THE DUKE D’ENGHIEN’S LAST DAY’S SPORT.
For a long time, reports of hidden dungeons and forgotten prisoners
agitated Paris. Paris had had a mountain on its breast, and could not
accustom itself to the deliverance from it.
To pity succeeded fear. Had they really escaped from that calamity
with which De Launay had threatened them? They reported that there
were underground passages from the Bastille to Vincennes; and that in
those passages the powder was concealed just under the Faubourg St.
Antoine, which would one day blow up from one end to the other.
These fears had a good effect. They, for a time, dissipated the
feeling of famine which was gradually creeping over Paris.
Foulon said, “The French have no bread; why should they not eat hay?
My horses eat it.”
True or not, he expiated this sneer with his life, and they carried
his head about with a mouthful of hay stuffed between his teeth.
But, alas! it seemed that the French people had nothing to do but to
eat what Foulon recommended.
From Paris, the fear of famine was dispersed among the provinces.
“Foulon,” said all, “had predicted it.”
They must mow all France.
All said that his ghost appeared to execute the menace.
Then report went about that bands of robbers had been seen mowing the
green wheat.
The municipality of Soissons wrote to the Assembly a letter full of
fears. “The robbers had cut,” they said, “all the wheat for miles
around, and were now marching on the city.”
Soissons demanded help.
The Assembly sent a thousand men, who searched on all sides, twelve
miles a-day. They could not find the robbers.
No matter, ten, twenty, a hundred people had seen them.
In the midst of this disputed news, other transpired which was but
too true.
A certain lord having heard that De Launay had wished to blow up the
Bastille, resolved, if it were in his power, to complete that which
the Governor had been unable to do.
He announced that, in honor of the taking of the Bastille, he would
give a grand entertainment, to which all were invited—workmen,
artisans, tradesmen, countrymen, soldiers, women, old men, and
children.
In this time of famine, when all lived on an ounce or two of bread
per diem, a good dinner was a public service. Everybody—about 5,000
persons, that is to say—rushed to the fête. In the midst of it, an
explosion was heard, and the surrounding plain was covered with
dissevered limbs.
The gentleman, whose name was Mennay de Quincy, escaped to
Switzerland, and avoided punishment.
Later on, he returned; and, as he was a member of Parliament, he was
arraigned before it, and acquitted.
But the breach between the nobles and the people was now opened. The
poor Count de Haus, who was incapable of committing such a crime, was
accused of abetting M. de Quincy.
Some days afterwards, being at Neuville le Pont, he was insulted by
the people, who proceeded to extremities; and he had but just time to
spring on his horse, and gallop off to a place of safety.
Fear had now seized upon us, as well as every one else.
On the 18th of July, four days after the taking of the Bastille, the
Prince Condé, the Duke d’Enghien, M. Vaudrevil, and M. de Broglie
were announced.
Their arrival astonished my uncle, as it was not the hunting season;
the wood being very thick, the shooting was difficult.
The Prince de Condé replied that he only wished to hunt a stag, the
King having commanded him, in the possibility of a war, to examine
into the condition of the defences of Verdun.
The courier was ordered to procure horses from Clermont, and to
command the two carriages punctually at five o’clock.
So, taking this view of the matter, there was nothing extraordinary
in it at all.
The Princes, mindful of the sport they had had, were determined to
enjoy another day of it, although it was not the proper season; but
they could surely do as they liked.
The Duke d’Enghien commanded me to accompany them.
I said good-bye to my books for the day, took the gun which the Duke
had given me, and followed them.
The Prince was then eighteen years of age—not much older than I was.
It was probably on account of the similarity of our ages, that I was
favored by so much of his notice.
I remarked that, though courteous as usual, he was profoundly
sorrowful.
He asked me what progress I was making in my education.
I told him. When I mentioned M. Drouet, he asked if he were not the
postmaster at St. Menehould.
On my response in the affirmative, “A hot Republican, if I mistake
not?” he said.
