# Colas Breugnon/Chapter 14

XIV
HEALTH TO THE KING!
St. Martin's Day,
November 11th.
The air was delightfully soft and warm when I woke this morning; it seemed like a gentle touch on my cheek, or a kitten rubbing itself against me. It flowed in a golden stream through the window; the sky had raised her cloudy eyelids, and looked at me with her pale blue eyes, while a faint ray of sunshine smiled from the opposite roof.
I felt dreamy and languid and like a boy again,—old fool that I am! But I have stopped growing old and am now retracing my steps as fast as I can; pretty soon I shall be an infant in arms once more. My heart was filled with sweet visions,—like good Roger who yearned for Alcine,—you remember? I was in such a tender humor that I could not have been persuaded to harm a fly, and any child could have played with me.
I thought I was alone, but all at once I caught sight of Martine in the corner; I had not noticed ​when she came in, for she had said nothing, contrary to her habit, but just sat down and took up her sewing without even looking in my direction. I felt on such good terms with all the world that I wanted to share my pleasure, so just for the sake of being amiable, I said, "Why did they ring the great bell this morning?"
"It is St. Martin's Day, Father," said she, surprised at the question.
To think that I should have so lost myself in dreams as to forget the god of our town and herself! Among all the new friends in Plutarch, I could see in my mind's eye this old one, as good as any of the rest of them, dividing his long cloak with his sword, as his legend tells us."How could I forget St. Martin?" cried I.
"I don't know indeed," said Martine, "except that these days you don't seem to remember anything in earth or Heaven but that stupid book of yours."
This made me laugh, for I had often noticed that she cast a malevolent eye on old Plutarch when she came in the morning and found him in my bed; women seldom have a real love for books; they see in them either lovers or rivals. When they themselves read they always have an uneasy sense of infidelity, and that is why they cannot bear to see ​us absorbed in books, which they feel to be a sort of treachery.
"It is St. Martin's own fault," said I," he never comes to see me nowadays, though he has half his cloak to wear, and so I forgot all about him. Out of sight out of mind! You must keep yourself before people's eyes, you know, my daughter, if you want to be remembered."
"There is no need to tell me that; I don't let folks forget me."
"True enough, you are easy to see and hear as a general thing, but this morning you were as still as a mouse; I miss our usual quarrel, come over here and begin."
She would not even turn her head, but answered, "I have given up, there is no use talking to you!"
I looked at her as she sat stitching away with her mouth obstinately set; she really looked sad, so I began to be sorry that I had got the better of her." Come here, dear, and give me a kiss; I may forget Martin, but never his namesake. Come, I have a present here for you."
"You have some trick up your sleeve."
"No, no, on my word, come and see what I have for you."
"I am too busy."
​"Unnatural child, you are too busy to kiss your old father?"
She came reluctantly and stood near the bed, and I held out my arms to her.
"I don't see any present," said she.
"You have it now, I meant myself,"
"A pretty present you would be!"
"Ugly or pretty, I am yours entirely now to do with as you please."
"Will you sleep downstairs?"
"Anywhere you choose to put me."
"Will you do as you are told and let me love you and scold you when you need it?"
"I am your slave from this hour!"
"You dear bad old thing!" she cried. "I am going to get even with you now, for all your obstinacy!"
Then she hugged and cuffed me, shaking me about like a doll, and, without waiting a minute, called Florimond and his white-capped assistants who carried me feet first down the narrow stair and put me down in the big bed in the bright room, and there Martine and Glodie tucked me up and fussed about me, telling me over and over again that now that they had me downstairs I should see what good care they would take of me.
Do you know I really enjoyed it? And, having ​given in to my daughter completely, strangely enough I find that it is I who really direct and manage the whole household.
Martine spends the greater part of the day in my room now and we have long talks about one time in particular when I sat by her bedside, because it was she who was laid up with a sprained foot. The naughty little cat had jumped out of the window one night to meet her sweetheart; I caught her, and in spite of the sprain, I gave her a good trouncing; she laughs at it now and says I did not hurt enough, but in those days it was impossible to keep her in order no matter what you did; she always managed to slip through my fingers, but she kept her head nevertheless and some one else lost his, we must suppose, as he is now her husband. She laughs and sighs over those old days, and says it is all over now; that there are no more jokes for her; and then we talk of Florimond. She does justice to his good qualities, like the sensible woman that she is, but admits that he does not amuse her; marriage, however, is not intended for an amusement.
