Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part three

And Gilbert presented a printed paper to the farmer.

“What is this?” asked Billot, taking the paper.

“Read.”

“Why, you know full well that I cannot read.”

“Tell Pitou to read it, then.”

Pitou rose, and standing on tiptoe, looked at the paper over the farmer’s shoulder.

“That is not French,” said he, “it is not Latin, neither is it Greek.”

“It is English,” replied Gilbert.

“I do not know English,” said Pitou, proudly.

“I do,” said Gilbert, “and I will translate that paper to you; but in the first place, read the signature.”

“PITT,” spelled Pitou; “what does PITT mean?”

“I will explain it to you,” replied Gilbert.

Chapter XIV

The Pitts

“PITT,” rejoined Gilbert, “is the son of Pitt.”

“Well, now!” cried Pitou; “that is just as we have it in the Bible. There is then Pitt the First, and Pitt the Second?”

“Yes, and Pitt the First, my friends—listen attentively to what I am going to tell you—”

“We are listening,” replied Billot and Pitou at the same moment.

“This Pitt the First was during thirty years the sworn enemy of France; he combated in the retirement of his cabinet, to which he was nailed by the gout, Montealm and Vaudreuil in America, the Bailly de Suffren and D’Estaing on the seas, Noailles and Broglie on the Continent. This Pitt the First made it a principle with him that it was necessary to destroy the influence which France had gained over the whole of Europe: during thirty years he reconquered from us, one by one, all our colonies; one by one, all our factories, the whole of our possessions in the East Indies, fifteen hundred leagues of territory in Canada; and then, when he saw that France was three fourths ruined, he brought up his son to ruin her altogether.”

“Ah! ah!” exclaimed Billot, evidently much interested, “so that the Pitt we have now—”

“Precisely,” replied Gilbert, “he is the son of the Pitt whom we have had, and whom you already know, Father Billot, whom Pitou knows, whom all the universe knows; and this Pitt Junior was thirty years old this last May.”

“Thirty years old?”

“Yes; you see that he has well employed his time, my friends. Notwithstanding his youth he has now governed England for seven years; seven years has he put in practice the theory of his father.”

“Well, then, we are likely to have him for a long time yet,” said Billot.

“And it is the more probable because the vital qualities are very tenacious among the Pitts. Let me give you a proof of it.”

Pitou and Billot indicated by a motion of their heads that they were listening with the greatest attention.

Gilbert continued:—

“In 1778, the father of our enemy was dying; his physicians announced to him that his life was merely hanging by a thread, and that the slightest effort would break that thread. The English Parliament was then debating on the question of abandoning the American colonies and yielding to their desire for independence, in order to put a stop to the war, which threatened, fomented as it was by the French, to swallow up the riches and all the soldiers of Great Britain. It was at the moment when Louis XVI., our good king,—he on whom the whole nation has just conferred the title of ‘Father of French Liberty,’—had solemnly recognized the independence of America; and on the fields of battle in that country, and in their councils, the swords and genius of the French had obtained the mastery. England had offered to Washington—that is to say, to the chief of the insurgents—the recognition of American nationality, on condition that the new nation should ally itself with England against France.”

“But,” said Billot, “it appears to me this proposition was not a decent one, to be either offered or accepted.”

“My dear Billot, this is what is called diplomacy; and in the political world ideas of this kind are much admired. Well, Billot, however immoral you may consider the matter, in spite of Washington, the most faithful of men, Americans would have been found to accede to this degrading concession to England. But Lord Chatham, the father of Pitt; the man who had been given over by the physicians, this dying man, this phantom who was already standing knee-deep in the grave, this Chatham, who it might be thought could have desired naught more on this earth but repose,—before sleeping beneath his monument, this feeble old man determined on appearing in the Parliament, where the question was about to be discussed.

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