When the news of the disastrous day at Sedan reached Paris, the first
effect was that of timid consternation. There were a few cries of
Decheance! fewer still of Vive la Republique among the motley crowds;
but they were faint, and chiefly by ragged gamins. A small body repaired
to Trochu and offered him the sceptre, which he politely declined. A
more important and respectable body--for it comprised the majority
of the Corps Legislatif--urged Palikao to accept the temporary
dictatorship, which the War Minister declined with equal politeness. In
both these overtures it was clear that the impulse of the proposers was
towards any form of government rather than republican. The sergens de
ville were sufficient that day to put down riot. They did make a charge
on a mob, which immediately ran away.
The morning of that day the Council of Ten were summoned by
Lebeau--minus only Rameau, who was still too unwell to attend, and the
Belgian, not then at Paris; but their place was supplied by the
two travelling members, who had been absent from the meeting before
recorded. These were conspirators better known in history than those I
have before described; professional conspirators--personages who from
their youth upwards had done little else but conspire. Following the
discreet plan pursued elsewhere throughout this humble work, I give
their names other than they bore. One, a very swarthy and ill-favoured
man, between forty and fifty, I call Paul Grimm--by origin a German, but
by rearing and character French; from the hair on his head, staring up
rough and ragged as a bramblebush, to the soles of small narrow feet,
shod with dainty care, he was a personal coxcomb, and spent all he
could spare on his dress. A clever man, not ill-educated--a vehement and
effective speaker at a club. Vanity and an amorous temperament had made
him a conspirator, since he fancied he interested the ladies more in
that capacity than any other. His companion, Edgar Ferrier, would have
been a journalist, only hitherto his opinions had found no readers; the
opinions were those of Marat. He rejoiced in thinking that his hour for
glory, so long deferred, had now arrived. He was thoroughly sincere:
his father and grandfather had died in a madhouse. Both these men,
insignificant in ordinary times, were likely to become of terrible
importance in the crisis of a revolution. They both had great power with
the elements that form a Parisian mob. The instructions given to these
members of the Council by Lebeau were brief: they were summed up in the
one word, Decheance. The formidable nature of a council apparently so
meanly constituted became strikingly evident at that moment, because it
was so small in number, while each one of these could put in movement a
large section of the populace; secondly, because, unlike a revolutionary
club or a numerous association, no time was wasted in idle speeches, and
all were under the orders of one man of clear head and resolute purpose;
and thirdly, and above all, because one man supplied the treasury, and
money for an object desired was liberally given and promptly at hand.
The meeting did not last ten minutes, and about two hours afterwards
its effects were visible. From Montmartre and Belleville and Montretout
poured streams of ouvriers, with whom Armand Monnier was a chief,
and the Medecin des Pauvres an oracle. Grimm and Ferrier headed other
detachments that startled the well-dressed idlers on the Boulevards.
The stalwart figure of the Pole was seen on the Place de la Concorde,
towering amidst other refugees, amid which glided the Italian champion
of humanity. The cry of Decheance became louder. But as yet there were
only few cries of Vive la Republique!--such a cry was not on the orders
issued by Lebeau. At midnight the crowd round the hall of the Corps
Legislatif is large: cries of La Dechaeance loud--a few cries, very
feeble, of Vive la Republique!
What followed on the 4th--the marvellous audacity with which
half-a-dozen lawyers belonging to a pitiful minority in a Chamber
elected by universal suffrage walked into the Hotel de Ville and said,
“The Republic is established, and we are its Government,” history has
told too recently for me to narrate. On the evening of the 5th the
Council of Ten met again: the Pole; the Italian radiant; Grimm
and Ferrier much excited and rather drunk; the Medecin des Pauvres
thoughtful; and Armand Monnier gloomy. A rumour has spread that General
Trochu, in accepting the charge imposed on him, has exacted from the
Government the solemn assurance of respect for God, and for the rights
of Family and Property. The Atheist is very indignant at the assent of
the Government to the first proposition; Monnier equal indignant at the
assent to the second and third. What has that honest ouvrier conspired
for?--what has he suffered for?--of late nearly starved for?--but to
marry another man’s wife, getting rid of his own, and to legalise a
participation in the property of his employer,--and now he is no better
off than before. “There must be another revolution,” he whispers to the
Atheist.
