MARIK LEBRENN.
Marik Lebrenn was a man of about fifty years of age, although looking
rather younger. His high stature; his nervy, muscular neck, arms and
shoulders; the proud and resolute carriage of his head; his open and
strikingly strong countenance; his sea-blue eyes with their firm and
penetrating glance; his thick, heavy and light auburn hair, slightly
streaked with grey and starting rather low upon a forehead that seemed
to partake of the hardness of marble;--all these features betrayed the
characteristic type of the Breton race, among which the Gallic tongue
and blood have pre-eminently preserved themselves unalloyed down to our
own days. Upon the ruddy and thick lips of Monsieur Lebrenn sat a
perpetual smile that one time betokened kindheartedness, other times
bore the impress of that wit and satire, which our old books term
_salty_, when they describe the racy jokes, or the old Gallic character,
that ever is inclined to teasing. I shall close the description of the
merchant, by clothing him in a large olive overcoat and trousers of a
grey material.
Astonished, almost speechless at the unexpected visit, George Duchene
waited in silence for Lebrenn to speak. The latter said:
"Monsieur George, about six months ago you were assigned by your
employer to attend to some repairs in my shop. I was very much pleased
with your intelligence and skill."
"You proved as much to me, monsieur, by your kindness."
"You were entitled to it. I noticed that you were industrious, and
anxious to learn. I was aware, besides, as all our neighbors are, of
your worthy conduct towards your grandfather, who occupies these
lodgings for the last fifteen years."
"Monsieur," remarked George, not a little embarrassed by these praises,
"my conduct--"
"Is perfectly simple, is it not? Very well. Your job in my shop kept you
three months. Very well pleased with our relations to each other, I said
to you, and did so in all frankness: 'Monsieur George, we are neighbors;
call and see me, either Sundays, or any other day after your work hours;
I shall be pleased, very pleased.'"
"Indeed, monsieur, you said so."
"And yet, Monsieur George, you never set your foot in my house."
"I beg you, monsieur, do not attribute my reserve to either ingratitude
or forgetfulness."
"What, then, should I attribute it to?"
"Monsieur--"
"Come, Monsieur George, be frank--you love my daughter."
The young man trembled from head to foot. His color left his cheeks,
paleness and blushes alternated with each other. Finally he answered
Lebrenn with a tremulous and moved voice:
"It is true, monsieur. I love mademoiselle, your daughter."
"So that, your work in my shop being done, you did not return to my
house out of fear that your love might carry you away?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And you never mentioned your love to anyone, even to my daughter?"
"Never, monsieur."
"I knew it. But why did you refuse to place confidence in me, Monsieur
George?"
"Monsieur," answered the embarrassed young man, "I--did--not dare--"
"Why not! Perchance because I am what is called a _bourgeois_--a rich
man compared to you, who live from day to day by the wages that you
earn?"
"Yes, monsieur."
After a moment's silence the merchant proceeded:
"Permit me, Monsieur George, to put a question to you. You may answer
it, if you think proper."
"I listen, monsieur."
"About fifteen months ago, shortly after your discharge from the army,
you expected to marry?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"A young flower girl, an orphan named Josephine Eloi?"
"Yes, monsieur; it is all so."
"Will you tell me the reason why the marriage did not take place?"
The young man colored; an expression of pain contracted his countenance;
he hesitated to answer.
Lebrenn watched him attentively. Pained and surprised at George's
silence, he could not withhold a bitter and severe cry:
"I see--seduction, then abandonment and oblivion. Your embarrassment
proclaims it all but too loudly."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," George quickly answered. "My embarrassment
and emotion are caused by cruel recollections. I shall tell you what
happened. I never lie--"
"I know you do not, Monsieur George."
"Josephine dwelt in the same house with my employer. In that way I
became acquainted with her. She was very pretty, and, although
illiterate, highly gifted. I knew she was inured to work and poverty. I
believed her wise. A bachelor's life weighed upon me. I also thought of
my grandfather. A wife would have assisted me in taking better care of
him. I proposed marriage to Josephine. She seemed delighted, and she
herself named the date of our wedding. They lied to you, monsieur, who
spoke of seduction and abandonment!"
