Eternal Life;Cursed Gift

2

The life of little Rene Legrand was simple and pleasant. He adored his father, loved to sit in a corner and watch how he cut gloves from thin dyed leather according to patterns, and then sewed them together on some mysterious device. Rene liked to look at the richly dressed ladies who sometimes appeared in their modest house. The ladies, rustling their skirts, approached the table, on which a lot of multi-colored gloves were laid out, chose the best pair for a long time, argued, laughed. They took away the gloves, giving their father in return copper and even silver coins with a minted profile of the king, and left, each time leaving behind a unique, mysterious aroma. Mysterious music sounded for Rene the words "livre", "denier", "su". “Someday,” he thought, “Genevieve will grow up and become such a beautiful lady, I will marry her and give her all my father's gloves.”

He loved little Genevieve as much as his father. And although she was born only four weeks after him, René was accustomed to treating her as the youngest. This black-haired boy with lively dark eyes did his best to protect his little Genevieve, and for this she gratefully called him "my lytsal".

Claude never forgot about the promise of Captain Pelyan to accept his son for training. The boy knew from childhood that he would become a warrior.

When Rene was five years old, his father gave him a puppy. The kid called him by the sonorous name Marcel and was very proud that now there is a creature completely dependent on him. The puppy was red, fluffy and very funny, and Rene became attached to him with all his heart.

Only one thing overshadowed the calm existence of Rene - the thought of death. His father often told him about his mother, about how joyfully she waited for the birth of her son, how she dreamed of him. Not that Rene lacked female affection - Catherine took care of him like her own - but it seemed wrong to him that his mother died just at the moment when she could be happy. “Will I also die when my son is born? he thought. “Or at another time when everything will be especially good?”. Gradually, he became madly, to the point of a cold in his chest, afraid of death.

On the Sunday after Mass, Claude and five-year-old René, both in bright festive camisoles, called for Genevieve. Catherine provided them with cakes in a linen bag, and they went for a walk to the Seine. René walked proudly in front, holding Marcel in one hand, and with the other leading the little, plump Geneviève. Claude brought up the rear, making sure the children didn't get hit by passing wagons.

They walked leisurely along the street crowded with artisans and housewives, admiring the multi-colored signboards and listening to the cries of barkers. From all sides rushed:

- Buns, fresh buns!

- Traveler, do not pass by! Visit my shop!

- Mulberry gin, blackberry wine! We try, we buy!

René, who had made such a journey not for the first time , willingly shared his knowledge with Genevieve, trying to shout over the discordant noise of the street.

- Look, here, where the chicken is drawn, they sell poultry. And in that shop sits a shoemaker. See that barrel door over there? A cooper works here. And over there ... well, where are you looking, hare? On the corner where a pretzel hangs instead of a sign - there is a baker.

Little Genevieve shook her curly head with all her might , but still did not have time to notice everything that her friend was showing. Rene saw her admiring look, and he was simply bursting with pride.

- And here, behind this tall wall - the cemetery of the Innocents. Unbaptized children are buried here.

The girl sighed sympathetically: how terrible it must be to die unbaptized!

They went all the way through Saint-Denis and turned onto the rue de la Savonrie.

“Look, Geneviève, this column points to the Place de Greve, where they burn criminals and witches!”

The little girl shuddered fearfully.

An hour later they reached the Chatelet. This ancient fortress was once built to protect the city, but since Paris was surrounded by a reliable wall in the last century, the need for a fortress has disappeared, and now the city prevost lived in it, the court and the prison were located. Passing the gray towers of the fortress, Claude, Rene and Genevieve went to the Seine.

The day was hot, and they approached the river, pretty out of breath. Genevieve froze in admiration: how beautiful it is here! Elegant townspeople were walking along the water. Not far from the shore, cargoes were stacked: logs, hay, barrels of wine. A little to the right there was a pier, at which several small boats stood, next to them porters fussed. And on the left is Pont au Meunier - the pride of Paris, the Mill Bridge, completely built up with houses, shops and workshops. At the opposite end of the bridge stood a huge mill.

As always on Sundays, it was crowded and noisy, there was a lively trade on the bridge. Suddenly, music began to sound over the discordant hubbub of the crowd, Rene turned his head, trying to determine where it was coming from.

- Genevieve, look, minstrel! he shouted.

Indeed, a musician stood on the bridge and played the lute. Rene rushed towards him with all his might, but suddenly slipped, Marseille fell out of his hands and flew head over heels into the river. The boy watched in horror as the puppy, squealing, flounders in the water. Marseille must be saved, but it can be deep here, and he, René, cannot swim. He felt cold inside, his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground. Lord, what to do?!

