Part 31 (1/2)
All right, thought I to myself; there is nothing fresh I suppose, only the Commune does not want people to pa.s.s; of course, it has right on its side. Thereupon I began to retrace my steps. ”You can't pa.s.s,” calls out another sentinel, by the time I have reached the other side of the street.
This is strange, the Commune cannot mean to limit my walk to a melancholy pacing up and down between two opposite pavements. A sergeant came up to me; I recognised him as a Spaniard, who during the siege belonged to my company. ”Why are you not in uniform?” he asked me, with a roughness that I fancied was somewhat mitigated by the remembrance of the many cigars I had given him, the nights we were on guard during the siege. I understood in an instant what they wanted with me, and replied unhesitatingly, ”Because it is not my turn to be on guard,”--”No, of course it's not, it never is. You have been taking your ease this long time, while others have been getting killed.” It was evident this Spaniard had not taken the cigars I had given him, in good part, and was now revenging himself.--”What do you want with me?” I said; ”let's have done with this.” Instead of answering, he signed to two Federals standing near, who immediately placed themselves one on each side of me, and cried, ”March!” I was perfectly agreeable, although this walk was not exactly in the direction I had intended. On the way I heard a woman say, ”Poor young man I They have taken him in the act.” I was conducted to the church of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, and marched into the vestry, where about fifty _refractaires_ were already a.s.sembled.
Behind a deal table, on which were placed a small register, an inkstand stuck in a great bung, and two quill pens, sat three young men, almost boys, in uniform. You might have imagined them to be Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus, at the age when they played at leap-frog. ”Your name?”
said Rhadamanthus, addressing me. I did not think twice about it, but gave them a name which has never been mine. Suddenly some one behind me burst out laughing; I turned round and recognised an old friend, whom I had not noticed among the other prisoners. ”Your profession?” inquired Minos.--”Prizefighter,” I answered, putting my arms akimbo and looking as ferocious as possible, by way of keeping up the character I had momentarily a.s.sumed. To the rest of the questions that were addressed to me, I replied in the same satisfactory manner. When it was over, Minos said to me, ”That is enough; now go and sit down, and wait until you are called.”--”Pardon me, my young friend, but I shall not go and sit down, nor shall I wait a moment more.”--”Are you making fun of us? We are transacting most serious business, our lives are at stake. Go and sit down.”--”I have already had the honour to remark, my dear Rhadamanthus, that I did not mean to sit down. Be kind enough to allow me to depart instantly.”--”You ask _me_ to do this?”--”Yes! you!” I shouted in a tremendous voice. The three judges looked at me in great perplexity, and began whispering amongst themselves. A prize fighter, by jingo! I thought the moment had come to strike a decisive blow, so I pulled out of my pocket a little green card, which I desired them to examine.
Immediately Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus got up, bowed to me most respectfully, and called out to two National Guards who were at the door, ”Allow the citizen to pa.s.s.”--”By-the-bye,” said I, pointing, to my friend, ”this gentleman is with me.”--”Allow both the citizens to pa.s.s,” shouted the lads in chorus.--”This is capital,” cried my friend as soon as we were well outside the door.--”How did you manage?”--”I have a pa.s.s from the Central Committee.”--”In your own name?”--”No, I bought it of the widow of a Federal; who was on very good terms with Citizen Felix Pyat.”--”Why, it is just like a romance.”--”Yes, but a romance that allows me to live pretty safely in the midst of this strange reality. Anyhow, I think we had better look out for other lodgings.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: HOUSE OF M. THIERS, PLACE SAINT-GEORGES.]
Lx.x.xIII.
At ten o'clock in the evening I was walking up the Rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. In these times the streets are quite deserted at that hour. Looking on in front I saw that the Place Saint-Georges was lighted up by long tongues of flame, that the wind blew hither and thither. I hastened on, and was soon standing in front of M. Thiers'
house.[90] At the open gate stood a sentinel; a large fire had been lighted in the court by the National Guards; not that the night was cold, they seemed to have lighted it merely for the pleasure of burning furniture and pictures, that had been left behind by the Communal waggoners. They had already begun to pull down the right side of the house; a pickaxe was leaning against a loosened stone; the roof had fallen in, and a rafter was sticking out of one of the windows. The fire rose higher and higher; would it not be better that the flames should reach the house and consume it in an hour or two, than to see it being gradually pulled down, stone by stone, for many days to come? In the court I perceived several trucks full of books and linen. A National Guard picked up a small picture that was lying near the gate; I bent forward and saw that it was a painting of a satyr playing on a flute.
