The Mob Rises.
"Ah! it is monsieur!" and my landlord came from his room, where he had
evidently been watching for me. "A note from the Palais Royal,
monsieur! The messenger has called three times; it is of importance."
"From the Palais Royal? Let me see it. Ah! what a nuisance. Well, I
must attend to it; meanwhile, get me a coarse blue woollen overall and
a workman's cap. My finery and plumed hat are likely to cause trouble."
"They shall be at once obtained, monsieur," said he without a trace of
surprise.
"Good!" and I turned back, glancing again at the paper as I walked.
"Come to me at once. Le Tellier." That was all! What was in the wind
now? The under-minister had kept me waiting long enough, and sought my
service just when I required leisure for other matters. If Le
Tellier's business did not fit in with my own it must wait, as I had
resolved on saving Marie and her aunt at all costs.
Inside the gates John Humphreys met me. He was in good humour, and
delighted that Conde had at last thrown down the gauntlet.
"It is a straight fight now," said he; "the sort of thing I understand.
It is rumoured that the Queen will leave Paris, and the guards will
escort her. Have you a berth in the King's household yet?"
"No, I am still unattached, but Le Tellier has just sent for me; so
there is no knowing what may happen. By the way, I have seen my
cousin," and I related briefly the story of his illness and death.
"Bravo, Pillot!" exclaimed Humphreys when I had finished; "he's a
plucky rascal, and loyal, too. What will become of him now that his
master is dead?"
"He has agreed to take service with me. But I must go; Le Tellier has
been waiting for some time," and I proceeded quickly to the
under-minister's apartment.
"At last, M. de Lalande," rather irritably. "I began to wonder if you
had left Paris! Are you still willing to do the King a service?"
"I shall be delighted, monsieur."
"Humph!" said he, making a wry face, "I am not so sure of that. I
intend to send you on a dangerous errand. You will need a keen eye,
sharp brain, and, as likely as not, a strong arm. My last messenger
was waylaid and nearly killed, and you may fare even worse."
"The prospect is not over pleasant," I answered laughing, "but I may
have better luck."
"I hope you will," said he doubtfully, "but it is a risky venture. You
know that Cardinal Mazarin is at Bruhl, near Cologne? Well, it is
necessary to take him an important paper."
"There seems small risk in that!"
"There you are wrong. It is well understood that letters pass to and
fro, and his enemies are on the watch. It may be they will learn your
secret before you get outside the gates. Their spies are everywhere;
even, I may say, in the Palace itself. Now, will you undertake the
commission?"
"Certainly, but I cannot travel on foot."
"There are horses in France, I suppose."
"One cannot buy them without money, which so far, has never been
plentiful with me."
"Oh," said he, "I will attend to that. The King cannot afford to be
niggardly in this matter, eh?" and without even making a wry face he
gave me a liberal supply of money.
"Now," he continued, when I had replaced my purse, "this is a serious
affair, and the Court will depend not only on your courage but on your
skill. Mazarin must receive that letter, and no one else must see it.
Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, monsieur."
"You will leave Paris to-night; trust no one, and remember that every
man you meet on the road may be a spy in Conde's pay."
"Then the chief danger is to be expected from the prince?"
"From every one," he exclaimed sharply. "King's friends. Queen's
friends, _Frondeurs_ and _petits maitres_ are all to be suspected until
that letter is placed in Mazarin's own hands."
Being a very tiny packet it was hidden without much difficulty, and,
after listening to Le Tellier's cautions all over again, I left the
apartment. Humphreys was waiting in the courtyard, but, staying only
to whisper, "Secret service," I hurried on to my own rooms.
"Monsieur will find his things on the bed," said the landlord; "they
are rather shabby, but they will attract less notice than new ones."
I asked if the town was quiet, and with a shrug, of his shoulders he
said, "As yet, but there will be mischief presently. Monsieur is wise
to put on an overall if he wishes to walk abroad."
"I am going to look on, nothing more. Now bring me something to eat,
and I will pay your bill."
