Part 27

"I have as much as I can have. Are you of any use to me? Can I talk to you as to a friend, of the books which I read, and which you would not understand? Can I speak to you of the ideas which interest me? You, whom a serious book sends to sleep, and who feel no interest in history, except for its battles? Can you render me any service? Can I rely on you, in any case in which I may stand in need of good advice, or useful aid?"

"So, I perceive that people are loved only when they can be useful. This truly is admirable morality and friendship!"

"I beg your pardon; we also love people because we can be useful to them; we become attached to them because they have need of us, and it is on this account that we are fond of children. We are interested in what they do, from the hope we entertain of teaching them to do well: we love them, notwithstanding their faults, because we believe that we possess the power of correcting those faults; but the moment you deprive me of all influence over your conduct, the moment I become useless to you, what interest can I have in troubling myself about you?"

"But we have passed many years together. You have seen me every day."

"If we are to become attached to a child, merely from seeing him every day, why am I not equally attached to Henry, the porter's son, who waits upon us? I have seen him for as long a time; he has never refused to do anything I asked him: he has given me no annoyance; I always find him in good humour; he renders me a thousand services, and is far more useful to me than you can be."

"Nevertheless, it would be rather strange if you liked Henry better than me."

"If up to the present time I have liked you better than him, it is because, as you were confided to my care, the submission you were obliged to render me gave you the desire of pleasing me, and this made you deserve my friendship; and because also, as your interests were confided to me, I acted for you as I would have acted for myself, and even with more zeal than I could have felt in my own case. But now that you have undertaken to think for yourself, I have nothing more to do but to think for myself."

Armand had nothing to reply; he thought to himself that the way to force those on whom he was dependent to have as much affection for him, as when he was under their authority, was to conduct himself as well, as if he were still obliged to obey them, and he determined to adopt this method. But Armand did not yet possess either sufficient sense, or sufficient firmness of character, to adhere to such resolutions, and it was precisely this which rendered it necessary for him to be guided and controlled by the will of others; left to himself, he was not as yet capable of meriting their affection.

Many children will, doubtless, be astonished, that Armand did not profit by his liberty to throw aside his studies, run about alone, and do a thousand absurdities; but Armand had been well brought up, and his disposition was good, notwithstanding the caprices which occasionally passed through his brain; and at thirteen years of age, though children have not always sufficient strength to do what is right, they begin, at least, to know what is right, and to desire to be regarded as rational beings; and, besides, notwithstanding all his fine arguments, he had acquired the habit of obedience, and would have found it very difficult to oppose directly, any command of his father or tutor, in such a way that it might come to their knowledge. However, the following morning, he thought his liberty might surely extend so far as to send and buy a rasher of ham for his breakfast, a thing of which he was very fond, but which he was very rarely allowed to have. He wanted to send Henry for it; but Henry, who at that moment had something else to do, said that he could not go. He was usually rather insolent to Armand, who, on his part, often became excessively angry with him, because he did not obey him as readily as M. de Saint Marsin or the Abbé Durand. On the present occasion, elated by the new importance which he thought he had acquired, he assumed a more imperious tone, and expressed his anger more loudly than usual, but this only increased Henry's ridicule. He even affected to lecture Armand, saying that M. de Saint Marsin did not allow him to send out of the house for anything, and reminded him that he had been already scolded for that very thing.

"What does that matter to you," said Armand, still more angrily, "have I not a right to send you where I please?"

"No, my son," replied M. de Saint Marsin, who happened to be passing at the moment, "Henry is not under your orders, but under mine."

"But, papa, do you not wish him to wait upon me?"

"Undoubtedly, my son, he has my commands to that effect, and I trust he will not neglect them; but he will wait upon you according to the orders I give him, and not according to those you give him."

"Nevertheless, papa, it is necessary that I should ask him for what I want."

"You need only let me know what you want, and what I tell him to do for you he will do."

"But I think, papa, you have often allowed me to give him my commands myself."

"That was at a time when there were things which I could allow you to do, because there were others which I could forbid. I could then, without danger, allow you to have some authority in my house, because, as you could only do what I pleased, your authority was subordinate to mine. I did not fear that you would give my servants any orders at variance with my wishes, since I had the right to forbid your doing anything which displeased me; but now that you are at liberty to do whatever suits you, if I gave you the right of commanding my servants, it might suit you to send them to all the four corners of Paris, at the very moment that I required their services here, and I should have no means of preventing you. You might tell them to go to the right while I told them to go to the left; there would be two masters in the house, and that would never answer. Impress this fact upon your mind, my son, that you can have no authority over any one, unless I give it to you, and that I cannot give it to you, unless I have the power of compelling you to make a reasonable use of it." Then, turning to the boy, who while pretending to be busily occupied in cleaning Armand's shoes, was, in reality, amusing himself all the while with what was passing,--

"Listen, Henry; you will do with great care for Armand's service, everything which I order you, but you will do nothing whatever that he orders."