How sad and cruel all this seemed! The men lounging about looked demoniacal in the red light of the fire. I turned away, thinking not of the political man, but of the house where he had worked, where he had thought, of the books that no longer stood on the shelves, of the favourite chair that had been burnt on the very hearth by which he had sat so long; I thought of all the dumb witnesses of a long life destroyed, dispersed, lost, of the relatives, and friends whose traces had disappeared from the rooms empty to-day, in ruins to-morrow; I thought of all this, and of all the links that would be broken by a dispersion, and I trembled at the idea that some day--in these times anything seems possible--men may break open the doors of my modest habitation, knock about the furniture of which I have grown fond, destroy my books which have so long been the companions of my studies, tear the pictures from my walls, and burn the verses that I love for the sake of the trouble they have given me to make,--kill, in a word, all that renders life agreeable to me, more cruelly than if four Federals were to take me off and shoot me at the corner of a street. But I am not a political man. I belong to no party--who would think of doing me any injury? I am perfectly harmless, with my lovesick metaphor. Ah I how egotistical one is! It was of my own home that I thought while I stood in front of the ruin in the Place Saint-Georges. I confess that I was particularly touched by the misfortunes of that house, because it awakened in me the fear of my own, misfortune, most improbable, and most diminutive, it is true, in comparison with that.
[Ill.u.s.tration: HOUSE OF M. THIERS DURING DEMOLITION AND REMOVAL.]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 90: It should be remarked that the destruction of M. Thiers'
house coincided with the first success of the Versailles army; it was the spirit of hatred and mad destructiveness which dictated the following decree, issued by the Committee of Public Safety on the 10th of May:--
”Art. 1. The goods and property of Thiers (they even denied him the appellation of citizen) are seized by order of the administration of public domains.
”Art. 2. The house of Thiers, situated at the Place Saint-Georges, to be demolished.”
On the following day the National a.s.sembly, in presence of the activity exhibited by M. Thiers, declared that the proscribed, whose house was demolished, had exhibited proofs of an amount of patriotism and political ability which inspired every confidence in the future. On the 12th of the same month works were commenced at Versailles for the formation of a railway-station sufficient for all the wants of an important army, the initiation of which was due to M. Thiers; a conference was opened on the 19th April with the Western Railway Company, the plans were approved on the 22nd of the same month, and the preliminary works were commenced on the 12th of May. When these are terminated, they will consist of thirty-five parallel lines of rails, more than a mile in length. But the princ.i.p.al point in the plan is, that by means of branches to Pontoise and Chevreuse, this immense station may be placed in direct communication with all the lines of railway in France. It is easy enough to draw the following conclusion, namely, that if the necessity should ever again arise, Paris would cease to be the central depot for all commercial movements, and thus the paralysis of the affairs of the whole country would be avoided, in case the Parisian populace should again be bitten by the barricade mania. At one time it was feared that the collections of M. Thiers were destroyed in the conflagration at the Tuileries; but M. Courbet reports that on the 12th of May he asked what he ought to do about the different things taken at the house of M. Thiers, and if they were to be sent to the Louvre or to be publicly sold, and he was then appointed a member of the commission to examine the case. Regarding his conduct at the time of the demolis.h.i.+ng of the house of M. Thiers, he arrived too late, he says, to make an inventory; the furniture and effects had been already packed by the _employes_ of the Garde Meuble; ”I made some observations about it, and on going through the empty apartments, I noticed two small figures that I packed in paper, thinking they might be private _souvenirs_, and that I would return them some day to their owner. All the other things were already destroyed or gone.”]
Lx.x.xIV.
An anecdote: Parisian all over; but with such stuff are they amused!
Raoul Rigault, the man who arrests, was breakfasting with Gaston Dacosta, the man who destroys. These two friends are worthy of each other. Rigault has incarcerated the Archbishop of Paris, but Dacosta claims the merit of having loosened the first stone in M. Thiers' house.
But however, Rigault would destroy if Dacosta were not there to do so; and if Rigault did not arrest, Dacosta would arrest for him.
They talked as they ate. Rigault enumerated the list of people he had sent to the Conciergerie and to Mazas, and thought with consternation that soon there would be no one left for him to arrest. Suddenly he stopped his fork on its way to his mouth, and his face a.s.sumed a most doleful expression.--”What's the matter?” cried Dacosta, alarmed.--”Ah!”
said Rigault, tears choking his utterance, ”Papa is not in Paris.”--”Well, and what does it matter if your father is not here?”--”Alas!” exclaimed Rigault, bursting out crying, ”I could have had him arrested!”[91]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 91: The illegality of his conduct, however, was too glaring even for the Commune, and he was removed from his post on a complaint made by Arthur Arnould, to the committee, concerning the arbitrary arrest of a number of persons. Cournet was appointed to the Prefecture in Rigault's stead, but the amateur policeman and informer did not renounce work; he found the greatest pleasure, as he himself expressed it, in acting the spy over the official spies. This man was a well-known frequenter of the low cafes of the Quartier Latin, and his face bore such evidences of his debauched life, that though only twenty-eight years of age, he looked nearer forty.]