“Certainly,” whispers back the Atheist; “he who desires to better this
world must destroy all belief in another.” The conclave was assembled
when Lebeau entered by the private door. He took his place at the head
of the table; and, fixing on the group eyes that emitted a cold gleam
through the spectacles, thus spoke:
“Messieurs, or Citoyens, which ye will--I no longer call ye
confreres--you have disobeyed or blundered my instructions. On such an
occasion disobedience and blunder are crimes equally heinous.”
Angry murmurs.
“Silence! Do not add mutiny to your other offences. My instructions were
simple and short. Aid in the abolition of the Empire. Do not aid in any
senseless cry for a Republic or any other form of government. Leave
that to the Legislature. What have you done? You swelled the crowd that
invaded the Corps Ligislatif. You, Dombinsky, not even a Frenchman, dare
to mount the President’s rostrum, and brawl forth your senseless jargon.
You, Edgar Ferrier, from whom I expected better, ascend the tribune, and
invite the ruffians in the crowd to march to the prisons and release
the convicts; and all of you swell the mob at the Hotel de Ville, and
inaugurate the reign of folly by creating an oligarchy of lawyers to
resist the march of triumphal armies. Messieurs, I have done with you.
You are summoned for the last time: the Council is dissolved.”
With these words Lebeau put on his hat, and turned to depart. But the
Pole, who was seated near him, sprang to his feet, exclaiming, “Traitor,
thou shalt not escape! Comrades, he wants to sell us!”
“I have a right to sell you at least, for I bought you, and a very bad
bargain I made,” said Lebeau, in a tone of withering sarcasm.
“Liar!” cried the Pole, and seized Lebeau by the left hand, while with
the right he drew forth a revolver. Ferrier and Grimm, shouting, “A
bas le renegat!” would have rushed forward in support of the Pole, but
Monnier thrust himself between them and their intended victim, crying
with a voice that dominated their yell, “Back!--we are not assassins.”
Before he had finished the sentence the Pole was on his knees. With a
vigour which no one could have expected from the seeming sexagenarian,
Lebeau had caught the right arm of his assailant, twisted it back so
mercilessly as almost to dislocate elbow and shoulder joint. One barrel
of the revolver discharged itself harmlessly against the opposite wall,
and the pistol itself then fell from the unnerved hand of the would-be
assassin; and what with the pain and the sudden shock, the stalwart
Dombinsky fell in the attitude of a suppliant at the feet of his
unlooked-for vanquisher.
Lebeau released his hold, possessed himself of the pistol, pointing the
barrels towards Edgar Ferrier, who stood with mouth agape and lifted arm
arrested, and said quietly: “Monsieur, have the goodness to open that
window.” Ferrier mechanically obeyed. “Now, hireling,” continued
Lebeau, addressing the vanquished Pole, “choose between the door and the
window.”
“Go, my friend,” whispered the Italian. The Pole did not utter a word;
but rising nimbly, and rubbing his arm, stalked to the door. There
he paused a moment and said, “I retire overpowered by numbers,” and
vanished.
“Messieurs,” resumed Lebeau, calmly, “I repeat that the Council is
dissolved. In fact its object is fulfilled more abruptly than any of us
foresaw, and by means which I at least had been too long out of Paris
to divine as possible. I now see that every aberration of reason is
possible to the Parisians. The object that united us was the fall of the
Empire. As I have always frankly told you, with that object achieved,
separation commences. Each of us has his own crotchet, which differs
from the other man’s. Pursue yours as you will--I pursue mine--you will
find Jean Lebeau no more in Paris: il s’eface. Au plaisir, mais pas au
revoir.”
He retreated to the masked door and disappeared.
Marc le Roux, the porter or custos of that ruinous council-hall, alarmed
at the explosion of the pistol, had hurried into the room, and now
stood unheeded by the door with mouth agape, while Lebeau thus curtly
dissolved the assembly. But when the president vanished through the
secret doorway, Le Roux also retreated. Hastily descending the stairs,
he made as quickly as his legs could carry him for the mouth of the
alley in the rear of the house, through which he knew that Lebeau must
pass. He arrived, panting and breathless, in time to catch hold of
the ex-president’s arm. “Pardon, citizen,” stammered he, “but do I
understand that you have sent the Council of Ten to the devil?”