"It is well worth while to be free," said Armand, discontentedly.

"My child," said M. de Saint Marsin, "I do not interfere with you in any respect, not even with your giving orders to Henry, if that affords you any pleasure; but then, you must, in turn, allow me to have the privilege of forbidding him to execute them."

Saying this, he went away; and when he had got to some distance, Henry began laughing, and said, "It is a fine thing to order one's servants, when one has got any to order!"

Armand was enraged, and attempted to give him a kick, but Henry avoided it, saying, "I have had no orders to allow myself to be beaten; therefore mind what you are at," and he took up a boot with which he was preparing to defend himself. Armand would not compromise his dignity by contending with him, and therefore left him, saying that he was an insolent fellow, and that he would pay him off some day.

"Yes! yes! and I will pay you, when you pay me for the ham which I have bought for you this morning."

This recollection redoubled Armand's ill-humour; he felt inclined to go and get it himself; but in addition to his being unaccustomed to go out alone, he was proud, and could not make up his mind to stop at the shop of the pork-butcher, especially as the man knew him, from having seen him frequently pass by with the Abbé Durand, and it would have been very annoying to him to explain to such a person the reason of his coming himself, and of his being alone. To have profited by his liberty, Armand ought to have been better able to manage for himself, and to overcome his repugnance to a thousand things, which he could not bring himself to do. He began to discover that he was made to pay dearly for a freedom from which he hardly knew how to extract any advantage; nevertheless he had nothing to complain of. No one controlled his actions, and he could not help acknowledging, that the Abbé Durand had a right to refuse to take him out, and his father a right to forbid his servants to execute his orders. He felt that the kindness which these servants had hitherto manifested towards him, could result only from their submission to the authority of his father and his preceptor; still he persuaded himself that the latter, by acting as they did, took an unfair advantage of the need he had of their protection. He did not remember, that when we cannot do without people, we must make up our minds to be dependent on them.

Being out of temper this day, he learned his lessons badly; then interrupted them, and did not finish them. The manner in which he had gone through his morning's tasks left him in no humour for the evening's studies: he therefore passed the afternoon in playing at battledore and shuttlecock in the yard with Henry, with whom he was very glad to be on better terms again; but when he saw his father return, he hid himself. The remainder of the day he was afraid to meet him, for fear of being asked whether he had been at work. At night, he returned to his room, much embarrassed, and scarcely daring to look at the Abbé, who, however, said nothing, but treated him as usual. It was of no avail for Armand to say to himself that no one had a right to scold him, and that he was free to do as he pleased: he was, nevertheless, ashamed of wishing for and doing what was unreasonable; for the man who is most completely master of his actions, is no more at liberty to neglect his duties, than a child whom we compel to fulfil them: the sole difference is, that the man possesses reason and strength to do what is right, and that it is because the child does not yet possess these qualities, that he stands in need of being sustained by the necessity of obedience. Nothing would be more unhappy than a child left entirely to himself; half the time he would not know what he wanted; he would commence a hundred things, and never finish one of them, and would pass his life without knowing how. Even he who considers himself reasonable, and who, on this account, thinks that there is no necessity for his being commanded, does not perceive that all his reasonableness springs from his doing what is commanded without repugnance, and without ill-temper; and that if he had no one to guide him, he would be quite incapable of guiding himself. Armand had some notion of all this, but it was a confused one: he did not reflect much upon the matter, and merely thought that, after all, there was no such great pleasure in being free.

The next day, which was Sunday, two of his companions, the sons of an old friend of M. de Saint Marsin, came to see him. They were about fifteen or sixteen years of age, frank and thoughtless, and often amused Armand by relating anecdotes of their college, and of the tricks of the boys; but they sometimes shocked him also, by their coarse and disagreeable manners. They, on their side, often ridiculed him for being too orderly, too neat, and too elegant. As their father was not rich, he had only placed them at college as day-scholars; and as they always went there alone, they laughed at Armand, who could not move a step without his tutor. He was therefore delighted to be able to tell them that he was free to do whatever he pleased.

"That's good," said they, "we shall have fine fun: we will go to the place where we went last Sunday; one can play at ball there with all the people of the neighbourhood, who are dressed in their Sunday clothes: they swear, they fight; it's capital sport! Jules was near getting a thrashing from one of the players, because he laughed at him for never sending back the ball." "And Hippolyte," said the other, "had his nose and lips swelled for three days, from having been hit by the ball, in the face; and then they drink beer. Though we were sent to stay here the whole morning, we were determined to go there; will you come with us?"

