were the fine Court birds just leaving the table, so the dessert we
brought came in at the right moment. Down they sat and began all
over again; you never saw such birds for eating; and now we made a
brilliant entrance, for our delegation had halted outside the gates to
put on their carefully folded robes, which they had been sitting on
all the way to keep them from fading. The Mayor’s was of bright green
silk, and the others woolen of a light yellow, so that they looked
like a cucumber and four pumpkins as we marched into the courtyard to
the sound of our instruments. Every window in the castle was filled
with heads at our approach, and our courtly guests deigned to show
themselves in the doorway, all curled and beribboned, as the green and
yellow Mayor and Council mounted the great staircase. We smaller fry,
musicians and others, stayed behind in the yard, so that I could not
hear very clearly the fine Latin discourse delivered by our notary;
which mattered the less, as I do believe Master Pierre himself was the
only one who did hear it. But the one thing I would not have missed
for a kingdom was the sight of my darling Glodie stepping carefully
upward with the basket piled high with cakes clasped tight in her
little arms. She was like pictures of the Presentation. Sweetheart! I
longed to hug her! Music is not the only thing which charms all heart;
childhood has a spell even stronger and more universal, which causes
the proudest to forget for the moment rank and dignity. Mademoiselle
de Termes could not help smiling at Glodie, then she took her up on her
knees and kissed her, and finally broke one of the famous cakes in two,
ate half herself, and as she said laughing, “Open your little beak,
birdie,” stuck the other half into the child’s rosy mouth. “Hurrah for
the Flower of Nevers!” I shouted, and then played a gay little phrase
on my flute, which sounded like the note of a swallow. This made every
one laugh, and as they all looked to see who was playing Glodie clapped
her hands and said, “That is my Grandad.” And so Monsieur d’Asnois
made a sign to me to come up, and said to those about him, “You really
ought to see Breugnon, he is just the least bit cracked.” (I am no more
cracked than he is, but I went up as I was bid, with a fine bow to the
company.)
All the time that I was bowing and scraping to right and left, I had
my eye on the noble lady, hung like a slender bell-clapper in the
midst of her spreading draperies; and I could not help wondering how
she would look if divested of her voluminous garments,--(a bold idea
for a man like me, but only an idea, of course, or you will wonder how
I dared to think of such a thing), for she was tall and thin, rather
dark-skinned under a thick coating of powder; her hair fell in ringlets
over her great brown eyes shining like carbuncles; she had full red
lips and a small pointed nose like a ferret; you should have seen the
condescending air with which she said to me, “This charming little girl
is your grandchild, they tell me.”
“Madam,” said I, in my best manner, “I must refer you to my son-in-law,
here present, for an answer to that question; but you may be sure that
as she is not made of money we do not quarrel over her,--the poor, you
know, find their wealth in their children.”
She was so kind as to smile at my pleasantry, and my Lord of Asnois
burst out laughing. Florimond laughed too, but not so heartily, and I
remained as grave as a judge. Then his Lordship and the lady deigned to
enter into conversation with me about my trade, and what I made by it,
for they took it for granted that I was a minstrel. I told them I made
little or nothing, which was true enough, but as they had not asked
me I did not say what I did for my living, but let them go on talking
while I laughed in my sleeve at the airs they gave themselves, the
haughty familiarity with which these fine gentlemen of rank and wealth
treat us poor devils. They speak to a poor man as if he were a child,
or half-witted. God has so ordered it that only the unworthy are at the
bottom of the ladder,--(that is what they think, if they would only
admit it), and therefore praise be to the Lord! who has exalted the
seats of the mighty!
The Lord of Maillebois spoke to his companion as if I were not within
hearing. “Madame,” said he, “we may as well fill up our time and have
a little talk with this fellow; he seems rather stupid, but as he goes
about from one tavern to another, playing on his flageolet, he probably
knows what people hereabouts are thinking.”
“Hush!”
“If indeed they can be said to think at all.”
So they said to me:
“Well, my man, tell us what ideas prevail in the province?”
“Ideas?” said I, as if I had never heard the word before, looking slyly
at our good Lord of Asnois, who laughed to himself under his big bushy
beard, but let me go on.
“Ideas do not seem to grow plentifully in this part of the country,”
said Maillebois with his heavy playfulness, “but I mean I want to know
what the people are thinking,--are they loyal to Church and King?”
“God is great, and so is His Majesty; we are devoted to both of them.”
“And how about the Princes?”
“They too are great gentlemen.”
“Do you mean that you are on their side?”
