WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THE HAIRDRESSER AND THE INVALID.
We had for neighbor, in the Rue St. Honoré, two doors lower down than
our own, a hair-dresser, named Léger. This hair-dresser, like all his
_confrères_, was a staunch Royalist. No doubt the reader would ask
the reason why hair-dressers were all Royalists.
That is easily explained.
The hair-dressers’ was one of the corporations that had suffered the
most in the Revolution. Those under Louis XV, and even under Louis
XVI—who had invented such fantastic head-dresses, worn by the ladies
of the nobility for more than half a century—were a body of men not
to be despised.
Hair-dressers of this period had a select circle of their own, and
many privileges, which they would not surrender, even on the night of
the 4th of August.
Not only could they mix in the society of the larger circles, but had
the _entrées_ to the more select boudoirs of the noblesse, and also
carried the sword, as was customary with gentlemen.
It is true that this sword, at most times, was of no more use than
a harlequin’s wand, being but a mere toy. Of some, the blades were
simply wood, others having no blade at all, the handle being attached
to the scabbard.
But for some time past things went from bad to worse with this
celebrated corporation of hair-dressers. Their society was gradually
sinking into oblivion, to them worse than death, and Talma had
just struck the last blow even to the head-dressing of men, by his
creation of the character of _Litus_, which had caused his name to be
given to the fashion of wearing the hair cut short.
The most desperate enemies of the new government—that is to say, the
revolutionary government—was, therefore, the hair-dressers.
That was not all. By frequenting the mansions of the aristocracy—by
holding so often between their hands, for more than an hour at a
time, the heads of the handsomest ladies of the Court—by chatting
with the several coxcombs whose hair they were in the habit of
dressing—by serving their noble clients in the character of
messengers of love—by becoming the _confidantes_ of the passions of
their employers—the hair-dressers had become libertines, for the
advantage of their pockets.
Now, on Saturday evening, as I have already stated, at the very
moment when the municipality issued the decree against the
petitioners, our neighbor Léger came and asked M. Duplay to lend him
a centre-bit.
Notwithstanding the difference of opinion which separated these two
neighbors, the centre-bit was at once lent, without a single question.
An Invalid awaited him at the door, to whom he handed it, at the same
time exchanging with him some few words, and each one went his own
way.
The following was their projected scheme for the next day:—
At this period, when the women commenced to take such an active part
in the revolution, many beautiful patriots intended accompanying
their brothers, husbands, and lovers to sign the petition on the
altar of the country. Thanks to the centre-bit lent by Maître Duplay,
our libertine hair-dresser would be enabled to bore a hole in the
platform of the altar, under the shelter of which, if he could not
see the lovely features of the charming patriotic women, he could, at
least, perceive the interesting proceedings of the people.
Not wishing to enjoy this pleasure alone, the Citizen Léger invited
an old Invalid to share it with him. The Invalid accepted the
invitation; but like a cautious man, knowing that they could not
feed themselves with their eyes, proposed that, in addition to the
centre-bit, they should take with them eatables and a barrel of
water. This last step was agreed to by Léger. Accordingly, on the
morning of Sunday, the 19th, half an hour before the light set in,
our two gallants might be seen scaling the altar of the country, with
their centre-bit and their provisions. Upon gaining the platform,
they gently lifted one of the planks, introduced themselves beneath,
replaced the plank, and then commenced their work.
Unfortunately for our two curious friends, the fête attracted none
but themselves. From daybreak, the Champ de Mars commenced to get
animated. The “merchands” of cakes and lemonade, hoping that the
patriotism would hunger and thirst those who signed the document,
commenced arriving from all quarters. Tired of walking about, one of
these women ascended the altar, for the purpose of looking at the
picture of the triumph of Voltaire. While reading the oath of Brutus,
of which she understood nothing, she felt an instrument piercing the
sole of her shoe. She immediately cried out for help, and declared
there were malefactors underneath the altar; upon which a young man
went in search of the guard of Gros Caillon. The guard, fancying the
affair was not worth while troubling himself about, refused to stir.
