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But tbey were men of wit and learning, wLo took an extended view of tLe matter. I am an old peasant, and I will only speak of tLese facts as tLey affected ourselves. Let us attend to our business; we must be acquainted witb wbat occurred before our eyes; let us profit by tbem. Tou must know, before tLe Revolution, tLe district and lordsLip of PLalsbourg Lad five villages belonging to it—Vilscbberg, Mittelbronn, Lutzelbourg, Hulten- bausen, and Hazelbourg. TLe townspeople and tbose of Vilscbberg and Hazelbourg were free, but tbose of tLe otber villages were serfs, men and women abke; tbey could not leave tLe lordsLip or otherwise absent themselves without the prevot's permission. TLe prevot administered justice at the town-ball; be Lad both civil and criminal jurisdiction; be wore a sword, and could send a man to the gallows. 10 The Story of a Peasant. Accused persons were put to the torture in the vaults under the town-hall, where the guard-room now stands. If they refused to confess, the prevot's sergeant and the executioner put them to such pain, that their cries could be heard on the open square. The gallows were erected on market days under the old elms, and the hangman despatched them by resting his feet on their shoulders. In those days it required a stout heart to do wrong only in imagination. Phals- bourg had also a right to levy a toll on all commodities; for instance, every cart laden with cloth, wool, or similar wares paid a florin at the gates; every load of poles, planks, frames, or other woodwork, six gros de Lorraine; and rich stuffs, either velvets, silks, or cloths, paid thirty gros a waggon-load; one packhorse, two gros; one basket of goods, half a gros; a truckful of fish, half a florin; of butter, eggs, or cheese, six gros; every hogshead of salt, six gros; every rezal of rye or wheat, three gros; of barley or oats, two gros; one hundred pounds of iron paid two gros; a cow or an ox, six pfennings ; a calf, pig, or sheep, two pfennings, &c. In this wise the Phalsbourg people could neither eat, drink, nor clothe themselves -without paying a round sum to the Dukes of Lorraine. Then came the gabelle—that is, every hotel-keeper and tavern-keeper living in Phalsbourg or the villages belonging to it was obliged to pay his highness a certain tax on every measure of wine or beer which was either stored in their cellars or consumed by them.7 Then there were fines on alienation, which means five per cent, on the sale of houses or inherited property. Then came the tax on grain—every rezal of wheat, rye, barley, or oats sold in the market paid his highness one sou. The Story of a Feasant. ll Then there were the standings at the fairs, that took place three times a year; the first, St. Matthew's day, the second, St. Modesty's, and the third, St. Grail's day. The sergeant put a price on these standings for the "benefit of his highness. Next, the town weights—every hundred pounds of wool, flour, or other goods paid one sou; then the fines, which were always disputed "before the prevot, but which his highness's counsellors usually decided in his favour; then the right to gather acorns, the right of pasture, of mowing, of felling; the great tithes, two- thirds for his highness, and one for the Church; the small tithes on wheat for the Church only, "but which his highness finished "by appropriating, loving himself better than the Church. If any one wants to know how so many people found themselves in the clutches of his highness and his prevots and bailiffs, they must remember that about 200 years before this miserable state of things, a certain George-John Count Palatine, Duke of Bavaria, and Count of Weldentz, who possessed immense forests in our country by the grace of the Emperors of Germany, but who profited nothing by them for want of inhabi- tants, want of roads to transport the wood, and of rivers to float it down to a market for it, published in Alsace, Lorraine, and the Palatinate, " That all those who were not afraid to work had but to betake themselves to these woods, that he would give them land, and they would live in abundance." That he, John of Weldentz, did all this for the glory of God! That Phalsbourg being on the high road between Prance, Lorraine, Yestrich, and Alsace, artisans, tradespeople, blacksmiths, coopers, and farriers, and shoemakers would find a market for their 12 The Story of a Peasant. productions, as would locksmiths, armourers, innkeepers, furniture-makers, and other industrious persons; that as the honour of God ought to be the beginning of every great undertaking, all those who found themselves in his good town of Phalsbourg should be free from servitude; they should be free to build, and should have wood for nothing! he would construct them a church wherein to preach purity, simplicity, and good faith; and a school to teach their children true religion, seeing that the mind of youth is a beautiful garden with delicious plants therein, the scent of which rises to God! He promised them a thousand exemptions and advan- tages besides; the news soon spread over Germany, and crowds of people hurried to have a share in these good things. They built, they cleared, they cultivated, and made the woods of George-John of some value, instead of being worthless. Then did the said George-John, Count of Weldentz, sell lands, beasts, and inhabitants to Charles III., Duke of Lorraine, for the sum of 400,000 florins, in honour of good faith, justice, and the glory of God. The greater number of the inhabitants were Lutherans. George-John had declared that faith, pure and simple according to St. Paul, should be preached at Phalsbourg, in virtue of the Confession of Augsburg; but as soon as he had pocketed the 400,000 florins, his promises never kept him awake, and the successor to Charles IU., who had promised nothing at all, sent his trusty and well- beloved counsellor of state, Didier Dathel, to exhort his townsmen of Phalsbourg to embrace the Catholic faith; should any persist in their errors, to order them to The Story of a Peasant* 13 leave the town on pain of expulsion and loss of property. Some were after this fashion converted; the rest, men, women, and children, left, taking their carts loaded with old furniture with them. Order being thus established, the dukes employed " their dearly-beloved inhabitants of Phalsbourg in raising and repairing the ramparts; in building the two gates of Germany and France of hewn stone ; in clearing out the ditches, building a town-hall for the administration of justice, a church for the instruction of the faithful, and a home for the curate adjoining the said new church, to watch over his flock; last of all, to build the market-hall, where the dues were levied and paid." After which the officers of his highness settled what duties, charges, service, and forced labour, or corvees, they thought proper; and so these poor people worked from father to son, from 1583 to 1789, for the benefit of the Dukes of Lorraine and the Kings of France, for having believed in the promises of George- John of Weldentz, who was only a rogue, like many others in this world. The dukes also established several corporations in Phalsbourg by letters patent, associations among men of the same trade, to prevent all others from working at it, and consequently enabling themselves to plunder the public between them without let or hindrance. The state of apprenticeship lasted three, four, or five years. The master was well paid for admission to the trade ; then after making his masterpiece and receiving his certificate, the quondam apprentice treated his neigh- bours as he had been treated himself. The town was nothing like what it is now. The lines of streets and the stone-built houses are of course the 14 The Story of a Peasant. same, but not one bouse was painted; all were in rougb- cast; tbe doors and windows were small and arcbed, and behind tbe leaden framework of tbe windows tbe tailor was to be seen sitting crosslegged on bis board, cutting out or sewing, and tbe weaver at bis loom throwing bis shuttle in tbe obscurity. Tbe soldiers of tbe garrison, with their large cocked bats, their patched white coats banging about their heels, were most wretched of all; they were only fed once a day. Tbe tavern-keepers and cbop-bouse-keepers went from bouse to bouse collecting broken victuals for these poor devils ; this was still tbe case some few years before tbe Eevolution. The people themselves looked wan and dismal; a dress was banded down from grandmother to grand- daughter; tbe grandfather's shoes were inherited by tbe grandson. No pavement in tbe streets, no bgbts at night, no gutters to tbe roofs ; small panes of glass in tbe windows, mostly replaced for twenty years by pieces of paper. In tbe midst of this squalor tbe prevot passes and mounts tbe staircase of tbe town-ball, a black cap on bis bead; young officers, nobles, march about in their little cocked bats and white uniforms, their swords against tbe calves of their legs ; capucins with their dirty beards, brown gowns, no shirts, and red noses, trooping to tbe convent, where now tbe college stands. I see all in my mind's eye as if it were yester- day, and I say to myself, " What happiness for wretches like us that tbe Eevolution happened, and most of all for tbe peasantry!" For if tbe misery and want in tbe town were great, in tbe country they exceeded all de- scription. In tbe first place tbe peasants paid tbe same dues as tbe townsfolk, with many others besides. In The Story of a Peasant. 15 every village in Lorraine there was a farm "belonging to the seigneur or to a convent; all the "best land "belonged to this farm; the poor had only the worst as their share. Nor were the unfortunate peasants allowed to cultivate their land as they wished; grass land must remain grass land, arable land arable.. If the peasant laid any of his land down in grass he robbed the cure of his tithe; if he ploughed up his meadow he dimi- nished the grazing land; if he sowed his fallows with clover, he could not prevent the flocks of the seigneur or of the convent eating up his crop. His land was burdened with fruit-trees, which were let for the benefit of the seigneur or the abbey; these trees he could not destroy, but was obliged to replace them when dead. The shade of these trees, the damage caused by gather- ing the fruit, and the ground occupied by their roots, caused him a very great loss. In addition to all this the seigneur had the right of sporting, of walking over the crops and injuring the harvests in all seasons; and if the peasant killed one single head of game even on his own land he risked being sent to the galleys. The seigneur and the abbey had also the right of sending their cattle to graze an hour earlier than the peasant could send his beasts, which of course suffered in consequence. The farm of the seigneur or of the abbey had also exclusive right to a dovecot; their pigeons covered the fields by thousands, and hemp, peas, beans, had to be sown thrice over if a crop was to be hoped for. Then, every father of a family owed the seigneur in the course of the year fifteen bichets of oats, ten fowls, twenty-four eggs. He had to give up to him three working days— three for each of his sons or his servants, and three 16 The Story of a Peasant. days' cartage or horse labour. He bad to mow bis meadow round tbe chateau, make bis bay, and cart it to the barn at tbe first sound of tbe bell, subject to a fine of1 five sous each time be failed. He bad also to cart both stones and timber when'required for repairing tbe chateau or tbe farm. Tbe seigneur fed bim on a crust of bread and a clove or garlic—that is what was called tbe corvee, or forced labour. I must also mention tbe manorial bakehouse, tbe manorial mill, tbe manorial press, where tbe whole village was obliged to go, of course by paying. I will just notice tbe executioner, who bad a right to tbe skin of every dead beast; and lastly tbe tithe, tbe worst of all, was, tbe cures took tbe eleventh sheaf of corn, at a time when so many monks, canons, carmelites, capucins, and mendicant friars of all sorts were to be fed. If I were to speak of all these impositions, and of a thousand others which crushed tbe country population down to tbe ground, I should never come to an. end. It seemed as if tbe seigneurs and tbe convents bad leagued together to exterminate tbe wretched peasantry, and that they took all possible means to succeed. And even now tbe measure was not yet full. As long as our country remained un^pr tbe rule of tbe dukes, tbe exactions of bis highness, as well as those of tbe seigneurs, abbeys, priories, convents of men and convents of women, were quite enough to ruin us all; but after tbe death of Stanilas and tbe incorporation of Lorraine with France, there bad to be added tbe king's capitation tax—that is, tbe father of every family bad to pay twelve sous a bead for every child and every servant— tbe king's supply; so much for tbe furniture—tbe king's twentieth, which meant the twentieth of tbe net pro- The Story of a Peasant. 17 duce of the land, but only of the peasants' land, the seigneurs and the clergy paid no twentieth; then the tax on salt and tobacco, from which the seigneurs and the priests were also exempted; and lastly the king's excise or assessed taxes. Then, again, if the princes, seigneurs, and convents, who had kept the best land to themselves for ages past, obliging the wretched peasants to plough, to sow, to reap for them, compelling them to pay all costs or contributions as well—if they had used their wealth in making roads, digging canals, draining marshes, manur- ing the soil, building schools and hospitals; if they had done this the evil would have been only half as great; but their only cares were their pleasures, their pride, and their greed. When one saw the Cardinal Louis de Bohan, a prince of the Church, as he was called, living in debauchery at Saverne, turning decent people into ridicule, and causing the peasants to be beaten on the road before his carriage by his lackeys ; when one saw at Neuville, Bouxviller, Hildeshausen, the great men build pheasan- tries, orangeries, and hothouses; lay out gardens, half a league in extent, full of vases, statues, and fountains, in imitation of the king at Versailles ; not to speak of the loose women dressed out in silks, that they carried about with them amongst these poor people; when one saw droves of barefooted friars, cordeliers, and capucins begging and lounging about from New Tear's Day to St. Sylvester; when one saw bailiffs, prevots, seneschals, notaries, and judges of all sorts, only thinking of their fees, and living on exactions and fines; when one saw a thousand similar grievances, it was sad indeed, the more s^d because the sons of the peasants alone sup- 18 The Story of a Peasant. ported this state of things against their fathers, their friends, and themselves. Once enlisted, these sons of peasants forgot the dis- tress in their villages, forgot their mothers and sisters; they only acknowledged their officers, their colonels—" nobles who had bought them, and at whose command they would massacre every one, for the honour of their colours! Yet not one of these men could rise to become an officer: clowns were unworthy of the epaulette ; but after having been wounded in battle, they were allowed to beg their way. The knowing ones picked up re- cruits in the taverns and tried to swindle them out of the bounty money, the bolder turned highwaymen; sometimes one or two companies of gendarmes were sent against them. I saw a dozen hanged at Phals- bourg, nearly all old soldiers, disbanded after the seven years' war. They had lost the habit of work and did not get a livre of pension, and were all taken at Yilsch- berg after having stopped a diligence near Saverne. Any one can now understand what the ancien regime was like—the nobles and the priests had everything, the people nothing. The Story of a Peasant. 19 II. Thank God this is all over now! The peasants have acquired their share in the good things of the earth, and naturally I have not remained behind. Every one hereabouts knows Father Michel's farm, his Yaltin meadows, his fine Swiss cows, wandering about the fir- forests, and his twelve big plough oxen. I have nothing to complain of: my grandson, Jacques, is at the Polytechnic School in Paris, in the first class; my granddaughter, Christine, is married to the inspector of forests, Martin, a man with plenty of good sense; my granddaughter, Juliette, is the wife of Commandant Forbin, of the Engineers ; and the last one, Michel, whom I may be said to like the best, because he is the last, is going to be a doctor—he passed his bachelor examination last year at Nancy; if he works he will get on. I owe all this to the Eevolution! Before '89 I could have possessed nothing; I might have worked all my life for the seigneur and the convent. Sitting, as I do now, in my old arm-chair, in the middle of the big room, the old crockery in the racl$ over the door shining in the fire-light; the old hen and her chickens coming and going; my old dog stretched before the fire, his muzzle resting on his forefeet, looks me in the face forhours together; when I see through the windows my apple-trees white with blossom, my old 20 The Story of a Peasant. beehives, and I bear tbe farm-lads singing and. chatter- ing with the girls in the yard; the ploughs going out, the hay-waggons coming in, whips cracking, horses neighing; as I sit thinking there, I call to mind the horrible hut in which my poor father and mother and sisters and brothers lived in 1780—its four bare and crazy walls, the windows stuffed with straw, the thatch worn down by rain, melted snow, and wind; a sort of black, rotten den, where we used to be smothered in smoke, and shiver from cold and hunger; when I think of these really brave people, of my good father, and of my mother courageously and ceaselessly working to give us a few beans for food ; when I see them before me covered with rags, the picture of misery—it makes me shudder, and, if I am by myself, I begin to cry. The indignation I feel for those who made us drag out such a miserable existence, in order to screw the last farthing from us, will never be extinguished; my eighty-five years count for nothing; the older I grow the stronger I feel. And when I think that sons of the • people, the Gros-Jacques, the Gros-Jeans, the Guillots, dare to write in their papers that the Revolution destroyed everything—that we were much more honest, much happier before '89—what liars! Every time I get hold of one of their papers 1 tremble with rage. It is of no use for Michel to say— " What is the use of being angry, grandfather ? Those fellows are paid to deceive people, to lead them back into ignorance; it is their business, it is their only means of living." I reply— " No; we shot dozens of men from '92 to '99 a thou- sand times better than these; they were the nobles, the The Story of a Peasant. 21 soldiers of Conde, they fought for their principles ! But to betray father, mother, children, and country, io fill one's belly, is too much!" If I were to read these rascally papers often I should have a fit; fortunately my wife puts it out of sight if one chances to find its way to the farm. But they are like the plague, they get everywhere without being sought for. This, then, is the reason I have made up my mind to write this story—the story of a peasant—to destroy this spite, and to let the world know what we underwent. It is some time since I first thought of it. My wife has preserved all our old letters. This work will give me some trouble, but one must not mind trouble if one means to do good; besides, there is a great deal of pleasure in worrying those who vex us ; were it only for that I could spend years at my desk, spectacles on nose. It will amuse me, and will do me good, to think we have driven those rascals away. I need not hurry myself; just one thing will occur to me and then another, and I shall put down everything in its turn; without order nothing goes right. Now I begin. I am not to be made to believe that the peasantry was happy before the Revolution; I have seen what they call " the good old times;" I have seen our old villages; I have seen the manorial bakehouse where they baked their cake once a year, and the manorial wine-press, where they only went when forced to work for the seigneur or the abbey; I have seen the lean, scraggy labourers, with neither shirts nor sabots, but only a frock and linen pantaloons, summer and winter B 22 The Story of a Peasant. alike; their wives, so sunburnt, so filthy and ragged, that they might be taken for beasts; their children hanging about the doors, with nothing but a rag to cover them round their loins. Even the seigneurs themselves could not help writing in their books at that time " that the poor animals bent over the ground in sunshine and in rain to get bread for every one, ought at least to have a little of it to eat." They wrote thus in a moment of good feeling, and then they thought no more of it. These things are never to be forgotten; ask Mittelbronn, Hultenhausen, Baraques, ask all the country round. And the old people used to speak of a state of things still worse ; they talked about the great war of the Swedes and the French, and the Lorrainers —the seven years' war—when they hanged the peasants to the trees in bunches; they spoke of the great plague which followed to complete the ruin of every one. Tou could go for leagues without meeting a soul. They used to. cry with uplifted hands, " 0 Lord God, save us from the plague, from war, and from famine!" As for famine, they had it every year. "With sixteen chapters, twenty-eight abbeys, thirty-six priories, forty-seven convents for men, and nineteen for women, in one single diocese, besides several lordships, how could sufficient beans, peas, and vegetables be harvested for winter ? They had not yet learned to plant potatoes, and the poor had nothing but hard pulse to eat; how could they get food enough ? No day labourer could. After forced labour in ploughing, sowing, hoeing, mowing, haymaking, carting—and in the vine districts in the vintage also—in fact, after this amount of forced labour, when the good times were -employed in getting The Story of a Peasant. 23 in the crops for the seigneur and the abbey, what could a man do for self and children P Nothing. So as soon as the dead season arrived three-fourths of the villagers set out to beg. The capucins of Phalsbourg complained if every one took up their trade they would leave the country, which would be a great loss to religion. In consequence of this, M. Schneider, the prevot, and the Marquis Talaru, the governor of the town, forbade mendicancy, and police- sergeants, and even detachments of the regi- ments of Eouergue, Schenau, and La Fare gave their help to the capucins. It was risking the galleys, but life was sweet; the poor set out in troops, in spite of all, to look for food. Want! that is what lowers a man; I repeat, want and bad example. When one met on all the roads capu- cins, cordeliers, barefooted friars — fellows six feet high, strong as bullocks, fit to roll a wheelbarrow— when one saw them daily walking about with their long beards and hairy arms, holding out their hands without any shame, and grinning for a couple of liards—how could the poor ever respect themselves ? Unfortunately it is not enough to beg for bread if one is hungry, but others iftust have it to give ; it was the usual phrase, " Every one for himself, Grod for us all!" Towards the close of the winter a report was usually spread that some band had been robbing carriages either in Alsace or Lorraine. Troops were put in motion, and the business was concluded by hanging a number of men. Just fancy in these days a poor basket-maker with a wife and six children, without a sou or an inch of 24 The Story of a Peasant. ground; neither goat nor fowl—in fact, with, no other means of subsistence but his labour, and no hope either for him. or for his children of a change for the better! So it was ordained—some came into the world noble, and ought to have everything, and the others were born labourers, and consequently were doomed to live in misery from generation to generation. Fancy this state of things ; long days of hunger, winter nights without covering, the dread of tax-gatherers, police-sergeants, gamekeepers, bailiffs! Well, in spite of all that, when spring came, after a long winter, when the sun shone upon the lonely hut, lighting the cobwebs on the beams, the little hearth, in the left-hand corner, the foot of the ladder on the right, the clay floor, and the heat, the pleasant heat which warmed us; when the cricket began to chirp, the woods to grow green again, in spite of all we were happy in life, happy to stretch ourselves at the door, holding our little naked feet in our hands, happy to laugh and whistle, to look up in the sky while rolling in the dust. When we saw our father coming from the woods, with a great faggot of green broom or branches of birch on his shoulders, his hair hanging over his face, with a smile upon it when he saw us at a distance, we used all to run and meet him ; then he would put the faggot on end for a minute while he kissed the little oiies, his face, his blue eyes, his nose a little heavy at the tip, his thick lips lighted up ; he really seemed happy. How good he was! how he loved us! And then our mother, grey and wrinkled at forty; for all that, full of courage, always in the fields, digging others' ground, every evening spinning others' hemp and flax to feed her brood and pay all sorts of dues and exac- The Story of a Peasant. 25 tions. "VVliat courage, and yet what misery, thus to work continually with no other hope of reward than what is to he found in life eternal! And this was not all. The poor creatures had another sore the worst of all the sores of the peasant: they were in debt! I remember, when quite a child, hearing my father say, on his return from selling some baskets or a few dozen brooms in the town— " Here is the salt, the beans, and the rice, but I have not a sou left. O Lord! O Lord! I was in hope of bringing back a few sous for M. Eobin !" This M. Eobin was the richest rogue in Mittelbromi, a big man with a great grey beard, an otter-skin cap tied under the chin, a large nose, yellow complexion, round eyes, with a sort of a bag over his shoulders like a short gown. He went about on foot with long linen gaiters up to his knees, a largq basket on his arm, and a wolf-dog at his heels. This man went all round the neighbourhood getting in the interest owing him, for he lent money to every one, three livres at a time or six livres, up to one or two louis d'or. He used to walk into the houses, and if his money was not ready, he would pocket anything in the interim; half-a-dozen eggs, a pound of butter, a bottle of kirsch, a piece of cheese, or whatever they had. So that they got time from him, they would rather let him rob them in that way than have a visit from a bailiff. How many there are to this day eaten up by similar robbers! How many there are labouring in misery under the weight of debt, and wear away without see- ing any end to their troubles! In our place there was nothing for Eobin to take, so he tapped at the window and cried out, " Jean-Pierre!" 26 The Story of a Peasant. Then my father would run to the door in a tremble, and, cap in hand, say— " M. Eobin!" " Ah, look here, I have two corvees to work out on the road to Herauge or to Lixheim—can you come ?" " Yes, M. Eobin, yes." " To-morrow, without fail ?" "Yes, M. Eobin." And off he went. My father would come in quite pale, sit down by the hearth, and go on plaiting with- out speaking, holding his head down and biting his lips. Next morning he was working out the corvees of M. Eobin, and mother would cry, " Oh, that beggarly she- goat! we have already paid for her ten times over; she's dead, and she will be the death of us all. What an unlucky idea it was to buy that old she-goat—un- lucky indeed!" And then she would make herself miserable. My father was off long before, with his pickaxe on his shoulder. But on those days the poor man brought nothing home. He had paid his interest for a month or two. That did not last long: just as they had become a little easy, M. Eobin came tapping at the window again. I have heard talk of diseases which wear away the heart and dry up the sources of the blood, but this is the true disease of the poor. It is these usurers, who pretend to help you, and who live upon you till you are buried, and then they try to get the widow and children in their power. What my parents endured through this Eobin is not to be described; they grew old in trouble, they could not sleep, they had not a minute's rest, and their only con- solation was if one of us escaped the conscription ho The Story of a Peasant. 27 could take the bounty as a recruit, and they could pay the debt.' "We were four boys and two girls—Nicolas, Lisbeth, myself, Claude, Mathurine, and little Etienne, a poor little pale and delicate cripple, whom theBaraques people called the little duck, because he waddled on his poor deformed legs; all the others were strong and hearty. Mother often said, when looking at Nicolas, Claude, and myself— " Don't fret so much, Jean-Pierre; among the three one must draw a lucky number. Then let Eobin look out; as soon as he gets his money, I'll split his head open with this axe." "Wretched indeed must she be to entertain such ideas for a moment. Father would make no reply, and it was for us quite in the order of things to be sold; we thought ourselves as much the property of our father and mother as so many head of cattle. Great want prevents one from seeing things as they really are; before '89, with the exception of the nobles and the bourgeois, every father of a family looked on his chil- dren as property; that is what some think so right, and what makes them say that their fathers and mothers were held in greater respect, which is pure nonsense. Fortunately our father was too good-hearted to try and make a profit out of us; often the poor man cried when in the middle of a famine in winter he was obliged to send us out begging, like every one else. He would never let little Etienne go out in the snow. I did not go out begging long either; I can just remember going out on the road to Mittelbronn or the Quatre-Yents two or three times, when very young, for when I was eight years old, my godfather, Jean Leroux, the black* 28 The Story of a Peasant, smith, who kept an inn at the other end of the village, had taken me to look after his cattle, and I only went home to sleep. These things happened long, long ago, and yet the Three Pigeons Inn is always before my eyes, with its tall signpost by the roadside; Phalsbourg grey in the distance against the sky; in front of the inn the little black forge, and behind it a sloping orchard, the great oak-tree, and the streamlet running through it. The water of the spring bubbled over some big stones placed there on purpose, and spread over the thick turf, and the oak covered it with its shade. All round this oak the soldiers belonging to the regiment de Boccart, in 1778, had made a bench and raised bowers of ivy and honeysuckle, by order of Major Bachmann; since then officers of the different regiments came to this spot, which they called Tivoli, to amuse themselves. The wives and daughters of the echevins and the syndics all wanted to drink the Tivoli water on Sundays, and to dance under the oak-tree. There it was that the tall Chevalier d'Oze, belonging to the regiment de Brie, standing above the spring, lifted up his bottle full of water and spouted Latin with his eyes turned up. The ladies, seated on the grass with their beautiful dresses of thick brocade, their little satin shoes with steel buckles, and their round hats, with poppies and daisies twined round them, listened and laughed without understanding a word; and when Quartermaster de Venier, with his little violin, began to play minuets, the Chevaliers de Sigueville, de Saint Feral, de Contreglise, all these fools, with their little hats cocked over the ear, got up, extended one leg, and offered a hand to a lady, who hastened to smooth down her The Story of a Peasant. 29 dress and take her place ; they then danced with gravity and stateliness. The servants, all old soldiers, went to the inn for baskets of wine, pies, and preserves, which an ass had conveyed from the town. The poor of Baraques, standing in the dusty road, flattening their noses against the palings of the orchard, watched all these fine people, more especially when the corks were drawn and the pies opened; every one wished to be there then, just for one quarter of an hour. Then when night came MM. the officers gave their arms to the ladies, and the noble company slowly re- turned to Phalsbourg. Many regiments visted the Tivoli of Maitre Jean; up tol791 those of Castella,Rouergue, Schenau,La Fare, Eoyal Auvergne. The echevins, syndics, and counsel- lors came too, in their great well-powdered wigs and their wide black coats, white with flour down the backs; they led a pleasant life. Now of all who danced and of all who looked on, I am without doubt the only one re- maining; if I did not talk about them one would no more bestow a thought upon them than on the autumn leaves of 1778. Once in my godfather's service I had nothing to com- plain of: I had a new pair of shoes every year and my food; how many others would have been glad to have had as much! I knew it, and I neglected nothing in my endeavour to please Maitre Jean, Madame Catherine his wife, and even the apprentice Valentine, and the maid-servant Nicole. I was well with everybody. X ran when called either to blow the forge-bellows, or to go up into the loft and throw down the hay for the cattle. I would not have fallen out with the house-cat, for there was a great difference between sitting at a good 30 The Story of a Peasant. table with a good soup, a dish of cabbage, with bacon added on Sundays, and as much good rye-bread as you can eat, and having one's nose bent over a saucer of beans with the little salt that the mother can spare, and counting every spoonful. Once well off try to remain so; therefore every morn- ing, in the summer at four, in the winter at five, while the people of the inn were fast asleep, and the cows chewed the cud in the stable, I was already at the door, at which I gave two gentle knocks. This awoke the girl, who got up and opened the door in the dark. I lighted my lantern from the ashes in the kitchen; then while Nicole milked the cows I went up to the granary for oats and hay, and I gave a feed to the horses of the waggoners and grain-dealers who slept at the inn the night before market-days. They got up, looked at everything, and found it all right; then I helped them to get their carts from the shed, bridle their horses, and buckle their harness ; and when they started and began to cry, " Hue, Fox! Hue, Eappel!" I wished them go'od-day with my little woollen cap in my hand. These great waggoners and flour-dealers they never took the trouble to answer me, but they were satisfied, and had no fault to find, that was the great thing. "When Nicole came back to the kitchen she gave me a saucer of curds and whey, which I ate with an ap- petite. She then gave me a great piece of bread to take to pasture with me, two or three fine onions, sometimes a hard-boiled egg, or a bit of butter. I put everything in my bag, and then I went to the stable, cracking my whip. The animals came out one after the other; I patted them, and then we went in single file down Tlie Story of a Peasant. 31 tlie valley of tlie Bocks, I running last as happy ag possible. The Phalsbourg people, who go to bathe in the valley of the Zorne, know these masses of rocks, heaped up as far as one can see, a scanty heath growing in the fissures, the little streamlet full of cresses from the springs below, which is dried up by the time June's white butterflies are come. There I used to go, for we had a right of pasture on the waste lands of the town, and it was only towards the end of August, when there was nothing left for the cattle to graze on, that we went to the forest. All this time I was out in the air. The herdsman of Phalsbourg only brought out the swine, which, in the heat of the day, made a hole in the sandy soil and huddled themselves up together. There they slept, flapping their eyes with their pink ears ; one might tread on them without making them move. Boys .used to come there from other villages, one with an old blind horse, another with a mangy cow, many with nothing to do but crack a whip, whistle, or dig up the turnips, carrots, and radishes in the fields. If the Garde Champetre caught them, he walked them into town, with a collar of stinging-nettles round their necks, which was all the same to them; the only thing they cared for much was, the second or third time it happened, according to their age, to be publicly whipped on market-days. The executioner scratched their backs with his bull's-hide whip; if they repeated it they were sent to prison. Many a time have I recollected seeing the grandmothers and grandfathers of such people, who exclaimed against the Eevolution, whipped in the good old days. I could not help 32 The Story of a Peasant. laughing; one meets with curious things in this world! However, I too am bound to confess that I regret the past, not on account of the floggings or the prevot, the seigneurs or the capucins ; no, but because I was young then; and if our superiors were worth but little, the heaven above us was beautiful still. My big brother Nicolas and the rest of them, Claude, Lisbeth, Mathurine, would come and take possession of my bag, and we cried and wrangled over it. If they took all, Maitre Jean would .have paid them a visit in the evening at our hut; they were afraid of that, so they left me my share, and they called me—their canon! At other times our big Nicolas protected me. Then all the villages, Hultenhausen, Lutzelbourg, the Quatre-Vents, Mittelbronn, the Baraques above and below, fought with sticks and stones ; Nicolas, with the remains of an old cocked hat on the back of his head, an old soldier's coat, all in rags, buttoned down his thighs, with a great cudgel in his hand, and naked feet, marched at the head of the Baraquins like a savage chief; he screamed " Forward " so loud that he could be heard at Dann. ' I could not help loving him, for every moment he called out, " The first that hits Michel had better look out!" but all the same he took my onions away from me, which was very disagreeable. They used to make the animals fight, and when they were struggling with their horns locked together, Nicolas laughed and encouraged them. They often injured themselves, and sometimes left a horn on the field of battle. In the evening we sat in the shade, leaning against a rock, watching the approach of night. The Story of a Peasant 33 listening to tlie buzzing in the air and the frogs begin- ning to croak in the stream farther off. Then came the time to go home. Nicolas blew the horn, the echoes from the rocks repeated it, the cattle collected together and followed in a line to Baraques in a cloud of dust. I put ours in the stable, filled the mangers, and had my supper with Maitre Jean, Madame Catherine, and Nicolas. In summer, when they worked at the forge, I blew the bellows till ten, and I went home to sleep in my father's hut at the other end of the village. 34 The Story of a Peasant. in. Five years passed on, my brothers and sisters con- tinned begging, and I took all possible pains to be useful to my godfather. When I was ten years old the idea of learning a trade and of earning my bread myself had already occurred to me; Maitre Jean noticed it, and kept me at the forge as much as he could. Every time I think of it I fancy I can hear my godfather's voice cry, " Courage, Michel, courage !" He was a tall, stout man, with large red whiskers, a long pigtail hanging down his back, and his moustaches so long and thick, that he could turn them back behind his ears. In those days the farriers of the hussars wore such whiskers, and the tail fastened behind. I fancy my godfather wanted to look like them. He had great grey eyes, a thick nose, round cheeks—when he did laugh he laughed loud. His leathern apron came up under his chin, and his great arms were naked at the forge in the middle of winter. Every moment he wrangled with his apprentice, Valentine, a tall, stoop- ing, lanky fellow, who thought everything right in this world—nobles, monks, freedoms of companies, every- thing! " But, you fool!" cried my godfather to him, " if The Story of a Peasant. 35 these things did not exist yon would have teen a master blacksmith, like myself, long ago; you might have got something together and have lived comfort- ably." " It's all the same," said Valentine. " You may think as you will; as for me, I am all for our holy religion, the nobility, and the king ; that is the state of things which God has ordained I" Then would Maitre Jean shrug his shoulders and say— " Well, if you think everything is right, I have no objection—go on !" And then they went on hammering. I never met with a better fellow than Valentine, but he had no head, and he argued like a goose. It was not his fault, and he ought not to be blamed for it. Mistress Catherine was of the same opinion as her husband, and Mcole thought like her mistress. The inn prospered, Maitre Jean put by money every year, and when the officials were appointed to settle about the corve.es, the head-money, and other exactions at Baraques, he was always on the list, with the master woodcutter, Cochart, and the great wheelwright, Letu- mier, who was also making three or four hundred livres. You must know at that time the usual road for the waggoners, carters, and marsh cultivators of Alsace going to the town was to pass by Baraques; but the road from Saverne to Phalsbourg was straight up hill, stony, full of ruts and even hollows, which threatened to over- turn you into the Schlittenbach; and as it required five or six extra horses to climb this hill, people used to go round by the valley of the Zorne, and both going and 36 The Story of a Peasant. coining they almost always stopped at the Three Pigeons. The forge and the inn worked well together; while the horse was being shod or the cart mended, the driver stepped into the Three Pigeons; he could look out of window and see what was going on while he ate his crust of bread and drank his half-pint of white wine. On fair-days the large room swarmed with customers; they came in crowds with their packages, baskets, and carts. On their road home they had nearly always a drop too much, and were free enough in speaking their mind. They grumbled without ceasing; the women especially never left off: they called the prevots and seigneurs by their true names; they repeated instances of their abominable conduct, and when their husbands tried to stop them they called them a set of fools. The farmers of Alsace were particularly bitter against the turnpike tolls, which cut down their profits, for they had to pay on coming from Alsace into Lorraine. The unlucky Jews who had to pay at every gate—so much for the Jew, and so much for his donkey—did not dare complain, but the others spared no one. " Yes, it is a fact; they squeeze us to death; the duties are raised every day; but what can we do ? The peasants are peasants, and the seigneurs are masters; as long as the world goes on the seigneurs will be at the top, and we must remain at the bottom. Well, let us trust in God. Here, Mistress Catherine, take your money and let's be off." And off they all went. An old woman would begin to pray aloud to help them along the road, other women took it up, and the men with bowed heads followed meditating after. The Story of a Peasant. 37 I have often thought that this sort of burthen of question and answer saved them from thinking, and was a sort of relief to them. The idea never occurred to them of helping themselves—of getting rid of the saltmaker, collector, toll-taker, seigneurs^ convents, and of all that bore upon them; and of putting the tithes, aids, twentieths—all exactions, in fact—into their own pockets, as they did later. They still trusted to the goodness of God. But all this movement, these grumblings, this col- lection of Jews, waggoners, and peasants in the great room on fair-days, their quarrels over the price of oxen, com, oats, and crops of all sorts; the expression of their faces when they shook hands over a bargain, and called for a pint of wine to wet it, according to custom—all this taught me to know both men and things. There could have been no better school for a boy; and if I have since acquired property, it is, that long before, I was already master of the value of land, stock, and crops. The old Jew Schmoule and big Mathias Fischer, of Harberg, taught me all ■ this, for they quarrelled often enough over the price of their wares. You may believe me, when I was still quite little, I kept both eyes and ears open when running about with glasses and tankards. But what I liked best of all was to listen to Maitre Jean when he read the newspaper after supper. In these days the smallest country inn takes in a newspaper; the old Messager Boiteux of Silberman, hanging by the window, is no longer in existence. Every one wants to know how the country gets on, and reads the Courrier du Bas-Bhin or the Impartial de la Meurthe at least two or three times a week; every one c 38 The Story of a Peasant. is ashamed now of living like an ass, and of taking no notice of what is of interest to all. But before '89 those who had no right to trouble themselves about politics, and who were there to pay what exactions it was the king's pleasure to lay upon them, those people, I say, did not care to read; in fact, most of them did not know their letters; and besides, newspapers were very expensive, and Maitre Jean, though very well off, did not like incurring such an expense for his amuse- ment only. The little book-hawker Chauvel fortunately used to bring us a bundle of papers on his return from his jour- neys in Alsace, Lorraine, or the Palatinate. This was one of the characters which have disappeared since the Eevolution—the hawker of almanacks, prayer-books, hymns to the Virgin, catechisms, alphabets, &c., who went his rounds from Strasbourg to Metz, from Treves to Nancy, Pont-a-Mousson, Toul, Verdun; who was to be met on all the byroads, in the depth of the woods, at the gates of the farms, convents, and abbeys, the approaches to the villages, in his jacket of coarse cloth, his gaiters with bone buttons reaching to his knees, hobnailed shoes, his back bent, with a leather strap over his shoulder supporting an enormous wicker basket on his back. True he sold mass-books, but how many for- bidden publications were smuggled besides—the works of Jean Jacques, Voltaire, Eaynal, Helvetius ! Father Chauvel was the boldest as well as the cleverest of all these Alsatian and Lorraine smugglers. He was a little, dry, nervous, dark man, with pinched-up lips and a hooked nose. His basket seemed to break him down, but he really carried it easily enough. As you •passed him his little black eyes seemed to look through The Story of a Peasant, 39 you; lie could read you at a glance, whether you wanted anything, or whether you belonged to the police; whether to be on his guard against you, or to ask you to buy. He was obliged to be so, for if taken in this sort of contraband trade he would have been sent to the galleys. Every time he came home from his journeys, Chauvel came first to us, about nightfall, when the inn was empty and the village silent. Then he appeared with his little Margaret, who never left him, not even in his rounds; and we only heard their steps, in the alley to say, " Here's Chauvel! now we shall hear the news." Nicole ran to open the door and Chauvel came in, with a nod of the head, holding his child in his hand. This remem- brance takes seventy-five years off my age. I see him now with Margaret brown as a whortleberry, in her linen gown with a blue fringe, and her black hair falling over her shoulders. Chauvel handed the bundle of newspapers to Nicole, and sat down behind the stove with his little girl between his knees. Maitre Jean would turn round to him and cry out— " Well, Chauvel, all goes 011 well, eh ?" " Yes, well, Maitre Jean; the people buy plenty of books, they begin to learn," would the little man answer. While he was speaking, Margaret would pay great attention to him. It was clear she understood all that was said. They were Calvinists, the true Eochellois Calvinists, who had been hunted from thence, and then again from Iiixheim, and who had been living at the Baraques for the last ten or twelve years. They stayed nowhere any 40 The Story of a Peasant. length of time. Their old cottage was nearly always closed; when they came home they opened it, and remained five or six days to rest themselves, then they set off again boot-selling. They were looked upon as heretics, which did not prevent Chauvel from knowing more than all the capucins in the country. Maitre Jean was very fond of this little man; they understood one another perfectly. After opening the bundle of newspapers on the table, and looking at them a moment or two, Maitre Jean would say— " This comes from Utrecht, this from Cleves, this from Amsterdam—now we shall see what is going on. Nicole, fetch my spectacles: they are there by the window." Maitre Jean, after having luxuriated in this maimer for some minutes, would begin to read, while I sat breathless in my corner. I forgot everything, even the danger of going home late in winter when the village was covered with snow, and packs of 'wolves had crossed the Rhine on the ice. I ought to have gone home directly after supper; my father used to wait for me; but my curiosity to hear the news of the G-reat Turk, of America, and of all the countries in the world, was too great; I stayed sometimes till past ten; even now I can see myself in my corner on the left of the old clock, the walnut wardrobe and the door of Maitre Jean's sleeping-room on the right, and the large inn table in front of me under the little dark windows. Maitre Jean is reading, Mother Cathe- rine, a little woman with pink cheeks, her ears covered with a white hood, is spinning, and Nicole, too, with her cap like a bag at the back of -her head. Poor Nicole The Story of a Peasant. 41 was as red as a carrot, freckled all over, witli white eyelashes. Tes, I see it all—the spinning-wheels hum, the old clock ticks, from time to time it rattles, down go the weights, it strikes, and then goes on ticking. Maitre Jean in his arm-chair, his iron spectacles on his nose—like me now—with his red ears and his large rough whiskers, attends to nothing but his paper; sometimes he turns round, and lifting his spectacles up, says— "Here is news from America. General Washing- o ton has beaten the English. Did you observe that, Chauvel ?" " Yes, Maitre Jean," says the hawker, " these Ameri- cans only began their rebellion three or four years ago. They would not pay the quantity of taxes that the English were increasing daily, as is done often else- where, and their cause is flourishing." Then he would smile for a second without opening . his lips, and Maitre Jean would go on reading. Then Frederick II. would be mentioned—that old Prussian fox, who wanted to begin his tricks again. " Old beggar," Maitre Jean would mutter; " had it not been for M. de Soubise, he would not get his back up. We owe Eosbach to this great fool." " Yes," said Chauvel, " and that is why his majesty has granted him a pension of fifteen hundred thousand livres." Then, after looking at one another in silence, Maitre Jean repeated— " Fifteen hundred thousand livres to that idiot! and they cannot spare a sou to mend the royal road between Saverne and Phalsbourg. Thousands of country people are obliged to go a league out of their road to cross 42 The Story of a Peasant. from Alsace into Lorraine, and bread, meat, and wine getting dearer and dearer." " How can you help it ?" said tbe Calvinist. " Those are politics, and we know nothing about politics; we have only to work and to pay—the king's business is to spend." When Maitre Jean became very excited, Catherine would jump up and listen ip. the passage; then he became quiet, for my godfather knew what that meant. It was necessary to be careful, for informers prowled about everywhere, and if they had heard our way of thinking about princes and lords, we should have heard of it again. Chauvel and his little daughter used to go home early, but I would stay behind to the last minute. Maitre Jean, in folding the Gazette, would see me and cry out— " What, Michel! what are you doing there ? do you understand all this ?" Then, without waiting for an answer— " Come, be off; to-morrow morning there will be work to be done. It is market-day, and the forge fire will be alight early—be off, Michel, be off." It then would occur to me the wolves sometimes came down into the village, and I would run and light a torch in the kitchen. The little window looking into the yard was as black as ink. I could hear the north- east wind sighing out of doors. I shivered while Nicole opened the door for me. I almost lost my breath when I found myself outside at night, seeing the wide road winding between the old cottages buried in snow, and hearing the wind blow, and sometimes the wolves howling and answering one another down in the fields. I used to run till I lost The Story of a Peasant. 43 breath, my hair stood on end, and I jumped over the heaps of snow and manure like a kid. The old roofs of thatch, the windows beneath stopped up with straw, with frost hanging to it, the small doors barricaded, all looked frightful by the light of my torch—everything seemed dead. But as I ran along I could see at the end of the lanes certain shadows come and go, and this sight terrified me so that when I got to our hut I threw myself against the door as if I was lost. My poor father was there by the fire in his old patched linen pantaloons, and would say— " My child, you come home too late; they are all asleep; have you been hearing the newspaper read?" " Yes, father—take this." I would give him the bread Maitre Jean always gave me after supper. He took it, and said, " Go to bed, my child, and do not come home again so late, there are so many wolves about now." I lay down by the side of my brothers in a great box full of leaves, with an old coverlid over it. The others were fast asleep; they had been begging in the villages and on the high roads all day. I used to remain awake a long time listening to the wind, and sometimes a dull noise, in the midst of the silence. It was wolves attacking a stable; they would spring eight or ten feet high at the window, and fall back in the snow ; suddenly a sharp cry or two would be heard, and all the pack was gone; they had taken a dog and were devouring him. At other times I would shiver at hearing them blow and scratch under our door. Father used to get up and light a straw torch at the hearth, and the hungry brutes went farther on. 44 The Story of a Peasant. I liave always thought the winters were longer then than in these days, and much more severe. Snow was often two and three feet deep; it lay until April, on account of the great woods which have since been cleared, and of the numerous pools which the seigneurs and convents allowed to remain full in the valleys, that they might not be obliged to crop the land every year. It was less trouble. But this quantity of water, these woocls and marshes, kept the country damp, and chilled the air. Now, where every bit of land is cut up, cultivated, and sown, the sun penetrates everywhere, and spring comes earlier—at least I think so. But whatever may have been the cause, all old people will tell you that cold weather came sooner and lasted longer, and that every year packs of wolves would attack stables and carry off the watch-dogs, even out of the farmyards. The Story of a Peasant, 45 IV. Now at the end of one of these long winters, a fort- night or three weeks after Easter, something very uncommon took place at Les Baraques. That morning I rose late, as children do sometimes, and I ran off to the Three Pigeons, much afraid of being scolded by Nicole. We had to scour the floor of the great room, which was always done in the spring, as well as three or four times besides in the course of the year. We could not have the cattle out to graze; the snow had only just begun to thaw behind the hedges, but it was already warm, and all up the street the doors and windows were open to let in fresh air; the cows and goats were turned out of their stables, to get the manure out and wash the stalls. Claude Hure was putting a bolt in his plough; in the shed, Pierre Vincent was stuffing his saddle again, the time for field-work was approaching, every one was getting ready for it, and the old men, with the pet children in their arms, stood at the doors of their huts breathing the fresh air of the mountains. It was one of the first fine days of the year. As I came up to the inn, all the doors and windows of which were open, I saw the donkey of Father Benedict tied up to the ring at the door, a great tin can on his back, and two wicker baskets across bis loins. 46 The Story of a Peasant. I thought Father Benedict was preaching in the house, as he often did when the inn was full of strangers, and he hoped to get a few liards out of them. He was the mendicant brother of the convent at Phalsbourg, an old capucin, with a yellow beard as hard as dog's grass, with a nose like a fig, covered with blue veins; flat ears, a retreating forehead, very small eyes, and his coarse cloth gown so worn that you might count every thread; the hood hanging in a point down the small of his back, and his dirty great toes pro- jecting beyond his sandals. He had a smell of soup and wine, of which you became aware before you heard the tinkle of his little bell. Maitre Jean could not endure him, but Mistress Catherine had always a good piece of bacon ready for him, and if Jean was put out about it, she used to say— " I intend to have my place in heaven as well as at church; you will be glad enough to find a seat by me in the kingdom of heaven." Then he laughed and said nothing. I stepped in. Round the table in the large room were people from Les Baraques, waggoners from Alsace, Nicole, Madame Catherine, and Father Benedict. Maitre Jean, in the middle of them, was showing them a great bag full of what looked like parings, and explaining that they came from Hanover, that they produced most excellent roots, and in great quantity, so that the poor would have something to eat all the year. He was trying to persuade them to plant them, assuring them they would never be in distress at Les Baraques again, which would be a real blessing to every one. The Story of a Peasant. 47 Maitre Jean told tliem tliis in a most solemn tone. Chauvel stood "behind, listening with little Margaret. Some took these husks or parings in their hands, looked at them, smelt them, and then put them "back again in the hag with a laugh, as much as to say— " Who ever heard of planting husks ? It is contrary to common sense." Some nudged the others, as if to laugh at my god- father. All on a sudden Father Benedict, with his great nose and little screwed-up eyes, turned round and hurst out laughing. Then they all hegan. Maitre Jean, in a rage, said— " You laugh, like fools as you are, without knowing why. Are you not ashamed to laugh and crack jokes when I am speaking seriously ?" Then they laughed louder than ever, and the capu-. cin, catching sight of Chauvel, said— "Ah, ha! this is smuggled seed—I thought it was !" And so it was. Chauvel had brought them from the Palatinate, where several persons had grown them for some time, and spoke very well indeed of them. "They are brought by a heretic," cried Father Benedict; " how can Christians sow them or the Lord bless them ?" "You would be very thankful to have one of my roots to put under your own nose when they come up," cried Maitre Jean, in a rage. " When they do come up," cried the capucin, hold- tng his hands together with an air of pity; " when they do come up! Believe me, you have not land enough for your cabbages, turnips, and radishes. Let these husks alone, they will produce you nothing. I, Father Benedict^ tell you so." 48 The Story of a Peasant. " You tell us plenty of other things I don't believe," said Maitre Jean, putting the bag bach in the cup- board. Directly afterwards he thought better of it, and made a sign to his wife to give the capucin a good slice of bread. Those beggars went everywhere, and had it in their power to do a great deal of mischief. The capucin and the Baraques people left; I stayed behind, quite horrified at the jokes which had been made of my godfather. Bather Benedict called out in the passage— " I trust, Madame Catherine, you will sow something besides these Hanoverian husks ; it is to be hoped you will! for I run a good chance of coming by here a hundred times without finding anything to load my donkey with. God of Heaven! I shall pray the Lord to enlighten you." He snuffled and drawled on purpose. The rest of them out in the street laughed as they walked off, and Maitre Jean at the window said— "This is what one gets for trying to help such fools." Chauvel replied— "Those poor creatures are held in ignorance that they may work for the profit of the seigneurs and the monks; it is not their fault, Maitre Leroux, and you should not blame them. If I had a bit of land I would plant these husks; they should see the crop, and then they would be in a hurry to follow my example; for, as I told you before, this plant produces six or seven- fold as much as any other grain or vegetable. Its roots are as large as my fist, very good to eat, very whole- some,, and very nutritious. I have eaten them myself j, The Story of a Peasant. 