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Taking the Bastile

<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> A REVOLUTIONARY FARMER. The departure of his aunt gave Pitou a quarter of an hour in tranquillity. He wanted to utilize it. He gathered the crumbs of his aunt's meal to feed his lizards (he was a naturalist who was never without pets,) caught some flies for his ants and frogs, and opened the cupboard and bread-box to get a supply of food for himself. Appetite had come to him with the lonesomeness. His preparations made for a feast, he went back to the doorway so as not to be surprised by the woman's return. [Pg 20] While he was watching, a pretty maid passed the end of the street, riding on the crupper of a horse laden with two panniers. One was filled with pigeons, the other with pullets. This was Catherine Billet, who smiled on Pitou, and stopped on seeing him. According to his habit he turned red as a beet: with gaping mouth, he glared—we mean—admired Kate Billet, the last expression of feminine beauty to him. She looked up and down the street, nodded to her worshipper, and kept on in her way, Pitou trembling with delight as he nodded back. Absorbed in his contemplation, he did not perceive his relative on the return from Fortier's. Suddenly she grabbed his hand, while turning pale with anger. Abruptly roused from his bright dream by the electric shock always caused by Aunt Angelique's grasp, the youth wheeled and saw with horror that she was holding up his hand, which was in turn holding half a loaf with two most liberal smears of butter and another of white cheese applied to it. The woman yelled with fury and Pitou groaned with fright. She raised her other claw-like hand and he lowered his head; she darted for the broom and the other dropped the food and took to his heels without any farewell speech. Those two hearts knew one another and understood that they could not get on together any more. Angelique bounced indoors and locked with a double turn of the key. The grating sound seemed a renewal of the tempest to the fugitive who put on the pace. The result was an event the aunt was as far from expecting as the young man himself. Running as though all the fiends from below were at his heels, Pitou was soon beyond the town bounds. On turning the burial-ground wall he bunked up against a horse. "Good gracious," cried a sweet voice well-known to the flyer, "wherever are you racing so, Master Ange? You nearly made Younker take the bit in his teeth with the scare you gave us." "Oh, Miss Catherine, what a misfortune is on me," replied Pitou, wide of the question. [Pg 21] "You alarm me," said the girl, pulling up in the mid-way; "What is wrong?" "I cannot be a priest," returned the young fellow, as if revealing a world of iniquities. "You won't," said the maid, roaring with laughter instead of throwing up her hands as Pitou expected. "Become a soldier, then. You must not make a fuss over such a trifle. Really, I thought your aunt had kicked the bucket." "It is much the same thing, for she has kicked me out." "Lor', no, for you have not the pleasure of mourning for her," observed Catherine Billet, laughing more heartily than before, which scandalized the nephew. "You are a lucky one to be able to laugh like that, and it proves you have a merry heart, and the sorrows of others make no impression on you." "Who tells you that I should not feel for you if you met a real grief?" "Real? when I have not a feather to fly with!" "All for the best," returned the peasant girl. "But how about eating?" retorted Pitou; "a fellow must eat, and I am always sharp set." "Don't you like to work?" "What am I to work at?" whined he. "My aunt and Father Fortier have repeated a hundred times that I am good for nothing. Ah! if I had been bound prentice to a wheelwright or a carpenter, instead of their trying to make a priest of me. Upon my faith, Miss Catherine, a curse is on me!" said he with a wave of the hand in desperation. "Alack!" sighed the girl who knew like everybody the orphan's melancholy tale: "there is truth in what you say, my poor Pitou. But there is one thing you might do." "Do tell me what that is?" cried the youth, jumping towards the coming suggestion as a drowning man leaps for a twig of willow. "You have a guardian in Dr. Gilbert, whose son is your schoolfellow." "I should rather think he was, and by the same token I have taken many floggings for him." "Why not apply to his father, who, certainly, will not shake you off?" [Pg 22] "That would be all right if I knew where to address him; but your father may know as he farms some of his land." "I know that he sends some of the rent to America and banks the other part here at a notary's." "America is a far cry," moaned Pitou. "What, would you start for America?" exclaimed the maid, almost frightened at his courage. "Me? Sakes! No, never! France is good enough for me if I could get enough to eat and drink." "Very well," said she, falling into silence which lasted some time. The lad was plunged into a thoughtful mood which would have much puzzled Teacher Fortier the logical man. Starting from Obscurity, the