their danger; but when the flames appeared through the cracks of the
walls and began to eat away the beams of the roof, it was a perfect
pandemonium of yells and curses, and like bubbling wine in a vat they
rose to the surface, and made a rush for our staircase. Some of the
foremost, with their clothes actually on fire, were crushed against our
barricade by the weight of those behind them, and their bodies filled
the doorway from side to side, like a cork in a bottle. It was horrible
to see; and also to hear the fire raging and roaring! If I had been
just then the simple Breugnon of everyday life, I should have tried to
save the poor screaming wretches, but when a man is in authority, he
must think of nothing outside of his duty; compassion at that crisis
would have been sheer weakness. I knew that the safety of the city hung
on the defeat of these brigands, for if they had escaped they would
have outnumbered our small forces, and with the fear of the gallows
before their eyes, would have fought to desperation. No, there was now
nothing for it but to smoke the wasps out of their nest.
Just at this moment whom should I see over the heads of the crowd but
my old schoolfellow, Gambi! He was a good-for-nothing soaker, it is
true, and had no business to be where he was, but we had been playmates
from childhood, had been confirmed on the same day together, and I
could not bear to leave an old chum to such a fate.
I crawled between our pikes over the barrier, and somehow forced apart
the tightly wedged mass of human beings, though it seemed as if there
was not room to move more than your eyelids. Gambi was tottering on the
edge of the lowest step, held up by those around him, and I reached him
literally walking on the bodies of the others, who snapped and tore at
me in passing, so that I thought that I should have to bring him away
in pieces. But there is a special Providence for drunkards,--for some
of them at least,--and at last I was able to seize him by the collar,
and fighting and kicking out right and left, I dragged him to the floor
where the air was clearer.
There was little time to spare! The fire was roaring through the
doorway, as if up a chimney, driving out men from the rampart we had
made, and I could smell the roasting flesh of the brigands on the
staircase. Stooping low and treading on I knew not what, I dragged
Gambi by his hair through a hole in the wall, and somehow managed to
reach the outside of the warehouse, leaving the fire to finish the
work of destruction. When my men rejoined me they were so glad to see
me safe that they could not do enough for Gambi; and after we had
revived and fed him, we found under his rags some beautiful colored
enamels, which he had stolen, God knows where! and contrived to hold
on to during all the struggle. He was of course completely sobered
by this time, and weeping with gratitude he pulled out his ill-gotten
treasures, and threw them away with all his strength, declaring that
stolen goods would never prosper and that he could not bear to keep
them!
At sunrise the next morning Robinet appeared, triumphantly leading
the Procurator, a force of thirty men at arms, and a large party of
peasants. Later came the Magistrate with more reinforcements, and the
next day our good Duke sent in some of his own followers. Order being
now restored, they set to work. First they raked among the hot cinders,
then they drew up a list of property destroyed, added their own pay and
expenses, and returned whence they came,--except, of course, our own
officials, who remained with us.
What then was the moral of all this experience? It is this,--help
yourself, and others will help you.
XI
A PRACTICAL JOKE
September 30th.
Order being re-established, and the ashes cooled, we heard no more talk
of the plague and the riots, but for all that the city seemed crushed,
and its inhabitants, still hardly recovered from their fright, appeared
to feel their way; as if they did not know who was to have the upper
hand in future.
For the most part men kept indoors, but if obliged to go out, they
crept close along by the house walls, like a dog with his tail between
his legs. The truth is, few had reason to be proud of their part in the
late troubles, and a man hardly liked to look at his own face in the
glass, for there he saw human nature, stripped of all disguises:--not
a pretty sight, and one that makes most of us feel shamefaced and
suspicious.
I too was uneasy and sad, but for different reasons: first, I was
haunted by the thought of the massacre in the burning cellars; and on
the other hand, when I looked in the familiar faces of my neighbors,
I could not help remembering their cruelty and cowardice: this made
bad feeling between us, for they knew, of course, how I felt. I longed
to wipe it all out, and behave as if nothing had happened, but as that
could not be, we all went about in the altered town, under the heat and
languor of late summer.
