The Two Brothers | Page 4

This
late-comer was named Agathe.
These little facts are so simple, so commonplace, that a writer seems
scarcely justified in placing them in the fore-front of his history; yet if
they are not known, a man of Doctor Rouget's stamp would be thought
a monster, an unnatural father, when, in point of fact, he was only
following out the evil tendencies which many people shelter under the
terrible axiom that "men should have strength of character,"--a
masculine phrase that has caused many a woman's misery.
The Descoings, father-in-law and mother-in-law of the doctor, were
commission merchants in the wool-trade, and did a double business by
selling for the producers and buying for the manufacturers of the
golden fleeces of Berry; thus pocketing a commission on both sides. In
this way they grew rich and miserly--the outcome of many such lives.

Descoings the son, younger brother of Madame Rouget, did not like
Issoudun. He went to seek his fortune in Paris, where he set up as a
grocer in the rue Saint-Honore. That step led to his ruin. But nothing
could have hindered it: a grocer is drawn to his business by an
attracting force quite equal to the repelling force which drives artists
away from it. We do not sufficiently study the social potentialities
which make up the various vocations of life. It would be interesting to
know what determines one man to be a stationer rather than a baker;
since, in our day, sons are not compelled to follow the calling of their
fathers, as they were among the Egyptians. In this instance, love
decided the vocation of Descoings. He said to himself, "I, too, will be a
grocer!" and in the same breath he said (also to himself) some other
things regarding his employer,--a beautiful creature, with whom he had
fallen desperately in love. Without other help than patience and the
trifling sum of money his father and mother sent him, he married the
widow of his predecessor, Monsieur Bixiou.
In 1792 Descoings was thought to be doing an excellent business. At
that time, the old Descoings were still living. They had retired from the
wool-trade, and were employing their capital in buying up the forfeited
estates,--another golden fleece! Their son-in-law Doctor Rouget, who,
about this time, felt pretty sure that he should soon have to mourn for
the death of his wife, sent his daughter to Paris to the care of his
brother-in-law, partly to let her see the capital, but still more to carry
out an artful scheme of his own. Descoings had no children. Madame
Descoings, twelve years older than her husband, was in good health,
but as fat as a thrush after harvest; and the canny Rouget knew enough
professionally to be certain that Monsieur and Madame Descoings,
contrary to the moral of fairy tales, would live happy ever after without
having any children. The pair might therefore become attached to
Agathe.
That young girl, the handsomest maiden in Issoudun, did not resemble
either father or mother. Her birth had caused a lasting breach between
Doctor Rouget and his intimate friend Monsieur Lousteau, a former
sub- delegate who had lately removed from the town. When a family
expatriates itself, the natives of a place as attractive as Issoudun have a

right to inquire into the reasons of so surprising a step. It was said by
certain sharp tongues that Doctor Rouget, a vindictive man, had been
heard to exclaim that Monsieur Lousteau should die by his hand.
Uttered by a physician, this declaration had the force of a cannon-ball.
When the National Assembly suppressed the sub-delegates, Lousteau
and his family left Issoudun, and never returned there. After their
departure Madame Rouget spent most of her time with the sister of the
late sub-delegate, Madame Hochon, who was the godmother of her
daughter, and the only person to whom she confided her griefs. The
little that the good town of Issoudun ever really knew of the beautiful
Madame Rouget was told by Madame Hochon,--though not until after
the doctor's death.
The first words of Madame Rouget, when informed by her husband that
he meant to send Agathe to Paris, were: "I shall never see my daughter
again."
"And she was right," said the worthy Madame Hochon.
After this, the poor mother grew as yellow as a quince, and her
appearance did not contradict the tongues of those who declared that
Doctor Rouget was killing her by inches. The behavior of her booby of
a son must have added to the misery of the poor woman so unjustly
accused. Not restrained, possibly encouraged by his father, the young
fellow, who was in every way stupid, paid her neither the attentions nor
the respect which a son owes to a mother. Jean-Jacques Rouget was
like his father, especially on