- Dad!

Claude glanced at his son, wondering if he would try to save the puppy, then kicked off his shoes and jumped into the water. The river near the shore was shallow, he grabbed the frightened animal and headed for the shore. A shocked René was waiting for him at the bridge.

- Dad, he could die!

In the evening, putting Rene to bed, Claude said to him very seriously:

- Remember, son, you are obliged to help someone who needs it. And to save a friend is your sacred duty. Even if it's dangerous. Only in this way can you become a real man.

Rene was very upset by what happened. How could he be afraid when Marseille was in danger? He was afraid to save his friend. He's a coward, a coward!

Tears rolled down from their eyes. The boy remembered that his father had not allowed him to carry Marcel all the way home. His father despised him because he, René, is a coward!

No that's not true! Never, never again will he be afraid, and, as Papa said, he will always help those who need his help.

He remembered this first case of cowardice for the rest of his long life.

Rene and Genevieve enjoyed spending time together. And although the boy liked outdoor games more, by the age of seven they most often played as a family. Rene portrayed the husband and father, Genevieve was the wife and mother, and her dolls were their children. Claude gave them a corner in the kitchen to play in, and René, pacing around it, asked importantly:

- Well, little wife, is dinner ready?

“Now, now, dear, almost already,” Genevieve answered, cutting burdocks into a bowl with a small knife.

- Why is it taking so long?

- Catherine was capricious all evening, and François behaved badly, so I ran. And little Klo is so smart, all like daddy.

Rene looked at her with laughing eyes and thought: "I wish I could grow up so I could really marry her."

As Rene grew up, he made friends. Tall, thin, agile, he rushed through the streets and felt at home in any corner of Paris. Running with him were the blond-haired Michel Jaraud, the son of a tailor, the thin, ungainly Pierre Gauthier, the son of a carpenter, and the fat man Jacques Robichon, the son of a miller from the nearby Rue Grande Troanderie. All the time unoccupied with communication with Genevieve, Rene spent with them. The boys dragged vegetables from the gardens, some where squeezed between the houses, played skittles, and on holidays, when navigation on the Seine was forbidden, they ran to swim. Pierre was the ringleader, new ideas were constantly born in his curly head.

- Let's go fight with swords tomorrow, two by two.

- Let's build a hermitage.

- If you break off those branches over there, you can make bows out of them and compete.

Rene happily agreed to everything, and categorically refused to participate in only one fun - in trips to the cemetery. Oddly enough, it was a favorite place for the townspeople to walk and children to play, but Rene, in whom the cemetery evoked thoughts of death, stubbornly did not want to go there with friends. At first, the boys tried to persuade him and even take him "weakly", but over time they gave up and went to the cemetery without him.

Fairs and street performances were favorite entertainments of the townspeople. Every Sunday, booths, itinerant actors and musicians performed in several squares in Paris. The performances were very diverse: circus performances, performances, buffoonery, imitating Greek tragedies. Especially popular among the nobility was the so-called Court of Love, a performance in which the actor asked the audience tricky questions about the ladies, trying to catch the men in ignorance of the subject.

Public executions were a special kind of performance. They were considered an instructive spectacle, allowing not to forget about the frailty of life and to warn young people from mistakes. Entire families came to executions and burnings. Depending on who the condemned was, the crowd either hooted, demanding cruel reprisals, or sympathized with the victim; women and children, unashamedly, wept with pity for the unfortunate man who was being killed before their very eyes. But if he were suddenly pardoned, they would feel deceived.

Artisans and merchants, for whom the Courts of Love were too refined and incomprehensible, went to them in order to emphasize their high taste by their mere presence. In fact, the common people preferred wild mysteries about death and hell, which were popularly called the Dances of Death.

It was to such a performance that Claude led his eight-year-old son. In the evening they came to the Place de Greve, René squeezed his way through the crowd and sat down with the other boys in front of everyone, in front of a large wooden platform. Stairs led to it from two sides, tall torches stood in the corners, illuminating everything around with an uneven, wavering light. René, looking impatiently for the beginning, looked at the square. Behind the dais, in the advancing darkness, the silhouette of the famous "House on Stilts" blackened - a stone building in which a meeting of the guild of merchants met. At the end of the square there are houses of wealthy citizens with tiled roofs.

Finally the show began. Everyone was quiet. A tall figure, wrapped from head to toe in a dark cloak, slowly and solemnly stepped onto the platform, with a long staff in his hand. She walked past the torch, the flame illuminating the dead white face of a man under the hood pulled down over his forehead. René shuddered: he had never seen such pale people. “This is not a man,” he thought, “then who is?” As if answering his question, the figure recited in a drawling voice

None of you know me yet

My eyes do not see your eyes.