"Certainly not," replied Armand, to whom this sport offered few attractions: he had no ambition to contend with a porter, nor be struck by a ball, nor to drink beer at a tavern. "You must come," continued his companions. "Oh, we'll polish you up; we'll show you how to amuse yourself."

"I wish to amuse myself in my own way," said Armand, who endeavoured, but in vain, to extricate himself from his friends, who had each taken one of his arms, in order to drag him against his will out of the yard where they were. Armand cried out and struggled, and, seeing his father at the window, "Papa," said he, "don't let them drag me away by force."--"I! my son," replied M. de Saint Marsin, "why do you ask me to prevent these young gentlemen from doing anything? You know very well that every one is free here. My friends, amuse yourselves according to your own fancy. Armand, do just what you please. I have no wish to restrain you in any respect," and he withdrew from the window. The two lads laughed outrageously, repeating, as they held Armand tightly by the arm, "Armand, do just what you please;" and seeing that M. de Saint Marsin left them a clear stage, they forced Armand to run along the streets, in spite of his cries and struggles. As they passed along, people exclaimed, "Look at those young rascals fighting!" and, indeed, Armand did not make a very respectable appearance; he was without cravat, or hat; he had on a soiled over-coat, and his stockings were tied in a slovenly manner; it was this which delighted his mischievous companions, for they knew he had a great objection to be seen in public, unless when well dressed, and they had sometimes fancied, when walking with him, that he had manifested some degree of pride, in consequence of being better dressed than they were. The remarks which were made on them increased his annoyance and anger. "Let me go!" he exclaimed, "you have no right to hold me against my will." "Hinder us, then," said his tormentors; but Armand was strong in arguments only, so that in order to avoid being dragged along by force, he was obliged to promise that he would go with them voluntarily; but he was indignant at the treatment he had received, and might perhaps, notwithstanding his promise, have been tempted to make his escape, had not his two tormentors kept constant guard over him, "Don't be a baby," they said, "you don't know how much you'll be amused."

They soon reached a kind of tavern-garden, where several men were playing at ball. Jules' first joke was to push Armand in amongst them; a ball struck him on the left ear, and the man whose throw he had interfered with, gave him a blow with his fist on the right shoulder, in order to push him out of the way. This threw him on the feet of another man, who sent him off with a second blow, at the same time swearing at him, and telling him to mind what he was about. He had not time to reply to this one, before the ball came bounding close to him, and one of the men who ran after it, for the purpose of sending it back again, threw him on the ground with an oath, at the same time falling with him; every one laughed, and especially Jules and Hippolyte. Armand had never in his life felt so enraged, but seeing that his anger was impotent, his heart was ready to burst, and had not his pride restrained him, he would have cried with vexation. However, he restrained himself, and withdrawing from the players, he seized the moment when Jules and Hippolyte, who had probably had sufficient of this kind of sport, were no longer watching him, and leaving the garden, he hastened home as fast as he could, trembling lest he should see them coming after him. His heart swelled with anger and a sense of degradation, to find that he was unable either to defend himself, or to punish those who had so unworthily used their strength against him. He reached home at last: his father was coming out as he entered, and asked him, somewhat ironically, whether he enjoyed his walk. Armand could no longer contain himself; he said it was a shame to have encouraged Jules and Hippolyte to drag him away by force, as they had done: "If it was to punish me," he continued, "for the agreement you pretended to make with me, I ought to have been told of it. I did not ask you to make such an agreement."

"My child," said M. de Saint Marsin, "I have no wish to punish you; I have nothing to punish you for; I have no right to punish you. On the other hand, what right had I to prevent your companions from doing what they pleased with you. When you were dependent upon me, I could say, I do not wish him to do such and such things, consequently I will not allow any one to force him to do them. I could exercise my authority, and even my strength, if necessary, to protect you from those who might desire to interfere with you. I could not permit any one to infringe my rights, by compelling you to obey them, but now you depend upon yourself only; it is your business to defend yourself, to say I will not, and to discover what your will is worth. So long as you are unwilling to be dependent upon any one, no one is obliged to assist you."

"I see, then," said Armand, in a tone of irritation, "that because I am not dependent upon you, if you saw any one going to kill me, you would say that you had no right to defend me."

"Oh! no," said M. de Saint Marsin, smiling. "I do not think my forbearance would extend quite so far as that: however, I will think about it. I have not yet examined the case. I do not very well see what are the duties of a father towards a child who does not consider himself bound to obey his father. And remember that this is not my fault, for I never before met with a child who entertained these ideas."

