CORRECTING THE PETITION.
On the Field of Mars the Altar of the Country still stood, set up for
the anniversary of the Bastile Capture, a skeleton of the past. On
this sixteenth of July, it was used as a table on which was spread
a petition to the Assembly, which considered that the King had
practically abdicated by his flight, and that he ought to be replaced by
"Constitutional methods." This was a cunning way to propose the Duke of
Orleans as Regent.
Politics is a fine veil, but the people see through it if they are given
time.
There was some discussion by the persons called on to sign over these
very words. But they might have been glossed over by the man in charge
of the paper, the pen and the ink, but for a man of the people, judging
by his manners and dress, who, with a frankness next to roughness,
stopped the secretary abruptly.
"Halt, this is cheating the people," said he.
"What do you mean?"
"This stuff about replacing the abdicated King by 'constitutional
means.' You want to give us King Stock instead of King Log. You want to
rig up royalty again and that is just what we don't want any more of."
"No, no more Kings--enough of royalty?" shouted most of the lookers on.
The secretary was Brissot, a Jacobin, and strange thing, here were the
arch-revolutionists, the Jacobins defending royalty!
"Have a care, gentlemen," cried he and his supporters, "with no royalty,
no king; the Republic would come, and we are not ripe for anything of
that kind."
"Not ripe?" jeered the Commoner: "a few such suns as shone on Varennes
when we nabbed the skulking King, will ripen us."
"Let's vote on this petition."
"Vote," shouted those who had clamored for no more royalty.
"Let those who do not want Louis XVI. or any other king, put up their
hand," cried the plebeian in a lusty voice.
Such a powerful number held up their hands that the Ayes had it beyond a
necessity of farther trial.
"Good," said the stranger; "to-morrow is Sunday, the seventeenth; let
all the boys come out here to sign the petition as amended to our
liking. I, Billet, will get the right sort ready."
At this name everybody recognized Farmer Billet, the Taker of the
Bastile, the hero of the people, the volunteer envoy who had accompanied
Lafayette's dandy aid to Varennes where he arrested the King whom he had
brought back to Paris.
Thus, at the first start, the boldest of the politicians had been
surpassed by--a man of the people, the embodied instincts of the masses!
The other leaders said that a storm would be raised and that they had
best get permission of the Mayor to hold this meeting on the morrow.
"Very well," said Billet, "obtain leave, and if refused you, I will
wrest it from them."
Mayor Bailly was absent when Brissot and Desmoulins called for the
leave: his deputy verbally granted it, but sent word to the House what
he had done.
The House was caught napping, for it had done nothing in fixing the
status of the King after his flight. As if from an enemy of the rulers,
the decree was passed that "The suspension of the executive power will
last until the King shall have accepted and signed the Constitutional
Act." Thus he was as much of a king as before; the popular petition
became useless.
Whoever claimed the dethronement of a monarch who was constitutionally
maintained by the House, so long as the King agreed to accomplish
this condition, was a rebel, of course. The decree was to be posted
throughout the town next morning at eight.
Prudent politicians went out of the town. The Jacobins retired, and
their vulgar member, Santerre, the great brewer of the working quarter,
was chosen to go and withdraw the petition from the Altar of the
Country.
But those meant to attend, spite of governmental warning, who are like
the wolves and vultures who flock to the battlefields.
Marat was confined to his cellar by his monomania, but he yelled for the
Assembly to be butchered and cried for a general massacre out of which
he would wade a universal dictator.
Verriere, the abominable hunchback, careered about on a horse like the
spectre of the Apocalypse, and stopped at every crossroad to invite the
masses to meet on the Field of Mars.
So the thousands went to the rendezvous, to sign the paper, sing and
dance and shout "The Nation Forever!"
The sun rose magnificently. All the petty tradesfolk who cater to the
multitude swarmed on the parade-ground where the Altar of the Country
stood up in the middle like a grand catafalque.
By half past four a hundred and fifty thousand souls were present. Those
who rise early are usually bad sleepers, and who has not slept well is
commonly in a bad humor.
In the midst of the chatter a woman's scream was heard. On the crowd
flocking round her, she complained of having been stabbed in the ankle
while leaning against the altar. Indeed the point of a gimlet was seen
sticking through the boards. In a twinkling the planks were torn down
and two men were unearthed in the hollow. They were old cronies, sots
who had taken a keg of liquor with them and eatables, and stolen a march
on the crowd by hiding here overnight.
