The Galley Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn

"Good God! Good God!"

"Those hordes of Frankish bandits – "

"Call them Cossacks! Give their true name!"

"They were even worse, if possible, grandfather! Those Frankish bandits, those Cossacks, if you prefer, called their chiefs Kings. The kingly leaven perpetuated itself in our country, whence it happens that for so many years we have tasted the sweets of Kings of Frankish origin, whom the royalists call Kings by divine right."

"Say by Cossack right! A fine present!"

"The chiefs of lower category were called dukes, and counts. Their seed likewise perpetuated itself upon our soil, whence it happens that for so long a time we have enjoyed the luxury of a nobility of Frankish origin, who treated us as a conquered race."

"What's that you are telling me!" ejaculated the perplexed-looking old man. "If I grasp the meaning of what you say, my boy, the Frankish bandits, those Cossacks, Kings and chieftains, once masters of Gaul, parceled out among themselves the lands that the Gauls had partly reconquered from the Romans?"

"Yes, grandfather. The Frankish Kings and seigneurs robbed the Gauls of their property, and divided among themselves the soil and the people upon it, just as a domain and its live stock are divided."

"And our fathers, despoiled of their goods by those Cossacks – "

"Our fathers were anew reduced to slavery, as they were under the Romans, and were forced to cultivate for the benefit of the Frankish Kings and seigneurs the land that had belonged to themselves, to them the Gauls since Gaul was Gaul."

"Accordingly, my boy, the Frankish Kings and seigneurs, after having robbed our fathers of their property, started to live on their sweat – "

"Just so, grandfather. They sold them – men, women, children, girls – in open market. If they resisted at work, their masters whipped them as recalcitrant animals are whipped, if they did not kill them in their anger, or out of pure cruelty, as often happened, just as one might kill his dog or horse. The theory was that our fathers and mothers belonged to the Frankish Kings and seigneurs neither more nor less than cattle belong to their owner. All this by virtue of the Frankish conquest of Gaul[6 - It is above all for our brothers of the people that we wrote this history. In a form which we strove to render as fascinating as possible. We hope they have followed the notes, for these are, so to speak, the key of the chronicle, and the proof that under the form of romance one can find the most scrupulous history.]. This state of things lasted until the revolution of 1789, which you witnessed, grandfather. You will remember the enormous difference there still existed at that time between a nobleman and a workingman, between a seigneur and a peasant."

"'Sdeath! It was the difference between master and slave."

"Or, if you prefer the term, between Frank and Gaul, grandfather."

"But, my little man, how did it happen that our forefathers the Gauls allowed themselves to be martyrized in that fashion by a handful of Franks – no, Cossacks, I mean, for so many centuries?"

"Oh, grandfather! The Franks possessed the soil which they had stolen; hence they possessed the fullness thereof. Their army, a numerous body, consisted of pitiless recruits from their own country. Besides, almost exhausted by their long struggle against the Romans, a frightful affliction was furthermore in store for our fathers – the priests."

"That's all that was wanting to finish them up!"

"To their eternal shame, the larger portion of the Gallic bishops, immediately upon the Frankish invasion, betrayed their own country, and made common cause with the Frankish Kings and seigneurs, whom they speedily dominated through cunning and flattery, and from whom they wheedled all the lands and money possible. Accordingly, just as with the conquerors themselves, a large number of holy priests held serfs whom they either sold or exploited, and lived amidst shocking debauchery, degrading, tyrannizing and brutifying at their own sweet pleasure the Gallic masses to whom they preached resignation, and respect for, and obedience to the Franks, threatening with the devil and his horns whatever wretched being might attempt a revolt for the independence of his country from the foreign Kings and seigneurs, the only source of whose power and wealth was violence, rapine and murder."[7 - Gregory, Bishop of Tours, says of Clovis, the first Frankish King by Divine right:"Having killed several other Kings besides, and even some of his closest relatives, Clovis extended his power over all the Gauls. Nevertheless, having one day assembled his men, he is reported to have spoken thus of the relatives he had himself caused to be executed and murdered: – 'Woe is me, I am left a wanderer among wanderers, and I have no relatives who, in case of need could come to my assistance.' Not that he was grieved over their death," adds the Bishop of Tours, "but he held this language to discover whether there remained anyone whom he could still put to death." – Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, book II, chapter XLII.Still this Gallic bishop slurs over the terrible hypocrisy of the Frankish conqueror, sullied with thefts, murders, incest, and fratricide. He says:"Thus each day God caused the enemies of Clovis to fall into his hands, and extended his kingdom, because he walked with a pure heart before Him, and did what was agreeable in the eyes of God." (book II, chapter XL).On the character of some of the early bishops themselves, Gregory sheds this light:"Salone and Sagitaire, Bishops of Embrun and Gap, once masters of their bishoprics, began to distinguish themselves with a senseless fury by usurpations, murders, adulteries, and other excesses." (book V, chapter XXI).]

