Part 11

Not far off above the tops of the trees, my sad eyes lighted on the towers of the Château of Cuncy, and I felt that there they had found something on which they might rest with pleasure. For many years I had worked for the good lord Philibert de Cuncy; and the castle was full of fine furniture, woodwork, and stairways, which I had executed at his order. He was a queer man, and I sometimes got into hot water with him. Would you believe it? once he wanted me to make portrait statues of his mistresses and himself all in costumes dating from the days of Adam and Eve! Another time he took it into his head to have the stag’s antlers in his armory attached to busts representing all the unlucky husbands in the vicinity. We had a good laugh over it, but it was not always so easy to please him; as fast as I finished one thing, he wanted me to begin another, and very seldom did I see the color of his money. Never mind! he was a genuine lover of art, and of woman, and much in the same way too. In this I was much of his mind, for I have always thought a man should love a work of art, as he does his mistress, with the flesh as well as the spirit.

It was a consolation to me to think that so much of my best work survived, now that the rest had perished, even if it was not paid for; and I felt a longing to go and see the fruit of my past labors, hoping that it might make life seem less hard to me. At the castle I was well known, and they let me go where I would. The Master was away, they said, but I told them I had some measurements to take for new work, and I knew where to find the children of my brains and my fingers, though it was some time since I had seen them. As long as an artist feels in himself the power of fresh creation, he does not care to dwell on his former productions, and besides, the last time I was here, the Master had made some excuse to prevent my coming in. I thought at the time, that he looked rather queer, but suspected perhaps that he was hiding some married woman, and as I was quite sure it was not my wife, I thought no more about it; besides, no one at Cuncy ever pays much attention to the Master’s vagaries; he is a little cracked, they say, and let it go at that.

I had not mounted ten steps of the staircase before I was struck motionless, like Lot’s wife, by the sight which met my eyes. The fine carving which ran along the banisters, representing vines and flowering branches, was all hacked and disfigured so that I could hardly believe it, and had to touch and feel the rough edge to convince myself that these injuries had been made deliberately with a knife or hatchet. My breath came short, and I trembled to think of what yet might be in store for me, but I took the rest of the stair four steps at a time, and burst open the great doors on the landing. As I looked down the long range of apartments, I saw that my worst fears were realized. In the armory, the dining-hall, and the state bedroom, my beautiful little figurines had all been mutilated, shorn of their noses, their arms, or their legs. Silly inscriptions, names or dates, were cut deep in the panels of the wardrobes, on the chimney breasts, or across the fluted pilasters. At the head of the long gallery stood a charming group,--a nymph of the Yonne, with her bare knee on the neck of a shaggy lioness. This they had used as a target, so that it was all battered by shots from an arquebus. Some of the faces were ornamented with mustaches, or had low jokes scrawled upon them with wine stains or ink. Everywhere were gashes, chips, or rubbish; all that loneliness, idleness, or stupidity could suggest to the mind of a rich idiot, on the lookout for some new amusement, destruction and disfigurement being the only things that could come into the head of a creature too dull to be of any use himself in the world. It is lucky that he was not there, for in the first transport of rage I believe that I should have killed him. I could not speak at first, but the veins of my neck swelled up, and my eyes started from my head like a lobster’s. Another moment, and I really should have burst! but fortunately I managed to let out an oath or two, and then my rage came in a flood, and I screamed, stamped, and swore like a man demented.

“Dog! beast! ruffian!” cried I. “I gave you these lovely children of my art, to ornament your vile den, and look what you have done to them! I thought that they would adorn your house and carry on my name for generations, and here they are, spoiled, tortured, and violated! What joy was mine when I evoked all these from the enduring wood, and worked with loving care to make them beautiful, perfect in every limb,--and now see them, thus soiled and mutilated from head to foot, defaced and ruined. Poor dears! your own father scarcely knows you, one would think that you had all been to the wars!”

