Moral Tales

by Madame Guizot

  THE LITTLE BRIGANDS.

  "Peter, Jacques, Louis, Simon, listen! listen!" cried Antony tohis companions, a set of little vagabonds belonging to the villageof Marcieux, who were playing at quoits upon the village green. Apostchaise had just passed by, from which had been thrown a paper,containing the remains of a pie. Antony had immediately seized it:it chanced to be the _Journal de l'Empire_, of the 22nd of February,1812, and as he was able to read, for he was the son of the villageschoolmaster, he had discovered, while eating the crumbs which itcontained, the following paragraph:--

  "_Berne, January 26th, 1812._--A certain number of students, of thesecond and third classes of our college, between the ages of twelveand thirteen years, who had read during their hours of recreation,romantic tales of brigands, formed themselves into a company, electeda captain and officers, and gave themselves the names of differentbrigands. They had secret meetings, in which they smoked, held theirorgies, and bound themselves by oath to preserve secrecy in all theiroperations, &c."

  This was what he wished to read to his comrades. "Oh! brigands!brigands!" they all exclaimed, after having heard it. "That'scapital! Let us all be brigands. Charles, will you be one?" theycried to the Cur?'s nephew, who was coming up at the time.

  "What is it? what is it? Oh, yes, I don't mind," said Charles,without knowing what they wanted. Charles was a good boy, but he hadone great fault, and that was disobedience to his uncle, the Cur?,who had forbidden him to associate with the other little boys of thevillage, almost all of whom were mischievous and bad. Instead ofobeying this order, he stopped whenever he could find an opportunity,to play with one or other of them; he even made appointments to meetthem at different places, through which he would have to pass, whenhis uncle sent him out on any commission. When in their company, theyled him into many follies, which he did not willingly commit, buthe was unable to resist their persuasions. He was very angry whenhe saw them throw stones to bring down the fruit, or walk in thefields of ripe corn, or spoil the asparagus-beds: on these occasions,he declared he would never play with them again, but he invariablyreturned, nevertheless. He now said he would be a brigand because hethought it was a game.

  It was first determined that they must have sticks; they thereforeran to a heap of faggots, and drew out from it some of the thickestbranches. Charles urged in vain, that these faggots belonged to hisuncle, the Cur?, who had purchased them that morning; they replied,that brigands were not afraid of cur?s, and that all the cur?s inthe world had only to come to them, and they would find their match.Charles laughed at all these follies, and Simon, the one of whom hewas most fond, because he was gay and good-natured, although a verynaughty boy, having selected a stick for him, he took it. Then theybegan brandishing their sticks, raising their heads, and assuming aswicked an expression as they possibly could, after which they beganto deliberate on what was to be done next.

  "We must first of all swear that we are brigands," said Antony, "andthen," added he, referring to the paper, "then we'll steal everythingwe can find, and we'll hold our orgies."

  "We'll steal!" repeated Charles, who was beginning to find thisrather an extraordinary kind of game.

  "Certainly, since we are brigands."

  "I won't steal."

  "Oh, you'll steal, you'll steal," cried all the little boys. "You area brigand, so you must steal."

  "I will _not_ steal."

  "What does it signify to us," said Simon, who was always anxiousto accommodate matters, "if you won't steal, so much the worse foryourself, that's all."

  "Yes, if you are such a fool," said the others, "so much the worsefor yourself--you'll get nothing."

  "But what is the meaning of holding orgies?" said one of the troop.Charles explained that it meant to get tipsy.

  "Ah! yes, and to smoke too," said Antony, again consulting hispaper; "we will go together to the tavern."

  "Of course they'll let you go there!" said Charles.

  "Oh, brigands are not afraid of anything, and besides no one willknow it. We'll go to Troux, that's a league from here. Brigands don'twant leave, they do just what they please, and set every one atdefiance." And the little wretches again brandished their sticks inthe air with greater fierceness than before.

  "Come," said Antony, "we must swear that we are brigands."