"I am obliged," said he as coolly as if it were an everyday incident,
though I am sure he must have felt surprised at such an unexpected
stroke of luck. I know I was astonished at my own ability to pay him.
"Monsieur will return?" said he questioningly, when at last I was ready
to depart.
"I trust so. Keep the rooms for me."
He took the money, opened the door, and bowed low as I went out. He
had always treated me well, and I was glad to have the means of
settling my debt to him.
A considerable change had taken place in the streets since the morning,
and there were numerous signs of the threatening storm. The Black
Mantles had disappeared, having shut themselves up in their barricaded
houses. Brawny men, half-naked and unwashed, patrolled the roadway,
mostly in two and threes, but here and there in larger groups. Every
one had a weapon, pike or club, axe or chopper, while a certain
proportion carried horse-pistols, or blunderbusses.
I pushed on quickly through the crowd to the Rue Crillon, feeling more
alarmed at every step, as the promenaders were rapidly getting ripe for
mischief. Thus far I believe they had no settled purpose beyond
general plunder, but no one could tell what might happen at any moment.
I ought really to have gone on with Le Tellier's note, but I could not
make up my mind to abandon the ladies. Most of their friends had
followed Conde, Raoul could not leave the Luxembourg, and they were
practically alone in Paris.
When I reached the Rue Crillon it was nearly empty, and I managed to
pass unobserved into my friends' house. Marie and her aunt were
sitting in an upstairs room that faced the street. Madame Coutance was
looking out with an expression of scorn, but the girl's face was pale
and apprehensive. At first they failed to recognise me in my workman's
disguise, but after a second or two the elder lady exclaimed, "Why
surely it is M. de Lalande, our cavalier, the knight-errant who goes
about rescuing distressed dames. But why this mummery, my trusty
knight? What does it mean?"
"That I intend doing my utmost to save your life, madame. Come, before
the mob begins to work mischief. Raoul has procured me a permit which
will pass us through the gates."
"You have grown wondrous timid of a sudden," she laughed. "I can
perceive no sign of danger. There are a few people in the street, but
they are quiet enough."
"They are swarming from their dens in all quarters of the town, madame,
and they are as likely as not to come here."
"But why should they?" she inquired, and I could only reply by asking
why they should not.
"They cannot wish to injure us," exclaimed Marie; "we have done them no
harm!" a remark which showed how little the girl understood the
passions of an angry mob.
For ten minutes or more I stood there begging Madame Coutance to
escape, and all the while the number of people in the street steadily
increased. They had done no mischief as yet, but passed their time in
an aimless sort of promenade, shouting, singing, and mocking at any
well-dressed passer-by. Once the whole crowd for some reason swept
into the adjoining street, and for a brief period the Rue Crillon was
left empty.
"Your bogey has vanished, Albert," cried Madame Coutance in triumph; "I
told you there was no danger."
"I trust madame will prove the surer prophet, but I am still doubtful."
"Here they come again!" cried Marie. "What a horrid din! What are
they doing, Albert?"
"Singing, but I cannot distinguish the words. They are growing more
restless now. I should like to see D'Artagnan ride up with his
troopers; he would soon clear the road. But I expect there is
sufficient work for him in other parts."
For a while we stood, half hidden by the heavy curtains, watching the
antics of the crowd, and wondering what would happen next. The people
moved to and fro like caged animals, walking a few steps and turning
back or crossing repeatedly from one side of the road to the other. A
body of soldiers would have dispersed them easily, as they had neither
purpose nor leader.
Presently they began to cluster more thickly at a spot some twenty
yards below our house, and then I saw a big ragged fellow holding aloft
a red flag, while another was pointing to it, and talking violently. I
could not hear what he said, but every now and then the crowd shouted
approval of his words.
"The fellow is hatching trouble," I muttered to myself, and, almost
unconsciously, I felt for Le Tellier's note.
"They will attack the Palais Royal," said Madame Coutance. "They are
angry because the prince has been driven away. I am sorry for the
Queen, but they will not hurt her, if she promises to recall him."
"Be still!" I exclaimed with more freedom than politeness, "and listen.