Racquin had been sent to Nevers for trial; but it was a question
whether he fell under the jurisdiction of the Duke or the King, so he
stood a fair chance of getting off scot free. Our county authorities
were kind enough to overlook my illegal conduct;--for it seems that in
saving Clamecy that night, I had committed half a dozen crimes, any
one of which would have been enough to bring me to the galleys;--but
as none of this could have happened if they themselves had remained at
the post of duty, they decided to pass it over in silence; a decision
in which I naturally acquiesced. The less I have to do with courts of
justice the better, I always think; for you never know how a trial
will turn out, and innocence itself is no real protection. If you
once get your little finger into the cursed machinery of the law,
you are like to lose the whole arm, and you may have to cut that off
to save your body: so between their lordships and myself there was a
tacit agreement that they had seen nothing out of the way while I was
Captain of Clamecy: because everything on that fateful night had been
accomplished by themselves alone.
It is much easier, however, to shut one’s eyes to the past than to rub
it off the slate: there is such a thing as memory, and, when we met
face to face, it was awkward for both parties. I could see that they
had a lurking dread of me, and to tell the truth I was rather afraid
myself of this absurd unknown Breugnon, who had suddenly sprung up and
performed such exploits. I had never supposed myself to be an Attila or
a Cæsar; my eloquence had hitherto been inspired by wine rather than by
war;--and in short on both sides we were shamefaced and out of sorts
in mind and body. There is no remedy like hard work, and as the riots
had provided plenty to do for every one in the town, we all went at it
with the utmost energy. The ruins had to be cleared away first; then by
good luck the harvest that year was unusually abundant, both in grain
and fruit; and as for the vintage, the oldest inhabitant could remember
nothing to equal it.
Our good Mother Earth seemed to have drunk so much of our blood, only
that she might restore it to us in generous wine: for nothing in this
world is really wasted or lost; everything has to go somewhere. If
the rain falls from the clouds and is drawn up to them again, then
why should not the blood in our veins go and come between us and the
earth? I have always loved to think that in some former existence I
was a vigorous vine-root, and shall be one again perhaps, during a
delightful immortality. How good it would be to grow and flourish,
to feel my dark velvety bunches of grapes swell and fill with sweet
juices, under the warm sunshine: and it must be best of all to be
eaten! Setting such speculations aside, the earth bled at every pore
during this wonderful season, so that we did not know what to do with
the juice of our vines. As there were not casks enough to go round,
masses of grapes were heaped up in vats, without even pressing them.
Father Coullemard, an old man who lived at Andries, could not dispose
of his crop, and so offered his grapes at the vineyard, for thirty sous
a barrel.
Imagine our feelings! In our part of the world we cannot bear to throw
anything away; so, as there was nothing for it but to drink the wine
on the spot, we all did our duty like men. The labors of Hercules were
nothing to it, but I am afraid that the hero himself, and not Antæus,
fell and touched Mother Earth!
Everybody felt cheerful and more like himself when this was over, but
still there was something unpleasant,--a sort of constraint among us,
and even in the midst of our carouses there was altogether too much
solitary drinking,--in my opinion an evil and unhealthy practice. How
long this sort of thing would have lasted, I cannot undertake to say,
but chance intervened, and once more brought us all together. Love can
unite _two_ hearts, but the only thing that can make a large number of
men act as one, is the fear of a common enemy; and in our case, this
enemy was our master. Duke Charles of Nevers took it into his head this
year to forbid our games and dances, and as a natural consequence,
every one who was not crippled with gout, and who could put foot to the
ground, was seized with a perfect passion for dancing.
No one exactly understood why, but the bone of contention between
the Duke and the town had always been the Count’s Meadows, which lie
outside the gates, at the foot of Picon Hill, watered by the Beuvron,
which winds through them like a silver serpent. For more years than any
one can remember, there had been a dispute about these meadows: pull
devil, pull baker, and it was a question which had got the best of it.
Of course the contest was conducted with the utmost politeness on both
sides;--“My friends of the good town of Clamecy,” and “Your Lordship’s
most obedient”;--but neither party would yield an inch, for all that.
When we had resort to the courts, we always got the worst of it; the
judgment rendered being invariably that our meadows did not belong to
us; but this did not bother us in the least, as we had reason to know
that justice can make black seem white--at a price.