With these words he went away. Armand, who clearly perceived that they were making game of him, began to weary of these pleasantries; but at the same time, he was becoming confirmed in the idea of following his own will. Near the place where he had seen the ball-playing, he had noticed another spot where they were firing at a target, and the idea of this had recurred to him since his return. His father, when in the country, had begun to teach him the use of firearms, and had even occasionally allowed him to accompany him on a shooting excursion, an amusement which greatly delighted Armand. But M. de Saint Marsin would not permit him to use firearms in Paris, notwithstanding his earnest assurances that he would employ them with the greatest prudence. This prohibition was very grievous to Armand, who, in his wisdom, was quite satisfied that he would be able to amuse himself in this way without any danger. As he had no fancy for practising with such people as he had just escaped from, it occurred to him that he might at least have a target in his father's garden, or shoot at the sparrows. He went to fetch from his father's study, where they were always kept, his gun and some pistols which had been given him by one of his uncles. It was a mere chance that he got at them, for since he had been intrusted with his liberty, M. de Saint Marsin, fearing he might make a dangerous use of them, had always been careful to keep them locked up; but his valet de chambre having to get something from the place where they were kept, had, notwithstanding the strict injunctions given to him, forgotten to relock the place, and take away the key. Armand therefore found the gun, the pistols, and some ammunition. On descending to the garden, he observed a cat running along the cornice of a neighbouring house; he took aim, missed, and walked on. He entered the garden, and there shot away right and left, and kept up a firing sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood.

After exhausting his ammunition, he was returning across the yard, loaded with his artillery, when a man, who was talking very vehemently with the porter, rushed towards him, saying, "Oh! that's him! that's him! I knew very well it came from here. It is you, then, sir, who have been breaking my windows and my furniture, and were very near killing my son. Oh, you shall pay well for this! I will be paid; if not I'll go and fetch the police, and take you before a magistrate!" He was in such a rage, that he poured forth a torrent of words, without allowing himself time to take breath, and all the while he shook Armand by the arm. "Yes, yes, I'll take him before a magistrate," he said to the gossips of the neighbourhood, who began to crowd round the gate.

"That's right," said one; "with his gun and pistol shots, one would have supposed that the enemy was at hand."

"The balls hit our walls," said another, "and I didn't know where to hide myself."

"Our poor Azor barked as if he was mad," said a third, "and I am still trembling all over."

"They shall pay me," continued the man. Armand, confounded, neither knew what had happened, nor what they wanted. At length he became aware that the shot which he had fired at the cat, had struck a window above the ledge along which the animal was walking. He had loaded his gun with ball, thinking that small shot would not be sufficient to kill it, and the ball had entered the window of one of the finest apartments in a furnished house, and had broken a looking-glass worth two thousand francs, shattered a pendule, and knocked off the hat of the landlord's son, who happened to be standing near the chimney-piece. At every incident the man related, he shook the arm of Armand, who was making fruitless efforts to escape from him. "You shall pay me," he continued, "as sure as my name is Bernard, and something more into the bargain, to teach you not to fire at other people's houses."

"He would be rather puzzled to pay, I should think," said one of the women.

"If he pays," added another, "it will not be out of his own purse."

"It's all the same to me," said Bernard. "I must be paid: I don't care by whom. Where is M. de Saint-Marsin? I wish to speak with M. de Saint-Marsin!"

"Here I am," said M. de Saint-Marsin, who entered at the moment. "What do you want of me?"

At the sight of his father, Armand turned pale; yet his presence gave him confidence of protection. Whilst they were explaining the facts of the case, he timidly raised his eyes, but immediately cast them down again, like a criminal awaiting his sentence. When M. de Saint-Marsin understood the cause of all this commotion, he said, "M. Bernard, I am very sorry for the misfortune that has happened to you, but I can do nothing in the matter. If it be really my son who has broken your looking-glass, you must arrange with him, it is not my business."

"But it must of necessity be your business, Sir," replied M. Bernard, "otherwise who is to pay me?"

"I know not, Sir, but if my son has done it, it was during my absence, so that no one can suppose I have had anything to do with it. I do not answer for his actions."

Then turning towards Armand, he said, "You must see, Armand, that this is just; that I cannot be responsible for your actions, when I have no means of making you obey my wishes."

Armand was unable to reply, and stood with his eyes cast down, and his hands clasped, while large tears rolled down his cheeks. M. Bernard, in a terrible fury, insisted on taking M. de Saint-Marsin before the magistrate.

"It is not I who ought to go, it is my son," said M. de Saint-Marsin.

"Oh, your son may be sent to prison."

"I am very sorry, Sir, but I can do nothing."

"To the correctional police," continued M. Bernard.