And then I put up a fervent prayer to Heaven (which was perhaps superfluous), entreating that I might not enter Paradise, but be sent to the nethermost hell, where I might assist Lucifer in tormenting my enemy. “Ah!--ha! when I think of this brutal destroyer, how I should love to stick a spit through him and twirl him before a slow fire!”

The steward Andoche came in, while I was still foaming with rage; he begged me as an old acquaintance to calm myself, and led me from the room, saying what he could to console me.

“They are only bits of wood, after all,” he said. “It is not worth while for you to excite yourself so for things like that; and what would you do if you had to live here, like us, with this lunatic? If he wants to knock anything about,--and after all a man must have some pleasure,--why should he not kick these chunks of wood, for which you got a fair price, instead of good Christians like you and me?”

“I don’t care how much he beats you,” said I. “I had rather have been flogged myself than have had him injure this wood into which I had breathed the breath of life. Do you think a man cares for his bones? It is his thought that is sacred to him, and he who kills that is thrice guilty!” Carried away by my own eloquence, I might have kept on like this for hours, but I saw that Andoche did not grasp a word of it, and indeed seemed to think that I was nearly as cracked as his Master. I turned on the threshold and gave a last look, as one may say, at the field of battle, where lay my poor noseless creations; there was Andoche with his pitying smile, and here was I wasting my breath in cursing at these dummies. It struck me all at once as so deucedly funny, that I just laughed in Andoche’s face, and went off in a gust of merriment which seemed to carry away my anger and my pain along with it.

I struck out towards Clamecy, musing as I went, “This time,” thought I, “they may as well stick me under ground; for there is nothing left of the old man but his skin. Hold on, though, there may be something worth while inside of that,--I remember a story of a fellow who was besieged, and they told him to yield, or they would kill all his children. He answered that if they did, he knew how to make a lot of new ones. That is my position exactly. In the dry places of the earth we artists have sown grain which wild beasts and birds of the air come to devour, because they do not know how to create, and can only feed on the works of others; but let them trample and uproot as much as they will, I have a store from which I can replenish the fruitful soil. Let the wheat ripen or die, it does not matter, for my eyes are fixed, not on the past, but on the future, and when the day comes, as it will, when none are left to me of all my members, when the sight of my eyes is dimmed, and my hands have lost their cunning, then when that time comes, Colas, you will have ceased to be. Is it possible to imagine a Breugnon, who cannot work or feel, who does not laugh or spring from the ground with both feet at once? No, then he will be only a withered nut, you can throw the old shell into the fire!”

I was so much comforted by these reflections that when I reached the top of the last hill as you go towards Clamecy I went on gaily, throwing my feet out, and twirling my stick with a jaunty air, when I saw in the distance a boy running towards me, seemingly in much distress. As he came nearer, I knew him for my youngest apprentice, a lad about thirteen years old, Robinet, called Binet; certainly as idle a youngster as ever stared out of a window at the girls, when he should have been hard at work. Twenty times a day I had to cuff him for his laziness, but he was a clever little monkey, and his agile fingers could turn out astonishingly good things when he liked; and then his funny face with its wide mouth and turned-up nose, was so attractive that, for the life of me, I could not be really angry with him. He knew it, the young rascal! and when I hit him a good clip, he would just shake his ears like a donkey, and in ten minutes was as bad as ever.

Imagine my surprise when I saw that he was crying, the large drops streaming in rivulets down his cheeks, and before I could say a word, he flung his arms round my neck, blubbering, and bedewing me with his tears, like a Triton in a fountain.

“Stand off!” cried I. “What on earth is the matter with you? And, for goodness’ sake, blow your nose, first, if you want to kiss me!”

Then as I saw that, far from stopping, he let himself slip to the ground and lay there, sobbing louder than ever, I became really alarmed, and raised him, so that I saw that one hand was wrapped in a bloody rag, that his eyebrows were singed, and his clothes torn and dusty.

“Come, my boy, what is the matter? What mischief have you been up to this time?”--I had really forgotten my disaster.

