Chapter Chapter 156 · THE OLD SOUL OF GAUL

There was something of that boy in Poquelin, the son of the

fish-market; Beaumarchais had something of it. Gaminerie is a shade of

the Gallic spirit. Mingled with good sense, it sometimes adds force to

the latter, as alcohol does to wine. Sometimes it is a defect. Homer

repeats himself eternally, granted; one may say that Voltaire plays the

gamin. Camille Desmoulins was a native of the faubourgs. Championnet,

who treated miracles brutally, rose from the pavements of Paris; he

had, when a small lad, inundated the porticos of Saint-Jean de

Beauvais, and of Saint-Étienne du Mont; he had addressed the shrine of

Sainte-Geneviève familiarly to give orders to the phial of Saint

Januarius.

The gamin of Paris is respectful, ironical, and insolent. He has

villainous teeth, because he is badly fed and his stomach suffers, and

handsome eyes because he has wit. If Jehovah himself were present, he

would go hopping up the steps of paradise on one foot. He is strong on

boxing. All beliefs are possible to him. He plays in the gutter, and

straightens himself up with a revolt; his effrontery persists even in

the presence of grape-shot; he was a scapegrace, he is a hero; like the

little Theban, he shakes the skin from the lion; Barra the drummer-boy

was a gamin of Paris; he Shouts: “Forward!” as the horse of Scripture

says “Vah!” and in a moment he has passed from the small brat to the

giant.

This child of the puddle is also the child of the ideal. Measure that

spread of wings which reaches from Molière to Barra.

To sum up the whole, and in one word, the gamin is a being who amuses

himself, because he is unhappy.