"I believe you," said Lebrenn, cordially extending his hand to the
young man. "I am happy to be able to believe you. But how did your
marriage fall through?"
"A week before the day for our wedding Josephine disappeared, leaving a
letter for me saying that all was broken off. I subsequently learned
that, yielding to the evil advice of one of her girl friends, a lost
woman, she followed her example. Having lived in misery all her life,
enduring grievous privations despite her long hours, twelve and fifteen
of work a day, Josephine recoiled before the life that I offered her--a
life of toil and poverty like her own."
"And like so many others," interjected Lebrenn, "she succumbed to the
temptations of a less toilsome life. Oh! Poverty! Poverty!"
"I have never seen Josephine again, monsieur. She is now, I am told, a
coryphee in one of the public dancing halls. She dropped her old name
for one that I do not know, coined according to her habit of improvising
upon all manner of subjects some of the wildest of songs. In short, she
is lost forever. And yet, the girl had excellent qualities of heart. You
now understand, monsieur, the cause of the sad emotion that came over me
when you mentioned Josephine's name a minute ago."
"Your emotion testifies in favor of your heart, Monsieur George. You
have been calumniated. I doubted the truth of what I was told; I am now
certain. Let us say no more upon that subject. I now wish to tell you
what happened at my house three days ago. I was, in the evening, in my
wife's room, together with my daughter. The girl had sat silent and
meditative for a while. Suddenly, taking my hand and her mother's, she
said to us: 'I have a secret to confide to you. I have long put off
speaking, because I have long been reflecting, lest I speak hastily. I
love Monsieur George Duchene'--"
"Great God! monsieur," cried George, clasping his hands, and seized with
inexpressible ecstasy. "Is it possible! Mademoiselle, your daughter!"
"That was the language of my daughter to us," proceeded Lebrenn with
deliberation. "'I am pleased, my child, at your frankness,' I answered
her; 'but how came this love about?' 'First, father, through learning of
George's conduct towards his grandfather; then through hearing you often
praise his character, his industrious habits, and his efforts to
cultivate his mind. Finally, he won his way to my heart with his gentle
and refined manners, with his frankness, and his conversation, as I
heard him talk with you. I never said to him a word that could make him
suspect my sentiments for him. On his part, he never dropped his extreme
reserve towards me. I would be happy were he to share the sentiments I
entertain for him, and if you, father and mother, think such a marriage
proper. If you think otherwise I shall respect your wishes, knowing that
you respect my freedom. If I can not marry Monsieur George I shall
remain single. You have often told me, father, that I had a will of my
own. You will not doubt my resolution. If this marriage be out of the
question, you will not find me either sulky or dejected. Your affection
will console me. Ever happy, as in the past, I shall ever care for you,
for mother and for brother. I have told you the truth. Now, I wish you
to decide. I shall wait.'"
George listened to Lebrenn with ever increasing astonishment. He could
not believe his own ears. Finally he cried in broken accents:
"Monsieur, is this a dream?"
"Not in the least. My daughter never was more wide awake, I assure you.
I know the openness of her nature, also her firmness. Both my wife and I
are certain of that--if this union can not be effected, Velleda's
affection for us will not change, but neither will she marry anyone
else. Now, then, seeing it is quite natural that a young and handsome
girl of eighteen should marry, and seeing, furthermore, that Velleda's
choice is worthy of herself and us, my wife and I, after mature
reflection, might gladly decide to accept you as our son-in-law."
Impossible to describe the look of glad surprise, of intoxication, that
was stamped upon George's features at these words of the merchant's. He
remained mute, he seemed stupefied.