reverie brightened and then grew confused again, like lightning. Younker had started in again for the walk home, and Pitou, with a hand on one basket, trudged on beside it. As dreamy as her neighbor, Catherine let the bridle drop with no fear about being run away with. There were no monsters on the highway and Younker bore no resemblance to the fabulous hippogriffs. The walker stopped mechanically when the animal did, which was at the farm. "Hello, is this you, Pitou?" challenged a strong-shouldered man, proudly stationed before a drinking pool where his horse was swilling. "It is me, Master Billet." "He's had another mishap," said the maid, jumping off the horse without any heed as to showing her ankles. "His aunt has sent him packing." "What has he done to worry the old bigot this time?" queried the farmer. "It appears that I am not good enough in Greek," said the scholar, who was lying, for it was Latin he was a bungler at. "What do you want to be good at Greek for?" asked the broad-shouldered man. "To explain Theocritus and read the Iliad. These are useful when you want to be a priest." [Pg 23] "Trash!" said Billet. "Do you need Greek and Latin? do I know my own language—can I read or write? but this does not prevent me plowing, sowing and reaping." "But you, Master Billet, are a cultivator and not a priest: 'Agricole,' says Virgil——" "Do not you think a farmer is on a level with a larned clerk—you cussed choir-boy? Particularly when the Agricoaler has a hundred acres of tilled land in the sun and a thousand louis in the shade?" "I have always been told that a priest leads the happiest life: though I grant," added Pitou, smiling most amiably, "I do not believe all I hear." "You are right, my boy, by a blamed sight—you see I can make rhymes, if I like to try. It strikes me that you have the makings in you of something better than a scholard, and that it is a deused lucky thing that you try something else—mainly at the present time. As a farmer I know which way the wind blows, and it is rough for priests. So then, as you are an honest lad and larned," here Pitou bowed at being so styled for the first time—"you can get along without the black gown." Catherine, who was setting the chickens and pigeons on the ground, was listening with interest to the dialogue. "It looks hard to win a livelihood," said the lad. "What do you know how to do?" "I can make birdlime and snare game. I can mock the birds' songs, eh, Miss Kate?" "He can whistle like a blackbird." "But whistling is not a trade," commented Billet. "Just what I say to myself, by Jingo!" "Oh, you can swear—that is a manly accomplishment, any how." "Oh, did I? I beg your pardon, farmer." "Don't mention it," said the rustic. "I rip out myself sometimes. Thunder and blazes!" he roared to his horse, "can't you be quiet? these devilish Percherons must always be grazing and jerking. Are you lazy," he continued to the lad. "I don't know. I have never worked at anything but learning Greek and Latin, and they do not tempt me much." [Pg 24] "A good job—that shows that you are not such a fool, as I took you for," said Billet. His hearer opened his eyes immeasurably; this was the first time he had heard this order of ideas, subversive of all the theories set up for him previously. "I mean, are you easily tired out?" "Bless you, I can go ten leagues and never feel it." "Good, we are getting on; we might train you a trifle lower and make some money on you as a runner." "Train me lower," said Pitou, looking at his slender figure, bony arms and stilt-like legs; "I fancy I am thin now as it is." "In fact, you are a treasure, my friend," replied the yeoman, bursting into laughter. Pitou was stepping from one surprise to another; never had he been esteemed so highly. "In short, how are you at work?" "Don't know; for I never have worked." The girl laughed, but her father took the matter seriously. "These rogues of larned folk," he broke forth, shaking his fist at the town, "look at them training up the youth in the way they should not go, in laziness and idleness. What good is such a sluggard to his brothers, I want to know?" "Not much," said Pitou; "luckily I have no brothers." "By brothers I mean all mankind," continued the farmer; "are not all men brothers, hey?" "The Scripture says so." "And equals," proceeded the other. "That is another matter," said the younger man; "if I had been the equal of Father Fortier I guess he would not have given me the whip so often; if I were the equal of my aunt, she would not have driven me from home." "I tell you that all men are brothers and we shall soon prove this to the tyrants," said Billet. "I will take you into my house to prove it." "You will? but, just think, I eat three pounds of bread a day, with butter and cheese to boot." "Pooh, I see you will not be dear to feed," said the farmer, "we will keep you." [Pg 25] "Have you nothing else to ask father, Pitou?" inquired Catherine. "Nothing, miss." "What did you come along for?" "Just to keep you company." "Well, you are gallant, and I accept the compliment for what it is worth," said the girl, "but you came to ask news about your guardian, Pitou." "So