"No one knows that better than you do. Father, but we must make the best of what we have. You might as well try to draw water out of a sieve as to look for love in a husband, but I am not one to ​cry my eyes out for what I cannot have; I am not so badly off, and contented enough on the whole; but I can't help thinking how different things are now from what I used to expect. How far our youthful dreams are from the things we come to accept in later years! I don't know if it is sad or ridiculous, but when I remember all the hopes and fears, vows and flames, and for what? To make some man's pot boil. After all, it is as much as most of us deserve, but if any one had told me so, once upon a time!—Well, there is always some fun to be got out of it. Laughter is a sauce that would make anything taste good, and that has never been lacking to you and me. Daddy; we can always laugh when we have made fools of ourselves."
Such as it was, you can be sure we did not deny ourselves that consolation, and had many a joke, too, at the expense of other people. Sometimes we would fall silent; she occupied with her work and I with my book; but we kept up a little murmur like a brook which flows underground till it can leap out again into the sunshine; an idea would come into Martine's head which made her burst out laughing, and then our tongues would run on again faster than ever.
I should have been glad to introduce Plutarch to ​Martine, and make her appreciate all his beauties, and enjoy my interesting and pathetic manner of reading aloud, but I had no sort of success; she did not like Greece or Rome any more than a fish would like apples for his dinner. Sometimes she would listen for a few moments, just from politeness, but she could not keep her mind on it, or rather her thoughts were elsewhere, flying up, down and all around, so that at the most exciting part of the narrative when I was working up to my effect, with a trembling voice, she would interrupt me, calling out to Glodie, or to Florimond at the other end of the house. This vexed me, of course, but I had to give it up, and resign myself to the fact that woman rarely shares our visions with us. She is half of us, but which half? The upper, of course, but suppose it should be the other? One thing is very sure, whatever the sexes have in common, it is not their brain, for each has its own, like a case full of baubles; or rather, they are like two sprouts from the same stem with one root between them—the heart.
I have a great many visitors these days, old graybeard as I am, ruined and lame into the bargain; all the pretty young housewives of the neighborhood gather round my bed, ostensibly to bring me the news, or to ask to have something mended. ​It does not matter what excuse they make for coming, they forget all about it as soon as they are inside the door; it is like the market, where each one has her place; Guillemine the bright-eyed, Huguette with her straight nose, clever Jacquotte, Margueron, Alizon, and all the rest of them, and the old man in the middle, snug under his down comforter. Such gossiping and such a clack of tongues, with their gay laughter ringing out like bells—mine is the big deep one. I know a lot of good stories which hit the girls in the right spot, and they laugh sometimes till they roll on the floor, and you can hear them across the street.
Florimond was actually jealous of my popularity, and wanted me to tell him the secret of my success. I said that it was an open secret; I was young, that was all; but he said rather spitefully that he knew that it was because I had such a bad reputation, as women always like a rake.
"True enough," said I," you know how boys admire an old soldier, when he comes back from the field of glory, and in the same way the ladies like Colas because they understand each other; they think he has fought in the campaigns of Love, and may perhaps live to fight another day."
"Did any one ever hear such an old wretch?" ​cried Martine, "to be talking of making love at his time of life!"
"Why not? Now that you have put the idea into my head, I have a great mind to marry again."
"Much good may it do you! But, after all, boys will be boys!"
December 6th.
St. Nicholas Day,
I got out of bed this morning to do honor to the anniversary, and they rolled my great armchair between the table and the window, set a footwarmer under my feet, and placed a little desk before me, with a socket for the candle.
About ten o'clock appeared the brotherhood of sailors, boat-builders, and workmen on the river. First came their players and the banner, and then they all passed by our windows arm in arm, dancing and singing, on their way to church, perhaps to the wineshop later. They saw me and stopped to cheer, so I stood up, and my patron saint and I exchanged salutations. Then I leaned down and shook as many of their black paws as I could reach, and poured a drop or two into each of the big mouths, though it was like trying to sprinkle a field.
