The Fear of Living by Henry Bordeaux

The discussion at the Café National at Cognin had been long and animated. When the telegram from the Minister of War had been brought to the town-hall, the municipal schoolmaster was on the doorstep dismissing his pupils. He took the envelope from the hands of the messenger, who was puffing out his cheeks to make his importance felt.

"Official and post free! For the Mayor."

"Give it to me," said the schoolmaster cautiously. And he immediately tore open the envelope, to show the messenger who was the real head of the community. He read the words twice aloud, with the Minister's name at the bottom:

"The Mayor, Cognin, near Chambéry. Inform Guibert family immediately decease of Commander Guibert while defending Timmimun, Algiers. Shot through forehead after repulsing assault."

He did not grasp it the first time he read it because, taking everything to himself as most people do, he expected to discover something of a personal nature in this government communication, perhaps the exemption of his son, who had just drawn his lot and was trying to escape military service. His disappointment prevailed over his pity.

After having told his wife and his deputy about the news, he put on his hat and ran over to the Café National, kept by Mayor Simon himself. The latter was the successor to the post to Dr. Guibert, who had been excluded from the Corporation a short time before his death, the very year that he had gratuitously attended almost all the population when attacked by typhoid fever. He was a country lawyer, an intemperate boaster, who drank with all his customers and treated his bar as a political committee-room. Ignorant and incapable, but genial-hearted, he left all his duties to the schoolmaster, who was filled with false teachings and who dazzled him by his socialistic and anti-militarist theories which he culled from pernicious propagandist pamphlets. In public he treated him condescendingly, but he obeyed him humbly at the town-hall.

"Well, Master," he cried as he saw him come in, "you have forgotten your ferule!"

Proud of knowing this rare word, he used it on every occasion to poke fun at his assistant.

"There is some news," said Maillard mysteriously gliding up to the counter. And the Mayor and his assistant gravely shook their heads in concert. It was important that they should impress two honest customers who sat at the end of the room, with their whips slung over their shoulders, sipping absinthe before going out again into the bitter cold of the clear winter evening.

After informing himself of the contents of the telegram, the Mayor shook his red head.

"It must be done. These Guiberts are people of importance. I'll put on my frock-coat and go up to Le Maupas."

He had been in the militia during the campaign of 1870 but his regiment never reached the front. From that terrible year he had learned the fear of war and a respect for courage. Flattered at having received an official telegram, he also felt pride in the heroism of his fellow-townsman abroad. He called his daughters to tell them the secret that the schoolmaster's wife had already told everybody.

While he was strutting about, the ferret-faced Maillard looked at him and cackled.

"Let's drink a glass of something," said the Mayor. "Nothing can be done well without a drink. I shall have time. One always arrives early enough when carrying a message of death. But what do you find to laugh at, you imp of ill omen?"

"I was wondering, Mr. Mayor, if we were republicans or not. The Minister treats you like a dog, _you_ the head of the community. ‘Inform the Guibert family! ' Hurry up and do it. For whom is all this fuss? For a lot of reactionaries, who defied you at the town-hall. They are not so particular when there's only a man of the people concerned."

"He was a commander," observed the hotelkeeper, who could not forget his respect for rank.

"Isn't a soldier's blood worth as much as an officer's? " retorted the schoolmaster in a professorial tone. "I suppose that the equality which is proclaimed on all our public buildings is a lie then? Everything is for the gold lace? The others are just food for powder! It was well worth while having the revolution only to re-establish caste a hundred years later!"

It is imperfect education that is responsible for these bitter, envious, aspiring beings, who find it hard to tolerate superiority of any kind. Before his weak boasting Mayor, the little ill-natured man gave free scope to his hatred of the authorities, a hatred which was increased by the coming entry of his son into military service.

Simon's face grew red. It was a sign that his brain was working.

"No," he said, "I can't get out of it. It is an order."