Possession, however, is nine points of the law, so we just held on to
our playground, which had special advantages, because it was the only
bit of land which was not the private property of some one in the town,
and therefore might be said to belong to us all; or perhaps to the
Duke, which came to much the same thing. Being common property, we did
not mind spoiling it, and anything that was not convenient to do on our
own premises, we did on the Count’s Meadows. We washed clothes, carded
wool, and beat carpets; there was a large rubbish heap there, and many
goats led out to pasture. On fine days we played games, or danced to a
hurdy-gurdy; we shot at a target, and practised the drum and trumpet,
and at night there were any number of loving couples along the banks
of the Beuvron, which took it all as a matter of course, though he saw
enough to frighten most rivers.
All went well as long as our old Duke Louis lived, for he shut his eyes
to our goings on, being a man of sense who knew that you must not keep
too tight a hand on the reins; he let us prance about and play the fool
a little, knowing all the while that he was the master. His son, on the
contrary, has the kind of conceit that prefers the show of power to
the reality, and likes to mount his high horse on slight provocation.
He ought to have known that a Frenchman will always sing and make fun
of his rulers, and if that is not allowed, he rebels; for he cannot
bear people who insist on being taken seriously, and loves those he can
laugh at, or with, for laughter puts all men on a level.
The Duke, then, issued an order forbidding us to play, dance, dig,
walk on the grass, or trespass in any way on the Count’s Meadows: and
a good time he chose for this piece of foolishness, just after all our
misfortunes, when instead of annoying us, he ought at the very least
to have remitted some of our taxes. He soon found, however, that the
Clamecyans are not made of soft fiber, but are tough as old oaks, so
that if you drive in a wedge you have hard work to get it out again.
There was no need to call a meeting to protest against the edict; from
all sides arose a deafening clamor:--“What, take away our meadows?
The ground that he had given us! (or that we had taken, it is all the
same!)--land that we stole four hundred years ago, which has been
doubly sacred to us ever since?--all the dearer that we have been
obliged to struggle for it day by day, and inch by inch; holding on
to it by sheer tenacity! It was enough to discourage a man from ever
taking what did not belong to him; enough really to make him sick of
living! Our dead would turn in their graves if we were weak enough to
yield on a point thus involving the honor of the city. The fatal order
was proclaimed with beat of drum, by the town crier, who looked as if
he were going to execution; and that very evening, there was a meeting
held of all the men of importance in the city; the heads of guilds, the
chiefs of brotherhoods and corporations, and those who represented the
various districts, came together under the arches of the market. I was
there, for St. Anne’s, and, as you may suppose, there were different
opinions among the delegates as to what ought to be done.”
Gangnot, in the name of St. Eloi, and Calabre, for St. Nicholas,
advocated strong measures; they wanted to set fire to the fences
round the fields, break down the gates, knock the sergeants on the
head, and rip up the meadows from end to end. On the other side, were
Florimond, the baker, for St. Honoré, and Maclou, the gardener, for
St. Fiacre; they advised a more diplomatic course, a war of words,
and parchments, a petition to the Duchess, accompanied, perhaps, by
some cakes and some garden stuff. Fortunately three of us, Jean Bobin
for St. Crispin, Émond Poifu for St. Vincent, and I, were not disposed
either to grovel before the Duke, or to kick his head off. Keep in the
middle of the road, was our motto. In our part of the world we like
to get the better of people without too much fuss and expense: it is
all very well to revenge yourself, but why not have a little fun out
of it at the same time? We hit at last upon a splendid idea--but I am
not going to tell you now what it was, for that would spoil the joke.
I will only say to the credit of all of us, that for a whole fortnight
the great secret was kept perfectly, though it was known to the entire
town. The honor of first having thought of it belongs to me, but they
all added something, here a touch and there another, till there was
nothing lacking. The Mayor and Aldermen kept themselves informed of our
progress, in the discreetest manner; and Master Delavau, the notary,
would come slinking in every evening with his cloak drawn up around
his face, to show us how to creep through the meshes of the law, while
appearing to respect it; and would draw up long Latin addresses to
the Duke, expressed in the most submissive terms on the part of his
contumacious vassals. When the great day arrived, the town guilds and
companies with their masters assembled at St. Martin’s Place, all
dressed in their best, and drawn up around their banners.