My four sons came at twelve o'clock to offer ​me the compliments of the season, for no matter on what terms one lives for the rest of the year, a father's name-day is sacred; the whole family life revolves around it as on a pivot; it is a bond which draws us all together, and I attach a great deal of importance to it. I don't know that the four enjoyed themselves much when they were all there together, for in fact I am the only real tie between them, as they have but little love for each other.
It is a sign of our times, this relaxation of those ties between men, the home, family, and religion; each trusts in his own wisdom now, and wants to live for himself alone. I am not one of those old men who are always grumbling and complaining of the present day, and predicting disaster; I know that the world will outlast my time, and that the young know their own business as well as ever their fathers did. Yes, but the old have a hard part to play where all around them is change and renewal; they must alter too or there is no room for them, and that is precisely what I do not want to do. I prefer to sit here in my chair just as I am; the only thing I am willing to change is my mind, and only that when it is absolutely necessary. I can turn my ideas inside out, but they are the same thing after all, and meanwhile I can look on at the shifting scenes and the young people whom I ​admire, but none the less I lie in wait for the chance to guide them in the way I would have them go.
When we all gathered round the dinner table I had at my right hand John Francis, who is a bigoted Catholic; on my left, my son Anthony from Lyons, who is an equally bigoted Huguenot. They sat up stiffly on their chairs, staring straight before them, so as not to be obliged to look at one another.
John Francis is a smiling prosperous man with a hard shrewd eye; he talked interminably of his business, boasted of his money and of the fine linen that he sold by the special favor of Providence. Anthony's lips are shaved but he wears a little beard on his chin; and is morose and cold in his manner. He also talked of his trade in books, his journeys to Geneva, his affairs generally, and attributed his prosperity to God, but it seemed to be a different Deity. Neither listened, but kept on monotonously repeating the same refrain, until at last they became annoyed and began to introduce topics of a controversial nature, one dwelling on the progress of The Religion, the other on the stability of The True Faith; all the time each ignored his antagonist, sat as if nailed to his seat, and spoke with the utmost contempt, and in a sharp rasping voice, of the enemies' God.
​In the middle of the table sat my son Michael, sergeant in the Sacermore regiment; he is called a rascal, but is not a bad fellow on the whole, and the behavior of his brothers diverted him extremely, sending him into fits of laughter. He kept turning from one to the other, like an animal in a cage, to stare into the angry faces of his elders, and at last interrupted them without ceremony, telling them that they were fat sheep of the same breed even if their fleece was marked with a different brand, and that he had seen plenty of their sort killed and eaten.
The youngest son Anisse sat and gazed at him with horror. His name was certainly well chosen, for he never could have invented gunpowder; discussions are his abhorrence, for he takes no real interest in anything on earth; his only joy is to yawn and dawdle throughout the livelong day. Politics and religion seem to him diabolical inventions to disturb the sleep of sensible men. "Good or bad," he would say," what I have is enough for me, so why change it? Why turn over the mattress when I made the hole in the middle myself?" Poor fellow! people will persist in shaking up his feather-bed whether he likes it or not, which angers him so much that, mild as he is, he would like to send his disturbers to instant execution. His ​brothers' loud voices positively scared him, making him duck his head as if to avoid a blow.
I was all eyes and ears as I sat there taking them in, and it amused me to unravel the part of myself that was in each of my four sons, for mine they are beyond a doubt. If something in them came out of me, it must have gone into me at one time or another, but I do not find anywhere in my skin a trace of the preacher, the priest, or the sheep. (Perhaps I might discover the adventurer if I looked closely.) But the germs must have been there, and Nature has betrayed me. Yes, I can recognize my own gestures and ways of speaking, even of thinking. I can see myself in these men, but disguised, and that is what is rather confusing; but underneath it is the very same person, one and various. We each contain many personalities, good, bad and indifferent, the wolf, the lamb, the watch-dog, the honest man and the scamp, but one of the number is sure to be the strongest, and dominates all the rest, who escape as soon as they can by the first open door.