“I? Certainly not, my good Paul; I dismiss them to go where they
like. If they prefer the direction you name, it is their own choice. I
declined to accompany them, and I advise you not to do so.”
“But, citizen, have you considered what is to become of Madame? Is she
to be turned out of the lodge? Are my wages to stop, and Madame to be
left without a crust to put into her soup?”
“Not so bad as that; I have just paid the rent of the baraque for three
months in advance, and there is your quarter’s pay, in advance also.
My kind regards to Madame, and tell her to keep your skin safe from the
schemes of these lunatics.” Thrusting some pieces of gold into the hands
of the porter, Lebeau nodded his adieu, and hastened along his way.
Absorbed in his own reflections, he did not turn to look behind. But if
he had, he could not have detected the dark form of the porter, creeping
in the deep shadow of the streets with distant but watchful footsteps.
CHAPTER, IX.
The conspirators, when left by their president, dispersed in deep, not
noisy resentment. They were indeed too stunned for loud demonstration;
and belonging to different grades of life, and entertaining different
opinions, their confidence in each other seemed lost now that the chief
who had brought and kept them together was withdrawn from their union.
The Italian and the Atheist slunk away, whispering to each other. Grimm
reproached Ferrier for deserting Dombinsky and obeying Lebeau. Ferrier
accused Grimm of his German origin, and hinted at denouncing him as a
Prussian spy. Gaspard le Noy linked his arm in Monnier’s, and when they
had gained the dark street without, leading into a labyrinth of desolate
lanes, the Medicin des Pauvres said to the mechanic: “You are a brave
fellow, Monnier. Lebeau owes you a good turn. But for your cry, ‘We are
not assassins,’ the Pole might not have been left without support. No
atmosphere is so infectious as that in which we breathe the same air
of revenge: when the violence of one man puts into action the anger or
suspicion of others, they become like a pack of hounds, which follow the
spring of the first hound, whether on the wild boar or their own master.
Even I, who am by no means hot-headed, had my hand on my case-knife when
the word ‘assassin’ rebuked and disarmed me.”
“Nevertheless,” said Monnier, gloomily, “I half repent the impulse which
made me interfere to save that man. Better he should die than live to
betray the cause we allowed him to lead.”
“Nay, mon ami, speaking candidly, we must confess that he never from the
first pretended to advocate the cause for which you conspired. On the
contrary, he always said that with the fall of the Empire our union
would cease, and each become free to choose his own way towards his own
after-objects.”
“Yes,” answered Armand, reluctantly; “he said that to me privately, with
still greater plainness than he said it to the Council. But I answered
as plainly.”
“How?”
“I told him that the man who takes the first step in a revolution, and
persuades others to go along with him, cannot in safety stand still or
retreat when the next step is to be taken. It is ‘en avant’ or ‘a la
lanterne.’ So it shall be with him. Shall a fellow-being avail himself
of the power over my mind which he derives from superior education or
experience,--break into wild fragments my life, heretofore tranquil,
orderly, happy,--make use of my opinions, which were then but harmless
desires, to serve his own purpose, which was hostile to the opinions he
roused into action,--say to me, ‘Give yourself up to destroy the
first obstacle in the way of securing a form of society which your
inclinations prefer,’ and then, that first obstacle destroyed, cry,
‘Halt! I go with you no further; I will not help you to piece together
the life I have induced you to shatter; I will not aid you to substitute
for the society that pained you the society that would please; I leave
you, struggling, bewildered, maddened, in the midst of chaos within and
without you’? Shall a fellow-being do this, and vanish with a mocking
cry: ‘Tool! I have had enough of thee; I cast thee aside as worthless
lumber’? Ah! let him beware! The tool is of iron, and can be shaped
to edge and point.” The passion with which this rough eloquence was
uttered, and the fierce sinister expression that had come over a
countenance habitually open and manly, even when grave and stern,
alarmed and startled Le Noy. “Pooh, my friend!” he said, rather
falteringly, “you are too excited now to think justly. Go home and kiss
your children. Never do anything that may make them shrink from their
father. And as to Lebeau, try and forget him. He says he shall disappear
from Paris. I believe him. It is clear to me that the man is not what
he seemed to us. No man of sixty could by so easy a sleight of hand have
brought that giant Pole to his knee. If Lebeau reappear it will be
in some other form. Did you notice that in the momentary struggle his
flaxen wig got disturbed, and beneath it I saw a dark curl. I suspect
that the man is not only younger than he seemed, but of higher rank--a
conspirator against one throne, perhaps, in order to be minister under
another. There are such men.”