As ten strokes sounded from the great tower, the bells began to ring,
and on both sides of the square the doors of St. Martin’s and of the
Town Hall were thrown open. From the church issued the long procession
of white-robed clergy, and on the steps of the Town Hall appeared the
green and yellow gowns of the Mayor and aldermen. These dignified
bodies exchanged profound bows over the heads of us, who stood below
them; and then they marched slowly down; first the beadles, with their
red cloaks and redder noses, and then the town bailiffs, adorned with
their gold chains of office, and striking their staves loudly on the
pavement as they advanced.
We formed a great ring around the square, with our backs to the houses;
and the authorities placed themselves just in the middle.
The whole town was there to the last man; the pettifoggers and
barristers were ranged under the banner of St. Ives, (the man
of business of Our Father,) while the apothecaries, leeches and
mediciners, men of St. Cosmo, formed a guard of honor around the Mayor
and the old Archdeacon. The only absentee was the Procurator: he was
indeed the Duke’s representative, but he had married an alderman’s
daughter, and his interests being thus divided, he did not want to be
forced to take part with one side or the other, and so found means to
keep out of the way.
We all waited there for a little while; the square seething with noise
and laughter, like a vat in ferment. Every one talked at once, fiddles
squeaked, and dogs barked: what were we waiting for? Something is
coming, a surprise! and before we could see anything we heard shouts
drawing nearer, and all heads turned at once, like weathercocks when
the wind changes. A procession now advanced from the end of Market
Street, and at its head, borne on the shoulders of eight stout porters,
was a pyramid-shaped structure, looking like three tables placed one
above the other. The legs were all wreathed with bright silks and
flowers, and from the highest hung long streamers of colored ribbon,
cords and tassels; on the top was an ornamented dais supporting a
veiled statue.
As we were all in the secret, no one expressed surprise, and though
bursting with laughter, we took off our hats and bowed deeply. When
the platform reached the center of the square, it made a stop between
the Mayor and the vicar, and then all the corporations and districts,
each preceded by its players, made one turn about the square, and
wheeling round the corner of the church, entered the little street
which goes down to the Beuvron gate. St. Nicholas came first, as of
right, with Calabre leading, strutting along dressed in a church
cope, and glittering like a beetle with gold embroidery. He carried
the device of the river saint, a boat in which were three little
children, and was escorted by four boatmen, bearing enormous yellow
candles as big as a man’s leg, and as hard as bricks; ready for any
emergency. Then came St. Eloi, with his copper-workers, locksmiths and
blacksmiths; poor Gangnot, with the fingers that were left to him,
holding a cross engraved with the badge of a hammer and anvil. Next,
barrel-makers, vintagers, and vinegrowers marched after their St.
Vincent, with a jug in one hand, and a bunch of grapes in the other.
St. Joseph and St. Anne followed, mother and son-in-law, with the
carpenters and wood-carvers, and then St. Honoré, covered with flour.
He bore a sort of Roman trophy in his hand, like a lance thrust through
a round loaf with a crown above it. After him were the cobblers and
leather-dressers, under St. Crispin;--last and best of all, came the
gardeners, men and women, carrying carnations and roses, their spades
and rakes all twined with flowers; their fine red silk banner streaming
in the wind showed St. Fiacre, bare-legged, digging up the ground.
After all these, the veiled platform moved on majestically. Before it
went girls in white, chanting and scattering flowers: the Mayor and
his staff marched solemnly on either side, holding the ends of the
long streamers which hung from the dais, while the guilds of St. Ives
and St. Cosmo formed an imposing escort. Then came the verger of St.
Martin’s, strutting like a game-cock, preceding two priests, one long
and thin, the other short and fat; and the vicar himself, his hands
folded over his portly stomach, singing litanies in his deep bass voice
as he walked; or rather giving out a booming note from time to time,
while the others did the work.