I am filled with self-reproach when I see these escaped sons of mine, so remote, yet so near to me. My little boys they must always be too, and even when they are most foolish, I feel that I ought to apologize to them, for is it not all my fault? ​luckily enough they are perfectly contented and satisfied with themselves, and that is as it should be, but their intolerance is what I cannot bear. Why cannot they live, and let others live, in peace? There they were, all four, like so many fighting-cocks, ready to peck and jump at each other, but by this time I had had enough of it, and observed placidly, "Well, my lambs, I see that it would not be easy to pull the wool from your backs, and I am proud to see you show your good blood,—mine, I mean,—and make yourselves heard, but now be still, all of you, and let me have a chance to talk, for I have something I have been dying to say for the last half hour."
Far from obeying me on the instant, some chance word excited them so that they broke into a perfect storm of rage; John Francis caught up a chair, Michael drew his long sword, and Anthony a dagger, while Anisse employed his only weapon by bleating, "Murder! Fire!" in a lamentable voice.
Upon my honor I was afraid that they would cut each other's throats, but I seized the first thing that came to my hand (unluckily it was the ewer with the doves, pride of Florimond's heart), and dashed it in fragments on the table. The noise checked the combatants, and at the same moment, Martine ran in with a pot of boiling water and ​threatened to sprinkle it over them if they did not stop fighting. They still clamored and disputed, but when I raise my voice, other donkeys have to cease braying.
"I am master here," I cried, "and I tell you I will have no more of this. Shut up! Are you all crazy, or do you take this for the Council of Nicea? If you want subjects to discuss, pick out something of our own day, for I am bored to death with your old quarrels. If the doctor has ordered you to dispute by way of exercise, you can wrangle over the merits of these wines, the food on the table, or anything you can see or touch, and then there will be some way to decide the controversy; but to differ about the Holy Ghost, or the mind of God, is as much as to say that you have no minds of your own. I am not opposed to faith; I believe, he believes, you believe, as much as you please, but don't let us talk so much about it. There are plenty of other interesting topics in the world, and, since each of you is perfectly sure to go to Heaven, with a place reserved for you, and all the people who differ from you barred out, let us be happy meanwhile, and leave the good Lord to arrange His household as seems good to Him. Surely He is able to look after His own affairs without assistance from us; He reigns in Heaven, and we on earth; our ​business is to make it as habitable a place as possible, and to that end we must all do our share; not one of us can be spared; even you four can be useful in your day and generation. Your country needs your faith, John Francis, as much as yours, Anthony; Michael's adventurous spirit and Anisse's stay-at-home qualities are equally valuable; for you are the four pillars of the house, and if one gives way, the whole building falls to the ground, and will overwhelm you all in ruin. Surely you must be convinced by such masterly reasoning, and will agree that you do not wish anything so unnecessary. What would you think of sailors in a storm at sea if they fell to disputing instead of taking in sail?
"I will tell you a story about King Henry and our late Duke. They were lamenting the warlike disposition of the French nation which led to perpetual civil wars. 'Ventresaintgris!' exclaimed the King, 'but I should like to take these furious monks and preachers of the Gospel, sew them up in a sack like a litter of cats, and throw them into the Loire!' The Duke replied that he had heard there was an island where the rulers of Berne sent quarrelsome husbands and wives; when a boat returned for them a month later, it found the couple cooing like a pair of turtle doves.' I should like to tie our ​rival religionists up in bundles and pack them off to that isle, hoping for the same result,' concluded his lordship, laughing.
"Now, my children," said I, "you need the same kind of treatment. Why do you grunt and turn your backs on each other? Each of you may think himself of finer clay than his brothers, but the fact is you are all Breugnons, chips of the old block, thorough-bred Burgundians. You all have big crooked noses, and wiide mouths like wine-funnels; your eyes look out fiercely from under bushy eyebrows, but there is a twinkle in them all the same. The artist's signature is plain to see on the four of you, so can't you understand that if you hurt your brothers, you are injuring yourself as well? That it is for your own interest to be united? What if you don't think alike on some questions? That is rather an advantage than otherwise, for you cannot all plow the same field; on the contrary, the more fields and opinions there are in the family, the greater our strength and happiness. Reach out then into the world as far as you possibly can, and increase your portion of land and thought. Each for himself and all for each, and may the long Breugnon nose point the way to the future glory of the family! Come, boys, shake hands and be friends!"