“Yes, indeed, my Lord, we are close beside them.”
“In that case you must be against Concini?”
“By no means, your Lordship, we are for him also.”
“But, man, you don’t seem to understand that they are enemies.”
“That may be--but we want both of them to succeed.”
“How absurd! You have to be on one side or the other, don’t you know
that? Stupid!”
“Must I really, my Lord? Can’t I get out of it? Well, if I must, I
must, only let me think it over; a man can’t make up his mind like that
all in a minute!”
“Why, what in the world are you waiting for?”
“Only to know which will come out on top!”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you rascal! Do you mean that you
have not sense enough to know light from darkness, or the King from his
enemies?”
I explained with an air of perfect simplicity that I was not so blinded
but that I could tell day from night, but that when it came to the King
or the Princes, if I was forced to choose between them, I could not
tell which party drank most, or did the greatest harm to the country.
“Far be it from me,” said I, “to speak evil of dignities. I wish them
all good health and prosperity. To you too, your noble Lordship! They
have fine appetites and I am something of a hearty eater myself, but to
make a clean breast of it, if they must eat, I had rather it should be
at some one’s else expense!”
“Do you respect nothing, fellow?”
“I respect and love my own belongings.”
“Don’t you know that it is your duty to make sacrifices for the King,
your master?”
I told him respectfully that I should be only too glad to do so if
there was no way of getting out of it, but I asked him to explain to me
how it happened that there were the people of France, who loved their
fields and their vineyards, and there also was the King who wanted only
to devour them;--I said I knew well enough that every one had his place
in the world, and some were made to eat and some to be eaten; politics
I had heard was the art of filling your own stomach, and that was an
art reserved for the noble, and the land for the peasant. But what was
a poor man to do, since he was not allowed to have an opinion? And
besides, as we are all as ignorant as our father Adam, (they say that
he was his Lordship’s father also, but I could not well believe it,
maybe he was only a cousin)--our business is to plow and enrich the
soil, to sow and reap, to plant vines and gather grapes, make wine and
bread, work in wood and stone, in cloth and leather; lay out canals and
highways, erect great cathedrals and cities adorned with gardens, and
embellish with carving and statues; catch sound and imprison it in the
flanks of a fiddle, make ourselves masters, in short, of France, the
earth and the air above us;--all to add to the pleasure of our lords.
How could the people be expected to go any farther and try to grasp
the high designs of kings, the quarrels of princes, with all their
politics and metaphysics? No, the stick is made for beasts of burden,
but which cudgel is the softest and who is to shake it over our backs,
is a question too hard for us to decide; if we had the stick in our own
hands for a little while it might be easier, but in the meantime there
is nothing for it but patience, and to bear the blows as long as we
are the anvil; some day our turn will come at the hammer! While I was
talking, the Seigneur of Maillebois stood looking at me, in two minds
whether to laugh or be angry; fortunately one of his equerries had seen
me one day when I was with the late Duke, and he explained who I was,
that I was no minstrel, but a fine sculptor and worker in wood, known
far and wide for my talk, and somewhat of a free thinker.
The noble Lord did not seem much impressed by this information, but he
showed a faint interest in my insignificant personality when his host
told him that my work had been admired by princes of his acquaintance,
and he soon fell into ecstasies when they showed him the fountain I had
made in the courtyard. It is a girl with her skirts tucked up, holding
two ducks in her apron with their wings extended; the water trickles
out of their beaks;--a pretty conceit as I think it. He saw also my
carved furniture and panels in the castle, which Asnois displayed with
as much pride as if he had been their creator instead of being merely
the man who paid for them. Maillebois expressed himself as astonished
that I should bury my talent so far from Paris, and he also wondered
that I should confine myself to work which showed chiefly observation
and fidelity to nature; no grandeur or symbolism, nothing allegorical,
both things which the critic considers essential to great sculpture. (A
lord, you know, admires nothing that is not lordly.)
To which I replied with due respect, as became a country booby, that I
knew my place, and was always careful to keep in it; that it would be
presumption for a poor man like me, without knowledge or education, to
attempt anything vast or sublime, and that he ought to be content with
a modest place on the lowest step of Mount Parnassus, aiming only at
such things as may be useful in everyday life. Utility in art should be
his motto.
“Utility in art!” exclaimed his Lordship; “that is a contradiction in
terms, true beauty is only found in what is useless.”
“A lofty sentiment,” said I, bowing, “and profoundly true; you see it
everywhere, in art as well as in life; a diamond is beautiful, and so
is a king, a prince, a great noble, or a flower.”