  "Nonsense!" said Charles, "let us leave off this stupid game, andplay at quoits. Simon, come and play at quoits; I owe you a revenge,you know," and Simon was willing enough to go and have his revenge;but he was withheld by the others, who told him he must take theoath, and that Charles might go if he liked, because he was a fool.Charles ought to have gone; nevertheless he remained. Antony saidthey must have some wine; and as he had been reading history in anold Latin and French book, which his father used in teaching Latin,he said that they would do as the conspirators of former times haddone, that is, they would put a little of their blood into the wine,and afterwards drink it, and then they would be bound to be brigandsall their lives. This they thought would be delightful.

  "But how shall we get blood?" said one of them.

  "Oh, we must prick our fingers," said another. "I have a large pinwhich fastens my trousers."

  They agreed to make use of the pin, each one determining in hisown mind not to go very deep. But they wanted some wine; this wasa great embarrassment. They asked Louis, who was the son of thewine-merchant, to go and steal some from his father's cellar. Louisreplied that he would not go in the daylight, for fear of being seen,and beaten. They said that, for a brigand, he was very cowardly;still none of them would go in his stead. At length Simon, who wasthe most daring, went and begged some of the innkeeper's servant,who liked him because, when he met her in the streets, heavilyladen, he assisted her in carrying her jugs. She gave him a littlethat remained at the bottom of a measure, and he carried it offtriumphantly in an old broken sabot, into which he had poured it.Antony was the first to prick his finger, but as he felt it hurt him,he said that it bled quite enough, although it did not bleed at all.The others then pretended to prick their fingers, and they shook themvery much, as if they really had bled a great deal. Charles alonerefused to imitate them, and Jacques struck him violently with thepin, and caused the blood to flow. He was very angry, and foughtwith Jacques. Simon took his part, and beat Jacques. Charles, beingin a rage, wanted to upset the wine, which was in the sabot, butthe others prevented him, and told him he refused to drink and takethe oath, because he was a traitor, and wanted to inform againstthem. Even Simon himself said, that if he did not drink with them,it would prove that he was a traitor. This was painful to Charles,especially as Simon had just been defending him. "You promised tobe a brigand," they all cried. Charles assured them that he had nowish to inform against them but that he would not be a brigand. Theyagain exclaimed, with greater vehemence, "You must be a brigand, youpromised to be one," and Simon held the sabot to his mouth. Charlesresisted, but they asserted that he had drunk, and therefore was abrigand. He went away very angry, declaring that it was not true.

  However, he did not long retain his anger against Simon, who on thefollowing day waited for him as he passed down the street, for thepurpose of telling him to come and see a large sausage which they hadfound the means of snatching from the hooks of a pork-butcher's shopin the village. Charles at first positively refused to go, but Simonsaid so much about the size of the sausage, that he became curious tosee what it really was. He therefore went in the afternoon upon thegreen, where they were eating it. It was indeed very large. They toldhim how they had managed to get it, their fear of being seen by theshopkeeper, and the tales with which Simon had amused him outside theshop, while one of them stole into it. All this made Charles laugh,and he so completely forgot the evil of such actions, that when theyinvited him to taste the sausage, he took a piece and ate it. But hehad no sooner swallowed it, than he felt distressed at what he haddone. He immediately left them without saying a word, and the morehe thought of it, the more he was tormented. His anxiety increasedafter he got home, for his
uncle made him repeat the lesson in thecatechism, which on that day happened to fall on the commandment,"_Thou shalt not steal_."

  His uncle explained to him that those who took what did not belong tothem, were not the only thieves, but that those also were such whobought without paying, whose expenses were greater than their means,who borrowed what it was not possible for them to return, and aboveall, those who profited by what others had stolen.

  Charles became pale and red by turns; fortunately for him, itwas getting dark, and his uncle did not observe his agitation.He made no reply, and as soon as he could get away, he went andconcealed himself, in order to give vent to his tears. At supperhe ate nothing, saying that he was sick, and in truth the piece ofsausage he had taken, had made him feel ill. He could not sleep; hisconscience reproached him with having participated in the theft,since he had profited by it, and he felt that he could no longer tellthem that they had done wrong, since they would say, "That, however,did not prevent you from eating some of the sausage."