49 they are white, farinaceous, something resembling chestnuts; they may be cooked in butter or merely boiled ; in any way they are always good." " Never mind, Chauvel," cried Maitre Jean, " if they will not have them so much the better, I shall keep them myself; instead of planting a part of my bit of land with them, I shall plant the whole of it." " And you will do right. Every sort of soil is good for these roots," said Chauvel, " but especially a sandy one." They left the house talking; Chauvel then returned to his hut, Maitre Jean set to work at the forge, and Nicole and I cleared away the benches and tables to scour the floor. I have never forgotten the impression which this dis- pute between Maitre Jean and the capucin made on me, and you will easily believe me when I tell you that these grey husks which Chauvel brought were the first time potatoes had been seen by any of us—those potatoes which have kept us from want for twenty-five years. Every summer when I see from my window as far as the eye can reach the immense plain of Dierneringen, covered up to the edge of the wood with great patches of green, which swell, and grow, and almost change the very dust into food for man; when in autumn I see thousands of sacks standing upright in the fields, and men, women, and children singing with pleasure as they hoist them into the carts ; and when I fancy the happi- ness of the poor, even in the most wretched cottages, compared with the terror we used to feel, before '89, long before the month of September, because we began to foresee the approach of famine; when I think of the 50 The Story of a Peasant. difference between then and now, the jokes and laughter of these fools come into my mind again, and I say to myself, "Ah! Maitre Jean, ah! Chauvel, would you could come to life again for an hour in harvest time, and sit down in a field to see the good you have done— that would be worth coming to life again for! And Father Benedict might do so also, only just to hear the laughter and hisses of the peasants when they saw him and his donkey begging along the roads." While I think of these things, I imagine the Supreme Being in His justice has allowed them to rise again, to be again among us, and that each feels according to his good sense or his stupidity for ever and ever. May God grant that it may be so! That would be a real eternity of life. And that is the manner in which potato seed was first received by us. Maitre Jean was very confident, but his troubles were not over. The people's stupidity was then at its height, and a story was spread about that Jean Leroux had lost his head, and had planted peelings of turnips to grow carrots. The grain-dealers and others who used the inn looked at him with curiosity when they asked him how he was. Of course these annoyances vexed him; he used to talk of them with bitterness in the evening, and it fretted his wife. But all that was said did not prevent his digging his bit of ground behind the inn thoroughly, manuring it well, and planting the Hanoverian husks in it. Nicole helped him, and I carried the bag. The Baraques people and passers-by leaned over the little orchard wall which bordered the wood, winked their eyes, and said nothing. Nothing was said, for they thought that Maitre Jean The Story of a Peasant. 51 might lose patience, and reply to tlieir jokes with his cudgel. You would hardly credit all the jokes we had to put up with before the crop canie. The greater fools people are, the greater pleasure they have in laughing at those who are wiser than they, when they get a chance; and the Baraquins thought they had a good one. When- ever the Hanoverian seed was mentioned, all these fools began to laugh. I was often obliged to fight with the village boys when out with the cattle; when they saw me come down the valley, they used to begin— "Here's the Hanoverian who carries the bag for Maitre Jean." Then I began with my whip, and as they were ten to one, they flogged me unmercifully, to the cry of " Down with the Hanoverian roots! down with the Hanoverian roots!" Unfortunately, neither Nicolas nor Claude was there then. Nicolas was at work, cutting down and lopping trees, and Claude plaited baskets and made brooms with father, or he fetched birch and broom from the neighbourhood of Trois-Fontaines, having leave from George, the Schwitzerhof forester for Mgr. the Cardi- nal Bishop, near St. Witt. So I had the storm all to myself, but I was too angry to cry. Think, then, how anxious I was for the roots to strike, to the confusion of our enemies! Every morn- ing as soon as it was light I took a look over the wall to see if anything was to be seen, and if I could see nothing I walked off sad enough, invariably accusing Father Benedict of having bewitched our ground. Before the Devolution all peasants believed in witch- craft, and this belief had, in years gone by, brought 52 The Story of a Peasant. thousands of wretches to the stake. If I could have burned the capucin he would not have had to wait long, for I was most indignant with him. I had at last become quite proud of fighting the Lutzelbourg, Baraques, and Quatre-Vents boys ; it was an honour to me to take the side of our roots, yet I never thought of boasting about it; neither Maitre Jean, nor Catherine, nor Valentine knew anything of it; but father, when he saw at night my legs covered with red wales, was surprised. " Why, Michel," said the poor man, " are you doing as Nicolas does, exchanging blows already ? Be careful, child; one blow from a whip might destroy your sight, and then what is to become of us ?" He shook his head sadly, and went on with his work. In summer, when the moon was at the full, all the family worked at the door to save the beechmast oil. When in the far distance we could hear the town clock strike ten, father would rise, put by the brooms and the willow twigs, and then, looking up at the sky, white with stars, he would say— " My God! my God! how great thou art! 0 let thy goodness rest on Thy children !" No one uttered these words so well and so tenderly as my poor father; it was clear he knew and felt these things better than our monks, who paid as much atten- tion to the Paternoster or the Belief, while they re- peated it, as I do to a pinch of snuff when I take one. Then we went indoors, and the day's work was over. So passed May and June. Barley, rye, and oats grew perceptibly; but in Maitre Jean's field nothing was yet visible. The Story of a Peasant. 53 My father had often talked to me about, the Hanover roots, and I explained to him all the good this plant might do us. " God grant it, my child," he would say; " we want it all; distress becomes greater every day; taxes are too heavy, and the corvees take up too many of our days' work!" And mother would cry— " Yes, when, too, we are obliged to perform the corvees of other people, we do, indeed, want a plant of some sort to save us. God grant it may come, from Hanover or anywhere else ; thmgs cannot go on as they are." She was indeed right. But still nothing seemed to grow on Maitre Jean's land." My godfather began to think that Father Benedict had the laugh on his side, and he was thinking of digging his field again and planting lucerne. That was hard; for we could fancy how the country people would turn us into ridicule for years to come. Success is absolutely necessary to silence fools, and that is why so few like to attempt anything new; that is why we abide in the same ruts; it is the fear of fools, of their ridicule and their laughter, which checks men of courage and enterprise. If our agri- culture is still behind the times, this is as much as anything the cause of it. "We were in despair. If Chauvel had not gone on his rounds in Lorraine, Madame Catherine would have reproached him with this failure, for she laid all the blame on him. One morning, between four and five, in the beginning of June, I was walking down the street as usual to awake Nicole, fodder the cattle, and take them out to graze. A good deal of dew had fallen in the night, and D 54 The Story of a Peasant. towards Qimtre-Vents tlie sun was rising liot and red. As I passed by tbe enclosure, before knocking at tlie door, I just looked over tbe wall, and wbat did I see P Tufts of wbite threads spreading right and left every- where. The dew had softened the ground, and the shoots of our roots were coming up by thousands. I jump into the field, make sure that these shoots are like nothing else in the country, and I run round to the back of the house. I knock at the shutters of the room where Maitre Jean and his wife sleep ; I knock like a madman. Maitre Jean calls out— " Who's there ?" " Open the door, godfather!" He opens the door in his shirt. " Godfather, the roots are growing." Maitre Jean was very angry at being called out of bed, but when he heard that his fat face looked well pleased. " They are coming up ?" " Yes, all over the field, from one end to the other; they have come up in a single night." " All right, Michel," said he, hurrying on his clothes. "I'm coming. Ho! Catherine, the roots are coming up!" His wife got up directly, and we went into the field together; they saw I had made no mistake; the shoots were everywhere; it was wonderful. Maitre Jean said in a tone of admiration— "Everything that Chauvel tells us happens—the capucin and the rest will pull long faces! "What luck! How the rows must be hoed, and I will do it myself. We will do exactly as Chauvel told us. That man is The Story of a Peasant. 55 full of sense, lie knows more than we, and we cannot do better than follow bis directions." Mistress Catherine was of the same opinion. We then returned to the inn, and opened the win- dows. I fed the cattle and set off, saying nothing to any one, I was too much astonished myself. But once in the valley, when the other boys began, " Here is the Hanoverian," instead of losing my temper, I answered them boldly— " Yes, yes; I am the boy who carried Maitre Jean's bag—I am Michel." And then, seeing how surprised they were— " Go and look," said I, pointing to the enclosure with my whip; " the roots are shooting, and many a beggar will be glad to have some in his cellar!" I was proud indeed; the rest looked at one another in surprise; they thought in themselves— " Perhaps it's true !" Then they began hissing and calling me names again, but I made them no reply. My fancy for fighting was gone ; I was right, and that was enough for me. When I went home at six, nothing was said in the village, but the next day, the day after, and the follow- ing days, the news had been spread that Jean Leroux's roots were growing, and that they were neither turnips nor carrots, but quite a new plant; from morning till night people leaned over our wall and looked on in silence, but they laughed no more. Godfather enjoined us not to say anything to them, for it was better for them to acknowledge their mistake themselves than to reproach them with it. Nevertheless, one evening as the capucin was passing by with his donkey, Maitre Jean could not help saying— 56 The Story of a Peasant. " Come and see, Father Benedict. The Lord has blessed the heretical plant; come and see how it grows I" " "Y es," said the capncin, laughing, " I have seen it. "Well, I thought it came from the devil, while it was sent by our Lord. All the same, we will eat them if they are good!" Thus the capucins were always right. If anything went well the Lord did it, if wrong it was the work of the devil, and others had to put up with the loss. 0 my G-od! what fools are men to listen to such creatures! The slothful deserve to be hunted from society, as much as infancy, old age, and infirmity are worthy of succour. It is a great consolation to me to think I never gave them anything. All beggars, cap a- cins or others, who come to the farm are received in the kitchen at midday; they see the labourers and women- servants sleek and well fed, having a good dinner, as they deserve, after having worked hard for some time. The sight of this makes them hungry. My foreman, old Pierre, asks them, with his mouth full, what they want F If they begin to grimace, he puts the handle of a spade or pickaxe into their hands, and offers them work: they almost always slink away, with this reflec- tion:— " It seems these people won't work for us—a bad set!" While I, standing at the door, wish them a happy journey. If the capucins and other sluggards of the same cast had been treated in this way, they would not have brought the peasants to want, nor have lived for gene- rations on their labour. The Story of a Peasant. 57 Now I must tell you about our potatoes coming into flower, and tlie crop, wliicli brought Jean Leroux into greater repute in tbe country than be bad ever enjoyed before. In July tbe field of Maitre Jean looked from tbe Mittelbronn side lite a great green and wbite bouquet; t*be rows were nearly as bigb as tbe wall. "While tbe great beat lasted, wbile everything was dried up in tbe fields, it was a pleasure to look at our fine plants, spreading larger and larger ; they only needed a little morning dew to keep them fresh, and we used to picture to ourselves tbe roots beneath gaining in size. We dreamt about them all day; in tbe evening we talked of nothing else. We even forgot tbe gazettes, for tbe affairs of tbe Great Turk and tbe Americans bad less interest for us than our own. In September, when we saw tbe flowers fall and tbe haulm dry every day, we thought— " It is time to begin to dig." But godfather said— " Cbauvel told us to dig them in October. On the 1st of October we will try a plant or two, and if we must then wait, we will wait." Tbe 1st of October was a foggy morning. About ten Maitre Jean left tbe forge, went into tbe kitchen, took a fork from behind tbe door, and went into the- potato- field. We went after him. At tbe first row be stopped and plunged bis fork in, and when be bad shaken off tbe clods of earth, and we saw these beautiful pink potatoes dropping about, when we saw that every plunge of tbe fork brought up as 58 The Story of a Peasant. many, and that in the length of five or six feet we had half filled a basket, we looked at one another with astonishment. "We could hardly believe our eyes. Maitre Jean said nothing. He took some steps into the middle of the field and dug again. Here again the potatoes were as fine if not finer, which made Jean say— "Now I see what to do—next year my two arpents of land on the hillside shall be planted with these roots; the seed we will sell at a fair price. What costs people nothing they think nothing of." His wife had put some potatoes into a basket; he took it, and we went back to the house. When in the kitchen Maitre Jean told me to go and fetch Chauvel, who had returned the previous evening from a long round in Lorraine. He lived with little Margaret at the other end of the Baraques. I ran to call him, and he came directly, guessing that Maitre Jean had dug his potatoes, with a smile on his face. As he came into the kitchen the blacksmith in triumph showed him the basket by the hearth, and said— " These came from digging six feet, and I have put as many more in the pot." " Just so," said Chauvel, without being in any way surprised—" just so ; I told you how it would be." "You mnst dine with us, Chauvel, and we will taste them; if they are good it will make the fortune of the Baraques." " They are very good—you may trust me they are," said the hawker; "it is a good speculation for you; you must make some hundreds of livres by the seed alone." "We shall see," cried Maitre Jean, who was very well pleased—" we shall see." The Story of a Peasant. 59 Catherine had already broken the eggs for an ome- lette; she had pnt the great soup-tureen on table, from which a good cream soup was smoking. Nicole went to the cellar to fill the jug with small Alsatian white wine, and then she finished putting the dinner on table. My godfather and Chauvel came into the room to- gether. They saw that their roots would turn out well; but the idea was still far from occurring to them that they would change the position of the people, that-they could put an end to famine, and that would be of more benefit to the human race than the king, or the seigneurs, or any of those who were made so much of; certainly not to Maitre Jean,, who chiefly looked at them with a view to his own profit, still not forgetting other and better things. " If they only taste as good as turnips," said he, " I ask no more." '5 They are much better than turnips; you can eat them all sorts of ways," answered Chauvel. " You may well believe, if I had not thought it was a good plant, and a useful one for you and for every one, I should not have put these cuttings in my basket—it is heavy enough without that—nor should I have advised you to plant your field with them." " Without doubt; but I must have my say. I am like St. Thomas—I must touch and I must see," said Maitre Jean. And the little Calvinist, with a quiet smile, answered— " You are quite right, and now you can touch. Nicole has got the dinner on table; you won't wait long." Everything was ready. In those days master and servants dined together, GO The Story of a Peasant. but the maid and the mistress waited at table; they only sat down after the others had dined. We had just sat down, Maitre Jean and Chauvel by the wall on one side, little Margaret and myself on the other; we were about falling to, when my godfather called out— " Ha! here's Christopher I" It was M. Christopher Materne, curate of Lutzelbourg, a tall, red-haired, curly-headed man,like all the Maternes of the mountain. Godfather saw him go by the window, and we already heard him stamping the dirt off his iron- heeled shoes ; immediately afterwards in he came, his broad shoulders stooping under the little door, his breviary under his arm, a big holly-stick in his hand, and a battered cocked hat on his grizzled head. " Ah! ah!" cried he, in an awfully deep voice, " I catch you at last, you heretical rascals ! I am sure you are plotting to re-establish the Edict of Nantes." " You have come just in time, Christopher," replied Maitre Jean, quite delighted; " sit down—look!" I lifted up the lid of the tureen. "That's good," said the curate, good-humouredly, hanging his hat against the wall, and putting his stick by the side of the clock. " Yes, yes, I see what you are at: you want to pacify me, Jean, but it won't do; this fellow Chauvel is corrupting you; I must really speak to the prevot about him." " And where will MM. the cures of the mountain get their Jean-Jacques from ?" asked Chauvel maliciously. " Hold your tongue, you scoffer," said the cure; " all your philosophers are not worth a verse of the Gospel." "Of the Gospel indeed!" said the little Calvinist; " that is all we ever asked for, we Protestants." The Story of a Peasant. 61 " Yes, yes," said M. Materne, " you are fine fellows,, Cliauvel; we know it, but we know tke otker side of th/ cards as well as you." Then turning to Margaret and me, and putting liii long legs between us two, he said in a kindly tone— " Come, children, make room for me." We made room for him, pushing plates right and left out of his way. At last the cure was seated, and while he was eating his soup I was watching him from my end of the bench without daring to lift my nose out of my plate; his great grey eyes, his grizzled hair, and his gigantic hands frightened me so. This brave cure Christopher was all the same an excellent man. Instead of quietly living on his tithes, and saving up for his old age, like many of his brethren, his only thought was to work and devote himself to others. In the winter he kept the village school himself; and in summer, when the children were away at the grazing-grounds, he carved figures of male and female saints in oak or stone for those parishes which could not afford to buy them. You took him a piece of wood or a block of stone, and he sent you in return St. John, the Holy Virgin, or the Eternal Father. Maitre Jean and M. Materne both came from the same village; they were two old friends, and were very fond of one another. " Tell me, Christopher," said my godfather suddenly, when he had finished his soup, " are you soon going to open your school again ?" " Yes, Jean, next week," replied the cure; " that is what has brought me here; I am going to Phalsbourg for paper and books. I intended beginning on the 20th of September, but I had to finish a St. Peter for Aber- 62 The Story of a Peasant. sell wilier parish, which is rebuilding its cliurcli. I bad promised it, and I mean to keep my promise." " Tben it will be next week ?" " Yes, next Monday we sball begin." . " You migbt as well take tbat boy tbere," said my godfather, pointing to me; " be is my godson, a son of Jean-Pierre Bastien. I am sure be would be very glad to learii." "When I beard tbat I coloured up witb pleasure, for I bad long wanted to go to school. M. Christopher turned round to me. "Now then," said be, laying bis great band on my bead, " look at me;" I took a timid look at bim. " What is your name ?" "Michel, M. Cure." " Well, tben, Michel, you may come. My school is open for every one—the more pupils tbat come the better I am pleased !" " Tbat is right," said Chauvel—" tbat is the way to talk." And Maitre Jean drank bis friend Christopher's health. Those who go quietly to their village school in these days, where they are instructed for next to nothing by a man who is often fit for better things, can hardly believe how many before the He volution would have envied them; no more could they imagine the delight of a poor boy like me, when the cure agreed to take me, when I said to myself— " You will be able to read and write; you will not live in ignorance like your unfortunate parents !" No, one must have felt these things to understand The Story of a Peasant. 63 them, and have lived in such times; therefore the. poor creatures who have not the advantage of such a blessing are indeed to be pitied; they will know some day what it is to pass their lives working hard for others; and they will have time to regret it. As for me, I was, as it were, dazzled by my good fortune. I wanted to run home to tell my father and mother; I could not keep quiet. All I remember now of that day is, that after the omelette Catherine brought the potatoes on in a basket. They were boiled, white, the skins bursting, the flowery part dropping from them. M. Christopher leant over them and asked— " What is that, Jean ? where does it come from ?" My godfather having told us all to taste them, we found them so nice that every one said— " We never ate anything so good." The cnre, when told that these were the roots which all the country had despised, and that they produced fifteen sacks to the quarter of an arpent, would not believe it. " It is too good to be true," said he; " it is not possible." Then Madame Catherine gave us some milk to help us to eat them. At last M. Christopher laid down his spoon and said— " Enough, Jean, enough j one might over-eat oneself, they are so good." We were all of the same opinion. Before he left the cure would see our bit of land; he made Chauvel explain to him how these Hanoverian roots were cultivated, and when he told him that they grew still better in the sandy soil of the hills than in the strong land of the valley, he ciied— 64 The Story of a Peasant. " Listen, Chauvel; when you "brought these cuttings in your basket, and you, Jean, when you planted them, in spite of the folly of the capucins and other silly people, you did more for our country than all the monks in the three bishoprics have done for ages past. These roots will be the poor man's bread!" He then told Maxtre Jean to keep some seed for him, saying he would grow it in his garden to set an example, that in two or three years half the parish lands should be planted with it. And then he set off for Phalsbourg. And this is the manner in which potatoes first came into our country. I thought the peasants would be glad to know this. Next year my godfather planted his square field on the hillside with it, and had a crop of more than sixty sacks; but a report having been spread that potatoes were a cause of leprosy, no one would buy them but Letumi'er of Les Baraques and two labourers up in the mountain. Fortunately, the follow- ing spring we read in the gazettes that a brave man named Parmentier had planted these roots in the neigh- bourhood of Paris, that he had sent some to the king, and that his majesty had eaten them ! Then everybody wanted them; and Maitre Leroux, who had been very much put out by the people's folly, in return sold them the seed very dear. The Story of a Peasant. 65 V. It is from this period that I date my existence. The man who knows nothing, and is without means of in- struction, goes through the world like a Least of burden; he works for others, he helps to increase the wealth of others, and when he becomes weak and worn out, they get rid of him. My father called me every morning as soon as it was light; my brothers and sisters were still asleep. I dressed without noise, and I left with my little bag, my feet in my sabots, a waggoner's large cap drawn over my ears, and my log of wood under my arm. "Winter was just beginning, and it was cold. I shut the door carefully, and I set off breathing on my fingers. How all conies back to me, after so many years ! the up and down path, the leafless old trees by the side of the road, the wintry stillness in the forest, and Lutzel- bourg at the bottom of the valley, with its pointed church spire, its weathercock against the grey sky, the little graveyard at the foot of it, the tombstones buried in snow; the old houses, the river, Father Sirvius's mill splashing the stream as it flows along. Is it possible that what happens in infancy remains always fixed in one's recollection, while the rest iff so soon obliterated P I was almost always first at school. There were no boys in the room. The mother of M. le Cure Chris- 66 The Story of a Peasant. topher, a very little, bent, and sbrivelled-up woman, ber red linen petticoat np to tbe middle of lier baclr, in tbe Alsatian fashion, ber cap like a pad on tbe nape of ber neck, Madame Madeleine, lively as a mouse, bad already lighted tbe fire. I put my log of wood down by tbe stove, and my sabots under it, to dry tbem. I see it all now: tbe whitewashed beams, tbe rows of little benches, tbe large black table against tbe wall between tbe two windows ; at tbe end of tbe room tbe cure's desk in a little alcove, and above it a large crucifix. Every boy swept out tbe schoolroom in turn, but I used to begin while waiting for tbe others. They came from Hullenhausen, tbe Baraques, and even from Chevrehof. It was there I made tbe acquaintance of all my old comrades: Louis Frossard, tbe mayor's son— be died young, during tbe Revolution; Aloie Clement, who was killed by a grape-shot at Yalmy — be was already lieutenant in '92 ; Dominique Clausse, who set up later as cabinet-maker, at Saverne; Francis Mayer, master tailor in tbe 6th Hussars—in 1820 be left tbe service, said to be rich, but I cannot say it for a fact; Antoine Thomas, who commanded a battalion of tbe Old Guard. "What a number of times be came to see me after 1815 ! We used to repeat our old stories to- getber. I gave bim tbe best bedroom upstairs ; Jacques Messier, chief surveyor of rivers and forests; Hubert Perrin, postmaster at Heming; and fifty others, who would never have been anything but for tbe Revolution. Before '89 tbe cobbler's son remained a cobbler, tbe woodcutter's son a woodcutter: there was no chance of a rise. After thirty or forty years, there you were in tbe same place, doing tbe same thing, perhaps thinner, The Story of a Peasant. 67 perhaps fatter, that was all. But now one's courage and sense can raise one; one need never despair; the son of a poor peasant, if blessed with courage and ability, may rise to rule France. Let us, then, praise the Lord for having lightened our darkness, and let us be glad in this happy change. To return to my old comrades at school. They are now all gone. Last year we were but two, Joseph Broussousse, a hatter at Phalsbourg, and myself. When I went there to buy a straw hat in the spring, fat Broussousse would know my voice again, and come, drawing one leg after him, calling out— " Ha! that's Michel Bastien !" It was absolutely necessary to go into the back shop and help him to drink a bottle of his old Burgundy, and at the end Broussousse never failed to say as we parted at the door— " I say, Michel, listen—when I get my passport you will have to get the visa for your own—ha ! ha ! ha !" How he laughed! Poor Broussousse ! last autumn they buried him, and for all he used to tell me, I don't. intend to apply for my passport just yet. This story has to be finished first, and then I must make up another, just to take up my time. There is no hurry—there is always time enough to go for good. Well, it was at M. Christopher's that I first knew all these old friends, and many more whose names may occur to me later. As eight struck they came in one after- the other, crying, " Good morning, good morning, Mr. Christopher." If he was not there they called out all the same; they crowded laughing round the stove. But the 68 The Story of a Peasant. moment they heard tlie long strides of tlie cure in the passage, they -were all still. Every one seated himself on the bench, his slate on his knees and his nose bent over it, scarcely breathing, for, to tell the truth, M. Christopher liked neither noise nor disputes. I have seen him more than once when up at class the boys would elbow one another, quietly get up, take them up from their bench by the collar, and throw them outside the door like kittens. They did not care to begin again, and they shook in their shoes if he looked hard at them. The cure came in; at the door he looked to see if everything was in order. You could hear the fire burning—nothing stirred! Then he stood up at his desk and cried, " Go on!" and we all together began to sing, B, A, BA. That went on for some time; at last he called out, " Halt!" and all was silent. Then he would call on us all in turn, "Jacques, Michel, Nicolas, come here !" We went up to him cap in hand. " Who created you, and placed you in this world r" "God!" "Why did God create you and place you in this world ?" " To worship Him, to love Him, to serve Him, and so to obtain eternal life.". It was a very good method of teaching; and only through hearing the others answer, at the end of three months I knew nearly all my catechism. He also made us say our lessons by question and answer; about eleven he used to go down behind the benches and lean over to see that we were learning; while we were spelling in a low tone, he would pinch one's ear gently, and say— The Story of a Peasant. 69 " That's right—you will get on!" Every time he said that to me I lost breath, and my eyes dimmed with pleasure. Once he even said to me— "You may tell Jean Leroux that I am very well satisfied with you. Give him this message." That day I should not have cared to call the cchevins or the governor himself cousin; still I said nothing about it to Maitre Jean—I was afraid of the sin of pride. By the beginning of March I could read. Unfor- tunately, Jean could not keep me doing nothing all the year, and with the return of spring I was again down in the pastures. But I had my catechism in my bag, and while my goats were climbing about the rocks, quietly seated on a tuft of heather, in the shade of a beech or an oak, I learned over again what the cure had taught us. Thus, instead of forgetting what I had learned, like the Hultenhausen, Chevrehof, and other boys, I knew it still better at the close of autumn, and M. Chris- topher at the beginning of winter removed me into the class of the well-to-do boys of Lutzelbourg, who went to' school all the year round. I learned all there then was to learn in our villages—to read, write, and do a few sums—and on the 15th of March, 1781,1 received the communion for the first time. Here my studies came to an end; I knew as much as Maitre Jean; the vest would come of itself if I worked with a will. From this time my godfather took me entirely into the forge; he put his cattle in charge of old Yeri, the town herdsman; I still looked after them in the stable, but I was learning a trade at the same time, and n 70 The Story of a Peasant. some months after, having gained strength, I became third hammerman. Madame Catherine and Nicole were kind to me, for in the evening, when the forge fire had tired Maitre Jean's eyes, it was I who read the gazettes and little books of all sorts brought us by Chauvel. I read them without understanding much about them. Nor instance, when the paper spoke of the crown rights, of state provinces, and provinces of election, I sweated blood and water, as they say, but I could not get the sense of that into my head. I saw clearly enough that money was to be given to the king, but I could not understand in what way it was to be raised from us. In everything relating to our country it was another thing. When the paper spoke of the gabelles, as I used to go every week to buy salt in town for the house, at six sous a pound, which would be more than twelve sous now, I fancy I heard the salt-dealer at his wicket crying out at some poor devil— " You were not here last Tuesday. You are buying smuggled salt. I've got my eye on you—take care what you are about." For not only were we obliged to buy our salt at the office of the gabelle, at a price much above its value, but also to take so much a head, and weekly. When it was a question of tithes I could see the tithe- collector, with his pole and his carts, calling out in the fields, " Mind the eleventh." For then, even when the weather was likely to be bad or stormy, we were obliged to put the sheaves in a fine, and the collector came so slowly, and stuck his pitchfork into the finest before your face, to add to the heap he had already. The Story of a Peasant. 71 That was intelligible enough. I also understood about the duties on drinkables, the thirteenths on sales, turnpike tolls, market dues on all sorts of goods, indirect taxes, tariff duties, excise, city tolls, &c. &c. I could comprehend the octroi, the mar- kets, the town-hall, the sworn comptrollers, stampers, gangers, police, wine-inspectors, brandy, beer, and food testers, sworn salesmen, appraisers, sworn inspectors of weights and measures, of wine, and meat markets, and thousands of other officials coming, going, touching, examining, opening, unpacking, arresting, scolding, and confiscating: all that I understood very well; Chauvel explained the rest. " You want to know what is an ' election province,' " said he, sitting quietly behind the stove. " It is not difficult to understand, Michel. An ' election province' is an old province of France, one of the first, as Paris, Soissons, Orleans, where the first kings existed. In those provinces the king's lieutenants are everything and do everything; they impose what taxes they like, and no one dares either to defraud them or to complain. Any appeals from them are returned to them, and they sit in judgment upon them! In former times these provinces named their own assessors. They laid on their load as lightly as they could; they called these assessors ' elected,' and thence the term ' election province;' but for the last two hundred years the assessors have been appointed by the lord-lieutenants; that suited them better." (With a wink.) "Do you see that, Michel?" " Yes, Master Chauvel." " Well, in the ' dominion,' or conquered provinces, as our country of Lorraine, Alsace, Brittany, and Burgundy, it is different. Here the lieutenants are not everything; 72 The Story of a Peasant. the nobles and the bishops hold provincial assemblies from time to time; they vote the supplies, first for the share of the province in the expenditure of the whole kingdom, what they call' the free gift, the king's part!' then for their own expenditure, for their roads, water- ways, public buildings, &c. Before surrendering, our provinces made terms for themselves. The nobles and bishops of our provinces know what they are about; they have had their capitulation, and have saved their endowments and their privileges. As for poor devils like ourselves, we pay; that is our right, and of that right no one will attempt to deprive us. We pay now not only as formerly the expenses of our provinces, but since the capitulation we pay the king's taxes in addition; that is what our profit consists in—do you see, Michel ?" " Yes." " Then try and remember it." Maitre Jean was furious. " It is not just," said he, striking the table with liis great fist; " it is not just. Are we all French alike, or are we not ? Are we of the same blood—of the same race ? Why do some always vote the taxes, and why do others always pay them ? Ought not the profit and the loss to be shared alike ?" "Without doubt," said Chauvel, "and turnpikes, and taxes, and royal aids, and corvees, and all these charges which now weigh down the poor only, while the nobility, the convents, and even citizens who are seeking to ennoble themselves, contribute nothing or nearly so; all that is unjust also! But of what use is it to talk about it ? We cannot change it." He never flew into a passion. I remember often hearing him tell the story of the sufferings of his fore- The Story of a Peasant. 73 fathers with calmness—how they had been hunted from La Rochelle; how they were robbed of lands, houses, and money; how driven by persecution across the whole extent of France, their children forced from them to be brought up Catholics; how, at Lixheim, dragoons had been sent to convert them at the sword's point; how his father had fled into the woods of the G-raufthal, whither the mother and children had followed him the next day, giving up everything rather than their reli- gion; how his grandfather had been sent to the galleys at Dunkirk for thirteen years, chained by the leg to the bench of rowers night and day, with a scoundrel for boatswain, who beat them so brutally that many of these Calvinists died; how these wretched galley-slaves could see the English point their great guns, loaded up to the muzzle, point-blank at their bench, without the power of stirring—could see the linstock applied ; and how, after the storm of balls, grape, and canister had passed, their mangled legs were torn from the chain, and they were thrown into the sea to clear the ship! He used to tell us these stories, which made us shudder, taking a pinch of snuff from the hollow of his hand; while little Margaret with her great black eyes looked at him in silence. He always wound up by saying— " Yes! this is what the Chauvels owe the Bourbons, the great Louis XIY., the well-beloved Louis XV. Ours is a strange story, is it not ? Even now I myself am fit for nothing; I have no civil existence. Our good king, like all others, when he mounted the throne, sur- rounded by his bishops and his archbishops, swore to exterminate us. ' I swear to do my best sincerely and all my might to exterminate all heretics mentioned 74 The Story of a Peasant. as condemned by the Church in all countries subject to my rule!' Your cures, who ought to do it for every Frenchman, refuse to register our births, marriages, or deaths. The law incapacitates us from being judges, counsellors, or schoolmasters. We can only stray about the world like animals; we are deprived beforehand of all resources by which men live; and nevertheless we do no harm; you are all obliged to confess we are honest, respectable " Maitre Jean replied— " It is abominable, Chauvel,but Christian charity " " Christian charity ! we have always had it," said he, " fortunately for our tormentors. If we had not had Christian charity! But it will all be paid with com- pound interest! It must be paid! if not in one year, it will in ten; if not in ten years, it will in a hundred— it will all be paid." It will be seen from this that Chauvel, unlike Maitre Jean, would not have been satisfied with alleviating or mitigating either the taxes or the militia laws. Only to look at his pale complexion, his bright little black eyes, his small hooked nose, thin lips always compressed, his back slightly bent from carrying the bale of books, and his slender limbs strong as wire—only to look at him, one saw that man would have all or none. He has patience to obtain it. He would brave the galleys to sell the books which contain his opinions; he fears nothing, and trusts nothing. If he gets a chance I should not like to be against him. And his little girl is already just like him—you may break but you will never bend her. I cannot say I made these reflections, I was too young, but I felt it, and greatly respected Chauvel. I used to The Story of a Peasant. 75 take off my cap to liim, and say, " He wishes well to the peasants—we agree in that." At that time onr gazettes spoke of a deficit; often my godfather would say he could not comprehend what caused" this deficit; the country always paid its taxes; it was never excused a farthing, and had no credit given it; the taxes were continually increasing; therefore this deficit showed there were robbers somewhere; our good king should find out these robbers; they could not be among us, since, the money once raised, the peasants never saw a liard of it again. Therefore the conclusion was that the robbers were about the king. Valentine would then hold up his hands, and say— "Maitre Jean! what are you thinking of? About the king are only princes, dukes, barons, bishops, people the soul of honour, who prefer by far glory to wealth." " All right," Maitre Jean would say roughly; " think as you like, and I shall think as I like. You will never make me believe that peasants, workpeople, and even citizens, who have nothing to do with money but to pay it, are the cause of this deficit. To steal one must be near the treasure; therefore, if the princes do not steal, their servants do." Jean was right, for before the Revolution the nation could not send deputies to inspect the accounts; the seigneurs and bishops had all in their own hands; they, then, were alone responsible. But it is a fact, no one seemed to be sure of this deficit; people used to talk about it, and so did the gazettes, but in an indirect manner, when the king appointed one Necker, a G-enevese, minister; this man, like merchants who do not. want to be bankrupt, had 76 The Story of a Peasant. the idea of drawing up a statement of the finances of all France, on one side the income, on the other the expenditure. The gazettes called that M. decker's statement (compte rendu). It was the first time for centuries past that the peasants had been told how their money went, because accounting for money to those who pay it is a merchant's idea; and the seigneurs, the abbes, and the monks were too proud and too holy to entertain such a one. When I think of M. Keeker's statement it seems a dream. Every evening Maitre Jean discussed it; the American war, Washington, Bochatoibeau, Lafayette, the naval battles in India, all were laid aside for this statement, which he used to study, and then lift up his hands and groan out, " The king's and queen's house- hold, so much! the prince's household, so much! Swiss regiments, so much! pay of receivers, farmers, pay- masters, administrators, so much! religious societies, houses and buildings, so much! pension-list, so much! and all in millions." I never saw a man so angry. " Now," he would say, " I see where our misery springs from,* why people go barefooted; why so many thousands perish from cold and hunger; why so much soil lies waste. Yes, now I see it all. G-od in heaven! must these wretched creatures pay five hundred millions every year to the king, and it is not enough! is there still a deficit of fifty-six millions ?" It made one ill to look at his face. " Well, it is very hard," said Chauvel, " but you must also consider it a great thing to know where our money goes. Formerly one asked, 'Where does all this money go? what is done with it? is it thrown into the sea?' The Story of a Peasant. 77 Now, though we still pay all costs and exactions, we know what becomes of it." Then Maitre Jean got angry, and said— " You are right! it is very pleasant to know it. I work that M. de Soubise may have a palace bought for him. I deprive myself of everything that Monseigneur the Count d'Artois may give fetes which cost two hundred thousand livres. I break my back from morning till night that the queen may grant to the first noble mendicant that applies to her ten times as much as I ever earned in my life; that must certainly be very pleasant!" All the same, the idea that we should have an account of our expenditure published pleased him, and when his anger was once over, he said— "We have not had such an honest minister since Turgot. M. Necker is an honest man; he follows out the other's ideas, who also endeavoured to relieve the people, diminish the taxes, abolish the wardenships, and account for the money. The great seigneurs and the bishops forced him to resign. It is to be hoped they will not be able to do the same with Necker, and that our good king will stand by him! Now those who ruin us will be somewhat ashamed of themselves; they will never dare to keep up their frightful expenditure. When they pass a poor labouring man they will not be able to help blushing with shame, to see themselves despised by him ; they will think he has read the state- ment of M. Necker; he knows that their feathers, and horses, and carriages, and lacqueys are wrung from his exertions, and that they are got by begging." What gave Maitre Jean still greater pleasure was that M. Necker at the end of his statement declared 78' The Story of a Peasant. tliat the privileges of the convents and the seigneurs ought to be abolished, and they should be required to pay the same taxes as the peasants. " This is the best of all," said he. " M. Necker has very great views." The report of some great change spread all over the country; the good news was carried everywhere. For more than three weeks Chauvel and his little daughter Margaret were not seen in the village, and all that time they spent in selling the statement of M. Neckcr. They fetched them from Pont-a-Mousson for Lorraine, and from Kehl for Alsace. I forget how many of these pamphlets they sold. Margaret told me once, but so many years have passed since. On market-days you heard nothing talked of but the abolition of privileges and equality of taxation. " Well, Maitre Jean, it seems at last our good seig- neurs and abbes will have to pay something ?" " Yes, Nicolas—yes, this rascally deficit has got this for us. The usual taxes are no longer sufficient—the people would never be able to make this deficit good. It is terrible—terrible ! What a misfortune !" And then they laughed; they had a pinch of snuff, and pitied these poor seigneurs and unfortunate monks. This took place in '81; but confidence was not of long duration. We soon learned that Count d'Artois, Queen Marie Antoinette, and the old minister Maurepas could not endure this citizen minister, who wanted to furnish accounts. Uneasiness increased; we suspected some- thing, and the 2nd of June, one Friday, Maitre Jean having sent me to buy salt at the office, I found all the city in commotion* The Story of a Peasant. 79 The band of the Eegiment de Brie was playing under the balcony of the Marquis de Talaru. Drums were beating before the hotel of the prevot and the house of the major; they marched about as on Christmas-day, and these drummers were well treated to drink. It was quite a fete. But the people were quiet. The dealers in poultry and vegetables, sitting on their stools in a row, did not shout out as usual. One only heard the band in the square, and the drums about the streets. Before the salt bureau there was a great crowd. Young officers called cadets, their little hats on one side and a knot of ribbons on the arm, paraded three and four together, laughing and playing the fool. The salt-officer counted my money, handed me the bag over the wicket, and off I went. At a corner of the market some grain-dealers were talking together. " It is all over," said one of these men. " It is all over. The king has dismissed him." It immediately occurred to me that Necker was dis- missed, as we had talked of no one else for the last three months. I hurried home to Baraques. The old soldiers on guard at the Grate d'Allemagne were smoking their pipes and quietly playing at cards as usual. When I reached our forge Maitre Jean knew it all from the dealers who were returning from town. They were still there, talking over what they had heard. Godfather cried— " It is not possible !—not possible! If M. Neckcr goes, who is to provide for the deficit ? The others will go on as usual—giving fetes, hunting parties, and amusements; they will squander the money as they 80 The Story of a Peasant. have done hitherto; and the deficit instead of being diminished will be increased. I say it is not possible." But when I told him what I had seen, the delight of the cadets, the band before the governor's hotel, and all that, he bent his bnshy eyebrows, " Well, I suppose it is true, and the good man goes! I did, however, hope that the king would have supported him." He would have gone on in this strain, but we did not know all the people who were at the door looking at and listening to us. He seized on his hammer and cried out to us— " Come, let us work! We have to pay the pension of Soubise! How then, boys I" He laughed so loud that they heard him in the inn opposite, and Dame Catherine leaned out to see what was the matter. The dealers left, and many more passed that day much cast down. Ho further remark was made; but in the evening, with door and shutters closed, Jean opened his heart:— " M. the Count d'Artois and our lovely queen have carried their point. Woe to the man who allows him- self to be led by an extravagant woman; he may possess all possible good qualities, love his people, abolish corvees and the torture; but fetes, dances, and all sorts of pleasures and amusements he cannot prevent. On this head an extravagant woman listens to nothing, and will hear nothing; destruction may come upon every- thing, but fetes must be given—for that object was she sent into the world! She cannot do without compli- ments, bouquets, and sweet scents. Look at that poor notary Eegonie,. a man well to do,, a man whom father The Story of a Peasant. 81 grandfather, and relations had all helped to enrich, and who could have lived quietly to a hundred. Well, un- lucidly, he marries Madame Jeannette Desjardin: he is forced to run about to parties, weddings, christenings ; his horse is in harness from morning till night. Well, at the end of five or six years the bailiffs walk into the house, they sell land and furniture, poor Eegonie is sent to the galleys, and Madame Jeannette follows the Chevalier de Bazin, of the Eouergue regiment, about the world. That is the conduct of an extrava- gant woman, and that is the end of such people at last." The more Maitre Jean talked, the more angry he became; he dared not assert that our queen, Marie- Antoinette, would draw us all into trouble, but his face showed that he thought so; his speeches would last more than half-an-hour; there was no end to his talking. Out of doors the rain fell and the wind blew; it was a very bad day altogether. But we had to feel another great fright, and to hear more bad news, for, after nine, just as Nicole was making up the fire, and I was throwing a sack over my shoulders to run home in, two loud knocks were heard on the shutters. Maitre Jean had talked so loud that some one might have heard him through the wind and rain. We looked at one another without stirring, and Catherine carried the lamp into the kitchen, that they might think we were in bed; the idea of two police-sergeants at the door turned us all pale, when a loud .voice began calling outside the door— " It is I, Jean! it is Christopher; open the door I" Fancv what a relief it was to us. 82 The Story of a Peasant. Maitre Jean went into tlie passage, and Catherine brought the lamp hack. " Is it you ?" said Jean. "Yes, it is I." " What a fright you gave us!" They came in almost directly afterwards. It was easy to see that the cure was not in a good humour, for instead of noticing Dame Catherine, and every one, as he always did, without paying attention to any one, he shook the rain off his great hat, and said— " I come from Saverne — I have seen this famous Cardinal de Rohan. God in heaven! can he be a cardinal, a prince of the Church? When I think of it " He seemed irritated; the rain ran off his cheeks into the collar of his cassock; he pulled off his bands and put them in his pocket, as he strode up and down. We looked at him with astonishment; he did not seem to see us, and spoke only to Maitre Jean. " Yes, I have seen this prince," cried he, " this great dignitary, who ought to show us an example of good morals and of all Christian virtues. I saw him drive his carriage at a gallop up the high street of Saverne, ovei the crockery and pots and pans spread out for sale, laughing like a lunatic. What a disgrace !" "You know Necker is dismissed?" observed Maitre Jean. " Do I not know it ?" said he, smiling with an air of contempt. " Have I not just seen all the superiors of convents in Alsace, the capucins, barefooted friars, Carmelites, all the mendicant and sandalled priest- hood file by in state in his eminence's ante-rooms? Ha! ha!" The Story of a Peasant. 83 He paced tlie room again. He was covered with mnd up to his shoulders, he was soaked with rain to his hones, but he seemed not to feel it; his grizzled grey head shook while he talked, as it were, to himself. " Yes, Christopher, yes, such are the princes of the Church! Go and ask the favour of monseigneur for the poor father of a family; go and complain to him who ought to be the support of his clergy; go and complain to him that the officials of the Exchequer had invaded your parsonage on pretence of looking for smuggled goods, and that you had been forced to deliver up to them the keys of your cellars and of your cupboards 5 tell him it is disgraceful to compel any citizen whatever to open his door, day or night, to armed men wearing no uniform by which they could be distinguished from bandits; whose oath is believed in a court of justice! When appointed to exercise their functions, no inquiries allowed to be made as to their morals or previous life; and on the hazard of their word the fortune, honour, and, sometimes, lives of persons are dependent. Tell him it is his duty to lay "jhese just complaints at the foot of the throne, and to release a poor wretch dragged to prison because the salt officers had found on him four pounds of salt! Go! go! and see how you will be received, Christopher!" " But in the name of heaven," said Jean, " what has happened?" He stood still for two minutes and told us— " I went there to complain of a domiciliary. visit which the officers of the gabelle had made in my village last night at eleven o'clock, and of the arrest of one of my parishioners, Jacob Baumgarten. It was 84 The Story of a Peasant my duty to do so. I thought a cardinal 'would have understood that, that he would have pitied the unfor- tunate father of six children whose only crime was to have bought a few pounds of contraband salt, and that he would cause him to be released. Well, I was, in the first place, obliged to remain two hours at the door of this splendid chateau, into which the capucins walked as if they were at home, and then, when I was allowed to enter this Babylon, where the vanity of silk, gold, and precious stones displayed itself everywhere and in everything!—well, they let me wait there from eleven in the morning till five in the evening with the poor cures from the mountain. "We could hear the lacqueys laughing. We could see from time to time one tall fellow in a scarlet livery at the door, who looked at us and called to the others, ' The parsons are still there!' I waited with patience, for I wanted to see monseigneur, when one of these fellows came and told us that the audiences of mon- seigneur were deferred for a week. The scoundrel laqghed at us." As he said that the cure broke his holly-stick as easily as a match; his face was terrible to look at. "The gallows-bird deserves to'have been thrashed," said Maitre Jean. "If we had been alone I should have taken him by the ears then," answered the cure. " But there it is. I have made a sacrifice of my mortification to the Lord." Then he walked up and down again. We were all grieved for him. Madame Catherine set bread and wine before him; he ate standing, and became suddenly calm. But he said things I shall never forget; he said— The Story of a Peasant. 85 " Everywhere justice is put to shame. The people do everything, and the others can only be insolent; they tread virtue under foot, they sneer at religion! The poor man's son protects them, the poor man's son feeds them, and it is a poor man's son, like myself, who has to preach respect for their wealth, their dignities, and even for their offences! How long shall this endure ? I cannot tell; but this I know, it cannot endure for ever. It is against nature; it is against the will of God. Is it a conscientious act to preach respect for what is shameful ? This must come to an end, for it is written, ' Those who keep My commandments shall enter into My mansion, but the lewd, the idolaters, and liars shall remain without, who love falsehood and do it.'" The same evening M. Christopher returned to his village. We were all sad, and Maitre Jean said to us before separating— " All these nobles acknowledge their own existence only. When forced to make use of one of us, either as priest, workman, or soldier, they mortify him and get rid of him as soon as possible. Well, they are wrong, and now that the deficit is known, things will change. It is known that the money flows from the people, and the people will become tired of working for princes and cardinals like this." I went home to our cottage after ten, and these ideas haunted me in my sleep. I thought as thought Jean, Chauvel, and the cure ; but the time was not yet come : we had still much to suffer before our deliverance wa attained. 86 The Story of a Peasant. YT. Ik the middle of all these stories about Necker, the queen, and the Count d'Artois, what causes the saddest recollection is the state of want of my parents, always at work, and always falling short of food in winter. Etienne had grown—the poor child worked with father, but was always weak and ailing—he could hardly earn enough to feed him; Claude was herdsman at the Tiercelin convent at Lixheim, Nicolas was at work in the forest as woodcutter; he was a workman, but he was fond of tippling and'fighting in the wine-shops on Sundays, and hardly gave his mother anything. My sisters, Lisbeth and little Marceline, waited on the officers and town ladies at Tivoli, but that was but once a week; on Sundays and the rest of the week they begged on the high road, for there were then no manufactories; they did not knit those fine woollen hoods, jackets, and puffs in our villages, nor did they plait those thousands of straw hats which are now sent to Paris, Germany, Italy, and America; children often reached the age of eighteen or twenty without having earned a penny. But, worst of all, our debt went on increasing; it already exceeded nine crowns of six livres, and M. Robin knocked at our window regularly every three months to tell father he must do such and such a The Story of a Peasant. 87 corvee—this was our nightmare—all our other ills were small by comparison. We did not know that owing to the system of farmers-general, of tolls and taxes, we were made to pay for life's necessaries ten times as much as they were worth; for a piece of bread we paid the price of a loaf, for a pound of salt the price of ten, and so on, which was our ruin. We did not know that at a distance of twenty-five leagues, in Switzerland, with the same amount of labour, we could have lived better and put money by as well. No, poor peasants never understood indirect taxation; whatever is asked from them in coin at the close of the year, if only twenty sous, disgusts them; but if they knew what they paid for daily neces- saries, they would cry out in another fashion. There is nothing of that now: the barriers are with- drawn, and the officials cut down to a quarter of their number; but in those days what robbery and what distress! How I longed to be able to relieve my parents ! how I comforted myself by thinking— " Next year Maitre Jean mil give me three livres a month, and so we shall be able to pay off our debt little by little!" Yes, this idea gave me double strength. I dreamed of it day and night. At last, after suffering so much, one piece-of good for- tune happened to us. Nicolas in drawing for the militia drew a white ticket. At that time, instead of being numbered, the tickets were white or black—black tickets only had to go. What good luck! The idea of selling Nicolas immediately came into 88 The Story of a Peasant. my mother's head; he was five feet six inches (French) high; he was fit for the grenadiers. That wonld he more than nine crowns. All my life long I shall see the joy of our family. Mother held Nicolas by the arm, and said to him— "Now we can sell yon I Many married men are forced to serve in the militia. You can take the place of one of them." It was only married men who were allowed substi- tutes, but you had to serve double the time—twelve years instead of six! Nicolas knew that as well as his mother, but he answered all the same— " Just as you like. I am quite satisfied." Father would have preferred keeping him; he said that by cutting wood in the forest, and doing corvee work in winter, he could earn money and pay his debts; but mother took him aside, and whispered to him— " Listen, Jean-Pierre! If Nicolas stays here he will get married. I know he is looking after little Jeannette Lorisse. They will marry and have a family, and that will be worst of all for us." Father then asked, with tfes full of tears— "You want to be a substitute, Nicolas; you want to leave us ?" And Nicolas, with a bit of red ribbon in his old cocked hat, cried— " Yes, I'll go! I ought to pay the debt! I am the eldest. It is I who will pay the debt." He was a good fellow. Our mother threw both her arms round his neck, kissed him, and told him she knew he loved his parents, she knew it long ago; and that he would come back to his village in a white coat with a sky-blue collar and a feather in his hat. The Story of a Peasant. 89 "All right! all right!" replied Nicolas. He saw through our mother's plans, who was only thinking of her family, but he made believe to notice nothing; besides, he was ready for war. Our father sat crying by the hearth with his head in his hands. He would have liked to have kept his whole family by him; but mother leaned over his shoulder, and while the rest of the family were crying at the door and disturbing the neighbours, she murmured in his ear—. " Listen! We shall have more than nine great crowns. Nicolas has six inches to spare, and they will be paid for extra; that will come to twelve louis! We can buy a cow; we shall have milk, butter, and cheese; we shall be able to fatten a pig." He made no reply, but was sad all day. However, next day they went to the town together, and in spite of his sorrow father said that Nicolas would be a substitute for the son, of the baker Josse, that he would have to serve twelve years, and that we should get twelve louis—a louis for each year's service; that Robin should be paid first, and then we should see what to do. He wanted to give Nicolas a louis or two; but mother said he wanted nothing, that he would be well fed once a day, that he would be well clothed; he would have stockings to his feet like all the militia, and if he had money in his pocket, he would spend it in the wine- shop and get punished. Nicolas laughed and said— " Well, well, so be it." Father alone was grieved. But you must not sup- pose that mother was glad to see Nicolas go. No, The Story of a Peasant. she loved him a good deal; hut great misery hardens the heart; she thought of the younger ones, of Marcc- line and Etienne: in those days twelve louis were a fortune. So the affair was settled: the papers were to he signed at the town-hall in the course of the week. Nicolas set off for the town,, and of course, as he was to he the substitute of the son of the house, Father Josse, who kept the inn called the Great Stag, opposite the German gate, treated him to sausages and choucroute; nor did he refuse him a glass of good wine. Nicolas passed his time in laughing and singing with his com- rades, who were substitutes for other townspeople. I worked on with more courage than ever, for at last Bobin would have his money, and we should he freed from that rascal. I struck the anvil with pleasure, and Maitre Jean, Valentine, and all the household under- stood my satisfaction. One morning as the sparks were flying right and left under the hammer, there suddenly appeared in the doorway a strapping fellow six feet high, a corporal in the Boyal Allemand regiment, his large cocked hat stuck over his ear, the coat buttoned, a chamois-coloured vest, yellow leather breeches, and long boots up to his knees, his sword belted round his waist; and he begins to call out— " Good morning, cousin Jean; good morning." He was as grand as a colonel. Maitre Jean first looked at him with surprise, and then he said— " Oh, it's you, is it, you rascal ? You are not hanged yet?" The other began to laugh, and cried— The Story of a Peasant. 