“Oh, Master!--the fire! I can’t bear to tell you,” said he, weeping, and when I realized that the poor child was unhappy on my account, because my house was burned down, I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to me.

“My poor boy!” said I, “don’t cry any longer.”

He thought that I had not understood, and told me more calmly that my workshop and my house were burned to the ground.

“That’s an old story by now,” said I, patting him on the back. “You are the fourth or fifth person who has told me of it. Well! it’s hard luck, that’s all I can say, but I never thought you cared so much about the old shop. Honor bright, now, didn’t you dance around it, like the others, while it was burning?”

The way I was taking it had made him feel much better, but at this he shook off my hand indignantly. “You don’t believe a word of it, Master; Cagnat and I did all we could to put it out, but there were only two of us, and Cagnat was sick with the fever; he got out of his bed to help, and we tried to hold the door of the house against the crowd, but what was the use? They threw us down, and trampled us under foot like a herd of wild cattle! We were swept off our feet as if a flood had gone over us, and when Cagnat managed to pick himself up, and tried to prevent them from setting fire to the house, they very nearly killed him.

“I got into the workshop somehow, though it was already in a blaze, flaming like a torch from top to bottom, with long red banners of fire streaming from the roof and windows. The smoke nearly choked me, and I thought I should be burnt to a crisp, but I made one bound into a heap of shavings, which were so hot that they set my breeches on fire, and it did not take me long to jump out of them again. I hit my head such a crack on the corner of the workbench that it half stunned me, but not for long; all around the fire was crackling and roaring, and outside I could hear the cries of those mad devils.

“I crawled on my hands and knees towards your figure of St. Marie Madeleine, which I saw near me; I could not bear to see the flames licking up over her little rounded body, and her long beautiful hair!--I just jumped at her, beat out the sparks with my fingers, and caught her in my arms as if she had been alive. ‘Dear St. Madelon! treasure of my heart,’ cried I, ‘don’t be afraid, I will save you,--and myself too, if I have luck!’ There was not a minute to spare, for by this time the roof was falling in, and I could not get out the way I came. But I spied the round loophole in the wall towards the river, struck the glass a blow with my fist, and jumped through it with my saint, as if it had been a paper hoop! A tight fit, I can tell you! but out we popped, splash, to the bottom of the Beuvron! Luckily the bottom is not far from the top, and very soft and muddy, so Madeleine did not so much as bump her pretty head, but as I had not the sense to let go of her, she dragged me down face first, till I was so full of slime and river water that it was a hard job to pull myself out with the lady. So here we are, at last, Master, and I only wish that I could have saved more for you!”

He had a bundle under his arm wrapped up in an old waistcoat, and when he carefully unrolled it, I saw the sweet face of my little saint, not much the worse, except for her scorched toes. Up to this time I had not wept for all the misfortunes that had fallen on me, but at the sight I was touched to the quick, and taking Madeleine and the boy in my arms, I kissed them both, and cried, till the tears ran down my cheeks.

“What became of Cagnat?” I asked when I had recovered myself a little, and reading the answer in the boy’s face, I knelt down, and put my lips to the earth in honor of a brave spirit.

“God reward you both!” I cried, as I looked at the lad still clasping the statue in his bandaged arms, and I thought, “These will last, the souls of these children, on which I have wrought my impress;--wood and stone may be destroyed, but this joy no man can take from me!”

X

THE RIOT

August 30.

When we were a little calmed down, I said to Robinet, “What is done is done, let us see now what is before us.” For I always think that the best way to act in the present is to look upon yesterday’s doings as ancient history. I had been away from Clamecy about three weeks, and I made him sit down and tell me all that had happened in the interval. The town had been under a double curse, the plague and fear, and when the pestilence abated, fear seemed the more dangerous. Bandits flocked from all the surrounding country, to prey upon the unfortunate place; the people were so terrified that they offered no resistance, and those of the baser sort, driven out their wits by fright, even joined themselves to the robbers.