On this he turned away, much pleased with so much proper feeling; but
Asnois pinched me, and whispered in my ear, “Shut up, you old humbug! I
don’t mind if you do make a fool of this fop from Paris, but don’t try
anything of that sort on me, or it will be the worse for you!”
“Oh! your Lordship, how could you think me capable of such a thing?
As if I would be so ungrateful to my protector, my benefactor! and
not only ungrateful but foolish. Breugnon is not that kind of a fool,
he knows enough to take good care of his own skin, and your Lordship
is not only stronger,--that is as it should be,--but ever so much
cleverer than I am. What chance should I have against an old fox like
the Lord of Asnois, if I may venture to say so? You who get the better
of young and old, gentle and simple.”
Nothing is so agreeable as to be praised for talents which we do not
possess; so he fairly beamed as he answered, “Your tongue is long
enough in all conscience, but now I should like to know what brought
you here today? For I’ll be bound you were after something.”
“There now, what was I saying just this minute? You see through a
man as if he were a pane of glass; like God Almighty, the heart has
no secrets from your Lordship.” Then of course I unpacked my two
panels, and also something else I had brought, namely an Italian
piece picked up at Mantua, representing Fortune on her wheel, which,
through a mistake I am at a loss to account for, I claimed as my own.
It did not excite much admiration. Then I showed a medallion of a
girl’s head, done by me, as the product of an Italian chisel, and it
received a perfect ovation! you never heard such ohs! and ahs! The
Lord of Maillebois was particularly enthusiastic; he said he could
detect in this admirable work the influence of a land twice blessed by
Heaven,--by Jupiter and by Jesus Christ; and the Lord of Asnois ended
by giving me thirty-six ducats for it,--but I only got three for the
Fortune!
As we were coming home that evening I told my friends a little
anecdote which I thought would amuse them. The Duke of Bellegarde
came some years ago to Clamecy to shoot at the popinjay, but as he
was short-sighted, I was hidden behind the target, and instructed
to throw down the wooden bird as soon as he fired, and in its place
to substitute as quickly as possible a bird with a hole through the
middle. We all laughed at this story, and then each in his turn had
some such thing to tell of our noble masters. If they could only hear
some of the jokes we have at their expense, they would not be quite so
bored perhaps in the midst of their royal grandeur. Nothing was said,
you may be sure, about the medallion till we were safe at home, and
the door shut, and then Florimond was much vexed with me because I had
sold the Italian piece at such a low price as my own, seeing that they
had been willing to pay anything I asked for the other; but as I said,
I liked to laugh at people but not to skin them; that naturally made
him crosser than ever, and he wanted to know what fun I could find in
cheating myself? And if there was any sport in making a mock of people
unless there was something to be gained by it?
“Florimond,” said my daughter Martine gravely, “we were all like that
at home, always jolly and ready for a good story. You ought not to
complain of that sort of disposition, for it is much to your advantage,
and it is lucky for you that the idea that I could deceive you at any
moment is so amusing to me that I don’t care to do it. Now don’t put on
that gloomy air; you know the proverb, ‘No need to cry out before you
are hurt.’”
VII
THE PLAGUE
We have recently had reason to feel the full truth of the old saying:
“Evil comes on a swift horse, but is slow of foot to leave us.”
This time we had hardly any warning, for on Monday of last week we
heard of the first case of the plague at St. Fargeau, and the evil
seed sprang up so rapidly that by the end of the week there were ten
more cases and yesterday it broke out here in our neighborhood at
Coulanges-la-Vineuse. You can imagine what a clatter there was in
our duck-pond, and how the boldest took to their heels! Most of the
women and children were packed off to Montenoison to be out of danger;
leaving an unwonted calm behind them, at least in my household; it’s an
ill wind that blows no one good!