"Come, Monsieur George," the linendraper proceeded with a smile, "what
is there so very extraordinary, so incredible, in what I have been
telling you? For three whole months you were at work in my shop. I
already knew that, in order to insure your grandfather's existence, you
turned soldier. Your rank of under-officer, besides two wounds, proves
that you served with honor. During your three months with me I was
able--my eyes are sufficiently keen--to gauge your worth in point of
heart, intelligence and skill at your trade. Delighted with our
acquaintance, I invited you to call upon us. Your reserve in this
instance is an additional proof of the delicacy of your character. On
top of all that, my daughter loves you and you love her. You are
twenty-seven years old, she eighteen. She is a charming being; you a
handsome fellow. You are poor; I have enough for two. You are a
mechanic, so was my father. What in the devil's name is there to amaze
you so much? You look as if you had been treated to a fairy tale."
These kind words failed to put an end to George's stupor. He really
believed himself treading on enchanted ground, as the merchant had
indicated. With moist eyes and a throbbing heart the young man could
barely mutter:
"Oh, monsieur! Excuse my embarrassment--I feel so dazed with joy at all
I have heard--at your saying that you consent to my marrying--"
"One moment!" quickly interposed the linendraper. "One moment! Take note
that, with all the good opinion I entertain for you, what I said was we
_might_ decide to accept you as our son-in-law. It was conditional. The
conditions were these: first, that you were not guilty of the unworthy
act of seduction, that you were charged with--"
"Monsieur, did I not swear to you?"
"You did. I believe you. I mention that first condition simply because I
had it on my mind when I came in. As to the second--there is a second--"
"What is it, monsieur?" asked George with inexpressible anxiety, and
beginning to apprehend he had too readily indulged in an insensate hope.
"Listen to me, Monsieur George. We have talked very little politics
together. During the time that you worked at my place, our conversation
always turned upon the history of our forefathers. Nevertheless, I know
you entertain very liberal ideas. Let us be short about it--you are a
Socialist republican."
"I have heard you say, monsieur, that all opinion, sincerely held, was
honorable."
"And I do not take that back. I do not blame you. But between the desire
to cause one's opinion to prevail by peaceful means, and schemes to
bring about its triumph by violence, by the force of arms--between the
two there yawns a deep abyss. Not true, Monsieur George?"
"Yes, monsieur," answered the young man, looking at the linendraper with
surprise mingled with uneasiness.
"Now, then, never is an armed demonstration attempted single-handed. Is
not that also true, Monsieur George?"
"Monsieur," the young man answered with a feeling of increasing
uneasiness, "I do not know--"
"Yes, you are bound to know that people ordinarily associate with others
of their own opinion. In short, people affiliate in _secret
societies_--and, on the day of battle, turn up boldly upon the street.
Is that not true, Monsieur George?"
"I know, monsieur, that the revolution of 1830 was accomplished in that
manner," answered George in a high state of anxiety, while his heart
felt more and more wrung with pain.
"Certainly," resumed Monsieur Lebrenn, "certainly it was done in that
way, and others before it; and still others in the future will take the
same course. Nevertheless, as with revolutions, insurrections do not
always succeed. Seeing that people who play at that game stake their
heads, you will realize, Monsieur George, that my wife and I would be
rather disinclined to give our daughter to a man who did not belong to
himself; who, at any moment, might take up arms, and march with the
secret society that he is a member of at the risk of his life, as
behooves a man of honor and conviction. It is all very lofty, very
heroic, I admit. The inconvenience lies in that the Chamber of Peers,
failing to appreciate that sort of heroism, may send the conspirators to
Mt. St. Michel, unless it order their heads cut off. Now, then, I put
the question to you as a matter of conscience, Monsieur George, would it
not be a sad thing for a young woman to be exposed at any time to see
her husband without a head, or consigned to imprisonment for life?"
