by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER III.
MARIK LEBRENN.
Marik Lebrenn was a man of about fifty years of age, although lookingrather younger. His high stature; his nervy, muscular neck, arms andshoulders; the proud and resolute carriage of his head; his open andstrikingly strong countenance; his sea-blue eyes with their firm andpenetrating glance; his thick, heavy and light auburn hair, slightlystreaked with grey and starting rather low upon a forehead that seemedto partake of the hardness of marble;--all these features betrayed thecharacteristic type of the Breton race, among which the Gallic tongueand blood have pre-eminently preserved themselves unalloyed down to ourown days. Upon the ruddy and thick lips of Monsieur Lebrenn sat aperpetual smile that one time betokened kindheartedness, other timesbore 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 themerchant, by clothing him in a large olive overcoat and trousers of agrey material.
Astonished, almost speechless at the unexpected visit, George Duchenewaited in silence for Lebrenn to speak. The latter said:
"Monsieur George, about six months ago you were assigned by youremployer to attend to some repairs in my shop. I was very much pleasedwith 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, andanxious to learn. I was aware, besides, as all our neighbors are, ofyour worthy conduct towards your grandfather, who occupies theselodgings 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 youthree months. Very well pleased with our relations to each other, I saidto 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 ingratitudeor 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 answeredLebrenn 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 myhouse 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, MonsieurGeorge?"
"Monsieur," answered the embarrassed young man, "I--did--not dare--"
"Why not! Perchance because I am what is called a _bourgeois_--a richman compared to you, who live from day to day by the wages that youearn?"
"Yes, monsieur."
After a moment's silence the merchant proceeded:
"Permit me, Monsieur George, to put a question to you. You may answerit, 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'ssilence, he could not withhold a bitter and severe cry:
"I see--seduction, then abandonment and oblivion. Your embarrassmentproclaims it all but too loudly."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," George quickly answered. "My embarrassmentand emotion are caused by cruel recollections. I shall tell you whathappened. I never lie--"
"I know you do not, Monsieur George."
"Josephine dwelt in the same house with my employer. In that way Ibecame acquainted with her. She was very pretty, and, althoughilliterate, highly gifted. I knew she was inured to work and poverty. Ibelieved her wise. A bachelor's life weighed upon me. I also thought ofmy grandfather. A wife would have assisted me in taking better care ofhim. I proposed marriage to Josephine. She seemed delighted, and sheherself named the date of our wedding. They lied to you, monsieur, whospoke of seduction and abandonment!"
"I believe you," said Lebrenn, cordially extending his hand to theyoung man. "I am happy to be able to believe you. But how did yourmarriage fall through?"
"A week before the day for our wedding Josephine disappeared, leaving aletter for me saying that all was broken off. I subsequently learnedthat, yielding to the evil advice of one of her girl friends, a lostwoman, she followed her example. Having lived in misery all her life,enduring grievous privations despite her long hours, twelve and fifteenof work a day, Josephine recoiled before the life that I offered her--alife of toil and poverty like her own."
"And like so many others," interjected Lebrenn, "she succumbed to thetemptations of a less toilsome life. Oh! Poverty! Poverty!"
"I have never seen Josephine again, monsieur. She is now, I am told, acoryphee in one of the public dancing halls. She dropped her old namefor one that I do not know, coined according to her habit of improvisingupon all manner of subjects some of the wildest of songs. In short, sheis lost forever. And yet, the girl had excellent qualities of heart. Younow understand, monsieur, the cause of the sad emotion that came over mewhen you mentioned Josephine's name a minute ago."
"Your emotion testifies in favor of your heart, Monsieur George. Youhave been calumniated. I doubted the truth of what I was told; I am nowcertain. Let us say no more upon that subject. I now wish to tell youwhat happened at my house three days ago. I was, in the evening, in mywife's room, together with my daughter. The girl had sat silent andmeditative for a while. Suddenly, taking my hand and her mother's, shesaid to us: 'I have a secret to confide to you. I have long put offspeaking, because I have long been reflecting, lest I speak hastily. Ilove Monsieur George Duchene'--"
"Great God! monsieur," cried George, clasping his hands, and seized withinexpressible ecstasy. "Is it possible! Mademoiselle, your daughter!"