Florimond went in charge of the female detachment, on the pretext that
he could not leave Martine, as she was near her confinement, but he was
kept in countenance by many another gentleman, who, when his carriage
was at the door, thought it was a good time to go and see how the crops
were getting on at a distance. We who stayed behind put a good face
on it, and had no end of fun out of the people who were frightened,
and their precautions. The Provost stationed guards at the town gates,
and on the road to Auxerre, with strict orders to turn back any tramps
or beggars who might attempt to enter, and even the well-to-do, whose
purses at least were perfectly healthy, had to be examined by our three
physicians, Messrs. Etienne Loyseau, Martin Frotier, and Philibert des
Veaux, all fortified against the plague by means of masks, spectacles,
and long false noses filled with unguents. Everybody laughed so much
at them that Frotier could bear it no longer, and tore off his nose,
declaring that he for his part had no faith in such nonsense; all
the same, poor old chap, he died of it, but so did Loyseau also, who
kept his nose on, and shared a bed with him. The only survivor of the
three was des Veaux, who was better advised than his colleagues, and
abandoned his post instead of his precautions. But I have got ahead
of my story and must go back and begin again at the beginning. We all
whistled loudly to keep our courage up, declaring that our tanneries
would keep off the pestilence, as it is well known that there is
nothing so healthy as the smell of leather. The last visitation we
had had of the plague was about the year 1580 (I remember it well,
for I was nearly fourteen years old); she poked her nose then over
our threshold, but came no farther, to the astonishment of all our
neighbors, particularly those of Châtel-Censoir, who were so disgusted
with their patron, St. Potentian, who had not taken good care of them,
that they turned him out, and tried seven others in succession, until
in despair they fell back on a female of the same name, St. Potentiana.
We told this, and lots of other old stories, with shouts of laughter;
and to show that we were above such silly superstitions, and had no
faith in the Provost’s regulations either, we went boldly down to
the Chastelot gate and talked across the moat with all the vagrants
assembled there. Some of us even slipped out between the angels who
stood guard before our paradise,--(they did not take themselves
seriously either), and shared a bottle with some of these outcasts in a
nearby tavern. Need I say that I was one of the number? for naturally
I could not bear the thought that the others should go swaggering,
drinking and talking, and I not of the party. I met a friend out there,
a farmer from Mailly-le-Château, and we had a drink together. He was
a jolly old bird with a round red face fairly shining with health and
good cheer, and he was even more boastful about the plague than I
was, pooh-poohing the whole thing and declaring that it was all an
invention of the doctors and that people died of fear, and not of the
pestilence; said he, “I’ll tell you the best remedy I know for it, and
I won’t charge you anything either!”
“Be sure and warm your feet;
Be careful what you eat;
Be shy of woman’s charm,
And you are safe from harm.”
We sat there with our heads together for an hour or more; he had a
trick of poking you in the ribs, or slapping you on the back or the
leg, which I did not notice much at the time, but you may believe I
thought of it afterwards, when the next morning one of my apprentices
told me that old farmer Grattepain was dead! It made the cold shivers
go down my back, and in my heart I gave myself up for lost, but I
went back to the shop and fussed about a little, though I was hardly
conscious of what I was about, and kept saying to myself, “You have
done for yourself now, you old idiot.” Still, in our part of the world
we don’t waste time over what we ought to have done the day before
yesterday, we just take hold and do what we can at the present moment;
so I resolved to keep the enemy at bay as long as I was able, telling
myself that I still had a good fighting chance. The idea of consulting
a doctor occurred to me (going to St. Cosmo’s shop, as we call it), but
in spite of the trouble I was in, I had enough self-control not to do
it, for, as I said to myself, doctors really know no more than we do,
they will only take my fee, and send me to the pest-house, and there I
shall catch the plague and no mistake; no, so long as I have my wits
about me, I will ask help of no man; dying is, after all, a lonely
business, and as the saying goes, “In spite of every drug and leech, we
live until Death’s door we reach.”
All this time, in spite of my bravado, I began to have queer feelings
in my stomach, in my head, and all over my body; I cannot get over
it when I think of the delicious dish of mutton and beans, dressed
with wine sauce, which I actually refused at dinner time. I could not
swallow a mouthful; thought I, “This is final; if my appetite is gone,
I must be done for.” I had to decide quickly on what was best to do; as
I knew very well that if I died in my house the Councilors would burn
it down on the pretext that it was infected. Just think of being mean
and stupid enough to burn a new house for such a reason as that! But
sooner than that should happen I would rather go out and die on my own
dunghill. So, without losing a minute, I put on the worst old clothes
I could find, made a bundle of a few books which I tied up with a chunk
of bread and a candle, and told the apprentice to take a good holiday;
then I locked the door of my house behind me, collected a few of my
best books, and set off for a little place I had outside the town on
the road to Beaumont, where I had built a little sort of shed or hut
where I kept all sorts of rubbish, garden tools, a straw mattress, and
a broken chair or two, “if they burn that,” thinks I, “there will be no
great harm done!”
I had not been there five minutes before I was in a high fever, my
teeth chattered, I had a sharp stitch in my side, and my gizzard felt
as if it was upside down. Now don’t think for a moment, my friends,
that at this painful moment I was heroic and endured my sufferings in
the grand manner, like noble Romans in the history books. As I was all
by myself with nothing near but the stomach-ache, I just threw myself
down on my straw mattress and howled. You could have heard me as far as
the big tree of Sembert.