01 Always the same, cousin Jean—always joking. Won't you pay for a bottle of Rikewir ?" " When I work it is not to wet the whistle of a fellow like you," said Maitre Jean, turning his back on him. " Go on, boys, work away." And while we went on hammering the corporal laughed and walked off, trailing his sabre. He was really Maitre Jean's cousin—his cousin Jerome, from Quatre-Yents ; but he had been in so many scrapes before he enlisted that his family no longer noticed him. This fellow had come home on leave; and why I mention him is because next day when I went to buy salt I heard some one call out at the corner of the market— " Michel! Michel!" I look round and I see Nicolas with this fellow before the Bear tavern at the entrance to Cceur-Rouge-lane. Nicolas takes me by the arm and says— " Yen must have a drop.*" " Let us go to Josse," said I. " I have had enough choucroute," said he. " Come." And when I said something about money the other struck in with— " Never mind that; I like a fellow-countryman— that's my business.", I was obliged to go in and drink. Old Ursula brought whatever they called for—wine, brandy, cheese. But I had no time to lose, and this den full of soldiers and militia smoking, crying, and singing together, did not please me either. Another Baraquin, little Jean Hat, the clarionette-player, was with us, and he too was drinking at the Royal Alle- 9^ The Story of a Peasant. lie had signed. The Eoyal Alleniand had already pocketed the paper with a laugh. I took Nicolas into the kitchen, and I asked him if he had signed. ' Yes.' ' Then instead of twelve louis you will only get one hundred livres; you have let them cheat you!' Then he goes hack in a rage, and tells the others that the paper must he torn up. . The,Eoyal Allemand -laughs at him. Well, I can only tell you that your Nicolas upset everything; he had the Eoyal Allemand and one veteran hy the cravat. Everything shook in the house. The old woman called for the guard. • I was shut in between the tahle and the wall. I could do nothing; I could not get away. Jerome drew his sword, hut Nicolas took a jug and gave him such a hlow on the head with it that it was broken in pieces, and that rascal Eoyal Allemand was stretched at full length hy the side of the stove, which was upset, bottles, jugs, and glasses rolling under one's feet. The guard came to the door, and I was just able to get away hy the stable at the hack into the Eue de la Synagogue. As I turned the corner I saw Nicolas in the middle of the guard near the archway. Market-street was full of people. It was not possible to get near. They said the Eoyal Allemand was nearly dead! But he had no right to draw his sword; Nicolas was not going to let him kill him. Jerome was to blame in it all; I will swear it if called upon—he was to blame!" While Jean Eat told us this sad tale, we stood there crushed down, saying nothing, for we had nothing to say; but when mother lifted her hands every one burst into tears. It was my saddest remembrance; not only were we ruined, but Nicolas was in prison. Had not the city gates been shut my father would The Story of a Peasant. 95 have set off at once, but lie was obliged to wait till morning in all this trouble. Our neighbours, who were already in bed, got up one after the other when they heard our lamentations. As they came Jean Kat repeated the same story, while we sat on the edge of our old box full of leaves, resting our hands on our knees and crying. The rich do not know what misery is. No; it always falls on the poor— everything is against them. At first my mother had blamed Nicolas, but afterwards she was sorry for him and Cried about him. Early in the morning my father took his stick, and was going to start alone; but I made him wait. Maitre Jean was getting up, and he might give us good advice, and perhaps he could go with us and try to arrange the matter. "We waited till five, when the forge fire was lighted, and set out for the inn. Maitre Jean was already up in his shirt-sleeves in the great room. He was much surprised to see us, and when I told him our trouble and begged him to help us, at first he was very angry. "What can I do in all this?" said he. "Your Nicolas is a tippler, and the other, my big rogue of a cousin, is worse! What is there to be settled ? Things must follow their own course; the prevot must take it in hand. Any way, the best thing that could happen would be to see your scamp of a son off to his regiment, since he has been such a fool as to let them kidnap him." He was right; but as my father's tears fell fast, he all on a sudden put on his Sunday coat, took his stick, and said— " Come, #you are a good man, who deserves to be helpe, if it be possible, but I have very little hope." 94 The Story of a Peasant. lie had signed. The Royal Allemand had already pocketed the paper with a laugh. I took Nicolas into the kitchen, and I asked him if he had signed. ' Yes.' ' Then instead of twelve louis you will only get one hundred livres; you have let them cheat you !' Then he goes "back in a rage, and tells the others that the paper must be torn up. . The.Royal Allemand -laughs at him. Well, I can only tell you that your Nicolas upset everything; he had the Royal Allemand and one veteran by the cravat. Everything shook in the house. The old woman called for the guard. ■ I was shut in between the table and the wall. I could do nothing; I could not get away. Jerome drew his sword, but Nicolas took a jug and gave him such a blow on the head with it that it was broken in pieces, and that rascal Royal Allemand was stretched at full length by the side of the stove, which was upset, bottles, jugs, and glasses rolling under one's feet. The guard came to the door, and I was just able to get away by the stable at the back into the Rue de la Synagogue. As I turned the corner I saw Nicolas in the middle of the guard near the archway. Market-street was full of people. It was not possible to get near. They said the Royal Allemand was nearly dead! But he had no right to draw his sword; Nicolas was not going to let him kill him. Jerome was to blame in it all j I will swear it if called upon—he was to blame!" While Jean Eat told us this sad tale, we stood there crushed down, saying nothing, for we had nothing to say; but when mother lifted her hands every one burst into tears. It was my saddest remembrance; not only were we ruined, but Nicolas was in prison. Had not the city gates been shut, my father would The Story of a Peasant. 05 liave set off at once, but lie was obliged to wait till morning in all this trouble. Our neighbours, who were already in bed, got up one after the other when they heard our lamentations. As they came Jean Kat repeated the same story, while we sat on the edge of our old box full of leaves, resting our hands on our knees and crying. The rich do not know what misery is. No; it always falls on the poor— everything is against them. At first my mother had blamed Nicolas, but afterwards she was sorry for him and Cried about him. Early in the morning my father took his stick, and was going to start alone; but I made him wait. Maitre Jean was getting up, and he might give us good advice, and perhaps he could go with us and try to arrange the matter. We waited till five, when the forge fire was lighted, and set out for the inn. Maitre Jean was already up in his shirt-sleeves in the great room. He was much surprised to see us, and when I told him our trouble and begged him to help us, at first he was very angry. "What can I do in all this?" said he. "Your Nicolas is a tippler, and the other, my big rogue of a cousin, is worse! What is there to be settled ? Things must follow their own course ; the prevot must take it in hand. Any way, the best thing that could happen would be to see your scamp of a son off to his regiment, since he has been such a fool as to let them kidnap him." He was right; but as my father's tears fell fast, he all on a sudden put on his Sunday coat, took his stick, and said— " Come, you are a good man, who deserves to be helpe, if it be possible, but I have very little hope." OS The Story of a Peasant. He told his wife we should he home by nine, and gave his orders to "Valentine before the forge. "We then set off, very much cast down. Prom time to time Maitre Jean cried— " "What can be done ? He made his mark before witnesses, he is five feet six, strong as a box-tree. Do you think they will let off such fools when they allow themselves to be caught ? Why, they make the best soldiers; the less brains they have the bolder they are. And the other fellow, that great gallows-bird, would he have had six months' leave of absence if it was not to entrap our country boys ? Don't you think he would catch it if he did not carry back one or two with him to the regiment Royal Allemand ? I don't see what is to be done." The more he talked the sadder we were. However, when we got to the town Maitre Jean took courage again. " Let us go first to the hospital. I know the old director, Jacques Pelletier. We can get leave to see my cousin, and if he will give up the enlistment paper we shall gain everything. Let me try." We went along the ramparts till we came in front of the old hospital between the bastion of the Porte de Prance and that of the Poudriere. Maitre Jean rang a bell at the gate, where a sentry stands day and night; a hospital attendant came and opened the door, and my godfather went in, telling us to wait. The sentinel paced up and down; my father and I, leaning against the garden wall, looked up at the old window in a state of grief which may be easily ima- gined. At the end of a quarter of an hour, Maitre Jean came back to the door and beckoned us in. The sentry The Story of a Peasant. 97 allowed us to pass, and we entered tlie great corridor, and tlien went upstairs, right up to the roof. An attendant went up before us; at the top he opened the door of a room, where Jerome lay in a little bed, his head so covered with bandages that it was difficult to recognise him. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at us from under his cotton nightcap, throwing his head back. " Good morning, Jerome," said Maitre Jean to him. " I heard of your accident this morning, and I am sorry for it." Jerome made him no answer; he did not look as proud or as gay as he was two days before. " Yes," said my godfather, " it was very unlucky; you might have had your skull fractured; but for- tunately it won't be anything; the major tells me it will be of no consequence, only you will have to leave off drinking brandy for a fortnight, and you will be all right." Jerome was still silent. At last he said, as he looked at us— " You want to ask me something, I know; what is it ?" " Well, cousin, this is what I want. I am glad to see you are not as bad as they said you were," replied Maitre Jean; " these poor people come from Baraques ; they are the father and brother of Nicolas " " Ah ! ha ! I see," said the rascal, lying down again. " I understand now; they come to ask you for the other fellow's enlistment paper ! I would rather have my throat cut. Ah, you thief! you will strike people, will you ? you will throttle them, you blackguard! If ever you come into my company I will pay you off for it." 98 The Story of a Peasant. He ground his teeth, and threw the sheets oyer his shoulders, in order not to see us. " Listen, Jerome," said Maitre Jean. " Go to the devil!" said the rascal. Then Maitre Jean lost his temper, and said— " Then you won't give up that paper ?" " Go and hang yourself!" said the vagabond. The hospital attendant told us to go—his rage might choke him. But before leaving, Maitre Jean cried out— " I thought you good for nothing, cousin; I thought you bad enough when you sold your father's cart and oxen before enlisting ; but at this moment I wish you were on your feet all well, to have the pleasure of boxing your ears; you are only worth that." He would have continued in this strain, but the attendant came and I shut the door; we went down- stairs in despair; we had nothing to hope for now. Once more at the door of the hospital, Maitre Jean said to us— " "Well, you see we have lost our time and trouble too. Nicolas will, doubtless, remain in prison till he is sent off to his regiment. He will have to pay all the ex- penses and damages out of his bounty, and you will get nothing." Suddenly, in spite of our grief, he began to laugh, and said, wiping his eyes— " All the same he has punished my cousin well; what a fist! He has marked him as well as if he had done it with the great stamp belonging to the syndic of the drapers." His laughter was contagious; father said— "Yes, Nicolas is a powerful fellowj the other is, The Story of a Peasant. 99 perliaps, bigger and has larger bones, but Nicolas is all muscle!" We laughed, indeed, and then our sorrow became more intense when Maitre Jean left the town. "We saw Nicolas in prison the same day. He was lying on straw, and as father cried, he said— " It can't be helped—it is an accident, I know you will get nothing; but when we can do nothing to change all this we must say ' Thank God.' " We saw it gave him great pain. When we left we kissed him; he was pale, and asked to see his brothers and sisters, but mother would not let them go. Three days after Nicolas left for his regiment, the Eoyal Allemand. He was sitting in a cart with five or six comrades, who had also been fighting and drink- ing their bounty-money. Dragoons of the marechaussce rode at the sides of the cart. I ran after it, calling out— " Adieu, Nicolas !—adieu!" He waved his hat. He had tears in his eyes at leaving his home'without seeing father or mother, or any one but myself. That is the way of the world. Father worked every day for our living, and mother could not forgive him. It is true she said later on— " Poor Nicolas! I ought to have forgiven him at once! He was a good fellow!'' Yes, no doubt he was, but saying so was of no use; he was in the Eoyal Allemand regiment in gar- rison at Valenciennes in Flanders, and we were a long time before we heard from him. 100 The Story of a Peasant. Y1T. The folly of Nicolas would have plunged us deeper into want for years to come if Maitre Jean had not taken pity on us. The evening of my brother's de- parture the good man, seeing how I fretted behind the stove,' said to me— "Don't grieve, Michel. I know that usurer Bobin has got you all in his clutches; your parents will never be able to pay him; they are too poor. You shall pay him. Though you are not out of your appren- ticeship, you shall now get five livres a month. You work well, and I am quite satisfied with your conduct." He spoke in earnest. Dame Catherine and Nicole had tears in their eyes; and just as I was replying, " Oh, Maitre Jean! You are more than a father to us!" Chauvel, who cajne in with Margaret at that instant, cried out— . " That is fine! I liked you. already, Maitre Jean! Now I value you." He shook his hand, and then tapping me on the shoulder, he cried— "Michel, your father asked me to find a situation for your sister Lisbeth. Well, they expect her at the brewery of the Arbre-Yert, at Toussamt's, at Wasse- lonne. She will be lodged, fed, get a pair of shoes and two gold crowns a year. We shall see by-and-by The Story of a Peasant. 101 how she gets on with her duties. That is quite enough to begin with." Fancy my parents' joy when they heard this good news. Lisbeth could not contain herself for delight; she wanted to leave directly, but they had to make a little collection for her in the village, for she had no- thing to wear but her every-day rags. Chauvel gave her sabots, Nicole a petticoat, Dame Catherine two chemises, nearly new, Letumier's daughter a bedgown, and her father and mother good advice and their blessing. Then she kissed us all hurriedly, and took the path to Saverne, which runs through the gardens, stretch- ing her long legs, proud and triumphant, with her little bundle under her arm. We watched her from our door, but she never turned her head; once over the hill she had flown away for ever. The old people cried. This is the usual story of the poor; they bring up their little ones, and as soon as they get their full plumage they fly off one after the other to look for food; and the poor old parents remain at home to dream. But at least from that moment our debt began to diminish. At the end of every month, as soon as I received my five livres, my father and I went together to M. Robin at Mittelbronn. We went into that rat's hole full of gold and silver; the old rascal was there with his great wolf-dog on the ground-floor room; the small windows well guarded with iron bars, his green otter- skin cap over his forehead; up to his elbows in his ledgers, working at his accounts. "Ha!" he would cry, "you here again! What a hurry you are in! I don't ask vou for money; on o 102 The Story of a Peasant. the contrary, do yon want any more ? "Will yon have ten or fifteen livres P Yon need only say so." "No, no, Monsieur Robin," I would say to hiin. " Here is the interest off the bill, and here are four livres ten sons towards paying off the capital. "Write off four livres ten sons on the back of the bill." Then, when he saw that I had my wits about me, and that we were tired of being plundered, he wrote as I wished, snuffling out— " This is what one gets for doing people a service." While I, leaning over his arm-chair, watched to see it he put it down right—" Interest, so much ; principal, so much." My eyes were open, and I saw what being in the clutches of such a fox had cost us. As we went out, my father, who remained at the door, having nothing to see to, as he could not read, my poor father said to me— " Michel, you are our salvation; you are the strength of the family." And when we returned to our cottage, turning to my brothers and my sisters, he would say— " This is the master of us all—he who saves us from want. He knows something and we nothing; we must always listen to him. Without him we should be but God-forsaken creatures." This was, unfortunately, too true. What can the unfortunate do who cannot even read ? What can they do when they fall into the jaws of a Robin ? They must submit to be eaten alive. It took us more than a year to pay off the nine gold crowns and get our bill back. At last M. Robin said we gave him too much to do in writing off the money, and he refused to take it in such small sums. I said Tht Story of a Peasant. 103 very well, tliat we would pay it into the hands of the prevot; then he gave way. At last, when I took the hill back, mother jumped with joy. She wished she could read, and cried out— " Is it done ? is it really done ? Are you quite sure, Michel?" " Tes, quite sure." " No more corvees for Eobin ?" " No, mother." " Just read it." They all leaned over me, listening with their mouths open; when I got to the end and read " Paid," they began to dance, like savages rejoicing. Mother cried out—■ " The goat won't browse at our expense any longer! Well, it is not so bad. What corvces she has imposed upon us!" Some time after, M. Eobin having stopped at our cottage to ask if we wanted money, she seized a pitch- fork and ran at him like a mad woman, crying— " Ah! you want to get some crovees out of us again; just wait!" She would have been the death of him if he had not run away, in spite of his great stomach, to the end of the village. This is frightful; but is it surprising that honest people when driven to extremity should do so? Usurers always end ill; they ought to remember that people are sometimes depressed, but soon recover, and that then it is their turn to balance an ugly account. I have seen that happen five or six times in my life. There were not gens d'amies enough in the country to protect these thieves. Let. them thinh this! I give 104 The Story of a Peasant. tliern good advice. It is true I write this story for peasants, but it may be of service to others. The labourer, the waggoner, the miller, the baker, all profit when corn is good, and he who sows is satisfied if every one benefits by it. While this was going on, things remained as usual. Fairs and markets came, taxes were paid, people com- plained, the capucins begged, soldiers were drilled, and the custom of striking them with the flat side of the sword was again practised. Every Friday, when I went into town to buy salt, I saw old soldiers beaten by wretched little cadets! It was a very long time ago, yet I shudder when I think of it! What disgusted me, too, was the foreign regiments in our pay. Schenau's Swiss, and all the rest, had the word of command in German. Is it not contrary to common sense, when they have to fight together against the same enemies, to have two methods of command- ing ? I remember an old soldier of our village, Martin Gros, complained of this folly, and said it did us a great deal of harm in the Prussian war. But our former kings and seigneurs did not care to see the people and the soldiers agree too well; they must have Swiss, Chamborans, Saxon regiments, Royal -Allemand, &c., to look after the French. They had no confidence in us, and treated us like prisoners, sur- rounded by trustworthy guards. In the end, we shall see what these foreigners did against that France which fed them; we shall see their regiments desert en masse to the enemy. Now I go on with my story. In the evening we read the newspapers, sometimes alone, sometimes with Chauvel. Maitre Jean had made The Story of a Peasant. 105 no mistake about tbe seigneurs, princes, and bishops. Since M. Necker's dismissal, they had troubled them- selves no more about the deficit; the gazettes only spoke of hunting parties, feasts, rejoicings, pen- sions, gratifications, &c., &c. Our lovely queen, Marie-Antoinette, M. le Comte d'Artois, the master of the horse, grand huntsmen, bedchamber lords and first gentlemen, cupbearers, footmen, grand carvers, and all that crowd of noble domestics who lived in clover, and did not trouble themselves about bank- ruptcy, soon found ministers to their fancy to continue their extravagance, Joly de Fleury and the rest of them, who rendered no accounts. When Maitre Jean read about these fetes and galas he was no longer irritated, but his face fell; he coughed and said— "What does the king's chamber mean, the chapel band, the chapel oratory, the store-room, the great stable, the little stable, the kennels, the privy purse, the ranger- ships of the parks of Fontainebleau, Yincennes, and Royal Monceau ; the court of justice in eyre of the parks of Boulogne, of La Muette, and their dependencies; and the royal bailiwicks and rangerships of the chase of the Louvre and the falconry of France P What do all these things mean ? What have we to do with them ?" Then Chauvel smiled and said— " All good for trade, Maitre Jean." " Trade ?" "No doubt—genuine trade, when the money goes and never comes back to the peasants. Luxury is good for trade ; our ministers have asserted it hundreds of times; we are bound to believe them. We here, always work and pay; but there, the nobility amuse themselves and 106 The Slory of a Peasant. spend. They have laces, embroideries, diamonds, a dozen valets in ordinary, those of the anterooms, nphol- sterers, male and female hairdressers, washers of body- linen, maids of honour, and riding-masters, who keep business going. They don't live on lentils and beans, nor wear jackets of grey linen, as we do." " No, no, I believe you, Chauvel," answered my god- father in disgust; " nor the turnspits whom I see here either, nor the meat-inspectors, nor the dentists. It is shocking that so many millions of men should have to support such a race. Let us read something else. Good heavens! is it possible ?" When he turned over the leaf he found things still worse—buildings, all sorts of invitations, presentations, promenades in gold-laced hats, silk dresses, ceremonies which cost a sum of money which we poor peasants could hardly conceive. Chauvel would cry with an air of wonder— "What did M. Necker tell us? That never was money more abundant; we don't know what to do with it—it encumbers us!" Then he looked at us with his small eyes full of cunning; rage filled our souls, for without paying very great attention one might well say that at a time when seven-eighths of France was suffering from cold and hunger, such an expenditure for the sake of contributing to the vanity of a set of rogues was frightful. Chauvel, before leaving, always said— " Go on, go on, that's right; taxes, expenses, and the deficit increase every year. We are getting on; the more we owe the richer we are, that's evident." " Yes," said Maitre Jean, as he saw him to the door, " that's very evident." The Story of a Peasant. 107 He shut the door, and I went home. The more we read the papers the more we grieved; we could see how the nobles took us for beasts, but what was to be done ? The militia, the police, and the troops were on their side. "We used to think— " How happy those seigneurs are in life, and we how wretched!" The example of the queen and the Count d'Artois and others who lived in luxury at court spread to the small towns. There were fetes upon fetes, reviews, gala parties. Prevots, colonels, majors, captains, lieutenants, and cadets did nothing but strut about, beat their soldiers, and sometimes even the peasants going home to their vil- lages. Ask old Laurent Duchenim—he will tell you what sort of life the young officers of the Castella regi- ment led at the Panier-Fleuri; how they drank cham- pagne, and had in the women and girls under pretence of dancing; and when the fathers and husbands ob- jected they beat them with their canes back to Quatre- Yents. One can easily conceive how sad we workpeople and peasants were to hear their band play, and to see the daughters of citizens, echevins, syndics, &c.—in fact, all that we looked upon as of any consequence : to see these daughters of theirs hanging on the arms of such youths as these, and so promenade to Tivoli. Yes, that made us sick; perhaps they thought to ennoble themselves by it. Our only hope now was the deficit; all men of sense saw it must increase, above all since the queen and Count, d'Artois had caused M. de Calonne to be made comptroller-general of finance. He may well boast of having exasperated us for four years with his loans— 108 The Story of a Peasant. liis " transfers," as lie called them—his extensions ot the twentieths, and his other pilferings. We have had many a had minister since Calonne's time, but none worse, for his inventions for taking people in have been handed down from one to the other, and even the most stupid have been able to have recourse to them, and to appear clever. He seemed to see everything in a favour- able light, just as rogues, who have no intention to pay their debts, but only to increase them, give others confidence, and that is all they want. For all that Calonne did not deceive us. Maitre Jean could not open a paper without getting angry: he used to say— " This rascal will cause me a fit of apoplexy; he does nothing but lie; he throws our money out of window; he is robbing Peter to pay Paul; he borrows right and left; and when called upon to pay, he will be off to England and leave us in the lurch. I prophesy it will be so; it cannot turn out otherwise." All the world saw this, except the king, the queen, and the princes, whose debts Calonne had paid, and the courtiers on whom he showered pensions and gratifica- tions of all sorts. The clergy were not so foolish; they began to see that these tricks of Calonne could only end ill. Every time Chauvel came back from his rounds, his face was lighted, his eyes bright; he smiled and said, as he took his seat with Margaret behind the stove— " Maitre Jean, everything is going on better and better ; our poor parish cures will only read the Vicaire Savoyard of Jean-Jacques; the canons and beneficed clergy of all sorts read "Voltaire; they begin to preach the love of one's, neighbour^ and lament over 'ho The Story of a Peasant. 109 people's misery; they are making collections for the poor. All over Alsace and Lorraine one hears of nothing but good works ; in pne convent the superior is draining the ponds to give work to the peasants; at another they have forgiven this year's small tithes; at another they give soup away. Better late than never! All these good ideas occur to them at once. These people are very, very clever; they see the boat is gra- dually sinking; they want to find friends to stretch out a hand to save them." His little eyes twinkled. We hardly dared to believe what he said, it seemed too much; but all through the years 1784, 1785, and 1786, Chauvel was always gayer, more inclined to smile; he was like one of those birds which can fly so high from the acuteness of their vision, and can see things from afar, high above the clouds. Little Margaret also became very pretty; she often laughed as she went by the forge, and leaned in at the door as she called out, in her clear and gay tones— " Good morning, Maitre Jean; good morning, M. Valentine ; good morning, Michel." And then I used to run out for a moment, as I liked having a laugh with her. She was very brown and sunburnt; the bottom of her little short blue skirt and her little lace boots covered with mud; but she had such bright eyes, such pretty teeth, and such beautiful black hair, such an air of gaiety and courage, that, without knowing why, I felt quite pleased after having seen her; and I used to watch her as she went up the alley to their house, and think— " If I could only carry a basket and sell books with them, how happy I should be L" 110 The Story of a Peasant. But I got no farther; and when Maitre Jean cried out to nie, " Michel, what are you at there ? work away!" I ran in again with, " Here I am, Maitre Jean." I had become a journeyman blacksmith; I earned my ten livres a month, and mother was receiving what help she needed. Lisbeth, at Wasselonne, sent her nothing, only good wishes from time to time; but servant-girls in a brewery want good clothes, and she was vain, so she sent nothing. But the second boy, my senior, herdsman at the Tiercelin convent, was earning four livres a month, and he sent his parents three. Etienne and Marceline plaited little baskets and cages, which they sold in town. I was very fond of them, and they of me, Etienne particularly; he would come and meet me every evening, limping and smiling, take my hand, and say— " Come, Michel, come and see what I made to-day." Sometimes it was very well done. Father always said, to encourage him— " I could not have done it as well mvself; I never » ' could plait so well." The idea of sending Etienne to M. Christopher oc- curred to me more than once; unfortunately, he could not walk the distance morning and evening, it was too far. But as he wanted to learn, I taught him when 1 came home from the forge, and so it is he learned to read and write. How no one at home begged any longer ;. we got our living by working; our parents had breathing time. Every Sunday, af:er vespers, I made my father take a seat at the Three Pigeons, and drink his half-pint of white wine; it did him good. Mother^ who had always The Story of a Peasant. Ill longed for a good she-goat, could now lead one to graze by the side of the road. I bought one for her of old Schmoule, the Jew, a beauty, with an udder that nearly touched the ground. My mother's greatest happiness was to attend to her, milk her, and make cheese ; she was as fond of this goat as of her own eyes. Thus the poor old people wanted nothing, and I was as happy as possible. After work, on Sundays and fete days, I had time to read. Maitre Jean lent me good books, and I passed all the afternoon in studying them, instead of playing at ninepins with my comrades. We were now in 1785, a moment of great disgrace to all France, when that wretched Cardinal de Rohan, whom the cure Christopher so despised, tried to seduce the young queen, Marie-Antoinette, by giving her a pearl necklace. Then we saw that this man must have been crazy, for he let himself be taken in by an actress; the actress at first escaped with the pearls, but she was arrested afterwards, and the executioner branded her with a fleur-de-lis on the shoulder. As for the cardinal, he was not branded because he was a prince— he had leave to retire to Strasbourg. These distant events come into my mind again, and I recollect Maitre Jean said, if by ill-luck Pater Bene- diet, the capucin, should try to seduce his wife, he would break his head for him with his hammer. I should have done so too, but our king was too good, and it was a great reflection on the queen that a cardinal could ever have had a hope to seduce her by presents. The whole country talked of it; all respect for seigneurs, princes, and bishops was lost; they had incurred more and more the contempt of respectable people. Nor was the 112 The Story of a Peasant. deficit forgotten; the lies of M. de Calonne and the scandals of the court were not likely to pay it. So things dragged on till the end of 1786. On New Year's Eve, Chauvel and his daughter arrived covered with snow. They returned from Lorraine, and told us as they passed that the king had convoked the notables at Versailles to hear Calonne's statement, and to try and pay off the debt. Maitre Jean was delighted: he cried— " We are saved; our good king takes pity on his people ; he intends to have equal taxation." But Chauvel, with his big basket still on his back, became white with anger when he heard him, and at last answered him— "If our good king convokes the notables, it is because he cannot do otherwise. The debt now amounts to sixteen hundred and thirty millions! How can you be so silly as to believe that the princes of the blood, the principal nobles, the chiefs of the magistracy and the Church are going to pay out of their own pockets ? No, they will tr^to put it on our backs, and this good queen, this valiant Count d'Artois, after leading the fine life you hear of, after treading on the people, com- mitting every folly and every wickedness possible, these respectable people have not even the courage to accept the responsibility of their own acts ; they convoke the notables to indorse it all. But we, we poor wretches, who pay everything and profit nothing, we are nob convoked, our advice is not asked. It is dishonesty, it is meanness." Chauvel got furious while he was speaking. It was the first time I had ever seen him angry. He clenched his fist, and his little legs shook. Margaret,, wet throug h The Story of a Peasant. 113 lier black bail* glued to ber cbeeks by melted snow, pressed up against bim to support bim. Maitre Jean wanted to reply, but tbey would not listen to bim. Dame Catherine got up from ber wheel quite indig- nant, crying out that our good king did what he could; that the queen should not be treated with disrespect in the inn, she would not allow it! and Valentine said— "You are right, Dame Catherine, God's representatives on the earth must be respected. You are quite right— a thousand times right." He lifted up his long arms with an air of admira- tion. Chauvel and Margaret walked out at once, and did not come back again. They turned their heads the other way when they went by the forge, which vexed us greatly. Maitre Jean said to Valentine— " There! who told you to interfere ? You are the cause of my best friend never coming to see me—a man for whom I have a great respect, and who has more sense in his little finger than you have in the whole of your great body. It would all have been made up. I should have understood at last that he was right." " And I," replied Valentine, " I insist he was wrong. The notables wish the people's happiness 1" Maitre Jean got quite red, and looked at him side- ways, muttering— " Jackass ! if you were not such an honest fellow, I should have sent you packing long ago." But he said this quietly, for Valentine would not have allowed him to insult him, not even Maitre Jean. He was proud enough, in spite of his stupidity, and that very day I am sure he would have packed up his things and gone away. So in this wav, instead of 114 The Story of a Peasant. losing one friend, we should have lost two; we were obliged to be careful. Our vexation and annoyance at no longer seeing Chauvel increased every day. This lasted till one morning Maitre Jean seeing the hawker and his daughter hurrying past the forge, came out quite dis- tressed, and cried out— " Chauvel! Chauvel! you are angry with me—I am not with you!" Then they shook hands, they were near embracing one another, and some days after, Chauvel and Mar- garet, on their return from their rounds in Alsace, came back to their seat behind the stove, and the quarrel was never alluded to. This was about the time the notables were to meet at Versailles, and we began to see that Chauvel was right in insisting that they would do nothing for the people, for these nobles having deliberated on Calonne's speech, when he declared " that the debt could not be paid off by ordinary means, that the farmers-general should be abolished, provincial assemblies established to tax every one according to his means, and that all estates, without exception, should be taxed," finished by rejecting everything. Chauvel, when he heard that, laughed in his sleeve. Maitre Jean cried— " Ah! the bad breed!" But Chauvel said— " What can you expect ? These people love them- selves ; their hearts are not hard enough to tax them- selves nor to hurt themselves. If they had been called upon to lay a fresh tax on the people, they would not have beeu so long about it; they would already have said The Story of a Peasant. 115 ' Yes' ten times as readily as once; but to tax their own estates is hard, I see it is—when one respects one- self, one must take care of oneself." What amused Chauvel the most was the proces- verbal at the beginning of the sittings of the notables: "After the king's speech, monseigneur the keeper of the seals approached the throne, making three pro- found bows—the first before leaving the place, the second after taking a step or two, and the third when he was on the first step of the throne, then he received his majesty's orders on his knees." " That is the finest part of it; that must be our salvation!" The end was that the king dismissed Calonne, and put Monseigneur de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, in his place. The notables then accepted the reforms, but no one knew the reason why. But then the members of the parliament of Paris, who had never shared in the extravagances of the court, who were judges and men of weight, very careful, and living in their own society, these judges were indignant at seeing that they were to be made to pay for others' follies. They therefore opposed the taxation of lands, and declared that the States-General alone could impose taxes, which really meant that every one, workmen, peasants, citizens, and nobles, ought to vote alike the disposal of their money. The secret was out—it was a greater scandal than that of the queen and the Cardinal de Bohan—for the parliament declared that, from the beginning, the people had been taxed without their consent, and that it was an absolute robberv. Thus began the Be volution. It was so far clear that the monks and nobles had 116 The Story of a Peasant. been deceiving the people for ages—the first judges in the land told us so! The others had always existed at our expense ; they had reduced us to a most frightful state of want to indulge themselves; their nobility was of no importance ; they had no more rights than ourselves ; they had no more minds or hearts than we had; their greatness arose from our ignorance ; they had brought us up expressly in ideas contrary to common sense, that they might fleece us without trouble. Let any one imagine Chauvel's delight when the parliament made this declaration. " Now everything is going to be altered," cried he; "great events will happen—the end of the people's distress is drawing nigh, and justice begins!" The Story of a Peasant. 117 VIII. The declaration of the parliament of Paris spread like the wind to the remotest provinces. In the villages, at the fairs and markets, nothing was talked of hut the States-General. Five or six peasants could hardly he on the road toge'thei, talking over their business for a quarter of an hour, before one or other of them would suddenly cry out— "And the States - General! When are we to have our States-General ?" Then every one had his say about the abolition of turnpikes, octrois, vingtiemes, about the nobility and the third estate. They quarrelled, and then went into the nearest wineshop to make it up again; women mixed themselves up in it. Instead of living like weak people who pay their money without knowing where it goes, every one wanted accounts and to vote his own taxes—we were growing wise. This was unfortunately a bad year, on account of the great drought; from the middle of June to the end of August not a drop of rain had fallen, consequently there was a failure of the wheat, oats, and other crops ; the hay was not worth cutting. We saw famine ap- proaching, for even the potatoes had yielded nothing. It was positive ruin. Besides these came the winter of 1788, the most dreadful winter that men of my age can remember. 118 The Story of a Peasant. A report was current tliat speculators had bought, up all the corn in France to starve us; they called that providing for the famine. These robbers forestalled the grain in harvest-time ; they exported it to England, and when famine appeared they imported it, and sold it at their own price. Chauvel told us that this association had been a long time in existence, and that King Louis XV. had be- longed to it. We would not credit it, it seemed too dreadful! But I have since ascertained that it was a fact. The poor French nation never suffered so much as in the winter 1788-89, not even at the period of the great panics, nor later, in 1817, the dear year. Inspectors visited barns everywhere, obliged you to thrash your corn and send it to the town markets! Even in spite of all, the States-General were not forgotten. On the contrary, want increased the indig- nation of the people; they reflected: "If you had not spent our money we should not be so wretched. But take care, this shall not continue. We will have neither Calonne nor Brienne; they are your ministers; we want the people's ministers, like Keeker and Turgot." During this frightful cold, when brandy froze in the cellars, Chauvel and his daughter never ceased travelling the country with their book-baskets. They had sheep- skins round their legs, and we shuddered to see them start in frost and ice, with iron-shod sticks in their hands. They had a great sale for little books which came from Paris ; sometimes, when they returned from their rounds, they brought us some, which we used to read round the red-hot stove. I have preserved some of these little books, and if I could lend them to yen, The Story of a Peasant. 119 yon would be surprised at the genius and strong good sense wbicli people had, before the Revolution. All saw the true state of things, all the world was sick of beggarly tricks, except the nobles and the soldiers who were in their pay. One evening we were reading, Diogenes to the States - General; another, Appeals, Grievances, and Remonstrances and Wishes of our Citi~ tens of Paris; or, Reflections on the Interests of the Third Estate, Addressed to the People in the Provinces; and other little similar works, which showed us that seven-eighths of France held the same opinions as our- selves about the court, the ministers, and the bishops. If I had not been lucky enough to earn my twelve livres a month, and if Claude had not sent all he could to support the poor old people and the two children they still had on their hands, Grod knows what must have become of them. Thousands of people perished. Fancy, then, the distress in Paris, a city where every- thing comes from without, and which would be entirely ruined but for the large profits to be got by sending corn, meat, and vegetables to its markets. At this time something happened which pained me much, and which shows that in the same family all sorts of characters are found. About the middle of December, during the deep snow, old Hocquard, who was a sort of messenger between the town and the villages for a remuneration of a few sous, came and told us that the postmaster had caused some unclaimed letters to be cried at market-time, and there was one for Jean-Pierre Bastien, of the Baraques-du- bois-de-Chenes. The postman, Brainstem, did not then deliver the letters from village to village. The postmaster, M. Pernet, came himself at market-time 120 The\ Story of a Peasant with, the letters in a "basket; "he walked about among the stalls and asked people— " Do you belong to Lutzelbourg ? do you not come from Hultenhausen or from Harberg ?" " Yes." " Well, then, give this letter to Jean-Pierre or Jean- Claude such a one. I have had it five or six weeks. It is time it was delivered." Old Mother Hocquard would have taken charge of ours, hut it cost twenty-four sous, and the good woman did not possess so much; and she was not sure whether we would pay it. It was hard to pay twenty-four sous for a letter at such a time. I wanted to leave it at the post; hut father and mother, thinking the letter came from Nicolas, were in great distress; the poor old people said they would rather starve for a fortnight than not have news of their hoy. So I went to fetch the letter. It was indeed, from Nicolas ; and I went hack and read it in our cottage in the midst of the pity of the parents and the astonishment of us all. It was dated December 1st, 1788. Brienne had been dismissed with a pension of eight hundred thousand livres; the States - General were summoned for the 1st of May, 1789 ; Necker was again minister; hut Nicolas did not trouble his head about all this; and I copy this old piece of writing, yellow and torn, to let you see how the soldiers thought, while all the rest of France was crying aloud for justice. Poor Nicolas was neither better nor worse than his comrades ; he had no education ; he argued like a fool, for want of having learned to read; but he could not be blamed; and perhaps the other who had written the The Story of a Peasant. 121 letter for him had occasionally added something of his own invention for the sake of effect. Here is this letter:— " In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. " To Jean-Pierre Bastien and Catherine his wife, Nicolas Bastien, corporal in the 3rd squadron of the Boyal Allemand Begiment in garrison in Paris. " Dear father and mother, sisters and brothers, you must be still alive, for it would be unnatural for you to die in four years and six months, while I am all alive and well. I am not as big yet as Kountz of Phals- bourg, the syndic of the butchers ; but without vanity I am as strong as he is; my appetite has not failed me yet, nor anything else, and that's the chief thing. " Dear father and mother, if you could see me now on horseback, my hat on my ear, my feet in the stirrups, and my sabre carried either at the present or otherwise, or when I take an agreeable walk in the city with a young acquaintance on my arm, you would be surprised, you would never believe I could be your son! and if I wanted to pass myself off as noble, as many in the regi- ment allow themselves to do, it would only depend on myself; but you may believe I am incapable of doing it out of consideration for your grey hairs, and the respect which I bear you. " You must know that the first year Sergeant Jerome Leroux caused me many vexations on account of the scars on his face from the jug. But now I am corporal in the 3rd troop, and I only owe him the salute when off duty; some day I shall be sergeant, and we will settle that matter, for I ought to tell you that I am regimental fencing-master, and the first year I had 122 The Story of a Peasant. already wounded two prevots of tlie Noailles regiment, and now no one, witli tlie exception of Lafougere, Do Lauzun, and Banquet, dares to look askance at me. That comes from the eye and the wrist. You. have it or have it 'not. It is a gift of the Lord ! Even the fencing-masters come and challenge me from jealousy. The 1st of last July, before leaving Valenciennes, the staff of the regi- ment had betted on me against that of the regiment of Conti (infantry). Their fencing-master, Bayard, a dark little man from the South, always called - me ' the Alsa- tian.' That irritated me. I sent two prevots to call him out. It was all settled, and the next day we were paraded in the park. He jumped about like a cat; but in the third attack I ran him through, just under the right nipple, very neatly. He had not time to say, (Hit!' All was over. All the regiment rejoiced. I was put under arrest for forty-eight hours for being so unlucky ; but our major, the Chevalier de Mendell, sent a basket from his own table to Nicolas Bastien—a basket full of meat and choice wines. That is it! Nicolas had made Royal Allemand win; they would feast him well. From that time I have been respected by my superiors. If you only knew what is going on here; how these vagabond citizens are agitating, espe- cially the limbs of the law; if you knew that, you would understand that opportunities of distinguishing oneself are not wanting. No later than 27th of August last the commandant of the watch, Dubois, made us charge the mob on the Pont Neuf, and all that day up to twelve at night we rode over them on the Place Dauphine and the Place de G-reve, and everywhere. If you had seen the next day how we massacred them in the Rue Saint-Dominique and the Rue Meslt'e, you The Story of a Peasant, 123 would have said, { Well done !' I was the first on the right of the troop, 3rd rank; every one within reach was cut down. Lieutenant-Colonel de Beinach, after the charge, said the lawyers would not want to make themselves heard any more. I believe you. They have been hit hard. See what a fine thing discipline is! When the command is given, you must go. Father, mother, brothers^ and sisters may be before you; you ride over them like dirt. I should be sergeant already, only I must be able to write to make my report. But be easy; I have my little affair to settle with Jerome Leroux. A young man of good family, Gilbert Gardet, of the 3rd squadron, is teaching me my letters, and I give him lessons in the use of the small-sword. I shall get on, I answer for it. The first opportunity you shall see my handwriting, and now embracing you and wishing you all you desire both in this world and the next, I make my mark. " + Nicolas Bastien, " Fencing-master " In the Eoyal Allemand Begiment, " This 1st of December, 1788." Poor Nicolas saw nothing more meritorious than fighting. His noble officers looked on him as a sort of bull-dog which is let loose at another dog, and on which one wins money, and thought it very fine. I forgave him with all my heart, but I was ashamed to show it to Maitre Jean and Chauvel. All the time I was reading father and mother lifted their hands in admiration, mother especially ; she laughed, and cried— " I knew Nicolas would get on! Do you see what progress he makes ? It is because we have always lived 124 The Story of a Peasant. at Baraqu.es tliat we are so poor. But Nicolas will be noble—I foretell it—be will be noble." Father was pleased too, but lie saw the danger of fighting duels, and said as he looked down— " Yes, yes, that's all very well, provided some one else does not run him through just under the right nipple; that would break our hearts. It is terrible all the same; the other one, perhaps, had a father and mother." " Never mind, never mind!" cried mother. And then she took the letter and went and showed it to the neighbours, saying— " A letter from Nicolas ! He is corporal and fencing- master in his regiment; he has already killed several men—no one dares look at him askance now." And so it went on. Two or three days after she gave me the letter, and as Maitre Jean had asked for it, I was obliged to take and read it in .the evening. Chauvel and Margaret were there; I did not dare to raise my eyes. Maitre Jean said— " What a misfortune to have such rascals in a family, who would cut down father and mother, sisters and brothers, and think, moreover, that it is fine because it is discipline!" Chauvel answered— " Bah! What Nicolas tells us there is worth knowing. These charges in the streets, these massacres, we knew nothing about them; the gazettes never mentioned them, though I have heard indirectly in my rounds that in the neighbourhood of Grenoble, Bordeaux, and Tou- louse, large bodies of troops had been set in motion. All this is a very sure sign; it proves that the current carries all with it, that nothing can stop it. These fights have already obtained for us the dismissal of The Story of a Peasant. 125 Lomenie de Brienne, and the convocation of the States- General. Fights are not what we have to fear; what are fifty or one hundred regiments when the masses are against them ? Only let the people insist on what they want; only let the third estate he of the same mind; the rest is like froth which flies off when a strong wind blows. I am glad to hear all' this ; let us prepare for the elections, let' us be ready, and let good sense and justice show themselves." Chauvel from this time no longer pinched up his lips; he seemed full of confidence; and in spite of the famine, which lasted till the end of March, in spite of all, peasants, workpeople, and citizens held together. Chauvel was right when he said, at the declaration of parliament, that great events were preparing; each man felt stronger and more resolute ; it was like a new life; and the most miserable wretch of all, instead of crouching along as formerly, seemed to hold up his head and look the sky in the face. 120 The Story of a Peasant. IX. The more the famine increased, the more courage did the poor display. Those of Baraques, Hultenhausen, and Qnatre-Yents were nothing "but skin and hone; they dng for roots under the snow, and boiled the stinging-nettles which grew about the ruins of houses. They had recourse to all sorts of means to support themselves. Want was fearful, but by slow degrees spring appeared. The capucins from Phalsbourg dared to beg no longer; they would have been torn to pieces on the road, for the regiment of La Fere, which had just relieved that of Castella., refused to support them; they were old soldiers, tired of the young nobles and blows from the flat of the sword. Besides, there was something in the air; the judges and seneschals had been compelled to publish the king's edict for the convocation of the States-General. They knew that the judges and the seneschals would receive the last writs on a certain day, and as soon as received they would publish them at their sittings, and affix them to the doors of the churches and town- halls ; that the cures would read them out after their sermons, and that, at the latest, a week after such public notice we should all of us, workmen, citizens, and peasants, assemble at the Hotel de Ville to draw The Story of a Peasant. 127 up a statement of our grievances and complaints, and elect deputies, wlio should convey this statement to a place which would he indicated later. This was all we knew generally. Thank God, we had complaints enough to put into the statements of all the parishes. We also knew that a second assembly of notables had met at Versailles, to settle the last measures to be taken before the States-General met; and in this period of famine, in December, 1788, January and February, 1789, every one heard that the third estate—citizens, merchants, peasants, workmen, and the poor generally—were to be consulted—that our poor fathers had been already consulted long ago, in similar States-General, but that they were obliged to appear on their knees, with ropes round their necks, before the king, the nobles, and the bishops, to tender the statement of their grievances. We were all indig- nant when,we learned'that parliament desired to see our representatives in a similar position, which they called the precedent of 1614. Every one then abused the parliament, and we saw if they were the first to ask for the States-General, it was not to relieve or render justice to the people, but in order that their own estates might not be taxed, as the lands of the poor had been for so long a time. The gazettes told us that wheat was coming from America and Russia, but at Baraques and all over the mountains the inspectors searched every house even to the thatch, to carry off the little we still possessed. In the great towns they rose against them —they were obliged to treat the people with a little forbearance; but they stripped quiet people because they took it quietly. 128 The Story of a Peasant. I recollect, towards tlie end of February, when the famine was at its worst, the mayor, echevins, and syndics of the town, who used to search the sheds and barns in the neighbourhood, came one day and dined at Maitre Jean's inn. Chauvel, who always brought us the last news from Alsace and Lorraine, on his return from his rounds, happened to be in the great room; he had put his basket down on a bench, and suspected nothing. Seeing all these people in powdered wigs, cocked hats, square-cut coats, woollen stockings, cuffs and gloves furred to the elbows, and behind them all the lieutenant of the prevot, DesjarcLins, tall, dry, yellow, gold-laced cocked hat, and his sword on his hip, he was rather frightened at first. The prevot's lieutenant looked stealthily at him over his shoulder— it was he who in times gone by tortured people—he looked mischievous; while the rest laid aside their insignia of office and went to look into the kitchen, he unbuckled his sword and put it in the corner, then he quietly uncovered the basket and looked at the books. Chauvel" was standing behind, his hands in his breeches-pockets under his jacket, as if there was nothing the matter. " Well!" cried the echevins and syndics, going and coming, " another corvee over." They all laughed. The kitchen door was open, the fire blazed on the hearth, and its light spread into the room; the little syndic of the bakers, Merle, lifted up the covers of the saucepans, and made Dame Catherine explain every- thing to him ; Nicole was laying a fine white cloth on the table, and the lieutenant of police never stirred The Story of a Peasant. 129 from his place. He took book after book out of the basket, and laid them in piles on the bench. "Is it you who sell these books?" said he at last, without turning round. " Yes, sir," quietly replied Chauvel; " at your service." " Don't you know," replied the other, drawling and speaking through his nose, " that they may bring you to the gallows ?" " What, to the gallows ?" said Chauvel; " these good little books ? Look here ! Deliberations to tahe for the Meetings of the Bailiwiclcs, by Mgr. the Duke of Orleans —Reflections of a Patriot on the Approaching Meeting of the States-General—Griefs, Hopes, and Suggestions of Letters of Carriages, ivith a Prayer to the Public to Admit them into their Statements—that is not very dangerous." " And the king's privilege ?" said the lieutenant in a dry tone. " The privilege! You know well, sir, that since the time of Mgr. Lomenie de Brienne, pamphlets require none." The lieutenant went on examining, and the others stood round them. Maitre Jean and I stood farther off, against the press; we were not altogether without apprehension ourselves. Chauvel looked aside at us, to give us courage; he certainly had something hidden in his basket, and the lieutenant with his pointed nose winded it. Luckily, as the books were nearly all on the bench, Dame Catherine appeared in all her glory with the smoking soup-tureen, and the little syndic Merle, with his wig in disorder, began to cry out as he followed her in— 130 The Story of a Peasant. " Sit down, sit down, here is the soupe a la creme! Good heavens ! what are yon looking at there ? I was sure of it, inspecting again—have we not had enough inspections already? If you don't sit down I shall begin by myself." He had already taken his place, his napkin under his chin, and was removing the cover of the tureen, which sent a very pleasant smell into the room ; at the same time Nicole brought in some ribs of beef soused in vinegar, and all the syndics and echevins hastened to take their places. The lieutenant, seeing the company beginning without him, said in an ill-humour— " You know a game put off is not lost." Then throwing the book among the others, he went and sat down by Merle. Chauvel soon packed up his books again, and went away, his basket on his shoulder, looking at us very contented. We breathed again, for to hear a lieutenant of police talk of a rope, after all the pro- inises which had been made us, almost took one's breath away. Well, Chauvel got off safe, and these gentlemen dined as the nobles and as the rich dined before the Revolu- tion. They had brought their own wine, fresh meat, ai.d white bread with them from town. At the door dozens of mendicants begged and prayed, and looked in at the windows asking alms—some of them with appeals which made one shudder, especially women with their famished children in their arms. But these town gentlemen did not listen to them; they laughed as they uncorked their bottles, and helped one another, while they talked about trifles. At three they started again, some for town in their carriages, The Story of a Peasant. 