The general public brought up the rear in a miscellaneous mass, like
a flood held back, as it were, by our procession. In this order we
advanced through the city gate, straight towards the Count’s Meadows,
in the midst of a whirl of golden plane leaves, stripped from the trees
by the wind and sent fluttering before us into the sluggish river, on
which they drifted like flakes of gold. At the entrance to the Meadows
there was a guard of three policemen and a Captain, in command at the
château. The latter was a new broom, and being eager to magnify his
office, he rolled his eyes and frowned severely at us; but his own men
and the citizens understood one another, and they only opposed us for
form’s sake. We, on our side, made believe to be offended, and demanded
a passage with much noise and profanity, but we had hard work to keep
our faces straight, and besides it would have been risky to go on in
this way much longer, for Calabre and his men, getting out of hand,
began to brandish their big candles about the ears of the police. So
the Mayor stepped forward, raised his cap at arm’s length from his
head, and cried: “Hats off!” At the word, the veil which hid the statue
fell to the ground, and the town bailiffs with loud voices proclaimed:
“Place for his Lordship the Duke!” Instantly the tumult ceased, the
saints and their followers ranged themselves on both sides of the way,
and respectfully presented arms; while the Captain and his satellites,
hastily pulling off their hats, stood aside to make way for the
platform, on which was perched the Duke in effigy. He wobbled slightly,
as his porters bore him along, but by the plumed hat, sword, and wreath
of laurels, it was easy to recognize him; and to put the matter beyond
doubt, there was a pompous Latin inscription at the base of the dais,
proclaiming his dignity to all the world.
The features were perhaps not a perfect likeness, but as we had not
had the time to make a new statue we had just taken an old wooden
figure, which we found stuck away in the garret of the Town Hall.
We did not know who or what it represented, but on the pedestal was
the half-effaced name of Balthazar, which we afterward shortened to
Balduke. No one cared whether the statue resembled the Duke or not;
statues seldom do look like the people that they are supposed to
represent; witness those of the saints, or our Lord Himself; but to the
eye of faith they are perfectly satisfactory, and as a devout believer
sees his god in a log of wood, just so that day we saw our Duke before
us.
All obstacles being removed, his Lordship proudly entered his own
meadows, and we naturally followed; banners waving, drums beating,
trumpets sounding, and the Holy Sacrament as a fitting climax. No loyal
subject would have dared to offer any objection, so even the sulky
Captain was obliged to choose between stopping the Duke or following
him, and he decided to fall into step with us. And now, with victory
in sight, we very nearly came to grief at the eleventh hour; for a
dispute arose as to who should pass in first, and all considerations
due to age or sex were completely forgotten. St. Eloi and St. Nicholas
jostled one another, St. Joseph was rude to his mother-in-law: and as
we were all somewhat over-excited, the consequences might have been
serious. Fortunately I was able to intervene with success; having
a foot in every camp. My name is Nicholas, my trade is under the
protection of Sts. Joseph and Anne, and the patron of vineyards, St.
Vincent, may be called my foster brother, as he and I have sucked at
the same breast; so I belong to all the saints, if only they are on my
side.
Just then I happened to spy a country cart passing, and who should be
lurching along beside it but my friend Gambi? “Comrades!” I cried,
“we must not try to get ahead of each other on this glorious day; the
greatest among us is here;--after the Duke, of course! so give three
cheers for Bacchus!” Whereupon I caught Gambi by the slack of his
breeches and threw him up into the cart, where he alighted in a cask of
grapes; then seizing the reins, we drove in triumphantly; first Bacchus
sitting in his cask, kicking his legs and laughing fit to kill himself;
and then all the procession following arm in arm, dancing with joy.
It was delightful to be once more in our dear Meadows; and there we
stayed all day, and far into the night, cooking, eating, and playing
around the statue of the good Duke.
The place looked like a pigsty the next day; there was not a single
blade of grass left, and the print of our feet was stamped deep all
over the ground, as a proof of the devotion with which his loyal
subjects had feasted their suzerain. He must have been hard to please
if he was not satisfied, and we on our part were delighted with the
events of the day.
An inquiry was indeed started by the Procurator, who professed to be
indignant, and threatened us with dire consequences; but on second
thoughts he found it wiser to let the whole thing drop; since no one
really wanted to close the door so happily reopened.