The old man led the boy inside his dilapidated hut.
"You live here?" The boy asked, surveying the hut with disapproval.
"It is better, sometimes, than living with people. Sit down, my boy; I'll put up a pot of tea."
"Don't like tea." The boy said, folding his arms across his chest.
"Milk, then."
"Don't like milk, either." The boy repeated, though he sat in one of the rickety chairs by a wooden table.
"Picky, aren't you, boy? All right, nothing, then. Shall we start our story?"
"If you like," The boy said, interested in spite of himself. He had heard the phrase 'French Revolution' used a few times at home, but he was not sure what it was. What fascinated him above all was the way the man spoke when he said those words: The French Revolution. He said them the way some people said The Holy Father. He said them with the conviction of a believer. The boy had spent too much time with his cynical, temperamental nurse not to be fascinated by someone who spoke of something with admiration and respect in his tone. Whatever this French Revolution, this Defeat of Tyranny, was he was fascinated by it because the old man was fascinated by it. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, waiting expectantly for the story, and the answers.
"Where to begin? Where to begin?" The old man mumbled, easing himself into the other kitchen chair. "Shall we begin with what we did, or why we did it?" Marcellin shrugged, feigning indifference, though the topic of discussion was captivating him already.
"Do you know what tyranny means?" The old man asked. The boy shook his head. "It is the rule of the few over the many. It is the rule of injustice. It is the abuse of power." The boy still looked blank, "Let me see if I can put it more simply. I imagine your father makes rules for you; tells you what to do?" The boy shook his head.
"He doesn't care about me. He's always in his study, or with his friends."
"Ah. Well, then, your mother? She makes rules for you?" The boy nodded.
"She made me come here."
"And I imagine you don't always like her rules."
"No, I don't." the boy grumbled.
"And I'm sure you obey her now, because you are a good son, and a good boy, right?" The boy did not answer. "But when you grow up, you will not have to obey her then, will you? When you get older you will not have to listen to what your mother tells you to do; when you are a man you will do as you please, right?" The boy nodded. "Well, what if your mother continued to tell you what to do, even when you were a man. If she wouldn't let you leave home, wouldn't let you see who you pleased, go where you pleased, make your own rules. Not now, mind you, as a child should be obedient, but when you are a man—wouldn't that be wrong of her?" The boy nodded.
"It wouldn't be fair."
"Then that would be a child's definition of tyranny; the law being unfair. So now, imagine that all of France was like that; the few were ruling the many unjustly, and the many were being ignored. Have you ever met a boy like that? The sort who is always telling everyone else what to do?" Marcellin nodded.
"Jean-Louis. He was in Marseille. He tried to boss my friends around, and take our things because he was bigger than we were."
"And what did you do about him? Anything?" The boy nodded proudly.
"I thrashed him. He was picking on one of my friends, so me and my friends thrashed him." The old man laughed again.
"And did it help?" Marcellin shrugged.
"Not really. We all got in trouble, and Jean-Louis just went back to thrashing us a week later."
"So what did you do?"
"We thrashed him again." Marcellin replied, as if the man should have already realized that. The old man laughed and hit the floor with his cane.
"Well, boy, what if I told you that the French Revolution was just like that; a bunch of people thrashing an older boy who took their stuff! What would you say to that?"
"I'd say, good for the French Revolution-though I still do not know what it is." The boy added testily.
"That was what it was, in a nutshell. Imagine a very few rich people—boys like Jean-Louis-were telling everyone else what to do. Imagine most of the country was poor and hungry, and worst of all, ignored. And imagine that the king—though I do not doubt that he meant well—not only did not truly listen to the people, he did not care. So imagine—and this happened, mind you—that a big council was called together, the Estates General; one estate for the Clergy, one for the Nobility and one for Everyone Else. I probably don't have to tell you that the third estate outnumbered everyone else, do I?"
"No, I'd guessed that."
"Smart boy. But imagine that instead of voting by how many people wanted something, they had to vote by estate. Everyone in the estate had to agree—that was no small task—and then two estates had to agree. Don't you think that the clergy and nobility would ban together, to make sure the Third Estate wasn't heard? What would you say to that? Remember, there are more people in the Third Estate than in the First and Second put together."
"I'd say…I'd say that wasn't fair."
"Why not?"
"Because if more people want something, that's what should be done, right?"
"That's what I love about children; you all have a natural grasp of right and wrong, justice and injustice; fair and unfair, as you call it. You have the concept of natural right ingrained deep inside you. It takes the schooling of the world to turn you into monarchists, or tyrants, or bureaucrats. Children are naturally Jacobins."
The boy looked askance at the unfamiliar word.
"Jacobins?"
"Ah, yes, we'll get to them."
"What are they?" the boy interrupted.
"They are—they were—well, I was one."
"You?" The boy asked incredulously. He did not know what a Jacobin was, though he thought that if both he and the old man were ones, they could not be a bad thing. And it had something to do with being fair. The boy had always tried to be fair to everyone, even if they were not always fair to him.
"Yes, me. I was not always an old man living in this hut, you know!"
"So what's a Jacobin?" Marcellin asked. "You can't call me something and then not tell me what it is."
"A Jacobin," the old man said with a smile, "Is one who believes in natural rights."
"Natural rights?" The boy asked. The man fidgeted.
"We'll get to those too. You'll forgive me, boy, this isn't an easy topic, and I'm not a teacher."
"You're doing all right." The boy said authoritatively, "Go on."
"Yes. So, imagine that all of France was being ruled by a tyranny. A few people were telling everyone else what to do, and like I said, even when most of the people agreed on something, the other two estates banded together, and would outvote them. And of course, the king had the power to veto—that means say no to—whatever he liked. Do you think that is fair as well?"