  He knew, and his uncle had often repeated it to him, that one cannothope for forgiveness from God, without at least returning the valueof what has been stolen. He would most willingly have given thelittle he possessed to be delivered from so heavy a burden; buthow was he to make the butcher accept it? It would be necessary toexplain everything, and accuse his companions. This he would nothave thought of doing, even if he had not considered himself boundby his promise; he therefore determined to go and lay the four sous,which was all the money he possessed, upon the door-step of thepork-butcher's shop, thinking that he would take them up, supposingthem to belong to him. He passed before the door two or three times,without daring to carry his plan into execution; at last, at a momentwhen he was not perceived, he laid them on the threshold, and ranaway to the corner of the street, in order to see what would happen.He had no sooner stationed himself there, than he saw Antony come up,who, prowling about the shop, and perceiving that its owner's backwas turned, stooped down to pick up the money. Charles rushed uponhim to prevent him. Antony struggled, and the shopkeeper turned roundat the noise. "What are you doing in front of my shop?" he exclaimed,in an angry tone; for he remembered what had been stolen from him."What does M. Charles mean by lurking about here for a whole hour? Beoff with you; I do not accuse you, M. Charles, but I don't want anyone in front of my shop."

  "He ought to be accused as much as any one else," said Antony, andCharles in despair beheld himself driven away, without daring toresist, as he would have done on any other occasion. He ran afterAntony, in order to get back his four sous, saying that they belongedto him, but Antony only laughed at him. He dared not compel him togive them back, for Antony had over him the advantage of a scamp, wholaughs at everything that can be said to him, while Charles did notpossess that of an honest man, which consists in having nothing toconceal, for his conduct had not always been irreproachable.

  As he stood there, sad and ashamed, Jacques and Simon happened topass by. "Oh," said Simon, in a low voice, "we have got such abeautiful basket of peaches, which Dame Nicholas was going to carryinto the town, and which we took from off her donkey, while she wasgone to pick up sticks by the side of the park walls. We have hiddenit there in the ditch. Come and see it."

  "No, I will not," said Charles.

  "Well, they are not for him," replied Jacques, "he has had no troublein getting them; he is a cowardly brigand."

  "I am not a brigand," said Charles, "and I do not care for yourpeaches."

  "You were not so squeamish about the sausage, though."

  Charles, on any other occasion, would have replied by a blow; but nowhe was humbled, and remained silent, and Jacques went away, singingat the top of his voice, to the air of "_C'est un enfant_," _he's achild_:--

  "He's a coward, He's a coward."

  "Why will you not come?" asked Simon.

  "Simon," replied Charles, who wished to reform him, "it is very wrongto steal, and to keep company with those who steal."

  "That's all very fine! but you did not think so yesterday."

  "But since then I have bitterly repented of it."

  "Very well, you may repent again to-morrow, come along;" and Simon,who was accustomed to make him do pretty nearly what he pleased,dragged him along by the arm.

  "No, no. I will not go."

  "Very well, don't come, then;" and he pushed him rudely back: "I seevery well it's because you won't let me have my revenge."

  "But, Simon, how am I to do it? I have no more money."

  "You have still the four sous that you won from Louis and me."

  Charles related what he had done, and what followed; Simon laughed soheartily, that Charles almost laughed to see him laughing: however,he became impatient. "If I could only make him restore them," he said.

  "Oh," said Simon, "brigands never restore anything; but comepresently and play at quoits upon the green. Since it is thatrascally Antony who has stolen them from you, we shall easily findthe means of winning them again from him."

  "No," said Charles, "I will not go."

  "Very well, as you like. I shall win them for myself then."

  As Charles, notwithstanding his misfortunes, was rather moresatisfied with himself, he dined better than he had supped on theprevious evening. Nevertheless, he thought it would have been verypleasant to have won back his money from Antony. The following daywas Sunday, and his uncle gave him the key of his garden, desiringhim to carry it to Madame Brossier, one of his parishioners, whowas very old and infirm. She lived at the distance of four or fivehundred paces from the village, and in going to mass had a muchshorter journey to make, by crossing the Cur?'s garden, than by goinground by the streets.