​For a moment they still looked sulkily at each other, but I could see the clouds parting, and all at once Michael flung his arms round John Francis, with a loud laugh, "Embrace me, Brother-Big-Nose!" cried he, and the others followed his example.
"Come, Martine, let us drink to the Breugnon brothers ourselves!!"
A few moments before, when I broke the ewer in my anger, I had cut my wrist a little, and left a little blood on the table. Anthony held his glass under the scratch in his pompous manner, and caught a drop.
"Let this wine from our father's veins be the seal of our reconciliation."
"What a disgusting idea!" I cried; "to think of spoiling good wine with such a mixture! Throw it away, and if you want to drink my blood, you'll find it in a bottle of the best!" and thereupon we all drank and all agreed as to the vintage.
When they had gone and Martine was binding up my wrist, she said slyly, "You succeeded at last, you old scamp, didn't you?"
"Succeeded in what? In stopping the quarrel?"
"You know well enough what I mean," and she pointed to the broken fragments of the ewer on the table.
​I pretended not to understand, and, with the most innocent expression, declared that I had not the least idea what she meant, but I could not help laughing, and she boxed my ears for an old rascal.
"I couldn't stand the sight of it another minute," I said, "it was really too hideous; either that ewer or I had to perish!"
"The one that remains is none too handsome."
"That does not trouble me, you know, for I don't have to look at him."
Christmas Eve.
Now as the winter draws on the shortening days are like precious stuffs folded away into the coffer of the nights, only to reappear, already growing longer, on St. Lucy's Day. The seasons have turned once more on their well-oiled hinges, the door has shut and opened again, and through the crack the new year begins to shine.
As I sit this Christmas Eve under the great chimney-hood, I am as it were at the bottom of a well, and can look up and see the bright stars winking in the sky, and from far off comes the sound of the bells ringing for midnight mass. I love to think that the Child was born at this dead hour when all the world was still. His voice speaks to us of the ​coming day and of the New Year, and Hope, with her warm wings, broods over the frozen night and softens it.
My children have all gone to church, but I have missed it for the first time in my life, and I am here alone with my dog Citron, and the household cat Patapon. A little while ago we were all gathered round the hearth, and I was telling Glodie wonderful fairy tales. You should see her open her round eyes at the story of Bout-de-Canard and the little bald chicken, or of the boy who made a fortune out of his cock by selling it to people who wanted to know when the day was coming, so that they could carry it away in their carts. It was too amusing to see her, and the others listening and laughing, every one putting in his word.
Sometimes when we were silent for a minute we could hear the water bubbling in the kettle, a log falling in the fire, the cricket's shrill voice, and, outside, the wind sweeping against the window. I love these snug winter evenings, the silence, the sense of intimacy, when my fancies can wander far afield and return safe to the home nest.
I have been making up my budget for the last year, and I find that in six months I have lost all that I possessed; my wife, my house, my money, and my legs; and yet, absurd as it sounds to say ​so, on striking a balance, I find myself as rich as ever. How can that be, when I have nothing?
No burdens, would be nearer the truth; for I find myself lightened of care, happier, freer than the wind that blows; I would not have believed it, if, last year, any one had predicted what would happen and that I should take it in this spirit. I had always sworn that whatever came, to the day of my death, I would be master in my own house, independent, owing nothing to any one but myself. Well, we do not know what a day will bring forth. Things turn out so differently from what we intended, and we are nevertheless content.
Man is a wonderful creature and all is grist that comes to his mill. Happiness, suffering, feast or famine, he can adjust himself to any of them. He can go on four legs or on one; he may be deaf, dumb or blind, he will still manage to get along, and see, hear and speak in the depths of his own soul. Everything is shaped and formed by that soul of his, and how delightful it is to have such a mind and body! To feel that if need be one can swim like a fish, fly like a bird, bathe in fire like a salamander, or wrestle successfully with all four elements as man does on the ground. In this way we gain through our losses, for our minds can supply what has been taken away, so that the less ​we have the more we are, as a pruned tree grows stronger and more beautiful.