I did. That is funny—I forgot it." "You want to speak about our worthy Dr. Gilbert?" said the farmer, with a tone indicating the degree of deep consideration in which he held his landlord. "Just so," answered Pitou; "but I am not in need now; since you house me, I can tranquilly wait till he returns from America." "You will not have to wait long, for he has returned." "You don't say so; when?" "I cannot exactly say: but he was at Havre a week ago; for I have a parcel in my saddlebags that comes from him and was handed me at Villers Cotterets, and here it is." "How do you know it is from him?" "Because there is a letter in it." "Excuse me, daddy," interrupted Catherine, "but you boast that you cannot read." "So I do! I want folks to say: 'There is old Farmer Billet, who owes nothing to nobody—not even the schoolmaster: for he has made himself all alone.' I did not read the letter but the rural constabulary quarter-master whom I met there." "What does he say—that he still is content with you?" "Judge for yourself." Out of a leather wallet he took a letter which he held to his daughter, who read: [Pg 26] <div class="blockquot"> "My Dear Friend Billet: I arrive from America where I found a people richer, greater and happier than ours. This arises from their being free, while we are not. But we are marching towards this new era, and all must labor for the light to come. I know your principles, Friend Billet, and your influence on the farmers, your neighbors; and all the honest population of toilers and hands whom you lead, not like a king but a father. "Teach them the principles of devotion and brotherhood I know you cherish. Philosophy is universal, all men ought to read their rights and duties by its light. I send you a little book in which these rights and duties are set forth. It is my work, though my name is not on the title-page. Propagate these principles, those of universal equality. Get them read in the winter evenings. Reading is the food of the mind as bread is that for the body. "One of these days I shall see you, and tell you about a new kind of farming practiced in the United States. It consists, in the landlord and the tenant working on shares of the crop. It appears to me more according to the laws of primitive society and to the love of God. </div> "Greeting and brotherly feeling,&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;  "Honore Gilbert, Citizen of Philadelphia." "This letter is nicely written," observed Pitou. "I warrant it is," said Billet. "Yes, father dear; but I doubt the quarter-master will be of your opinion. Because, this not only will get Dr. Gilbert into trouble, but you, too." "Pooh, you are always scarey," sneered the farmer. "This does not hinder me having the book, and—we have got something for you to do, Pitou—you shall read me this in the evenings." "But in the daytime?" "Tend the sheep and cows. Let us have a squint at the book." He took out one of those sewn pamphlets in a red cover, issued in great quantity in those days, with or without permission of the authorities. In the latter case the author ran great risk of being sent to prison. "Read us the title, Pitou, till we have a peep at the book inside. The rest afterwards." The boy read on the first page these words, which usage has made vague and meaningless lately but at that epoch they had a deep effect on all hearts: [Pg 27] "On the Independence of Man and the Freedom of Nations." "What do you say to that, my lad?" cried the farmer. "Why, it seems to me that Independence and Freedom are much of a muchness? my guardian would be whipped out of the class by Father Fortier for being guilty of a pleonasm. "Fleanism or not, this book is the work of a real man," rejoined the other. "Never mind, father," said Catherine, with the admirable instinct of womankind: "I beg you to hide the book. It will get you into some bad scrape. I tremble merely to look at it." "Why should it do me any harm, when it has not brought it on the writer?" "How do you know that, father? This letter was written a week ago, and took all that time to arrive from Havre. But I had a letter this morning from Sebastian Gilbert, at Paris, who sends his love to his foster-brother—I forgot that—and he has been three days without his father meeting him there." "She is right," said Pitou: "this delay is alarming." "Hold your tongue, you timid creature; and let us read the doctor's treatise?" said the farmer: "It will not only make you larned, but manly." Pitou stuck the book under his arm with so solemn a movement that it completed the winning of his protector's heart. "Have you had your dinner?" asked he. "No, sir," replied the youth. "He was eating when he was driven from home," said the girl. "Well, you go in and ask Mother Billet for the usual rations and to-morrow we will set you regularly to work." With an eloquent look the orphan thanked him, and, conducted by Catherine, he entered the kitchen, governed by the absolute rule of Mother Billet. <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 28] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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