131 others on horseback to continue their visits in the mountain. The same evening Chauvel came to see us with Mar- garet. He had hardly appeared at the door when Maitre Jean cried out to him— " How you frightened us! What a horrid life you lead, Chauvel! It is not living at all, being always under the gallows, on the topmost round of the ladder. I could not stand these fears for a fortnight." " No more could I," said Dame Catherine. We all thought the same, but he smiled. " Bah! that's nothing," said he, sitting down, " that's nothing but a j oke. Ten or fifteen years ago, indeed, then I used to be hunted about; then I dared not be taken with Kehl or Amsterdam editions in my possession; I should have made but one step from Baraques to the galleys; and some years before that I should have had a short shrift and a long rope. Yes, then ifi was dangerous, but let them arrest me "now, it would but be for a short time; they cannot break my arms and legs to make me give up my accomplices." " All the same," said Maitre Jean, " you were not very easy, Chauvel; you had something in your basket?" " Of course I had; this is what I had," said he, throwing a bundle of gazettes on the table. " Let us see how we are getting on." . Then having shut doors and shutters, we read till nearly midnight; and I think I can but please you if I copy from some of these old papers. It softens one to see how these brave people stood by one another. Everywhere the nobles and the provincial parliaments were agreed to oppose the States-General. In Franche- 132 The Story of a Peasant. Comte the people of Besam^on had driven away their parliament, because it opposed the king's edict, and cle- clared that the estates of the nobles were naturally free from taxation, that so it had been for a thousand years, and so it should continue. In Provence the majority of the nobility and the par- liament had protested against the king's edict for the convocation of the same States-General. Then, for the first time, was heard the name of Mirabeau, a noble, whom the others would not have, and who joined the third estate; he said that these protestations of the nobility and the parliaments " were neither useful, nor fitting, nor lawful." Never had a man spoken with such vigour, such truth, and such grandeur ; he was not sufficiently noble for the others; they refused him admission to their sittings, which showed their good sense. They were fighting everywhere. At Eennes, in Brit- tany, the nobles killed the citizens who supported the edict, principally young people well known to be brave. These citizens were not strong enough ; they called on the other cities in their province for help, and this is the answer sent by the youth of Nantes and Angers as they hurried on by forced marches :— " Shuddering with horror at the news of the murders committed at Eennes, summoned by a general cry of vengeance and indignation; seeing that the benevolent measures of our august king to free his faithful subjects of the third estate from slavery find obstacles only among these selfish nobles, who can only see in the tears and distress of the wretched but a hateful yoke which they seek to continue on races to come; after a knowledge of our strength, and intending to break the The Story of a Peasant. 133 last link which, fetters us, we have resolved to set off in sufficient numbers to put down those vile aristocratic executioners. Let us protest beforehand against all decrees which might denominate us seditious when our objects-are pure; let us swear, in the name of honour and our country, that should an unjust tribunal obtain possession of us, let us swear to do all that nature, courage, and despair can inspire men to do for their own preservation. Done at Nantes, in the Exchange Hall, January 28, 1789." This was uttered by young commercial men. Others, from Angers, w*ere also on the march, and this is what the women of this gallant place wrote: " Resolved by the mothers, sisters, wives, and lovers of the young citizens of Angers, in extraordinary sitting; after read- ing the resolutions of these young men, we declare if these troubles begin again, and in case of departure, all ranks of citizens uniting for the common cause, we will join the nation, whose interests are our interests, re- serving to ourselves, strength not being our attribute, to take as our duty, and as our own sphere of useful- ness, care of the baggage, supplies of food, prepara- tions for marching, and all the cares, comforts, and services of which we are capable. Let us protest that the intention of us all is not to fail in the respect and obedience which we owe the king, but that we will perish sooner than abandon our sons, our husbands, our brothers, and our lovers, preferring the glory of sharing their danger to a shameful and inactive security." When we read that, we cried, and said—■ " What brave women and gallant people! We might do as they do I" 134 The Story of a Peasant. We felt ourselves strong, and Cliauvel, with Uplifted finger, cried— " May the nohles, the bisliops, and the parliaments try to understand that! It is a great sign when even women insist on having their rights, and when they animate their brothers, husbands, and lovers, instead of wishing to keep them from fighting. It is not often that happens, but when it does, the other's cause is lost beforehand." The Story of a Peasant. 135 X. Some days after the 20th March, 1789, as the snow was thawing, news came that large notices with the great stamp of three fleur-de-lis had been affixed to the doors of the churches, convents, and town-halls the evening before to summon us all to the Hotel de Yille of Phalsbourg. It was true! These notices called the nobility, the clergy, and the third estate to the meetings of the baili- wiclr, where our States-General were to be prepared. I cannot do better than copy one of these notices for you. You will see for yourselves the difference between the States-General of that period and the way things are done now :— "Regulation of the King for the Execution of the Writs of Summons of January 24th, 1789. " The king, in addressing letters convoking the States-General of the different provinces under his rule, has desired that all his subjects should be invited to co-operate in the election of deputies who are to form this great and solemn assembly. His majesty has desired that from the extreme limits of his kingdom, and from its least-known dwellings, every one should be certain that he can make his wishes and appeals reach him, His majesty, then, has ascertained with real satis- 136 The Story of a Peasant. faction tliat by means of assemblies of all ranks, insti- tnted in the whole of France for tbe representation of the third estate, he will be in communication with all the inhabitants of his kingdom, and become more inti- matelv acquainted with their wants and their wishes, in a manner more prompt and more certain." After that the notice referred to the nobility and clergy, to their convocation, to the number of deputies to the bailiwick assemblies, and, later, to the States- General, who should be sent by the bishops, abbes, chapters, and endowed ecclesiastical communities, both regular and secular, of both sexes. Then it touched upon what related to us:— "1st. Parishes and communities, towns as well as cities, shall meet at the guildhall before the judge or some other public officer. At this meeting, all inhabi- tants composing the third estate, born or naturalised Frenchmen, of the age of twenty-five, having a settled habitation, and paying rates and taxes, shall have a right to be present at the drawing up of the memorials, and election of deputies. " 2. The deputies chosen shall, at the Hotel de Ville, and under the presidency of the municipal officers, form the assembly of the third estate for the town. They shall draw up the memorial of the complaints and grievances of the said town, and shall name deputies to convey it to the principal bailiwick. " 3. The number of deputies who shall be chosen by the parishes and communes in the country, to convey the memorials, shall be at the rate of two for every two hundred houses and upwards, of three for every three hundred houses, and so on. " 4. In the principal bailiwicks or seneschals' juris- The Story of a Peasant. 137 dictions tlie deputies of the third estate, in a prelimi- nary meeting, shall make a digest of all the memorials in one, and shall appoint one-fourth of their number to convey the said memorial to the general assembly of the bailiwick. " 5. His majesty commands that in the said principal bailiwicks the election of deputies of the third estate shall take place immediately after the collection of the memorials of all the towns and communes which shall be there present." It will be observed that instead of naming, as they do now, deputies of whom one knows nothing, but who are sent down from Paris with good letters of intro- duction, one chose, as was most sensible^ from one's own village. Those persons then selected the most able, the boldest, the best educated among themselves to sustain our appeals to the king, the princes, the nobles, and the bishops; and in this fashion we had what was good. Look at what our deputies did in '80, and what these do to-day; then you will see whether it was better to have peasants who were chosen because they were known, or men whom you elect because the prefect recommends them to you. I do not say this to undervalue these gentlemen, but even in good things there is a choice. It is quite evident that deputies ought to represent the persons who return them, and not the government whose conduct they are charged to watch over: that is plain enough. Suppose that Louis XYI., through his seneschals, prevots, baillies, governors of provinces, and his police, had taken on himself to name the deputies of the third estate. What would have happened? These deputies would never dare to contradict the king, who had appointed them; 188 The Story of a Peasant they would have discovered that whatever government wished was right, and we should he still stagnating. I need not describe the enthusiasm and contentment of every one when they knew that the States-General would meet, for there had been still some doubts about it. Often deceived, we hardly dared believe in any- thing, but this time the business could not be delayed. That same day Maitre Jean and I, towards five in the evening, were working at the forge, very happy. Every time godfather heated the iron he cried out, his fat face looking quite joyous— " "Well, Michel, so we shall have our States-General!" To which I replied— "Yes, Maitre Jean, the business is going on right AOW." And then the hammers began to work away again without stopping: a joyful heart adds to one's strength. Out of doors the mud was deeper than we had seen it for a long time; snow was melting, water running, carrying the manure-heaps with it, and filling the cellars. Women came out every moment to stop it with their large brooms. One want leads to another; after having performed corvees for the king, the seigneur, and the convent, the idea of paving the village street could not occur to you, you were too happy to rest and live in dirt. Suddenly five or six old Baraquins, Father Jacques Letumier, Nicolas Cochart, Claude Hure, Gau- thier Courtois, in fact, all the notables of the vicinity, stopped before our forge with a majestic air, and un- covered themselves with much ceremony. " Ha! is that you, Letumier ?" cried Maitre Jean, and you, Hure ? What the devil are you doing there ?" The Story of a Peasant. 139 He laughed, but the others were serious, and the tall Letumier, bending his back under the little door, said from the bottom of his throat like the crockery- hawkers— "Maitre Jean Leroux, with all respect to you we have a communication to make you." " To make me ?" " Yes, to yourself, in respect of these elections." " Oh, well, come in. You are standing out there in the mud." Then one after the other they came in. There was hardly room for them to stand. The others were cogi- tating how to begin their speech, when Maitre Jean said— " Well, what's the matter ? What do you want to ask me ? Do not hesitate. You know me well enough, if it be anything I can do." "Weil, this is what it is," said the woodcutter Cochart; "you know the three Baraques vote together?" "Yes. Well?" " Well, the three Baraques have two hundred houses. We have a right to elect two deputies." " Without doubt; and then ?" " And then, you are the first—that is a matter of course. But the other is a difficulty for us." " What! do you intend to name me ?" said Maitre Jean, inwardly flattered all the same. " Yes; but the other ?" Then Maitre Jean was quite satisfied, and said— " We are roasting ourselves here at this fire Let us go into the inn—have a jug of good wine together ; that will sharpen our wits !" Of course they agreed. I meant to remain at the 140 The Story of a Peasant. forge; but Maitre Jean called to me from tlie middle of the street— " Come, Micbel, come; a day like this all of us should be of one mind." And we all went into the large rooin together. They sat down round the table, along the windows. Maitre Jean called for wine and glasses, a loaf of bread, and some knives. They touched glasses, and as Dame Catherine looked on in surprise, not understanding the meaning of it all, and Letumier was wiping his mouth preparatory to explaining it to her, Maitre Jean cried— " For myself, I am flattered—I accept; but I must warn you, if you do not name Chauvel at the same time, I shall refuse." " Chauvel'! the Calvinist ?" cried Letumier, turning his head and opening his eyes wide. And the rest looked horrified at one another, and cried— " The Calvinist! He our deputy ?" " Listen," said Maitre Jean; " we are not now going to meet yonder, so to speak, in council, to discuss the mysteries of our holy religion, or the holy sacraments, and the like. We are going there on our own business, and chiefly to relieve ourselves of subsidies, poll-tax, corvees, land-tax ; to give a turn to our seigneurs, if it be pos- sible, and get ourselves out of the scrape. Well, I am a sensible man—at least, I believe so—but not sufficiently so to win such a great stake as this. I can read and write, and I know where the shoe pinches, and if it was only a question of braying like an ass I could play my part as well as any one belonging to Q.uatre-Vents, Mittelbronn, or elsewhere. But that is. not the business in hand. We. shall meet knowing The Story of a Peasant. 141 fellows there of all descriptions—attorneys, baillies, seneschals, men well educated, who can give us a thou- sand reasons founded on laws, customs, practices, for this and for that, and if we cannot reply to them categorically, they will fix the halter round our necks again for ever. Do you see that ?" Letumier opened his mouth from ear to ear. " Tes—but Chauvel—Chauvel," said he. "Hear me out," said Jean. "I want to be your deputy; and if any one from amongst us speaks I can and will second him; but answer myself! no. I have neither sufficient instruction, nor sufficient information; and I can tell you that in all this part of the country, I don't care where, there is no one so capable of speak- ing for us and defending us as Chauvel; he knows everything—laws, customs, warrants, everything. That little man, do you see, is acquainted with every book he has carried on his back for the last five-and-twenty years. When on the road, you think, perhaps, he is looking about him, at the fields, the trees, the hedges, the bridges, and the rivers. Hot he. He has his nose over one of his old books as he walks along, or else he is meditating some argument; in fact, if you are not fools, and do not want to keep your corvees, land- taxes, and exactions, that is the man you will choose first, even in preference to me. If Chauvel is there I will stand fast by him; but if he is not, you had better not elect me at all, for I refuse at once." Maitre Jean spoke very plainly, and the others scratched their ears. " But," said the woodcutter Cochart, " will they let him sit ?" " The notice makes no difference in religion," answered. 142 The Story of a Peasant. Maitre Jean; " every one is called upon, provided he he a Frenchman, is twenty-five years of age, and is on the list of tax-payers. Chauvel pays as we all do, perhaps more ; and did not our good Mng last year restore their civil rights to Lutherans, Calvinists, and even to Jews ? You ought to know that; let us elect Chauvel, and not trouble ourselves farther. I answer for it, he will do us more good and more credit than fifty capucins ; he will defend our interests with good sound sense, and courage too. It will be to the honour of the three Baraques, believe me. Here, Catherine! another jug." The others were still doubtful; but when Maitre Jean filled the glasses again, and said—" This is my last word: if you do not name Chauvel, I refuse: if you do name him, I accept; here is our good king's health!" all seemed affected, repeating— " Here is our good king's health." And when they had finished drinking, Letuinier said, with a very grave face— " It will be hard work to get the women to put up with that; but as it has gone so far, Maitre Leroux, here is my hand." "And mine also," said another, leaning over the table. And so it went, all round the table. After that, having emptied the jug, every one rose to gc home. They were the notables, and we were sure all the others would do as they did. " The business is, then, settled ?" cried Maitre Jean to them, well pleased, at the door. " All settled," said they, as they walked off, paddling through the mud. We then returned to the forge j all this had made us The Story of a Feasant. 143 thoughtful. We worked on till seven, and then Nicole called us to supper. The meeting was for the Sunday following. Chauvel and his daughter had been on their journey for a fortnight; they had never sold so many pamphlets; however, Maitre Jean hoped to find them at the great meeting in the town-hall. That evening nothing fresh occurred—the day had been sufficiently eventful. 144 The Story of a Peasant XI. As I walked down the old street of Baraquea tlie Sunday following witli my father, between six and seven in the morning, the sun rose red over the woods of La Bonne Fontaine. It was the first fine day of the year; the thatched roofs and the little chimneys in black bricks, whence the smoke wound into the air, resembled gold; the little puddles along the street glistened as far as one could see, white clouds stretched away in the sky, and one could hear from far, very far, the clarionettes of the villages which were on the road, the drums beating the rappel in the town, and tlie first tinklings of the church bells, announcing the mass of the St. Esprit, before the elections. My father, now grown old, sunburnt, feeble, with his grey beard and bare neck, walked next to me, his frock of coarse raw linen thread rolled up round his loins; his trousers, also of linen, fastened by a string round his ankles; and his shoes of unblackened leather, without heels, laced np. He wore on his head, like all peasants of our time, a coarse woollen cap, since carried on the flag of the Republic, and looked pensively out of the corners of his eyes to the right and to the left, as if he expected some- thing to take us by surprise — by dint of suffering one distrusts everything—every instant the poor man taid— The Story of a Peasant. 145 " Michel! take care, and say nothing; let us hold our tongues; this will end ill." I was more confident. The habit of hearing Maitre Jean and Chauvel discuss the affairs of the country, and of reading myself what took place at Eennes, Marseilles, and Paris, gave me more courage ; besides, at eighteen the work of the forge had spread out my shoulders; the big twelve-pound hammer was not too heavy for my hands; I had hardly any beard ; but that did not prevent me looking a man in the face, whether soldier, citizen, or peasant. I liked to be well dressed; on Sundays I wore a cap of blue cloth, long boots, a velvet waistcoat after the smith's fashion; and, since I must own it, I looked at the pretty girls with pleasure; I found them handsome; it is not forbidden to do so! There! All the village was astir as we came near the inn. Maitre Jean and Valentine in the great room, the windows wide open, were drinking a bottle of wine and eating a crust of bread together before starting. They had both their best clothes on; Maitre Jean in his master's coat, with wide skirts, red waistcoat, his breeches buckled round his great calves, and silver buckles in his round-toed shoes; Valentine in a grey linen blouse, the collar and breast ornamented with red binding; a large silver heart fastened his shirt, his peasant's cap stuck over his ear. They saw us and cried— " Here they are." We went in. " Now, Bastien, our good king's health!" cried Maitre Jean, filling the glasses, and my father, with tears in his eyes, answered— 146 The Story of a Peasant. " Yes, yes, Jean, to our good king's health.! Long live our good king!" It was the fashion to believe then that the king did everything; he was looked upon as a sort of god who watched over his children, consequently my father loved his king. " We drank our wine, and the notables soon arrived. They were the same as the evening before, with Grand- father Letumier, so old that he could hardly see, and he had to be led every step to prevent his falling. Never- theless he insisted on voting; and while they were gone to fetch wine, were filling glasses, and every one was talking and crying, " Here we are, it's settled, the Baraquins will make themselves known; be easy, they will all vote together!"—while they were shaking hands, and laughing, and drinking, the poor old man said— " Ah ! life is long, life is long ! but never mind, when I see such a day as this, I don't think of my own ills." . Maitre Jean answered—"You are right, FatherLetu- mier; we no longer heed the days of hail and snow when once harvest is come ; here are the sheaves ! they have cost us some labour, it is true; but now we are going to thrash, winnow, and sift them; we have bread, please God, and our children too ; long life to the king !" And we all repeated, " Long life to the king !" Glass met glass, they embraced all round ; then Ley set off arm-in-arm, nay father and I last. All the Baraquins, assembled round the fountain, followed us with clarionettes and drums. I never heard anything like it; the whole coointry was full of music and bell-ringing; on all sides you could see along the The Story of a Peasant. 147 roads rows of people dancing, waving their hats, throwing their caps in the air, and singing— " Long live the good king! the father of his people." The hells answered one another from the height of the mountain to the far end of the plain; it never ceased; and the nearer we came to the town, the louder was the din; flags of white silk, embroidered with golden lilies, waved from the church, from the barrack windows, over the hospital, everywhere. No, I never saw anything so fine. In later times of Republican victories, the* cannon roaring on our ramparts made one's heart beat, and one was proud to shout, "Vive la nation! vive la Republique!" But on this occasion it was not a question of killing people ; they thought to win everything at once by embracing one another. These things are not to be described! As we came near the town, M. the Cure Christopher arrived at the head of his parishioners where the two roads meet; then they stop again, raise their hats and shout again, " Long live the king!" The cure and Maitre Jean embrace; and then laughing, singing, clarionettes playing, drums beating, the two parishes continue their advance to the entrance, already crowded with people. I see now the sentry of the La Fere Regiment, in his white coat and grey facings, his enormous cocked hat 011 his powdered wig, his heavy musket on his arm, who motioned to us to halt. The bridges were encumbered with carts and carriages ; all the old people had themselves conveyed to the town-hall; they all wanted to vote before they died ; many of them cried like children. After that, let those that like say that men of our 148 The Story of a Peasant. time had not very great good sense; from the first to the last, all wanted their rights. "We had to wait there twenty minutes before crossing the bridge, there was such a crowd. Inside the town was the sight, the streets full of people, innumerable flags from all the windows; there you should have heard the cries of " Vive le roi!" sometimes beginning in the square, sometimes near the arsenal at the Gate de l'Aliemagne, and go round the ramparts and glacis like the rolling of thunder. When we had once passed the old portcullis, you could go neither forwards nor backwards* nor see four paces before you. The inns, taverns, breweries, Saint Christopher, Coeur Rouge, and Capucin streets, all the length of the two barracks and the hospital, formed one compact mass of men. The mass of the St. Esprit had just begun, but how to get near the church ? The patrols of the La Fere Regiment in vain called, " Gare ! gare!" They were hustled back into corners, and remained with grounded arms, not able to stir. Maitre Jean recollected that the inn of his friend Jacques Renaudot was close by, and without saying anything to us, but only making us a sign to come on, led the cure Christopher, Valentine, and myself to the steps of the Cheval Blanc. But we could only get in by the back door, into the kitchen ; the great room was as full as an egg; they had been obliged to open all the doors and windows to be able to breathe. Mother Jeannette Renaudot gave us a good reception, and took us upstairs to the first floor, into an unoccupied room, where they brought us wine, beer, and a pie—all we wanted. The Story of a Peasant. 149 The others "below looked about for us, thinking they had missed us in the crowd. We could not call them, nor could we have them all upstairs. We therefore remained as we were, until towards one o'clock, when half the villages had already voted, and those from the Baraques were turning by the Fouquet corner to go towards the place ; we then left, and taking the Rue de l'Hopital, we reached the town-hall first; they thought we had been there some time, and every one said— " There they are." The old town-hall, with its bell-tower, its large open windows under the clock, its arched entrance, through which the villages poured one after the other, sounded from top to bottom like a drum. At a distance it re- sembled an ant's hill. The Baraquins passed before the people from Lutzelbourg; they were between the old cistern and the grand staircase. Maitre Jean, Valentine, my father, and myself walked in front; but the others, those from Vilschberg, not having given all their votes, we had to wait on the steps for some time; how every man's heart beat then when he reflected on what he was about to do ! Behind us, under the old elms, after the cries of " Vive notre bon roi !" I heard a clear voice, a voice we all recognised, that of little Margaret Chauvel, who was crying, like the almanack- sellers— " What is the Third Estate ? by M. 1'Abbe Sieyes; buy What is the Third Estate ? Assemblies of the Bailiwicks, of Monseigneur the Duke of Orleans; who will buy The Assemblies of the Bailiwicks f" I turned to Maitre Jean and said, " Do you hear little Margaret ?" " Yes, I have heard her a long time*" said he. " What 150 The Story of a "Peasant. good people these Chauvels are! They may well boast of having done good to their country. * You. should go and tell Margaret to send her father here. He cannot he far off; he will be pleased to hear himself named." Elbowing my way, I pushed through the crowd to the top of the steps of the town-hall, and I perceived Mar- garet selling her boohs, with her basket on a bench in the place under the elms. One can hardly fancy anything like the little rogue, catching the peasants by the sleeve, and talking to them in Herman and French. Her sale was at its height; and for the first time the brightness of her black eyes astonished me, in spite of the thousand other ideas which occupied my mind. I stepped down towards the bench, and as I went up Margaret caught me by the jacket, crying— " Sir! sir! What is the Third Estate ? Just look at What is the Third Estate ? of M. Abbe Sieyes, for six Hards." Then I spoke to her. " Don't you recognise me, Margaret ?" " Why it is Michel I" said she, letting me go and laughing. She wiped the perspiration which ran down her brown cheeks, and threw her long black hair all loose on the back of her neck. We were both surprised to find our- selves there. " How you do work, Margaret! what pains you are taking!" said I. " Yes," said she, " this is the great day—we must go on selling," and pointing to the bottom of her petticoat, and to her Httle feet, covered with mud, " Look what a state I am in; we have walked since six yesterday evening; we came from Luneville with fifty dozen The Story of a Peasant. 151 * of the Third Estate, and we have been selling them all the morning till now! Look here, we have only ten or twelve dozen left." She looked quite proud of it, and I still held her hand in surprise. " And where is your father ?" said I. " I don't know; somewhere in the town—about the inns. We shall sell every one of these Third Estates. I am sure he has already sold all his copies." Then suddenly drawing her little hand back— " Go," said she, " the Baraquins are going into the Hotel de Yille." " But I am not twenty-five, Margaret, and I have no vote." " It is all the same; we are losing time chattering here." And then she began selling again. " Here, gentlemen, the Third Estate, the Third Estate." I went away astonished. I had always seen Margaret by her father's side, and now she appeared quite another person. I wondered at her courage. I thought to myself, " She would get out of a scrape better than you, Michel." And even in the crowd, on the balcony, after having rejoined Maitre Jean, I kept thinking of it. "Well?" said he, as soon as I reached him, "Margaret is by herself in the square; her fathe? is somewhere in the town with his books." At that moment we were going down from the balcony into the great corridor, which led to the prevot's audience-hall. The Baraquins' turn had come; and as it was necessary to vote out loud, before entering the hall we could easily hear the voting. 152 The Story of a Peasant. " Maitre Jean Leroux! MatTinrin Chauvel I Maitre Jean Leroux I Mathurin Clianvel! Maitre Jean Leronx! Clianvel I" Maitre Jean, with a very red face, said to me— " What a pity Clianvel is not here I how pleased he would he I" I tnrned ronnd and saw Chanvel "behind me, quite astonished at what he heard. " Yon have done this ?" said he to Maitre Jean. " Yes," said the godfather, very well pleased. " From yon I am not snrprised at this," said Chanvel, shaking hands with him; " I have known so long what yon are. What snrprises and delights me is to hear Catholics name a Calvinist. The people are laying aside their old snperstitions ; they will gain the day 1" We moved gently forward, and we turned two by two to enter the great hall. Directly afterwards, above the crowd, with their hats off, we perceived M. the Prevot Schneider, in a black cloak, edged with white, a cap in his hand, and a sword by his side. The echevins and syndics in black coats, a black scarf round the neck, were sitting one step lower. Behind, against the wall, was the large crucifix. That is all I can remember. The names of Jean Leroux and Mathurin Chauvel followed like the beat of a clock. The first who said " Nicolas Letumier and Chauvel," was Maitre Jean himself. He was recognised in consequence, and the prevot smiled. The second who voted for Jean Leroux and Letumier was Chanvel; he was consequently re- cognised also; but M. le Prevot had known him for a long while, and he did not smile at his name. The The Story of a Peasant. 153 lieutenant, Desjardins, indeed, whispered to him as he leaned over to him. I had already turned to the right, having no vote to give. Chauvel, Maitre Jean, and myself left together •, he had much trouble in getting through the crowd again; and even down below, instead of passing out by the place where the voters from Mittelbronn were just arriving, we went out by the back, under the old market. There Chauvel left us directly, saying— " This evening we will talk it over at the Baraques." He had still some little books to sell. Maitre Jean and I went thoughtfully home alone. The crowd dis- persed; they seemed very tired, but pleased neverthe- less. Some had had a glass too much, and sang and danced along the road. My father and Valentine came home later. We might have hunted a long time for them without finding them. That same evening after supper, Chauvel and his daughter came as usual. Chauvel had a great bundle of paper in his pocket; it consisted of the speeches made by the prevot and his lieutenant the morning before the elections in the town-hall; and then the proces-verbaux of appearance of the clergy, the nobility, and the third estate.- The speeches were very good, and as Maitre Jean wondered how men could speak to us so well, and treat us always so ill, Chauvel said, smiling— " In future words and deeds must correspond. These gentlemen see the people are the stronger, and they take off their hats to them; but the people must be cognisant of their strength, and make use of it; then everything will be as justice wills it." 154 The Story of a Peasant. XII. I must now mention a circumstance wliicli affects mo still wlien I think of it. It is the happiness of my life. I must just inform you that in this month of April, those of our province who had "been named to draw up the memorial of our complaints and grievances met at the "bailiwick of Lixheim. They were lodged in the inn; Maitre Jean and Chauvel left every Monday morning, and only returned the following Saturday evening; this lasted three weeks. Tou may guess how the mountain was in motion all this time. The cries and disputes over the abolition of the poll and salt tax, of the militia; on the vote by individual or according to rank, and thousands of other things which had never been thought of; crowds of Alsatians and Lorrainers filled the inn; they drank, struck the tables with their fists, and quarrelled like wolves; you would think they were going to throttle ©ne another, and yet they were all of the same mind, like all the labouring class; they wanted what we wanted; without that what fights we should have seen! Valentine and I worked at the forge opposite the house; we mended the carts and shod the horses of all the passers-by; sometimes I tried an argument with Valen- tine, who thought all was lost if the seigneurs and bishops had the worst of it; I tried to convince hirq The Story of a Peasant. 155 but be was such a good fellow that I did not like to annoy bim; bis only resource was to talk about a but be bad in tbe wood behind tbe Koche-Plate, wbere be caugbt tomtits; be bad also traps in tbe beatber, and snares in tbe runs, witb leave from tbe inspector, M. Claude Coudray, to wkom, from time to time, in return, be carried a string of fieldfares or otber birds. Tbis is wbat touched bim most in tbe midst of tbis approach- ing confusion; be only thought about bis decoy-birds, and used to cry to me— " Tbe building time is coming, Michel, and after tbe nests tbe catching them witb a call; then tbe flight of fieldfares, which settle in Alsace when tbe grasses are ripe; tbe year promises well, and if tbe fine weather lasts we shall catch plenty." His long face grew longer still; be smiled, showing bis toothless gums, bis eyes became rounder; be seemed to see tbe fieldfares banging by tbe neck in bis snares; and be pulled tbe hair out of all tbe horses' tails as they went by to make bis springes. I was always thinking about tbe great affairs of tbe bailiwick, but mostly about tbe abolition of tbe militia, for I bad to draw in September,, and that concerned me more than anything else. But something else occurred. For some time, when I went home in tbe evening, I found Mother Letumier and her daughter spinning witb my mother, by tbe side of my father, Marceline, and little Etienne, who were plaiting baskets; they were quite at home there, and would stay till ten. These Letumiers were people well off for that period; they bad some free- bold property, and their daughter Annette, a tall fair girl, witb hair rather inclining to red, but fresh and 156 The Story of a Peasant. •white, was a good creature. I often saw her going and coming past the forge with a small bucket under her arm, as if she was going to fetch water from the fountain; she would look round with a tender air ; she had on a short petticoat and red linen corset, with shoulder-straps, and her arms bare up to the elbows. I saw this without noticing or suspecting anything. In the evening, while watching her spinning, I may have said something gay or trifling, such as boys say to girls in all respect, as is very natural, without thinking more about it. But one day my mother said— " Look here, Michel, you had better go and dance to-morrow at the Bondinet de la Cigogne, and put on your velvet jacket, your red waistcoat, and your silver heart." I wondered and asked her why, but she only smiled, and said, looking at my father— " You will see." My father was plaiting very thoughtfully; he said to me— " The Letumiers are rich ; you might as well dance with their daughter; she would be a good match." It put me out to hear this. I did not dislike the girl, but I never once yet thought of marrying. At last, through curiosity or folly, or because I wanted to please my father, I answered—■ "As you will, but I am too young to marry, and I have not drawn for the militia." " Well," said my mother, " it will cost you nothing to go there, and that may please people. It is only a civility after all." So I answered— The Story of a Peasant. 157 " Very •well." And tlie following Sunday, after vespers, I set off. I go down tlie hill thinking these things over and won- dering what I was ahout. At that time old Paquotte, widow of Dieudonne Bernel, kept the inn of the Cigogne at Lutzelbourg, a little to the left of the wooden bridge; and behind, where the garden now is, at the foot of the slope, they used to dance under the yoke elm hedges. There were plenty of people, for the cure Christopher was not like so many other cures; he did not choose to see or hear anything, not even Jean Kat's clarionette. They drank a small Alsatian wine and ate fried fish. So I go down the street and go up the stair at the bottom of the court, looking at the boys and girls dancing about on the terrace; just as I reached the first arbours Mother Letumier cried— " This way, Michel, this way." Pretty Annette was there ; when she saw me she be- came very red. I took her by the arm and asked her to waltz with me. She cried— " Oh, M. Michel!" looked up, and followed me; Girls have been the same in all times, before as after the Eevolution: they always like one man better than another. Well, I waltzed with her four or five times, I cannot exactly say how often, -and they laughed. Mother Letumier seemed pleased, Annette was very red, and kept looking down. Of course we did not talk politics ; we joked, we drank, and ate a cake together. I thought to myself— " Mother will be satisfied; they will compliment her on her boy." 158 The Story of a Peasant. Towards evening, about six,* I had enough 3>f it; and without thinking of anything, I went into the street, and turned towards the pine-wood to cut across by the rocks. It was very warm for the time of year, everything was green and in flower—violets, whortleberries, and strawberry-plants spread over and covered the path with verdure. One would have thought it the month of June. I remember these things as if it were yesterday, yet I am a few years older than I was then—yes, indeed! At last, once over the rocks on the level, I reach the high road, whence you can see the roofs of the Baraques, and two or three hundred paces before me 1 see a little girl, white with dust, carrying a heavy square basket over her shoulder, who walked and walked. I said to myself— " That must be Margaret! Yes, it is!" And I walk faster—I run. " Stop! is that you, Margaret ?" She turned round, showing me her brown face shin- ing with perspiration, her hair falling over her cheeks, her bright eyes; she began to laugh, and said— " Oh, Michel! what a lucky meeting!" I looked at the thick strap which seemed cutting into her shoulder; I was quite astonished, and ill at ease. ""Why, you look tired," said she. "Have you been far ?" " Ho, I come from Lutzelbourg, where I have been dancing," " Ah, yes," said she, walking on. " I come from Dabo. I have been all over the district. I have sold plenty c/ Third Estates down there. I got there just as the parish The Story of a Peasant. 159 deputies met. The day before yesterday I was in Lix- heim in Lorraine." " Are you made of iron ?" asked I as I walked along with her. " Not quite of iron; all the same, I am rather tired; but the great blow has been struck, do you see; it keeps moving!" She laughed, but was tired, for as she got near the little wall which inclosed Furst's old orchard, she rested her basket on it, and said— " Let us talk a little, Michel, and take breath." I took her basket and put it on the top of the wall, saying, as I did so— "Yes, let us breathe awhile, Margaret; yours is a harder occupation than ours." " Yes, but we are getting on," said she, with the same voice and look as her father's; " we may say we have made some progress. We have already recovered our ancient rights, and now we are going to ask for others. Everything must be granted—everything. All must be equalised; the taxes must be the same for all; every one must be free to succeed if he has the courage to work, and then we must be free—there!" She looked at me. I was lost in admiration. I thought to myself— " What are we in comparison with people like these ? What have we either done or suffered for our country?" Then glancing at me, she continued— " Yes; that is how it is. Now the memorials aria nearly finished, we shall sell thousands of them. In the meantime, I travel about alone. We have only this trade to live by, and I must work for us both now, while father is working for us all. I yesterday tool 160 The Story of a Peasant him twelve livres; that will make up his week's account. I gained fifteen ; since then I have earned four; now I have seven livres left. I shall go and see him the day after to-morrow; that will do, and while the States-Greneral are in session we shall sell all that goes on—to the third estate I mean. We shall not give ground now—no! Intellect must 'advance; everything must "be known. Let the people teach themselves. Do you understand ?" " Yes, yes, Margaret," said I; " you talk like your father. I could almost cry." She was at that moment seated on the wall hy the side of her "basket. The sun had just set; the sky in the distance, in the direction of Mittelbronn, was like gold, veined with red, and the pale and bluish moon, free from clouds, was rising on the left above the old ruins of the Castle of Lutzelbourg. I looked at Mar- garet, who had ceased speaking, and who was looking at these things with her eyes raised. I continued watching her; she had her elbow on her basket, and I did not take my eyes off her. She noticed it, and said— "Ah, I am covered with dust, am I not?" Without answering her question, I asked her— " How old are you ?" " On Easter Sunday, in a fortnight, I shall be s'u« teen. How old are you ?" " I am more than eighteen." " Yes, you are strong enough," said she, springing from the wall and throwing the strap over her shoulder. " Help me. That's it." When I only lifted the basket I felt how terribly heavy it was, and said— "It is too heavy for you, Margaret. You had better let jne carry it for you." The Story oj a Peasant. 161 She walked on stooping, glanced at me, smiled, and said— " "When one works to recover one's rights, nothing is too heavy, and have them we will." I had no answer to make. I felt uncomfortable. I was filled with admiration for Chauvel andjhis daughter they rose in my estimation. Margaret seemed tired no longer; she said from time to time— " Yes, down at Lixheim these nobles and monks de- fended themselves well. But they were answered; they were told what they deserved to hear, and everything frill be in the memorial—nothing forgotten. The king will know what we think, and the nation too. But we must see what the States-G-eneral are. Bather says they will be good; I believe him. We shall see; and we will stand by our deputies; they may trust them- selves to us." We had just reached Baraques. I accompanied Margaret to her door. It* was dark. She took the great key from her pocket, and said as she went in— " Another day gone. Good night, Michel." And I wished her good night. When I got home, father and mother were there, waiting for me. They looked at me. " Well ?" said my mother. " Well, we danced together." " And then ?" " Then I came home." " Alone ?" " Yes." " You did not wait for them ?" "No." 162 The Story of a Peasant. " And you have said nothing ?" " What would you have me say ?" Then she lost her temper and began to cry. " Well, you are a fool, and this girl is a greater fool than you are to take a fancy to you. What are we in comparison with them ?" She was green with anger. I looked at her very quietly, without replying. My father said— " Let Michel alone—don't call out so loud." But she would listen to nothing, and went on— " Did any one ever see such an idiot ? For the last six months I have been coaxing that great hag of a Letumier to come here for the sake of that boy; an old miser, who can only talk of her land, her hemp-field, and her cows! I put up with everything, I take patience, and then, when it is all settled, when he has only to close, this beggar refuses! Perhaps he thinks himself a seigneur, he fancies they ought to run after him. Good heavens ! why should I have such people in my family ? It makes me shudder !" I wanted to reply, but she said— " Hold your tongue; you will die on a dunghill, and so we shall all." As I said nothing, she went on— "Yes, this gentleman refuses. Spend your life, indeed, in bringing up Nicolases and Michels, vaga- bonds who get kidnapped here and there; there is no want of bad girls in the country! Since he refuses, probably he likes some one else better." She turned round with her broom in her hand, and looked at me over her shoulder. I would hear no more, and looking very pale, I went up the ladder. Since The Story of a Peasant. 163 Claude left^Etienne and I slept above under the tliatcb. I was in despair; mother called after me— " So you take yourself off. I see it plain enough, don't I, you bad boy ? You dare not stay!" I was choking with shame. I threw myself down in the great box, with my hands over my face, thinking— " My God! is this possible ?" And I could hear my mother calling louder and louder— " The beggar! the idiot!" My father tried to quiet her. That lasted a long time. My face was wet with tears. About one, every- thing was at last quiet in the hut, but I could not sleep, I was too unhappy. I thought to myself— " There! for ten years you have been at work; the others leave home. You stay behind, you pay the family debts, you give up your last liard for the support of the old people, and because you will not marry this girl for the sake of what she has got, because you will not marry the hemp-field, you are no longer good for any- thing—you are only a Nicolas, a fool, and a beggar!" I became more and more indignant. Little Etienne slept calmly by my side. I could not close my eyes. From thinking and thinking over these things I was wet with perspiration. I was smothered in this garret. I wanted air. At last, about four, I rose and went down. My father was not asleep; he asked me— " Is that you, Michel ?—are you going out ?" " Yes, father, I am going out." I wished much to talk to him; he was as good and as honest a man as any. But what could I say to him ? 164 The Story of a Peasant. My mother was not asleep either; her eyes shone in the obscurity; she said nothing, and I went out. Out of doors the fog was rising from the valley. I took the sheep- path under the rocks. The fog soaked through my frock, and cooled my blood. I went straight on. What I was thinking about, now Grod only knows ! I wanted to leave Baraques and go to Saverne, to Quatre-Vents; a journeyman blacksmith never wants work. The idea of abandoning my father, Marceline, and little Etienne wrung my heart, but I knew my mother would never get the lands of the Letumiers out of her head, and she would eternally reproach me about them. So many ideas pass through one's brain at such a moment, one thinks no more about them, one tries not to do so, and one forgets them. All I now recollect is, that about five o'clock, after the dew had fallen, there was a beautiful sunrise, a spring sun. The coolness did me goodj I cried to myself— " Michel, you must stay and put up with it. Tou cannot abandon your father, no, nor Etienne, nor your little sister. It is your duty to support them; let your mother scold, you must stay." And with these ideas in my head I turned back to the village, through the orchards and gardens which he along the slope. I screwed up my courage. The sun gave more warmth, the birds were singing, everything was bright, the dew hung at the edges of the leaves. I saw, too, the white smoke from our forge slowly rising against the sky. Valentine was up. I hurried along, and just as I came to the village, I suddenly heard some one digging on the other side of the hedge which bordered the path. I looked; it was The Story of a Peasant. 165 Margaret, behind their house, planting potatoes in a corner of their orchard. I was surprised when I recollected how late she had returned the evening be- fore; I stood against the hedge for some time looking at her; the more I looked at her the more I admired her. There she was, brave and busy, in a short petticoat and heavy sabots, thinking of nothing but her work; and I then saw for the first time that her cheeks were brown and round, her forehead small, with beautiful brown hair growing near her eyebrows and on her temples; she was very like her father; she clenched her teeth, and her sabot pressed the spade which broke up the roots in the ground. The sun shone through the apple-trees in flower upon her, with the flickering shadows of the leaves; the earth steamed, everything shone; one felt already it would be very hot. After looking at Margaret for a long time, my mother's words came into my mind—" He loves anotherand I said to myself, " It is true, he does love another ! This one possesses neither fields, meadows, nor cows, but she has courage; she shall be my wife! "We shall have the rest in time. But I must first win her, and I will work to win her." From that moment my ideas were changed; I re- spected Margaret more than before; I never for a moment entertained the thought that she could be the wife of another. Having thus come to a resolution, as people were coming down the path to go to work in the fields, 11-jft the spot, having fully made up my mind, full of courage, and even satisfaction. I came into the street; Valon- tine had been waiting a moment for me before the forge, L 166 The Story of a Peasant. his shirt-slerry for it, for, excepting their occupation, I have no ^ proach to make them; but Maitre Jean is wrong to ive such persons here. That Chauvel will come to a ad end—he does too much! We Baraquins are fools have named him, for if order is once re-established, Jj.j'warn you, the first to be seized upon will be Chauvo1 170 The Story of a Peasant. XIII. The next day on going to work early I found the Three Pigeons full of people already; they were coming all along the road, some in carts, the others on foot. The news was soon spread that the memorial of our complaints and grievances was nearly finished, and it was to be conveyed to Nancy to be incorporated with those of the other bailiwicks. Since the election-day many of the deputies to the bailiwick had sent for their wives and children to Lii- heim; they were now on their road home, well satisfied to get back to their nests. They called out as they went by— " It is finished. The rest are coming this evening; it is all settled." I Valentine and I were well pleased at soon seeing Maitre Jean back at the forge. After working ten yean together, it is very dull to remain three weeks alone, and not to see the good-natured fat face which calle J out from time to time— "Now, boys, get on!" or, "Stop, let us haveal minute to breathe !" ' Yes, there is something wanting; one is quite be- wildered. So we hung up our jackets, and talked of the gxi news, while looking at the crowd which had stopped at the inn, Nicole, and Dame Catherine, who went oi> The Story of a Peasant. 171 yith chairs to help the women to get down from their /arts, and then compliments and greetings, for all these women were acquaintances, and since their husbands had been named deputies, they were much m'ore cere- monious, and called one another " madame." Valentine laughed heartily. " Look here, Michel," said he, " here is the Countess G-ros- Jacques, or the Baroness Jarnique! Look, this is just the time to learn good manners." He was not deficient in wit when he ridiculed those who were not noble; on the contrary, when he saw the bows they made, he laughed till he cried, and always ended by saying— " That is as becoming to them as lace to Finaude, Father Benedict's donkey ! Oh, the beggars! To think that this sort should dare to revolt against his majesty, the queen, and the highest authorities! Fancy their asking for their rights! I would give you your rights—that I would—I would send you packing, and if you were not satisfied I would double my Swiss guards and my gendarmerie." He discoursed in this way in a low tone, while he blew the bellows and held the iron in the tongs. I knew all his thoughts, for he was obliged to talk aloud to understand himself; it did me good. AVe had begun to work again. The anvil had been heard for three hours, sparks flew, and we were busy with our work, when a shadow was thrown on the little door; I turned round; it was Margaret! She'had some- thing in her apron, and said to us— " I bring you some work; I have broken my spade; could you mend it for me by this evening or to-morrow morning ?" 172 The Story of a Peasant. Valentine took the spade, which was all notched, and the socket "broken. I was delighted. Margaret looked at me, and t smiled at her as much as to say— " Be easy ; I will do it for you properly; you shall sec how I work." She smiled in return, seeing how pleased I was to do her this little service. " By this evening or to-morrow morning it is not possible," said Valentine, "but if you could come to- morrow evening " " Nonsense," cried I, " it is nothing to do. 'Tis true we are very busy, but Margaret's spade must be done first." " You are very welcome to it," said he; " only it will take more time than you "think, and we are very busy." Margaret laughed. " So I may reckon on its being done, Michel ?" " Yes, yes, Margaret, you shall have it this evening." She went away, and I fitted the small anvil on its block directly, I put the old iron part in the fire, and I took hold of the bellows-handle. Valentine looked at me with surprise; my eagerness astonished him; he said nothing, but I felt my ears were getting red as well as my cheeks. So I began to sing. And he as usual followed me in the plaintive manner of the old journeymen smiths. Our hammers struck in time, and while thinking I was working for Margaret, my heart overflowed with satisfaction. I do not think I ever worked better in my life; my hammer left the anvil quicker than it fell; the iron was spread out as easily as paste. J hammered my spade first hot, then cold; I made it The Story of a Peasant. 173 square, rather long, the rib -well in the middle, the blade like the tail of a swallow, the neck so round and well welded, that Valentine stopped from time to time to admire my work, and I heard him mutter to himself— " Every man has his own line. Maitre Jean has no equal for making horseshoes, I am best at fellies and tires. Yes, it's a gift from Heaven, no one can deny it. He is best at spades, pickaxes, and ploughshares; in that he excels; it is a gift of the Lord." He came and he went, came again, and sometimes asked me if he should help me. " Ho," cried I, proud and pleased to see my work get on so well. Then I began singing again. At last, about five, my spade was finished. It shone like a silver plate, and sounded like a bell. Valentino took it, weighed it in his hand for a long time, and then looking at me, said— " Old Eebstock, of Ribeaupierre, who sells scythes, spades, and ploughshares, even down to the farthest part of Switzerland, old Eebstock himself would put his big E on this spade, and say, 11 naade this.'" Yes, Michel, the. Chauvels may be proud of having a good spade, which will last, maybe, as long as they will. This is your masterpiece." You may believe I was satisfied, for Valentine was a good judge, but the Satisfaction arising from his praise was nothing to the pleasure I should have in carrying the spade back to Margaret, but it wanted a handle, and I wanted a new one of ash. "Without delay I ran to our neighbour, the old turner, Eigaud, who set to work and made me such a handle as I required, light and 174 The Story of a Peasant. strong at the same time. I paid him for it at once, and I went hack and pnt the spade behind the door till the day's work was over. At seven, while washing my face, neck, and hands at the pump in front of the forge, and chancing to look up the street, I saw Margaret sitting on the bench at their door, peeling potatoes. I showed her the spade from a distance, and I walked up to her quite content, saying— " Here it is ; 'what do you think of that, Margaret?" She took the spade, and looked at it in admiration. I could hardly breathe. " Ah," said she, looking at me, " Valentine made this." I answered her, quite red in the face— " So you think I cannot make anything ?" " Oh, no! but this is so well made. Do you know, Michel, you will make a good workman ?" She smiled, and I was very happy again when she said— " But this will cost dear; what do I owe you for it?" When I heard that I came down from the clouds, and said to her almost angrily— " Margaret, you want to vex me. What! I work for you; I make you a present of a spade; I am happy to do you a service, and you ask me what it costs !" Seeing my piteous face, she said— " But you are unreasonable, Michel; all work is worth its pay; and then there is Maitre Jean's coke, and your time, which you owe him." She was right, and I felt it; but it did not prevent my saying, " Ho, no, it is not that!" and even to lose The Story of a Peasant. 175 my temper, when suddenly the father Chauvel in his grey frock, with his stick in his hand, took me by the arm, and said— " What is all this ? what is it, Michel ? what are you two disputing about ?" He had just come back from Lixheim, and looked at me good-humouredly; as for me, I could hardly speak; I was terribly embarrassed. " Why," said Margaret, " he has mended my spade, and now he won't be paid for doing it." ".Nonsense," said Chauvel; " why ?" A happy idea just came into my head, and I answered— " No, you must not make me take a denier, Monsieur Chauvel; have you not lent me books often ? did you not get my sister Lisbeth a place at Wasselonne P and now don't you help the whole country to recover its rights ? When I work for you it is for friendship's sake, in gratitude ; I should think myself a beggar if I said to you, ' That costs so and so much.' It is contrary to my nature." He looked at me a moment with his little quick eyes, and said— " That is all very well, but I do not do these things either that I may not pay people. If I had done so from such a motive I also should think myself a beggar. Do you see, Michel ?" Then, as I did not know what to say, I was ready to cry, and I said— " Ah, Monsieur Chauvel, you give me pain." And he, no doubt touched by that, replied— "No, Michel, I have no such intention, for I look on you as a brave and honest boy, and to prove it to you I 176 The Story of a Peasant. accept your present. "We both of us accept it, don't we, Margaret ?" "Yes," said sbe, " since it gives him so much pleasure, we cannot refuse it." Chauvel then looked at the spade, and praised it, saying I was a good workman, and that later he hoped to see me a master, and doing a good business. I had become tranquil; and when he went into his house, and when Margaret had said, " Good night, Michel, and thanks," all was forgotten. 1 was pleased at having answered so well, for Chauvel's glance, while I was speaking, had disturbed me, and if my reasons had not been so good he might well have suspected something. I took this as a warning to be prudent, and to conceal my projects about Margaret till the time came for asking her in marriage. I made these reflections as I went back to the inn. As I entered the large room Maitre Jean had just arrived; he was hanging up his great cloak in the wardrobe, and called to Nicole to bring him his knitted jacket and cotton nightcap. " "What a good thing to find oneself in one's old coat and sabots! Ha! Michel, here we are again. The hammers will have to dance again. You must be all behindhand ?" "Not very, Maitre Jean; we have got on well with our work. The wedges which came from the Dagsberg were all sent away yesterday evening." " So much the better." Dame Catherine now came in quite pleased, and asked— " Is it all done, Jean, quite done ? You will not have to go down there again ?" The Story of a Peasant. 