Now, can you understand?"
It had come at last. Chance or fate had given the mob a cry, which was
all they needed. They were bent on plunder and violence, and any
excuse was good enough. Low, deep, and stern, like the early rumblings
of a volcano, the cry sounded; then the volume swelled, became clearer
and more piercing, till at last in one stupendous roar it shook the
place.
"Down with Conde! Down with Conde!"
Marie shivered and gave a gasp of terror, but her aunt still smiled
scornfully; she was really an amazing woman.
"What imbeciles!" she exclaimed; "they do not know who is their best
friend."
"Nor care," said I, "they intend being their own friends this evening.
Stay there a moment while I see to things downstairs."
"Do not venture into the street, Albert," cried Marie, "you will be
killed," and I promised to take no risks.
Collecting the servants, who were half dead through fright, I set them
to work barricading the lower part of the house, and as soon as they
had done all that was possible, I ran again up the stairs to the room
which the ladies still occupied. By now the street was packed, and
more than one dwelling house had been broken open. Out went costly
furniture to be smashed into fragments by the howling rioters, and,
"Down with Conde! Death to the friends of Conde!" echoed and re-echoed
on all sides.
The mob moved nearer, and attacked the house on the opposite side of
the street. Crash went the door, and the people rushed in with cries
of triumph. We saw them appear in a room on a level with our own; the
window was flung open, and a beautiful statue was hurled on to the
pavement below. Down came rich hangings, costly pictures and gilded
mirrors; the small articles only were stolen, the others were hacked
and chopped and trampled to pieces underfoot.
"Madame," said I firmly, "you must delay no longer. For your niece's
sake, if not for your own, you must attempt to escape."
A loud howl added force to my advice, and a dozen stalwart hands banged
at our frail barricade. It could not resist long, and what chance
would there be for us, when the rioters had swept it away?
"Down with the house! Burn it! Burn it! Have them out! Friends of
Conde to the death! Room there for Pierre's club! Bravo, Pierre!"
"Madame," I cried passionately, "listen to reason. Do you want this
innocent girl killed before your eyes? These wild beasts will have no
mercy."
"It is too late," she answered calmly, "and we both come from a race
that knows how to die."
"It is not too late; there is still a chance. Get some clothes from
the servants, and disguise yourselves; we can slip out at the back."
Even then I believe she would have stood her ground, but for Marie's
evident terror. The poor girl could not conceal her dismay, and her
eyes distended in fright as the hungry roar of the mob leaped from the
street. Those in front hacked at the barrier: those behind urged on
their fellows with deep-mouthed baying.
"In! In! Set it on fire! Death to Conde's friends!" they roared.
"Go!" said I sternly, pushing Madame Coutance out of the room, "and I
pray that this poor girl's death is not laid to your account."
The terrified servants had already fled, but madame found some
garments, in which the two dressed. I waited for them on the stairs,
and my blood ran cold at the yells of the ravenous pack below. Crash!
Crash! The barrier was yielding! A few more stout blows and they
would be upon us. A second, aye, even half a second might mean the
difference to us between life and death.
"Quick! Quick!" I cried, as the ladies in their borrowed dresses ran
from the room. "The barricade will fall at any moment!"
Half dragging, half supporting Marie, Madame Coutance and I ran swiftly
along the landing, as, with the noise of a river in flood, the crowd
burst into the hall.
"Down with Conde!"
The shout was appalling, and even Marie's aunt, for all her bravado,
shrank at it. The sound of the savage voices urged us on, through the
servants' quarters, down a narrow staircase, into the kitchen, and so
to the yard beyond. The door was already wide open, and we pushed
through to a side street. Just in time! A portion of the mob had
swept round to the back of the house, and almost directly we found
ourselves in the midst of the crowd, fighting, pushing, struggling,
with all our might to force a way through.
