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

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      "Exactly so, grandfather."

      "Well, thanks to God, our brave Gauls did, with the help of Insurrection, get back a little into the saddle! That soothes my blood somewhat."

      "Oh, grandfather, wait, only wait!"

      "Why?"

      "What our fathers suffered was as nothing to what they were still to suffer."

      "Think of it! And I thought they were out of the woods. What's it that happened to them?"

      "Figure to yourself a horde of barbarians, semi-savages, named Franks. Thirteen or fourteen hundred years ago they emerged from the recesses of the forests of Germany. Genuine Cossacks they were, in their way. They fell upon the Roman armies. These, enervated by their conquest of Gaul, were rolled in the dust and driven out, and then the Frankish conquerors, in turn, took possession of our poor country. They stripped her even of her name. They called her France, after themselves, in token of possession."

      "The brigands!" cried the old man. "I like the Romans better, by my faith! At least they left us our name."

      "That's so. Besides, the Romans were, at least, the most civilized people then living, except for the barbarity of their system of slavery. They covered Gaul with magnificent structures, and will ye nil ye, they restored to our ancestors a part of their pristine freedom. The Franks, on the contrary, were, as I said, genuine Cossacks. Under their domination the Gauls had to start all over again."

      "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]. 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]

      "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.

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