THE PROCLAMATION
The street lamps had not been lighted when I landed on the left bank of
the river, well above any outposts of the new revolt. I pulled my skiff
safely under shelter of some bushes. The spot I had chosen was one well
known to me, and exceedingly safe. My father often sent me over to bring
plants and seeds from Arcadius, the gardener at Les Linottes, whose
extensive grounds ran right down to the river's edge. A soft, rather
hulking, good-natured man was Arcadius, who went through the world
apparently breathing to the full ease of life. His body somewhat
resembled a large slug supported on two smaller slugs, which were his
legs. He worked in his garden, his pipe continually between his lips. At
a first glance the slowness of his movements seemed laughable and
ridiculous. But leave him half an hour and then see what he had
accomplished. There was no man in Aramon who could get through so much
work as Arcadius the Slug. By a kind of instinct he saw exactly where
every stroke ought to fall, how much or how little was to be done, and
the completed task ran out behind him like the wake from a well-rowed
boat.
It was in a little bay behind a promontory filled with the Slug's
sapling pines that I landed. I knew the place well, I knew also that
Arcadius would almost certainly be in his potting house, putting things
to rights after the labours of the day (the middle of March is high
season for every gardener in the Midi). There indeed I found him
surrounded with repaired hoes and rakes, and at that moment putting a
new handle into the small gardener's _beche_ (or mattock) which was
hardly ever out of his hands while in the open air.
Arcadius was not a man of politics.
"I have never known politics to improve the weather or keep off frosts!"
he said. "I have yet to learn what good they do to a working gardener!"
I asked about the works and the town.
"Oh," he said, "my 'prentice lads stayed with me till six o'clock
because I had put the fear of death on them if they tried to run. Yet I
could see that they were itching to be off, and as soon as six struck
from the Mairie, they dropped their tools and were over the wall. Only
my Italians stayed and went soberly to bed. More I do not know. But,
though there has been much noise of cheering in the square, there has
been no shooting."
I told Arcadius of the skiff fastened up behind his sapling copse. He
nodded easily and looked out of doors to examine the weather signs.
"It is not likely to rain, but it will hurt nothing to turn her upside
down and stay her with a rope and a pair of stones. She will be ready
when you want her. If you are bound on going into Aramon to-night, you
may want her with great suddenness."
I left him at the upper gate of his garden opposite to the waste ground
where the harmless bull fights of Provence took place.
"Now," he said, "there is a key for you. Put it in your pocket. Cross
that bull yard and go through the passage, at the end of which you will
come upon a door. When you open it you will find yourself in the narrow
street by the new Lay Schools of the town."
Then my kindly Slug took himself off without waiting for thanks, shaking
all over like a jelly, and his lantern making a trickle of clear yellow
light on the pathway in front of him. His wife was calling him in to
supper, "Arcad-arcad-ar-cad-i-oos!"
I crossed the road hastily. All was empty and desolate, and in a moment
more I was fronted by the barricade over which every Sunday the
"amateurs" of this innocent bull-baiting leaped back to safety and the
applause of their friends.
Almost I had lost my way among piled benches, when a faint light showed
through a much barred door. I passed through the money-taker's box with
double doors and found myself facing the dark tunnel of which Arcadius
had spoken. It looked dismal and uninviting enough, but at least there
was no reason to suppose that any revolutionaries would be skulking
there. Even if there were, what had I, an old Garibaldian, to fear? The
passage had evidently been used for bringing the bull into the arena,
and I was glad enough when the massive double portal stopped me, even
though it was the bump on my forehead which first acquainted me with its
position.
I felt for the keyhole and found that it took all my strength to turn
the wards of the ancient lock which in that damp place creaked dismally.
The half of the heavy door swung back ponderously. The street without
seemed dim and forlorn in front of me, glimmering with a kind of bluish
light. I was glad that I had not to step at once into the bright
illumination of the Cours or the more restrained golden glow which
distinguished the Place de la Mairie. I made what slight toilet I could,
carefully wiping my muddy boots on the door-mat of a perfect stranger to
whom in days to come I make belated acknowledgments.
I peered out and it was well I did so, for not ten yards from the end of
the passage a sentry was posted in the dress of the National Guard of
Aramon, blue breeches, blue coat liberally faced with red, and a red
_kepi_. I could see the light from an unseen lamp shining on the flat of
his sword-bayonet, no doubt fresh from the storehouse of Dennis
Deventer.
For since the ignominious retreat of the military two months ago, the
Government had insisted that a National Guard on the Paris model should
be established in Aramon and, for that matter, in all the larger towns
of the Midi. Dennis Deventer warned the prefect of the department of
Rhone-et-Durance that they were laying up trouble for themselves. He
told them that if they armed the workmen of the Arms Factories on the
slightest outbreak in Paris, all power in Aramon-les-Ateliers would pass
instantly into their hands. The like would also happen in every town of
the Midi.
"You of the South are afraid when a mouse squeaks," the Secretary of the
Interior had replied (for Dennis and he were closeted together). "We
accounted for the Reds easily enough in October and again in January.
