Trial of the artillerymen--Procureur-général
Miller--Pescheux d'Herbinville--Godefroy
Cavaignac--Acquittal of the accused--The ovation they
received--Commissioner Gourdin--The cross of July--The red
and black ribbon--Final rehearsals of _Antony_
We have mentioned what a difficult matter it was for a
solicitor-general to prosecute the men who were still black from the
powder of July, such men as Trélat, Cavaignac, Guinard, Sambuc, Danton,
Chaparre and their fellow-prisoners. All these men, moreover (except
Commissioner Gourdin, against whose morality, by the way, there was
absolutely nothing to be said), lived by their private fortune or
their own talents, and were, for the most part, more of them well to
do than poorly off. They could therefore only be proceeded against on
account of an opinion regarded as dangerous from the point of view of
the Government, though they were undoubtedly disinterested. Miller,
the solicitor-general, had the wit to grasp the situation, and at the
outset of his charge against the prisoners he turned to the accused and
said--
"We lament as much as any other person to see these honoured citizens
at the bar, whose private life seems to command much esteem; young
men, rich in noble thoughts and generous inspirations. It is not for
us, gentlemen, to seek to call in question their title to public
consideration, or to the good-will of their fellow-citizens, and to a
recognition of the services they have rendered their country."
The audience, visibly won over by this preamble, made a murmur of
approbation which it would certainly have repressed if it had had
patience to wait the sequel. The attorney-general went on--
"But do the services that they have been able to render the State
give them the right to shake it to its very foundations, if it is not
administered according to doctrines which suited imaginations that, as
likely, as not, are ill-regulated? Is the impetuous ardour of youth
enough excuse for legalising actions which alarm all good citizens,
and harm all interests? Must peaceable men become the victims of the
culpable machinations of those who talk about liberty, and yet attack
the liberty of others, and boast that they are working for the good of
France while they violently break all social bonds?"
Judge in what a contemptuous attitude the prisoners received these
tedious and banal observations. Far from dreaming of defending
themselves, they felt that as soon as the moment should come for
charging it would be they who should take the offensive. Pescheux
d'Herbinville, the leader, burst forth in fury and crushed both judges
and attorney-general.
"Monsieur Pescheux d'Herbinville," President Hardouin said to him, "you
are accused of having had arms in your possession, and of distributing
them. Do you admit the fact?"
Pescheux d'Herbinville rose. He was a fine-looking young man of
twenty-two or three, fair, carefully dressed, and of refined manners;
the cartridges that had been seized at his house were wrapped in
silk-paper, and ornamented with rose-coloured favours.
"I not only," he said, "admit the fact, monsieur le président, but I am
proud of it.... Yes, I had arms, and plenty of them too! And I am going
to tell you how I got them. In July I took three posts in succession at
the head of a handful of men in the midst of the firing; the arms that
I had were those of the soldiers I had disarmed. Now, I fought for the
people, and these soldiers were firing on the people. Am I guilty for
taking away the arms which in the hands in which they were found were
dealing death to citizens?"
A round of applause greeted these words.
"As to distributing them," continued the prisoner, "it is quite true
I did it; and not only did I distribute them, but believing that, in
our unsettled times, it was as well to acquaint the friends of France
with their enemies, at my own expense, although I am not a rich man, I
provided some of the men who had followed me with the uniform of the
National Guard. It was to those same men I distributed the arms, to
which, indeed, they had a right, since they helped me to take them. You
have asked me what I have to say in my defence, and I have told you."
He sat down amidst loud applause, which only ceased after repeated
orders from the president.
Next came Cavaignac's turn.
"You accuse me of being a Republican," he said; "I uphold that
accusation both as a title of honour and a paternal heritage. My
father was one of those who proclaimed the Republic from the heart of
the National Convention, before the whole of Europe, then victorious;
he defended it before the armies, and that was why he died in exile,
after twelve years of banishment; and whilst the Restoration itself was
obliged to let France have the fruits of that revolution which he had
served, whilst it overwhelmed with favours those men whom the Republic
had created, my father and his colleagues alone suffered for the great
cause which many others betrayed! It was the last homage their impotent
old age could offer to the country they had vigorously defended in
their youth!... That cause, gentlemen, colours all my feelings as his
son; and the principles which it embraced are my heritage. Study has
naturally strengthened the bent given to my political opinions, and
now that the opportunity is given me to utter a word which multitudes
proscribe, I pronounce it without affection, and without fear, at heart
and from conviction I am a Republican!"