  Charles set out. His way lay near the green, and as he passed, helooked towards it, walking more slowly, and endeavouring to discoverwhat his comrades, whom he saw there assembled, were about. In thismanner he approached them, found that they were playing at quoits,and drew still nearer, in order to ascertain whether it was Simon whowas winning. The latter observed him, and called to him, invitinghim to go halves with him. Charles at first made no reply; Simonrenewed his proposal: it was against Antony that he was playing, andCharles therefore agreed, forgetting that he had no right to play,since he had no money to pay if he lost. This idea occurred to himin the midst of the game, and he became so terribly alarmed at thethought of losing, that he could hardly breathe. He watched the gamewith anxious attention; and on two occasions he fancied he saw Simon,with whom he was to share, take an opportunity, while approaching forthe purpose of measuring, to push his quoit in such a way as to makeit appear that he had won, when in reality he had lost. However, hedid not dare to say anything; but whether it was for the sake of notinjuring Simon, or for the sake of not losing, he could not decide,so much was he confused. He won a sou, and went away, still moretroubled, if possible, than on the previous evening. He thought thatSimon had cheated, and that from this dishonesty had come what hehimself had gained; and that though Antony had stolen the money fromhim, still this was no reason why he should steal it in his turn.He would have been glad to have asked some one whether he had anyright to keep this money, or whether, on the contrary, he ought notalso to return even what Simon had gained, since he had not givennotice that he was cheating. But whom was he to ask? It is one of themisfortunes of those who have been guilty of any disgraceful act,that they dare not seek advice, even though it be for the purpose ofrepairing their fault. Charles's conscience tormented him so much,that he tried to distract his thoughts, in order not to feel hisself-reproaches. He therefore began running, to try and shake offhis painful impressions, but on reaching Madame Brossier's door, heperceived that he had not the key of the garden. He imagined at firstthat he must have dropped it while running, and therefore searchedfor it for some time, but at last recollecting that he had lent it toSimon to measure the distance of the quoits, he went back to ask himfor it. Simon, however, was not there, nor Jacques either, and theothers declared that they had not got his key. Charles was go
ing torun after Simon.

  "Don't go," said Antony, "he'll come back presently, and you willmiss him. Let's have a game instead."

  Charles was just in a condition for committing faults; he did notknow whether the money he had belonged to him or not, and it wouldseem that those who have had the misfortune of rendering theirduties so difficult and complicated, that they no longer know how toextricate themselves from their embarrassments, are apt to abandonaltogether the care of their conscience, and become reckless, so thatthey go on from bad to worse, and thus deprive themselves of themeans of repairing their errors.

  Charles played, and lost not only his sou, but four others which hedid not possess; still he wanted his revenge, but Antony refusedto play any longer, and Simon did not return. Charles thought butlittle of this, so much was he occupied with his game; however he hadonce inquired if Simon was not coming back. "Yes, yes! when the fowlsget teeth," replied Antony, deriding him. Charles had scarcely heardhim. Whilst he was asking for a last game, which would probably haveagain made him lose what he did not possess, Jacques arrived at fullspeed, and without perceiving Charles, for it was beginning to getdark, he called out from a distance, though in a suppressed voice,"It's the key of the garden sure enough, we have tried it, and aregoing to fetch some baskets."

  Charles perceived that they were talking of his key, and saw clearlythat he had been expressly detained, in order to allow Jacques andSimon time to take it away. He was going to run after Jacques, butAntony retained him: "Pay me my four sous first," said he.

  "I will pay you them to-morrow, but I must have my key."

  "Are you afraid any one will eat your key?"

  "No, but I don't want any one to go to my uncle's garden and stealhis fruit, as they did the basket of peaches, and the sausage;" andhe continued to struggle, but Antony kept him back.

  "There is a great deal of harm," said Louis "in picking up the fruitwhich has fallen, and is rotting on the ground." But Charles, whoknew very well that they would not content themselves with this,struggled still more violently.

  "You will have to let me go in the end," said he, "and then I willrun and tell my uncle to make them give up his key."