George, grief-stricken and in consternation, had turned pale. He
answered Lebrenn in a depressed voice:
"Monsieur--two words--"
"Allow me, I shall be done in a second," interposed the linendraper; and
he proceeded in a grave, almost solemn voice:
"Monsieur George, I place implicit confidence in your word. I have
tested you. Swear to me that you do not belong to any secret society. I
will believe you, and you shall be my son-in-law--or, rather, my own
son," added Lebrenn, reaching out his hand to George, "seeing that since
I became acquainted with you and learned to esteem you, I ever felt for
you, I repeat it, as much interest as sympathy."
The merchant's praises, together with the cordiality of his manner,
intensified the severity of the blow that smote the hopes of George. He,
hitherto so determined and energetic, felt himself weakening. He covered
his face in his hands, and could not restrain his tears.
Lebrenn contemplated him with commiseration. In a moved voice he
addressed the young man:
"I am awaiting your oath, Monsieur George."
The young man turned his head aside to wipe away his tears. He then
faced the father of his beloved and said:
"I can not, monsieur, give you the oath that you request."
"Then--your marriage to my daughter--"
"I must renounce it, monsieur," answered George painfully.
"Accordingly, Monsieur George," resumed the merchant, "you admit that
you belong to a secret society?"
The young man's silence was his only reply.
"Well," said the merchant, heaving a sigh of regret, and rising; "it is
all ended--fortunately my daughter is a brave girl."
"I also shall be so, monsieur."
"Monsieur George," continued the merchant, reaching out his hand to the
young carpenter, "you are a man of honor. I need not demand of you
secrecy concerning this interview. As you may judge, my inclinations
were most favorable towards you. It is not my fault if my plans--I shall
say more--my wishes, my warm wishes, to see my daughter and you united
meet with an insuperable obstacle."
"Never, monsieur, shall I forget the token of esteem with which you have
honored me. You act with the wisdom and discretion of a father. I can
not--let it cost me what grief it may--but bow respectfully to your
decision. I should, I admit it, myself have forestalled this subject
with you--I should have loyally apprized you of the sacred engagement
that binds me to my party. I am certain I would have made the confession
to you, so soon as I had recovered from the intoxication of happiness
that your words threw me into. I would have had time to consider the
duties imposed upon me by that unexpected happiness--this marriage.
Pardon me, monsieur," George proceeded, in a voice that trembled with
anguish, "pardon me. I have no longer the right to speak of that
beautiful dream. But what I shall ever remember with pride is your
having said to me: 'You can be my son.'"
"It is well, Monsieur George; I expected no less from you," said
Lebrenn, moving towards the door.
And, giving his hand once more to the young man, he added with emotion:
"Once more, adieu."
"Adieu, monsieur," responded George, taking the outstretched hand of
the merchant. But the latter, suddenly throwing his arms around the
young artisan, pressed him to his breast, crying in a voice that shook
with joy, and with eyes moist with tears:
"Well done, George! Honest man! Loyal heart! I judged you rightly!"
Puzzled at these words, and at the conduct of the linendraper, George
looked at him unable to utter a word. The latter whispered to him:
"Six weeks ago--_Lourcine Street_."
A tremor ran over George's frame. In alarm he exclaimed:
"Mercy, monsieur!"
"Number seventeen, fourth floor, in the rear."
"Monsieur, I beg of you!"
"Did not a mechanic named Dupont introduce you blindfolded?"
"Monsieur, I can make no answer."
"Five members of a secret society received you. You took the usual
pledge. And you were led out again, still blindfolded. Not so?"
"Monsieur," cried George as stupefied as he was terror-stricken at the
revelation, and seeking to regain composure. "I do not understand what
you are saying--"
"I was, that evening, the chairman of the committee, my brave George."
"You, monsieur!" cried the young man still hesitating to believe
Lebrenn. "You!"
"Yes, I."
And seeing incredulity still depicted on George's countenance, the
merchant proceeded:
"Yes, I presided. And here is the proof."
Saying which he whispered a few words in George's ear.
Unable any longer to doubt, the young man cried, looking at the
merchant:
"But, monsieur--the oath that you demanded of me a while ago?"
"It was a last test."
"A test?"
