CHAPTER VI--THE SUBSTITUTE

  It chanced that the regiment to which Lieutenant Théodule belonged cameto perform garrison duty in Paris. This inspired Aunt Gillenormand witha second idea. She had, on the first occasion, hit upon the plan ofhaving Marius spied upon by Théodule; now she plotted to have Théoduletake Marius' place.

  At all events and in case the grandfather should feel the vague need ofa young face in the house,--these rays of dawn are sometimes sweet toruin,--it was expedient to find another Marius. "Take it as a simpleerratum," she thought, "such as one sees in books. For Marius, readThéodule."

  A grandnephew is almost the same as a grandson; in default of a lawyerone takes a lancer.

  One morning, when M. Gillenormand was about to read something in the_Quotidienne_, his daughter entered and said to him in her sweetestvoice; for the question concerned her favorite:--

  "Father, Théodule is coming to present his respects to you thismorning."

  "Who's Théodule?"

  "Your grandnephew."

  "Ah!" said the grandfather.

  Then he went back to his reading, thought no more of his grandnephew,who was merely some Théodule or other, and soon flew into a rage, whichalmost always happened when he read. The "sheet" which he held, althoughRoyalist, of course, announced for the following day, without anysoftening phrases, one of these little events which were of dailyoccurrence at that date in Paris: "That the students of the schoolsof law and medicine were to assemble on the Place du Panthéon, atmidday,--to deliberate." The discussion concerned one of the questionsof the moment, the artillery of the National Guard, and a conflictbetween the Minister of War and "the citizen's militia," on the subjectof the cannon parked in the courtyard of the Louvre. The students wereto "deliberate" over this. It did not take much more than this to swellM. Gillenormand's rage.

  He thought of Marius, who was a student, and who would probably go withthe rest, to "deliberate, at midday, on the Place du Panthéon."

  As he was indulging in this painful dream, Lieutenant Théodule enteredclad in plain clothes as a bourgeois, which was clever of him, andwas discreetly introduced by Mademoiselle Gillenormand. The lancer hadreasoned as follows: "The old druid has not sunk all his money in a lifepension. It is well to disguise one's self as a civilian from time totime."

  Mademoiselle Gillenormand said aloud to her father:--

  "Théodule, your grandnephew."

  And in a low voice to the lieutenant:--

  "Approve of everything."

  And she withdrew.

  The lieutenant, who was but little accustomed to such venerableencounters, stammered with some timidity: "Good day, uncle,"--and madea salute composed of the involuntary and mechanical outline of themilitary salute finished off as a bourgeois salute.

  "Ah! so it's you; that is well, sit down," said the old gentleman.

  That said, he totally forgot the lancer.

  Théodule seated himself, and M. Gillenormand rose.

  M. Gillenormand began to pace back and forth, his hands in his pockets,talking aloud, and twitching, with his irritated old fingers, at the twowatches which he wore in his two fobs.

  "That pack of brats! they convene on the Place du Panthéon! by my life!urchins who were with their nurses but yesterday! If one were to squeezetheir noses, milk would burst out. And they deliberate to-morrow, atmidday. What are we coming to? What are we coming to? It is clearthat we are making for the abyss. That is what the _descamisados_ havebrought us to! To deliberate on the citizen artillery! To go and jabberin the open air over the jibes of the National Guard! And with whomare they to meet there? Just see whither Jacobinism leads. I will betanything you like, a million against a counter, that there will beno one there but returned convicts and released galley-slaves. TheRepublicans and the galley-slaves,--they form but one nose and onehandkerchief. Carnot used to say: 'Where would you have me go, traitor?'Fouché replied: 'Wherever you please, imbecile!' That's what theRepublicans are like."

  "That is true," said Théodule.

  M. Gillenormand half turned his head, saw Théodule, and went on:--

  "When one reflects that that scoundrel was so vile as to turn carbonaro!Why did you leave my house? To go and become a Republican! Pssst! Inthe first place, the people want none of your republic, they have commonsense, they know well that there always have been kings, and that therealways will be; they know well that the people are only the people,after all, they make sport of it, of your republic--do you understand,idiot? Is it not a horrible caprice? To fall in love with Père Duchesne,to make sheep's-eyes at the guillotine, to sing romances, and play onthe guitar under the balcony of '93--it's enough to make one spit on allthese young fellows, such fools are they! They are all alike. Not oneescapes. It suffices for them to breathe the air which blows through thestreet to lose their senses. The nineteenth century is poison. Thefirst scamp that happens along lets his beard grow like a goat's,thinks himself a real scoundrel, and abandons his old relatives. He'sa Republican, he's a romantic. What does that mean, romantic? Do me thefavor to tell me what it is. All possible follies. A year ago, they ranto _Hernani_. Now, I just ask you, _Hernani!_ antitheses! abominationswhich are not even written in French! And then, they have cannons in thecourtyard of the Louvre. Such are the rascalities of this age!"