“Good Lord,” I groaned, “what pleasure can You take in tormenting a
poor creature who never did You any harm? Oh, how my head aches! and
my back feels as if it were broken. It is hard to be cut off in the
flower of one’s age and what difference can it make _when_ I go to
Heaven?--of course it would be a pleasure--an honor I mean, but why
this indecent haste, since we are sure to meet sooner or later? I am
perfectly willing to wait, for my part; a poor worm like me! Lord, if
it is Your will, I am, as You see, resigned and humble but--oh, I can’t
bear these pains another minute!”
All this weeping and praying did not seem to do much good to my body,
but it eased my mind a little, and as I became calmer I reflected that
God was either deaf to my cries, or else that He did not choose to
listen, which is much the same thing when you come to think of it. If
man is made in His likeness, I thought, He will act as seems good to
Him, so I may as well save my breath, for to all appearance what I have
will not last more than an hour or two, so I will try and make the most
of what is left in this dear old body, which I am reluctant to quit,
even if it is to better myself. Well, we can die but once, so I may as
well see how the thing is done, now that there is no help for it. When
I was a little boy, I used to make willow-whistles, and I found the
best way to loosen the bark was to tap it sharply with a knife-handle.
“Ah-h, I had a hard knock that time! The Lord no doubt is getting
my bark off by the same method, but it does seem a strange sort of
amusement for a Personage of His age, and there is nothing left for me
but to watch and see what happens, which is hard when such a horrible
commotion is going on inside one!”--[Here the author takes the liberty
of omitting some lines, as Breugnon enters, with somewhat too much
detail, into the disordered state of his machinery, which we fear would
not be of interest to the general reader.]--There I lay reflecting, and
sometimes stopping to howl a little, and at last I lighted my candle
and stuck it in the neck of an old bottle, which smelt still of the
spirit that once had filled it. “My body and soul will be like that by
this time tomorrow,” thought I, and then I turned over and tried to
read a little, but the Romans and their lofty sentiments rather bored
me, especially their self-satisfaction. “We are not all worthy to see
Rome!” and sayings of that kind fell flat at that moment, when I had no
pride left, and only wanted to complain of the cramp in my stomach.
When I had an interval of ease, however, I found such a good joke in
an old jest book, that in spite of my aches and pains, I fairly roared
with laughter, till it brought on the cramp again, and I had to stop
and groan. Oh, what a night that was! When day dawned at last, I was
really half dead, and could only drag myself on my hands and knees
to the little window, where I called out in a lamentable voice to the
first passerby I saw. One glance at me was enough. He made the sign of
the Cross and fled for his life, and in fifteen minutes two sentinels
were posted at my door with orders that on no account was I to cross
the threshold. I could not have gone out if they had allowed it, but
I begged them to go and fetch my old friend Paillard the notary, at
Dornecy, so that I could make my will before dying. My guards were so
afraid of the plague that they did not even dare to listen to the sound
of my voice, but at last I found a messenger, a little boy whom I had
caught one day stealing my cherries; he liked me because I told him he
might as well pick some for me too while he was about it, so now he ran
off on my errand.
I couldn’t tell you what happened for a long time after that, I just
lay all humped up on my mattress, burning with fever, but after a while
I heard wheels on the road, and a familiar gruff voice, so I knew
Paillard was there, and tried to raise myself and call to him. I wanted
to tell him to draw up a codicil to my will leaving a larger share of
my money to Martine and little Glodie, and in the long night I had
thought out a way to do this so that my sons could not contest it. The
great bell of St. Martin’s seemed to be weighing on my forehead, but
I managed to drag myself to the window, and out on the road I saw two
round red faces staring at me with horror-stricken eyes. Paillard and
Chamaille had rushed in hot haste to get a sight of their friend before
he expired, but when they did see him, their ardor cooled a little, and
they fell back so as to put the width of the road between us.
“Heavens!” cried Chamaille; “my poor friend, your color is something
awful.” But the mere sight of them seemed to restore me, so I called
out, “You look hot, won’t you come in and sit down a minute?”
“No, thank you, no!” they both said hastily; “we are all right out
here,” and they kept backing away towards the cart, where Paillard
pretended to fumble with the bit of his old nag, to cover his
embarrassment. Chamaille soon pulled himself together, for with him it
was an everyday experience to talk with the dying; he first inquired
how I was feeling, and when I said but poorly, he shook his head.