"You must pardon me for it, my brave George. A father is mistrustful.
Thank heaven you did not belie my expectations. You stood the test
gallantly. You preferred the ruin of your dearest hopes to a lie,
notwithstanding you must have felt sure that I relied upon your word
with implicit confidence, whatever you may have said."
"Monsieur," replied George with a hesitation that deeply touched the
merchant, "can I now--can I this time--can I hope--with certainty? I
conjure you, speak! If you only knew what anguish I went through a while
ago!"
"Upon my word as an honest man, my dear George, my daughter loves you.
My wife and I consent to your marriage. And we look forward to it with
delight because we see in it a future of happiness for our child. Is
that plain?"
"Oh, monsieur!" cried George pressing with effusion the hand of the
merchant, who said:
"As to the exact day of your marriage, my dear George, the events of
yesterday--those that are in train to-day--the course that our secret
society is to follow--"
"You, monsieur?" cried George with renewed amazement, and unable to
avoid interrupting Lebrenn to express his astonishment, for a moment
forgotten in his transport of joy; "You, monsieur, are, indeed, a member
of our secret society? Indeed, I am dumbfounded!"
"Not bad!" exclaimed the merchant smiling. "Here we have our dear George
about to start all over anew with his astonishment. And why, pray,
should not I also belong to your secret society? Perchance, because,
without being rich, exactly, I enjoy some comfort and have a few duds to
sell? What business have I, I suppose you are thinking, with a party,
the aim of which is the conquest for the proletariat of political life,
through universal suffrage, and of property through the organization of
labor? Why, my good George, just because I _have_, it is my duty to
assist my brothers to conquer what they _have not_."
"These are generous sentiments, monsieur!" exclaimed George. "Rare,
indeed, are the men who, having arrived at comfort, turn around to give
a helping hand to their less fortunate brothers."
"No, George; no. That is not so rare. When, perhaps within not many
hours, you will see running to arms all the members of our society, one
of the chiefs of which I have been for some time, you will find among
them merchants, artists, manufacturers, literary people, lawyers, men of
learning, physicians, in short--_bourgeois_, most of whom, like myself,
live in modest comfort, all of them animated with no higher ambition
than the emancipation of their brothers, the common people, and anxious
to drop their guns, after the struggle, in order to return to their
industrial and peaceful occupations."
"Oh, monsieur, how surprised and happy I am at what you tell me!"
"Still surprised! Poor George! And why so? Because there are
_bourgeois_--or, to use the full, big term, _republican Socialist
bourgeois_? Come, now, George, speaking seriously, is not the cause of
the bourgeois that of the proletariat? Is there any doubt but that I,
for instance, yesterday a proletarian, whom good luck has so far
favored, might, through some stroke of bad luck, become again a
proletarian to-morrow; and, if not I, my son? Am not I--and my case is
that of all other small traders--at the mercy of the barons of high
finance, of the strong iron safes, just as our forefathers were at the
mercy of the barons of the strong forts? Are not the small holders as
much enslaved and plundered by the Dukes of Mortgage, by the Marquises
of Usury, by the Counts of Speculation? Are we, the merchants, not
daily, despite all our probity, despite all our labors, despite all our
economy, despite all our intelligence--are not we, despite all that,
ever on the brink of ruin through any crisis that may hap to come upon
us, whenever, either through the fear, the cupidity or the whim of the
satraps, it pleases those autocrats of capital to stop credit and to
reject our signature, however honorable the same may be? Would we, were
credit, instead of being the monopoly of the few that it is to-day,
democratically organized by the state, as it ought to be,--would we be
then exposed to ruin by the sudden withdrawal of capital, by usurious
extortion, of discount, or as the consequence of a merciless
competition? Are not we to-day, we old men, on the eve of finding
ourselves in as precarious a position as was that of your grandfather,
that brave invalid of toil, who, after thirty years of work and probity,
would have died of want but for your devotion to him, my dear George?