The law had become a dead letter, for of our four Aldermen, one died, two fled, and the Public Prosecutor had also bolted. The Commandant at the Citadel was brave enough, but old, and crippled by gout, besides, having no more brains than you could put in a thimble, he had allowed himself to be torn in pieces.

The only official that remained in the town was the fourth Alderman, a man named Racquin, who finding himself deserted by his colleagues, and opposed by this raging mob, was weak, or cunning enough, to yield to it, instead of trying to put a stop to its depredations. He even allowed the mob to set fire to the houses of men against whom he had a grudge for one reason or another, myself among the number.

“What are the citizens doing all this time?” I asked.

“Nothing, now that their leaders are gone; they are like lambs led to the slaughter.”

“Well, how about me, Binet? This old ram has some fight left in him still, so come along!”

“You are crazy, Master! What could you do, one man, against hundreds of brigands?”

“Do?--the best I can, of course; why should I be afraid of robbers, now that I have not a penny left in the world? Come on, I say.”

Now, would you believe it? that boy actually turned a handspring on the road for joy, in spite of his burned hand, and bruises, and began to dance about and shout that this was the greatest sport he had ever heard of.

“Hooray!” he cried; “we’ll chase these beggars off the face of the earth!”

“Stop! you young monkey,” said I. “You’ll be swinging soon, perhaps, by your neck instead of by your tail, so keep still, and mind what I tell you.... I’m off for Clamecy now by myself, and you must make the best of your way to Dornecy. When you get there, find Magistrate Nicole, our alderman. He thought it prudent to run, I know, but he is kind-hearted, even if he does love himself better than his neighbor, and there are things he prizes still more,--viz.: his goods and chattels, which are in the greatest peril, as you will not fail to tell him.

“When you have seen him, push on to Sardy, to Master Courtignon, the Procurator; you’ll find him in his house with a pigeon-cote there; let him know that his mansion in Clamecy, with all it contains, will be burnt to the ground this very night, unless he comes back;--that will fetch him, I promise you! But I don’t need to give you lessons in lying, you young rascal! I’ll be bound you know well enough what to say to them.”

“Oh! I don’t mind a lie or two, but the fact is, Master, I would rather not leave you alone.”

“As if a snip like you would be of any protection! Seriously, Binet, the best thing you can do for me is to get help, so hurry off as fast as you can, and when you have done my errand, join me at the town.”

“Old Courtignon and Nicole shall be brought back,” he cried, “if I have to drag them here by the hair of their heads; but just tell me one thing, Master,--what are we going to do with them when they get here?”

“You will see,” said I with an air of profound mystery, though I knew myself no more than the babe unborn what was to be the outcome. The sun had set in a bank of red clouds, and the lovely summer evening was closing in when I got to the town about eight o’clock; but fine as it was, there was not a soul about; no guards and no loungers outside the market gate; so I walked boldly up the High Street, where the only living thing I met was a half-starved cat, which fled when it saw me. The houses, all tightly closed, turned blind eyes on the street, with doors and windows barred; and the only sound I heard was the echo of my own footsteps.

“I am too late,” I said to myself, “they are all dead.” Just then I thought I heard a rustling behind the shutters, so I banged on the nearest door and shouted, “Let me in!” Getting no answer I tried another house and another, rattling the handles and knocking loudly with my stick, but not a door was opened. I could hear faint noises inside as if mice were stirring, and I understood that the miserable cowards were all hiding. This made me so angry that I cried out, “Denis Saulsoy, old man, if you don’t open the door, I’ll beat it down! It is I, Breugnon.”

At my name all the shutters flew open as if by magic; and I saw a row of frightened faces all along Market Street, like a lot of onions lying on the window sills. They stared at me as if I were the most beautiful thing in creation, and as the terror faded from their eyes, they looked so pleased that I flattered myself that it was from affection for me; but the fact was, the sight of any one there at that hour was reassuring. Then ensued a very interesting dialogue between Breugnon and the onions; they all talked at once, and I replied as best I was able. They wanted to know where I came from, what I was doing, where I was going, how I got in, and how I meant to get out? To which I answered that I was glad to find that their tongues were still in working order, though their courage seemed somewhat rusty.

