by Eugène Sue
“Such a reply from Oliver surprises me. Has he not often shown by his manner the most touching recognition of our kindnesses toward him? We make him forget, he says, the unhappiness of his orphanhood; we surround him with a family’s attention.”
“No doubt he was hiding the truth from me, my friend. Then I spoke to him of the family he mourned. He eagerly seized upon the topic, as if glad of an avenue of escape from the new questions he feared I would put to him. He gave me many details of his parents. I learned that his furthest memories went back only ten or twelve years, when he was a boy of six or seven. He remembered that his brother Maurice wore the uniform of the French Guards, and came often to see their mother, a poor lace-weaver.”
“There can no longer be any doubt!” cried Lebrenn, greatly amazed. “And indeed, by dint of much turning about of my early memories, which are greatly confused as I was then only a child, meseems that Sergeant Maurice, whom I saw often at the house as my sister’s betrothed, did, in fact, resemble Oliver.”
“So, my friend, what is there astonishing in the fact that Victoria, finding again, so to speak, Maurice in his younger brother, should yield despite herself to the reawakening of a sentiment which always ruled her so strongly? A strange sentiment, against which Victoria rebels, although in vain, for a thousand reasons, among them the difference in years between herself and Oliver. Victoria, although still young and in the ripeness of her beauty, might be his mother. The slow malady which is gnawing at Oliver’s heart has no other cause than a secret and mad love for our sister Victoria.”
These last words of Charlotte’s, recalling to him many circumstances previously insignificant, forced conviction upon Lebrenn. He felt as one crushed, under the weight of the revelation, and presaging its sad consequences, cried, “Charlotte, Charlotte, what sorrows I foresee — if your suspicions are well founded! And what is worse, I believe you speak sooth.”
“My friend, my suspicions are but too well founded. They explain the sadness of our poor sister; they explain her heart’s anguish, the cause of which has eluded us. Alas, her grief arises from the conflict between her reason and this strange passion, so incomprehensible at first glance. And still, one can see how her love for Maurice, lasting beyond the grave, would predispose her toward a similar sentiment for his brother, who reflects so perfect an image of the departed. On the other hand, no more is it really strange that Oliver, drawn to your sister by her many proofs of interest in him, by her beauty, by the loftiness of her spirit and the nobility of her character, should end in becoming seriously enamored of her. His love, which seeks to hide itself from all eyes, and which hardly dares acknowledge itself, thinking it could never be returned, will consume him, and perhaps carry him to the grave.”
John was silent for some moments. “The affair is so delicate,” he said at length, “that I would not venture upon taking it up with Victoria, confident though I am of her attachment to me. We must, then, see to Oliver, and seek to snatch him from his wild passion. I shall have to hasten into execution a project I had already formed for his future. Everything about the boy seems to indicate military inclinations. A long time before his illness I observed during the Section drills not only his aptitude in the handling of arms, but with what insight he seemed to anticipate, as it were, the manoeuvres, and with what precision he executed them.”
“Indeed, you have often told me of it, my friend. There are in Oliver, you say, the makings of an officer.”
“I wished to wait, before proposing to him to enrol, until his health was completely restored. But, although his convalescence must, indeed, be allowed time for, I think I shall now push forward his engagement in whatever corps of the army is most to his liking. The distractions of the trip to join his regiment, the change of scene, the soldier’s life, will, I doubt not, by awakening in Oliver his martial talents, exercise a salutary influence over his health. He will feel his mind grow gradually calmer in the measure that he finds himself further and further removed from Victoria. And lastly, she, no longer having Oliver daily before her, will succeed, I hope, in mastering this fatal love. ’Twould be a happy solution.”
The conversation of John and his wife was broken in upon by the entrance of Madam Desmarais. The lady seemed quite uneasy, and said to her son-in-law in alarm:
“My God! What is going on in Paris to-night? They are beating the assembly! The streets are all excitement and hubbub. I was hardly able to get back home, for the crowds. Have we another day to fear?”