It was the first time such a declaration of principles had been made
boldly and publicly before both the court of law and society; it was
accordingly received at first in dumb stupor, which was immediately
followed by a thunder of applause. The president realised that he could
not struggle against such enthusiasm; he let the applause calm down,
and Cavaignac continue his speech. Godefroy Cavaignac was an orator,
and more eloquent than his brother, although he, like General Lamarque
and General Foy, gave utterance to some eminently French sentiments
which enter more deeply into people's hearts than the most beautiful
speeches. Cavaignac continued with increasing triumph. Finally, he
summed up his opinions and hopes, and those of the party, which, then
almost unnoticed, was to triumph seventeen years later--
"The Revolution! Gentlemen, you attack the Revolution! What folly! The
Revolution includes the whole nation, except those who exploit it; it
is our country, fulfilling the sacred mission of freeing the people
entrusted to it by Providence; it is the whole of France, doing its
duty to the world! As for ourselves, we believe in our hearts that we
have done our duty to France, and every time she has need of us, no
matter what she, our revered mother, asks of us, we, her faithful sons,
will obey her!"
It is impossible to form any idea of the effect this speech produced;
pronounced as it was in firm tones, with a frank and open face,
eyes flashing with enthusiasm and heartfelt conviction. From that
moment the cause was won: to have found these men guilty would have
caused a riot, perhaps even a revolution. The questions put to the
jury were forty-six in number. At a quarter to twelve, noon, the
jurymen went into their consulting room: they came out at half-past
three, and pronounced the accused men not guilty on any one of the
forty-six indictments. There was one unanimous shout of joy, almost
of enthusiasm, clapping of hands and waving of hats; everyone rushed
out, striding over the benches, overturning things in their way; they
wanted to shake hands with any one of the nineteen prisoners, whether
they knew him or not. They felt that life, honour and future principles
had been upheld by those prisoners arraigned at the bar. In the midst
of this hubbub the president announced that they were set at liberty.
There remained, therefore, nothing further for the accused to do but
to escape the triumphant reception awaiting them. Victories, in these
cases, are often worse than defeats: I recollect the triumph of
Louis Blanc on 15 May. Guinard, Cavaignac and the students from the
schools succeeded in escaping the ovation: instead of leaving by the
door of the Conciergerie, which led to the Quai des Lunettes, they
left by the kitchen door and passed out unrecognised. Trélat, Pescheux
d'Herbinville and three friends (Achille Roche, who died young and
very promising, Avril and Lhéritier) had got into a carriage, and had
told the driver to drive as fast as he could; but they were recognised
through the closed windows. Instantly the carriage was stopped, the
horses taken out, the doors opened; they had to get out, pass through
the crowd, bow in response to the cheering and walk through waving
handkerchiefs, the flourishing of hats and shouts of "Vivent les
républicains!" as far as Trélat's home. Guilley, also recognised, was
still less fortunate: they carried him in their arms, in spite of all
his protests and efforts to escape. Only one of them, who left by the
main entrance, passed through the crowd unrecognised, Commissionaire
Gourdin, who pushed a hand-cart containing his luggage and that of his
comrades in captivity, which he carried back home.
This acquittal sent me back to my rehearsals; and it was almost
settled for _Antony_ to be run during the last days of April. But the
last days of April were to find us thrown back into an altogether
different sort of agitation. The law of 13 December 1830 with respect
to national rewards had ordained the creation of a new order of merit
which was to be called the _Cross of July._ There had been a reason
for this creation which might excuse the deed, and which had induced
republicans to support the law. A decoration which recalls civil war
and a victory won by citizens over fellow-citizens, by the People
over the Army or by the Army over the People, is always a melancholy
object; but, as I say, there was an object underlying it different from
this. It was to enable people to recognise one another on any given
occasion, and to know, consequently, on whom to rely. These crosses
had been voted by committees comprised of fighters who were difficult
to deceive; for, out of their twelve members, of which, I believe,
each bureau consisted, there were always two or three who, if the cross
were misplaced on some unworthy breast, were able to set the error
right, or to contradict it. The part I took in the Revolution was
sufficiently public for this cross to be voted to me without disputes;
but, besides, as soon as the crosses were voted, as the members of the
different committees could not give each other crosses, I was appointed
a member of the committee commissioned to vote crosses to the first
distributors. The institution was therefore, superficially, quite
popular and fundamentally Republican. Thus we were astounded when, on
30 April, an order appeared, countersigned by Casimir Périer, laying
down the following points--
"The Cross of July shall consist of a three-branched star.
The reverse side shall bear on it: 27, 28 and 29 _July_
1830. It shall have for motto: _Given by the King of the
French._ It shall be worn on a blue ribbon edged with red.
