouted to encourage them with cries of “Go it, Grasset!” “At
him again, Pétaud!!” “Shut his mouth!” But to our great disappointment
the contestants were too much afraid of spoiling their fine clothes to
get to their hands, and the dispute might have lasted till the crack
of doom,--for there was no danger of their breath giving out,--if it
had not been for the priest, who wanted to get to the castle in time
for dinner,--so he smoothed them down, telling them it was bad manners
to be late, and worse yet to show their evil tempers in the house of
the Lord, that they could settle their difficulties another time,--and
in short he got them all in motion. I was not near enough to hear all
this, but I could see that he put his two big hands behind their heads
and brought their faces gently together for the kiss of peace, and out
they all came at last, marching in two lines, with the big priest in
the middle. When masters fall out, we are always the gainers, so we
were well pleased to see three at the head of the column, instead of
one.
When they had all gone into the castle where their well-earned feast
awaited them, we remained outside sniffing the delicious odors of a
dinner we were not to share; but it was a sort of satisfaction to
hear the list of dishes, for there were three of us there, Tripet,
Bauldequin and I, who knew what was good, so our mouths watered as we
heard all the toothsome things, and we approved or not as seemed best
to us, the final decision being that the dinner was not so bad on the
whole, only we ought to have been consulted, as persons of experience.
When jugged hare was mentioned, every one had his own recipe to
give,--for by this time we had a circle of auditors,--and there was
lively disputing to and fro, in which I took part, as I always maintain
that a man who is not interested in such subjects is nothing but a fish.
The best housekeepers in the town are Mistresses Perrine and Jacquette,
who are rivals in the art of dinner-giving; each tries to eclipse the
other, and naturally each has her partisans, for our best jousts in
Clamecy take place at table. No one loves a good argument better than
I do, but I would rather be doing myself than hear the exploits of
others, and I cannot grow fat by talking of other men’s dinners. Tripet
was of my way of thinking, and you may guess that I was delighted when
he whispered to me:
“It is ill talking of good drink to the thirsty, or of love to a
neglected lover; I can’t stand any more of this sort of thing; it is as
if a beast were gnawing at my vitals; let us find some place where we
can feed him.”
I told him to come along with me, that I knew where to look for the
best remedy for his complaint; of course neither of us thought for a
moment of going home, it was after two o’clock, and we should have
found tempers boiling and soup cold, so we made for the Dolphin Inn
at the corner of the High Street. It was market day, so the room was
crowded, but we managed to get a table, and after all nothing is so
appetizing as to see one’s friends around one, unless it be to sit down
all alone to a good meal,--both ways are best.
For some time we had better use for our jaws than to talk. A delicate
little shoulder of lamb with cabbage fully occupied us; on top of
that a pint of the best, just to clear the mist from our eyes,--you
know the proverb, “To eat dry, blinds the eye. Food unwined makes a
man blind,” but when we had washed the dust out of our throats we had
time to look about and enjoy ourselves. At the next table sat a vicar
from the country and an old woman, a farmer’s wife, full of respect
for his Reverence, bowing and bending her old head and turning up her
eyes as if in the confessional; and he too had something of the same
air, sitting sidewise, returning bow for bow, but with his mouth full,
radiating forgiveness of sins from a full stomach.
Further on was our notary, Pierre Delavau, who was treating a brother
lawyer to a good solid meal. The air was thick around them with talk
of interest, money, politics, contracts--Roman republics, etc., for he
likes to dabble in such things on a holiday, but in everyday life is a
conservative loyal subject of the King.
My eye lighted presently on Perrin Le Queux, who caught sight of me
at the same moment, and waved his glass towards me with the greatest
cordiality,--old fox, in his stiff starched blouse! I’ll bet he saw me
the moment I came in, but as he owes me the price of a fine carved oak
chest for the last two years, he was conveniently short of sight. He
jumped up and came over to our table.
“The best of luck!” said he, holding out his bottle, and when I shook
my head he still pressed it on me. “At least you will have a bite of
dinner,” he said, thinking of course I would refuse, having already
dined, but I took him up at once. “So much to the good on my bill,”
thought I to myself.