"That was the language of my daughter to us," proceeded Lebrenn withdeliberation. "'I am pleased, my child, at your frankness,' I answeredher; 'but how came this love about?' 'First, father, through learning ofGeorge's conduct towards his grandfather; then through hearing you oftenpraise his character, his industrious habits, and his efforts tocultivate his mind. Finally, he won his way to my heart with his gentleand refined manners, with his frankness, and his conversation, as Iheard him talk with you. I never said to him a word that could make himsuspect my sentiments for him. On his part, he never dropped his extremereserve towards me. I would be happy were he to share the sentiments Ientertain for him, and if you, father and mother, think such a marriageproper. If you think otherwise I shall respect your wishes, knowing thatyou respect my freedom. If I can not marry Monsieur George I shallremain single. You have often told me, father, that I had a will of myown. You will not doubt my resolution. If this marriage be out of thequestion, you will not find me either sulky or dejected. Your affectionwill 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 youto decide. I shall wait.'"
George listened to Lebrenn with ever increasing astonishment. He couldnot 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 y
ou.I know the openness of her nature, also her firmness. Both my wife and Iare certain of that--if this union can not be effected, Velleda'saffection for us will not change, but neither will she marry anyoneelse. Now, then, seeing it is quite natural that a young and handsomegirl of eighteen should marry, and seeing, furthermore, that Velleda'schoice is worthy of herself and us, my wife and I, after maturereflection, might gladly decide to accept you as our son-in-law."
Impossible to describe the look of glad surprise, of intoxication, thatwas stamped upon George's features at these words of the merchant's. Heremained mute, he seemed stupefied.
"Come, Monsieur George," the linendraper proceeded with a smile, "whatis there so very extraordinary, so incredible, in what I have beentelling you? For three whole months you were at work in my shop. Ialready knew that, in order to insure your grandfather's existence, youturned soldier. Your rank of under-officer, besides two wounds, provesthat you served with honor. During your three months with me I wasable--my eyes are sufficiently keen--to gauge your worth in point ofheart, intelligence and skill at your trade. Delighted with ouracquaintance, I invited you to call upon us. Your reserve in thisinstance is an additional proof of the delicacy of your character. Ontop of all that, my daughter loves you and you love her. You aretwenty-seven years old, she eighteen. She is a charming being; you ahandsome fellow. You are poor; I have enough for two. You are amechanic, so was my father. What in the devil's name is there to amazeyou 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 reallybelieved himself treading on enchanted ground, as the merchant hadindicated. With moist eyes and a throbbing heart the young man couldbarely mutter:
"Oh, monsieur! Excuse my embarrassment--I feel so dazed with joy at allI have heard--at your saying that you consent to my marrying--"
"One moment!" quickly interposed the linendraper. "One moment! Take notethat, 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. Theconditions were these: first, that you were not guilty of the unworthyact 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 Ihad 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, andbeginning to apprehend he had too readily indulged in an insensate hope.
"Listen to me, Monsieur George. We have talked very little politicstogether. During the time that you worked at my place, our conversationalways turned upon the history of our forefathers. Nevertheless, I knowyou entertain very liberal ideas. Let us be short about it--you are aSocialist republican."
"I have heard you say, monsieur, that all opinion, sincerely held, washonorable."
"And I do not take that back. I do not blame you. But between the desireto cause one's opinion to prevail by peaceful means, and schemes tobring about its triumph by violence, by the force of arms--between thetwo there yawns a deep abyss. Not true, Monsieur George?"
"Yes, monsieur," answered the young man, looking at the linendraper withsurprise mingled with uneasiness.
"Now, then, never is an armed demonstration attempted single-handed. Isnot that also true, Monsieur George?"
"Monsieur," the young man answered with a feeling of increasinguneasiness, "I do not know--"
"Yes, you are bound to know that people ordinarily associate with othersof their own opinion. In short, people affiliate in _secretsocieties_--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 thatmanner," answered George in a high state of anxiety, while his heartfelt more and more wrung with pain.
"Certainly," resumed Monsieur Lebrenn, "certainly it was done in thatway, and others before it; and still others in the future will take thesame course. Nevertheless, as with revolutions, insurrections do notalways succeed. Seeing that people who play at that game stake theirheads, you will realize, Monsieur George, that my wife and I would berather disinclined to give our daughter to a man who did not belong tohimself; who, at any moment, might take up arms, and march with thesecret society that he is a member of at the risk of his life, asbehooves a man of honor and conviction. It is all very lofty, veryheroic, I admit. The inconvenience lies in that the Chamber of Peers,failing to appreciate that sort of heroism, may send the conspirators toMt. St. Michel, unless it order their heads cut off. Now, then, I putthe question to you as a matter of conscience, Monsieur George, would itnot be a sad thing for a young woman to be exposed at any time to seeher husband without a head, or consigned to imprisonment for life?"