  "You are right, uncle," said Théodule.

  M. Gillenormand resumed:--

  "Cannons in the courtyard of the Museum! For what purpose? Do you wantto fire grape-shot at the Apollo Belvedere? What have those cartridgesto do with the Venus de Medici? Oh! the young men of the present day areall blackguards! What a pretty creature is their Benjamin Constant! Andthose who are not rascals are simpletons! They do all they can to makethemselves ugly, they are badly dressed, they are afraid of women, inthe presence of petticoats they have a mendicant air which sets thegirls into fits of laughter; on my word of honor, one would say the poorcreatures were ashamed of love. They are deformed, and they completethemselves by being stupid; they repeat the puns of Tiercelin andPotier, they have sack coats, stablemen's waistcoats, shirts of coarselinen, trousers of coarse cloth, boots of coarse leather, and theirrigmarole resembles their plumage. One might make use of their jargonto put new soles on their old shoes. And all this awkward batch of bratshas political opinions, if you please. Political opinions should bestrictly forbidden. They fabricate systems, they recast society, theydemolish the monarchy, they fling all laws to the earth, they put theattic in the cellar's place and my porter in the place of the King, theyturn Europe topsy-turvy, they reconstruct the world, and all their loveaffairs consist in staring slily at the ankles of the laundresses asthese women climb into their carts. Ah! Marius! Ah! you blackguard! togo and vociferate on the public place! to discuss, to debate, to takemeasures! They call that measures, just God! Disorder humbles itselfand becomes silly. I have seen chaos, I now see a mess. Studentsdeliberating on the National Guard,--such a thing could not be seenamong the Ogibewas nor the Cadodaches! Savages who go naked, with theirnoddles dressed like a shuttlecock, with a club in their paws, are lessof brutes than those bachelors of arts! The four-penny monkeys! And theyset up for judges! Those creatures deliberate and ratiocinate! Theend of the world is come! This is plainly the end of this miserableterraqueous globe! A final hiccough was required, and France has emittedit. Deliberate, my rascals! Such things will happen so long as they goand read the newspapers under the arcades of the Odéon. That costs thema sou, and their good sense, and their intelligence, and their heart andtheir soul, and their wits. They emerge thence, and decamp from theirfamilies. All newspapers are pests; all, even the _Drapeau Blanc!_ Atbottom, Martainville was a Jacobin. Ah! just Heaven! you may boast ofhaving driven your grandfather to despair, that you may!"

  "That is evident," said Théodule.

  And profiting by the fact that M. Gillenormand was taking breath, thelancer added in a magisterial manner:--

  "There should be no other newspaper than the _Moniteur_, and no otherbook than the _Annuaire Militaire_."

  M. Gillenormand continued:--

  "It is like their Sieyès! A regicide ending in a senator; for that isthe way they always end. They give themselves a scar with the addressof _thou_ as citizens, in order to get themselves called, eventually,_Monsieur le Comte_. Monsieur le Comte as big as my arm, assassins ofSeptember. The philosopher Sieyès! I will do myself the justice to say,that I have never had any better opinion of the philosophies of allthose philosophers, than of the spectacles of the grimacer of Tivoli!One day I saw the Senators cross the Quai Malplaquet in mantles ofviolet velvet sown with bees, with hats à la Henri IV. They werehideous. One would have pronounced them monkeys from the tiger's court.Citizens, I declare to you, that your progress is madness, that yourhumanity is a dream, that your revolution is a crime, that your republicis a monster, that your young and virgin France comes from the brothel,and I maintain it against all, whoever you may be, whether journalists,economists, legists, or even were you better judges of liberty, ofequality, and fraternity than the knife of the guillotine! And that Iannounce to you, my fine fellows!"

  "Parbleu!" cried the lieutenant, "that is wonderfully true."

  M. Gillenormand paused in a gesture which he had begun, wheeled round,stared Lancer Théodule intently in the eyes, and said to him:--

  "You are a fool."

  BOOK SIXTH.--THE CONJUNCTION OF TWO STARS