But time flies and fate throws

Into my arms of each of you.

How inseparable, though not alike,

Moon and sun, shore and water,

And so we walk side by side too:

I am Death and Life, forever, forever!

Rene went cold. So here it is, death! That's who took his mom! He looked at the cloaked figure with a mixture of fear and anger.

And meanwhile the horns hummed on the stage, and the action began. To the lingering, loud music, actors in the garb of knights, artisans, peasants, shopkeepers, men and women, adults and children, one after another, came out onto the platform along the right stairs. Their smooth movements resembled a dance. Some of them depicted their professional activities on the move, others simply slowly moved towards the black figure. Death touched each person passing by with the tip of the staff, after which the victim took off his clothes, and, remaining in his underwear, with weak, uncertain steps descended from the platform along the opposite staircase and disappeared into the darkness.

Rene looked at the stage with frightened, wide eyes. “It's amazing,” he thought, “how all naked people are alike. You won’t understand which of them is a knight and which is a commoner.” And again, as if in answer, the black figure said:

Death is endless, Death is inevitable

Whoever you are, king or merchant,

The turn will come, Death will not slip by,

The same end awaits you all!

Gradually, the music of the horns and pipes became faster and sharper, the smooth movements of the actors accelerated and soon looked like some kind of crazy dance. A girl in white robes ran out onto the stage, the light of torches whimsically played on a mop of her golden hair. She was very young, almost a child, and stunningly beautiful. Death touched her shoulder with a staff, and the girl fell, stretched out on her face. The figure in black laughed and continued:

You were a sweet and lovely girl

But you died from terrible agony.

And your virgin body became

An eternal shelter for worms and flies.

The audience gasped in unison. Rene sat neither alive nor dead. It seemed to him that he could smell a foul smell emanating from this black figure. This vile Death, she mocks them ! She sneers and laughs. Everything is useless, says Death, everything is in vain, there is only death, powerful and omnipotent! The boy was trembling all over, thoughts rushing about in his head: “No, no, I don’t want to die, it’s not true, I won’t die! The main thing is not to meet her eyes, and then she will not take me away.

And the wild, unbridled mystery continued on the stage. The horns and pipes seemed to have gone mad and played out loud, crazy tunes. The actors squealed, shook, jumped, fell, and only Death remained motionless in the midst of all this madness. But then she raised her head and, shouting over the sounds of the performance, proclaimed:

No matter how brave and courageous you are,

I will fulfill the destiny's destiny.

The day will come when I will come for everyone.

Who will be next? Perhaps you?

As he spoke his last words, Pierre Orme, the actor impersonating Death, looked at the little boy sitting in front of the platform. Their eyes met, and in the eyes of the child, Pierre saw undivided horror. In the next second, the baby jumped up screaming and rushed to run, pushing through the crowd in a panic. Pierre mentally smiled: it seems that he plays his role well, the owner of the troupe will be pleased with him.

Rene ran through the dark streets of Paris, not seeing or hearing anything around. Lord, what to do? Death looked directly into his eyes, she said that he would be next, she wants to take him, she is there! René's breath was broken, his legs would not obey, but he ran until he reached the saving house at the end of the Rue Saint-Denis. She won’t get him here, it’s not the vile death that commands here, but the father! Crawling under the workbench, René cringed and closed his eyes. Later, his father found him. Claude tightly pressed his son to him and calmed him for a long time, promising himself not to take Rene to such performances in the future.

Rene was growing up, he was already nine, and his father began to introduce him to his craft, deciding that knowledge of the craft would not interfere with his son. At first, Claude gave Rene simple instructions - cut out patterns, tie knots, but over time, the boy could already replace his father at any, even the most difficult stage of making gloves. The two of them sat down at a table by the window, worked, talking quietly, and at the same time looked out into the street, where their goods were laid out under a canopy on a long bench.

The boy loved this work, and most of all he liked to decorate finished gloves. Gold and silver threads, pearls and even small gems - everything went into action. Rene loved to draw, and often offered his father patterns for embroidery. Gloves were decorated with intricate ornaments, embroidered birds, flowers and turned out to be very elegant. Buyers, noble ladies and gentlemen, were unable to choose one pair and bought dozens of gloves. By the age of eleven, Rene had become a real master. Rumor about the craftsmen Legrand gradually spread throughout the city. Claude was getting rich and was already thinking about buying a big house.