George, grief-stricken and in consternation, had turned pale. Heanswered Lebrenn in a depressed voice:
"Monsieur--two words--"
"Allow me, I shall be done in a second," interposed the linendraper; andhe proceeded in a grave, almost solemn voice:
"Monsieur George, I place implicit confidence in your word. I havetested you. Swear to me that you do not belong to any secret society. Iwill believe you, and you shall be my son-in-law--or, rather, my ownson," added Lebrenn, reaching out his hand to George, "seeing that sinceI became acquainted with you and learned to esteem you, I ever felt foryou, 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 coveredhis face in his hands, and could not restrain his tears.
Lebrenn contemplated him with commiseration. In a moved voice headdressed the young man:
"I am awaiting your oath, Monsieur George."
The young man turned his head aside to wipe away his tears. He thenfaced 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 thatyou 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 isall ended--fortunately my daughter is a brave girl."
"I also shall be so, monsieur."
"Monsieur George," continued the merchant, reaching out his hand to theyoung carpenter, "you are a man of honor. I need not demand of yousecrecy concerning this interview. As you may judge, my inclinationswere most favorable towards you. It is not my fault if my plans--I shallsay more--my wishes, my warm wishes, to see my daughter and you unitedmeet with an insuperable obstacle."
"Never, monsieur, shall I forget the token of esteem with which you havehonored me. You act with the wisdom and discretion of a father. I cannot--let it cost me what grief it may--but bow respectfully to yourdecision. I should, I admit it, myself have forestalled this subjectwith you--I should have loyally apprized you of the sacred engagementthat binds me to my party. I am certain I would have made the confessionto you, so soon as I had recovered from the intoxication of happinessthat your words threw me into. I would have had time to consider theduties imposed upon me by that unexpected happiness--this marriage.Pardon me, monsieur," George proceeded, in a voice that trembled withanguish, "pardon me. I have no longer the right to speak of thatbeautiful dream. But what I shall ever remember with pride is yourhaving said to me: 'You can be my son.'"
"It is well, Monsieur George; I expected no less from you," saidLebrenn, 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 ofthe merchant. But the latter, suddenly throwing his arms around theyoung artisan, pressed him to hi
s breast, crying in a voice that shookwith 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, Georgelooked 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 usualpledge. And you were led out again, still blindfolded. Not so?"
"Monsieur," cried George as stupefied as he was terror-stricken at therevelation, and seeking to regain composure. "I do not understand whatyou are saying--"
"I was, that evening, the chairman of the committee, my brave George."
"You, monsieur!" cried the young man still hesitating to believeLebrenn. "You!"
"Yes, I."
And seeing incredulity still depicted on George's countenance, themerchant 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 themerchant:
"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 testgallantly. You preferred the ruin of your dearest hopes to a lie,notwithstanding you must have felt sure that I relied upon your wordwith implicit confidence, whatever you may have said."
"Monsieur," replied George with a hesitation that deeply touched themerchant, "can I now--can I this time--can I hope--with certainty? Iconjure you, speak! If you only knew what anguish I went through a whileago!"
"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 withdelight because we see in it a future of happiness for our child. Isthat plain?"
"Oh, monsieur!" cried George pressing with effusion the hand of themerchant, who said:
"As to the exact day of your marriage, my dear George, the events ofyesterday--those that are in train to-day--the course that our secretsociety is to follow--"
"You, monsieur?" cried George with renewed amazement, and unable toavoid interrupting Lebrenn to express his astonishment, for a momentforgotten in his transport of joy; "You, monsieur, are, indeed, a memberof our secret society? Indeed, I am dumbfounded!"
"Not bad!" exclaimed the merchant smiling. "Here we have our dear Georgeabout 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 tosell? 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 oflabor? Why, my good George, just because I _have_, it is my duty toassist 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 givea helping hand to their less fortunate brothers."