“According to what you say, dear mother, there probably will be a day to-morrow,” replied John, smiling. “But it will be as peaceful as it will be imposing, and will, I hope, insure the safety of the Republic.”
“May God hear you, my dear John. I know what faith one can place in your words. Nevertheless, I can not help but tremble when I think of your being engaged in these struggles, which may at any time end in massacre.”
Gertrude, the old servant of the family, who had followed Madam Desmarais and her daughter to their new dwelling, just then entered and said to John: “Monsieur, your foreman Castillon is in the entry. He wishes me to tell you he would like to speak with you.”
“Go and tell him he may come in, my good Gertrude.”
“Charlotte and I will leave you,” said Madam Desmarais. “If you go out, John, come and see us before you leave.”
“Certainly, dear mother.” Then addressing his wife, John added, significantly, “If you see Victoria before I do, keep silence on the subject of our talk.”
“Speaking of Victoria, my children, I must say that the change in her health seems serious.”
“We share your fears, good mother. Without a doubt, Victoria is suffering from some secret sorrow. But you know what reserve we must proceed with if we wish to win our sister’s confidence. Depend upon us, mother, and until John or I have seen you, say nothing to Victoria which could lead her to suppose that we have remarked the change which afflicts us — alas, with all too much cause.”
“You may count upon my discretion,” replied Madam Desmarais. She and her daughter then left the room, and soon Castillon, foreman to John Lebrenn, was engaged in conversation with his master.
CHAPTER XXII.
MASTER AND FOREMAN.
THE FOREMAN OF John Lebrenn’s iron works, a stalwart smith of about the same age as his master, was splendidly typical of the republican workingman of the time. Like most of the proletarians of his day, Castillon had embraced revolutionary ideas more by instinct than by reason. In common with his brother workmen, he desired equality before the law, and common possession of the tools of production as a means of escape from bourgeois exploitation. A high-minded patriot, conscious of his rights and still more conscious of his civic duties; an honest man in the fullest sense of the word, rigorous of conduct, and despite his complete lack of education, endowed with a lively intelligence; an excellent workman at his trade, Castillon often regretted not being able to go to war. He was a true child of Paris, open, joyous and determined of character, joining to solid qualities of heart a spirit full of go and vivacity, and often of an original turn. Much attached to the young artisan, who had worked more than ten years at the forge beside him, John Lebrenn appreciated his foreman as he deserved, and exercised over him a command founded on rectitude of principle, mature judgment, and a degree of education only too rare among his brothers of the people. Master and foreman thee-and-thoued each other like old friends, less in obedience to the general habit of the time than as the result of old reciprocal affection, and long community of labor.
“Ah, John, I would not have disturbed you,” said Castillon, as he entered the room. “You were in conversation with your wife and her mother — perhaps I come at the wrong time?”
“You are always welcome, my good Castillon. Be seated. What’s afoot?”
“Such as you see me, my friend, I come as an ambassador — but without emoluments. I shall not break the treasury of the Republic.”
“The ambassador of o
ur comrades, no doubt; and what is the text of your embassy?”
“This: For a fortnight we have none of us had the time to go to our Section meetings, we had to finish the order of guns and muskets for the nation; for that is sacred, it comes first before everything. To forge arms for our brothers at the front! Ah! by my pipe, they will be proud and happy, down there, to be able to slap the Prussians!”
“Patience, Castillon, our day will come.”
“Patience let it be. But it is beggarly hard to be able only to assemble and polish up for others these fine five-foot clarinets, on which one would so love to play the Ça Ira, while we spat our lead at the Prussians; and It will come, by my pipe, It will! But what would you? We are like the poor workpeople of the silk factories of Lyons and Tours, who see the holy bourgeois sporting the beautiful goods they themselves have woven! So you see, we could not go to our Section meetings, since we worked from six in the morning till twelve at night, without stopping. And in this labor for the country you set us the example, for if you were before us in the shop, old fellow, you left it after us.”
