The Bagpipers

by George Sand

Having given our first attention to Joseph we were next compelled to look at Huriel's father, a man I have seldom seen the like of,—one who, without education, had great knowledge and a mind that would not have disgraced the wealthy and famous. He was tall and strong, of fine carriage, like Huriel, but stouter and broader about the shoulders; his head was ponderous and set on like that of a bull. His face was not at all handsome, for his nose was flat, his lips thick, and his eyes round; but for all that, it was one you liked to look at, for it satisfied you with its air of command and of strength and of goodness. His large black eyes glittered like lightning-flashes from his head, and his broad mouth laughed with a glee which would have brought you back from the jaws of death.

At the present moment his head was covered with a blue handkerchief knotted behind, and he wore no other garments than his shirt and breeches, with a big leather apron, which his hands, hardened by toil, matched in color and texture. In fact, his fingers, scarred and crushed by many an accident, for he never spared himself danger, looked like roots of box twisted into knots, and the wonder was that he was able to do any work beyond breaking stones with a pick-axe. Nevertheless he used them as delicately on the chanter of his bagpipe as if they were slender reeds, or tiny bird's claws.

Beside him were the trunks of several large oaks, lately cut down and sawn apart; among them lay his tools,—his axe, shining like a razor, his saw as pliable a reed, and his earthen bottle, the wine of which kept up his strength.

Presently Joseph, who was listening breathlessly to the music, saw his dog Parpluche run towards us; he raised his eyes and beheld us within ten feet of him. From pallid he grew red as fire, but did not stir, thinking probably it was a vision called up by the music which had made him dream.

Brulette ran to him, her arms extended; then he uttered a cry and fell, as if choking, on his knees, which frightened me, for I had no conception of that sort of love, and I thought he had a fit which might kill him. But he recovered himself quickly and began to thank Brulette and me and also Huriel, with such friendly words so readily uttered, that you would never think it was the same José who in the olden time always answered, "I don't know" to everything that was said to him.

Père Bastien, or rather the Head-Woodsman (for such he was always called in these parts), laid aside his bagpipe, and while Brulette and Joseph were talking together, he shook me by the hand and welcomed me as if he had known me from my birth up.

"So this is your friend Tiennet?" he said to his son. "Well, his face suits me, and his body, too, for I warrant I can hardly meet my arms round it, and I have always noticed that the biggest and strongest men are the gentlest. I see it in you, my Huriel, and in myself, too, for I'm always inclined to love my neighbor rather than crush him. So, Tiennet, I give you welcome to our wild woods; you won't find your fine wheaten bread nor the variety of salads you get from your garden, but we will try to regale you with good talk and hearty good-will. I see you have brought that handsome Nohant girl who is half-sister, half-mother to our poor José. That's a good deed done, for he had no heart to get well; now I shall feel easier about him, for I think the medicine is good."

As he said this he looked at José, who was sitting on his heels at Brulette's feet, holding her hand and gazing at her with all his eyes, while he asked questions about his mother, and Père Brulet, and the neighbors, and all the parish. Brulette, observing that the Head-Woodsman was speaking of her, came to him and begged pardon for not having saluted him at first. But he, without more ado, took her round the waist and set her on a high rock, as if to see her all at once, like the figure of a saint or some other precious thing. Then, placing her on the ground again, he kissed her on the forehead, saying to José, who blushed as much as Brulette:—

"You told me true; she is pretty from top to toe. Here, I think, is a bit of nature without a flaw. Body and soul are of the best quality; I can see that in her eye. Tell me, Huriel, for I am so blind about my own children that I can't judge, is she prettier than your sister? I think she is not less so, and if they were both mine I don't know which I should be proudest of. Come, come, Brulette, don't be ashamed of being handsome, and don't be vain of it, either. The workman who made the creatures of this world beautiful did not consult you, and you count for nothing in his work. What he has done for us we can spoil by folly or stupidity; but I see by your appearance that, far from doing that, you respect his gifts in yourself. Yes, yes, you are a beautiful girl, healthy in heart and upright in mind. I know you already, for you have come here to comfort that poor lad, who longed for you as the earth longs for rain. Many another would not have done as you have done, and I respect you for it. Therefore, I ask your friendship for me, who will be to you a father, and for my two children, who will be as brother and sister to you."

Brulette, whose heart was still swelling with the insults of the muleteers in the woods of La Roche, was so gratified by the respect and the compliments of the Head-Woodsman that the tears began to fall, and flinging herself upon his neck she could answer only by kissing him, as though he were her own father.