I replied that, through him, this part of the country had been
apprized of the capture of the Bastille.
He asked me some questions about the general disposition of the
country—as much of the nobles as of the lower classes.
I told him that the love of the people for their King was great, and
that they equally hated the nobles, which was true.
He covered his face with his handkerchief, and sighed.
I looked at him with astonishment.
“Pardon me, Duke,” said I; “but I heard the Prince de Condé say that
he was going to inspect the fortifications of Verdun, in case of war.”
He looked at me to see what I was driving at.
“Excuse my question, Duke,” said I, “but do you think it probable
that we shall have war?”
“Very probable,” said he, looking at me in his turn. “But why that
question?”
“Because, in that event, your Grace, I shall not have lost my time.”
“What would you do if there were war?”
“If France be menaced, every one capable of bearing a musket should
fly to its defence.”
He looked at my gun. It was the one which he had given me.
“So you can not only carry a gun, but you know how to use it.”
“In fact, your Grace,” said I, laughing, “thanks to your noble gift,
I am such a capital shot, that if I had a Prussian or Austrian at the
end of it, I fancy they would pass an uncomfortable quarter of an
hour.”
“You think so?”
“I am certain of it. A Prussian or an Austrian would be bigger than
that pigeon you see there.”
And I pointed to one perched about three hundred paces off, on the
dry branch of a tree.
“You are mad,” said the Prince. “That bird is three times out of
range.”
“Certainly, your Grace, for shot; but not for ball?”
“Your gun is loaded, then, with ball?”
“Yes, your Grace; I seldom use anything else.”
“What are you doing, Henri?” the Prince de Condé said, as he appeared
in view.
“Nothing, father,” replied the Duke; “I am only saying a few words to
this boy here.”
He then bade me farewell, saying that he hoped I would always “think
of him kindly.” And waving his hand, he resumed his seat by his
father’s side, and disappeared.
I stood almost heart-broken on the spot where the Prince addressed
his last words to me.
One would have thought that I had a presentiment of the awful
circumstances under which I should meet him again.
All the towns had organized national guards, after the example of
Paris. Châlons had set the example; St. Menehould had followed it. M.
Drouet was captain. He came to ask Bertrand to be his lieutenant, and
to see how many men he could recruit at Islettes.
It was the report of bandits having been seen about which induced
them to organize the National Guard.
In eight days, all France was armed. Each day the National Assembly
gave audiences to ten couriers. It had at its disposal a million of
men.
Drouet and Bertrand took a stroll in the village of Islettes.
They enrolled twenty men.
The keepers of the Forest of Argonne enlisted themselves and formed
that part of the brigade of which Father Descharmes was chief.
I wished to be one of M. Bertrand’s detachment, consequently in M.
Drouet’s company.
He accompanied me as far as Father Descharmes’ cottage, and asked me
about the visit of the evening before.
He also asked if the Princes had not returned.
“No; because they have gone to Verdun,” said I.
“Why did they not send to hire their horses from my place?”
“Because they preferred to have them from Clermont.”
“Hum!” said M. Jean Baptiste. “Do you know who they were who
accompanied the Duke d’Enghien and the Prince de Condé?”
“I heard them mention M. Vandreul and M. Broglie.”
“Exactly,” said he. “Réné, they come not to inspect Verdun. They have
abandoned the King, and quitted France. They have gone to intrigue
with strangers.”
Then I remembered the sadness of the Duke d’Enghien; and I called
to mind his peculiar look, when I said that an Austrian or Prussian
were easier to shoot than a pigeon. I also remembered his last
words before leaving—“I hope that you will always think of me with
kindness.”
Poor Prince! He had left France, and that was the cause of his sorrow.
“Would that all would follow his example,” murmured M. Drouet, “from
the first to the last! But,” continued he, grinding his teeth, “I
fancy that if the King or Queen were to try that move, they would not
escape so easily.”