177 " No, Catherine, thank God! at the end of it I had had enough of these distinctions. Now our affair is granted; the memorial leaves the day after to-morrow. But it has not been without trouble, and had we not had Chauvel, I do not know where we should be now. What a man he is! he knows everything, he talks on every subject; it is an honour to the Baraques to have sent such a man. All the members of the other baili- wicks have chosen him to carry our complaints and our grievances to Nancy, to support them against whoever should attack them. As long as the Baraques last, never again will they do themselves so much credit as now. Now Chauvel is known everywhere, and that we have sent him, that he resides at Bois-de-Chenes, and that the people in those parts had the good sense to acknowledge his ability in spite of his religion." Maitre Jean told us all this while putting on his old frock and his sabots. " Yes," said he, panting, " out of hundreds of depu- ties to the bailiwick, the Third Estate has chosen fifteen to take charge of the memorial, and Chauvel is the fourth; therefore, now we have a fete, do you see, a gala for the friends of the Baraques, in honour of our deputy, Chauvel; it is all arranged—Letumier and Cochart have been told; I saw them at the Golden Apple in town, and I 'have invited them and told them to invite others. The old bottles under the faggots must come to light this time, the kitchen must blaze. Nicole must this evening fetch six pounds of good beef, three pounds of cutlets, and two fine legs of mutton from Kountz, under the market. She must say it is for Maitre Jean Leroux, of the Three Pigeons. The legs of mutton must be dressed with garlic. We must have 178 The Story of a Peasant. sausages or cabbages, and we must band down our largest bam, and a good salad, some cbeese and nuts; every one must be pleased. I want tbe wbole country round to know tbat tbe Baraques bave tbe honour of sending tbe fourth deputy of tbe bailiwick to Nancy—a man unknown to others, but whom we know, whom we bave chosen, and who of himself alone has done more to support tbe rights of tbe people than fifty others. But we will talk about tbat by-and-by. Cbauvel shut tbe mouth of tbe oldest lawyers, of tbe sharpest advocates, and tbe most cunning rich ones of tbe province." Maitre Jean bad certainly bad a glass or two on his road, for be talked by himself, stretching out bis great bands, and blowing out bis red cheeks, as be always used to do after a good dinner. "We listened in astonish- ment and admiration. Nicole laid tbe cloth for supper; tbat caused a silence; each was thinking over what be bad just beard. As I was leaving, Maitre Jean said— " You must tell your father tbat be is invited by bis old comrade, Jean Leroux—for we are old comrades; we drew for tbe militia together, in '57 — do you bear, Michel?" He held me by tbe band, and I replied— " Yes, Maitre Jean, you pay us a great compliment." " "When one invites good and honest people like you, one does honour and gives pleasure to oneself—and now good night." Then I went home. Maitre Jean, my godfather, bad never before said such kind things about my father to me, and I loved him, if possible, better than I ever bad done. The Story of a Peasant, 179 XIV. When I went home I told my parents that my father and myself were invited to dine with Maitre Jean and the Baraques notables the following day. They under- stood what an honour it was for us, and my father was much affected by it. He talked for a length of time about his drawing for the militia in the year '57, when Jean Leroux and he walked about the town arm- in-arm with ribbons in their hats; and again at my christening, when his old comrade undertook to be god- father; he recalled the smallest details in these recol- lections, and exclaimed— " Ah, the good times, the good times!" My mother was satisfied too, but as she was angry with me, instead of showing her contentment, she went on spinning and said nothing. Nevertheless, next morning our white shirts and gala clothes were ready on the table; she had washed and dried everything and got everything ready in good time, and as at midday my father and I walked down the street arm-in-arm, she watched us from the door, and cried out to her neighbours— " They are going to the great dinner of the notables,, at Jean Leroux's." My poor father, leaning on my arm, said with a smile— 180 The Story of a Peasant. "We are as fine as the day of the elections. Since then no harm has happened to ns ; let ns hope it may continue so, Michel. We should pay attention to what we say; one always says too much at a great dinner; we had better talie care; don't you think so ?" " Yes, father; he easy ; I shall say nothing." He trembled still, just like a poor hare hunted for years from bush to bush; and how many others were at that time like him? Nearly all the old peasants who had been brought up at the feet of the seigneurs and convents, and who knew but too well there was no justice for them. In undertaking a thing, young men should begin in company with resolute men like Chauvel, who neither change nor give way. If the peasants had to make the revolution of '89 by themselves, and if the citizens had not begun it, we should still be in '88. How can they help it ? Suffering at last destroys courage, con- fidence comes from success, and then again they had no instruction whatever. But this day we had to see what good wine could do. We were more than a hundred paces from the inn when we heard the shouts of laughter and the jokes of the notables who had got there before us. The tall Letumier, Cochart, Claude Hure, the wheelwright, Gauthier Courtois, the old gunner, and Maitre Jean were standing talking at the corner of the great table, covered with its white cloth, and when we went in we were quite dazzled by the decanters, bottles, old painted earthenware plates, the forks and spoons newly tinned, and which glittered from one end of the room to the other. " Ha! here is my old comrade, Jean-Pierre," cried Maitre Jean as he came to meet us. The Story of a Peasant. 181 He had on his blacksmith's jacket with hussar buttons, his wig curled and tied in a great bow at the back of his head, his shirt open, the stomach well rounded in his wide breeches, woollen stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. His great cheeks shook with satisfaction, and as he laid his hands on my father's shoulders, he said— "Ah, my poor Jean-Pierre, how glad I am to see you!" cried he; " how everything comes back to me when I see you!" " Yes," said my father, with tears in his eyes; " the good time of the militia, eh, Jean ? I sometimes think of it; we shall see it no more." But Letumier, his hat over his ear, and his large cinnamon-coloured coat hanging over his lean thighs, his red waistcoat and steel buttons^ which tinkled like cymbals, began to shout— " It is come back already, Jean-Pierre! We all of us won at the militia-drawing the day before yesterday. The country has won! hurrah!" He raised his hat towards the ceiling, and the others laughed to see the row of bottles. Their hearts felt light. Each one in the circle turned aside from time to time as if to blow his nose, and counted the bottles out of a corner of his eye. At the end of the room the kitchen door was open; we could see the great fire on the hearth, and two legs of mutton turning gently on the spit, the fat falling sputtering into the dripping-pan; Dame Catherine, in a great white cap, her sleeves tucked up, coming and going, a dish or perhaps a tart in her apron; and Nicole, with a large fork, turning the meat in the saucepans, or shaking the salad-basket in the corner 182 The Story of a Peasant. The good smell came in strong; one would never have thought that .Maitre Jean would have treated simple notables in such style; but this careful and laborious man disregarded expense on great occasions, and what greater occasion could he find to gain the goodwill of the country round than to entertain well those who had named him and his friend Chauvel to the bailiwick ? All good citizens of my time have done the same; it is the best way to preserve their class; they had the good sense to put themselves at the head of the people; and when their sons, through avarice and folly, sought to separate from them, to become, as it were, sham nobles, they worked for others who were sharper than they. This is our history in few words. The old people assembled near the window had again begun to discuss the business of the bailiwick, and every time a notable came in there was a cry of— " Ha, Pletche! ha, Eigaud! this way, this way; how goes it ?" Valentine, in the background, looked at me and laughed. But his enthusiasm for the king, the queen, and the authorities on high was no bar to his love for good wine, sausages, and ham—in fact, the idea of such a fete seemed especially pleasing to him, and he occa- sionally turned his long nose very complacently in the direction of the kitchen. At last, just on the stroke of twelve, Nicole came to tell me to call Chauvel, and I was going out to do so, when he quietly walked in with Margaret. All the others cried out— " Here he is, here he is !" He shook hands, smiling, with them all; but he was no more the same man, and the prevot's lieutenant had The Story of a Peasant. 183 no longer the power to take him by the collar; he was among the chosen fifteen for Nancy, and one could easily see it in his looks; his small eyes were brighter than ever; and his shirt-collar, white as snow, stuck up under his ears. When Letumier, who was fond of ceremony, was preparing to make him a speech, he laughed, and said— " Maitre Letumier, the soup smells good." And so it did. Dame Catherine entered with the great soup-tureen, which she placed with dignity on the table. Maitre Jean called out— " Sit down, my friends, sit down; Letumier, you shall make your speech at dessert; a hungry stomach has no ears; here, Cochart! Chauvel, there at the head of the table; Valentine ! Hurd! Jean-Pierre!" At last he got us all into our places, and we began to think about enjoying ourselves. My father, Valen- tine, and I were opposite Maitre Jean, who helped. He took the cover off the big tureen, the savory smell of mutton-soup rose to the ceiling like a cloud, and the plates were passed round. I had never seen such a grand dinner; I was lost in admiration, and so was my father. Each man has a bottle by him; let him help himself to a glass. Of course after their soup they drew the corks and filled their glasses ; some wanted to drink the health of the deputies, but this was the small Alsatian wine, and Maitre Jean said— " Wait! you must drink our healths in good wine, and not in the ordinary sort." They thought he was right, and the bouilli with 184 The Story of a Peasant. parsley sauce having been put on table, each one haa his slice. Letumier said that every man who worked in the fields ought to have half a pound of such meat and a quart of wine at every meal; the woodcutter Cochart thought he was quite right; and then they began talk- ing politics till the arrival of the fried sausages and choucroute, which changed the current of ideas of many. Margaret and Nicole hurried round the table, replac- ing the empty bottles by full ones; Dame Catherine brought in the dishes, and about one, when the legs of mutton were put on table, accompanied by old Ribeaupierre wine, our satisfaction was at its height; Cochart said, as we looked at one another with a self- satisfied air— " We are men! we have the rights of men! If any one chooses to assert the contrary let him meet me in the wood and I will give him his answer." And the old gunner, Gauthier Courtois, cried— " If we are not men, it is because the others always have good wine and good food for themselves; before a battle they could condescend to flatter us and promise us whatever we wished for. But after, they talked of discipline and beat us with the flat side of their swords as much as before. I say it is disgraceful to beat soldiers, and not to allow those who show courage to become officers, because they are not noble." Letumier saw everything favourably. " Distress is at an end," said he; " our memorials are drawn up; they will see what we want; and our good king will be compelled to say, ' These people are right, quite right; they want equal taxation and The Story of a Peasant. 185 equality before tbe law, and it is only just.' Are we not all Frenchmen ? ought we not to have the same rights when we support the same weight of taxation ? That is only common sense." He spoke very well, opening his large mouth as far as his ears, half-closing his eyes, throwing his head back, and throwing his arms about, like those who have facility in speaking; every one listened to him; and my father, after nodding two or three times, whispered to me— " He speaks well; it is quite true, but don't say anything, Michel; it is too dangerous." He looked every minute in the direction of the door, as if he expected to see the sergeants of police walk in. Then Maitre Jean, having filled all the glasses with old wine, called out— " My friends, here is the health of Chauvel, he who supported us better than any one at the bailiwick ; may he five long to defend the rights of the Third Estate, and may he always speak as well as he has spoken j that is my wish—to his health !" Every one leaned over the table and drank with pleasure, laughed, and cried— "To the health of our deputies, Maitre Jean and Chauvel!" The windows of the large room shook again; people in the street stopped, and pressed their noses against the panes of glass, thinking— " Those fellows crying out in there are well off." The notables having taken their seats, glasses were filled again, while Catherine and Nicole brought great tarts and cream, and Margaret- removed the remains of the legs of mutton, hams, and salad. All 186 The Story of a Peasant. eyes were directed to Chauvel to see if lie was going to return thanks; lie sat quietly at the top of the table, his cotton cap on the back of his chair, his cheeks pale, and his lips closed, looking as if he squinted, and held his glass in his hand, deep in thought; without doubt the Ribeaupierre wine had roused him somewhat, for instead of returning thanks and drinking the healths of the others, he said, in a distinct tone of voice— " Yes ! the first step has been taken; but we must not yet sing the song of victory; there is still much to be done before we can have our rights again. The abolition of privileges, poll-tax, subsidies, salt-tax, tolls, and corvees is a great deal to demand; the others will not yield easily what they hold. No! they will fight, they will defend themselves against justice, and we must make them submit. They will call to then assistance all those in office, and who live by then situations, who seek to ennoble themselves; and, my friends, that is only the first move; it is but a very small thing; I take it for granted that the Third Estate shall win this first battle; the people wills it; the people which has to support these unjust burdens will sustain its deputies." " Yes ! yes ! till death !" cried Letumier, Cochart, Hure, andMaitre Jean, clenching their fists; "we shall win—we are determined to win!" Chauvel did not stir; when they had done crying out, he went on as if no one had spoken— ""We may carry the day, through all the acts of injustice which the people resent, and which are too glaring, too conspicuous; but how shall we be the better for that, if, by-and-by, the States-General dis- solved, and the money voted for the debt, the nobles The Story of a Peasant. 187 should again acquire their rights and privileges ? It would not he the first time, for we have had States- General before, and all that they had settled in the people's favour has long ceased to exist; what we must do, after having abolished privileges, is to put it out of all power to re-establish them; this power is in the people—in our armies; this must be our bill, not for a day, a month, a year, but always; you must hinder rogues and cheats from quietly, gently, and indirectly re-establishing what the Third Estate, backed up by the people, has overthrown! The army must be ours; and for the army to be ours, the lowest soldier must have it in his power, if endued with courage and conduct, to rise from step to step till he arrives at the rank of constable or marshal, as well as the nobles. Do you understand me ?" " Chauvel's health," cried Gauthier Courtois. But he waved his hand to stop the others from reply- ing, and continued—" Then the soldiers will no longer be stupid enough to support the nobility against the people; they will be with us and will remain with us; and then, listen to this, it is the principal thing: that the army and the people may be deceived no longer, that they may be no longer blinded to such a point as to destroy their advancement and protect those who fill' the employments which they ought to have, there must be freedom of speech and freedom of writing for every one. If any one acts unjustly by you, to whom do you appeal ? To your superior; your superior always decides against you; it is very plain; the employe does as he is directed; but if you could appeal to the people, if the people appointed ihe superior officers, then they would no longer dare to be unjust; nor 188 The Story of a Peasant. could they do so, since yon could "bring your employes to reason by withdrawing your support. But instruc- tion is necessary to the people for the understanding of these things, and for this reason did instruction seem to the nobles to be so dangerous; for this reason did they preach 'happy the poor in spirit' in the churches; for this reason have we so many laws against books and newspapers; for this reason those who seek to enlighten us are compelled to take refuge in Switzer- land, Holland, or England. Many have died in want; but no, such men never die; they are always in the midst of the people to sustain them, but they must be read, they must be understood; it is to their health 1 now drink!" Then Chauvel extended his glass to us, and we all cried together— " To the health of brave men." Many were ignorant to whom Chauvel alluded, but they called out all the same, and made such a noise, that at last Dame Catherine came to warn us that half the village was under the windows, and that one would think we were rebelling against the king. Valentine left directly, and my father looked at me to know if it was time for us to escape. " All right, Catherine," said Maitre Jean; " we have said what we had to say; now there has been enough of it." Every one was silent; they passed round baskets of nuts and apples; outside in the street were heard the plaintive tones of a hurdy-gurdy. " All," said Letumier, " there's Mathusalem;" and Maitre Jean called out— " That is right; bring him in; he comes in time." Margaret went out directly and brought in old The Story of a Peasant. 189 Mathusalem, who was known to everybody; bis real name was Dominique Saint-Fauvert, and all tbe old people said tbey bad never known so old a man to get about; be was a hundred years old; bis face was so yellow and so wrinkled tbat it looked like a gingerbread cake, and one could bardly make out tbe sbape of bis nose and bis cbin, and tbe place wbere bis eyes ougbt to be, so covered were tbey by bis eyebrows, as sbaggy as a poodle's. He bad on a grey felt bat, tbe point raised like a vizor, witb a cock's featber in it; bis frock- sleeves and bis breeches were fastened witb strings down bis legs like network, and tbe airs be played dated back at least to tbe time of tbe Swedes; one felt inclined to cry as soon as one beard tbem. " Ab, Matbusalem! is tbat you?" said Maitre Jean ; " walk in, walk in." He banded bim a large glass full of wine, wbicb old Dominique took, and acknowledged by tbree bows ; be tben sbut bis eyes and drank it gently off. Dame Catherine, Margaret, and Nicole stood behind bim, and we looked on quite affected. When be returned tbe glass, Maitre Jean asked bim to sing something. But old Matbusalem replied be bad not sung for many years ; and while we were still under tbe influence of tbe same feelings, be began to play an air so old and so tender tbat no one recognised it; tbey looked at one another. All at once my father called out— " Ab! it is tbe air of * Tbe Peasants.' " And tbe rest said— " Yes, yes, it is tbe air of ' Tbe PeasantsJean- Pierre, you must sing it." I did not know my father could sing well; I bad never beard bim; be said— 190 The Story of a Peasant. " I have forgotten it all; I don't remember the first words." But as Chauvel pressed him, and as Maitre Jean said that in former years he had never heard any one sing better than Jean-Pierre, at last, with rather red cheeks and downcast eyes, he gave a gentle cough, and said— " Since you absolutely insist upon it—well, I will try and recollect it." And then he sang the air of " The Peasants," accom- panied by the hurdy-gurdy, with a voice so soft and sad, that we fancied we could see our poor forefathers scratching the ground and harnessing their wives to the plough ; and then the pillaging soldiery come and rob them of their crops; and then their straw-built' villages on fire, the fruits of their harvest fly away in sparks, their wives and daughters dragged into by- places, and famine, disease, executions — all these horrors—so it lingered on. In spite of the good wine I had drunk I was already in tears, with my face on the table, while Letumier, Hure, Cochart, Maitre Jean, and two or three others sang the chorus as if they were singing at the funeral of their father and mother. Margaret sang too; her voice rose above the others, like the voice of a woman who was being harnessed or dragged off; it was dreadful, and made my hair stand on end. When I looked round I saw we were all as pale as death. Chauvel at the end of the table clenched his teeth and glared about him like a wolf. At last my father ceased. The hurdy-gurdy groaned on. Chauvel said— The Story of a Peasant. 191 " Jean-Pierre, yon sang -well; you sang like one of our forefathers, because you have experienced the same things, and our- forefathers and grandfathers, and all the men and women from whom we derive our existence for the past thousand years, have felt them." As every one was silent, he cried out— " The one song is over; some one must give us another!" And then at once all those present, and I first of all, cried out— " Tes, let us have another song; we have suffered too much!" " We shall see about that soon," said Chauvel. " Now, Dame Catherine has warned us not to make a noise, and she is right. Here it does no good." Maitre Jean then thundered out the blacksmith's song by himself. Valentine just came in, and we ac- companied him together, and this song enlivened us a little. It was rather sad too, but it had life in it; the chorus was that the smith forges iron, which left much to be implied, and made us smile. That day many other songs were sung, and some good ones ; but my father's song I shall never forget, and when I think of it I cry still— " Oh, great and holy Devolution! let that French peasant who denies you learn his forefathers' song, and if that song does not convert him, let him, his chil- dren, and descendants sing it again on the land; then perhaps may they understand it, and their ingra- titude meet its reward." It was late that day before my father and I returned to the village. The next day, April 10th, 1789, Chauvel left for Nancy. The States-General were -not distant. 192 The Story of a Peasant. XV. After Chauvel left us, for some days we talked of nothing but the business of the great bailiwick, and chiefly of the incorporation of the three orders in one, at the States-General. This was one of the most im- portant discussions I ever knew in my life. As the king's ordonnance had declared that the Third Estate should be doubled—that is, we should have as many deputies as the two other orders together—we desired to vote man by man, to abolish privileges, in spite of all the nobles and bishops could say; but they, as they tenaciously held to their ancient rights, insisted on voting by orders, because they were then sure of being in a majority against us, and of always having two votes to one. Tou should have seen the indignation of Maitre Jean, Letumier, Cochart, and all the notables asseni- bled in the yard of the Three Pigeons, under the great oak, for, some days since, they had set the benches and tables out of doors in the evening on account of the fresh air. The heat in April was as great as the wind and rain in May, 1789; everything was green and in flower ; the birds had already built their nests by the 15th. I remember Valentine and I worked at the forge in nothing but our frocks and breeches; our shirts were hung up behind the door. Maitre Jean, red and The Story of a Peasant. 193 glowing with health, called me out every moment, crying— " Gome here, Michel, come here!" And I had to pump on his bald head and his shoulders. That was his fashion of cooling himself. Madeleine Kigaud, the wife of the turner opposite, used to laugh at him. This is to tell you how hot it was, and after eight o'clock, when the moon was up, we were glad to be in the cool ah, drinking one's wine or cider in the yard, behind the trellis. All along the street the women and girls were spin- ning at their doors and enjoying the fine weather. We could hear them talking and laughing a long way off, and the dogs barking, and the neighbours could also hear us disputing; but that was nothing; we began to feel more confident. Margaret came occasionally; we talked and laughed together by the hedge, while Letumier would hammer the table with his fists, and cry— " It is all over ! It cannot last long! It must be conceded that we are everything." And Dame Catherine would say— " For Heaven's sake, Maitre Letumier, don't break our table; it does not want to vote by orders!" So things went on, and I do not remember ever to have been happier than when I used to talk to Mar- garet, without daring to tell her that I was in love with her; I never enjoyed greater happiness. But one evening about eight o'clock, we were in the yard leaning about, and the moon was just over the tree. Letumier was making a noise, and Cochart, with his hooked nose in his red beard, his pipe between his 194 The Story of a Peasant. teeth, and his eyes round, like an owl's, was smoking, with his elbows on the table. No one suspected any- thing, and Cochart least of all, though he had had a. lucky chance that day. The occupation of a wood- cutter was not very profitable, as you may believe; but he sometimes passed the line of the customs authorities, and went to G-raufthal for a bag of good tobacco, which he sold very well in the neighbourhood, the best red at four sous a pound instead of twenty, and the best black at three sous instead of fifteen. The discussions on politics seemed likely to last till ten, when the trellis-gate in the street opened, and a man in plain clothes and two sergeants of the customs walked gently into the yard and looked us over. It was fat Mathurin Poulet, cellarist of the Porte de 1' Allemagne, with his little cocked hat at the back of his head, his yellow wig twisted up in a coil under it, his great red nose in the ah*, his ox eyes shining in the moonlight, his double chin in his shirt-frill, and his paunch beyond his knees—a terrible eater. He would have six sausages cut up in a salad-dish with white beans and oil, a three-pound loaf, and two pots of beer for his breakfast; and as much for his dinner, with . several slices of ham or mutton in addition, with cheese and onions besides. Believe if you can, then, how the profits of a cellarist enabled him to live! Nor did Poulet care either for father or mother nor any other relations when the salad-dish was to be replenished. He would have informed against his Creator to get the reward, and though he looked stupid, he was as cunning as a fox in detecting cheats and hunting up smugglers. He thought of nothing else all day and all night, and lived by informing as others do by their work. See The Story of a Peasant. 195 what it was to have to nourish such a stomach as his; the heart makes its habitation in the stomach, as it were, and one thinks of nothing else but eating and drinking. Two sergeants followed him, dressed, as all sergeant inspectors were, in white coats with yellow facings, which gave them the name of " bands of bacon," their hats set across the shoulders, and their swords dangling against the calves of their great legs. They were five feet six each, and both strongly pitted by the small-pox. Before the Revolution almost every one was thus dis- figured; pretty girls ran the risk of losing their beauty, and good-looking men too. There were plenty then who had lost one eye or both from that dreadful complaint, and G-od only knows what trouble it was to obtain the adoption of vaccination, perhaps greater than the introduction of potatoes. People always begin by rejecting what does them service. What a mis- fortune it is! Well, these people came in, and Poulet, about four paces from the table, seeing Cochart, said, with satisfaction— " There he is—we have him!" There was a general cry of indignation in the yard $ for a long time Cochart brought Poulet his tobacco for nothing. But Poulet did not make himself uneasy about such a trifle, and said to the sergeant— " That's he—bring him along !" The two seized on Cochart, who began to call out, letting his pipe fall— " What do you want with me ? what have I done ?" The sparks from the pipe flew about our feet, we 196 The Story of a Peasant. looked frightened at one another, and Poulet laughed, and answered— "We have come to fetch the two hags of tohacco which you brought from Graufthal yesterday; you know —the two bags of tobacco which are on the right as you enter your loft, behind the chimney under the slates." We then knew that poor Cochart had been informed against by some envious neighbour; every one shivered; it was a case of the galleys! No one dared to move, for offering any resistance to the revenue officers was a worse affair then than even now; not only did they take houses and lands, but if they were in want of rowers anywhere, at Marseilles or Dunkirk, they sent you there, and you were never heard of again. This had happened several times in the mountain, and even at the Baraques, to the son of old Genevieve Paquotte; on Poulet's information he had been convicted of smuggling salt; and since then, people said that Francis was in the country where they grew pepper and cinnamon. Genevieve lost all her property in the expenses of the trial; she had become infirm, and was a beggar. You may now understand people's terror. " Come," cried Poulet, " search I" And Cochart, holding on by the table, and panting, cried— " I won't go!" Betumier had no desire to say a word, and was as silent as a carp at the bottom of a pail. All these noisy fellows, when they see a sergeant, or the gen- darmes, become cautious, and often those of whom it is least expected display courage. The Story of a Peasant. 191 By dint of pulling and shaking him the two sergeants had nearly dragged Cochart from his bench; Poulet cried— "Another pnll—that will do it," when Margaret, who was sitting by me against the trellis, raised her voice in the midst of the silence, and said— " Take care, M. Poulet; yon have no right to arrest this man!" Every one round the table, at the door, Maitre Leroux, Letumier, Dame Catherine, Nicole, pale with fear and pity, turned round in a fright. They knew Margaret's voice, but they could hardly credit her courage; they shuddered at it. Poulet, with his nose in the air, like the others, looked astounded; such a thing had never happened to him before; he called out— " Who was that speaking just now ? Who dares to oppose the administration ?" Margaret quietly answered from her place— "It is I, Monsieur Poulet; Margaret Chauvel, the daughter of Chauvel, deputy for the Third Estate to the great bailiwick at Nancy. In what you are now doing you are in the wrong, seriously in the wrong, M. the Cellarist, to arrest a man who is a notable, without the express order of the prevot." She rose, and went up to the cellarist and the two sergeants, who turned round and looked at her from under their great cocked hats, without loosing their hold on Cochart. " You do not, then, know the king's, ordonnance," said she ; " you arrest people on your exchequer busi- ness after six o'clock, when the ordonnance forbids it; N 198 The Story of a Peasant. and yon want to oblige tbem to open their doors to yon at night. Why, all evil-doers could say, ' We belong to the revenue—open your door!' They might rob a village at their leisure, if the ordonnance did not forbid what you do; and did not the edict direct that you should be accompanied by two echevins, and come in the day- time ?" She spoke distinctly, and without being embarrassed, just as Chauvel himself; and Poulet seemed con- founded that any one should dare to address him ; in- dignation made his cheeks tremble. Every one took courage. A great noise was heard out in the street while Margaret was speaking, and as. she ended a sad and plaintive voice was heard, the voice of old Gene- vieve Paquotte, crying out— " Ah, the robber ! ah, the wretch! What! is he come again ? He wants fathers of families as well as the children!" The poor old woman shook her crutch above tlie hedge, and amid cries and sobs she continued— " It is you who took my boy—my poor Francis! It is you who drove me to want. Ah, God is expecting you—he is waiting for you—all is not over yet—the unfortunate will be there!" It gave me the horrors to hear her. Some turned pale, and Poulet looked and listened to the noise in the street. The sergeants turned round too. At that moment Maitre Jean rose, and said— " M. Poulet, listen to that poor creature's voice! It is awful! Ho one here could bear to have such a thing on their conscience; it breaks one's heart to hear it." Genevieve Taquotte cried no longer, but she sobhed, The Story of a Peasant. 199 and you could liear her crutches as she slowly went up the street. " Yes," cried Maitre Jean, " it is frightful. Think well of what you are about. We live in difficult times for all of us, more especially so for officers of .the revenue. The cup is full; take heed it does n,ot run over. Five times already have you been here at night, and you have also made visits at Lutzelbourg last winter after midnight to search for smuggled goods. If people at last tire of this, if they end by resisting you, what are we good citizens to do ? Are we to render help to you, acting in opposition to the king's edict ? Are we to help those who trample on edict and ordonnance, or those who defend their rights ? In the name of heaven think what you do ! I only ask that, Monsieur Poulet." He sat down again. The noise in the street increased. A great many people were looking over the hedge and listening. Cochart cried— " I won't go ! I stand by the ordonnance!" Poulet, seeing that the two sergeants began to reflect, and were looking about them without daring to put his orders in execution, suddenly recollected Margaret, and turned on her in a rage, crying out— " So we owe this to you, you Calvinist! We should have had no trouble but for this breed of wretches." He walked up to her, his face and neck scarlet, like a great turkey-cock running after children. He was going to give her a push, when he saw me behind her in the shadow. I don't know how I was there, in my shirt-sleeves. I looked at him, and thought to mvself— " You wretch! I pity you if you touch her 1" 200 The Story of a Peasant. I could feel "his great neck in my liands as if in a vice. He saw it and turned pale. " Come," said lie, " never mind: we will come back to-morrow!" Tlie two sergeants, seeing the crowd leaning over the hedge and so many eyes glistening in the dark, seemed well satisfied to go. They let go Cochart, who stood up again, his frock torn, and his cheeks and forehead covered with sweat. I never stirred. Margaret then turned round and saw me. Many others were looking at me. I might say I was sorry to see the fat cellarist go off with the sergeants. That evening I should have enjoyed a fight. Men are strange creatures! How our ideas alter with our years! But we have not always the arms and shoulders of eighteen and the hands of a smith, nor does one think of showing one's strength or one's courage to the woman one loves! At last they all went. Margaret said, laughing— " They are going, Michel." And I answered— " That is the best thing they can do." But they were hardly outside before hisses and shouts of laughter were heard from one end of Baraques to the other. Cochart, still in disorder, emptied his jug at a draught, and Margaret said to him— " Get your smuggled goods into the wood as fast as you can. Make haste." She looked so happy, and poor Cochart, how pleased he was! I am sure he wanted to thank her, but he was terrified still. He ran away up the street without stopping to say good day or good evening. Everybody in the yard cried out, " Victory! The Story of a Peasant. 201 Poulet and his two sergeants, who went across the fields, must have heard us far off, as far as the little alley of the cemetery near the town. The wretches must have been very vexed at missing their prey. Maitre Jean called for cider, and for a long time we talked round the table of what had just happened. Every one had something to say, even those who had hardly dared to breathe, like the rest; but all acknow- leilged Margaret's courage and good sense. Maitre Jean cried— " It is the old man's genius which is in her. He will laugh when he hears the way she talked to the revenue officers, and how she obliged them to let Cochart go. It will delight him." I listened in silence, close to Margaret. I was the happiest lad in the country. And very late, after ten, when the others were all gone and Maitre Jean closed his door, crying, " Good night, friends, good night! What a fine day's work !" and some went off right and left by twos and threes, Margaret and I last of all left the yard, shut the trellis-gate, and slowly took the road to the village. We were both of us thoughtful, looking at this fine moonlight -night, the trees throwing their shadows across the road, and the countless stars overhead. It was absolute silence; not a leaf stirred; some old women wished us good night, and in front of Chauvel's house, under the hedge of their little sloping orchard, the spring which flowed out of the bank through the old pipe bubbled in. its trough, nearly level with the ground. I see the water flowing over the trough ; the water- cresses and the iris which cover the rotten old pipe; 202 The Story of a Peasant. the shadow of the great apple-tree at the corner of the house, and the moon, which was reflected in the trough like a looking-glass ; everything is quiet; Margaret looks on a moment, and then says— " How quiet everything is, Michel!" Then she stoops with her little hand on the pipe and her mouth under it, her beautiful hair falling down he? cheeks and over her pretty brown neck, and she drinks. I look at her in ecstasy. All of a sudden she stands up, wipes her chin with her apron, and says— " Tes, Michel, all the same, you are the boldest of all the village lads. I saw you well enough behind me; you did not look very kind—no ; and that is the reason Poulet was in such a hurry to go after looking at you!" She began to laugh, and while I was delighted to hear her in the quiet street, she asks me— " But tell me, Michel, what were you thinking about to make such a face as that ?" " I was thinking if he had the misfortune to touch you, or say even a word to shock you, that he was a lost man." Then she looks at me again, and her cheeks grow red. "But you would have been sent to the galleys." " What would that have mattered ? I should have killed him first." How all this comes back to one after the lapse of so many years! I can hear Margaret's voice ; every word is now in my ear, and the small murmur of the spring, all, all comes back. Oh, love ! what a pleasant thing ! Margaret was then sixteen; for me she has never grown old. The Story of a Peasant. 203 We stood dreaming there an instant, and then Margaret turned towards their door; she said nothing; but just as she opened it, with her foot in the passage, she turned round and stretched out to give me her little hand, saying— " Come, good night, Michel, and thanks." And I felt her press my hand. I was very much troubled at it. After the door was closed I stood for two minutes listening to Margaret moving about their cottage, go upstairs, and then seeing the lamp lighted through the cracks in the shutters, " Now she is going to bed," said I to myself, and I set off, saying in my inmost soul, "Now she knows you love her." I have never since felt similar agitation or similar enthusiasm. 204 The Story of a Peasant, XVI. I had made up my mind that Margaret should he my wife. I had arranged everything in my head, and said to myself, " She is still too young, hut in fifteen months, when she is eighteen, and when she comprehends that heing married will contribute to her happiness, as all girls do, and when I tell her I love her, we shall come to an understanding; then we shall have a great hattle. My mother will make a great noise; she would not have anything to do with a Calvinist; and the cure and all the people of the village will he against me; hut never mind! my father will always he on my side, for I can make him understand that it is a question of heing happy for life, and that I cannot exist without Margaret. Then he will take courage, and in spite of all opposition I shall carry the day. After that we will rent a small forge, either on the road to Quatre-Vents, at La Eoulette, or on the road to Mittelhronn, at Maisons-Eouges, and we will work for ourselves; carriers and waggons will not fail us; we might even keep a little inn, like Maitre Jean; we shall he the happiest pair in the world; and if we have the good luck to have a child, in a fortnight or three weeks I shall take it in my arms, I shall quietly go to Baraques and say to my mother, " Here it is—curse it!" and she will hegin to cry, and The Story of a Peasant. 205 mate a.noise; then she will be pacified, and in the end she will come and see us, and all will be made up !" I fancied all this to myself, with tears in my eyes; and I thought too that Father Chauvel would be pleased to have me for a son-in-law. What could he have much better than a good workman, hard-working, saving, and capable of putting money by; a plain and honest man like myself ? X felt sure he would give his con- sent; everything seemed reasonable, and I became quite affected at my own happy imagination. Unhappily, things happen in this world when they are the least expected. One morning, five or six days after the arrival of the revenue officers, we were shoeing the old Jew Schmoule's cart-horse in front of the forge, when the woman Steffen came in from the Baraques. She was return- ing from selling her eggs and vegetables in the town market, and said to Maitre Jean— " Here is something for you." It was a letter from Nancy, and Maitre Jean cried out—■ " I bet it comes from Chauvel! Bead it to us, Michel; I have no time to look for my spectacles." I opened the letter, but had scarcely read the two first fines when my knees began to tremble, and I felt a cold shiver all over my body. Chauvel informed Maitre Jean that he had just been named deputy from the Third Estate to the States-G-eneral, and begged him to send Margaret to the inn of the Plat d'Etain, Iiue des Yieilles-Boucheries, at Nancy, as they were to set out together for Versailles. That is all I can recollect of a tolerably long letter. I continued to read without understanding it, and at 20G The Story of a Peasant. last I sat down on the anvil quite npset. Maitre Jean crossed the street, calling out— " Catherine, Chanvel is named deputy for the Third Estate to the States-General." Valentine joined his hands together and stammered— " Chauvel at court, among the seigneurs and the "bishops ! Oh, Lord 1" And old Schmoule, the Jew, said— "Why not? he is a sensible man, a true man of business ; he is as fit for that place as any one." I was in great trouble. I kept saying to myself— " Now it is all over—all is lost; Margaret is going away, and I am left behind." I had a great mind to cry, but shame prevented me; I reflected— " If they know you love her the whole country will Kiugh. at you. What is a journeyman blacksmith compared to the daughter of a deputy of the Third Estate ? Nothing at all. Margaret is up in the sky and you down on the ground." My heart was broken. The street was already full of people, Dame Catherine, Isicole, Maitre Jean, and the neighbours crying out— " Chauvel is deputy for the Third Estate to the States- General!" "We are all crazy on account of the honour to the country—we think of nothing else. Michel, run and tell Margaret!" I got up. I was afraid to see Margaret. I was afraid of crying before her, of betraying that I loved her, and of making her feel timid. Even in the passage I stopped a moment to summon up courage, and then I entered. The Story of a Peasant. 207 She was ironing in the little room. " "Why it is Michel!" said she, surprised to see me in my shirt-sleeves, for I had forgotten to put on my jacket and wash my hands. I replied— " Yes, it is I: I bring you good news." "What is it?" " Your father is named deputy to the States-General." While I was speaking she became very pale, and I cried— " Margaret, what is the matter ?" But she could not answer; joy and pride were the cause; and then, suddenly bursting into tears, she threw herself into my arms, saying— " Oh! Michel, what an honour for mv father!" ' %/ I held her tight; her arms were round my neck; I felt her sobs; her tears rolled down her cheeks! How I loved, how I should have liked to keep her! In my soul I said, ' Let any one try to take her from me ! and yet I must let her go.' Her father's will was law. Long did Margaret cry; then letting go her hold on me, she ran and wiped her face on the towel, laughed, and said— " How silly I am, Michel! How can one cry about such things ?" I said nothing. I looked at her with a love which cannot be described. She paid no attention to it! "Now," said she, taking my arm, "come!" And we walked off. The great room of the Three Pigeons was full of people. I do not care to describe to you the embracings of Maxtre Jean, Dame Catherine, and Nicole; nor the compliments of the notables, Letumier, old Eigaud, and 208 The Story of a Peasant. Hure. That day the inn was not empty till nine in the evening : men, women, and children coming and going, waving their hats, their caps, falling about, and shout- ing loud enough to be heard at little Saint-Jean; glasses, bottles, and pipkins tinkled, Maitre Jean's loud voice was to be heard above the tumult, with shouts of laughter which seemed never-ending; it was an inde- scribable fete. Seeing all this, I said to myself— " What a wretch you are ! The village is rejoicing in honour of Chauvel and Margaret, everybody is de- lighted, and there you are as sad as death — it is shameful." Valentine alone was of my way of thinking. " It is the end of all; the rabble goes to court now; the seigneurs are mixed up with ragamuffins; there is no respect for anything; Calvinists are named instead of Christians; the end of the world is coming." And in my great sorrow I thought he was right; my courage was disappearing. I could not remain there in the crowd; Margaret herself was forced back into tire kitchen, where the notables went to congratulate her. I took my cap and walked off. I went G-od knows where! straight before me, by the side of the road, I believe, across the fields. It was as fine as it had been for a fortnight; the oats began to grow green, the wheat to shoot, along the hedges the linnets chirped, and in the air the larks hovered and sang their everlasting songs; the sun and moon rose and shone in spite of me; my misery was dreadful. I sat down three or four times under the shade of a hedge, with my head in my hands; and I dreamed! but the more I dreamed the sadder I became. I saw nothing either in the past nor in the future, as The Story of a Peasant. 209 they say of wretches lost at sea, who can see nothing but water and sky, and who cry— " Now it is all over—now we must die!" This is what my thoughts were. All else was nothing to me. At last, at night I returned to the village, I knew not how, and I reached the hack of our cottage. At a distance, at the other end of the street, I could still hear their cries and songs. I listened, and said to myself— " Cry and sing; you are right; life is a trouble! and I went in; my father and mother were sitting on their stools spinning and plaiting. I wished them good evening; my father looked at me, and said— " How pale you are, Michel; you are ill, my boy!" I did not know what answer to make, when my mother smiled, and said— "Why, don't you see he has been drinking with the others ? He has had as much as he could carry in honour of Chauvel!" I answered in the bitterness of my soul— " Yes, you are right, mother, I am ill. I have had too much—you are right; we must take advantage of an opportunity." My father said gently— " Well, my child, go to bed; that wiH go off; good night, Michel." I climbed the ladder with the little tin lamp, quite worn out; I was obliged to rest my hand on my knee to help myself up. When there I set down the lamp on the floor, and I looked at my little brother Etienne, who was sleeping so soundly, his fair head thrown back on the coarse linen pillow, his small mouth open, and 210 The Story of a Peasant. Lis long Lair round Lis neck; I looked at him, thinking, " How like Le is to my fatLer, Low very like!" And I kissed Lim, crying to myself, and saying, "How I sLall wprk for yon, since everything is going, and notLing remains for me, it is for yon tLat I will labour, and perLaps yon will be Lappier tLan I. SLe whom yon may love perLaps will not go away, and we shall live all togetLer." TLen I undressed myself and lay down by Lim; and all nigLt long I did notLing but dream of my misfor- tune; repeating to myself tLat no one ougLt to know of my love for Margaret, tLat it would be disgraceful; tLat a man ougLt to be a man, and so on. And next day early I went to tbe forge, determined to be firm. TLat did me good. TLat day the compliments continued; and it was not only tLe Baraquins, but tLe town notables, MM. the mayor's officers ; MM. tLe echevins, assessors, syndics; MM. tLe secretaries, registrars, treasurers, receivers, and comptrollers; MM. the notaries and Lammer- keepers of tLe freedom of tLe waters and forests, and Low many P More tLan I can tell. All this crowd of people, wLom no one knew, came one after tLe other with their cocked hats, their great powdered wdgs, their long ivory-topped canes, their ratteen coats, silk stockings, shirt-frills and lace. They came like swallows round a church-tower in autumn; they came to compliment Madlle. Margaret Chauvel, the daughter of our deputy from the bailiwick to the States-General. They seemed as pleased as if oui elections Lad anything to do with them. "What an abomination! The whole room smelt of musk and vanille. I Lave often thought since that they were The Story of a Peasant. 211 true cuckoos, which occupy the nest when it is completed, but which never brought a single straw to help to build it. Their chief business is to profit by everything with- out trouble, and to obtain good places by bowing and scraping. Before the elections they would have wished us neither good night nor good morning; but now they came to offer their services to us, thinking that Chauvel at Versailles could return it to them twice and thrice over. The wretches! only seeing them made me feel ill- will towards them. Valentine and I could see from the forge opposite, ■while Maitre Jean, Margaret, and Dame Catherine were receiving all these fine people. We could see all their grimaces through the open windows; and Valen- tine, yellow with indignation, said to me— " Look at Syndic this, or M. Hammer-keeper that, making his bow ; that is the proper way to bow. How he is taking his pinch of rappee on his thumb; he knocks the tobacco from his shirt-frill with the end of his finger-nails; he learned that at Mgr. the Cardinal's, but that does very well too at an innkeeper's; that flatters the daughter of M. the Deputy Chauvel; now he turns on his heel and bows to the rest of the com- pany." Valentine laughed; but I hammered away without looking, choking with rage. I then perceived still more clearly the distance there was between Margaret and myself. The Baraquins might have erred in respect 11 the importance of a deputy of the Third Estate to the States-General; but these others ought to know some- thing about it; they would not make their bows and pay their compliments for nothing. Margaret had only 212 The Story of a Peasant. to clioose—in fact, I felt she would be wrong to take a journeyman smith instead of the son of a counsellor or a syndic. That seemed to me a matter of course, and grieved me all the more. Well, this scene was repeated up to five o'clock. Margaret was to leave at night with the Paris courier. Maitre Jean lent her a trunk; it was a large one, covered with cowskin, which he had inherited from his father-in-law, Didier-Ramel; it had been in the loft for thirty years, and I had the job of strengthening the corners with sheet-iron. Twenty times that day did the idea of smashing it to pieces with my hammer come into my head; but thinking I was working for Mar- garet, and that, doubtless, for the last time, filled my eyes with tears, and I continued to work with a zeal which one no longer feels after twenty. It would not be finished; I had always something to file or a hinge to fit; however, some minutes before five there was nothing more to be dene ; the lock acted well; the claw of the padlock fitted perfectly ; "everything was strong. Margaret had just left. I saw her go into tteir house. I told Valentine I was tired, and should feel obliged if he would carry the trunk to Chauvel's. He took it on his shoulder, and went off with it at onee. Quite done up, I had not courage to go there, or to find myself again alone with Margaret. I felt that my wretchedness would betray itself, so I put on my jacket and went into the inn. Every one else was gone, thank God! Maitre Jean, with his cheeks red and his eves •> bright, was singing the glories of the Three Pigeons. He declared that no other inn had ever received such an honour, and Dame Catherine was of the same opinion. The Story of a Peasant. 213 Nicole was laying the cloth. Maitre Jean, seeing me, said that Margaret had had her supper and was in a hurry to get her baggage together and to choose those of her father's boohs which she had to take with her. He asked about the trunk; I told him it was finished, and that Valentine had taken it to Ckauvel's house. At that moment Valentine came in; we sat down, and we had our supper. I intended going home before eight o'clock, without taking leave of any one. What was the use of paying compliments, since it was all over, and I had nothing to hope for? I thought, "When she is gone Maitre Jean will write to Father Chauvel that I was ill, if he troubles himself at all about it; if he does not, so much the better." That was my idea; as soon as supper was over, I quietly got up and went out. It was dark; there was a fight in the upper room in Chauvel's house. I stopped a minute to look at it; and then seeing Mar- garet come to the window, I ran away, but just as I turned the corner of their orchard I heard her cry out, "Michel! Michel!" And I stopped as if the chimney had fallen on my head. " What do you want, Margaret ?" said I, my heart beating as if it would burst my bosom. " Come up," she answered ;• " I was going to look fo* you; I want to speak to you." So I went upstairs very pale, and I found her in the upper room before an open wardrobe. She had just filled the trunk, and said to me— " Well, you see I have made haste; the books are at 214 The Story of a Peasant. the bottom, the linen above them, and on the top of ill my two dresses. There is nothing more to pack. I am looking " And as I made no reply, being so very much embar- rassed, " Look here," said she, " now I must show you over the house, for you will have to take care Of it; come!" She took me by the hand and we entered the little back room, above the kitchen; it was their fruit-room, but there was no fruit, only the shelves to lay it on. " See," said she, ".here you must put the apples and pears of the orchard. "We have not many, so much the more reason for taking care of them. Do you see ?" "Yes, Margaret," said I, looking at her, much affected. Then we went downstairs; she showed me the lower room, where her father slept, their little cellar, and the kitchen opening on the orchard; and then she recom- mended her rose-trees to my care, saying that was her chief anxiety, and that she should be very angry with me if I did not take care of them. I thought to my- self, " They will be well looked after, but what is the use of that if you are going to leave us ?" Nevertheless I felt a sort of hope gently revive, my eyes grew dim, and seeing myself alone talking to her, I said to myself— " My God! is it possible it is all over ?" As we returned to the lower room Margaret pointed out her father's books, arranged on the shelves between the two small windows; she said— " While we are away you must often come and fetch books from here, Michel; you must teach yourself; without learning you can never be anything." She spoke, but I could not answer, being so touched The Story of a Peasant, 215 to see that she could think of instruction ior me—the very thing I had so often considered as first of all. I said to myself— " She must love me! Yes, she does love me! How happy we should have been !" After putting the lamp on the table, she gave me the house-key, and told me to open it from time to time to preserve it from damp. Just as we went out she said, " I hope it will be in a good state, Michel, when we come back." When I heard her talk of coming back, I cried— " You are coming back, then, Margaret ? You are not leaving for good ?" My voice trembled and my head swam. " What do you mean, if we return ?" said she, look- ing at me with astonishment; " why, what do you think we are going to do, you silly fellow! Do you believe we are going to make our fortunes there ?" She laughed. " Come back ? yes, and poorer than we went. We must come back and attend to our business as soon as the people's rights are voted; we shall be back tki3 year, or next year at the latest." "Ah!" said I, "I thought you were never coming back!" And I not being able to contain myself any longer, I began to sob like a child. I was sitting on the trunk, my head between my hands, thanking God,1 and yet ashamed of having spoken out. Margaret said nothing. This lasted several minutes, for I could not check myself. All at once I felt her hand touch my shoulder. I stood up. She was pale, and her beautiful black eyes glistened. 22 G The Story of a Peasant. " Work hard, Michel," said she softly, again pointing to her father's little bookcase; " my father 'will love yon." She took the lamp and went out. I.put the trunk on my shoulder, as if it were a feather, and followed her into the passage. I wanted to speak, hut the words would not come. Once outside, I shut the door and put the key in my pocket. The moon was shining amidst the stars; I cried out, as I held my head up— " What a fine night, Margaret! Thank God for giving you such a fine night for your journey." I was happy ; she seemed more serious, and said as we entered the inn— " Don't forget anything that you have promised me!" The courier ought to leave about ten. There was just time for us to get there. Every one kissed Margaret, except Maitre Jean and I, who were going to accompany her to the town; and some moments after we set off, by a beautiful moonlight. Dame Catherine and Nicole stood at the door, calling out— " A pleasant journey, Margaret; come back soon!" ' She replied— " Yes, and may we all meet again as well as we arc now!" I took up the trunk, and we walked along the road with the two rows of poplars which lead to the glacis. Margaret walked by my side; two or three times she said to me— " Is not the trunk heavy, Michel ?" And I answered— " No ! it is nothing at all, Margaret." The Story of a Peasant. 217 We were obliged to hurry, and we walked faster; when we reached the foot of the glacis Maitre Jean called out— " We shall be there directly." Half-past nine struck; some minutes later we passed the Porte de France. At the end of the street, where Lutz now lives, the vehicle was to stop. We ran, and at about a quarter of the length of the street we could hear the noise of the carriage, which was crossing the Place d'Armes. " We are just in time," said Maitre Jean. As we turned the corner the light from the courier's lantern fell on us from the Hue de l'Eglise; we went under the archway, where by the greatest chance we found the old Jew Schmoule, who was going to Nancy. Just then the vehicle stopped. There were several empty places. Maitre Jean kissed Margaret. I had put down the trunk, and did not stir. " Come here," said she, offering me her cheek to be kissed. As I kissed her she whispered in my ear— " Workj Michel—work I" Schmoulc had already taken his place in one corner. Maitre Jean, as he lifted Margaret into the carriage, said to him— u Take care of her, Schmoule. I trust her to you." " Be easy," said the old Jew, " our deputy's daughter (shall be attended to. Trust me." I was glad to see Margaret with an old acquaintance. Blie leaned out of the window and gave me her hand, the conducteur went into the bureau to see if the places were paid for. He mounted his seat, and said— " Go on." 218 The Story of a Peasant. The horses started off, and we called out all together—■ " Good-bye, Margaret! Good-bye, Michel! Good- bye, Maitre Jean! The carriage rolled away before us ; it passed undei the Porte de France. We followed it, thinking. Once outside the works, we could only hear the horses' bells as they galloped along the Sarrebourg road. Maitre Jean said— " By eight o'clock to-morrow they will be at Nancy. Chauvel will be there to meet Margaret, and in four 01 five days they will be at Versailles." I said nothing. We returned to the village and went straight to our cottage, where I found every one asleep in the peace of the Lord. I scrambled up the ladder, and that night I had no bad dreams, as I had the preceding. The Story of a Peasant. 219 XYIL After Margaret left everything became quiet again for several days. Eain had set in, we worked hard, and in the evening I profited by some hours' leisure to make use of Chauvel's bookshelves. There were many very good books—Montesquieu, Yoltaire, Buffon, Jean- Jacques Eousseau; all these great writers, whose names I had heard ten years before, were there—the largo volumes in a line on the floor, and the others above them on the shelves. How I opened my eyes when they fell on a page which coincided with my own ideas! and what pleasure I felt, when I opened the Dictionnaire Encyclopedique Qf MM. d'Alembert and Diderot for the first time, and understood the alphabetical arrange- ment, where, according to his wants or his occupation, every man can find whatever he looks for! This seemed admirable to me. I immediately turned to the article " Forge," where the history of smiths is told from Tubal Cain in the Bible down to our day, the method of getting iron from the mine, of smelting, tempering, hammering, and working it, down to the smallest details. I was very much struck by it, and when I said something about it next day to Maitre Jean, he was astonished also. He said we young people had great opportunities for learning, but that in his time such books either did not exist or were too dear. 220 The Story of a Peasant. Valentine also seemed to think a great deal more of me. About the 9th or 10th of May we had a letter from Chauvel to tell us of their arrival at Versailles, saying they were lodgiug at a master bootmaker's, Rue Saint- Francis, for fifteen livres a month. The States-General were just opened. He had not time to write fully, and only put at the end of his letter— " I trust Michel will not hesitate to take my books home with him. Let him use them and take care of them, for one should always respect one's friends, and they are the best." I wish I could find this letter—the first of them all— but God knows what became of it! Maitre Jean had the bad habit of lending and showing his letters to everybody, so that three-fourths of them were lost. What Chauvel said showed me that Margaret had repeated our conversation to her father, and that ho approved of it. I was filled with joy, tenderness, and courage united; and from that time I took home every evening a volume of the IEncyclojpcedia, which I read, article by article, at one or two in the morning. My mother was very cross about the oil which was consumed. I let her complain; and when we were alone my father would say— " Learn, my boy; try to be a man; he who knows nothing is too wretched. He works all day for others. Never mind what your mother says." Nor did I mind her, as I knew very well she would be the first to profit by what I might learn. About this time the cure Christopher and a quan- tity of Lutzelbourg people were ill. Draining the Steinbach marshes had disseminated fever over the The Story of a Peasant. 