The Galley Slave's Ring; or, The Family of Lebrenn. Эжен Сю
members of a secret society received you. You took the usual pledge. And you were led out again, still blindfolded. Not so?"
"Monsieur," cried George as stupefied as he was terror-stricken at the revelation, and seeking to regain composure. "I do not understand what you are saying – "
"I was, that evening, the chairman of the committee, my brave George."
"You, monsieur!" cried the young man still hesitating to believe Lebrenn. "You!"
"Yes, I."
And seeing incredulity still depicted on George's countenance, the merchant proceeded:
"Yes, I presided. And here is the proof."
Saying which he whispered a few words in George's ear.
Unable any longer to doubt, the young man cried, looking at the merchant:
"But, monsieur – the oath that you demanded of me a while ago?"
"It was a last test."
"A test?"
"You must pardon me for it, my brave George. A father is mistrustful. Thank heaven you did not belie my expectations. You stood the test gallantly. You preferred the ruin of your dearest hopes to a lie, notwithstanding you must have felt sure that I relied upon your word with implicit confidence, whatever you may have said."
"Monsieur," replied George with a hesitation that deeply touched the merchant, "can I now – can I this time – can I hope – with certainty? I conjure you, speak! If you only knew what anguish I went through a while ago!"
"Upon my word as an honest man, my dear George, my daughter loves you. My wife and I consent to your marriage. And we look forward to it with delight because we see in it a future of happiness for our child. Is that plain?"
"Oh, monsieur!" cried George pressing with effusion the hand of the merchant, who said:
"As to the exact day of your marriage, my dear George, the events of yesterday – those that are in train to-day – the course that our secret society is to follow – "
"You, monsieur?" cried George with renewed amazement, and unable to avoid interrupting Lebrenn to express his astonishment, for a moment forgotten in his transport of joy; "You, monsieur, are, indeed, a member of our secret society? Indeed, I am dumbfounded!"
"Not bad!" exclaimed the merchant smiling. "Here we have our dear George about to start all over anew with his astonishment. And why, pray, should not I also belong to your secret society? Perchance, because, without being rich, exactly, I enjoy some comfort and have a few duds to sell? What business have I, I suppose you are thinking, with a party, the aim of which is the conquest for the proletariat of political life, through universal suffrage, and of property through the organization of labor? Why, my good George, just because I have, it is my duty to assist my brothers to conquer what they have not."
"These are generous sentiments, monsieur!" exclaimed George. "Rare, indeed, are the men who, having arrived at comfort, turn around to give a helping hand to their less fortunate brothers."
"No, George; no. That is not so rare. When, perhaps within not many hours, you will see running to arms all the members of our society, one of the chiefs of which I have been for some time, you will find among them merchants, artists, manufacturers, literary people, lawyers, men of learning, physicians, in short —bourgeois, most of whom, like myself, live in modest comfort, all of them animated with no higher ambition than the emancipation of their brothers, the common people, and anxious to drop their guns, after the struggle, in order to return to their industrial and peaceful occupations."
"Oh, monsieur, how surprised and happy I am at what you tell me!"
"Still surprised! Poor George! And why so? Because there are bourgeois– or, to use the full, big term, republican Socialist bourgeois? Come, now, George, speaking seriously, is not the cause of the bourgeois that of the proletariat? Is there any doubt but that I, for instance, yesterday a proletarian, whom good luck has so far favored, might, through some stroke of bad luck, become again a proletarian to-morrow; and, if not I, my son? Am not I – and my case is that of all other small traders – at the mercy of the barons of high finance, of the strong iron safes, just as our forefathers were at the mercy of the barons of the strong forts? Are not the small holders as much enslaved and plundered by the Dukes of Mortgage, by the Marquises of Usury, by the Counts of Speculation? Are we, the merchants, not daily, despite all our probity, despite all our labors, despite all our economy, despite all our intelligence – are not we, despite all that, ever on the brink of ruin through any crisis that may hap to come upon us, whenever, either through the fear, the cupidity or the whim of the satraps, it pleases those autocrats of capital to stop credit and to reject our signature, however honorable the same may be? Would we, were credit, instead of being the monopoly of the few that it is to-day, democratically organized by the state, as it ought to be, – would we be then exposed to ruin by the sudden withdrawal of capital, by usurious extortion, of discount, or as the consequence of a merciless competition? Are not we to-day, we old men, on the eve of finding ourselves in as precarious a position as was that of your grandfather, that brave invalid of toil, who, after thirty years of work and probity, would have died of want but for your devotion to him, my dear George? Have I, already once ruined like so many other merchants, the certainty that my son will always find the means of earning his daily bread, that he will not be forced to experience, like you, George, like all other proletarians, the trials of being laid-off – that homicidal manoeuvre which causes you to die a little every day for want of sufficient food? And my daughter – but no! I know her too well! She would sooner die! But how many young girls, brought up in comfort, and whose fathers were, like myself, modest merchants, have not been plunged into atrocious misery – and, not infrequently, from such misery hurled into the abyss of vice, like the wretched working girl whom you would have married! No, no, George! The intelligent bourgeois, and they are numerous, do not separate their cause from that of their brothers of the common people. Proletarians and bourgeois have for centuries fought side by side, heart by heart, in order to regain their freedom. Their blood has mingled in order to cement the holy union of the conquered against the conquerors! of the vanquished against the vanquishers! of the weak and the disinherited against force and privilege! How, then, should the interests of the bourgeois and the proletarians not be common? They have ever had the same enemy to contend with. But, enough of politics, George. Let us talk of yourself and my daughter. The commotion in Paris began last evening, it is at its height this morning. Our sections have been notified to hold themselves in readiness. We expect a call to arms from one moment to another. Are you aware of that?"
"Yes, monsieur; I have been notified."
"This evening, or to-night, we shall have to descend into the street. My wife and daughter do not know this. Not that I mistrust them," added the merchant with a smile, "they are true Gallic women, worthy of our mothers, the valiant women, who, with act and voice, encouraged their fathers, brothers, sons and husbands in battle. But you know our by-laws. They impose upon us absolute silence towards outsiders. George, within three days either the throne of Louis Philippe will be overthrown, or our party will have been once more vanquished. But not discouraged. To it belongs the future. At this appeal to arms, you or I, you and I, my friend, may be laid low upon the barricade."
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