  "And I will tell him," said Antony, "to make you give me my foursous."

  "Very well! Let me go; I will say nothing about it."

  "Swear it on the faith of a brigand."

  "But I am not a brigand."

  "You are, you are a brigand," exclaimed all the little boys at once,taking hold of each other's hands, and dancing round him in such amanner as to prevent him from getting away. "Swear it on the faithof a brigand." Charles stamped, cried, and made every effort to getaway, but in vain; he was obliged to swear on the faith of a brigand,that he would not tell, and that he would pay the four sous on thefollowing day; that is to say, he promised to give what he did notpossess: but his first faults had led him into a bad path, and now hecould not get out of it.

  As soon as he got free, he began to run as fast as he could in thedirection of the house, but at some distance he met his uncle, whostopped him and inquired whether he had given the key to MadameBrossier. Charles, dismayed and confused, stammered, and could onlyrepeat:

  "The key, the key ... the key, uncle."

  "Have you lost it?"

  "Yes, uncle," said Charles, delighted at this excuse. The Cur? was agood quiet man, who never got angry: he merely said, "Very well! wemust look for it."

  "What uncle, at this hour? it is almost dark."

  "We shall have much more difficulty in finding it when it is quitedark;" and he began to look for it, Charles pretending to do thesame. They met Antony and his companions, who were returning tothe village; the Cur? inquired for his key; they replied that theyhad not found it, and Charles, filled with indignation, heard themas they went away, laughing among themselves, and saying, "Itwill be found, M. le Cur?, it will be found." He saw them running,and felt convinced that they were hastening to take advantage ofhis uncle's absence to effect their purpose. He trembled for hisuncle's beautiful apricot-tree, so laden with fruit that some of thebranches had to be supported; but above all, he trembled for B?b?, abeautiful little lamb, which the Cur?'s servant had brought up, andof which Charles was passionately fond, for it knew him, would runto him, as far as the length of its cord would allow, the moment itperceived him, would caress him, and eat from his hand. It was tiedin the garden, and if these good-for-nothing fellows were to take itaway, and hurt it, the poor thing might bleat as much as it pleased,without any possibility of the servant's hearing it, as the gardenwas at some distance from the house, and only connected with it bya narrow path, passing along the back of the church. He could notendure the thought. "Uncle," said he, in great agitation, "let me go;if any one has found the key, he may get into the garden; I will putsomething in the lock to prevent them from opening it."

  "No! no!" said the Cur?, "you would spoil my lock:" Charles hadalready set off. The Cur? again cried out to him, forbidding him toput anything into the lock. Charles promised not to touch it, and ranon, and his uncle, seeing it was getting too dark to leave any chanceof finding the key, went to pay a visit in the village.

  Charles reached home, quite out of breath; he found everythingperfectly quiet. B?b? was in her old place, and came to lick hishand; he breathed more freely, but he was still in constant fear ofhearing the little brigands arrive. What was he to do then? He hadplaced himself in the most distressing dilemma in which a man can beplaced, that of either failing in his word, or of allowing a wrongto be committed, which he had the power of preventing. His uncle hadforbidden him to put anything in the lock, but he thought that if theladder which was used for mounting the trees, were placed across thedoor, it might hinder its being opened. He had just begun to drag italong with much difficulty, when he heard several persons speakingin a low voice outside the wall, and close to the door; he saw thatthere was no time to reach it with the ladder, and therefore rushedforward, that he might at least push it with all his might; but atthat moment the key was put into the lock, and the door suddenlyburst open. Charles was almost thrown down, and he beheld the fivelittle brigands enter the garden.

  "Go back! go back!" he said, "go back, or I'll call out."

  "Go and call outside then!" said Jacques, pushing him out of thegarden, the door of which he closed, after having taken out the key.Charles did in fact cry out, and knock, but they threw a flower-potover the wall, which fell upon his shoulder and hurt him a good deal.He saw another coming, and concluded that he could not stay there.Being obliged to go round, he made all the haste possible, though hisfears made him tremble; he found the gate of the yard open, ran alongthe walk without being seen from the house, and heard B?b? bleatingin so pitiable a manner, that it filled him with terror.