221 whole valley. Everywhere you saw poor creatures dragging their limbs about, with their teeth chattering. Maitre Jean and I went to see the cure every Sun- day. This strong man was nothing but shin and bone. We thought he would never recover. Fortunately they called in old Freydinger, of Dier- neringen, who knew the true remedy for marsh fevers —parsley seed boiled in water. By this remedy he cured half the village, and the euro at last slowly recovered. During the month of May I remember there Was much talk of bands of brigands who were plundering Paris. All the Baraquins and the mountain people wanted to take their pitchforks and their scythes and go and meet these scoundrels, who were reported to spread themselves over the fields and burn the crops. Soon after we heard that these brigands had been massacred at the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, at a paper- stainer's named Reveillon, and the fright calmed down again for a time. Later this panic became stronger than ever, and every one wanted a gun and am m uni- tion to defend themselves. I was naturally more uneasy at these reports, for during two months we had no other news than that afforded by the gazettes. At last, however, thanks to God! we had a second letter from Chauvel, which I have kept, having taken care to copy it myself, the original being sent all over the country, and not seen again. A bundle of news- papers, old and new, came at the same time. That day the cure Christopher and his brother the tall Materne, who fought in 1814 against the allies with Hullin, came to see us. The cure had lost the fever: he was nearly well. He 222 The Story of a Peasantv and his brother dined with ns. I read the letter to them. Dame Catherine, Nicole, and two or three notables were present, and were very much surprised that Chauvel, so well known for his good sense and caution, should allow himself to write so freely. Here is his letter. Every one will see what was going on in Paris, and what we had to expect if the nobles and bishops had remained our masters:— " To Jean Leroux, master blachsmith at the Baraques- du-Bois-de-Chenes, near Phalsbourg. 11 July 1, 1789. "You ought to have had a letter from me dated May 6th, in which I informed you of our arrival at Versailles. I told vou in it that we had found a con- venient lodging for fifteen livres a month at Antoino Pichot's, master bootmaker, Rue Saint-Francois, in the quarter of St. Louis in the old town. We are still in the same place, and if you have anything to write to us about, be particular to direct the letter fully. "I should like to know what sort of harvest you expect this year. I hope Maitre Jean and Michel will write to me about it. Here we have had storms and showers of rain, occasionally sunshine. A bad season is expected. What do you think ? Margaret wants to have news of her orchard, and particularly of her flowers. Attend to this. " We live in this town like strangers. Two of my fellow-deputies, the cure Jacques, of Maisoncelle, neai Nemours, and Pierre Gferard, syndic of Yic, in the baili- wick of Toul, are in the same house as ourselves, they below and we above, with a balcony looking on the street. Margaret goes to market and cooks for us. The Story of a Peasant. 223 " All goes on well. In the evening, in the room of the cure Jacqnes, we arrange our plans. I take my pinch of snuff, Gerard smokes his pipe, and we always end by agreeing more or less. " That is how we get on. hTow let us turn to the affairs of the nation. "It is my duty to keep you informed of what is doing; but since our arrival we have had so many things to cross us, so many vexations, so many acci- dents. The two first orders, and principally the nobi- lity, have shown us such ill-will that I could not see where or how it would end. Ideas changed from one day to another—one day confident, the next despairing. We needed both patience and calmness to bring these people to reason. Three times were they on the point of going away, and it was only when they saw that we could do without them, and draw up a constitution alone, that at last they made up their minds to take then place in the assembly and unite their deliberations to ours. " I have been, therefore, unable hitherto to give you any certain news, but to-day the game is won, and I will take up the recital in detail from the beginning. You will read this letter to the notables, for I am not here for myself but for every one, and I should be indeed wrong if I did not render those who sent n~ e an account of their affairs. As I have taken daily notes of everything, I shall omit nothing. "When we reached Versailles, the 30th of April, with three other deputies from our bailiwick, we stopped at the Hotel des Souverains, which was crammed with "people. I will not tell you what they made us pay for a bouillon or a cup of coffee. It would frighten you. • All these 224 The Story of a Peasant. people, the servants and the hotel-keepers, are valets from father to son; they live by the nobility, who live on the people, without troubling themselves about them or their wants. A cup of broth which costs with us two liards here costs the value of a day's work of a Baraque working-man, and it is so much a matter of course that any one who grumbled would be considered a poor creature, and be looked at with contempt. It is fashionable to allow oneself to be robbed and cheated by people like these. "You can easily believe this did not suit me; wlien one has earned one's bread honestly and laboriously for thirty-five years, one knows the price of things, and I did not hesitate to send for the fat landlord and tell him what I thought of his bill. It was the first time he had ever been treated in such a manner. The rascal pretended to look down on me, but I returned it with interest. If I had not been a deputy of the Third Estate he would have turned me out; fortunately this position causes one to be respected. I was told by my fellow- deputy, G-erard, the next day, that I had scandalised the hotel servants, which made me laugh. The bow and the grimace of a lacquey cannot be worth the labour of an honest man. " I wished to tell you this story that you might see the sort of people we have to deal with. " However, the day after our arrival, after going all over the town, I took my lodgings and sent my effects there. It was a lucky discovery: the other two I have named to you followed me there directly. We are here together, and we live as cheaply as we can. "You should have seen Yersailles on the 3rd of hi ay —the day of presentation to the king; half Paris was The Story of a Peasant. 225 in tlie streets ; and the next, at the mass of the Saint- Esprit, it was still more wonderful: people were even on the tops of the houses. " But before anything else, I must tell you about the presentation. " The king and the court reside in the Chateau of Versailles, built on a sort of mount like that of Mittel- bronn, between the town and the gardens; in front of the cMteau is a court on a gentle slope; on both sides of the court, on the right and left, are large buildings where the ministers are lodged; at the back is the palace. " Vou see this at a league's distance when you come by the Paris Avenue—four or five times as broad as our highways, and bordered by fine trees ; the court is closed in front by a railing extending about sixty fathoms. Behind the chateau are the gardens, filled with water- works, statues, and similar decorations; how many thousands of men must have been worked to death in our fields, and paid poll-taxes, gabelles, &c., &c., to construct this palace! After that, the nobles and the lacqueys live well; luxury, they say, is necessary to keep trade going; so to live luxuriously at Versailles it is necessary for three-fourths of France to be famishing for a hundred years ! " We knew of the presentation by notices stuck up everywhere, and little books which have a very great sale here; the sellers stop you in the street to get you to buy them. " Many of the Third Estate thought it was wrong that they should have notice of the presentation through pub- lie bills when the two first orders had direct notice of it. I did not think much about it, and I set off at twelve 228 The Story of a Peasant. us, of which, we ate half with a good appetite, and drank a jug of cider, while talking over our affairs. Gerard and many others complained of this presenta- tion, saying it ought to have taken place all the orders together; they thought from that wo might conclude beforehand that the court would try to separate the orders. Some threw the blame on the master of the ceremonies. I thought to myself, wo shall see. If the court opposes voting man by man, wo will take it as a warning. 44 The next morning early all the bells began to ring, and in the street were heard cries of joy and reports without end. It was the day of the mass of Saint- Esprit, to invoke the blessing of the Lord on the States- General. The three orders were assembled in the church of Notre-Dame, where they sang the ' Yeni Creator.' After this ceremony, which was very pleasing on account of the beauty of the voices and the goodness of the music, we went in procession to the church of Saint-Louis. We came first, then the noblesse, and then the clergy, preceding the Holy Sacrament. The street was hung with tapestry belonging to the crown, and the crowd cried, 4 Yive le Tiers Etat!' " It is the first time the populace did not side with fine clothes, for we were like crows by the side of these peacocks, with their little turned-up hats and feathers, coats embroidered in gold all down the seams, their elbows in the air, and swords by their sides. The king and queen, surrounded by their court, closed the procession. A few cries of 4 Yive le roi! Yive le due d'Orleans!' were heard. The bells rang incessantly; these people had some sense; not one among so many thousands was silly enough to cry 4 Yive la Heine! Yive The Story of a Peasant. 229 le Comte d'Artois! Vive les Eveques !' Yet they were very fine notwithstanding. "At the church of Saint-Louis the mass began. Then the Bishop of Nancy, M. de la Fare, preached a long sermon against the luxury of the court, such as all bishops have preached for ages, without retrenching a single ornament from their suites, their copes, or their canopies. " This ceremony lasted till four in the afternoon; every one thought it enough, and that we should have the satisfaction of discussing our affairs together, but we were not near it yet, for the next day, May 5, the opening of the States-General was another ceremony. These people can exist only on ceremony, or, to speak plainly, on comedy. " The next day, then, all the States-General met in our hall, which is called the Hall of the Three Orders. It is lighted from above, by a round opening hung with white satin, and these in columns on both sides. At the end there was a throne under a canopy, splendidly besprinkled with golden lilies. " The Marquis de Breze and his masters of the ceremonies conducted the deputies to their places. Their work began at nine and finished at half-past twelve; you were called by name, led to your place, and begged to be seated. At the same time the state counsellors, the ministers and state secretaries, the governors and lieutenants-general of provinces, took their places. A long table covered with green cloth below the estrade was destined to the secretaries of state ; at one end of it Necker was seated, at the other M. de Saint-Priest. If I had to give you all the details I should never have done. 230 The Story of a Peasant. " The elergy were sealed on the right of the throne, the nobility on the left, and we in the front. The representatives of the clergy" were 291, of the nobility 270, and we 578; some of ours were still absent, as the Paris elections did not terminate till the 19th, but that was not perceptible. At last, about one o'clock, they gave notice to the king and queen, who appeared almost immediately, preceded and followed by the princes and princesses of the royal family and their court atten- dants. The king took his seat on the throne, the queen by his side in a large arm-chair, without the canopy; the royal family round the throne; the princes, ministers, and peers of the kingdom rather lower down, and the rest of the cortege on the steps of the estrade. The ladies of the court, in full dress, filled the galleries of the hall on the side of the estrade, and mere spectators were distributed in the other galleries between the pillars. " The king wore a round hat, the loop of which was set with pearls and mounted by a large diamond, known by the name of Pitt. Each one was seated in an arm- chair, a chair, a bench, or a stool, according to his rank and dignity; for these things are of the greatest im- portance ; on that does the greatness of a nation depend! I could never have believed it if I had not seen it: everything is settled beforehand for the: 3 ceremonies. Would to God our affairs were as well ordered! But questions of etiquette take precedence, and it is only after the lapse of ages that one has time to trouble oneself about the distresses of the people. " I wish that Yalentine had been three or four hours in my place; he could explain to you the difference between one cap and another, and between one robe aad The Story of a Peasant. 231 another! "What interested me most was when the grand master of the ceremonies made us a sign to he attentive, and the king hegan to read his speech. All I can recollect of it is that he was glad to see us; that he hoped we should come to a good understanding, to prevent innovations and find money for the deficit; that in this hope he had called us together, that the debt would he laid before us, and that he felt confident beforehand that we should find means to reduce it, and so to strengthen public credit; that this was his most ardent desire, and that he loved his subjects. " Then he sat down, saying his chancellor would still further explain his intentions. The whole hall cried,' Yive le Eoi!' " The chancellor, M. de Barentin, having risen, told us-that his majesty's first desire was to spread benefits around him, and that the virtues of sovereigns are the first resource of nations in difficult times; that our sovereign, then, was determined to crown public happi- ness, that he had summoned us to help him, and that the third race of our kings had a right above all to the confidence of every good Frenchman, that it strength- ened the order of succession to the crown, and that it had abolished all degrading distinctions 'between the_ proud successors of conquerors and the humble pos- terity of the conquered!' But that, nevertheless, it inclined to the nobility, for the love of order had raised the distinctions of rank between these and those; and in a monarchy they should be maintained; lastly, that it was the king's will to see us meet the following day to verify our powers, and to occupy our- selves with the important matters which he had pointed out to us—namely, money 1 Then II. the Chancellor 230 The Story of a Peasant. " The clergy were seated on the right of the throne, the nobility on the left, and we in the front. The representatives of the clergy' were 291, of the nobility 270, and we 578; some of ours were still absent, as the Paris elections did not terminate till the 19th, but that was not perceptible. At last, about one o'clock, they gave notice to the king and queen, who appeared almost immediately, preceded and followed by the princes and princesses of the royal family and their court atten- dants. The king took his seat on the throne, the queen by his side in a large arm-chair, without the canopy; the royal family round the throne; the princes, ministers, and peers of the kingdom rather lower down, and the rest of the cortege on the steps of the estrade. The ladies of the court, in full dress, filled the galleries of the hall on the side of the estrade, and mere spectators were distributed in the other galleries between the pillars. " The king wore a round hat, the loop of which was set with pearls and mounted by a large diamond, known by the name of Pitt. Each one was seated in an arm- chair, a chair, a bench, or a stool, according to his rank and dignity; for these things are of the greatest im- portance ; on that does the greatness of a nation depend! I could never have believed it if I had not seen it: everything is settled beforehand for the3 3 ceremonies. Would to God our affairs were as well ordered! But questions of etiquette take precedence, and it is only after the lapse of ages that one has time to trouble oneself about the distresses of the people. " I wish that Valentine had been three or four hours in my place; he could explain to you the difference between one cap and another, and between one robe am! The Story of a Peasant. 231 another! What interested me most was when the grand master of the ceremonies made us a sign to be attentive, and the king began to read his speech. All I can recollect of it is that he was glad to see us; that he hoped we should come to a good understanding, to prevent innovations and find money for the deficit; that in this hope he had called us together, that the debt would be laid before us, and that he felt confident beforehand that we should find means to reduce it, and so to strengthen public credit; that this was his most ardent desire, and that he loved his subjects. " Then he sat down, saying his chancellor would still further explain his intentions. The whole hall cried, ' Yive le Eoi!' " The chancellor, M. de Barentin, having risen, told us-that his majesty's first desire was to spread benefits around him, and that the virtues of sovereigns are the first resource of nations in difficult times; that our sovereign, then, was determined to crown public happi- rtess, that he had summoned us to help him, and that the third race of our kings had a right above all to the confidence of every good Frenchman, that it strength- ened the order of succession to the crown, and that it had abolished all degrading distinctions 'between the_ proud successors of conquerors and the humble pos- terity of the conquered!' But that, nevertheless, it inclined to the nobility, for the love of order had raised the distinctions of rank between these and those; and in a monarchy they should be maintained; lastly, that it was the king's will to see us meet the following day to verify our powers, and to occupy our- selves with the important matters which he had pointed out to us—namely, money! Then M. the Chancellor 232 The Story of a Peasant. sat down, and M. Necker read us a long speecli about the debt, wbicb amounted to sixteen hundred millions, rmd produced an annual deficit of 56,150,000 livres. He prepared us to pay this deficit, but be said not a word of the constitution wbicb our electors have charged us to establish. " The same evening, as we went home very much sur- prised, we heard that two new regiments, Eoyal Cravate and Bourgogne Cavalry, with a battalion of Swiss, had just arrived in Paris, and that several other regiments were on their march. This news gave us material for reflection, the more so as the queen, Mgr. the Comte d'Artois, M. the Prince de Conde, M. the Duke de Polignac, M. the Duke d'Enghien, and M. the Prince de Conti had disapproved of the convocation of the States-General, and they doubted seeing, us pay the debt if we were not helped a little. On the part of any others but princes this would be called a trap! But deeds change their name according to the rank of those who commit them. On the part of the princes, then, it was simply a coup d'etat which they were preparing. Happily I had already seen the Parisians, and I thought those brave people would not desert us. Well, that evening my two fellow-deputies and myself agreed, after supper, that we must trust to ourselves rather than to any one else, and that the arrival of these regiments augured no good for the Third Estate. " It was on the 6th of May that affairs began to show some decided character; before that sitting, all the ceremonies I have described to you and all the speeches which had been made to us had led to nothing; but now you will really see something new. The Story of a Peasant. 233 " The next morning at nine, Gerard, M. the cure Jacques, and myself arrived at the hall of the States- General. They had removed the hangings of the canopy and the carpet of the throne. The hall was nearly empty, but the deputies of the Third Estate arrived, the benches began to fill; we talked to one another and made acquaintance with our neighbours, as people ought to do who have undertaken such serious matters. Twenty minutes after nearly all the deputies of the Third Estate were assembled. We waited for those of the nobility and the clergy; not one showed himself. " Suddenly one of our deputies came and told us that the two other orders had met each in its own hall, and were then in deliberation. Naturally, this produced as much surprise as indignation. We then decided to name as president of the Third Estate our senior in age, an old bald-headed man, whose name was Leroux, like yours, Maitre Jean. He accepted the nomination, and chose six other members of the Assembly to assist him. " Some time was necessary to re-establish silence, for thousands of ideas occurred to you at that moment: each had to say what he foresaw, what he feared, and what means he thought it best to employ in so serious a situation. At last we became calm, and M. Malouet, a former employe in the administration of the marine, as I was told, proposed to send a deputation to the two privileged orders to invite them to join us in the place of the general assemblies. A young deputy, M. Monnier, answered him that such a step would compromise the dignity of the commons ; that there was no hurry, and we should soon be informed what the privileged orders 234 The Story of a Peasant, liad decided, and that we could then act accordingly, I was of his opinion. Our president added that we could not as yet consider ourselves as members of the States-General, since these estates were as yet not con stituted, nor our powers verified; and for this reason he declined to open the letters addressed to the Assem- hly; which was taking a sensible view of the matter. Much was also said on the same day on the subject, which all came to the same thing. " Towards half-past two a deputy from Dauphine brought us the news that the two other orders had decided. on verifying their powers separately. The sitting was then raised in confusion, and adjourned to the next day at nine. " It was quite palpable. We saw that the king, the queen, the nobles, and the bishops found us sufficiently qualified to pay their debts, but they did not care to give us a constitution where the people would have a voice in the chapter. They preferred incurring debts alone, without protest or control, than to assemble us once in two hundred years, to induce us to accept these debts in the people's name, and to consent to be taxed to all eternity. "Imagine what our reflections were and our anger after this discovery. " We sat till midnight, crying out and irritating ourselves at the abominable selfishness and injustice of the court. After that, I said to my comrades, it wero better for us to remain calm in public, to keep right on our side if it were possible, and to leave the people to reflect. We decided on so doing; and the next day, when we reached the hall, we saw that the other depn- ties had doubtless taken the same resolution; for instead The Story of a Peasant 235 of the confusion of the previous evening, all was serious, the president in his place, and his assistants writing at the estrade, receiving letters and laying them on the table. " The discussions of the nobility and clergy, in the form of pamphlets, were sent to us, and I add them here, to show what these people thought and desired. The clergy had carried the verification of their powers in their order by a majority of 133 votes against 114-, and the nobility also by 88 votes against 47, in oppo- sition to the good feeling and good sense of their party— the Viscount Castellane, the Duke de Liancourt, the Marquis de Lafayette, the deputies from Dauphine, and those of the seneschalship of Aix and Provence, who combated their injustice—they had already appointed twelve commissions to verify their own powers. " On that day Malouet renewed his proposal to send a deputation to the two privileged orders.to induce them to join the commons' deputies; and thereupon the Count de Mirabeau rose. Although noble, he is a deputy of the Third Estate, the nobility of his own province having refused to admit him among them, as not being a proprietor by tenure. He immediately made himself a trader, and the town of Aix elected him; ho is a Proven5al, tall and stout, with a high forehead, large eyes, yellow complexion, plain, and marked by the small- pox; he has a harsh voice, and stammers when he begins; but when he is once excited, there is a great change, and everything becomes clear; you seem to see what he says, you fancy you have always thought as he does; and from time to time his harsh voice lowers its tone, when he is about to say something great or forcible ; it mutters at first, ami then goes off like a clap of thunder. I can give 236 The Story of a Peasant. you no idea how the face of such a man changes; voice, eyes, gesture, ideas, all are in accordance. You forget self while listening to him; he holds you, and you cannot release yourself. If you look at thoso around you, you find them all pale. So long as he is on our side all will be well; but we must be on our guard. For myself I distrust him. First, he is noble; and then he is a man without money, of violent pas- sions, and in debt. Only to look at his great fleshy nose, enormous jaws, and his stomach, covered with ragged but still magnificent lace, you think he could devour Alsace and Lorraine, together with Franche- Comte and the country round besides! All the same, I devoutly thank the nobles for having refused to enter his name on their register; we had at first too great want of him, as you will see further on. " On that day Mirabeau did not say much; he only observed that we must be constituted an order our- selves before we could send a deputation, that we were not yet so constituted, and that we would not consti- tute ourselves without the others. It would be better, then, to wait. " The advocate Monnier then said that we ought to allow those deputies of the Third Estate who were willing to undertake it to go as individuals, and with- out any mission, to try and induce the nobles and the clergy to co-operate with us according to the king's desire. As it could compromise nothing, this opinion was adopted. Twelve members went out to gain infor- mation ; they announced that in the hall of the nobles they only found the commissions occupied in verifying those gentlemen's powers; and in that of the clergy, the order being sitting, their president replied that The Story of a Peasant, 237 they would discuss their proposal. An hour after, MM. the bishops of Montpellier and Orange, with four other ecclesiastics, entered our hall and told us that their order had decided to name commissioners who should join ours and those of the nobility, to see if the powers could be verified in common. " This reply caused us to adjourn, our sitting of the 7th of May to the 12th, and I took advantage of these four days' holiday to visit Paris with my two comrades and Margaret. We had no time to stop there in pass- ing on the 10th of April, two days after the sack of Reveillon's house in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The excitement was then great, the prevot's guards were on the alert, the arrival of a crowd of bandits was spoken of. I was curious to see what was going on there, if they were quiet again, and what they thought of our first sittings. Parisians who were coming backwards and forwards had given me some idea, but I preferred seeing for myself. We set off early in the morning, and our vehicle in three hours reached this immense city, of which one can form no adequate idea, not only on account of the height of the houses, and of the quantity of streets and lanes crossing one another, the antiquity of the buildings, the number of squares, blind alleys, cafes, shops, and stalls of all descriptions, which join on to and follow one another as far as one's eye can reach, and the signs hanging from story to story, up to the roof; but more so still because of the numberless cries of sellers of fried fish, fruiterers, old clothesmen, and thousands of other people, drawing carts, carrying water, vegetables, and other goods. One might think oneself in a menagerie, where the hitherto unknown birds of the American forests utter their different cries. 238 The Story of a Peasant. And then the rolling of the carts and carriages, the horrid smells from heaps of refuse, the people's pitiful looks, all dressed in old clothes of the latest fashion, dancing, singing, and laughing, full of politeness to strangers, and of good sense and gaiety in their distress; who see everything favourably, provided they can walk about, give utterance to their opinions in the cafes, and read the paper! All that, Maitre Jean, makes this city resemble nothing else in this world, certainly no- thing at home. Nancy is a palace compared to Paris, but a palace empty and dead—here everything is alive. " The unhappy Parisians still feel the effects of last winter's dearth; many of them are really nothing but skin and bone ; nevertheless, they are merry; one sees jokes stuck up in the windows. When I saw that I was delighted; I found myself at home. Instead of drag- ging my bale from village to village for hours together, I should have found buyers here, so to say, at every step. Then, again, this is the true country for patriots; these people, poor and wretched as they are, cling to their rights above all: the rest will follow. " Our comrade Jacques has one of his sisters, a fruiterer, Rue du Bouloi, near the Palais-Royal; we got down there. All along the street, after entering the faubourg, we heard nothing but this song:— " ' Long live the Third Estate of Franco, 'Twill soon receive preponderance O'er royalty and prelacy— Ahi! the poor nobility! Far in advance of priest and judge, With knowledge armed, the poorer drudge Doth prove the better man is he— Ahi! the poor nobility!' The Story of a Peasant. 239 " If they had known we belonged to the Third Estate they were capable of carrying us in triumph. It would be indeed the act of cowards to forsake such people as these! And I can tell you, if we were not already decided, the mere sight of this courage, gaiety, and virtues in such distress would have made us feel and swear to fulfil our mission, and recover our rights or die. " "We spent four days with the widow Lefranc ; Mar- garet, with the cure Jacques, has seen all Paris—the Jardin des Plantes, Notre-Daine, the Palais-Eoyal, and even the theatres. My only pleasure was walking about the streets and squares, going here and there, and along the Seine, where old books are sold; on the bridges, peopled by old clothesmen and dealers in fried fish; talking before the shops with any one; stopping to listen to the song of a blind man, or seeing a play acted in the open air; performing dogs were not wanting, nor dentists with a pipe and a big drum; but the play at the end of the Pont-hTeuf is the best; they always have the laugh against princes and nobles ; they are always made to talk nonsense; two or three times I have been so pleased that tears came in my eyes. " I have visited the corporation of Paris, where tney were still discussing their memorials. They have come to a wise determination: they have appointed a perma- nent commission to watch their deputies, to advise and even to caution them if they do not fulfil their mission in a satisfactory manner. This is a good idea, Maitre Jean, and which has unfortunately been omitted in other places. What is a deputy if he is overlooked by no one, who might sell his vote with impunity, and set those who sent him at defiance ?—for he is become rich and 240 The Story of a Peasant. the others remain poor; lie is protected by the power which buys him, and his constituents remain in the right, it is true, but without appeal and without remedy! The part the corporation of Paris has taken ought to be to our advantage ; it is one of the articles which ought to head the constitution: that electors should have it in their power to deprive of his seat, proceed against, and cause to be punished, every deputy who is false to his mission, as he who makes a bad use of a power of attorney is punished. Till then we shall but be thank- ful for small mercies. "Well, this decision gave me pleasure ; now I continue. " In addition to my joy at seeing this great movement, I had also the satisfaction of observing that people here well know what they want and what they are about. I went in the evening, after supper, to the Palais-Royal, which the Duke of Orleans has thrown open to every one. This duke is a profligate, but at least no hypocrite. After passing the night in a tavern or elsewhere, he does not go to mass and receive absolution, to begin again the next day. They say he is a friend of Sieyes and Mirabeau; he is reproached with having brought a number of scoundrels into Paris to plunder and sack the city : this is not easy to believe, because after so fright- ful a winter they would have come of themselves to look for food. There is no need of giving locusts a hint to make them fall on the crops. " The queen and court hate the duke, which makes him many friends; his Palais-Royal is always ojien; in the interior there are rows of trees, where every one can walk about; four rows of arcades surround the garden, and beneath are the finest shops and most elegant taverns in Paris. The Story of a Peasant. 241 " It is there young men and newspaper writers meet, and make their views known in the most open manner, without scruple. As to what they say, it is not always rery brilliant, and generally it goes out of your head as through a sieve; the good which remains is of no great quantity—more straw than wheat. I have listened to them once or twice, and on going away I have been at some pains to remember what they had been talking about—all the same the foundation is good, and some of them show plenty of spirit. " "We had under the trees a bottle of bad and dear wine. Eents are also very high : I have been told the smallest of these shops lets for two and three thousand livres a year—customers must pay for this. This Palais- Eoyal is in reality a large fair, and at night, when the lamps are lighted, it is really very fine. " On the 11th, about half-past two in the afternoon, we set off well pleased with our journey, and sure that the bulk of the Parisians are in our favour, which is the principal thing. On the 12th, at nine, we were at our posts, and as our commissioners had not been able to come to any arrangement with those of the nobility and the clergy, we saw that they were only desirous of making- us lose our time. For that reason, at this sitting we took measures for proceeding to business. The presi- dent and his assistants were ordered to make a list of the deputies, and it was decided that every day a com- mission consisting of a deputy from every province should be appointed to keep order in the conferences, collect and count the votes, take the majority of opinions on each question, &c. " The next day we received a deputation from the nobles, to signify to us that their order was constituted, 242. The Story of a Peasant. that they had named their president and secretaries, opened registers, and taken divers measures, among others to proceed alone to verify their powers. They had quite decided to do without us. The same day the clergy sent us word that they had appointed commis- sioners to confer with those of the nobles and the Third Estate on the verification of powers in common, and the union of the three orders. " A great discussion arose; some were for appointing commissioners, others proposed we should only aclmow- ledge as* legal representatives those whose powers had been examined in the General Assembly, and that we should invite the deputies of the Church and of the nobility to meet us in the hall of the States-General, where we had been awaiting them for a week. " As the discussion grew warm, and several deputies ■wished to speak, the debate was continued the following day. Rabaud de Saint-Etienne, a Protestant minister; Viguier, deputy from Toulouse; Thouret, advocate to the Parliament at Rouen; Barnave, deputy from Dau- pliine; Boissy d'Anglas, from Languedoc, all men of great talent and admirable speakers, above all, Barnave, insisted, some that we should go on, others that we should wait and give the nobility and clergy time to reflect, as if all their reflections had not been already made. At last Rabaud de Saint-Etienne prevailed, and sixteen members were chosen to confer with the commissioners of the clergy and the nobles. " In our sitting of the 23rd a committee of report was chosen, charged with drawing up the minutes of all that had passed since the opening of the States- General. This proposal was rejected, because this plain exposure might increase the agitation of the country, The Story of a Peasant. 243 by stowing it the intrigues of tlie nobility and clergy to paralyse the Third Estate. "The 22nd and 23rd there was a report that his majesty would submit to us the project of a loan. By means of this loan they could do without us, since the deficit would thus be provided for, but our children and descendants would have to pay the interest for ever. Troops arrived the same days in large bodies round Paris and Versailles. " The 26th they finished drawing up rules for the maintenance of good order and discipline, and our commissioners came to tell us that they had been unable to agree with those of the nobles. " The next day, the 27th, Mirabeau summed up all that had been done till then in these words:—' The nobility will not join us to verify our powers in common. We desire to verify the powers in common. The clergy persists in seeking to conciliate us. I propose to ap- point a very numerous and very solemn deputation to the clergy, to adjure them, in the name of the G-od of Peace, to side with reason, justice, and truth, and to join their fellow-deputies in their common hall.' All this took place in public, the crowd surrounded us, and did not hesitate to applaud those of whom it approved. " The next day, 28th, a barrier was erected to sepa- rate the Assembly from the public, and a deputation was sent to the clergy in the terms indicated by Mirabeau. " This same day we received a letter from the king. 'His majesty had been informed that difficulties respect- ing the verification of powers existed still between the three orders. He saw, with pain and uneasiness, the Assembly, which he had summoned to devote itself to 244 The Story of a Peasant. tlie regeneration of the country, abandon itself to a fatal state of inaction. Under tliese circumstances he requested tlie commissioners named by tliese orders to recommence their conferences, in the presence of the chancellor and of commissioners appointed by his majesty, that he might be especially made aware what overtures had been made for a reconciliation, and he able to contribute directly to so desirable a state of concord.' " It seems that we, the commons' representatives, were the cause of the States-General's inactivity for three weeks ; it was we who wished to form a separate party, and who were defending ancient privileges against the rights of the nation! " His majesty took us for children. Several deputies spoke against this letter, among others Cannes. They said that renewed conferences were useless, that the nobility would not listen to reason; that, besides, the commons could not submit to the jurisdiction of the chancellor, who would naturally side with the nobles; that our commissioners would be there, in the presence of those of the king, as pleaders before judges decided beforehand to condemn them; and that what had hap- pened in 1589 would happen now. Then the ling had also proposed to pacify men's minds, and he had done so effectually by an edict in council. " Many deputies were of the same opinion; they considered the letter as a snare. Nevertheless, the next day, the 29th, 'in order to exhaust all means of con- ciliation,' we sent a very humble address to the king, thanking him for his kindness and goodness, and telliug him that the commissioners of the Third Estate were ready to resume their sittings with those of the clergy The Story of a Peasant. 245 and nobility. But on tbe Monday following, June 1st, Babaud de Saint-Etienne, one of our commissioners, baying come to tell us tbat tbe minister Necker pro- posed to them .to accept tbe verification of powers by orders, and to submit tbemselves in all cases of doubt to tbe decision of tbe council, we confessed tbat Cannes was rigbt. Tbe king bimself was opposed to tbe verifi- cation in common; be wanted tbree separate chambers instead of one; be stood by tbe clergy and tbe nobility against tbe Tbird Estate! Henceforth we bad only ourselves to depend upon. " All I bave related to you up to this point, Maitre Jean, is exact; and tbat will sbow you tbe usolessness of fine words, grand phrases, and flowers of oratory, as tbey are called. Tbe poorest Baraquin, if endowed with sense, sees things distinctly, and all these additions of style are useless and injurious. " Everything may be explained simply:—Tou want this—I will bave tbat—you surround us with soldiers—• tbe Parisians are with us—you bave powder, guns, Swiss mercenaries, and we bave nothing but our com- mission, but we are tired of being robbed, ground down, and stripped; you believe yourselves the stronger; wo shall see! " Tbat is tbe foundation of tbe story; all inventions of words and speeches, when right and justice are evident, are superfluous. We have been ridiculed; let us go to facts:—We pay, we will know what becomes of our money; moreover, we will only pay as little as possible; our children are soldiers, we will know who commands tbem, why tbey command tbem, and bow we profit by it; you bave orders of nobility, and tbe tbird order; why these distinctions ? in what respect are tbe Q 246 The Story of a Peasant. children of tlie one superior to the children of the other ? are they of a different species ? do they descend from the gods, while ours spring from animals ? There, that is what must he made clear. " Now let us continue. " The nobility reckoned on the troops; it expected to carry all before it by means of the troops, and rejected our proposals. Being in sitting the 10th of June, after the report of the conferences of our commissioners with those of the nobles had been read, Mirabeau said the deputies of the commons could wait no longer; we had duties to fulfil, and it was time to begin, that a member of the Paris deputation had a motion of the highest importance to bring forward, and he invited the Assem- bly to give him a patient hearing. " This member was the Abbe Sieyes, a man from the south, forty or forty-five years of age; he speaks badly, with a weak voice, but his ideas are good. I have sold many of his pamphlets, as you know; they have done much good. This is what he said, amidst deep silence— " ' Since the opening of the States-General the com- mons' deputies have followed an open and calm line of conduct; they have "observed all respect compatible with their character for the nobility and the clergy, which the two privileged orders have repaid by hypo- crisy and subterfuge. The Assembly can remain no longer inactive without betraying its duties and the interests of its constituents; it must, then, verify the powers. The nobility refuses to do so ; when one order declines to advance, can it then condemn the others to inaction? No! The Assembly, then, has nothing else left but for a last time to request the attendance of the The Story of a Peasant. 247 privileged orders in tlie hall of the States-General, to assist at, contribute to, and submit to the verification of powers in common; and then, in case of refusal, to take 110 notice of them.' " Mirabeau then said we must take the nobility and clergy in default. " A second sitting took place the same day from five to eight o'clock j the motion of the Abbe Sieyes was adopted, and it was at the same time decided to read an address to the king to explain the motives of the commons' resolution. " On Friday, June 12th, it was necessary to signify to the two other orders what had been resolved, and to draw up the address to the king. M. Malouet proposed a draught of an address, written in a manly and vigorous style, but filled with compliments. Yolney, who is said to have travelled over Egypt and the Holy Land, answered him—' Let us distrust all praises die- tated by flattery and baseness, and engendered by interest. "We are here in the abode of plots and intrigues; the air we breathe carries corruption to our hearts! Some representatives of the nation appear, alas! to be already seriously infected by it.' He con- turned in this strain, and Malouet said nothing in reply, " Finally, after a great struggle, it was decided that the address to the king drawn up by M. Barnave, con- taining an account of all that had taken place since the opening of the States-General and the resolutions of the Third Estate, should be presented by a deputation, Our deputation returned without having seen the king, who was hunting, when another deputation from the nobles came to tell us that their order was deliberating on our propositions. M. Bailly, deputy for Paris, replied—® 243 The Story of a Peasant. "1 Gentlemen, tlie commons have waited a long time for you gentlemen of the nobility.' " And without allowing any delay to be occasioned by this fresh ceremony, which, like all the others, had but the object in view of putting us off from day to day and from week to week, we began to call over the bailiwicks, after having appointed M. Bailly provisional president, and having desired him to name two mem- bers as secretaries to draw up a report of the call of the house which they were about to make, and of the other proceedings of the assembly. " The call began at seven and finished at ten. Thus we were constituted, not as a Third Estate as the others wished, but as States-General. The two privi- leged orders were only private assemblies: we were the assembly of the nation. "We had lost five weeks through the ill-will of the nobles and the bishops, and you will now see what they still did to impede our proceedings. " I will not tell you about questions of words which were debated, and which occupied three entire sittings, to settle whether we should entitle ourselves repre- sentatives of the French people, according to Mirabeau; the lawful assembly of the representatives of the majo- rity of the nation, acting in the absence of the minority, as Monnier suggested; or acknowledged and verified representatives of the French nation, as Sieyes re- quired. I should have quietly adopted the old name of States-General. The nobles and bishops might refuse to appear—that regarded them alone. We were none the less the representatives of ninety-six hun« dredths of France. The Story of a Peasant. 249 " At length, according to a fresh suggestion of Sieyes, the title of ' National Assembly ' was adopted. " One very good result of our declaration of the 12th was that every day some good cures left the assembly of the bishops, and came and verified their powers before us. On the 13th three came from Poitou, the 14th six more, the 15th two, the 16th six, and so on. Imagine our joy, our enthusiastic shouts, our em- bracings! Our president took up half the sittings in paying compliments to these good cures with tears in his eyes. Among the first was the Abbe Gregoire, of Embermenil, to whom I have sold more than one of my little books. On seeing him arrive I ran to meet him, and while embracing him I whispered in his ear— " ' Well and good! You follow Christ's example, who frequented neither princes nor high priests, but the people.' " He laughed. I fancied I saw the bishops' looks in the hall close by. What a break up! After all, the cures would have been very foolish to stand by those who had been humiliating them for ages past. Is not the heart of the people the same under the priest's cassock as the peasant's frock ? " On the 17th, in the presence of four or five thou- sand spectators, the Assembly declared itself consti- tuted, and each of the members took this oath: 'We swear and promise to fulfil the duties committed to us with zeal and fidelity.' Bailly was confirmed president of the National Assembly, and it was unanimously de- creed—' The Assembly declares that it consents provi- sionally for the nation to the levying of existing taxes—■ though illegally established and levied—until the day 250 The Story of a Peasant. only of the separation of the Assembly, from 'whatsoever cause it may happen.' " Think of that, Maitre Jean, and make the notables of our country fully understand it. Our distress for so many years has arisen from the fact that we were dull and timid enough to pay taxes which had not been voted by our representatives. Money is the sinew of war, and we have always given our money to those who put the rope round our necks. Now, he who would pay taxes after the dissolution of the National Assembly would be a most miserable wretch; he would betray father, mother, wife, children, and himself and his country, and those who would levy them could not be regarded as Frenchmen but as banditti. This is the first principle laid down by the National Assembly of 1789. " The sitting was broken up at five, and postponed to the same evening of June 17th. "You may conceive how the king, the queen, the princes, the court, and the bishops opened their eyea when they heard this proclamation of the Third Estate. During the sitting M. Bailly had been requested to attend the chancery there to receive a letter from the king; the Assembly refused to consent to his absence. At the evening's sitting M. Bailly read us the letter from the king, who did not approve of the expression ' privileged orders' which several deputies of the Third Estate had used in designating the nobility and clergy. The words did not please him. It was contrary, said he, to the harmony which ought to exist among us; but the fact did not seem to him to be contrary to harmony—the fact should remain! "There, Maitre Jean, is what I told you before; injustice does not exist at court when it bears the name The Story of a Peasant. 251 of justice, nor meanness when it is called greatness ? What reply can be made to that P All were silent. " The next day we were present in a body at the pro- cession of the Holy Sacrament in the streets of Versailles. On Friday, the 19th, committees were organised, and four were instituted, the first to watch over our sup- port, the second for verifications, the third for corre- spondence and publishing, the fourth for the rules of the house. All was then advancing steadily, we were making great progress; but that was not what the court desired, especially as the same evening, towards six o'clock, we learned that one hundred and forty-nine deputies of the clergy had declared for the verification of powers in common. " We had borne with everything in the fulfilment of our mission; we had been calm, we had been deaf to the indignation with which insolence and hypocrisy inspired us! As indirect means were insufficient to exasperate us and put us in the wrong, it was deter- mined to have recourse to others more rude and humi- hating. This began June 20th. " On that day, early in the morning, we heard it proclaimed in the streets by heralds— "' The king having decreed to hold a royal sitting of the States-General on Monday, June 22nd, the pre- parations which were to be made in the three halls necessitated the suspension of the Assemblies until the said sitting, and his majesty would make known, by another proclamation, at what hour he would proceed on Monday to the States Assembly.' " We heard at the same time that a detachment of the Gardes-Fran9aises had taken possession of tho Salle des Menus. 252 The Story of a Peasant. " Every one then saw that the moment of danger was come. I was glad to see my fellow-deputies Gerard and the cure Jacques come into our room at seven. The day's sitting was appointed for eight. "While at "breakfast we resolved to stand firm round the president who represented our union, and consequently our strength. To speak the truth, we looked upon those who tried to stop the advance of the country as true rogues—fellows who had only lived by the labour of others—creatures without experience, capacity, delicacy, or genius, and whose whole strength was derived from the people's ignorance and stupidity, which are always caught by the finery of lacqueys, without reflecting that all this gold lace, these embroidered coats, and hats, and feathers, all these carriages and horses, are drawn from their own labour, by the impudence of these rascals who plunder them of their money. " The measure of closing the doors of the Assembly was so clumsy that we shrugged our shoulders in contempt of it. Of course our good king knew nothing about these things, his calm and gentle mind took no cognisance of such trifles; we blessed him for his kindness and simplicity, without charging him with the folly and insolence of the court! " At a quarter to eight we set off from our house. As we approached the Salle des Menus we saw about one hundred deputies standing together on the espla- nade; our president, Bailly, was in the midst of them. I must give you a description of this brave man. TJp to the present moment in a crowd of others he had not distinguished himself; we had chosen him for his repu- lation of learning and honesty. He is a man of fifty or fifty-five, with a long face and dignified air. He hurries The Story of a Peasant. 253 nothing on; lie listens and considers for some time before adopting any course; but having once decided, ho does not give way. " Other deputies -were now arriving by different alleys. As nine o'clock struck we drew near the hall, M. Bailly and two secretaries at our head. Some Cfardes-Fran£aises were before the door. As soon as they saw us coming an officer in command appeared and came forward; M. Bailly had a lively discussion with him. I was not near enough to hear, but it at the same time was stated that the door was closed to us. The officer (the Count de Yertan) very politely justified himself by his orders. We were indignant. In the course of twenty minutes the Assembly was nearly com- plete; and as the officer on guard, notwithstanding his politeness, would not allow us to pass, several deputies made a vigorous protestation, and then we ascended the avenue nearly up to the railing, in the midst of great confusion. Some proposed to go to Marly aiid hold the Assembly under the windows of the chateau; others said the king sought to plunge the country into the horrors of a civil war, and starve it, and that no- thing similar had been seen under the greatest despots, Louis XI., Richelieu, and Mazarin. Our indignation was shared by half Versailles; the people, men and women, surrounded and listened to us. " M. Bailly had left us about ten ; we did not know what had become of him, when three deputies came and informed us, that after having removed our documents from the hall by the help of the commissioners who accompanied him, he had betaken himself to a large hall where they usually played at tennis, in the Rue Saint-Fra^ois, nearly opposite my lodgings, and that 254 The Story of a Peasant. this hall "was large enough to hold the Assembly. We set off escorted by the people to the tennis-court, de- scending the street which runs along the bach of that part of the chateau which is called ' les grands com- mums',' and we entered the old building about twelve o'clock. The affront we had just been subjected to was sufficient evidence that the nobility and the bishops were tired of temporising with us, and that we must expect farther insults; and we should be under the necessity of taking measures, not only with a view to assure the fulfilment of our mission, but also to guarantee our own existence. These people, accustomed only to employ force, knew no other law; happily we were near Paris, which counteracted their plans. " Let us get on. " The hall of the tennis-court is a square building about thirty-five feet high, paved with large flags, with neither pillars, beams, nor cross-beams, and the roof of thick planking ; light is admitted by windows very high up, which gives a sombre appearance to the interior. All round it there are narrow boarded galleries; we had to traverse them to reach this species of halle aux lies, or covered market, which must have been a long time in existence. Under any circumstances buildings were not erected in stone for a childish game. It was deficient in everything, chairs, tables, &c. They were obliged to fetch them from the neighbouring houses. The master of the establishment, a little bald man, seemed pleased with the honour that we did him. A table was set in the middle of the hall, and some chairs round it. The Assembly stood. The crowd filled the galleries. " Then Badly mounted a chair, and began by remind- The Story of a Peasant. 255 lug us of what had just occurred; he then read to us two letters from M. the Marquis de Breze, master of the ceremonies, in which that nobleman communicated the order to him to suspend our meetings until the royal sitting. These two letters were written in the same terms: the second merely added that the order was positive. In conclusion, M. Bailly recommended us to deliberate on what plan we should adopt. " I need not try, Maitre Jean, to make you understand our emotion; when one is the representative of a great people, and one sees this people insulted in one's own person—when one calls to mind what our fathers have suffered at the hands of a stranger class, which for hun- dreds of years has lived at our expense, and now endea- vours to keep us in subjection—when but a few days previous you are insolently reminded that the superiority of ' the descendants of our haughty conquerors over the humble posterity of the conquered' is graciously for- gotten for a moment; and one then sees that by means :f insolence and trickery they are seeding to perpetuate the same system with us and our descendants; then, if such treatment be not deserved,' we are ready to sacri- fice all to maintain our rights and humble the pride of those who humiliate us. " Monnier, calm though indignant, had a truly great idea. After having shown us how strange it was to see the hall of the States-General occupied by armed men, and us, the National Assembly, at its door, exposed to the laughter and insults of the nobles and their servants ; forced to take refuge in a tennis-court, that our labours might not be interrupted; he cried—4 The intention to wound us in our dignity had been openly shown, and it warned us of the liveliness of intrigue and of the rage 253 The Story of a Peasant. with which, they endeavoured to drive our good king to take disastrous steps; and in this state of things the nation's representatives had but one course to pursue— to bind themselves to the public safety and the country's interests by a solemn oath.' "This proposition excited great enthusiasm, every one comprehending that the union of the good causes terror to the bad; the following resolution was inrnie- diately passed:— "' The National Assembly, considering that having been invited to determine the constitution of the king- dom, effect the restoration of public order, and maintain true monarchical principles, nothing can prevent the continuance of its deliberations, in whatsoever place it may be forced to establish itself, and that where its members are met, there is the National Assembly: " ' Eesolved, that all members of this Assembly shall at this instant take a solemn oath never to separate, and to meet wherever circumstances may require it, until the constitution of the kingdom is strengthened and established on a solid base; and the said oath having been taken, that all and each member shall confirm by their signature this irrevocable resolution.' *' How pleased you would have been, Maitre Jean, to see this great sombre hall, us in the centre of it, and the people all around; to hear the hum of astonishment, satisfaction, and enthusiasm; then the president, Bailly, standing on a chair, reading to us the form of the oath, amidst a religious silence ; then suddenly our hundreds of voices, like a clap of thunder, burst forth in the old building with,' We swear it!—we swear it!' " Ah! our ancestors who have suffered so much ought to move in their graves. I am not a very suscep* The Story of a Feasant. 257 tible man, but I bad not a drop of blood in my veins. I never believed sucb happiness conld be in store for me. Hear me the cure Jacques was in tears; Gerard de Vic was very pale ; at last we fell into the arms of one another. " Outside, shouts of applause extended over the old town; then it was I recollected this verse of the Gospel, when the soul of Christ ascended to heaven— ' The earth shook and the veil of the temple was rent in twain.' " When quiet was re-established, each in turn approached the table and took the oath, which the secretaries wrote down and each one signed. I never wrote my name with so much pleasure: I laughed as I signed, and yet I could have cried—what a grand day! " One deputy only, Martin d'Auch, of Castelnaudary, signed ' Dissentient.' Valentine will be happy that he is not the only one of his species in France, and that another son of the people loves the nobles better than his own race—there are two of them ! " The opposition of Martin d'Auch was inscribed on the register. And as some suggested sending a deputa- tion to his majesty to represent our profound grief, &c., the Assembly adjourned to Monday, the 22nd, at the usual hour, resolving that, if the royal sitting took place in the Salle des Menus, all members of the Third Estate would remain there after the sitting to take into consideration their own affairs, which are those of the nation. " We separated at six. " When he heard what had taken place, the Count d'Artois, surprised to find that it was possible to carry on deliberations in a tennis-court, sent to engage it foi 258 The Story of a Peasant. his own amusement on the 22nd. This time the poor prince thought we should find no refuge anywhere. " The next day the king sent us word the sitting would n$t take place on the 22nd, but the 23rd. It was prolonging our anxieties; but these profound geniuses had not taken into consideration that at Versailles there are other localities besides the tennis-court and the Salle des Menus, so that on the 22nd, finding these two places closed, the assembly first betook themselves to the Becollets Chapel, which was not large enough, and then the Church of Saint-Louis, where every one was at his ease. " The grand plan of M. the Count d'Artois and the princes de Conde and de Conti was thus rendered abortive. Onp can never think of everything. "Who could ever have supposed that we should go to the Church of Saint-Louis, and that the clergy themselves would come and join us there ? And yet, Maitre Jean, these are the great men who have held us so many ages in abasement! It is easy to see now that our ignorance only has been to blame, and we cannot reproach them for it. Silly Jeannette Paramel, of Baraques, with her great throat, has more wit that they. " Towards midday M. Bailly announced that he was informed the majority of the clergy was about to visit the Assembly to verify the powers in common. The court had been aware of this since the 19th; it was to prevent this meeting at any hazard that the Salle des Menus had been closed to us, and that preparations had been made for a royal sitting. " The clergy first congregated in the choir of the church j then it joined us in the nave, and we had again a moving scene; the cures had gained over their The Story of a Peasant. 