We began all over again, but this time without undue haste, as the
first rage of hunger was abated and the crowd thinning out,--there are
always people who leave as soon as they have swallowed their food,--and
there remained only men of ripe age and wisdom who know what’s what,
and reckon a good dish to be equal to a good deed any day. I sat where
I could feel the sunshine and fresh air through the open door, where
some chickens were picking at the crumbs, and an old hound lay dozing
on the threshold; outside were the street cries, “Fine fish!” “Mend
your windows!” and the shrill voices of women. On the other side of
the dusty square were two big white oxen lying down with their legs
folded under them, peacefully chewing the cud, with their eyes half
shut, while from the sunny roofs came the cooing of pigeons. Really
I could have cooed or purred myself if any one had stroked my back.
We all began to talk from table to table, in perfect good-fellowship,
the country vicar, the notary, his partner, the innkeeper (Baiselat
by name), and I, and as we were all full, and contented with our
lot, we took a certain pleasure in discussing the hard times and the
political situation. We all groaned over the bad state of business,
the high cost of living, the poverty and ruin of France, general
decadence of the race, mistakes in administration, etc., but we were
careful to name no names, for the ears of the great are as large as
their fortunes, and who knows when an unlucky word may drop into
them? Truth, as we know, is at the bottom of a well, so we ran but
little risk in abusing those of our masters who were the farthest off,
especially that wretched Concini brought from Florence under the fat
Queen’s petticoats. Each had something to say against him, and with
perfect justice, for if you catch two curs fighting over a bone, you
beat your own dog, of course, but you half kill the stranger. However,
I took the other side of the argument, partly for love of fair play,
and partly out of perversity; so I said the dogs should be treated
alike, that any one would suppose, to hear people talk, that all our
evils were imported from Italy, whereas if the truth were known plenty
of wicked things, and wicked people too, grow in our own garden. To
this they all declared with one voice that a scamp from over the Alps
was three times worse than one of us, and that three honest Italians
were not equal to a third of a good Frenchman. I answered that man is
pretty much the same animal wherever you find him, that I knew a good
one when I saw him, and liked him, even if he came out of Italy, but
this raised a perfect riot, and they all fell on me at once saying
they knew I talked like that because I was a wanderer and a gadabout,
always stumping along the highroad. I had to admit that there was some
truth in this, for in my time I did kick about the world a good deal,
when our good lord the old Duke--father of the present man--sent me
to Mantua to study the enamels, potteries, and art industries which
were afterwards transplanted here. The whole journey from St. Martin’s
to St. Andrew’s in Mantua was made on my two feet, with a stick in my
hand, so you may guess if I spared shoe-leather! I love to feel the
ground under me, and the world before me where to choose, but don’t
say another word about it, or I shall be off again, like a true son of
those Gauls who pillaged the world. “I should like to know what you
ever brought back from your travels by way of booty,” they said. As
much as any of my ancestors; all that I could cram into my head or my
eyes,--empty pockets if you like, but Lord! what a lot I saw and heard
and tasted,--it is a treat only to think of it. A man cannot know all
and see all, but he can do his best, and I was like a big sponge in the
ocean, or rather like a ripe bunch of grapes full to bursting of the
rich juices of the earth; you would have a fine vintage if you could
squeeze me, but I mean to keep it for my own particular drinking; you
fellows pretend to look down on it, so much the better for me. When I
first came home you know I tried to share some of my good things with
you, the treasures I had picked up in sunny climes, but people here
have no curiosity except about the doings of their neighbors; the rest
of the world seems too far off, there is as good at home, and they
think those who come from Rome are none the better for their journey.
I never try to force a thing down any man’s throat, so I kept what I
had for myself, and let people go on in their own way, and I even went
along with them, for that is the path of wisdom; you can’t make people
happy against the grain, but you can share content with them.
Following this plan I joined in the usual hymn of praise. What pride,
what joy to be a Clamecyan! and I believe it, by Heavens! so I sat
there furtively drawing Delavau’s nose, and the curate’s long arms
which he flaps about when he speaks, and we talked about our good
town;--a place where I was born must have merit,--besides, all human
plants flourish here, they are not thorny and spiteful, even if their
tongues are somewhat long and sharp at the end. No one is the worse for
a little gossip, particularly if you get as good as you send; at bottom
you love your neighbor as yourself, and would not hurt a hair of his
head.