They have lost both in power and numbers since then. If anything grave
does happen, we can always take Cavaignac's way--isolate suburb from
suburb and--shoot!"
"Very well," said Dennis, "if you are sure of your regular army that may
do for Paris--but at Aramon, at Marseilles, our suburbs are our rich
quarters. The men of the revolt live in the city, and to put arms into
their hands is to centralise all power there."
But the watchword of the Government for the moment was "trust of the
people," and it was not till its generals were being shot down under the
bloody apple blossom of the Rue des Rosiers, its army fraternising with
the revolutionaries, and the chiefs of the Government clattering with
foaming steeds and strained harness on the way to Versailles, that they
became aware that Dennis Deventer had been right.
At any rate, there was I, who had not been consulted in the affair,
almost within arms' length of a National Guard, my refuge in the doorway
liable to be intruded upon at any moment, and all exit blocked. I began
to ask myself what I was doing there.
Yet I had no idea of going back. I must know what had happened at
Chateau Schneider. I must see Rhoda Polly. There was no sound except a
confused murmur like wind overhead in high trees. No shots were fired,
and except the erect sentinel in his blue coat, his red _kepi_ tipped
rakishly over one ear, and his shining rifle and sword-bayonet, I heard
no sound of civil strife.
I watched him carefully. He was new to his work and fidgeted constantly,
now coming a little down the street and then going a little way up, but
never a moment losing sight of my alley arch, which seemed to attract
him like a sort of black hole into the unknown.
Twice or thrice he fumbled in his pockets, and once he drew out a short
pipe which he eyed with longing. But apparently he had had his orders,
for he put it back again, changed his piece from one shoulder to
another, and resumed his uneasy guard.
I think that it must have been a good hour that I stood there watching
the shining of that fellow's broad bayonet. So we might have stood
indefinitely had not the pipe in my gentleman's pocket proved in time
too much for him. He looked this way and that, ducked suddenly under my
archway, bayonet and all, and then proceeded to strike a match. I can
affirm in excuse for what followed that I had no time to form plans. The
most natural defence was that which most concerned me. My opponent was
armed and strong, I only agile, young, and unarmed. So while the vile
governmental match still stank and hissed with its blue flame, I leaped
upon him like a cat.
He screamed, dropped his pipe, and made immediately for the street. If
he reached it I was a dead man. So I throttled him, pulling back his
head till I feared his neck might crack. He fell, and in a twinkling I
had tossed aside his gun and revolver, strapped his hands with my
waistbelt and thrust a handkerchief into his mouth, fastening it in with
another which I found in his own pocket.
Then I dragged him backwards towards the door and after some difficulty
opened it. I lifted him as well as I could upon my shoulders so that
only his feet trailed. But he must have received some stunning blow
about the head, for he never moved, though it was with relief that I
felt him breathing when I laid him down. I extended him comfortably on a
fodder crib in the bull enclosure, for which luckily my key was also
good.
Then I hastily reckoned the chances such as they were. It was clear I
could not go about the streets of Aramon as I was, with armed sentinels
at every corner. The man's red _kepi_ gave me an idea. It had fallen
off. I picked it up, cleaned it, and was about to replace it, when I
suddenly snatched it away again. I lifted the man up and took off his
cloak and blue uniform coat. I would be a National Guard for the night,
and I felt sure that with my experience of soldiering I could look the
part. I bestowed my coat upon him, and gazed with longing at his blue
breeches, but gave up that exchange as too long and perilous an
undertaking. Dark brown must serve in place of the regulation blue
pattern on the principle that at night all cats are grey. But I put on
the coat which was considerably too big. I carefully cleaned the skirts
of the cloak, and then added to my array the red _kepi_.
The door once locked upon my prisoner, I left him to come to himself at
his own time and as he would. On my way out I gathered up the arms that
were missing. Already I had provided myself with his cartridge belt, his
haversack and all accessories. The revolver was safe in its case near
the door-mat and the rifle and sword-bayonet were soon polished on one
of the tails of the coat. I kept the cloak open a little so that the
broad red facings might show.
With a beating heart I peeped out. The street was empty, and it struck
me forcibly that the sooner I got away from there the better.
The military organisation of the Revolt might be more complete than I
supposed. They might send out Grand Rounds to visit their sentinels, or
the guard might be changed---both of which events would be exceedingly
awkward for me, especially as I was wholly without knowledge of the
password.
Not more than an instant did I hesitate on the threshold. Then with (I
admit) my heart in my mouth, I stepped out and marched directly for the
end of the alley.
The broad Place de la Republique (as it had been named for six months,
vice "Imperial" superseded) was filled with a dim but pervading
illumination. The resinous smell of many torches filled the air, and as
I turned towards the Hotel de Ville I saw the reason. On the broad
platform over the doorway, many men were standing bareheaded, and a
little in advance of the others one was holding a document in his hand.
Flags that certainly were not tricolour drooped on either hand of this
balcony and cascaded down the front of the building, hiding the
first-floor windows and reaching the ground.