Marie, poor girl, clung to me nervously in an almost fainting state,
but her aunt walked boldly with head erect and her eyes flashing like
stars. In spite of the terrible danger I could hardly repress a smile
at sight of this high-born dame in her servant's dress, compelled to
struggle with the _canaille_ like a woman of the markets. To make
matters worse, we were forced to cry aloud, "Down with Conde!" which I
did lustily, but madame made many wry faces, and, but for her niece,
would have refused outright. It was quite painful enough for her to
hear others insulting the great hero.
Twice we were swung back to the door of the house, which was now
completely wrecked; then, still surrounded by the mob, we were tossed,
like floating straws, clear of the street. Since that night I have
taken part in more than one fierce battle, but have never experienced
the same feeling of horror as during that eventful struggle in the Rue
Crillon.
The danger was not yet over; we had still some distance to walk, and
every few yards we met groups of rioters hurrying to the work of
destruction. Some cried, "Down with the Queen!" or "Down with the
Parliament!" but most of them yelled "Down with Conde!" because for the
moment that was the popular cry.
Just at first we walked rather briskly, but very soon Marie's pace
became slower, she hung with greater weight on my arm, and I feared
every moment she would faint; It was evident that unless she got better
we should not reach St. Denis that night.
We were in a fairly quiet street when Madame Coutance suddenly
exclaimed, "Let us rest a few minutes in this doorway. Marie, look up,
child; there is nothing to fear now; we are safe here."
For answer, the girl, whose nerves were completely overwrought,
shuddered and sobbed.
"Take me away," she cried, "oh, take me away. Back to Aunay; anywhere
out of this horrible place."
"That is what we are going to do," I said soothingly. "I have a
special permit which will pass us through the gate of St. Denis. But
you must be strong and brave, or we shall not get there."
"I will try," she moaned, "I will try; but oh, it is horrible."
"Hush!" exclaimed her aunt sharply, "listen."
I had been too much occupied with Marie to pay attention to anything
else, but now I distinctly heard the sound of voices on the other side
of the door.
"Poor child," a woman was saying softly, "she is half dead with fright.
Let her come in, I say."
"But the rioters?" exclaimed a second person.
"Pouf! The street is clear enough. Take down the bar, Jules." Then
we heard a sound as of a heavy bar being removed.
The door opened ever so slightly and a woman cried, "Quick, come in,
before you are seen. Where is the poor girl? Cheer up, my little one,
no one shall harm you here. Now, Jules, put up the bar again! Ah!
that is right. This way, monsieur," and she led us all into a tiny
room, poorly furnished, but neat and clean.
She was a comely woman of middle age, rather short, with bright keen
eyes, and pleasant face: her husband, Jules, was a ruddy-cheeked man,
bald on the top of his head, but with a ring of stiff white hair which
stood up like a fence.
"It is really very generous of you to risk so much for strangers," I
began, but the woman would not let me finish.
"One cannot let a child die for want of a helping hand," said she
briskly, "and as for these brigands, I would cut off all their heads at
a blow. Ah, it is easy to see that you do not belong to the
_canaille_."
I have had little experience of the sea, but as we sat in that room I
think we must have felt like sailors who, after a stormy voyage, have
glided into a peaceful harbour.
Both Jules and his wife were very attentive, especially to Marie, who
was getting much calmer; they gave us food and drink, and offered to
hide us in the house as long as we cared to stay.
"It is growing late," said they, "and you cannot go abroad to-night.
To-morrow----"
"The danger will be just as great," interrupted Madame Coutance. "We
thank you for your kind offer, but, believe me, it will be better for
us to depart now. Monsieur has a pass, and once outside the city we
shall be safe."
"And to-morrow," said Marie, "it may be too late. Besides, you may get
into trouble for hiding us, and then I should never forgive myself."
As far as my plans were concerned it was better to start at once, but I
took no part in the discussion one way or the other, though feeling
extremely pleased when Madame Coutance decided that we should sleep
outside Paris.
The kindness of our good Samaritans, and the relief from the tumult,
had done Marie so much good that she was ready to face the danger
again, so, at the end of an hour, we prepared to start. I offered
Jules a sum of money, but neither he nor his wife would take it, and we
could only thank them, and hope they would not suffer for having
afforded us a temporary refuge.