The clock strikes midnight.
Hark to the Christmas hymn, "Unto us a Child is born."
Epiphany.
It really is a joke how I keep on adding to my possessions now that I have nothing at all, and the secret is that I have learned to enjoy the riches of others, and so have none of the drawbacks.
I have read horrid stories of poor old fathers who stripped themselves of all their goods for their children's sake, and then found themselves neglected and forlorn, conscious that their wicked offspring already wished them dead and buried. I can only say that these unfortunate old men must have mismanaged the whole thing, and, for my part, I have never been so well looked after, so much loved and petted as I am now in my poverty.
I kept some things from my prosperous days which are better than gold and silver. I have my good spirits still, and lots more treasures that I picked up in the course of my life; gaiety and sharpness, wisdom and folly. I have enough for all comers, so if my children give me a good deal, they get something back, and if the account does not ​balance evenly, we throw in affection for good measure.
If you would like to see an uncrowned King, a landless but happy man, look at Breugnon as he sits throned tonight at the merry feast of the Epiphany. There was a great procession in the afternoon which went by our windows; the three Magi with their attendants, a chorus of shepherds and shepherdesses, and all the dogs in the town; now in the evening we are all gathered round the table, thirty of us, including me, children, and grandchildren; and they all drank my health together, crying, "Here's to the King!" for they have crowned me with a splendid paper crown, and Martine is my queen; (you see, like those old fellows in Plutarch, I have married my daughter) so whenever I carry my glass to my lips, every one applauds; and then I laugh and the wine goes down the wrong way. My queen not only shares my drink herself, but there is another person who shares too in his own way, and that is my youngest grandson, who lies in his mother's arms, red and squalling. Every one is happy down to the dog and cat picking up bones under the table.
I hate to keep my thoughts to myself, so I say aloud:
"The only fault I have to find with this good ​life of ours, my friends, is that it is too short. I don't feel as if I had had my money's worth, and though I may be told that I ought to be satisfied with what has fallen to my lot, I can only say that I should like to have more, a second slice of cake, if I could get it without making too much fuss. And then it makes me unhappy to think of all the good fellows who are gone. Of what use is it to be here alone? Ah, how Time flows on, and with it good men like King Henry and our Duke Louis!"
The thought of them was enough to set me off, on former times and recollections, and I told old stories till, I am sorry to say, I grew tired and began to repeat myself; but my children did not mind, and when I became confused and forgot anything, they would fill up the gap; and then I would pull myself together and find them all laughing.
"Well, Father, those were great days when you were young! What figures the women must have had, and what splendid fellows the men were! As for King Henry and his friend the Duke, they have not their equal nowadays!"
"All right," I reply, "laugh and grow fat. I know there is still good fish in the sea, and good men to catch it, and for one that goes, three will come after. There will never be a lack of good stout sons of Gaul, but my trouble is that they will ​not be the same ones that I knew and loved, like King Henry who is gone; but never mind, Colas, there is nothing to cry about. I should think not indeed! for you surely don't want to keep on chewing the same cud for ever. The wine is just as good even if it is not out of the old casks, and here's to the King and his people!
"Frankly, dear children, I love myself better than any King, so liberty for us, my countrymen! and to the devil with our rulers! As long as we are here, the land I love, and I, all is well; so what need have we of a King on earth or in Heaven? Or of a throne for him to sit on? Let each man have his share of the sun and shade, his bit of land, and his arms to work with, no one could ask more; and if the King in person came to my house I would say, 'Come in and sit down, for we are all equal together in France, each master in his own kingdom, and here's to your good health, my guest and cousin.' "
"How is this?" said Brother John, "art thou also a poet?—By the help of God, I can string rhymes together as well as another; I am sure of it; have but patience with me if my verses should prove of the wrong color——"
—Pantagruel, v. 46.