We are all proud of our province, which remained calm in the midst
of the excitement everywhere else; our Provost Ragon would not join
the Guisards, the League, the heretics, the Catholics, or any of
the extremists, persecutors, or rebels; and it was here that St.
Bartholomew came to wash his bloody hands, where we all stood firm
around our good Duke, like an island of safety against which the waves
of trouble dashed themselves in vain.--I cannot speak without emotion
of Duke Louis, and our late King,--how we loved them both!--for we
really seemed made for one another, in spite of faults on both sides;
no one is perfect in this world, of course, but these very faults in
them were endearing, and brought us closer together; they were so
human! We used to laugh and say, “Nevers is younger than ever,” or “Our
good King is once more a father to his people!” Those were the good
times, and we can truly say that we had the cream of it then--Delavau
knew Duke Louis as well as I, but the honor of having seen King Henry
is mine alone, and I love to tell for the hundredth time of how it
happened. It always seems a new story to me and to my friends too, for
they are Frenchmen of the right sort, and so I told them once more
of the gray King mounted on a gray horse with his gray hat, his gray
coat,--his elbows sticking through the sleeves,--his gray eyes, the
outside all gray, but pure gold within!
Just as I was in the middle of my story the notary’s clerk ran in to
call him to a dying client, so I was interrupted, for he had to leave
at once, which was all the more annoying as he had a story of his own
on the tip of his tongue. I knew he had been hatching it for an hour,
but I wanted first to get off my own little tale. I must admit in all
fairness that his was funny when it did come; he has not his equal for
a story with a dash of salt to it.
* * * * *
We all went out together, cheered from head to foot. It must have been
just about five o’clock or a bit later, and see how in three short
hours I had raked in two good dinners, and an order from the notary for
an oak press, to say nothing of all the fun we had had going over old
stories:--well, we just stopped to take a thimble full of cherry brandy
and a biscuit at Rathery’s, the apothecary, and then the party broke
up. Delavau had finished one story and begun another, so as we wanted
to hear the end of it, we went on with him as far as Mirandole, and
there we left him at last, only stopping to lean against the wall for
a minute or two, long enough to say good-by.
It was now rather too late to go home, or perhaps I should say too
early, so I walked down towards Béyant with a man who was pushing his
barrow loaded with charcoal, trumpeting his wares as he went. On the
way we met a blacksmith coming up trundling a wheel before him; when it
slackened speed he made a running jump and sent it flying on ahead, for
all the world like those allegories where you see men pursue Fortune
which always eludes their outstretched hand. This impressed me as a
very good image, and I made a note of it for future reference. I was in
two minds which way to take towards home, when I saw a funeral issuing
out of the hospital gates. First came two tiny choir-boys, giggling
together as they walked, one carrying a cross three times as high as
himself clutched against his little fat tummy. Behind came the body
under its pall, borne by four tottering old men, and then the vicar. I
felt it a matter of simple politeness to go with the poor sleeper to
his last lodging, for misery loves company, and then I wanted to hear
what the widow had to say. As is the custom, she was walking beside
the officiating priest pouring out her sad tale; how the departed was
taken ill, what remedies were applied, how he died, his faults, his
virtues, his affection, in short the story of his life and hers, while
the priest’s chants filled in the pauses. Before we had gone far our
numbers were swelled by many worthy souls with ears to hear and hearts
to feel, so at last we came to the resting-place where they put down
the bier at the edge of the grave. You know a pauper cannot take his
wooden shirt with him--not that he sleeps the less sound for that,--so
they lifted the pall and the coffin lid, and let him slide down into
his hole. I threw a handful of earth over him, and made the sign of the
Cross, to keep bad dreams away, and then went off at peace with all the
world; since morning I had seen and heard everything, rejoiced with the
fortunate, and wept with the sorrowful. My cup was full, and, the day
being over, I sauntered back along the waterside.