  "Tie it tight round her neck," said Jacques; "tie it very tight."Charles uttered a loud cry. Simon rushed upon him, placed hishands before his mouth, and aided by Antony, retained them there,notwithstanding his struggles, while the others endeavoured totighten the cord round the neck of the lamb, already half-choked.Poor B?b?, however, uttered a last and feeble cry; Charles heardit; despair gave him strength; he tore himself from the hands thatrestrained him, and screamed out "Help! help!" He was heard; theCur?, who had been looking for him, and the servant who was coming totake in B?b?, hurried to the spot. The little brigands saw themselvesdiscovered, and fled to different parts of the garden. They triedto make their escape, but they had closed the door. The servanthad already recognised and boxed the ears of two or three, whilstCharles, solely occupied with B?b?, untied her so that she couldbreathe, and kneeling beside her, kissed her, cried over her, andtried to induce her to eat the grass he offered her. After havingseverely reprimanded the little brigands, and driven them out, theCur? and the servant returned to B?b?. Charles was surprised to hearthe servant say that there were four of them, Simon's name not beingmentioned. He thought he must have contrived to escape; but as he waswalking along a narrow path behind the others, and leading B?b?, whowas stil
l so much frightened that she would hardly allow herself tobe conducted, he perceived Simon crouched behind a large lilac-tree.He was at first on the point of crying out, recollecting that itwas he who had placed his hands upon his mouth, while the otherswere trying to strangle B?b?; but a feeling of generosity, and therecollection of his own faults, restrained him. He beckoned to himto follow quietly, and whilst the Cur? and the servant entered thehouse, he gave him the means of escaping through the gate of theyard. On being questioned by the Cur?, Charles took the determinationof humbly confessing his faults, and of asking pardon of God, and ofhis uncle, who treated him with kindness, but, nevertheless, imposeda penance upon him. Charles begged him to advance the little sumwhich he allowed him monthly, that he might pay Antony, and alsoreturn the money which Simon and himself had won from him, in novery honourable manner. He wished, besides, to give something to thepork-butcher. The Cur? consented, although he had a great dislike tosee money given to Antony, who would be sure to make a bad use of it.Nevertheless Charles owed it, and his uncle made him observe, thatthe inconveniences of bad conduct often continue long after the faulthas been corrected, and still compel people to do things which theyvery much regret. As for the money for the shopkeeper, Charles didnot wish to give it himself, and his uncle approved of this, becausethere are faults so disgraceful, that unless we are compelled toavow them, for the sake of avoiding falsehood, they ought not to beconfessed before any one but God. His uncle promised to give thismoney back as a restitution with which he had been intrusted. Charlesexpressed his fear that in this case, the quarter from whence it camemight be suspected; but his uncle reminded him, that as he had beenso little afraid of suspicion in doing the wrong, he must brave itin repairing his fault, and that an irreproachable conduct was theonly means of re-establishing his reputation, which might very wellbe injured by this adventure.

  The others endeavoured to tighten the cord round the neck of the lamb, already half choked.--P. 288.]

  And it was so, indeed, for some time. The Cur?, in his sermon thefollowing day, having spoken against theft, without naming anyone, and warned the parents to watch over their children who wereacquiring dangerous habits, all those who had children were veryuneasy, and endeavoured to discover what he meant by this. Theservant, notwithstanding her master's injunctions to the contrary,could not help relating the whole affair. The little brigands wereseverely punished by their parents, who, afterwards, however,asserted that Charles was the worst amongst them, as he had openedthe door to them, and then betrayed them. The little boys, on theirside, insulted him whenever they saw him. Simon was the only one whowas not angry with him. Charles, when he happened to meet him, forhe no longer sought his company, tried to persuade him to reform,and Simon made many promises to that effect, but he did not keepthem, and he became at last so bad, that Charles was obliged to giveup speaking to him altogether. Neither did he regret doing so, asSimon soon lost the good qualities which he naturally possessed; forthere is no virtue that can stand against the constant habit of doingwrong, nor any sentiment which will not, in the end, be entirelysmothered by want of principle.