The citizens decorated with the July Cross SHALL BE PREPARED
TO SWEAR FIDELITY TO THE KING OF THE FRENCH, and obedience
to the Constitutional Charter and to the laws of the realm."
The order was followed by a list of the names of the citizens to whom
the cross was awarded. I had seen my name on the list, with great
delight, and on the same day I, who had never worn any cross, except
on solemn occasions, bought a red and black ribbon and put it in my
buttonhole. The red and black ribbon requires an explanation. We had
decided, in our programme which was thus knocked on the head by the
Royal command, that the ribbon was to be red, edged with black. The red
was to be a reminder of the blood that had been shed; the black, for
the mourning worn. I did not, then, feel that I could submit to that
portion of the order which decreed blue ribbon edged with red,--any
more than to the motto: _Given by the King_, or to the oath of fidelity
to the king, the Constitutional Charter and the laws of the kingdom.
Many followed my example, and, at the Tuileries, where I went for a
walk to see if some agent of authority would come and pick a quarrel
with me on account of my ribbon, I found a dozen decorated persons,
among whom were two or three of my friends, who, no doubt, had gone
there with the same intention as mine. Furthermore, the National Guard
was, at that date, on duty at the Tuileries, and they presented arms
to the red and black ribbon as to that of the Légion d'honneur. At
night, we learnt that there was to be a meeting at Higonnet's, to
protest against the colour of the ribbon, the oath and the motto. I
attended and protested; and, next day, I went to my rehearsal wearing
my ribbon. That was on 1 May; we had arrived at general rehearsals,
and, as I have said, I was becoming reconciled to my piece, without,
however,--so different was it from conventional notions--having any
idea whether the play would succeed or fail. But the success which the
two principal actors would win was incontestable. Bocage had made use
of every faculty to bring out the originality of the character he had
to represent, even to the physical defects we have notified in him.
Madame Dorval had made the very utmost out of the part of Adèle. She
enunciated her words with admirable precision, all the striking points
were brought out, except one which she had not yet discovered. "Then I
am lost!" she had to exclaim, when she heard of her husband's arrival.
Well, she did not know how to render those four words: "Then I am
lost!" And yet she realised that, if said properly, they would produce
a splendid effect. All at once an illumination flashed across her mind.
"Are you here, author?" she asked, coming to the edge of the footlights
to scan the orchestra.
"Yes ... what is it?" I replied.
"How did Mlle. Mars say: 'Then I am lost!'?"
"She was sitting down, and got up."
"Good!" replied Dorval, returning to her place, "I will be standing,
and will sit down."
The rehearsal was finished; Alfred de Vigny had been present, and
given me some good hints. I had made Antony an atheist, he made me
obliterate that blot in the part. He predicted a grand success for me.
We parted, he persisting in his opinion, I shaking my head dubiously.
Bocage led me into his dressing-room to show me his costume. I say
_costume_, for although Antony was clad like ordinary mortals, in
a cravat, frock-coat, waistcoat and trousers, there had to be, on
account of the eccentricity of the character, something peculiar in
the set of the cravat and shape of the waistcoat, in the cut of the
coat and in the set of the trousers. I had, moreover, given Bocage my
own ideas on the subject, which he had adapted to perfection; and,
seeing him in those clothes, people understood from the very first
that the actor did not represent just an ordinary man. It was settled
that the piece should be definitely given on 3 May; I had then only
two more rehearsals before the great day. The preceding ones had been
sadly neglected by me; I attended the last two with extreme assiduity.
When Madame Dorval reached the sentence which had troubled her for
long, she kept her word: she was standing and sank into an armchair as
though the earth had given way under her feet, and exclaimed, "Then
I am lost!" in such accents of terror that the few persons who were
present at the rehearsal broke into cheers. The final general rehearsal
was held with closed doors; it is always a mistake to introduce even
the most faithful of friends to a general rehearsal: on the day of the
performance they tell the plot of the play to their neighbours, or walk
about the corridors talking in loud voices, and creaking their boots on
the floor. I have never taken much credit to myself for giving theatre
tickets to my friends for the first performance; but I have always
repented of giving them tickets of admission for a general rehearsal.
Against this it will be argued that spectators can give good advice: in
the first place, it is too late to act upon any important suggestion
at general rehearsals; then, those who really offer valuable
advice, during the course of rehearsals, are the actors, firemen,
scene-shifters, supernumeraries and everybody, in fact, who lives by
the stage, and who know the theatre much better than all the Bachelors
of Arts and Academicians in existence. Well, then! my theatrical world
had predicted _Antony's_ success, scene-shifters, firemen craning their
necks round the wings, actors and actresses and supers going into the
auditorium and watching the scenes in which they didn't appear. The
night of production had come.