I saw many National Guards hurrying from their places, some singly, some
in little groups of three and four. I let myself be carried along till I
reached the press in front of the ceremony. Discreetly I did not try to
penetrate, but kept well on the outskirts, as far from the hundred
torches as possible. Mine was not a popular position, for the reek of
the tar set people coughing, and most were not slow to move away. But I
stood as if on faction, and as such was saluted and passed by a hurrying
officer, who, barely saluting, barked at me the single word "Marx,"
shooting it in my direction like a missile. I saluted in return and he
went his way, leaving me in possession of the password for the night. It
was no immediate service, for all there were too intent on the ceremony
in front of the town hall to look at one National Guard more or less.
When I had accustomed my eyes to the acrid sting of the smoke, I moved
nearer in order to hear better, and then for the first time I became
aware that the man who was proclaiming the Commune in Aramon was--Keller
Bey himself!
The accents of the voice, falling clamorously on my ear, had indeed
sounded familiar, but I had rather thought of Pere Felix, Pipe-en-Bois,
Soult or any other valiants of the former revolutions. What was Keller
doing here?
Suppositions crowded dizzily about me. Of course, there had always been
an unknown side to Keller Bey, and his hatred of the priests and the
bourgeoisie had been things to reckon with.
"Who is the speaker?" I asked of a man beside me, still in the blouse of
his daily work, his eyes red with tending furnaces and his hands grimy
with coal. He cast one look of contempt on me.
"Where have you come from," he demanded, "that you do not know Keller
Chief of the Secret Council of the Internationale?"
"I have been fighting along with Garibaldi," I answered truthfully
enough, "I have not been long in the National Guard."
Which in its way was still truer.
"Ah," he answered carelessly, "the Italian! I have heard of him. What
sort of a fellow was he?"
I explained enthusiastically, but as usual quite in vain.
"Well," said the man, cursing the smoke and beginning to move off, "he
might as well have stopped at home for all the good he did. That's my
way of it!"
And I will not conceal from the reader that this summed up pretty fairly
the bulk of French opinion upon the great leader.
As may well be imagined I stood far back, shrouded in shadow and smoke
till Keller Bey had finished his speech. He told how in Paris the revolt
of the proletariat had been completely successful, how the army had gone
over to the cause of the people, how the bourgeois Government had fled
to Versailles with hardly one to do them honour--how in all the great
cities of France the new Commune was being declared and established. At
Marseilles Gambetta's young Procureur-General, the citizen Gaston
Cremieux, headed the movement. He read a dispatch that moment received,
urging Aramon to send a thousand men to help their brothers in
Marseilles, threatened with troops from overseas and exposed to daily
attacks from the still untaken forts.
"We shall be glad to aid our brothers in Marseilles if we are let alone
here. We desire no fighting. The troops of the tricolour are not within
our gates, and though there are some left who think differently from us,
we can, I believe, live on excellent terms with them, until our
Government is solidified and the Company of Arms is ready to nationalise
its works. Till that day we must deal prudently, rule well, allow no
attempts on private property, and behave as if we were all in reality as
well as in name comrades and brothers."
So far as I could judge, I think Keller Bey carried the audience with
him. I did not hear a murmur of dissent. Only, on the other hand, the
plaudits could not be called long-continued or well-nourished. The
workers of Aramon-les-Ateliers cherished a secret doubt--a doubt which
they wished set at rest.
"What of Dennis?" they cried. "Dennis Deventer? Are the works to be
closed? Where is the week's wage to come from?"
Keller Bey rose again, brushing aside the Pere Felix.
"To-morrow," he said "you shall elect your Commune--twenty citizens of
weight and mark to take the place of the present provisional government
which has declared Aramon a city of liberty. Choose you good strong men
who can deal with the Company and the Company's agent. Have no fear. Our
cause is just. Marseilles and the great cities are with us. And
to-morrow, doubt it not, France shall be with us also. We have
inaugurated the reign of international peace. Let us begin by keeping
the peace within our own borders. If we are to govern at all, we must
show an example of good government, so that every city, town, and hamlet
shall desire to throw in its lot with us. There is to be no wrecking of
machinery, which we know must one day belong to the workers. We shall
make friends with the foremen of departments, and when we come to
restarting the works on the Communist plan we shall pay every man his
wage according to his deserts--aye, and to Dennis Deventer his, for a
head we must have. A business without a head is like an army without a
general."
At this moment I was suddenly gripped solidly from behind, my weapons
snatched away from me, and with the butt of the rifle such a blow was
delivered on the back of my head that the marvel is I am here writing of
it to-day. My gentleman of the bull enclosure had been cleverer than I
had anticipated. Most likely he had been shamming dead, and now, having
loosened himself, he had leaped the fence, made a detour of the
boulevard and appeared from behind me at the moment when I was expecting
him as little as he had looked for me in the archway.
That gun-butt was enough for me. I sank swooning on the ground under the
low smoke drift from the dim torches and with the words of Keller Bey as
to universal peace and concord still in my ears.