“I want to talk to you,” I cried. “Come out! It is a charming evening, what are you all sticking in the house for,--has somebody stolen your breeches?”

“Breugnon,” they said in a frightened whisper, “did you see any one in the streets?”

“Whom did you expect to see, idiots?”

“The brigands; they are burning everything in Béyant.”

“Why don’t you go and stop them then, you fools?”

“We have to stay here to protect our houses.”

“The best way to protect your own houses is to go out and fight for other people’s; don’t you see that when the brigands have burnt down the rest of the houses, they will take yours? Your time will come, never fear!”

“Master Racquin told us that the best thing we could do was to keep quiet till order was re-established by the Duke of Nevers.”

“A lot of water will run under the bridges before the Duke leaves his own business to look after ours; we shall all be burned to a cinder by that time. Come, come! We ought to fight for our skin, if it is worth anything.”

They kept on for some time making objections, chirping like birds from window to window, declaring that the enemy was numerous and powerful, and that we were weak and had no one to lead us; till I lost all patience, and swore that I would not stand there in the street any longer gaping at them.

“Do you think I am here to serenade you?” I cried. “Let the women stay up there, to take care of your houses, they are quite equal to that. But if there are any men among you, come down and fight, or, by the God that made me, I will set fire to you myself with my own hands!”

At last one braver than the rest stuck his nose out of the door, half laughing, and then they all came out one after the other, and stood round me in a circle.

“Are you quite cured of the plague?”

“As right as a trivet.”

“And has no one attacked you?”

“Only a lot of geese, but who cares for their hissing? Listen, my friends, you see I am here all safe and sound; don’t you think that there has been enough of all this nonsense? It is time to go to work, and now, some of you tell me where we can go to plan for what must be done.”

“You can come to my forge, if you like,” said Gangnot, and led the way; soon we were all gathered there in the darkness, with the door tight shut. The place smelt of burnt horn and horses, and a lantern standing on the rough floor threw our monstrous shadows on the smoky beams of the roof. At first no one dared to speak a word, and then they all broke out and talked at once, until Gangnot seized his great hammer and struck a resounding blow on the anvil, which shook the loud voices again into silence; whereupon I managed to make myself heard.

“Friends,” said I, “don’t waste your breath in telling me what has happened, for I know as much as you do about it;--you say the brigands are here,--I say we must throw them out; you say the mob is on their side,--well, what of that? Mobs are men, just like you and me, who want to wet their throats when they see others drinking. We are told it is a sin to tempt Providence, but it is still worse to dangle a lot of rich booty before the eyes of poor devils, who have not one penny to rub against another; they may not be thieves themselves, but they have no objection to profit by the stealings of others. You know, there are all sorts of people in the world, and as the Lord says, we must divide the sheep from the goats.”

“Master Racquin is an Alderman, and he ordered us to do nothing,” said some of the more timid. “The whole authority of the city rests in his hands, you know, and now that the Lieutenant, the Procurator, and all the others are absent, he is charged to keep order.”

“Well, does he do it?”

“He tries his best.”

“I ask you, has he kept the town in order? No! Well then, we will do it ourselves!”

“Master Racquin has solemnly promised us that if we keep perfectly quiet, all our property shall be protected, and the disturbances be confined to the suburbs.”

“And how is he going to keep that promise?”

“He was forced to make some kind of a treaty with the brigands, but he says that it was only to get them in his power.”

“To hoodwink us, you mean,--why, such a treaty is a positive crime!”

They all hung their heads, looking angry and shamefaced as well as frightened, and Denis Saulsoy said quickly, timidly, that it was not safe always to speak out what one thought. Gangnot was a man of few words, but he gave the anvil another blow, and said, “Colas is right!”