259 bishops, and the bishops themselves were nearly all rallied to the cause of good sense. " One ecclesiastic only, the Abbe Maury, the son of a shoemaker of the Comtat-Venaissin, felt his dignity wounded by being confounded among the deputies of the Third Estate. One does see strange things in this world! " Notwithstanding this abb4 of all his order the greatest opponent of this union, documents were exa- mined, and speeches of mutual congratulations were made; after which the sitting was adjourned, to be continued the next day, Tuesday, in the usual place of the assemblies, the Salle des Menus. " We now come to the 23rd, the day of the royal sitting. " The next morning, on rising and opening the shutters, I saw we were going to have very bad weather ; it did not rain yet, but the sky was overcast. That did not prevent the street being full of people. Some instants later Father Gerard came up to break- fast, followed by the cure Jacques. We were in full dress, as on the day of our first meeting. What did this royal sitting indicate ? what had they to say to us P Since the evening before we knew that the Swiss and the Gardes-Fran9aises were under arms; there was a report that six regiments were marching on Yersailles. While at breakfast we heard the patrols up and down the Eue Saint-Francis. Gerard was afraid something bad was going to happen—a coup d'etat, as it was called—to compel us to vote the money and then send us home. The cure said it was rather like saying, ' Your money or your life,' and that the king, notwith- standing his complaisance to the queen and the Count 260 The Story of a Peasant. d'Artois, was incapable of striking ns such a blow as that. I thought as he did. But as for knowing the object of the royal sitting, I was no farther advanced than the others. I thought perhaps they might try to frighten us; however, we were soon to know what we were to expect. "We set out at nine; all the streets abutting on the hall of assembly were thronged with people already; patrols came and went; people of all sorts, citizens, workmen, and soldiers, seemed uneasy; every one was distrustful. " The moment we came near the. hall it began to rain ; a shower was imminent; I was on before, and I hurried. About one hundred deputies were standing before the door at the grand avenue; they were not allowed to enter, while the clergy and the nobility passed without notice; and as I arrived a sort of lacquey came and told the gentlemen of the Third Estate to enter by the Bue du Chantier to avoid obstruction and confusion. "M. the Marquis de Breze having had so much trouble in finding places for all in their order the day of the first meeting of the States-General, had, I suppose, adopted this plan on his own responsibility. " We began to grow angry; but as it rained fast we made haste to reach the door of the Chantier, expecting to find it open. But M. the Marquis de Breze had not placed the two first orders to his satisfaction; the back door was, therefore, still closed. We had to take refuge under a sort of shed on the left, while the nobles and the bishops entered boldly and majestically by the Grande Avenue de Paris. M. the grand master of the ceremonies did not put himself out of the way for us; The Story of a Peasant. 261 he thought it quite in the order of things to keep us waiting; we were only there for form's sake after all. What are the representatives of the people ? What is the Third Estate ? Only canaille! Doubtless such was the opinion of the marquis, and if peasants, citizens like myself, had some difficulty in digesting these affronts, revived from day to day "by a species of upper-servant, imagine the rage of a noble like Mirabeau; his hair stood on end, his fleshy cheeks trembled with rage. The rain poured down. Twice our president had been turned back; M. the marquis had still to find places for some great personages. Mirabeau, seeing that, said to Bailly in a terrible voice, pointing to the deputies of the Third Estate— "' Monsieur the president, conduct the nation before the king!' "At last, for the third time, Bailly went up and knocked at the door, and the marquis condescended to appear, having, no doubt, finished his noble task. That man, Maitre Jean, can boast of having served the court well. Our president declared that if the door -was not opened, the Third Estate would retire. " Then it was thrown wide open; we saw the hall adorned as on the first day, the benches of the nobility and the clergy occupied by the splendid deputies of these two orders, and we entered, wet through. Messieurs of the nobility and some of the bishops laughed as we took our places; they seemed quite pleased at our disgrace. " Those things cost dear. "We sat down, and almost directly after the king entered from the other end of the hall, surrounded by the princes of the blood, the dukes and peers, the TJ, 262 The Story of a Peasant. captains of his guards, and some gardes du corps. Not a single cry of ' Vive le roi!' was heard on our side. Silence was instantaneous, and the king said, ' That he believed he had done everything for the good of his people, and that it seemed to him we had nothing to do but to finish his work, but that for two months we had not been able to agree over our preliminary opera- tions, and that he owed to himself to put a stop to these fatal dissensions. He would consequently declare his pleasure to us.' " After this speech the king sat down, and a secretary of state read us his wishes. " Art. 1. ' The king wills that the ancient distinction of the three orders should be preserved entire, forming three separate chambers. He declares null the delibera- tions taken by the deputies of the Third Estate on the 17th of this month.' " Art. 2. ' His majesty declares the powers valid, verified or not verified, in each chamber, and commands that such declaration be communicated to the other orders without any more hindrance.' " Art. 3. 1 The king annuls all restrictions which have been imposed on the powers of the deputies.' " So that every one of us could do as he pleased, grant subsidies, vote taxes, alienate the nation's rights, &c., and without attention to the wishes of those who sent him. " Art. 4 and 5. 'If deputies have taken a rash oathte remain faithful to their mission, the king allowed them to write to their respective bailwicks to be relieved of such oath; but in the meantime they would retain their places, to give weight to the decisions of the States-General.' The Story of a Peasant. 263 " Art. 6. 1 His majesty declares tliat for future hold- ings of the States-General he will allow no instructions to he given by constituents.' " Without doubt because the cheats who made a traffic of their votes would know one another but too well among the honest men who fulfilled their mission. " His majesty then indicated the mode in which he desired us to conduct our proceedings. In the first place we were forbidden in future to discuss the ancient rights of the three orders; the form of a constitution to be given to future States-General; seigneurial and feudal property; the rights and honorary prerogatives of the two first orders. He declared that the especial consent of the clergy was necessary for everything .that referred to religion, ecclesiastical discipline, and the law of regular and secular orders. " So that, Maifcre Jean, we had only been summoned to pay the deficit and vote away the people's money; the rest was no business of ours; all was well, very well, everything would be as it was, as soon as we had found the means ! " After this had been read the king rose again to tell us that no king had done as much as he in his people's interest, and those who continue to retard his paternal intentions were unworthy to be looked upon as French- men. " Then he sat down, and his intentions as to taxes, loans, and other financial matters were read. " The king wished to change the name of the taxes. You understand, Maitre Jean, the name. Thus the land-tax joined to the vingtieme, or replaced in some other way, became more accommodating. Instead ol paying a livre we give twenty sous ; instead of paying 264 The Story of a Peasant. a collector we shall pay a tax-gatherer, and the nation will he eased. " Never did a king so much for his people! " He wished to abolish lettres-de-cachet, hut main- tains them ont of regard for the honour of families, evidently. " He was desirous of the liberty of the press, at the same time carefully restricting the publication of wicked gazettes and badly-disposed books. "He sought the consent of the States-G-eneral to raise loans, only in case of war he assumed the right of borrowing up to one hundred millions to begin— ' For it is the king's formal intention never to put the welfare of his kingdom in dependence upon any one.' " He also wished to consult us on employments and offices, which would preserve for the future the privi- lege of conferring or transmitting nobility. " In fact, a great medley on all sorts of things was read to us, on which we were to be consulted. But the king always reserved to himself the right of doing as he liked. Our occupation was to find the money. In that respect we always had the preference. " His majesty began to address us once more, and said— "' Reflect, gentlemen, that none of your designs, none of your arrangements, can have the force of a law with- out my special approval. I am the natural security for your rights. It is I who constitute the happiness of my people, and it is perhaps seldom the ambition of a sovereign to request his subjects to agree on accepting his good offices. " ' I command you, gentlemen, to separate yourselves immediately, and to repair to-morrow morning each of The Story of a Peasant, 265 you to the chamber destined to your order, to recom- mence your sittings.' " At last we were put in our place. We had been sent for to vote money, nothing else. If parliament had not declared that all taxes had been till then ille- gaily levied, our good king would never have had the idea of convoking us, but now the States-General were more troublesome than parliament, and we were ordered about as if we were domestics— "' I order you to separate immediately!' "Bishops, marquises, counts, and barons enjoyed our discomfiture and looked down on us; but believe me, Maitre Jean, we never looked down, but were terribly agitated. " The king, saying nothing more, rose and went out as he came. Nearly all the bishops, some cures, and the greater part of the deputies of the nobility, withdrew by the great door of the avenue. . " We were to go out by the little door of the Chantier, but for the moment we kept our places. Every one was thoughtful. The feeling of force and anger was increasing in every man's breast. This lasted a quarter of an hour, when Mirabeau rose, his great head thrown back and his eyes sparkling. The silence was terrible; we looked at him. All at once, in his clearest tones, he said— "' Gentlemen, I confess to you that what you have just heard might be the salvation of the country, if the gifts of despotism were not always dangerous. What is this insolent dictatorship, this attendance of armed men, this violation of the national temple, to order you to be happy ?' "Every one shuddered. We felt that Mirabeau, 266 The Story of a Peasant. risked Ms head. He knew it as well as we, but m- dignation ran away with him; his face changed to beautiful! yes, Maitre Jean! for he who risks his life in attacking injustice is beautiful; it is even all that is most beautiful in the world. He continued— " ' Who gives you this command ? Your proxy ! "Who lays down these imperious laws ? Your proxy !— he who ought to receive them from us, gentlemen, who are invested with a political and inviolable priest- hood—from us, from whom twenty-five millions of men expect certain happiness, because it must be consented to, given, and received by all.' " Every word plunged like a cannon-ball into the old throne of absolutism. " ' But a fetter is laid upon your freedom of discus- sion,' continued he, with a gesture which made us tremble; ' a military force surrounds the Estates! Where are the country's enemies? Is Catiline at cur gates ? I demand that, covering yourselves with your dignity, your legislative power, you remain faithful to your oath: it does not allow you to separate until a constitution is made.' " During this speech the master of the ceremonies, who had followed the king, re-entered the hall and advanced towards the benches vacated by the nobility. Mirabeau had hardly finished speaking when he uttered some few words; but as he was not audible, several cried out, ' Louder, louder.' " Then he raised his voice, and said in profound silence— " ' G-entlemen, you have heard the king's orders!' " Mirabeau remained standing; I saw anger and contempt set his great jaws. The Story of a Peasant. 267 «< Tes, sir,' said lie slowly, in tlie tone of voice of a great seigneur speaking out, 'we have, heard the pro- posals which have been suggested to the king, and you, who cannot he his medium with the States-General— you who have neither place here nor right to speak, it is not for you to remind us of what he said.' " Then drawing himself up, and eyeing the master of the ceremonies from head to foot— "' Nevertheless,' said he, ' that there may he no ambiguity, no delay, I declare, if you have been charged to compel us to leave this place, you must ask for orders to use force, for we will not leave our places but at the point of the bayonet.' " The whole Assembly cried out—' Yes! yes !' " There was a great tumult. At the end of two or three minutes, quiet being somewhat restored, our president said to the master of the ceremonies— "' The Assembly decided yesterday that they would hold a sitting after the royal sitting. I cannot dissolve the Assembly before they have discussed it, and ciis- cussed it without restriction.' " ' Am I to convey this answer to the king r' asked the marquis. " ' Yes, sir,' replied the president. " Then the master of the ceremonies went out, and the sitting continued. " To tell the truth, Maitre Jean, we expected some great blow; but about two, instead of bayonets, we saw a number of carpenters arrive, who had been sent to pull down the stage erected for the royal sitting, and who began their work immediately. Another device of the queen and the Count d'Artois—unable to employ force, they fell back on noise! 2G8 The Story of a Peasant " A sorrier trick was never seen. " You may believe tliis fresh outrage did not prevent our doing our duty: the discussion was carried on,accom- panied by the noise of hammers. The workmen at last, astonished at our calmness, ended by leaving their tools, and by descending the steps of the estrade, to listen to what was said. If M. the Count d'Artois could have seen them, until the close of the sitting, more attentive than at church, and applauding those speakers who said what was forcible and just, he would have understood the people are not so stupid as they think proper to believe. " Cannes, Barnave, and Sicyes spoke. Sieyes said, as he came down from the tribune— " ' You are to-day what you were yesterday.' "We voted by rising or remaining seated, and ' the National Assembly unanimously declared it their inten- tion to abide by their former resolutionsand at the close, Mirabeau, whose anger had time to cool, and who clearly saw his life was at stake, said— " ' I bless Freedom this day, because she has borne such ripe fruit in the National Assembly. Let us confirm our labours by declaring the inviolability of the persons of the deputies of the States-General. It is not to betray fear, but to act with prudence; it is a check on the violent counsels which surround the throne.' " Every one saw his ingenuity, and the motion was carried by a majority of 493 votes to 34. " The Assembly adjourned at six, after passing the following resolution:— "4 The National Assembly declares the person of every deputy inviolable; that all private individuals, The Slory of a Peasant. 269 corporate bodies, tribunals, courts, or commissions which should dare, either pending or after the present session, to proceed against, call to account, arrest, or cause to be arrested, imprison, or cause to be imprisoned, any deputy, on account of any sentiment, motion, opinion, or speech uttered at the States-General, as also any persons who should assist in any of the above-named attempts, ordered by whom they may, are infamous and traitors to the nation, and guilty of a capital crime. The National Assembly resolves that in such cases they will take every step to discover, proceed against, and punish, those who shall either originate, instigate, or put them in execution.' " Mirabeau had nothing more to fear, nor had we. If kings are sacred, it is because they have taken care to inscribe it in the laws, and so have we—that is always the advantage of' being sacred! If any one touched a hair of our heads now, all France would be indignant. TVe ought to have begun there, but all our good ideas do not occur to us at the same time. " I think, too, that the court did well not to push things to extremes, for during all this sitting of the 23rd the people filled the avenues of Versailles, and those who went in and out gave them every informa- tion, so that they knew every quarter of an hour what was passing in the Assembly. Had we been attacked we should have had the whole nation with us. " At the same time a report was current of the dis- missal of Necker and the appointment of the Count d'Artois; in consequence, as soon as our sitting was closed, the people flocked to the palace. The Gardes- Fra^aises had received orders to fire, but no one stirred. The crowd reached Necker's apartments, and 270 The Story of a Peasant. it was "by hearing from the minister's own lips that ho would stay, that the crowd could be induced to retire. " The exasperation was still greater in Paris. I have been told, when the news was spread that the king had rescinded everything, the fire was already smouldering, and it required but a signal to light up a civil war. " This must of necessity be true, for, notwithstanding the advice of the princes, the regiments of German and Swiss mercenaries, which had. been brought up from every corner of Prance; the cannon which had been placed in the queen's stables, or facing the hall of the Estates, the muzzles of which we could see from our windows; notwithstanding what he had himself signi- fied to us, the king wrote to the deputies of the nobility to join the deputies of the Third Estate in the commons' hall; and the 80th of June, which was yesterday, we have seen these c proud descendants of conquerors' come and seat themselves by the side of ' the humble posterity of the conquered.' They no longer laughed as they did on the morning of the 23rd, when they saw us enter the hall all soaked in rain. " All the appeals, all the wishes of the people ought to make part of this constitution :—Abolition of feudal rights, corvecs, gabelle, and home customs, equality o- taxation and before the law, personal security, ad- mission to civil and military employments to be open to all citizens, letters to be inviolable, legislative power to be in the hands of the national representatives, responsibility of ministers, unity of legislation, of adnii- nistration, of weights and measures; gratuitous edu- cation and administration of justice, equal division of property among children, freedom of trade, industry, and labour—in fact, all, all must be there, distinct The Story of a Peasant. 271 and drawn up in order, and in chapter and verse, so that every one may understand it, and the poorest peasant may "become cognisant of his rights and his duties. " Be easy, my friends: men will talk of 1789 for a long time to come. " This is all I have to tell you now. Let me hear from you as soon as possible. We wish to know what is going on in the provinces; my comrades are better informed than I. Tell Michel to give me an hour every day, after work is over, to let me know what is going on at Baraques and the neighbourhood, and to send me the despatch at the end of every month. In this way we shall always be in one another's society, as before; and we shall seem to be talking together again by the fire- side. I end by embracing you all. Margaret desires me to tell you not to forget her, nor will she forget you. Once more we embrace you. " Your friend, " ChATTVEIi." While I was reading this letter, Maitre Jean, the tall Materne, and M. the cure Christopher looked on in silence. Some months before, whoever allowed himself to speak in this manner of the king, the queen, the court, and the bishops would not have escaped the galleys to the end of his days. But in this world things change quickly when the time comes, and what was once thought abominable becomes natural. "When I had finished those present remained silent. At the end of two or three minutes Maitre Jean cried— " Well, Christopher, what do you think of that ? He puts no check on himself." 272 The Story of a Peasant. " No," said tlie euro, " lie does not, and if so prudent a man writes after this fashion, the Third Estate must have the pQwer on their side. What he says of the inferior clergy, as we are called by our seigneurs the bishops, is true ; we belong to the people, and we side with the people. Jesus Christ, our Divine Master, would be born in a stable; he lived for the poor, among the poor, and died for the poor. " There is our example. Our memorial, like those of the Third Estate, demands a monarchical constitution, in which the legislative power belongs to the Estates ; where equality of all before the law and freedom are established; where abuses of power, even in the Church, shall be repressed with severity; where primary instruction shall be universal and gratuitous, and unity of legislation established all over the kingdom." The nobility—they ask that women of rank may have the right of wearing ribbons to distinguish them from the vulgar; their time is occupied by questions of etiquette ; they say not a word about the people ; they recognise none of their rights, and they grant them nothing, or merely some modification of taxation not worthy of mention. Our bishops, nearly all noble, side with the nobility, and we children of the people go with the people; there exist now but two parties, the privileged and the unprivileged, the aristocracy and the people. " In all that Chauvel is right. But he speaks too freely of the king, the princes, and the court. Eoyalty is a principle. • I fancy I see the old Calvinist who believes he has now got the descendants of those who martyred his ancestors at the foot of the wall. Do not believe, Jean, that Charles IX., Louis X1Y., or even The Story of a Peasant. 273 Louis XV., "were so inveterate against the reformers on account of their religion; they made the people believe so, for the people only interest themselves about religion, country, and things which they feel; they care not for dynasties, nor to break their bones for the interests of Peter, Paul, or James. Kings, then, have made them believe they were defending religion, because these Calvinists, under pretence of religion, sought to found a republic as in Switzerland, and from their nest, La Bochelle, they disseminated their ideas of liberty and equality over the south of France. The people thought they were fighting for religion; they were in truth fighting for despotism against equality. Do you see it now ? It was necessary to root out these Calvinists and destroy them, or they might have established a re- public. Chauvel is well aware of this. I am sure his idea in reality is the same, and herein we no longer agree." " But," said Maitre Jean, " it is abominable to treat the deputies of the Third Estate as the princes and nobles have done." " "What would you have ?" replied the cure. " Pride has already flung Satan into the abyss. Pride begins by blinding those it possesses. It drives them to un- just and senseless actions. In point of good sense, we may now say the first are last and the last first. God hnows how it will all end. As to ourselves, my friends, let us all do our duty as Christians—that is best." The others listened. The cure Christopher and his brother set off home, very thoughtful. And now I stop for some time. Terrible things are taking place—fighting in the streets, emigration, the 274 The Story of a Peasant. king a prisoner, the war, Brunswick in Champagne, the levee en masse, the republic; Danton, Robespierre, Marat; all Europe against us; famine, civil war, the reign of terror, and so many frightful and imposing sights. What shall I say to you? Before I begin again I must rest awhile. I will call to mind past memories, and then by God's will we meet once more. THE COUNTRY IN DANGER. THE STORY OF A PEASANT. ■ ' §01 PART THE SECOND. THE COUNTRY IN DANGER. 1792. I have told you already about tbe distress of tbe people before 1789; tbe weight of taxation we bad to bear; tbe compte-rendu of Necker, by which we discovered tbe existence of a large yearly deficit; about tbe decla- ration of tbe Parliament of Paris, that tbe States- General alone bad tbe power of voting taxes; tbe tricks of Calonne and Brienne to raise money; tbe two meet- ings of tbe notables, who refused to tax their own landed estates, and at last, when they bad tbe choice of paying or of being bankrupt, tbe convocation of tbe States- General at Versailles after an interval of one hundred and seventy-five years. I have told you our deputies bad written orders to do away with custom-bouses in tbe interior, which hampered trade so much; tbe freedoms of companies and tbe wardensbips, which were impediments to in- dustry; tithes and feudal rights, which interfered with agriculture; venality in public offices and employments which were contrary to justice ; torture and other bar< B 10 The Story of a Peasant. Parities, which, were contrary to humanity; and monkish vows, which were contrary to the peace of families, good morals, and good sense. This is what all the memorials of the Third Estate required. But the object of the king in summoning the States- General was only to induce them to sanction the ex- penditure of the court, the seigneurs, and the bishops, to make arrangements for the payment of the deficit, and to saddle the citizens, workpeople, and peasants with everything. That is why the nobles and the clergy —seeing that their aim was the abolition of all privi- leges—refused to join them, and heaped such insults upon them that they at last resented it, swore never to separate until they had obtained a constitution, and proclaimed themselves a National Assembly. This was the tenor of Chauvel's letter to us, which you have seen. When this news reached us, the famine was still so great that the poor lived on herbs which they found in the fields, boiled with a little salt; fortunately there was no want of wood; the storm was still increasing, and the foresters of the cardinal-bishop remained quietly at home, that they might not fall in with delinquents. Yes! it was dreadful—dreadful for every one, but the more so for the revenue-officers, officers of justice, and all who took the king's pay; people of consequence, prevots, counsellors, syndics, notaries, from father to son, found themselves as it were lodged in one of those old houses at Saverne, all rotten and out of repair, very little better than nests for rats, which have lasted for ages, and would fall to pieces at the first blows of the pickaxe; they knew, they felt, that ruin was impending; The Story of a Peasant. 11 they looked ah you stealthily, with restless eyes; they forgot to powder their wigs, and came no more to dance their minuets at Tivoli. The news from Versailles had spread to the remotest villages. We still expected something, hut no one could say what; there was a report that our deputies were surrounded by soldiers; that the authorities wished to terrify or perhaps to slaughter them. Those who passed the Three Pigeons talked of nothing else. Maitre Jean cried out— "What can you be thinking of? Is it possible our good king could do such a thing ? did he not himself convoke his people's deputies that he might become acquainted with our necessities, and make us all happy ? Get such ideas out of your head at once!" Thd others who came from Harberg or Dagsberg struck their fists on the table and made no answer, but walked off, thinking, and Maitre Jean would say— " God grant the queen and the Count d'Artois may not strike some violent blow against those who have nothing to lose and everything to win ; if fighting once begins we shall none of us see the end of it." He was indeed right—not one of those then living," nobles, citizens, or peasants, ever saw the end of the revolution; it is still in progress, and will only come to an end when the spirit of gentleness, justice, and good sense possesses us. Affairs dragged on thus for several weeks; the season for the small crops was come, famine was diminishing in our villages, and we began to grow calm, when on the 29th of July we learned the news that Paris was in rebellion; that they had tried to surround the National Assembly, and dissolve it; that the municipality had 12 The Story of a Peasant. risen against tlie king, and that it had put arms in the hands of the citizens'; that the people were fighting in the streets against the foreign regiments, and that the Gardes Fran9aises sided with the city. We recollected the letter we had from Nicolas, and things explained themselves. Every one who came from lb Voourg repeated the same thing; the La Fere regiment was confined to barracks, and every hour couriers stopped at the governor's house, and then hurried off into Alsace. Fancy people's astonishment! they were not accus- tomed to revolutions as we are now. The idea of bringing one about never occurred to us. It created a panic. That day nothing stirred; news was stopped; but the next day we learned the taking of the Bastille, we knew that the Parisians were everywhere masters, that they had muskets, powder, cannon—and it created such an effect that the mountaineers came down into Alsace and Lorraine with their axes, pitchforks, and scythes ; they passed by in troops, crying out— " To Marmontier!" " To Saverne!" " To Neuviller!" " To Lixheim!" They spread over the country like ants, pulled down the herdsmen's huts, and the houses of the foresters in the service of the prince-bishop, without mentioning octroi offices, and the toll-gates on the high roads. Letumier, Hure, Cochart, and several others came to induce Maitre Jean to join them, that we might not be behind Mittelbronn, Quatre-Vents, and Lutzelbourg. lie cried — The Story of a Peasant. 13 " Let me alone! Do what you like, I won't have anything to do with it." But as nearly all the villages in Alsace had already burned the title-deeds belonging to the convents and seigneurs, and as the Baraquins wanted to do the same with the papers of the commune, at the Tiercelin convent at Lixheim, he put on his coat to try and save ours. We set out together, Cochart, Letumier, Hure, Maltre Jean, I, and the whole village. You should have heard the cries of the mountain people down in the plain. You should have seen the wood-cutters, lumberers, and others, all in rags, bran- dishing their axes, forks, scythes, and pickaxes in the air. The noise rose and fell like the water rolling over the dam at Trois-Etangs; women were mixed up with them, their hair dishevelled and hatchets in their hands. Of Forbin's house at Mittelbronn there was not one stone left on another. All the papers were burned. The roof had fallen in on the cellar. At Lixheim you were up to your middle in the feathers and straw of the bedding; everything in the unlucky Jews' houses was thrown out of window, and their furniture was chopped to pieces. When people are cowards they lose their heads; they confound religion, love of money, and vengeance all together. I saw the poor Jews escaping towards the town: their wives and daughters, with little children in their arms, crying like mad people, the old people tottering and sobbing behind; and yet who had suffered worse than these poor people at the hands of our kings? Who had the greatest right to complain? No one thought of such things now. The Tiercelin convent was at Old Lixheim; the five 14 The Story of a Peasant. priests who lived tliere had charge of the papers he- longing to Brouviller, Herange, Fleisheim, Pickeholtz, Baraques, and even to Phalsbourg. All the commnnes joining the crowd of mountain people filled the old streets round the mayor's resi- dence; they demanded their papers, hut the Tiercelins thought— " If we give up the title-deeds these people will massacre us afterwards." They did not know what to do, for the crowd had spread round the convent, and all the passages were guarded. When Maitre Jean arrived, the village mayors in their cocked hats and red waistcoats were deliberating near the fountain. Some wanted to set fire to every- thing, others to break the doors down; some, more reasonable, proposed first demanding the title-deeds, and seeing what they would do afterwards, they finished by having the upper hand. As Jean Leroux had been deputy to the bailiwick, he was chosen with two of the mayors to go and ask for the papers. When the Tiercelins saw there were only three of them they admitted them, and then closed their gates again. Maitre Jean has since told us what happened inside the convent. The poor old men trembled like hares; the superior, who was called Father Marcel, exclaimed that the title-deeds were his charge, and that he dared not part with them—they must kill him first! But Maitre Jean having taken him to the window and shown him the scythes and forks as far as he could see, he said nothing, but pointed out a large wardrobe with an iron-wire lattice front, in which the registers were piled up to the ceiling. The Story of a Peasant. 15 They had to be sorted first, and as tliat bad already lasted more than an hour, the communes, imagining that their mayors were kept prisoners, wanted to break in the doors; but when Maitre Jean showed himself on the balcony with a handful of papers, which he clis- played to those below, cries of satisfaction and delight might be heard from one end of Lixheim to the other. They laughed and cried to one another— " "We've got them—we've got our papers!" Maitre Jean and the others soon came out with a truck full of registers. They penetrated the crowd, calling out that the reverend Tiercelin fathers were not to be maltreated, as they had restored every man his own, which was all they wanted. Every village received its title-deeds at the communal house, many burned theirs on the place, and thus destroyed their own titles when they burned the convents! But Jean Leroux put ours in his pocket, and therefore did the Baraquins retain their right to pasture and to gather acorns in the oak woods, while many others have none whatever, having, so to say, burned their own forests and pasturage for ever. I could tell you much more about these things, for many, instead of giving up the deeds they had pre- served, took care of them, and sold them afterwards to the seigneurs, and some to the state. These men be- came,rich at the expense of their communes. But it is of no use to talk of them now. The rascals are dead; they have settled their accounts long ago. It might be said that in fifteen days France had been entirely changed. All the rights of convents and chateaux disappeared in smoke. The tocsin used to ring day and night; the sky was red the whole line of the Yosges; 16 The Story of a Peasant. the abbeys, the old kites' nests were burning like candles among the stars, and that lasted till the 4th. of the following August, the day on which the bishops and seigneurs of the National Assembly surrendered their privileges and feudal rights. It was suggested there was nothing to surrender, everything having been previously destroyed; but still it was better so, and their descendants had no claims to raise afterwards. This was how the people got rid of the ancient rights of the " noble race of conquerors." The yoke had been laid on them by force, and by force had they freed themselves from it. From that day the National Assembly was able to begin our constitution. The king himself complimented it, and said— " You are wrong to distrust me! All the regiments which I have brought here, the ten thousand men as- sembled on the Champ de Mars, and the cannon which surround you, are for your protection; but since you will not have them, I will send them back." Our representatives affected to believe what he told them; but if the Bastille had not been taken, if the nation had not risen, if the foreign regiments had had the best of it, if the Gardes Fran$aises had taken part against the city, what would have happened? One need not be very clever to guess. Our good-king Louis XVI. would have spoken quite differently, and the representatives of the Third Estate would have had a hard time of it. Happily events turned out well for us. The commune of Paris had just embodied its National Guard, and all the communes in France fol- lowed the example; they were arming themselves against those who wished to place us again under the The Story of a Peasant. 17 yoke. Every time the Assembly passed a decree, the peasants took their muskets or their forks, and cried— " Let us put that in force at once. It will be done all the sooner, and save our seigneurs the trouble." So the law was put in force. I always feel pleasure in recollecting the way our citizen militia, as the National Guard was first called, was embodied in August, 1789. The enthusiasm was nearly as great as when the deputies to the Third Estate were elected. Maitre Jean Leroux was named lieutenant of the Baraque company, Letumier sous- lieutenant, Gauthier Courtois sergeant-major, and others sergeants and corporals. We had no captain, for the Baraques did not muster a whole company. There were plenty of cries of " Yive la nation!" the day they wetted their epaulettes, and you should have seen Maitre Jean's face, who at last was entitled to wear his moustache and his whiskers in earnest. That affair cost him a couple of barrels of his best Lorraine wine. Letumier, too, let his moustache grow, long and red, which made him look like an old fox. Jean Kat was our drummer; he could beat all the rigadoons and marches like an old drum-major. I don't know how Jean Kat learned all these accomplishments—perhaps when he played the clarionette. We had also received some muskets from the arsenal, old rattle-traps mounted with bayonets a yard long. We handled these very well all the same. At first we had some drill-sergeants from the La Eere regiment, who taught us the exercise on the Champ de Mars after twelve on Sundays. Before the week was over Maitre Jean had ordered his uniform of Kountz, the regimental tailor, and the second Sunday he came to drill in full uniform, 18 The Story of a Peasant in his blue coat with red facings, eyes bright, epaulettes hanging down, his cocked hat on the back of his head, and his basket-hilted sword dangling at his heels. He strode up and down the ranks, and cried to Valentine— " Citizen Valentine, shoulders back! mille tonnerres!" A finer man was never seen. When Dame Catherine saw him she could hardly believe it was her husband. Valentine was all in confusion when he looked at him ; he took him for a noble, and his long face became still longer with admiration. But Maitre Jean was not so well up to his drill as many others. There Letumier gave him a clincher. We used to laugh and amuse ourselves then. All the neighbouring villages, Vilsch- berg, Mittelbronn, Quatre-Vents, Dann, Lutzelbourg, Saint-Jean-des-Choux, marched and countermarched like old soldiers, the town children bawling, " Vive la nation!" after them. Annette Minot, a fruitwoman in the market, was our cantiniere; she had a little deal table, a chair, and a stone bottle of brandy in the middle of the Champ de Mars, with goblets and a large tricolour umbrella to protect her from the sun, which did not save her from being nearly roasted about 3 p.m.; nor were we much better off; we suffered so much from the dust. Good heavens! how I remember all these things! And our sergeant, Queru, a short fat man, with grey moustaches, his ears buried in his wig, his black eyes full of mischief, and his great cocked hat on the top of all! He used to march backwards before us, his musket held across his thighs, crying— " One, two ! One, two ! Halt! In line to the right! Steady! Stand at ease!" And seeing us sweat from exhaustion, he would laugh heartily, and say— The Story of a Peasant. 19 " Dismiss!" Then we ran to Annette Minot's table; every one wanted to offer a glass of brandy to the sergeant, who never said " No!" and used to say in his southern accent— " You will get on, citizens, all right." He was very fond of a glass of brandy, but what was that to us ? He was an able instructor, a good fellow, and a patriot. He, little Trinquet, of the third company; Bariaux, the finest voice in the regiment; Duchene, a tall Lorrainer, six feet high; in fact, all these old ser- geants fraternised with the citizens ; and often in the evening, before the retreat was beaten, we used to see them slip into the club, keep in the shadow of the columns in the hall, and listen to the subject under discussion, before answering to their names at the rap- pel. These men had passed fifteen or twenty years growing mouldy in the inferior ranks, doing the duty of noble officers; later we saw them captains, colonels, and generals. They felt it was coming, and sided with the revolution. In the evening, Maitre Jean, having hung up his uniform, and put away his epaulettes and his hat, and put on his woollen jacket, used to study the theory of drill; sometimes, when at work in the forge, he would begin to call out the words of command when we least expected it, just to exercise his voice and see if he had a good bass tone. Almost always after supper Letumier would come in and sit down, with his pointed knee between his hands, and ask him questions, while he balanced himself on his chair with a waggish air. Maitre Jean could only understand in theory squares and attacking in column, because Sergeant Queru had 20 The Story of a Peasant. told us that was the chief thing in war; he used to get very red, and call out— " Michel, the slate !" And then we all looted at the slate and saw squares three and four deep, and the attacking columns with their guns, which he would explain in detail. But Letu- mier would wink his eyes and shake his head, and say— "You are wrong, you are wrong, Maitre Jean!" Then my godfather would get angry and rap the pencil on the slate, and say— " That is right—I tell you it is." Every one took an interest in it, down to Dame Cathe- rine. We used to talk so loud that Letumier should not he able to answer; at last nothing was intelligible, and ten came before it was cleared up. Letumier went away repeating as he went into the passage— " You are wrong, you are wrong !" And we used to run after him and say—■ " It is you who are wrong, it is you !" And if we had dared we should .have given him a good shaking. Maitre Jean said— " Oh, the fool, can any one be so stupid ? He cannot understand anything." But at drill Letumier had his revenge : he gave the word of command well, and made his men march, direct- ing them with his sword, now in this direction, now in that, without blundering. I must do him that justice. He deserved to be lieutenant quite as well as Maitre Jean, all the Baraquins thought so; but Maitre Jean's position as landlord and smith gave him the better position, and besides, he was the finest man in the village. The Story of a Peasant. 21 What shows the folly of the nobles and bishops at that time was the fact, immediately after the taking of the Bastille, instead of remaining in the Assembly to advocate their rights, if they had any, that they should pack up everything, and go and beg the help of our enemies against us ; they filed off, seigneurs and bishops, servants and abbes, capucins and great ladies, by every road—those from Lorraine by Treves, from Alsace by Coblentz or by Basle, and threatening us with, " Wait, wait, we shall be back again; we shall be back." They were like lunatics; we laughed at them. It was what was called the emigration. It began by the Count d'Artois, the Prince de Conde, the Prince de Bourbon, Polignac, and Marshal de Broglie, the man who commanded the army round Paris, and was to have carried off the National Assembly. They had driven the king to folly, and now, when they saw danger, these good royalists left him alone in trouble. When Maitre Jean saw this downfall, he cried— " Let them go ! let them go! "What a riddance for us and our good king! Now he is alone, and there will be no Count d'Artois to put his own ideas into his head." Every one was delighted. If they had only all gone, there would have been no further mention of them ; we could have made a present of them to the English, Germans, and Eussians; but many remained behind in command of our regiments, who only tried to rouse the soldiers against the nation. You will see later what these people attempted against their own country ; all that will have its turn by-and-by ; we need not hurry ourselves. The Parisians at that time still were so attached to 22 The Story of a Peasant. their king, that they wanted to have him among them, and they sent their wives to Versailles to beg him to come with the Queen Marie-Antoinette, the young dauphin, and all the royal family. Louis XVI. could but accept their invitation, and these poor people in the midst of famine cried— "We cannot die of hunger now; here is the baker and his wife and the little journeyman." Lafayette, who rode at their head on his white horse, was named commandant of the National Guard, and Bailly mayor of Paris; so you see how good-hearted these poor creatures were, who never try to avenge the ill others have done them. Chauvel kept us informed of all these events. He also told us how the National Assembly had followed the king, and held its sittings in a large riding-school behind the Tuileries. Every five or six weeks we had a letter from him, with a bundle of gazettes, the Journal des Revolutions de Paris, the Revolutions de France et du Brabant, the Annates Patriotiques, and many others whose names have escaped me. They were full of fire and spirit, especially the articles of Loustalot and Camille Desmoulins; all that was said and done in France was reported in these journals, and so fully that every peasant could form an idea of our situation; we read them in the market at Phals- bourg, where Elof Collin had formed our first club on the model of the Jacobins and Cordeliers of Paris; they met there in the evening, between the fire-engine magazine and the old meat-market, and Letumier used to read the news in such a loud and distinct voice, that they could understand what he said on the Place d'Armes ;• people came from all round to hear him, and The Story of a Peasant. 23 the apothecary Tribolin and the commissariat officer Raphael Mang, Didier Hort£ou, the hatter, a very sensible man, Henri Dominique, the innkeeper, Fixari, Baruch Aron, Pernett, in fact all the town notables used to address us on the rights of man, the veto, the division of France in departments, the law on citizen- ship, the admission of Protestants and Jews to public employments, the institution of juries, abolition of convents and religious orders, the resumption of the Church lands by the nation, the issue of assignats—in fact, on everything that offered, as these questions came to be debated in the Constituent Assembly. What a life and what a change! Formerly the seigneurs and bishops would have said and done everything in their own interest, at Versailles, without troubling themselves about us; they would have shorn us regularly; their collectors, stewards, and lieutenants of police would come and quietly enforce their will, which was law, on us ; our good king, the best of men, would have had his mouth full of love for the poor, and balls, fetes, and hunting parties, bows and obeisances, would have filled the court journals; while cold, hunger, and all sorts of distress would have con- tinued their rounds among the poor. Yes, it is a hap- piness to hear one's own affairs discussed, and to have a voice in them—how we support those who are in our interest, and how we rave against those who displease us! This may be called living. Even now the old market, with its lantern hanging from the principal beam, the market benches filled with people, children sitting in the hut of the old shoemaker Damien, Collin standing on a table with the newspaper, the wind whistling under the roof, the light on this mass of 24 The Story of a Peasant. people, and in the distance the sentry on duty, with his old hat and patched white coat, stopping to listen—all this is still before my eyes. And the elders, fast asleep behind the swing-gate, I see them too; our fat mayor Boileau, with his tri- coloured scarf; the echevins; Jean Beaucaire, usher, royal sergeant at the prevotal sittings, since replaced by Joseph Basaille, sergeant in the national gendarmery; and the prevot himself, in his long wig, yellow face, and pinched-up nose; all these people walking about under the columns and saying nothing, instead of having us surrounded and kicked out, or even hanged, as they could have done two or three years ago—I recollect it well. Those who have never seen similar changes do not know their own good fortune ; all I have to tell them is to use their courage and good sense to save them from being plunged again into the state in which they were before '89. Let them reflect—there is no want of rascals whose object it is to live in pride, idleness, and all life's enjoyments at the expense of the people. But amidst this general overturning of the country, these descents of the mountain people into the flat country, th&se burnings of chateaus, convents, and barriers of all sorts; when seigneurs, monks, and bishops hurried away on foot, on horseback, or in carriages; and former excisemen tried to get appointed officers in the citizen guard; and revenue attorneys presidents of their districts in the middle of this downfall—what I recollect best of all is my poor father, who dreaded losing the sale of his brooms, and my mother, who said, " The end of the world is coming, we are all lost, let us save our souls!" and my brother Claude, who came home one evening The Story of a Peasant. 25 and cried out in a tone of distress, "The reverend Tiercelin fathers are gone; they have paid me off; what am I to do now there are no more cows to keep ?" I was just twenty then; I was strong and vigorous, and I was disgusted to hear my parents complain; I said to them, "Whatare you so afraid of? we have suffered much greater distress than this; we managed to live when we had tithes, corvees, the gabelle and other taxes to hear, when we fed monks and seigneurs by our labour; and now we are freed from them, now we can keep to ourselves the money they cost us, what have we to groau about ? The cattle and sheep are not all dead, and if Claude wants a herd of cows to look after, let him wait a bit—perhaps some day I may employ him as my herdsman." It was rather boastful on my part, but my ideas about obedience were changing every day; I thought already that one man was as good as another, and that some are only so great because others are so little, and that the time for respecting privileges was gone. Then my mother, with her elbows on the table and her hands behind her ears, would look hard at me with her grey eyes and pinched-up lips, and begin— " Michel, pride will be your rum! You think already, like Joseph, that your brothers' sheaves bow to yours, and their stars dance for your greater glory; but I warn you, you will be minister to no Egyptian king ; you will be hanged, and the ravens of the heavens will come and eat out of your basket." When I left our hut after eight, I used to run to the club in town, and wrangle with our old echevins and syndics, whom wev called aristocrats; my voice was heard above all the rest; my eyes flashed with o 26 The Story of a Peasant. anger if any one contradicted me ; and by tbe end of winter I bad already ventured to propose sucb resolu- tions as " Long live tbe friends of tbe constitution !" or, " Down witb sbam patriots !" Tbat gave me weight at tbe Baraques. "When we went borne by moonbgbt, we used to sing " Ca Ira." I sang like a blackbird, and Maitre Jean would lay bis band on my shoulder, and laugh and say— " Michel is one of tbe right sort; we must always pull together." See what youthful exaltation is! Tbe thought of Cbauvel and Margaret redoubled my patriotic senti- ments, and love filled my heart to overflowing. This year passed quickly; the winter was mild, the snow melted as it fell; by the end of February there was none to be seen in the lowlands. During the months of March, April, and May, 1790, the citizen guards began to act in concert; villages would unite together and fraternise, instead of fighting with sticks and stones as hitherto; the elders made speeches, and they all embraced one another, crying— " Freedom or death !" Women and children came to these fetes, but took no part in them; the fashion of graces and goddesses had not yet come. What pleased the peasants more than anything else was the sale of Church property. You may believe in such a revolution as this, when all old taxes were swept away, how the deficit must have increased. The National Assembly, representing such a nation as the French, could not follow the example of our former kings and declare itself bankrupt; it could not so dishonour us. But where was the money to be found to pay the debts The Story of a Peasant. 27 of the monarchy ? Fortunately, the Bishop of Autun, Mgr. Talleyrand de Perigord, said the Church possessed four milliards in estates, divided among two hundred thousand religious persons of all descriptions; the lands they had entrusted to them might be sold, and as they were in a very high state of cultivation, they would produce sufficient to pay these persons a very good income and leave a large surplus. It was a brilliant idea; consequently, notwithstanding all the other bishops could urge against it, the Assembly decreed that the property of the Church should be sold and the priests pensioned. This step saved the country from bankruptcy, and they began by selling these estates to the value of four hundred millions in the course of this year, 1790. Then many of the older people, who had as yet kept aloof from the revolution, became its warmest partisans; they seized their old bags, where their savings had accu- mulated sou by sou, liard by liard, and hurried off to the municipality. The property was sold at the muni- cipality to the highest bidder; land was sold to be paid for by instalments in lots of five, ten, twenty hectares or more; every municipality was accountable for its sales; it forwarded bonds to the State, and these bonds paid the deficit caused by the seigneurs and bishops, who alone were responsible for the debt, as we had never had a voice in the matter. These securities were afterwards called assignats, and no one could refuse them, since land is money. What excellent bargains I might have had then if I had possessed the means of paying for them! I had a fancy for the great pond at Lixheim, and for the meadow round the Tiercelin convent also; but it is difficult to 28 The Story of a Peasant. gratify one's fancies when one is without means; how often have I heard these beautiful fields, the underwood and timber, and fertile pastures, put up for sale! It broke my heart not to be able to make a bid for them, for want of security, when some drunken old peasant in a blouse walked off in possession of some good lot. I looked at him with envy, and said to myself— " Try and work to economise, Michel, and you, too, shall have something to delight your old age." I have never forgotten it; unfortunately, the finest chances are gone for good: there is nothing left for sale now but the State forests, and we are always in expecta- tion of a fresh deficit. But with the order and economy which now prevails it will be a long while coming, and now everything is done by loans; our children and grandchildren will have to pay them off. We must be satisfied with what we have; it goes on very well for the present. Tou cannot imagine the faces of the monks and other irregular priests at the sale of their lands ; they cried out, were indignant, and anathematised all buyers of national property; but for such fine estates people did not mind risking purgatory, and even Maitre Jean was not afraid of a little singeing: as smith he was used to it. He bought several good lots—the inclosed land of the reverend fathers, and one hundred and fifty arpents at Pickeholtz—good, strong land, with a fine aspect; he had it all for twelve thousand livres, and, I believe you, he winked his eyes and puffed out his cheeks with satisfaction on his return from the sale. Dame Cathe- rine scolded him a little, and talked about his soul's re- pose ; but that day, as he walked up and down the large room with his hands behind his back, he cried out— The Story of a Peasant. 29 " Nonsense, we will burn a couple of pounds of wax candles before the Holy Virgin; don't be uneasy, Catherine, I take it all on myself." I should have liked to have had his bargain, in spite of the cries of the bigoted old women in the village, who cursed him. My mother, especially, never forgave him. But my godfather was none the worse for it; on the contrary, I have no doubt he said to himself— " Now I am rich I need not work at the forge unless I like it. I am quite of the same opinion as Mgr. Talley- rand-Perigord, and I can fold my arms and despise the envious who wish they were in my place." Eeflections like these contributed to make his health more robust than ever, so much so that at the age of seventy-six he was fat and good-humoured still. Father Benedict was most virulent against Maitre Jean; he went all over the country preaching damnation to the buyers of Church lands. This impudent vaga- bond dared to curse the revolution, and would never accept anything from Dame Catherine; he would say— " Stolen goods!" and pass the inn crossing himself. Maitre Jean laughed. I must now say Valentine had become very bitter against his master in his conversation; in fact, he intended to leave the forge; but I kept him there, listening for hours without interruption to his com- plaints. In this manner all the property of the clergy was sold, and by this sale the peasants were suddenly raised to a better position than the workmen in the towns, as their lands were also discharged from all feudal liabilities, consequently cultivation began to improve. In the hands of the monks, it was either wood, water, 30 The Story of a Peasant or pasture, and half the fields lay fallow. Why work unnecessarily ? The convents had always plenty. While poor country cures could hardly live on their small tithes, monks and capucins revelled in plenty. Legacies, gifts, pious foundations—for fear of hell— rents of all sorts unceasingly kept up the convents' income, and as there was no division at the death of a monk, everything remained in common. These people had only to live and cultivate souls, which brought them in more than cultivating the soil. For us it was quite another thing. When one has a wife and children one must be stirring. The land was grubbed, dug up, and planted; ponds were drained, fallows were abandoned for rotation crops, manure col- lected, and ancient routine replaced by a better method. It is not over now; everything is still in progress; draining, sulphuring the vines, insurance against hail, attempts at acclimatation, new agricultural machines, all show that the revolution is still extending its bless- ing in the world by work and good conduct. But it is painful to confess that no good is done without opposition. Fools are always to be found setting themselves against improvement. In the year 1790 the monks rose against the new law. These monks were considered as saints, and the poor ignorant population wished to remain in grossness, ignorance, and misery. At Montauban, Nimes, Montpellier, Toulouse, the bishops said in their circulars "that priests could not receive pay from robbers." Protestants were murdered—what a misfortune!—while the emigres were raising Europe against us, instead of remaining like brothers in harmony; dissension had already begun. Every one saw the danger of it, and under- The Story of a Peasant. 31 stood that the clergy in raising the people in the name of religion would give the aristocrats the force which they needed to hegin a civil war, the more so as many nobles still commanded our regiments. While reading the gazettes which Chauvel sent us, Maitre Jean often said— " What is the object of all these good laws ? What was the use of sending the troops away from Paris if we see them twenty, thirty, or forty leagues round in good order, and commanded by marquises, counts, dukes, and all those who hate us P Could they not arrange to march from one day to another, surround the National Assembly, dissolve it, recall the emigres, deprive us of the land we have bought, and put the rope once more round our necks? It is contrary to common sense to leave these men where they are; the nobles are our greatest enemies. I would as soon see our armies commanded by Austrians."' There were quantities of publications against th° Third Estate, written by the bishops and nobles, in their Salvum Fac, their Passion de Louis XVI., Boi aes Juifs et des Frangais; in their Apocalypse, where holy things and verses from the Gospel were mixed up with abuse worthy of poissardes. They also published the Gazette de Blondinet, Lafayette, General des Bluets, Duchene, le Veritable Pere, the Prise des Annonciades, and a number of others equally bad, which made honest people shrug their shoulders. Complaints of the insubordination of the troops, and the relaxation in discipline, reached the National Assembly through these wretched journals in all directions. To please the noble officers the Assembly was expected to shoot the soldiers because the soldiers refused to over- 32 The Story of a Peasant. turn the Assembly. Nothing was ever seen like it; it was like flies in autumn, which become more unbear- able when they are nearly at an end. Yet the revolution progressed notwithstanding. The people still had faith in it. The abolition of royal rights, and of those of the seigneurs and bishops, gave pleasure to every one. On Sundays the peasants went out shooting in the fields and the heather; it was a pleasure to hear the shots, and to see a hare roasting in the hut of some poor creature who laughed at the keepers, and said to his children— "We eat the beggars which lived upon us now we are our own masters." You may believe no officers of the garrison came to Tivoli now; the time for minuets and entrechats was gone. Now we only saw sergeants under the great oak, with their old white coats and their large worn-out hats, drinking drams and talking to themselves about settling accounts. We did not know what they meant by accounts, but looking at their faces while they disputed in whispers, leaning across the tables to hear one another better, made us think it was something serious. The Count Boyer, colonel of the La Fere regiment, the Chevalier Boiran, of the Chef-du-Bos, the Count de Divonne, and the gentlemen cadets of the Clairambault, Lagarde, Danglemont, Kmenenau, and Anzers regi- ments, which we often heard mentioned, used to meet at the Cafe de la Kcgence on the Place d'Amies. No doubt they had accounts to settle also! The formation of the citizen militia, by bringing us in contact with the troops, did not seem to give them any great satis- faction. They passed by the elm-trees often, and The Story of a Peasant. 