WHAT “BROTHERHOOD” MEANT.
I have told you all that took place up to this time.
My life continued the same as ever, with the exception of a dreary
feeling about the heart.
The events that took place in Paris had no direct effect upon me. I
heard them as one might hear the echo of a distant thunder-clap.
In this way we heard of the abolition of titles, on the 1st of
August; of the suppression of tithes; of the recognition of
religious liberty; of the orgie of the gardes du corps; of the
insult offered to the national cockade; of the days of the 5th and
6th of October; of the return of the King and Queen to Paris; of the
plots and intrigues of the Court; of the prosecution of Bezenval and
Favras; and of the publication of the Red Book by the assembly.
The Red Book revealed all.
The King, who had, on the 12th of February, sworn friendship to the
Constitution, not only was in direct correspondence with the exiles,
but went to Trêves, a military post, where his stables were situated,
and which was in charge of Prince Lambese, the very man who had
charged on the people in the garden of the Tuileries, on the 12th of
July, and wounded an old man with his sabre, and trodden the helpless
under foot.
The same kind of thing went on at Versailles. The King had a Minister
of Foreign Affairs; uniforms were made for the gardes du corps, and
sent to Trêves; horses were bought in England for the accommodation
of the King’s household; and the only grumble that Louis XVI made,
when he paid the bills, was, that, at least, they might have bought
the horses in France.
The Comte D’Artois, the Prince Condé, and the other exiles, received
enormous pensions.
They had not then been able to find what became of the sixty millions.
But now the Red Book pointed out where they had gone.
If, up to this moment, there had been any hesitation on the minds of
the people, that hesitation now disappeared.
They knew where was their enemy.
The enemy was the exiles, and their ally, the King, who pensioned
them.
This was the reason why the Assembly struck a decisive blow, and put
up for sale, at one time, ecclesiastical benefices to the tune of
four hundred millions. Paris alone bought two hundred millions’ worth.
All the municipalities followed that example. They bought a great
number, and then sold them, one by one. In a word, they wished to
expropriate the clergy, and they did not hesitate to do it.
There is something miraculous in this, and which does not appear in
the history of any other country.
And that is, the spontaneous organization of France by itself. The
Assembly was only a secretary. France did the deed; the Assembly
registered it.
Before that, the division of old France into provinces was abolished;
the boundaries had been already changed; there were no longer
Provençals, Bretons, Alsaciens, Picards, or French.
The Champ de Mars was Mount Tabor, transfigured by the sun of June.
Valence gave, on the 29th of November, 1789, the example of the
first federation; and each strove to follow the example given by the
zealous Dauphin, our vanguard against the great enemy, the Savoyard
King.
From anterior ages, the eldest man has always presided, whether noble
or not. His age makes his right—his white locks his crown.
Rouen searched for an old Chevalier of Malta, eighty-five years of
age, to preside at its federation.
In St. Audeol, there were two old men, respectively ninety-three
and ninety-four years of age, the one a noble, and the other a
plebeian—the one a colonel, the other a laborer. These two embraced
at the altar, and the spectators embraced each other, crying, “There
is no longer an aristocracy, no longer a working-class—there are only
Frenchmen!”
At Lous le Lauheur, a citizen, whose name is forgotten, gave this
toast:—
“To all men, equally to our enemies: let us swear to love and protect
them.”
Open the book of royalty, and see if you can find a sentiment equal
to that inscribed on the first page of the book of the people.
From all places, provincial and isolated, one cry arose:— “To Paris!
To Paris! To Paris!”
As this cry burst from the throat of France, Royalists and Jacobins
trembled. The Jacobins said, “The King, with his smile, and the
Queen, with her white lips, will fascinate the credulous people
from the provinces, and will cause them to turn against us, and the
revolution will be at an end.”
The Royalists said, “To bring these provincials, already ripe for
tumult, to Paris, the centre of agitation, is but bringing oil to
feed the lamp of revolution. Who can say what will be the effect of
this immense concourse, and what fearful events may come to pass
through the incursions of two hundred and fifty thousand souls, from
all quarters of France, into Paris?”
But the impulse was given, and the movement could not be stayed.
France wished, with that powerful will which nothing could arrest, to
know itself.
The corporation of Paris demanded of the Assembly the general
federation.
The Assembly, pretending to accord to their wish, named the 14th of
July, the anniversary of the taking of the Bastille.
The news was propagated among all the provinces of the kingdom; but
as they feared so great an assemblage in Paris, and wished to put all
possible obstacles in their way, all expenses were put down to the
charge of the localities.
All our department clubbed together. I was comparatively rich, having
in my possession three or four hundred crowns, gained by my own
labor, and saved by my own economy.
Father Descharmes had offered to give me what sum I wanted; but I
refused to accept anything.
For some time, the poor old man had been declining in health. He had
served princes all his life, and now missed them. One thing greatly
perplexed him, and that was, whether France had the right to act as
it was acting?
They had offered him a deputyship to the federation; but he shook his
head, saying, “I am too old; Réné will go in my place.”
Afterwards, he had a long conversation with M. Drouet, in the course
of which he gave him some papers, which he sorted with care, put in
his portfolio, and took to St. Menehould.
On the eve of departure, a carriage drove up to the door of my
uncle’s cottage; and, to my astonishment, I saw Sophie and her father
alight from it.
I rushed out with a cry of joy, but suddenly stopped myself.
What would Sophie—what would her father think?
Father Gerbaut smiled. Sophie made a step in advance, and gave me her
hand.
“Well, how is old Nimrod getting on?” said Father Gerbaut to my
uncle, who had just come out of his room.
“As well as can be expected at my age, M. Gerbaut. It is necessary
for the violet to blossom in spring, and the beech-tree to put forth
its buds in May. He is just sixteen and a half years old. When I was
at that age, I already had a sweetheart.”
I felt myself blushing to the very tips of my ears.
“Ah! I never had but one love. But where are you going to in this
fashion?” asked my uncle; “for I cannot think that you came all this
way on purpose to pay me a visit.”
“No, my old friend; though I am delighted to see you. I am on my way
to St. Menehould, to put a few little affairs of mine in order. I
have been appointed a member of the Federation, and I do not know how
long we may be compelled to stay in Paris.”
“What a pity that you have not got a third seat in your carriage. I
also have business at St. Menehould, and I would have asked you to
give me a lift.”
“Good!” said M. Gerbaut; “all can be arranged. Sophie does not much
care to go to St. Menehould. Do you, Sophie?”
“I only care to go, so as to be with you, father.”
“Well, then, stay here with Réné. You can stroll, in the wood, like
two lovers, and we, like two old fogies as we are, will go and look
after our affairs. If Réné were a young nobleman, I should not place
so much trust in him; but he is a good lad, a clever workman, and an
honest man, and as I would trust him with a purse, so will I trust
him with my child.”
I looked joyfully at Sophie, but she showed neither pleasure nor
sorrow; she seemed to be exactly of her father’s opinion, that we
might be trusted together.
M. Gerbaut and Father Descharmes got into the vehicle, and drove off
in the direction of the village of Islettes.