But unfortunately the mob at the woman's cue thought they made peepholes
for a mean purpose and cried that the keg contained powder to blow up
the signers of the petition. They forgot that these new Guido Fawkes
hardly looked the sort to blow themselves up with their victims.
Be this as it may, they were taken to the police court where the
magistrates laughingly released them; but the washer-women, great
sticklers for women not to be probed in the ankle by gimlets, gave them
a beating with the paddles used in thumping linen. This was not all: the
cry that powder was found getting spread, they were taken from the women
and slain. A few minutes after, their heads were cut off and the ready
pikes were there to receive them on their points.
The news was perverted on its way to the Assembly where the heads were
stated to be of two friends of order who had lost them while preaching
respect to the law.
The Assembly at once voted the City to be under martial law.
Santerre, sent by the Jacobin Club to withdraw their petition before
Billet transformed it, found that worthy the centre of the immense
gathering. He did not know how to write but he had let some one guide
his hand when he "put his fist" to it.
The brewer went up the steps of the altar, announced that the Assembly
proclaimed any one a rebel who dared demand the dethronement of the
King, and said he was sent to call in the petition.
Billet went down three steps to face the brewer. The two members of the
lower orders looked at each other, examining the symbols of the two
forces ruling France, the town and the country.
They had fought together to take the Bastile and acknowledged that they
were brothers.
"All right," said Billet, "we do not want your petition; take yours back
to the Jacobins; we will start another."
"And fetch it along to my brewery in the St. Antoine Suburb, where I
will sign it and get my men and friends to do the same."
He held out his broad hand in which Billet clapped his.
At sight of this powerful alliance, the mob cheered.
They began to know the worth of the brewer, too. He went away with one
of those gestures expressive of meeting again, which the lower classes
understood.
"Now, look here," said Billet, "the Jacobins are afraid. They have a
right to back out with their petition, but we are not afraid and we have
the right to draw up another."
"Hurrah for another petition! all be on hand to-morrow."
"But why not to-day?" cried Billet: "who knows what may happen
to-morrow?"
"He's right," called out many; "to-day--at once!"
A group of enlightened men flocked round Billet; they were members of
the Invisibles like him, and, besides, strength has the loadstone's
power to attract.
Roland and his celebrated wife with Dr. Gilbert, wrote the petition,
which was read in silence, while all bared their head to this document
dictated by the people. It declared that the King had abdicated the
throne by his flight and called for a fresh House to "proceed in a truly
national manner to try the guilty ruler and organize a new executive
power."
It answered to everybody's wish so that it was applauded at the last
phrase. Numbered sheets were served out for the signatures to be written
on them by the many who sought to sign, all over the place.
During this work, which was so quietly done that women were strolling
about the groups with their children, Lafayette arrived with his special
guard, who were paid troops.
But he could not see any cause to intervene and marched away. It is true
that on the road he had to take one barricade set up by the gang who had
slaughtered the two Peeping Toms of the Altar of the Country. One of his
aids had been fired at in this scuffle; and the report ran to the House
that in a severe action Lafayette had been shot and his officers
wounded.
The house sent a deputation to inquire.
This party of three found the multitude still signing, and signing a
document so harmless that they personally said they would put their own
names to it if they were not in an official position.
In the conflict of no importance between the mob and the National Guards
two prisoners had been made by the latter. As usual in such cases they
had nothing to do with the riot.
The principal petitioners asked their release.
"We can do nothing in the matter," replied the deputation; "but send a
committee to the City Hall and the liberation will be given."
Billet was unanimously chosen chairman of a party of twelve. They were
kept waiting an hour before the Mayor Bailly came to receive them.
Bailly was pale but determined; he knew he was unjust but he had the
Assembly's order at his back and he would carry it out to the end.
But Billet walked straight up to him, saying, in his firm tone:
"Mayor, we have been kept waiting an hour."
"Who are you and what have you to say to me?"
"I am surprised you should ask who I am, Mayor Bailly but those who turn
off the right road do not always get back on the track. I am Farmer
Billet."
Bailly was reminded of one of the Takers of the Bastile, who had tried
to save the objects of public wrath from the slaughterers; the man who
had given the King the tricolor cockade; who had aroused Lafayette on
the night when the Royal Family were nearly murdered; the leader who had
not shrank from making the King and the Queen prisoners.