"No, not at all."
"Right, my boy, it wasn't fair, and it wasn't right! And why wasn't it right?"
"It wasn't right because one person can't tell everyone else what to do. That's like Jean-Louis. You should do whatever the most people want, shouldn't you?"
"You certainly should."
"In Marseilles, we always did that. When we were deciding what to play and we couldn't agree, I'd make them vote. It was fair that way." The old man shook his head, looking impressed.
"Well, my boy, we'll make a Jacobin of you yet."
"Don't all people act that way? I mean, it's fair."
"No, not all people. You'd be surprised, my boy. People can be fair to each other on a day to day basis. They'll give alms to the beggars outside their own churches and protect their own wives and daughters, but when it comes to pass laws that'll give alms to all the poor, and protect all the wives and daughters, they suddenly aren't so concerned with being fair." The boy folded his arms on the table and frowned.
"That's not right. Isn't the most important thing to help people?"
"It should be. But, government doesn't work that way."
"Why not?"
"Sometimes there are other things that seem more important. Sometimes people can't see it's the most important thing."
"That's not right." The boy repeated.
"No, it's not. I won't bore you with a long list of the injustices of the monarchial system. We'll sum it up by saying that the few ruled the many, and the many were not listened to, no matter how many there were, no matter who they were. The only way a man had any power was to be born into it. They believed then that rights were given by the king, who had the right to be king from God, and he could take away your rights as he pleased."
"That's not fair, either." The boy interrupted, staring intensely at the wood of the table. He knew that what the old man said had happened a long time ago, but for some reason it was bothering him.
"Exactly, and the Jacobins believed in natural rights, you see, rights that supersede the rights given by the law, by the king."
"What are those?" the boy asked, "Natural rights?"
"Yes—the right—ah, well, there is a way to explain this better." The old man pulled himself out of his chair with a wince and hobbled over to a bookshelf. He pulled out a book seemingly at random at put it in the boy's hand. The boy looked at it. It was barely a book; it was little more than a group of papers bound together.
"'The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen.'" The boy read, "What is it?" he asked.
"It is a way of explaining to you our reasons, by showing you what we did. Read, boy, the first article." The boy opened to the first page.
"Article One;" he read. "Man is born and remains free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be based only on common utility." He looked up at the old man.
"Go on, boy." The man said, nodding solemnly. The boy looked quizzical but he returned to the text.
"The purpose of all political association is the preservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man. These rights are liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression." He looked up. "Are those natural rights?" the boy asked, looking more relaxed than he had since the old man had met him.
"Yes, boy, those are natural rights in a nutshell. Do you understand what it means?" The boy thought for a moment, then nodded.
"It means that everyone is the same, that everyone is free."
"Right." The man said, "And what else?"
"That…" the boy glanced down at the text, "That the laws have to protect you. The laws have to protect—" he glanced down again, "Liberty, property, security and resistance to oppression." The old man smiled and nodded sagaciously.
"What if that older boy, Jean-Louis took something of yours—a pear, perhaps—what would you do?"
"I'd thrash him." Marcellin said without even stopping to think. The old man laughed heartily.
"What if you couldn't? If he was bigger and stronger, and you didn't have any friends to help you?"
"Then I'd…I'd tell my mother. She'd get it back."
"Yes. In that case, your mother would be like the law; there to protect you and make sure no other person can take what is rightfully yours. That is the purpose of the law." The boy nodded solemnly, his eyes on the text before him.
"Read the next article." The boy got up and went to the window, holding the book under the light.
"Article Three: The principle of all sovereignty rests essentially in the nation. No body and no individual may exercise authority which does not emanate expressly from the nation." The boy looked at the old man, who nodded, a signal for him to go on, " Article Four; Liberty consists in the ability to do whatever does not harm another; hence, the exercise of the natural rights of each man has no other limits than those which assure to other members of society the enjoyment of the same rights. These limits can only be determined by the law."
"Do you understand that?" the old man asked.
"Yes—that I have the right to do whatever I want so long as I don't hurt anyone, right?"
"To put it simply, yes. And sovereignty—the right to rule comes from…?"
"The nation."
"And who are the nation?"
"The people of the country?"
"That's right; the people. Not a small percentage of them born into it by luck. Not a king given the right to rule by god. Not a Corsican general who proclaims himself emperor; the people. You and me. We are the ones who make the law. We are the ones who have the right to set limits on the law; which is only there to…?"
"Protect the natural laws." The boy was solemn, looking at his feet.
"Does it make sense?" the old man asked. The boy nodded. "And my boy, most importantly of all—do you agree with it?"
"I suppose." The boy said, "But isn't that all rather easy stuff? People being free, and things?"
"It wasn't always, Marcellin." The old man said, using his name for the first time. "The world has changed a lot between that day and this. The things we take for granted now were not so simple when I was young. Shall I tell you the rest of the story? About what happened that led up to us writing this declaration—and what happened after it."
"Of course you're going to tell me!" the boy said, sitting down again. "Aren't you?"
"Yes, yes." The man said, easing himself into the chair again, "But I warn you; some of it is not so nice. You may not agree with our ideals after I tell you what we did to protect them. I myself am not so fond of what we did to protect them. You may not like me after my tale is through."
"That doesn't matter." The boy said, putting the bound book on the table. "Explain this." He commanded imperiously. "Tell me everything." The man shook his head.
"All right, but I warned you. Are you sure you don't want some tea, boy? This isn't a story that can be told quickly."
"Nothing. The story." The boy commanded, and with a laugh, the old man began.