Before Monnier, who seemed struck by these conjectures, collected his
thoughts to answer, a tall man in the dress of a sous lieutenant stopped
under a dim gas-lamp, and, catching sight of the artisan’s face, seized
him by the hand, exclaiming, “Armand, mon frere! well met; strange
times, eh? Come and discuss them at the cafe de Lyon yonder over a bowl
of punch. I’ll stand treat.”
“Agreed, dear Charles.”
“And if this monsieur is a friend of yours, perhaps he will join us.”
“You are too obliging, Monsieur,” answered Le Noy, not ill-pleased to
get rid of his excited companion; “but it has been a busy day with me,
and I am only fit for bed. Be abstinent of the punch, Armand. You are
feverish already. Good-night, Messieurs.”
The cafe de Lyon, in vogue among the National Guard of the quartier, was
but a few yards off, and the brothers turned towards it arm in arm. “Who
is the friend?” asked Charles; “I don’t remember to have seen him with
thee before.”
“He belongs to the medical craft--a good patriot and a kind man--attends
the poor gratuitously. Yes, Charles, these are strange times; what dost
thou think will come of them?”
They had now entered the cafe; and Charles had ordered the punch, and
seated himself at a vacant table before he replied. “What will come of
these times? I will tell thee. National deliverance and regeneration
through the ascendency of the National Guard.”
“Eh? I don’t take,” said Armand, bewildered.
“Probably not,” answered Charles, with an air of compassionate conceit;
“thou art a dreamer, but I am a politician.” He tapped his forehead
significantly. “At this custom-house, ideas are examined before they are
passed.”
Armand gazed at his brother wistfully, and with a defence he rarely
manifested towards any one who disputed his own claims to superior
intelligence. Charles was a few years older than Monnier; he was of
large build; he had shaggy lowering eyebrows, a long obstinate
upper lip, the face of a man who was accustomed to lay down the law.
Inordinate self-esteem often gives that character to a physiognomy
otherwise commonplace. Charles passed for a deep thinker in his own
set, which was a very different set from Armand’s--not among workmen but
small shopkeepers. He had risen in life to a grade beyond Armand’s; he
had always looked to the main chance, married the widow of a hosier and
glover much older than himself, and in her right was a very respectable
tradesman, comfortably well off; a Liberal, of course, but a Liberal
bourgeois, equally against those above him and those below. Needless
to add that he had no sympathy with his brother’s socialistic opinions.
Still he loved that brother as well as he could love any one except
himself. And Armand, who was very affectionate, and with whom family
ties were very strong, returned that love with ample interest; and
though so fiercely at war with the class to which Charles belonged, was
secretly proud of having a brother who was of that class. So in
England I have known the most violent antagonist of the landed
aristocracy--himself a cobbler--who interrupts a discourse on the crimes
of the aristocracy by saying, “Though I myself descend from a county
family.”
In an evil day Charles Monnier, enrolled in the National Guard, had
received promotion in that patriotic corps. From that date he began to
neglect his shop, to criticise military matters, and to think that if
merit had fair play he should be a Cincinnatus or a Washington, he had
not decided which.
“Yes,” resumed Charles, ladling out the punch, “thou hast wit enough
to perceive that our generals are imbeciles or traitors; that gredin
Bonaparte has sold the army for ten millions of francs to Bismarck, and
I have no doubt that Wimpffen has his share of the bargain. McMahon was
wounded conveniently, and has his own terms for it. The regular army is
nowhere. Thou wilt see--thou wilt see--they will not stop the march of
the Prussians. Trochu will be obliged to come to the National Guard.
