“And how about the riot?” I asked.
“It is a revolution,” replied M. Belley. “The insurgents are in control
of Paris at this moment.”
I left M. Belley and hurriedly traversed the few rooms that separated
the hall in which we held our sessions and the office occupied by the
Executive Committee.
It was a small salon belonging to the presidency, and was reached
through two rooms that were smaller still. In these ante-chambers was a
buzzing crowd of distracted officers and National Guards. They made no
attempt to prevent any one from entering.
I opened the door of the Executive Committee’s office. Ledru-Rollin,
very red, was half seated on the table. M. Gamier-Pages, very pale, and
half reclining in an armchair, formed an antithesis to him. The contrast
was complete: Garnier-Pagès thin and bushy-haired, Ledru-Rollin stout
and close-cropped. Two or three colonels, among them Representative
Charras, were conversing in a corner. I only recall Arago vaguely. I do
not remember whether M. Marie was there. The sun was shining brightly.
Lamartine, standing in a window recess on the left, was talking to a
general in full uniform, whom I saw for the first and last time, and
who was Négrier. Négrier was killed that same evening in front of a
barricade.
I hurried to Lamartine, who advanced to meet me. He was wan and
agitated, his beard was long, his clothes were dusty.
He held out his hand: “Ah! good morning, Hugo!”
Here is the dialogue that we engaged in, every word of which is still
fresh in my memory:
“What is the situation, Lamartine?”
“We are done for!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that in a quarter of an hour from now the Assembly will be
invaded.”
(Even at that moment a column of insurgents was coming down the Rue de
Lille. A timely charge of cavalry dispersed it.)
“Nonsense! What about the troops?”
“There are no troops!”
“But you said on Wednesday, and yesterday repeated, that you had sixty
thousand men at your disposal.”
“So I thought.”
“Well, but you musn’t give up like this. It is not only you who are at
stake, but the Assembly, and not only the Assembly, but France, and not
only France, but the whole of civilization. Why did you not issue orders
yesterday to have the garrisons of the towns for forty leagues round
brought to Paris? That would have given you thirty thousand men at
once.”
“We gave the orders--”
“Well?”
“The troops have not come!”
Lamartine took my hand and said;
“I am not Minister of War!”
At this moment a few representatives entered noisily. The Assembly had
just voted a state of siege. They told Ledru-Rollin and Garnier-Pages so
in a few words.
Lamartine half turned towards them and said in an undertone:
“A state of siege! A state of siege! Well, declare it if you think it is
necessary. I have nothing to say!”
He dropped into a chair, repeating:
“I have nothing to say, neither yes nor no. Do what you like!”
General Négrier came up to me.
“Monsieur Victor Hugo,” he said, “I have come to reassure you; I have
received news from the Place Royale.”
“Well, general?”
“Your family are safe.”
“Thanks! Yes, I have just been so informed.”
“But your house has been burnt down.”
“What does that matter?” said I.
Négrier warmly pressed my arm:
“I understand you. Let us think only of one thing. Let us save the
country!”
As I was withdrawing Lamartine quitted a group and came to me.
“Adieu,” he said. “But do not forget this: do not judge me too hastily;
I am not the Minister of War.”
The day before, as the riot was spreading, Cavaignac, after a few
measures had been taken, said to Lamartine:
“That’s enough for to-day.”
It was 5 o’clock.
“What!” exclaimed Lamartine. “Why, we have still four hours of daylight
before us! And the riot will profit by them while we are losing them!”
He could get nothing from Cavaignac except:
“That’s enough for to-day!”
On the 24th, about 3 o’clock, at the most critical moment, a
Representative of the people, wearing his sail across his shoulder,
arrived at the Mairie of the Second Arrondissement, in the Rue Chauchat,
behind the Opera. He was recognised. He was Lagrange.
The National Guards surrounded him. In a twinkling the group became
menacing:
“It is Lagrange! the man of the pistol shot!* What are you doing here?
You are a coward! Get behind the barricades. That is your place--your
friends are there--and not with us! They will proclaim you their chief;
go on! They at any rate are brave! They are giving their blood for your
follies; and you, you are afraid! You have a dirty duty to do, but at
least do it! Get out of here! Begone!”
* It was popularly but erroneously believed that Lagrange
fired the shot that led to the massacre in the Boulevard des
Capucines on February 23.
Lagrange endeavoured to speak. His voice was drowned by hooting.
This is how these madmen received the honest man who after fighting for
the people wanted to risk his life for society.
June 25.
The insurgents were firing throughout the whole length of the Boulevard
Beaumarchais from the tops of the new houses. Several had ambushed
themselves in the big house in course of construction opposite the
Galiote. At the windows they had stuck dummies,--bundles of straw with
blouses and caps on them.
I distinctly saw a man who had entrenched himself behind a barricade of
bricks in a corner of the balcony on the fourth floor of the house which
faces the Rue du Pont-aux-Choux. The man took careful aim and killed a
good many persons.
It was 3 o’clock. The troops and mobiles fringed the roofs of the
Boulevard du Temple and returned the fire of the insurgents. A cannon
had just been drawn up in front of the Gaité to demolish the house of
the Galiote and sweep the whole boulevard.
I thought I ought to make an effort to put a stop to the bloodshed,
if possible, and advanced to the corner of the Rue d’Angoulême. When I
reached the little turret near there I was greeted with a fusillade.
The bullets pattered upon the turret behind me, and ploughed up the
playbills with which it was covered. I detached a strip of paper as a
memento. The bill to which it belonged announced for that very Sunday a
fête at the Château des Flours, “with a thousand lanterns.”
* * * * *
For four months we have been living in a furnace. What consoles me is
that the statue of the future will issue from it. It required such a
brazier to melt such a bronze.