“That was my duty; I demanded great efforts of you in the name of the Republic, I should share your fatigues.”
“Hold, John. You are what we may call a man; a worthy man.”
“Come, we are too old friends to be bandying compliments.”
“Call it what you like, I repeat that you are a worthy man. Look — what did you say to us when you bought the place of our old master, Goodman Gervais? ‘Here we are, a score of good fellows, working as one family like good republicans. Let us take count: The shop brings in, or should bring in, in income, so much. Good. From this income we must first take out the sum I must annually pay to Master Gervais, and at the end of ten years the establishment will belong to us. Up till then, we shall share the proceeds proportionately to the hours of labor put in by each of us. My wife, who keeps our books and manages the treasury, will have her share of the proceeds, like us.’ It was in this fashion that you spoke to us, John. It was in your power, on becoming our employer, to exploit us, as the bourgeois do. But you, you shared with us as brothers, as good comrades. Ah, and now, to return to the purpose of my mission, for I have traveled far from it, here is the business. It is, as you see, a fortnight since we have been able to go either to our Sections or to the Jacobins or the Cordeliers, to keep track of events. Then, to-night, they beat the assembly. We knew vaguely, from one side and another, that something was simmering; but what it was that was simmering, and what it was simmering for — that was the rub! We could have learned by going to our Sections, but we were sworn, due to the urgency of our task, never to leave the shop before midnight, when work was stopped. Nevertheless, we were restless over what was taking place this evening in Paris. We asked ourselves whether we ought not to drop work anyhow, and go and lend a hand to our brothers, when they beat the assembly. So that finally my comrades sent me to you, John, to ask whether we should stick to the shop, or go to our Sections. Decide the question; we shall follow your advice.”
“My advice is that we should work still more diligently to-night, for to-morrow and perhaps day after to-morrow we may have to go out in the street to hold a demonstration, a great demonstration.”
“Let’s get busy!” exclaimed Castillon, his face shining with ardor. “We have perhaps to exterminate a new intrigue of Pitt and Coburg, or a little scheme of the ex-nobles and the skull-caps? By my pipe, that’s fine. And, ça ira; I have just finished a love of a musket; maybe I can test it on the blacks or the whites, on the Jesuits, their laymen, and the nobles! What an opportunity!”
“You will not have that sad chance.”
“What, to mow down the enemies of the Republic, you call that a sad chance? You, my old fellow?”
“Civil war is always a sad thing, my friend. And it is death to the soul when it must resign itself to take up arms against our brothers, against the sons of our common mother, the nation.”
“Ah, but tell me, friend John, did not these brigands pull sweet faces and send the blue-bonnets to ambush and cannonade the patriots on the 14th of July, on the 5th and 6th of October, on the day of the Field of Mars, on the 10th of August, and everywhere, and all the time? The aristocrats are our enemies.”
“If our adversaries are strangers to the sentiment of brotherhood, must we then imitate them, my friend? In civil war either chance is cause for mourning — victory or defeat.”
“Come, John, we shall never agree on that. As to me, I know but one motto— ‘To a good cat, a good rat,’ or if you like it better, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,’ as they said of old. That’s why, in September, we did jolly well to purge the prisons, I’m thinking.”
“If you are set on recalling dates, my good comrade, speak of the great days of July 14 and August 10. Let us combat abuse, and be indulgent toward individuals. We are on the eve of a very grave crisis. To-morrow the whole people will be in the public place in arms, not to fight — God be thanked! — but to demonstrate in the name of its rights, in its fullness and power and sovereign might. All must bow before the people.”
“Good! I know it, old friend. A manifestation is afoot like that of the 20th of June of last year, when we went to say to Capet, full in his face, ‘Here, my man, you are the hereditary guardian of the nation! It has given you for your pains forty million pledges. Excuse yourself! you betray the nation, in place of serving it. Attention to the command, my man. If you do not walk straight, we shall sack you, if we don’t do worse!’ Capet didn’t walk straight; on the contrary; accordingly, we both sacked him and did worse besides, as was just; we shaved him.”