Then we shall say, ‘General, give us our terms, and go to sleep.’
“I shall be summoned to the council of war. I have my plan. I explain
it--‘tis accepted--it succeeds. I am placed in supreme command--the
Prussians are chased back to their sour-krout. And I--well--I don’t like
to boast, but thou’lt see--thou’lt see--what will happen.”
“And thy plan, Charles--thou hast formed it already?”
“Ay, ay,--the really military genius is prompt, mon petit Armand--a
flash of the brain. Hark ye! Let the Vandals come to Paris and invest
it. Whatever their numbers on paper, I don’t care a button; they can
only have a few thousands at any given point in the vast circumference
of the capital. Any fool must grant that--thou must grant it eh?”
“It seems just.”
“Of course. Well, then, we proceed by sorties of 200,000 men repeated
every other day, and in twelve days the Prussians are in full flight.
The country rises on their flight--they are cut to pieces. I depose
Trochu--the National Guard elects the Saviour of France. I have a
place in my eye for thee. Thou art superb as a decorator--thou shalt be
Minister des Beaux Arts. But keep clear of the canaille. No more strikes
then--thou wilt be an employer--respect thy future order.”
[Charles Monnier seems to have indiscreetly blabbed out his “idea,”
for it was plagiarised afterwards at a meeting of the National
Guards in the Salle de la Bourse by Citizen Rochebrune (slain 19th
January, 1871, in the affair of Montretout). The plan, which he
developed nearly in the same words as Charles Monnier, was received
with lively applause; and at the close of his speech it was proposed
to name at once Citizen Rochebrune General of the National Guard, an
honour which, unhappily for his country, the citizen had the modesty
to decline.]
Armand smiled mournfully. Though of intellect which, had it been
disciplined, was far superior to his brother’s, it was so estranged
from practical opinions, so warped, so heated, so flawed and cracked
in parts, that he did not see the ridicule of Charles’s braggadocio.
Charles had succeeded in life, Armand had failed; and Armand believed in
the worldly wisdom of the elder born. But he was far too sincere for any
bribe to tempt him to forsake his creed and betray his opinions. And
he knew that it must be a very different revolution from that which his
brother contemplated, that could allow him to marry another man’s wife,
and his “order” to confiscate other people’s property.
“Don’t talk of strikes, Charles. What is done is done. I was led into
heading a strike, not on my own account, for I was well paid and well
off, but for the sake of my fellow-workmen. I may regret now what I
did, for the sake of Marie and the little ones. But it is an affair
of honour, and I cannot withdraw from the cause till my order, as thou
namest my class, has its rights.”
“Bah! thou wilt think better of it when thou art an employer. Thou hast
suffered enough already. Remember that I warned thee against that old
fellow in spectacles whom I met once at thy house. I told thee he would
lead thee into mischief, and then leave thee to get out of it. I saw
through him. I have a head! Va!”
“Thou wert a true prophet--he has duped me. But in moving me he has set
others in movement; and I suspect he will find he has duped himself.
Time will show.”
Here the brothers were joined by some loungers belonging to the National
Guard. The talk became general, the potations large. Towards daybreak
Armand reeled home, drunk for the first time in his life. He was one
of those whom drink makes violent. Marie had been sitting up for him,
alarmed at his lengthened absence. But when she would have thrown
herself on his breast, her pale face and her passionate sobs enraged
him. He flung her aside roughly. From that night the man’s nature was
changed. If, as a physiognomist has said, each man has in him a portion
of the wild beast, which is suppressed by mild civilising circumstances,
and comes uppermost when self-control is lost, the nature of many an
honest workman, humane and tender-hearted as the best of us, commenced
a change into the wild beast that raged through the civil war of the
Communists, on the day when half-a-dozen Incapables, with no more claim
to represent the people of Paris than half-a-dozen monkeys would have,
were allowed to elect themselves to supreme power, and in the very fact
of that election released all the elements of passion, and destroyed all
the bulwarks of order.