Saying this Lebrenn pointed at one of the portraits that hung from the wall, to the profound astonishment of the Count of Plouernel.
"The matter looked quite simple to you," the merchant proceeded, "the notion of taking my daughter for your mistress. I am no longer your slave, your serf, your vassal, your chattel; playing the good Prince, you graciously condescended to have me take a chair, and you even addressed me patronizingly—'Dear Monsieur Lebrenn.' There are Counts no longer, still you carry your title and the coat-of-arms of a Count. Civil equality has been declared, and yet nothing would seem more monstrous to you than to marry your daughter or your sister to a bourgeois or a mechanic, whatever their worthiness and the honorable character that they might bear. Would you dare to gainsay my words? No; you might, perhaps, cite some exception, it would be but a fresh proof that such unions remain misalliances in your eyes. Trifles, you may say; they certainly are trifles—but what a grave symptom the attaching of so much importance to trifles is! You and yours, were you to become all-powerful in the nation to-morrow, would fatedly and necessarily, as happened under the Restoration, seek by little and little to re-establish your ancient privileges, which, from being trivial, would then become hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to us, as they were for centuries hateful, disgraceful and oppressive to our ancestors."
So stupefied was the Count of Plouernel at the transformation of the bearing, tone and language of the linendraper that he did not interrupt him. Assuming finally an air of haughtiness he replied ironically:
"I doubt not, monsieur, that the moral of the beautiful lesson in history which you have had the kindness to read to me in your capacity of linendraper probably is that the priests and nobles should be sent to the lamp-post—as was the fashion in the good old days of 1793, and our daughters and sisters married to the nearest valet at hand."
"Oh, monsieur," said the merchant in a tone of lofty sorrow, "let us not mention reprisals. Forget what your fathers suffered during those ominous years—I, on my part, will forget what our ancestors suffered, at the hands of yours, and, not during a few years, but during FIFTEEN CENTURIES OF TORMENT! Marry your daughters and sisters as it may please you, it is your right; believe in misalliances, that is your affair. These are facts that I mention; and, as a symptom, I repeat it, they are grave; they prove that, in your estimation, there are and ever will be two distinct races in the land."
"And supposing it is so, monsieur, what business is it of yours how we look upon things?"
"The devil! It is very much our business, monsieur. The Holy Alliance, the divine and absolute right of Kings, the clerical party, aristocracy by birth and omnipotent in the nation—these are the inevitable consequences of the opinion that there are two races, a superior and an inferior one, one made to rule, the other to obey, and suffer. You asked what was the moral of this lesson in history? It is this, monsieur," the merchant proceeded: "Being jealous of the liberties that our fathers conquered at the price of their blood and their martyrdom;—seeing we do not wish to be treated any longer as a conquered race; I in my capacity of an elector vote against your party so long as it remains upon the field of legality; but when, as happened in 1830, your party leaves the field of legality with the end in view of reducing us back to arbitrary and clerical rule, that is to say, to the system that obtained before 1789—that moment I go out into the street, and fire bullets into your party."
"And it returns the compliment to yours."
"Very true—my arm was broken in 1830 by a Swiss ball. But, monsieur, listen to reason: Why should there be feud, ever feud, ever bloodshed, useful blood poured out by both sides? Why ever dream of a past that is no more, and can nevermore be? You vanquished, despoiled, dominated, exploited and tortured us fifteen centuries at a stretch! Have you not had enough? Do we contemplate oppressing you, in turn? No, no, a thousand times no! Liberty has cost us too dear to conquer; we prize it too highly to seek to deprive others of it. It is not our fault, it is yours; since 1789 your foreign alliances, civil war instigated by yourselves, your constant attempts at counter-revolution, your intimate relations with the clerical party—all that keeps thoughtful people in alarm and afflicts them, while it irritates and exasperates the men of action. I ask you again—what does it boot? Has mankind ever retrograded? No, monsieur, never. You can, no one questions that, do mischief; much mischief; but your divine right and your privileges are done for. Let your party learn that lesson. You would then save the nation, and yourself, perhaps, who knows what new disasters, because, I tell you, the future belongs to democracy."
The linendraper's voice and accent were so impressive that, although not convinced, the Count of Plouernel was touched by his words. His indomitable race pride struggled with his impulse to acknowledge to the merchant that he at least saw in him a generous adversary.