“Because a family can not be divided.”
“A family! A family! You always have that word in your mouth. Individuals are of some account, too, I suppose. And besides, why aren’t your convictions the same as mine, since you are my son?”
“You forget that my convictions are the same as those of all our family down to your father.”
“Yes, the nurseryman. You forget the soldier of the Emperor ...”
“He served France. France comes first. I do not include those who emigrated.”
“And your great uncle Philippe Rambert, the sans-culotte?”
“Don’t let us speak of him; he is our shame. Every family has its tradition. Ours, until you, was simple and fine. ‘God and the King.’”
“Well, liberty is enough for me. Once for all, I leave you your way; let me have mine.”
“But I repeat to you that the solidarity of our name and our race lays an obligation upon you. Besides, your liberty is a mere chimera. We are all in a state of dependence. Will you force me to remind you that I have accepted this dependence with all its cost? The very house which shelters us, and which I have saved, is a witness to the permanence and unity of the family under one roof.”
By degrees the conversation became a battle. Father seemed to me so big and powerful that he could have crushed grandfather with a snap of the finger, and yet grandfather held out against him, with his sharp little voice, and with a vigour such as I hardly recognised in him. To see them thus drawn up against each other frightened me and gave me horrible torment. In my new-born rebellion against authority my heart was with grandfather. I pictured to myself, under Nazzarena’s features, that liberty of which they were speaking in attack and defence. It seemed to me that I should be committing a cowardly act like that of Martinod in the Café des Navigateurs when he took off his hat in obedience to orders, showing his white, terrified face, if I did not intervene in behalf of my companion, my comrade in walks, who had transmitted to me as a brilliant inheritance—the only one he had to give—his love of simple nature, of the wandering life, of that independence which proudly refuses to submit to rule, and perhaps also that love of love which by itself alone includes all these. I did not conceal from myself the risk I was running. I foresaw the punishment which would follow, and yet I came forward like a little martyr asking for death.