“To-morrow’s manifestation should be as peaceable as that of the 20th of June.”
“And for what purpose is the demonstration? It is good to know the reasons for it.”
“I shall tell you, along with your comrades. Let us go down to the shop. It is nine o’clock, and while we work we shall talk. I shall bring with me certain papers which will be necessary to give you the full lay of the land,” added John, taking several written sheets in a portfolio from the bureau. “Return to our comrades, I shall soon join you.”
“So be it, my old friend, we await you, big and little, journeymen and apprentices. Speaking of apprentices, how is Oliver? We have not seen him to-day. Poor boy, do you know he seems to be in a bad way? He is so weak he can hardly drag himself along. And yet he does not lack courage! He haunts the workshop like a lost soul, so great is his chagrin at seeing us at work while he remains idle against his will. Day before yesterday he tried to fit in a gunlock, a girl’s work, but, bah! almost at once his weakness seized him, and we had barely time to open our arms to catch him and carry him out to the garden. He had fainted outright.”
“We shall talk again of the good boy. Perhaps I shall have to beg you to do him a service.”
“You have but to speak. We all love Oliver in the shop, and I am like the rest.”
“Thanks, Castillon. I knew I could count on you.” And ringing the bell, John added: “I have two words to say to Gertrude before joining our friends in the smithy; you shall not have long to await me.”
Castillon left, and Gertrude having come in in response to the bell, John said to her:
“Is my sister in her room?”
“No, monsieur, she went out two hours ago, saying that perhaps she might not be back for supper. Poor mademoiselle! You really ought, Monsieur John, to consult Oliver’s physician about her.”
“Do you know where the boy is?”
“He went up to his room at sundown; he was very tired, he said, complained of a fever, and shivered with the cold. He asked me to give him some coals in a chafing dish to keep his medicine warm, which I did immediately.”
“Go, Gertrude, please, and see how he is, and whether he wants for anything,” replied Lebrenn; and to himself he continued, “Ah, what sorrows I foresee if, as Charlotte supposes and as I have every reason to fear, Victoria loves Oliver, and he feels for her a mad
passion, a fatal love barren of hope. My sister’s past, her betrothal to the poor boy’s brother, condemn her never to marry him. The difference of age would not in itself constitute any obstacle, but my sister is of too dignified and firm a mold not to resign herself to the cruel position in which the memory of Maurice has placed her, even should the resignation carry her to the grave.” And thoughtfully John mused on: “The departure of Oliver can alone prevent these woes; the matter must be hastened through.”
At that moment Gertrude broke in, saying to John in a mysterious, almost frightened air:
“Ah! monsieur, something strange—”
“What is it, Gertrude?”
“On the way up to poor Oliver, I had to pass by Mademoiselle Victoria’s door, and I heard the sound of footsteps within.”
“My sister did not go out, then?”
“Pardon me, monsieur; I saw mademoiselle leave the house, with my own eyes, and she gave me the key of her room.”
“That is truly strange! Who then can be there?”
“No one, monsieur, for your sister does not receive a soul. That is why the sound of steps astonished me so!”
“Explain yourself more clearly!”
“I mean I heard, or thought I heard, someone walking in mademoiselle’s chamber. It could not be you, monsieur, because you are here. It could be neither madam nor her mother, for I had just seen them on the first floor as I went up to mademoiselle’s; so I said to myself, ‘Perhaps it is some rogue who has broken in!’ Then I rapped at the door and called, ‘Mademoiselle, are you there?’ No answer. I rapped again; no answer. I said to myself, ‘It surely must be some rascal or other!’ I came down in haste to get the key; risking whatever might come, I opened the door, and, ‘pon my faith — —”
“That is what you should have done first thing. The mystery would have been solved at once. Whom did you find?”