Have I, already once ruined like so many other merchants, the certainty
that my son will always find the means of earning his daily bread, that
he will not be forced to experience, like you, George, like all other
proletarians, the trials of being laid-off--that homicidal manoeuvre
which causes you to die a little every day for want of sufficient food?
And my daughter--but no! I know her too well! She would sooner die! But
how many young girls, brought up in comfort, and whose fathers were,
like myself, modest merchants, have not been plunged into atrocious
misery--and, not infrequently, from such misery hurled into the abyss of
vice, like the wretched working girl whom you would have married! No,
no, George! The intelligent bourgeois, and they are numerous, do not
separate their cause from that of their brothers of the common people.
Proletarians and bourgeois have for centuries fought side by side, heart
by heart, in order to regain their freedom. Their blood has mingled in
order to cement the holy union of the conquered against the conquerors!
of the vanquished against the vanquishers! of the weak and the
disinherited against force and privilege! How, then, should the
interests of the bourgeois and the proletarians not be common? They
have ever had the same enemy to contend with. But, enough of politics,
George. Let us talk of yourself and my daughter. The commotion in Paris
began last evening, it is at its height this morning. Our sections have
been notified to hold themselves in readiness. We expect a call to arms
from one moment to another. Are you aware of that?"
"Yes, monsieur; I have been notified."
"This evening, or to-night, we shall have to descend into the street. My
wife and daughter do not know this. Not that I mistrust them," added the
merchant with a smile, "they are true Gallic women, worthy of our
mothers, the valiant women, who, with act and voice, encouraged their
fathers, brothers, sons and husbands in battle. But you know our
by-laws. They impose upon us absolute silence towards outsiders. George,
within three days either the throne of Louis Philippe will be
overthrown, or our party will have been once more vanquished. But not
discouraged. To it belongs the future. At this appeal to arms, you or I,
you and I, my friend, may be laid low upon the barricade."
"Such is the chance of war, monsieur; may you be spared!"
"To inform my daughter in advance that I consent to her marriage with
you, and that you love her, would be only to increase her sorrow in case
you succumb in the fray."
"It would, monsieur."
"I, therefore, request you, George, to await the issue of this crisis
before speaking to my daughter. Should I be killed, my wife will be
apprised of my last wishes, that you marry Velleda."
"Monsieur," replied George, profoundly moved, "what I feel at this
moment can not be expressed. All I can say to you is--I shall approve
myself worthy of your daughter--worthy of you; I am not overcome by the
magnitude of the obligation that you put me under--my heart and my life
will prove equal to it, I assure you, monsieur."
"I believe you, my brave George," said the linendraper, affectionately
pressing the young man's hands in his own. "One word more. Have you
arms?"
"I have a carbine hidden here, and fifty cartridges that I manufactured
last night."
"Should the insurrection explode this evening, a very likely occurrence,
we shall barricade the street up to my house. The post is excellent. We
have several stacks of arms and ample powder. I went out this morning to
inspect the deposits of ammunition that it was feared the police spies
had discovered. I found the rumor false. At the first commotion, return
to your apartment, George. I shall communicate with you--and then,
'sdeath! Firm on the barricades! Tell me, is your grandfather discreet?"
"I answer for him, as for myself, monsieur."
"Is he there in the next room?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Very well, grant me the favor of allowing me to impart to him news that
will give him joy."
Monsieur Lebrenn stepped into the room of the old man, who was still
smoking his pipe "like a Pacha," as he expressed it.
"Good father," said the linendraper to him, "your grandson has so good
and so generous a heart that I give him my daughter, with whom he is
crazily in love. All I ask of you is to keep the secret for a few days,
after which you are entitled to the expectation of soon seeing yourself
promoted to the dignity of great-grandfather. George will explain the
whole thing to you. Adieu, my good old man. And you George--so long!"
Leaving George alone with his grandfather, Lebrenn proceeded to the
residence of the Count of Plouernel, the colonel of dragoons who was
waiting for the linendraper, to consider the purchase of a large supply
of linen.