33 watched from a distance what soldiers stopped to hoid any conversation with the citizens. Thus the time passed till the month of August. I wrote down daily the course of events with us, and at the end of every month I had a letter of six pages ready, which I sent to Paris, Eue du Bouloi, No. 11, where Chauvel lived. He replied to us regularly, and sent us the papers; and Margaret sometimes added a word or two. In the evening I passed hours among their books, reading the four lines she had written, and I found something new in them every time. It was my delight to -send her news of her little garden, where there were quantities of flowers, and the cherry-trees were bent with their innumerable blossoms. I wished I could take her a basket of cherries or a bouquet of roses, fresh in the morning dew. She would have enjoyed seeing and smelling them. I was quite melancholy at being all alone in this fragrant little spot, shaded by the old cottage and the trees. So I passed my life, in the midst of this great ex- ternal agitation, and of these discussions and dangers which were perceptibly on the increase. There was a report that the Austrians were entering Prance by Stenay, and that General Bouille, who was in command in the Ardennes, had withdrawn his troops from Charleville to give them a free passage. It was a terrible business. More than thirty thousand National Guards took up arms; the mountain popula- tion, who had no muskets yet, came down to have their scythes set straight, to serve as lances, at our forge. Brums were beating, a cry " To arms" was raised, and we were on the point of setting out with the Phalsbourg detachment when couriers brought us the 34 The Story of a Peasant. news that the king had allowed the Austrians to cross the Ardennes to stifle the Belgian revolution. A decree of the National Assembly was requisite to allow these foreigners a passage. We then saw what would have occurred if the citizens had not risen cn masse, and Maitre Jean himself was not so fond of his good king as he had been. This permission to the Austrians to go and destroy a revolution, the offspring of our own, seemed to him and to every one very suspicious. Ministers declared it- was in accordance with a secret treaty, and the National Assembly forbore to inquire further into it, lest they might discover too much. We were then at the beginning of the month of August, 1790, and things were going from bad to worse for the nobles, for the greatest disgrace which ever happened in France was that the soldiers arrested their own officers as robbers. The regiments of Poitou, Forez, Beauce, Normandie, and many others put sen- tries at their officers' doors and insisted on accounts. What an abomination! These poor wretches, plun- dered by this rich and proud set of nobles, who already exclusively enjoyed rank, honours, pensions, and privi- leges; who could credit anything so shameful ? It was, however, a sad truth ; restitution had begun. Beauce claimed 240,727 livres, Normandy and the sailors at Brest two millions, and the chiefs capitulated and came to terms! At Strasburg seven regiments broke out in mutiny; at Bitche the soldiers turned their officers out of doors. The National Assembly en- treated the king "to appoint special inspectors from among the generals to inspect the accounts of every regiment for the last six years in the presence of the The Story of a Peasant. 35 officers commanding eacli corps, of the second captain, senior lieutenant, senior sous-lieutenant, and senior and junior sergeants-major, or cavalry sergeants, senior and junior corporals or brigadier (cavalry corporal), and of four privates." And thus, in consequence of this inquiry, the different regimental staffs were compelled to disgorge two or three hundred thousand livres which had been embezzled out of the soup and vegetables supplied to the soldiers. This affair was so disgusting that people said— " It was indeed time the revolution took place." The rage of the officers against the poor devils who claimed their own is not to be described. Just then the emigration of many regimental staffs occurred: they went over to the Austrians with arms and baggage. All did not go j there were still some honest men among the nobles who were indignant; but I could name several others, for I still have the gazettes full of those desertions byme; all Alsace and Lorraine spoke of them with horror. And we shall soon see the cruelty of these men taken with their hands in their men's pockets, who, instead of confessing their fault and asking pardon on their knees, only thought of revenging themselves. Towards the 15th of August a hawker from near Lune- ville who exchanged earthenware goods for old linen, cinders, and broken glass, Father Sondeur, passed by the Baraques with his old horse and cart; he stopped at Maitre Jean's to see if Dame Catherine had anything to dispose of, and to have a pint of wine as usual. He Was an old man, grey, and marked with the small-pox, and a great man for news, like all travelling dealers. In the neighbourhood he was called the " frog-beater," because the people of his village had formerly been 36 The Story of a Peasant. compelled to beat the water in the pond at Lindre during the night to prevent the frogs from keeping the seigneurs awake. Maitre Jean asked if he had any news, and he told us that there was a great disturbance in the environs of Nancy, that the three regiments in garrison there, Mestre-de-Camp cavalry, the King's Regiment, and Chateau-Vieux, a Swiss regiment, had risen on their officers; but that the great quarrel was between the officers and men of one of the Chateau-Vieux corps. Father Sondeur winked his eye while he related these things. Soon after, Nicole, who was spinning by the stove, having gone out, he told us that the anger of the officers was caused by the soldiers insisting on having accounts; that they had already been compelled to restore the King's Regiment 150,000 livres in silver crowns, to the Mestre-de Camp 47,962 livres, and that Chateau-Vieux claimed 229,208; that the soldiers who had been deputed to the officers had been flogged, as it was much easier to beat them than to account to them; but that this had caused troubles in the town; that the National Guard sided with the troops, that the fencing- masters of the regiments, at the instigation of the officers, picked quarrels with the citizens in order to despatch them in a duel, and that things were looking very black indeed. He laughed, but we thought it no laughing matter; at ten leagues from the frontier, with the number of furloughs and discharges which were given to patriot soldiers to get rid of them, we risked invasion from one day to another; especially as Frederick William, King of Prussia, and Leopold, Emperor of Austria, had just made peace, declaring that the friends of the French The Story of a Peasant. 37 revolution were their true enemies. After talking some time, exchanging his pottery wares, and paying his reckoning, Father Sondeur went his way, and continued his road up the village, crying, " Pottery and old linen to change." But now something very serious happened which sur- prised us all, showing that not only was the king in accord with the emigres, nobles, bishops, officers, and monks, but that a great number of our deputies had an understanding with them, like thieves at a fair, to arrest the progress of the revolution, and reduce us once more to slavery. We learned these things from a letter of Chauvel's, which I regret not to have, for it threw a light on all these events; but Maitre Jean, as usual, having lent it, it was passed all over the province, and no one knew what became of it. I recollect in this letter Chauvel told us that Mirabeau and several deputies of the Third Estate had sold themselves to the court party; that they had found the revolution too formidable; they were frightened at its extending everywhere; that one wanted to become minister, that others preferred property, car- riages, and servants; that Lafayette and Bailly began to turn their backs on them; that they found the king too unfortunate at being compelled to surrender his rights to the people, and to be obliged to be satisfied with about forty millions a year, instead of being able to say— " All is mine, the land, the inhabitants, and the beasts thereof." I recollect Chauvel mentioned some new men who were rising in the clubs, and became daily more promi- nent; Danton, Eobespierre, Legendre, Petion, Brissot, 38 The Story of a Peasant. Loustalot, Desmoulins. All these people either died in poverty or brought one another to the guillotine, after having served the people who forsook them all; while those who served the nobility and clergy lived in great style, filled high*offices, and died in their beds, sur- rounded by their servants, with absolution for what they had done. If the Supreme Being did not exist, such examples would be discouraging, and those who sacrifice them- selves for the people, which allows them to be dragged through the dirt, even after death, and be treated as brigands by their enemies, must be considered but brutes. Chauvel's letter surprised us much; Maitre Jean was not pleased with it; he said we must not expect too much at once; I thought otherwise—I did not see that Chauvel wanted too much. I understood how Maitre Jean and the rest, having got their share, wanted to breathe a little; but we men of the people had nothing as yet, and we wanted our share in the good things of the revolution. We were still discussing this letter, and Letumier had taken it to read at the club, when on arriving at the market the evening of Thursday the 29th, after 6even, we saw three large notices posted on the pillar in the middle. The four or five old Phalsbourgers of my time who are still in existence must recollect that between this massive pillar, which supported the great beams of the roof, and the old shed of the gabelle office, there used to hang a large lamp. The people of the town had unhooked the lamp and were crowding to read the notices. The Baraquins who were the last comers could not get near, but Letumier, with his The Story of a Peasant. 39 sharp elbows, got near at last, and began to read them in so loud a tone that they could hear him under the arch of the guard-house. " Letter of M. de Lafayette to the National Guards of the Departments of the Meurthe and the Moselle. " Paris, August 17th, 1790. " Gentlemen,—The National Assembly having been made acquainted with the guilty conduct of the garrison at Nancy, and perceiving the fatal consequences of similar excesses, has taken, in order to repress them, the measures contained in the decree I have the honour to send you, to enable you to anticipate what orders you may receive. Allow, gentlemen, one of your brothers in arms, whom you have charged with the expression here of your devotion for the constitution and public order, to offer this opportunity to your zeal and firmness, as one of the most' important, to consoli- date that liberty which is founded on respect to the law, and to induce general tranquillity. " Lafayette." It was terrible to hear this. Some days before we would all have marched; but after Chauvel's letter, which represented Lafayette as a weak and vain man, this man inviting us to war against patriot soldiers, filled us with indignation. The Baraquins cried out— " It is shameful! The soldiers have a right to insist on accounts. The soldiers are our brothers, our friends, our children! We side with them against the noble officers who want to rob them!" 40 The Story of a Peasant. This was the general opinion; honest people did not approve of this method of paying debts. Letumier, lifting his hat over the crowd, called out— " Hear the rest! Silence ! Listen to the decree of the National Assembly "—and notwithstanding increas- ing dissatisfaction, the decree was read in silence, " Ordering the assembling of a military force, drawn from the garrisons and National Guards of the Depart- ment of the Meurthe and the neighbouring depart- ments, to act under the orders of such general officer as his majesty should think fit to appoint, to punish the authors of the rebellion." And then this last notice of the Directory of the Meurthe at Nancy:— " Whereas a requisition dated yesterday was addressed to the Directory of the Department of the Meurthe by M. de Bouille, the general commanding for his majesty the troops of the late province of the Three Bishoprics, and employed by him in executing the decree of the National Assembly of the 16th of this month, the municipal officers of all places in the Department of the Meurthe, where there are armed National Guards, will require the commandants of the said National Guards to assemble the greatest possible number of volunteers, and to make a report accordingly, which will be submitted to the municipal officers. From this report the municipal officers will hand the commandants of the said volunteers subsistence money for eight days, at the rate of twenty-four sous per day. Every man will carry at least twenty cartridges; those who have none will obtain them at Nancy. There will be but one colour for each district. The National Guards will be quartered on their march in the same manner as regular, troops, consequently no citizen can refuse to The Story of a Peasant. 41 lodge them. The march will be as rapid as possible," &c., &c., &e. The whole of the citizens listened in silence. Letnmier had hardly finished reading the last notice, when the governor of the district, Matheis, of Sarre- bourg, a big, pimple-faced man, with a tricolour sash round his waist, climbed up on the stall of the former gabelle office, from whence he addressed the people, to induce the patriots to come forward. He repeated Lafayette's letter word for word, calling him "the friend of "Washington and the saviour of Liberty!" Many cried out—" Yive le roi!" " Yive Lafayette!" And Matheis was already beginning to laugh, when Elof Collin, from the centre of the market, told him that the National Guards were not constituted for the purpose of fighting our own soldiers, but to support them against our enemies; and that instead of attacking Mestre-de-Camp and Chateau-Yieux, they had far better pay them what they justly claimed; that thus the revolt would easily be quieted and order be again established; but that what they wanted was to bring on a contest between the army and the citizens, in order to become our masters again; he, Collin, invited every sensible man to have nothing to do with it, that the noble officers might settle their suspicious affairs, which were not the business of the nation, themselves. Numerous cries were then raised both for and against the decree. All the buyers of national property— Maitre Jean Leroux; Nicolas Roche, innkeeper; Mel- chior Leonard, formerly warden of a company; Louis Masson, postmaster; Raphael Mang, commissary, who had just taken the contract for the forage of the Royal Guyenne regiment; Gerard, the commandant of the D i2 The Story of a Peasant. citizen guard—in fact, all the principal citizens of Phalsbourg and its environs sided witli Lafayette, and they had the greater influence from the number of men they employed. Their municipal council had already decided that the town should advance 1,000 francs for the subsistence of the volunteers; the resolution was passed in the morning, before the club met, and notwithstanding all Elof Collin could say, they voted that a detachment of the National Guard should march the next day—that such a village should furnish so many men; the Baraques had to find fifteen volunteers, and naturally Jean Leroux, Letumier, and myself were of the number, as the best patriots. Maitre Jean thought it was quite right. I believe he was not sorry to play at soldiers a little, and show off his uniform at Nancy, for his good sense and good heart did not prevent his being very vain. Letumier, Jean Eat, and I continued disputing all the way home. We all went to bed, having agreed to start early, and settled to meet before the Three Pigeons. The Story of a Peasant, 43 II. At six we were mustered on the Place d'Armes, with, the volunteers from the town and the environs, about one hundred and fifty men, all told. "We had a glass of wine at Maitre Jean's before marching. Each had a good piece of bread, and put the rest in his haversack. The other villages had done the same, and the rappel began to beat for the laggards. Eive or six came up, and then the commandant reviewed us ; he ordered car- tridge-pouches to be served out to those who had none, and twenty-five rounds per man. Gerard, the commandant of the citizen guard, then mounted his horse ; he made a speech about the duties of the citizen soldier; then raising his sword, the drums began to beat. No other volunteers appearing, we marched out by the Porte de France to the cry of " Yive le roi! Vive la nation !" from all the windows. The children followed us towards Mittelbronn and as far as Petit-Saint-Jean; then we were left to march by ourselves in the dust. This 20th of August, 1790, and the day following were perhaps the hottest I have ever known. The burning sun on the back of our heads almost stupefied, and the dust choked us ; besides, it was the first mili- tary march we had ever made. Marching in the ranks is very different to walking alone ; sometimes the step 44 The Story of a Peasant. is slackened and sometimes quickened, and then the dust which you must swallow parches your mouth. Nevertheless, we were at Sarrebourg by eleven. Not one of their citizens had marched; they were surprised to see us. We halted for refreshment, and then marched on for Blamont, which we reached by seven in the evening. On the march, Maitre Jean more than once regretted having put on his fine uniform instead of a blouse; and poor Jean Eat, with his drum on his shoulder, panted as if he was dragging the truck of Father Sondeur. I got along very well. The sweat ran down my back, it it true, and I had taken off my gaiters to let the air get to my legs, but I stood it easily, and so did the other village lads. The town youths were very glad when they happened to fall in with vehicles which were going to Blamont, and to have a lift for a few sous; and Jean Eat was very glad to hang his drum to the back of a cart. At last we reached Blamont, where the commandant G-erard and Captain Laffrenez found quarters with the mayor, whose name was Voinon, Maitre Jean and Letumier with a municipal officer, and Jean Eat, Jacques Grillot, and I with a wine-merchant and good patriot, who gave us supper at his own table, and told us that their commandant, M. Fromental, had left two days before with the Blamont and Herbeviller volun- teers; they were almost all without muskets, but they had been promised them when they arrived. He gave us very good Toul wine, and as we had to get'up next morning before light to profit by the cool- ness of, the air, after supper he took us into a double- bedded room. Jean Eat and Grillot had the larger one; The Story of a Peasant, 45 I had the other to myself, and I slept so soundly that they had to shake me to rouse me. Jean Eat was beat- ing the rappel in the Eue Noire. It might be about three. At four we began our march, for when the sun rose behind us, from the colour of the sky we could see we should be in an oven, as it were, till we got to Luneville. We arrived there about nine. We were obliged to fall in, carrying arms and drums beating, to enter the town. There every one was pleased to see us. The cries of " Vive la nation!" began again. Children ran after us in crowds, and women looked and laughed at us from the windows. These Luneville people were always patriotic. That was a consequence of the garrison being there. I recollect we halted on a small square place, orna- mented by clumps of trees, and after having piled arms, Maitre Jean, Letumier, and I went into a good inn at the corner of this place. We had an hour's halt, which pleased us much. "Well," cried Maitre Jean, "we are getting on." " Yes, but it is all against the collar now, as far as Nancy," replied Letumier. " Bah! we have done the worst of it," said Maitra Jean. " The chief thing is now to get to Nancy as soon as possible, to put in a word." The square and streets in the neighbourhood were crowded with people. Citizens, soldiers, and all sorts of men and women were going and coming; some of them stopped to look at us. I never saw such a throng; the people crowded into the inn. Great red-coated carbi- neers were smoking, drinking, and stretching their long legs under the tables; people were laughing, and just 46 The Story of a Peasant. then we heard that peace was made, that Mestre-de- Camp, Chateau-Vieux, and the king's regiments had surrendered, that all was arranged, and the leaders of the mutiny would be punished. It appeared that good news had really come, for out of doors they were crying " Vive le roi!" The carbineers, Alsatian giants, while they emptied their little pitchers of beer, laughed in their moustaches, and said— " It is lucky they have come to terms." The joy shown by every one was a proof how dis- tasteful a war amongst ourselves would have been, and of course while we were drinking our wine and having a crust of bread, we were quite satisfied at not coming to blows. The commandant G-erard had gone to see the mayor, M. Drouin; and as the news of peace gained credit, instead of hurrying we stayed till eleven. Then the mayor and corporation came to see us on the place while the rappel was beaten, and we fell in. The com- mandant mounted his horse, saluted these gentlemen, and we marched, quite happy to feel that we should reach Nancy with a prospect, not of fighting, but of peace. Towards four we began to distinguish on the hori- zon high grey towers and some old buildings. I thought to myself—" Can that be Nancy?" but I could not believe it. It was Saint-Nicolas. We continued to get near slowly in the dust, when two dull reports were heard at a distance on our right in the plain. Our company halted in surprise and listened; there was a dead silence. Some seconds, and a third and then a fourth report followed, and our commandant, standing up in his stirrups, cried— The Story of a Peasant. 47 " 'Tis cannon! The battle has begun! Forward!" Notwithstanding our fatigue, and our disappointment at the good news at Luneville turning out false, we marched on again at the double ; but as we advanced so did our line extend; three-fourths would not follow; and when we reached the nearest houses of Saint- Nicolas, looking back, we could see our stragglers all along the road. We were obliged to halt to wait for the nearest. This is the consequence of beginning by forced marches. I have often seen it since then in Germany: all the conscripts remain behind, very lucky if the cavalry does not come to drive them on. Our drummers having at last come up, we entered the old town of Saint-Nicolas, full of weavers', drapers', and cap-makers' signs hanging outside the houses, as you see at a fair. It is much changed since then; but at that time the golden arm of Saint-Nicolas attracted numbers of pilgrims, and that lasted till the day the republic sent the arm to the mint at Metz to be melted, along with the holy vessels and the bells. We were exhausted. As we marched up the principal street it swarmed with people; the shopkeepers were deserting their homes in a fright, women rushed about, holding their children by the hand. On the cathedral square we grounded arms, in the middle of a crowd of peasants, workmen, and disbanded National Guards, whom the municipality of Nancy had sent away before the attack, because thev sided with the soldiers. Never was such confusion. These men, in a rage, told us they had scarcely quitted the town before the Germans attacked the 48 The Story of a Peasant. Porte Neuve. One of their captains, a dry old fellow, with a hooked nose, and very much marked by the small-pox, saluted our commandant, and said, with his hand on the horse's neck— " Are you going to Nancy, commandant ? Don't go. The military authorities and the municipality distrust the citizen guards—a set of vagabonds—you will fall into an ambuscade!" He was foaming with rage. " Captain," said the commandant, " my men and I know our duty." "All right," said the old fellow; " I have warned you; do as you like." But as half our people were still behind, the com- mandant let us fall out while waiting for them, and we had time to drink a glass of wine under the linen awnings in front of the wine-shops. The bell-towers were filled with curious people with spy-glasses, and those who came down called out as they passed— " The fighting is at the Faubourg Saint-Pierre," or, " The smoke comes from the Porte Stainville," and so on. In about half-an-hour all our stragglers had come up, and we set out for Nancy; we soon heard the firing; about six it was very hot. The noise of the cannon had ceased. We began to make out the town, and at the same time the first runaways came near us. They were wretches indeed, nearly all in blouses, barefooted, with neither hats or caps—in fact it was misery, the great misery of the towns in those days; entire troops of these poor creatures were running away; farther on we met three or four wounded sitting by the side of the road, some with their heads, some with their legs The Story of a Peasant. 49 covered with blood; they looked hard at us, but said nothing. I thought perhaps they did not see us, or took us for enemies. But as we met these poor people the firing which we had at first heard on the right spread all over the town; and then it was, as we heard afterwards, that the soldiers of Chateau-Yieux and the people fell back; and then the massacre began. As we came into a long street of lofty houses, all closed from top to bottom, we saw a number of people retreating towards us before five or six hussars, who were cutting them down without mercy; horses reared, sabres flashed, and screams re- sounded, screams which made your flesh creep. It was horrible! These people had only to-turn round and fall on the brigands who pursued them; they might have taken them by the leg and unhorsed them easily, instead of which they allowed themselves to be cut down. Fear makes one stupid. Our commandant ordered us to keep to the left, close to the houses, to allow these people to pass, and to halt. Maitre Jean, Letumier, and the other officers drew their swords, and ordered us to load. Every one of us then bit his first cartridge. The crowd came up to us, and passed like a flock of sheep pursued by wolves; when the hussars saw our bayonets they turned their horses' heads round; they must have expected our fire, for at the first turning they disappeared; in an instant the street was empty, and the flyers had hidden themselves; some remained lying with their faces to the ground. The din in the town broke out again and the firing, and we heard the tinkling of a little bell in the midst of the slaughter. What dismal thoughts occur to you when you recall these horrors, 50 The Story of a Peasant. and how you pity the poor, who are sure to be the sufferers, even when only asking for justice! When the confusion was over our commandant ordered us to march, and we advanced to the grey square gate of Saint-Nicolas, when the cry of "Verda?" warned us that the Germans were masters of Nancy. M. de Bouille had only brought these fellows with him; Frenchmen would have stopped short of his aim; he wanted to make a frightful example. Then the grey moustache of the commandant curled as he advanced alone and answered, " France ! citizen guard of Phalsbourg." Some moments later a picket of these Germans in blue coats, like our invalids now, came out accompanied by an officer to reconnoitre us; they evidently distrusted us, for we had a long time to wait with grounded arms before receiving orders from head-quarters, for the fatigue of the two forced marches had exhausted us, and it was only about nine that a lieutenant ordered us to relieve the Germans on guard at the gate. There were about fifteen of them in the guard-house; the beggars were glad to be relieved, to be able to go and plunder like their comrades. We passed the night under the Porte Saint-Nicolas, stretched on the ground, with our heads on our knap- sacks, along the walls. We slept by the side of one another. Two guns and some baggage-waggons blocked up the gate, and the pavement had been taken up; the sentries, who were relieved every hour, had their beat towards the town and the faubourg ; that is all I can recollect, for luckily it was not my turn for duty before morning. I was awoke two or three times by cries and dis- putes; it was our patrols bringign in their prisoners; The Story of a Peasant. 51 they were thrust into the guard-house and the door closed, in spite of the cries of the poor creatures inside, who could hardly breathe. I recollect that as I should a dream. When sleep has once possession of a man he hears and sees nothing. I know that night hundreds of wretches were massacred, and the brutality of the nobles showed itself in all its rage against the people, but I saw nothing of it myself. The next day, September 1, it was something else ! I was early on my legs, and what I saw that day, notwithstanding the years which have gone, remains to this moment as if painted before my eyes. The beat of the drum woke us at four; raising myself on my elbow, still half asleep, I saw in the dawn, at ten paces from me, a German officer with the commandant Gerard talking together; behind them was a civil officer with a sash round his waist, and his hand in his large white waistcoat; they looked towards the dark gate, where we were getting up one after the other, shaking the dust from our clothes, picking up our muskets, and buckling on our knapsacks. After the rappel came the roll-call; many of our comrades had come in during the night; we were about a hundred and twenty or thirty strong without the sentries and patrols. Roll-call over, the commandant said— " Comrades, you have to escort the prisoners to the town prisons." Three waggons with straw in them drew up at the same time, and they began by letting out the poor creatures who had been thrust into them the evening before. They came out; it would hardly be credited "; 52 The Story of a Peasant, women, soldiers, populace, citizens, the street was crowded with them ! so pale, in such disorder, it made you sick; many of them, covered with blood, were unable to walk; they had to be supported under the arms. When they came out into the air they struggled and gasped as if they were choking, and called for water, which was given them in a can, and then they were put into the waggons. This took up twenty minutes, and then we marched them off; the carts with the wounded in front, the prisoners in the rear, two by two, between us. I have seen these convoys since—yes, indeed, I have seen them, and, much more considerable, thirty and forty carts one after the other. But this was the first, and the horror it inspired me with was most lasting; one need be buried to forget such dreadful sights. Later it was the wounded who were conveyed to the ambulances the evening after some great battle, or aristocrats to the guillotine; this time it was the populace and soldiers who were led to the gallows, for not satisfied with having exterminated three thousand poor wretches, four hundred of whom were women and children, that very day Bouille hanged twenty-eight soldiers of the Chateau-Vieux, condemned by a court-martial; one was broken alive on the wheel, notwithstanding the abolition of torture decreed by the National Assembly, and forty-one were sent to the king's galleys. We were already on our march to Phalsbourg when we heard the news of these abominations. People have cried out with reason against the September massacres, and the convoys of victims of '93; they were indeed most un- natural. But the nobles had set the example. It is a great misfortune! when you ask for pity on yourself The Story of a Peasant. 53 and your people, you should have had it on others, and not have been cruel in the hour of victory. Well, the line of prisoners advanced between our two files of bayonets. We marched in the greatest silence, for all the houses were closed like prisons, except those that had been pillaged, the doors and shutters of which were lying about in splinters. Maitre Jean commanded us; two or three times he looked at me, and I saw in his eyes how he pitied them ; but what was to be done ? Bouille was master, and must be obeyed. The wretches we were escorting—some coatless, some shirtless, their arms in slings, or their heads bandaged— looked straight before them; their eyes were dim, and we could hear occasionally those sighs, caused by dread at being taken; to know there is no hope, and that one has left behind an old mother, or a wife and children, to perish of want—that is what causes sighs like these, gently, and in jerks, and shuddering internally. Those who hear you understand you, and, if they could, would willingly let you escape. Every one must see that I did not pay much atten- tion to the streets, the less so that we often met soldiers and other wretches, men and women, lying in pools of blood. We had to march over them—it made us all shiver—some of our prisoners, the bravest, looked round as they went by with their eyes half shut, to recognise and salute a friend or a comrade. In one little place we saw horses with their bridles off, eating hay, and some of Lauzun's hussars sleeping on straw by them. That is all I recollect of the route, except, however, the great town-hall; the early morning making the panes of glass in the windows glitter, officers going and coming under a magnificent gateway, 54 The Story of a Peasant. and estafettes below, waiting for orders. Two bat- talions of Liegeois were bivouacked on the place—the sky was clear and the stars still bright. At the moment we passed under a sort of triumphal arch, we heard— "Ver da?" It was a dragoon on guard before the prisons, which were surrounded by ditches. The major, who followed with the municipal officer, immediately stepped forward, 'and passed us on to another place with three rows of trees in it. The waggons stopped before a sort of hos- pital, with bars before the windows, like the baskets men carry on their backs ; and while they were passing under the archway I noticed this prison was guarded by a post of the Royal Allemand. Fancy my dismay at knowing that Nicolas was at Nancy! I recollected his letter, and the idea occurred to me that the poor devil had cut down every one for the love of discipline, as he did at Paris. I was in hopes of not meeting him; but while' we were getting out the wounded, I began to reflect he might be wounded too; that made me feel we were still brothers, and he had always taken my part in days gone by; besides, if my father and mother knew we had been so near without seeing or speaking to one another, it would sorely grieve them. So I for- got everything else, and I went up to the nearest sentry and asked him if he knew Nicolas Bastien, corporal in the 3rd squadron of the Royal Allemand. When I told this man I was his brother, he said he knew him very well; I need only go down the little street facing me, to the Porte Neuve, where the Royal Allemand had charged the evening before, and that any one of his troop would take me to him. The Story of a Peasant. 55 Maitre Jean was not pleased that I wanted to go and see Nicolas. " What a misfortune for us to come and mix our- selves up with these brigands !" said he. " People will begin to believe that the citizen guards have sup- ported the Germans against the patriots; they will put it in all their gazettes; what a misfortune!" He did not prevent my going to see Nicolas, but told me to hurry, for we should not remain long at Nancy; every one had had enough of it. I set off directly, with my musket on my shoulder, and stepped out to the Porte Neuve. Now if I tried to describe the horrors of the massacre in this quarter, you could not believe me. No, they could not have been men, only savage beasts could have perpetrated such brutalities. The populace and the Swiss must have offered a desperate resistance in these holes and corners, for everything was torn down, broken, destroyed—doors, windows, gutters, everything! Heaps of bricks and tiles filled the street, just like after a fire; bedding which had been thrown out for the wounded trodden on and soaked in blood; some horses were lying and struggling there also. Two or three times in passing before some of the half-destroyed houses, I heard dreadful cries ; they were the poor Swiss who had hidden themselves after the battle, and who were killed without mercy, for Bouille had ordered his Germans to kill every soldier belonging to the Chateau- Yieux regiment. The monsters! cursed be they who could commit such crimes! Yes, cursed be they! And may God avenge the unhappy victims! I was thinking of these things, and X felt indignant. 56 The Story of a Feasant. I then came into a larger street and saw a mountain of paying-stones, and "behind these stones was the Porte Neuve, pierced through and through by cannon-balls, with a long line of carts, where the dead were piled up like heaps of rags—men, women, and—I must say it, as it is true—poor little children! Some of the common people were moving away the paving-stones to open a road for the dead to pass out to be buried. Some hussars were directing the work; women standing by cried unceasingly; they wanted to see their relations once more; but it had been so hot the last two days that they could not delay. All along the street the Royal Allemand, quartered on the citizens, were looking out of the windows; others, below, were standing round the carts to help the hussars if necessary, for the crowd was very great. An old woman, whose neighbours were carrying her away by force, cried— " I want to be killed too! Let these brigands kill me too! They have killed my boy, let me go! You are all brigands!" That made me sick. I was sorry I had come, when among those standing by the carts I saw big Jerome of Quatre-Vents, with the scar on his face. He was still a sergeant, and laughed while he smoked his pipe. I knew him well, but I did not speak to him; but other Royal Allemands of whom I inquired where Corporal Bastion was quartered, pointed out the windows of the inn opposite, where I recognised Nicolas, in spite of his uniform. He, too, was smoking his pipe and looking on at this horrid spectacle; and I crossed the street all the same very well pleased to see my brother again. It is very natural after all, though I knew very well we could never agree. When I came to the door under The Story of a Peasant. 57 his window and called, " Nicolas !" he flew downstairs crying out— " What! is it you ? Have you come from Phals- bourg ? Well done ! I am so glad!" He looked at me. I could see he was pleased. Wo went upstairs, and when we got to the top he pushed open the door of a large room where five or six Eoyal Aflemands were drinking round a table, and three or four others looking out of the windows. " Look here," cried he, " look at this young fellow; he's my brother; look at his shoulders !" I was very glad to see him. All these Eoyal Alle- mands had their bearskin caps and their sabres hanging against the walls. They seemed very good fellows. They gave me some wine. Nicolas kept on repeating— " Ah, if you had been here yesterday ! ' You should have been here yesterday at five to see the dance j we cut them down in style." He whispered to me that the sergeant of his troop had been killed, and that Captain Mendel would allow no one but Corporal Bastien to replace him, on account of his good conduct. Eancy how all' this disgusted me after the horrors I had already seen, but before the others I had nothing to say—I affected to be pleased. Soon after the trumpets sounded to stables, and they all got up. They put on their caps and their swords to go out. Nicolas was going down also, but one of his comrades told him to stay, as he would tell the officer and do his duty for him. He sat down again, and then at last, when the others were all gone, he recollected his father and mother, and said— " And the old people, are they all well?" a 58 The Story of a Peasant. I told liiin every one was in good health—father, mother, Mathnrine, Claude, and little Etienne; that I was now earning thirty livres a month, and that I allowed them to want for nothing. He was very pleased to hear it, and shook my hand, saying— " Michel, yon are a good fellow. You must let them want, for nothing, the poor old people! I ought to have gone and seen them—yes, so I ought! But when I thought of beans and pulse, and of that nest of vermin where we endured such wretchedness, I changed my mind every time. A Royal Allemand must keep up his position. You earn more than I do, it is true, but to wear a sword by your side and to serve the king makes a great difference. One must respect oneself, and old relations with ragged gowns and breeches, you sec, Michel, that will not do for a corporal!" " Yes," said I, " I understand, but now they are not so ragged. I have paid Robin's debt, and father has no more corvees to do, and mother has two goats, which give butter and milk, and fowls which lay eggs. Mathurine does day-work at Maitre Jean's; she is housekeeper; and little Etienne knows how to read. I teach him myself in the evening. The cottage is also improved. I have had it thatched, and I have put up a wooden staircase instead of the ladder. The room above has a new floor; we have two beds with four pair of sheets, instead of our old boxes full of heather. The glazier Regal, of Phalsbourg, has put in the panes of glass which had been wanting for the last twenty years; the mason Kroma has put two steps before the door." " Ah!" said he, " since everything is in such good order, and there is something to eat, I can come, and I The Story of a Peasant. 59 will come and see the poor old people. I shall ask for a week's leave ; you tell them so, Michel!" He had a good heart, hut not the shadow of common sense; he could only admire epaulettes, sword-cuts, and gun-shots. How such men are few, education has spread so much among the people; but at that time they were common enough, because of the ignorance in which they had been held by the seigneurs and the monks, to make them work and rob them at their leisure. As I was talking to him about the massacre, and he listened while smoking his pipe, with his elbow on the table, all of a sudden he called out, puffing out great clouds of smoke— "Ah! that's all politics. What do you Baraquins know about politics ?" " Politics!" said I; " but these poor Swiss only wanted their money!" " Their money!" said he, shrugging his shoulders. " Look here! did not the Mestre-de-Camp regiment get theirs? did not the commune pay every man in the regiment of the king three louis to get tJiem to go to their barracks before the fighting began ? These Swiss were rascals—they sided with the patriots. We massa- cred them because they held the butts of their muskets in the air instead of firing on the canaille at the attack on the Bastille. Do you see that, Michel ?" And while I was quite surprised at all this, after a moment's pause he continued— " And this is only the beginning—the king must have his rights again; the talkers of the National Assembly will get the same. Be easy, General Bouille has planned it all right; one of these mornings we shall march upon Paris, and then look out 1" 60 The Story of a Peasant. He laughed, and showed his teeth under his mous- taches. The courage and joy of a beast of prey when about to fall on a tempting bit, and seeming to have it already in its grasp, were painted in his face. I was disgusted. I said to myself, " Is it possible such an animal as this can be your brother ?" But as to talking sense to him, or trying to get one good idea into his head, what was the use ? He would not have under- stood it, and would, perhaps, have quarrelled with me, so I thought I had better go. " Well, Nicolas," said I, " I am very glad I have seen you, but at half-past eight the detachment returns to Phalsbourg." " Are you going?" " Yes, Nicolas ; let us shake hands." " But I thought you were going to breakfast with me; my comrades will be back directly. I have got plenty of money. General Bouille gave every man twelve livres bounty money." He slapped his pocket where the money was. " No, it is not possible; duty first. If I did not answer at the roll-call it would be a serious matter." This argument seemed to him to have more force than any other, I took my musket, and we went down into the street. " Well!" said he, embracing me, " good-bye, Michel; a good journey." We embraced, both really affected. " Don't forget to tell the old people that I shall soon be sergeant." "No." "And I will come and see them when I get the stripes on my arm." " All right, I will tell them all about it." The Story of a Peasant. 61 I set off, thinking to myself, " That poor devil is not a had fellow, but he would cut everybody down for discipline's sake." Just as I got to the Porte Saint-Nicolas the rappol was beaten. " Well!" cried Maitre Jean, " have you seen him ?" He saw by my face what I was thinking about, and from that time we never talked about him. I had hardly time to go to the baker opposite, and buy a small loaf of bread and two sausages, for I had only had something to drink at the Porte Neuve, and then our detachment set out for Phalsbourg. The march home increased our disgust, by the sight of those cowards who take the successful side, bawling out victory and putting on looks of delight to salute their master, and making speeches about order and justice, and devotion, to the defenders of authority, and about severity necessary to support the laws, &c. All of which means—we are on your side because you are the stronger—we should have been the first to crush you had you been the weaker! All along the road we saw this sort of people, with their cowardly faces, their great stomachs girded with sashes ; fellows crying," Yive le roi!" " Yive le General Bouille!" " Yive Royal Allemand!" enough to burst themselves. They came to compliment us in one village, their mayor at their head; but the com- mandant Gerard, who saw them coming, cried out— "Out of the way! mille tonnerres! out of the way!" And we passed on while they saluted us, and we looked at them with contempt. What a pity such wretches are not always treated in like manner! then they would learn what their speeches are really worth, and if they 62 The Story of a Peasant. have 110 respect for themselves they would at least respect the grief of honest people. At Luneville the authorities had been very firm, but notwithstanding there was a general uneasiness prevail- ing everywhere when we arrived about two. As the citizen guard of the town had not yet returned, we were stopped at every gate for news, especially by the women whose sons or husbands were at Nancy; we could hardly continue our march. The crowd surrounded us on the place, and we could scarcely reply to the inquiries of everybody, when some one called out— "What! there is Maitre Jean and Michel Bastien; the Baraquins are distinguishing themselves." It was Georges Mouton, the son of our former echevin, the landlord of the Mouton d'Or, on the place at Phalsbourg—a tall, strong lad of twenty, who has since made his way in the world. We used to buy our white bread of his father, for he was a baker as well, and more than once in favourable years Maitre Jean had gone into Alsace with him; they bought their wine together at Barr, and got it cheaper. We were very glad to see young Mouton, who took us away with him, saying— " Let us go and dine at the Deux Carpes." " What are you doing at Luneville, George ?" said Maitre Jean. "I am grocer's shopman, Maitre Jean," said he, laughing. " I sell sugar and cinnamon for some one else till I can buy a business for myself." "A very good trade," said Maitre Jean; "your father is quite right to put you into it: people are always in want of pepper, and candles, and oil, and if you can buy well you can always sell well." The Story of a Peasant. 63 Mouton walked on before us, and we entered one of those little inns where you are served over the counter with wine, beer, or spirits; customers came in and went out; a few strangers were sitting at a table and eating fried fish. Mouton wanted to treat us to an omelette au lard and some Toul wine, wbicb Maitre Jean, as his senior, could not allow; he paid all himself, and gave us some coffee as well. Of course we talked about what had happened at Nancy; Mouton cried out— " What a pity I did not see it! My master is sergeant- major of his company ; he is full of ambition, and has left his shop for me to take care of while he goes and passes for a man of courage down there. If he has only got a slight wound, that would be some consolation; but I know him; he is the man to cry ' Forwards!' with his men in front of him." " Ah," said Maitre Jean, " you would only have seen the rascality of the nobles." " Another reason why. I have always hated those cadets who stop promotion in the army, and drive us to become grocers if we wish to get -on; I should have detested them still more, and it would have done me good!" And as Maitre Jean expressed his fears for liberty in consequence of this massacre— " Bah!" said he. " This is the end of the play. If the aristocrats had gone on gently, they might have drawn their pensions for ten, fifteen, or twenty years more ; now the affair is at issue between the officers and the soldiers; they must come to blows, and one side must lose; and it will be the gentlemen. Well, Maitre Leroux, let us hope it will be soon; for I confess a 64 The Story of a Peasant. musket on my slioulder would suit me much better than an apron round my legs." Maitre Jean laughed, and said— " With your ideas you will not get a business of your own, but one must suit oneself to the times; I think as you do that opportunities will not be wanting for young men to get on. Bouille, who has just struck his first successful blow, will be sure to try to lead his Germans to Paris." " So much the better," cried Mouton} " it is the greatest service he can render us." As they were beating the rappel, we were obliged to go. Mouton went with us to the trees, and shook hands with us, sending his compliments to his friends and acquaintance at Phalsbourg, We then set off, and he returned to his shop. We little thought we had seen the man who was to replace Lafayette in the command of the Paris National Guard! The world is a strange thing, especially in revolution. He who in ordinary times would be either a publican, or a grocer, or a sergeant, becomes a Marshal of France, a King of Sweden, an Emperor of the French ! And others, who were looked on as eagles in point of birth, take off their hats to him for employment and ad- vancement. The same evening we reached Blamont, and the next day home without any fresh occurrence. Bad news had gone faster than our detachment; the whole country was alarmed; every one expected the Austrians would soon be at home in Lorraine. The worst of it was, we dared not say so; our good king represented order; and the venal deputies of tho Assembly, of whom Chauvel had mitten to us, voted The Story of a Peasant. 65 thanks to General Bouille. But, thank God, the Count d'Artois and his friends "were not yet where they hoped to he; some time must pass before they see Paris again, with their laws of primogenitureship, of sacri- lege, and other follies; the revolution had other roots to throw out in the soil of France—roots which all the aristocrats and all the capucins in the world will never be able to pull up, and which will constitute the eternal honour and strength of our country. 66 The Story of a Peasant. in. Agitation and uneasiness increased daily after our return to Baraques; Maitre Jean, Letumier, Claude Hure, and all tlie buyers of Church lands began to fear they might experience the fate of the Chateau-Vieux regiment, and lose their money and lands as well. Prudent men like these became, therefore, most ener- getic supporters of the revolution. They were called " active " citizens, because they paid a land tax, per- sonal tax, and other taxes, the value of three days' work. They were nearly all fathers of families, and they alone had the right of voting at the elections of deputies, municipal officers, judges, cures, and even bishops. But we, who had only our arms and our blood to give in the service of our country, we were called " passive " citizens, and had no vote at the elections. The National Assembly, instead of bringing citizens together by justice and equality, followed the example of our kings, who divided them into classes, to set one against the other, and so keep them all together in sub- jection. For sixty years all our misfortunes have arisen from this step, but at that time the evil of such a decree was not apparent, and rich and poor all sided with the revolution j for those who had nothing hoped the The Story of a Peasant. 67 day would come when by work and economy they might have something. Yon should then see how amiable the active citizens were to the passive; how Maitre Jean tapped Hie on the shoulder and called me liberty's firm defender; how the poor devils of the villages were bowed to by those who had Church property; how they shook hands with them, and said— " We are all for the same cause, we must all stand by one another. These rascally nobles and bishops, they want to rob us and re-establish their former rights; but let them beware! All citizens will rather be cut to pieces for their country!" And so on. Every evening at the inn we heard of nothing but this. Maitre Jean was civil to every one; he gave credit to the greatest drunkards, and put down five or six bottles of wine to their account on the slate, never expecting to see a liard of his money. So you see what an ill-judged measure compelled respectable people to do to gain friends. How many battles have been won by the soldiers notwithstanding the blunders of their leaders! and how much good sense ought the masses to possess to counterbalance similar errors! When Maitre Jean talked about defending ourselves, many people did not hesitate to say— " All very well, Maitre Jean; that is all very well; but we have nothing to defend; we are nothing, we vote for nothing—not even for what concerns us most; the citizens do all; they have taken all for themselves! Let every man fight in proportion to what he has to defend!" Others took the other side, and cried— 68 The Story of a Peasant. " Maitre Jean is right—we are all brothers; we will protect our rights. Come, Dame Catherine, another bottle! Here's the health of all good patriots !" And they did not dare refuse it, at a time when Lafayette was moving for a vote of thanks to be given to his cousin Bouille for the Nancy massacre; and when the friends of the throne announced that his majesty was about to make a tour in the country to re-establish order in the provinces. Of course monks and capucins raised their heads again; they went about preaching, excommunicating, and cursing; they were to be seen at every cottage door stimulating the women to take the part of God against their husbands—of God, that is to say, their convents, abbeys, fishponds, and forests, which they wanted back, but sowing dissensions in our families. I did not tell them at home that I had been to see Nicolas; I should have had to tell them all about his conduct in the massacre, his ideas about the nobles, discipline, &c.; it would have given pain to my father, and my mother would have said he was right; she never saw me without saying— " You! you will get your head broken for Maitre Jean's sake. You will get the thrashing and he will keep what he has stolen, if they don't hang you with Dame Catherine and their friend Chauvel. You deny your religion, and will be damned for the sake of these brigands!" " Come, come," cried my father, " don't make such a noise." But she would go on worse than before, and you could see it was word for word what she had learned of Father Benedict. The Story of a Peasant. 69 It was no better at tbe forge, for Valentine, wbo did not dare to show his joy openly, never ceased repeating to me— " Now our seigneurs have had their revenge for the Bastille; it was sure to come sooner or later, for right is right. The descendants of our seigneurs ought not to be confounded with wretches like us. I warn you, Michel, the National Assembly will soon be sent away; the king will dismiss the whole concern, and they will all be punished for their crimes. As for Maitre Jean, he may give credit as much as he likes to Christopher Magloire and Pierre Journachon; when his majesty's armies come here, everything will be swept away, our holy Church will regain its lands, and the persons and property of the guilty will suffer for the harm they have done. May God only grant that we may be allowed to remain at our occupations, for our faults are great, and the measure of our iniquities is full! God grant that they may shut their eyes to the past, for we have all deserved a rope for our votes and our elections!" So this fool argued! If he had not been so stupid we should have come to blows more than once; as it was, I listened as one does to the braying of an ass. This was the case in all families in all the villages; if Bouille had struck the blow he meditated in Paris, the revolution might have failed, people were so terrified, and the priests worked so hard. But you will see, though we were discouraged among ourselves here, at Paris the patriots were not as easily depressed, and they had sufficient courage to resist, not only the court, but the venal deputies of the National Assembly. Maitre Jean told me to write to Chauvel and tell 70 The Story of a Peasant. him all I had heard at Nancy; and as I had always a letter in hand it was very easy. In the evening, after work was over, I went to the library which Margaret had shown me, and alone with my little lamp I put everything down as it occurred. If I had time I read an hour or two, and then I went home, a thousand ideas passing through my mind about life and men— of the great wisdom of some and the ignorance of others. I was always happy in reading the encyclopaedia. I skipped nothing; everything seemed admirable, and M. Diderot's articles more so than any. Instead of being unenlightened as I had been, everything asto- nished and affected me, from the small blades of grass up to the stars. I should have wished to learn arith- metic, but I had no teacher to put me in the way of it. Thoughts of my father and of Margaret used to occur to me, sometimes in sadness, sometimes with satisfaction. I used to meditate on the great struggles of the true representatives of the nation for the rights of the people. My heart would be exalted, and I often went home very late, past midnight, without having had one tedious moment. So passed my life. On Sunday, instead of beginning to read in the evening, I was in Chauvel's library at seven in the morning. This maimer of living seemed to me so much the more pleasant after having suffered so much in my infancy, having been so anxious to learn, without a moment for instruction, as all my time belonged to my master; I considered myself most fortunate. When Maitre Jean told me to describe tne horrors at Nancy my letter was nearly finished, and I filled up the The Story of a Peasant. 71 last pages with, that shocking story. That night, when I had finished, about eleven, pleased at having told all I knew, I opened the window to meditate at my ease. The night was mild. Looking at the little garden in the moonlight, I saw the golden pippins were ripe; and while thinking how Margaret and her father would enjoy them, I thought to myself— " Why should they not taste them ? I have only to pick the fruit, pack them carefully in a basket, and send them to Paris by Jean-Marie, the carrier; he is fifteen days on the road, but apples keep more than fifteen days." I was so pleased with my idea that I thought it over all night in our hut, and next day while reading my letter over to Maitre Jean, I spoke to him about it. " Why, Michel," said he, " yours is a very good notion; it is very pleasant to receive anything from home when absent. During my trip in Prance, in 1760, near Mezieres, a journeyman named Christian Weber arrived from Alsace; he had some smoked sausages and chitterlings in his pouch; never did I enjoy anything more. The smell of the fir-wood tickled my nose. I seemed to see the mountain ; and I could have cried for pleasure had it not been for my comrades, who laughed, and sang, and enjoyed themselves. So, to- morrow, Sunday, you must carefully pick the finest apples from the trees in Chauvel's orchard, for fallen fruit will not keep long; ^you must get one of your father's largest and strongest baskets, and we will fill it, not only with apples, but put in also a smoked pig's cheek, which is considered the most delicate part, with five or six good sausages, two bottles of white Alsatian, and two bottles of red Lorraine wine, the best I have 72 The Story of a Peasant in the cellar, and do not forget several dozen green "walnnts, for, if you recollect, Chauvel is very fond of them; we could always hear him cracking them behind the stove. Put them all in, but you must have a large and strong basket." So said Maitre Jean, who was pleased with my idea, and added— " We cannot do them a greater pleasure." I thought as he did, and I was the more pleased to see he approved of it. I do not remember a happier day than that Sunday, when early in the morning, having chosen a basket from among those which my father kept piled up under the staircase, I took it on my shoulder to the Three Pigeons, and picked the finest apples in the orchard. No, I never passed a pleasanter time, both on ac- count of the beauty of the fruit, and the happiness I had in imagining Margaret's pretty white teeth biting them. Then I went to the back of the inn and knocked down the walnuts from the great tree, and while my stick brought them down by dozens, I said to myself— " Father Chauvel will be pleased. How he will enioy them!" I fancied I heard him crack them, with the re- flection— " Michel is really a very good boy!" And this affected me, an