"Oh, the book is right!" gravely observed Odelin's widow. "What monstrous vice can that be that bends under the yoke of ONLY ONE? It is not cowardice! The most cowardly, when they see they are a thousand against one, will not be afraid to attack him. That book is right. What may be the name of the nameless vice?"
Antonicq proceeded:
"It is the people who subjugate themselves; who cut their own throats; who, having the choice between being subject or free, leave their freedom for a yoke; who give their consent to their own ruin, or rather purchase the same. If the recovery of their freedom would have to cost something, it is not I who would press them to the act, although that which man should hold dearest is the recovery of his natural rights, or, to be accurate, from beast to return to man's estate.
"But no! I do not demand such boldness from the people. What! If, in order to have its liberty, the people need but to will it, can there be a nation on earth to consider the price too dear, being able to regain the boon by wishing? Who would hesitate to recover a boon that should be redeemed with the price of his blood, a boon, which if lost, all honorable men must esteem life a burden and death a relief?
"But no! The more do tyrants pillage, the more do they exact, the more do they ruin, the more do they destroy,—all the more are they paid to do it, all the more are they served, and all the more do they fortify themselves.
"And yet, if nothing were to be allowed to them, if no obedience were to be yielded to them, and that without combat, without striking a blow, they would remain naked, undone, and would cease to be anything—like roots, that, lacking nourishment, become a dry, dead branch."
"Right!" put in the Franc-Taupin. "Again that book is right. There are donkey-men and lion-men. Say to a donkey: 'Roar, jump, bite your enemy!' He will not listen. Say to the brute: 'Donkey you are, donkey you will be, remain donkey. One does not even expect of you that you rise to the Caesarian heroism of a kick! No, you peaceful beast! All that we ask is that you remain quiet, motionless, stubborn, and do not go to the mill! Aye, my donkey friends, what could the millers do, and their helpers, if, despite all their cudgels, the millions of donkeys, having passed the word along the line, refused point blank to march? Will the millers and their helpers shower blows upon you? Perhaps, but are you spared any blows when you do march? Beaten whether you march or stand still, you might as well stand still and ruin the miller.' Yes," added the Franc-Taupin, his face assuming a sad expression; "but how was this unhappy people even to conceive the bare thought of such an inert resistance? Have the monks not monked their brains from the cradle to the grave: 'Go, thou beast of burden, lick the hand that smites you—bless the burden that crushes your limbs, and galls your spine to the quick—thy salvation hereafter is to be bought by the torments you endure on earth—to the monks belong thy broad back—they straddle it in order to lead you to paradise!' And," proceeded the Franc-Taupin, more and more incensed, "should anyone attempt to wrest the besotted wretches from the grip of the monkery, why, then, quick, and quicker than quick!—the jail, the cutlass, the pyre, and torture! Thus came my sister Bridget to die in prison, and her daughter to be burned alive, and Christian to die of grief, and Odelin, his son, to have his throat cut by his own brother, Fra Hervé, the Cordelier! That is the long and short of it!"
These words, which recalled so many painful losses to the memory of the Lebrenn family, were followed by a mournful silence. Tears rolled down the cheeks of Marcienne, Odelin's widow; her wheel stopped whirring; her head dropped upon her breast and she muttered:
"My mourning will be like my sorrow, eternal! Oh, my children, there are two places that will ever remain vacant at our hearth—your father's and your sister's. The poor girl doubted our indulgence and our love for her!"
"Oh, Catherine De Medici! Infamous Queen! Mother of execrable sons! Will the hour of vengeance ever sound!" exclaimed Captain Mirant. "Even the perversest of people shudder at the crimes of the crowned monsters! Their acts are endured, and yet a breath could throw them down! Oh, well may we ask in the language of La Boetie's book: 'What is the nameless vice that causes millions of people to submit voluntarily to a power that is abhorred?'"