In the absence of the soldiers, he called the passing workmen. These,
more sensible to the cries of distress than the guard, came with
their tools. They set to work, without delay, to open the altar, and
there they found Léger and his companion, in a pretended sleep! They
were not long, however, bringing them to consciousness, when they
were commanded to explain the cause of their presence there, and to
state if their intentions were justifiable, and they were forced to
own the truth.
At that moment, a curious individual dropped himself under the
altar, to see what it was like, and there found the barrel of water.
Mistaking this for powder, he rushed forth, crying, with all his
might, that the two prisoners had intended blowing up the altar, as
well as those who would find themselves thereon. The hair-dresser and
Invalid cried loudly that it was water, and not powder, and that, by
breaking the barrel, they would arrive at the truth; but the truth
was too simple. They thought it more natural to strangle the two
unfortunate men, or decapitate them, and promenade their heads on the
top of a pike.
At this stage of the proceedings, the bailiffs of the municipality
arrived, and proclaimed the arrest of the Mayor. They then proceeded
towards the Roule, but were overtaken at the top of Rue St. Honoré by
the crowd carrying the heads of the two supposed assassins on the top
of their pikes. I fancied that I could recognise one of these as that
of a neighbor; it turned out to be that of the poor hair-dresser, who
came the preceding night to borrow the centre-bit from M. Duplay. I
could scarcely believe my eyes. What crime could they possibly be
guilty of? I called M. Duplay. There must have been a strange accent
in my voice; for, with the exception of my grandmother, who was
always occupied reading and re-reading her volume of the “Arabian
Nights,” the whole family rushed towards me; the women shrieked with
terror, but one was beginning to get accustomed to these sorts of
spectacles, and, by degrees, they risked looking.
Every one recognised Léger.
What had he done?
We inquired. They were two great criminals, who had intended blowing
up the altar of the country, and those who might be on it.
Others said they were two National Guards, who were beheaded by the
people for attempting to enforce the execution of the law.
The noise spread in the Assembly. Duport, who, with Charles Lameth,
separated himself from the Republican Jacobins, was then President.
He was not backward in accusing his late colleagues of the crime.
“Gentlemen,” said he, to the Assembly, “Two good citizens have just
perished on the Champ de Mars for having said to a deluded mass that
they must not break the laws of their country—they were hanged on the
spot.”
“’Tis true!” cried Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely. “I confirm that
news; they were two National Guards. Gentlemen, I demand martial law.
It is the duty of this Assembly, gentlemen, to pronounce all persons
attempting to exhort the people to resist, either by personal acts,
or by collective or individual writings, guilty of treachery to the
nation.”
This was just what the Assembly desired, composed, as it was,
principally of Royalists and Constitutionalists, and in which the
Republicans—that is to say, those who upheld the petition, and,
consequently, wished for the dethronement of the King—were to be
found in a very small number.
It was therefore decreed that the President of the Assembly, and the
Mayor of Paris, should inquire into the real state of affairs, in
order to take rigorous measures if events passed as were reported.
They did not give themselves the trouble to inquire into the truth,
but took the measures. Robespierre then left the Assembly without
saying a word, rushed to the Club of the Jacobins, to announce to
them the news.
At the club he found nearly thirty persons; they all tumultuously
voted the withdrawal of the petition, and Lanterre was despatched to
the Champ de Mars to take possession of it.
Such was the state of affairs when M. Duplay returned from the
Jacobins, and asked where were his wife and daughters.
He was told they were gone with Félicién to the Champ de Mars to see
the petition signed.
“Not an instant is to be lost!” cried M. Duplay. “If the petition is
not withdrawn in time, there will most certainly be a row, perhaps
fire-arms used! Quick!—let us on to the Champ de Mars!”
We left the house to the care of Catherine and the old grandmother
and set off in haste for the Porte St. Honoré.