human
But, said I,
gpt
It may be so, replied the waiter.
human
But we had no photograph to go by. We had to allow the artist to exercise his genius, and, above all, we had to gratify the spirit of Jean Bouchon.
gpt
I see. But the attitude is inexact. Jean Bouchon fell down the steps headlong, and this represents a man staggering backwards.
human
It would have been inartistic to have shown him precipitated forwards; besides, the spirit of Jean might not have liked it.
gpt
Quite so. I understand. But the flag?
human
That was an idea of the artist. Jean could not be made holding a coffee-cup. You will see the whole makes a superb subject. Art has its exigencies. Monsieur will see underneath is an inscription on the pedestal.
gpt
JEAN BOUCHON MORT SUR LE CHAMP DE GLOIRE 1870 DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI.
human
Why! objected I,
gpt
Monsieur! all Orléans is a field of glory. Under S. Aignan did we not repel Attila and his Huns in 451? Under Jeanne d'Arc did we not repulse the English--monsieur will excuse the allusion--in 1429. Did we not recapture Orléans from the Germans in November, 1870?
human
That is all very true, I broke in.
gpt
But Jean Bouchon neither fought against Attila nor with la Pucelle, nor against the Prussians. Then '_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_' is rather strong, considering the facts.
human
How? Does not monsieur see that the sentiment is patriotic and magnificent?
gpt
I admit that, but dispute the application.
human
Then why apply it? The sentiment is all right.
gpt
But by implication it refers to Jean Bouchon, who died, not for his country, but in a sordid coffee-house brawl. Then, again, the date is wrong. Jean Bouchon died in 1869, not in 1870.
human
That is only out by a year.
gpt
Yes, but with this mistake of a year, and with the quotation from Horace, and with the attitude given to the figure, anyone would suppose that Jean Bouchon had fallen in the retaking of Orléans from the Prussians.
human
Ah! monsieur, who looks on a monument and expects to find thereon the literal truth relative to the deceased?
gpt
This is something of a sacrifice to truth,
human
Sacrifice is superb! said the waiter.
gpt
There is nothing more noble, more heroic than sacrifice.
human
But not the sacrifice of truth.
gpt
Sacrifice is always sacrifice.
human
Well, said I, unwilling further to dispute,
gpt
Not out of nothing; out of the coppers that Jean Bouchon had filched from us, and which choked up his coffin.
human
Jean Bouchon has been seen no more?
gpt
No, monsieur. And yet--yes, once, when the statue was unveiled. Our _patron_ did that. The café was crowded. All our _habitués_ were there. The _patron_ made a magnificent oration; he drew a superb picture of the moral, intellectual, social, and political merits of Jean Bouchon. There was not a dry eye among the audience, and the speaker choked with emotion. Then, as we stood in a ring, not too near, we saw--I was there and I distinctly saw, so did the others--Jean Bouchon standing with his back to us, looking intently at the statue of himself. Monsieur, as he thus stood I could discern his black mutton-chop whiskers projecting upon each side of his head. Well, sir, not one word was spoken. A dead silence fell upon all. Our _patron_ ceased to speak, and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. A sort of holy awe possessed us all. Then, after the lapse of some minutes, Jean Bouchon turned himself about, and we all saw his puffy pale cheeks, his thick sensual lips, his broken nose, his little pig's eyes. He was very unlike his idealised portrait in the statue; but what matters that? It gratified the deceased, and it injured no one. Well, monsieur, Jean Bouchon stood facing us, and he turned his head from one side to another, and gave us all what I may term a greasy smile. Then he lifted up his hands as though invoking a blessing on us all, and vanished. Since then he has not been seen.