"I see it all! But, my little man, did our forefathers allow themselves to be shorn without kicking – all that time, from the conquest down to the Revolution, when we turned upon those Frankish Kings and seigneurs, and, along with them, their clergy, who stuck to the habit of gathering fat upon their ribs?"

"It is not likely that everything went on without numerous revolts on the part of the serfs against the Kings, the seigneurs and the priests. But, grandfather, I have told you the little that I know, and even that little I learned only while carpentering in the shop of Monsieur Lebrenn, the linendraper opposite us."

"How did it happen, my boy?"

"While I was at work, Monsieur Lebrenn, who is the best man I know, used to chat with me. He would talk about the history of our fathers, of which I knew as little as you. Once my curiosity was pricked – and it was not slight – "

"I can well imagine that."

"I put a thousand questions to Monsieur Lebrenn, all the while hammering and joining. He answered me with truly paternal kindness. In that way I came to know the little that I have told you. But," added George with a sigh that he was unable to suppress, "my job being done, the history lessons were interrupted. Accordingly, I have told you all I know, grandfather."

"So, then, the linendraper who lives opposite is as learned as all that?"

"He is as learned as he is a true patriot. He is an old Gaul, as he loves to style himself. And sometimes," added George, unable to avoid blushing slightly, "I heard him say to his daughter, as he proudly embraced her on account of some clever answer or other that she made, 'Oh, as to you – you are a true Gallic girl!'"

At this moment father Morin and George heard someone rapping at the door of the first chamber.

"Walk in!" cried George.

Someone stepped into the front room that connected with the one occupied by the old man.

"Who is there?" George asked.

"I – Lebrenn," answered a voice.

"What! The worthy linendraper that we have been speaking about? The old Gaul?" whispered the venerable grandfather. "Go quick and see what he wants, my boy, and shut the door after you."

As much embarrassed as surprised at this visit, George stepped out of his grandfather's room, and found himself facing Marik Lebrenn.

CHAPTER III.

MARIK LEBRENN

Marik Lebrenn was a man of about fifty years of age, although looking rather younger. His high stature; his nervy, muscular neck, arms and shoulders; the proud and resolute carriage of his head; his open and strikingly strong countenance; his sea-blue eyes with their firm and penetrating glance; his thick, heavy and light auburn hair, slightly streaked with grey and starting rather low upon a forehead that seemed to partake of the hardness of marble; – all these features betrayed the characteristic type of the Breton race, among which the Gallic tongue and blood have pre-eminently preserved themselves unalloyed down to our own days. Upon the ruddy and thick lips of Monsieur Lebrenn sat a perpetual smile that one time betokened kindheartedness, other times bore the impress of that wit and satire, which our old books term salty, when they describe the racy jokes, or the old Gallic character, that ever is inclined to teasing. I shall close the description of the merchant, by clothing him in a large olive overcoat and trousers of a grey material.

Astonished, almost speechless at the unexpected visit, George Duchene waited in silence for Lebrenn to speak. The latter said:

"Monsieur George, about six months ago you were assigned by your employer to attend to some repairs in my shop. I was very much pleased with your intelligence and skill."

"You proved as much to me, monsieur, by your kindness."

"You were entitled to it. I noticed that you were industrious, and anxious to learn. I was aware, besides, as all our neighbors are, of your worthy conduct towards your grandfather, who occupies these lodgings for the last fifteen years."

"Monsieur," remarked George, not a little embarrassed by these praises, "my conduct – "

"Is perfectly simple, is it not? Very well. Your job in my shop kept you three months. Very well pleased with our relations to each other, I said to you, and did so in all frankness: 'Monsieur George, we are neighbors; call and see me, either Sundays, or any other day after your work hours; I shall be pleased, very pleased.'"

"Indeed, monsieur, you said so."

"And yet, Monsieur George, you never set your foot in my house."

"I beg you, monsieur, do not attribute my reserve to either ingratitude or forgetfulness."

"What, then, should I attribute it to?"

"Monsieur – "

"Come, Monsieur George, be frank – you love my daughter."

The young man trembled from head to foot. His color left his cheeks, paleness and blushes alternated with each other. Finally he answered Lebrenn with a tremulous and moved voice:

"It is true, monsieur. I love mademoiselle, your daughter."