"As for what I have to say," continued he, "we are the messengers of the
people assembled on the parade-ground: we demand the fulfillment of the
promise of your three envoys--that the two citizens unjustly accused and
whose innocence we guarantee, shall be set free straightway."
"Nonsense, whoever heard of promises being kept that were made to
rioters?" returned Bailly, trying to go by.
The committee looked astonished at one another and Billet frowned.
"Rioters? so we are rioters now, eh?"
"Yes, factious folk, among whom I will restore peace by going to the
place."
Billet laughed roughly in that way which is a menace on some lips.
"Restore peace? Your friend Lafayette has been there, and your three
delegates, and they will say it is calmer than the City Hall Square."
At this juncture a captain of militia came running up in fright to tell
the Mayor that there was fighting on the Field of Mars, "where fifty
thousand ragamuffins were making ready to march on the Assembly."
Scarce had he got the words out before he felt Billet's heavy hand on
his shoulder.
"Who says this?" demanded the farmer.
"The Assembly."
"Then the Assembly lies." The captain drew his sword on him, which he
seized by the hilt and the point and wrenched from his grasp.
"Enough, gentlemen," said Bailly; "we will ourselves see into this.
Farmer Billet, return the sword, and if you have influence over those
you come from, hasten back, to make them disperse."
Billet threw the sabre at the officer's feet.
"Disperse be hanged! the right to petition is recognized by decree and
till another revokes it, nobody can prevent citizens expressing their
wishes--mayor, or National Guards commander, or others. Come to the
place--we will be there before you."
Those around expected Bailly to give orders for the arrest of this bold
speaker, but he knew that this was the voice of the people, so loud and
lofty. He made a sign and Billet and his friends passed out.
When they arrived on the parade-ground, the crowd was a third larger,
say, sixty thousand, all old, women and men. There was a rush for the
news.
"The two citizens are not released: the mayor will not answer except
that we are all rioters."
The "rioters" laughed at this title and went on signing the petition,
which had some five thousand names down: by night it would be fifty
thousand, and the Assembly would be forced to bow to such unanimity.
Suddenly the arrival of the military was shouted. Bailly and the city
officials were leading the National Guards hither.
When the bayonets were seen, many proposed retiring.
"Brothers, what are you talking of?" said Billet, on the Altar of the
Country, "why this fear? either martial law is aimed at us, or not. If
not, why should we run? if it is, the riot act must be read and that
will give time to get away."
"Yes, yes," said many voices, "we are lawfully here. Wait for the
summons to disperse. Stand your ground."
The drums were heard and the soldiers appeared at three entrances into
the ground. The crowd fell back towards the Altar which resembled a
pyramid of human bodies. One corps was composed of four thousand men
from the working quarter and Lafayette, who did not trust them, had
added a battalion of his paid Guards to them. They were old soldiers,
Fayettists, who had heard of their god being fired on and were burning
to avenge the insult.
So, when Bailly was received by the "booing" of the boys, and one shot
was heard from the mob in that part, which sent a bullet to slightly
wound a dragoon, the Mayor ordered a volley, but of blank cartridge from
those soldiers around him.
But the Fayettists, also obeyed the command and fired on the mass at the
Altar, a most inoffensive crowd.
A dreadful scream arose there, and the fugitives were seen leaving
corpses behind them, with the wounded dragging themselves in trails
of blood! Amid the smoke and dust the cavalry rushed in chase of the
running figures.
The broad expanse presented a lamentable aspect, for women and children
had mostly been shot and cut down.
An aid galloped up to the East-end battalions and ordered them to march
on their side and sweep the mob away till they had formed a junction
with the other corps. But these workingmen pointed their guns at him and
the cavalry running down the fugitives and made them recoil before the
patriotic bayonets. All who ran in this direction found protection.
Who gave the order to fire? none will ever know. It remains one of
those historical mysteries inexplicable despite the most conscientious
investigations. Neither the chivalric Lafayette nor the honest Bailly
liked bloodshed, and this stain clung to them to the end. In vain were
they congratulated by the Assembly; in vain their press organs called
this slaughter a constitutional victory; this triumph was branded like
all those days when the slain were given no chance to fight. The people
who always fit the cap to the right head, call it "The Massacre of the
Champ de Mars."