France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Why?" he said quietly. "Have I not always predicted this day? Is not
this what Rousseau, with his _Social Contract_, and Beaumarchais, with
his 'Figaro,' and every philosopher who ever repeated the one, and
every fine lady who ever applauded the other, have been teaching?
Well, it has come, and I have advised you, M. le Vicomte, to stand by
your order. But I, a poor man, I stand by mine. And for the Committee
of what seems to you, my friend, impossible people, is not any kind
of government"--this more warmly, and as if he were arguing with
himself--"better than none? Understand, Monsieur, the old machinery
has broken down. The Intendant has fled. The people defy the
magistrates. The soldiers side with the people. The _huissiers_ and
tax collectors are--the Good God knows where!"
"Then," I said indignantly, "it is time for the gentry to----"
"Take the lead and govern?" he rejoined. "By whom? A handful of
servants and game-keepers? Against the people? against such a mob as
you saw in the Square at Cahors? Impossible, Monsieur."
"But the world seems to be turning upside down," I said helplessly.
"The greater need of a strong unchanging holdfast--not of the world,"
he answered reverently; and he lifted his hat a moment from his head
and stood in thought. Then he continued: "However, the matter is this.
I hear from Doury that the gentry are gathering at Cahors, with the
view of combining, as you suggest, and checking the people. Now, it
must be useless, and it may be worse. It may lead to the very excesses
they would prevent."
"In Cahors?"
"No, in the country. Buton, be sure, did not speak without warrant. He
is a good man, but he knows some who are not, and there are lonely
châteaux in Quercy, and dainty women who have never known the touch of
a rough hand, and--and children."
"But," I cried aghast, "do you fear a Jacquerie?"
"God knows," he answered solemnly. "The fathers have eaten sour
grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge. How many years have
men spent at Versailles the peasant's blood, life, bone, flesh! To pay
back at last, it may be, of their own! But God forbid, Monsieur, God
forbid. Yet, if ever--it comes now."
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account