"No, George; no. That is not so rare. When, perhaps within not manyhours, you will see running to arms all the members of our society, oneof the chiefs of which I have been for some time, you will find amongthem merchants, artists, manufacturers, literary people, lawyers, men oflearning, physicians, in short--_bourgeois_, most of whom, like myself,live in modest comfort, all of them animated with no higher ambitionthan the emancipation of their brothers, the common people, and anxiousto drop their guns, after the struggle, in order to return to theirindustrial 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 Socialistbourgeois_? Come, now, George, speaking seriously, is not the cause ofthe bourgeois that of the proletariat? Is there any doubt but that I,for instance, yesterday a proletarian, whom good luck has so farfavored, might, through some stroke of bad luck, become again aproletarian to-morrow; and, if not I, my son? Am not I--and my case isthat of all other small traders--at the mercy of the barons of highfinance, of the strong iron safes, just as our forefathers were at themercy of the barons of the strong forts? Are not the small holders asmuch enslaved and plundered by the Dukes of Mortgage, by the Marquisesof Usury, by the Counts of Speculation? Are we, the merchants, notdaily, despite all our probity, despite all our labors, despite all oureconomy, despite all our intelligence--are not we, despite all that,ever on the brink of ruin through any crisis that may hap to come uponus, whenever, either through the fear, the cupidity or the whim of thesatraps, it pleases those autocrats of capital to stop credit and toreject our signature, however honorable the same may be? Would we, werecredit, 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 bethen exposed to ruin by the sudden withdrawal of capital, by usuriousextortion, of discount, or as the consequence of a mercilesscompetition? Are not we to-day, we old men, on the eve of findingourselves 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 certaintythat my son will always find the means of earning his daily bread, thathe will not be forced to experience, like you, George, like all otherproletarians, the trials of being laid-off--that homicidal manoeuvrewhich 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! Buthow many young girls, brought up in comfort, and whose fathers were,like myself, modest merchants, have not been plunged into atrociousmisery--and, not infrequently, from such misery hurled into the abyss ofvice, like the wretched working girl whom you would have married! No,no, George! The intelligent bourgeois, and they are numerous, do notseparate their cause from that of their brothers of the common people.Proletarians and bourgeois have for centuries fought side by side, heartby heart, in order to regain their freedom. Their blood has mingled inorder to cement the holy union of the conquered against the conquerors!of the vanquished against the vanquishers! of the weak and thedisinherited against force and privilege! How, then, should theinterests of the bourgeois and the proletarians not be common? Theyhave ever had the same enemy to contend with. But, enough of politics,George. Let us talk of yourself and my daughter. The commotion in Parisbegan last evening, it is at its height this morning. Our sections havebeen notified to hold themselves in readiness. We expect a call to armsfrom 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. Mywife and daughter do not know this. Not that I mistrust them," added themerchant with a smile, "they are true Gallic women, worthy of ourmothers, the valiant women, who, with act and voice, encouraged theirfathers, brothers, sons and husbands in battle. But you know ourby-laws. They impose upon us absolute silence towards outsiders. George,within three days either the throne of Louis Philippe will beoverthrown, or our party will have been once more vanquished. But notdiscouraged. 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 withyou, and that you love her, would be only to increase
her sorrow in caseyou succumb in the fray."
"It would, monsieur."
"I, therefore, request you, George, to await the issue of this crisisbefore speaking to my daughter. Should I be killed, my wife will beapprised of my last wishes, that you marry Velleda."
"Monsieur," replied George, profoundly moved, "what I feel at thismoment can not be expressed. All I can say to you is--I shall approvemyself worthy of your daughter--worthy of you; I am not overcome by themagnitude of the obligation that you put me under--my heart and my lifewill prove equal to it, I assure you, monsieur."
"I believe you, my brave George," said the linendraper, affectionatelypressing the young man's hands in his own. "One word more. Have youarms?"
"I have a carbine hidden here, and fifty cartridges that I manufacturedlast night."
"Should the insurrection explode this evening, a very likely occurrence,we shall barricade the street up to my house. The post is excellent. Wehave several stacks of arms and ample powder. I went out this morning toinspect the deposits of ammunition that it was feared the police spieshad discovered. I found the rumor false. At the first commotion, returnto 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 thatwill give him joy."
Monsieur Lebrenn stepped into the room of the old man, who was stillsmoking his pipe "like a Pacha," as he expressed it.
"Good father," said the linendraper to him, "your grandson has so goodand so generous a heart that I give him my daughter, with whom he iscrazily 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 yourselfpromoted to the dignity of great-grandfather. George will explain thewhole thing to you. Adieu, my good old man. And you George--so long!"
Leaving George alone with his grandfather, Lebrenn proceeded to theresidence of the Count of Plouernel, the colonel of dragoons who waswaiting for the linendraper, to consider the purchase of a large supplyof linen.