Part 4 (1/2)
The doctor demanded, with stirring voice: ”A little silence, if you please.” And, after the populace became quiet, he continued proudly:
”Here is a communication which I have received from the Government.”
And raising the dispatch, he read:
”Old mayor deposed. Advise us of what is most necessary, Instructions later.
”For the Sub-Prefect, ”SAPIN, Counselor.”
He had triumphed. His heart was beating with joy. His hand trembled, when Picard, his old subaltern, cried out to him from a neighboring group: ”That's all right; but if the others in there won't go out, your paper hasn't a leg to stand on.” The doctor grew a little pale. If they would not go out--in fact, he must go ahead now. It was not only his right, but his duty. And he looked anxiously at the house of the mayoralty, hoping that he might see the door open and his adversary show himself. But the door remained closed. What was to be done? The crowd was increasing, surrounding the militia. Some laughed.
One thought, especially, tortured the doctor. If he should make an a.s.sault, he must march at the head of his men; and as, with him dead, all contest would cease, it would be at him, and at him alone that M.
de Varnetot and the three guards would aim. And their aim was good, very good! Picard had reminded him of that.
But an idea shone in upon him, and turning to Pommel, he said: ”Go, quickly, and ask the apothecary to send me a napkin and a pole.”
The Lieutenant hurried off. The doctor was going to make a political banner, a white one, that would perhaps, rejoice the heart of that old legitimist, the mayor.
Pommel returned with the required linen and a broom handle. With some pieces of string, they improvised a standard, which Ma.s.sarel seized in both hands. Again, he advanced toward the house of mayoralty, bearing the standard before him. When in front of the door, he called out: ”Monsieur de Varnetot!”
The door opened suddenly, and M. de Varnetot and the three guards appeared on the threshold. The doctor recoiled, instinctively. Then, he saluted his enemy courteously, and announced, almost strangled by emotion: ”I have come, sir, to communicate to you the instructions I have just received.”
That gentleman, without any salutation whatever, replied: ”I am going to withdraw, sir, but you must understand that it is not because of fear, or in obedience to an odious government that has usurped the power.” And, biting off each word, he declared: ”I do not wish to have the appearance of serving the Republic for a single day. That is all.”
Ma.s.sarel, amazed, made no reply; and M, de Varnetot, walking off at a rapid pace, disappeared around the corner, followed closely by his escort. Then the doctors slightly dismayed, returned to the crowd. When he was near enough to be heard, he cried: ”Hurrah! Hurrah! The Republic triumphs all along the line!”
But no emotion was manifested. The doctor tried again. ”The people are free! You are free and independent! Do you understand? Be proud of it!”
The listless villagers looked at him with eyes unlit by glory. In his turn, he looked at them, indignant at their indifference, seeking for some word that could make a grand impression, electrify this placid country and make good his mission. The inspiration come, and turning to Pommel, he said: ”Lieutenant, go and get the bust of the ex-Emperor, which is in the Council Hall, and bring it to me with a chair.”
And soon the man reappears, carrying on his right shoulder, Napoleon III. in plaster, and holding in his left hand a straw-bottomed chair.
Ma.s.sarel met him, took the chair, placed it on the ground, put the white image upon it, fell back a few steps and called out, in sonorous voice:
”Tyrant! Tyrant! Here do you fall! Fall in the dust and in the mire. An expiring country groans under your feet. Destiny has called you the Avenger. Defeat and shame cling to you. You fall conquered, a prisoner to the Prussians, and upon the ruins of the crumbling Empire the young and radiant Republic arises, picking up your broken sword.”
He awaited applause. But there was no voice, no sound. The bewildered peasants remained silent. And the bust, with its pointed mustaches extending beyond the cheeks on each side, the bust, so motionless and well groomed as to be fit for a hairdressers sign, seemed to be looking at M. Ma.s.sarel with a plaster smile, a smile ineffaceable and mocking.
They remained thus face to face, Napoleon on the chair, the doctor in front of him about three steps away. Suddenly the Commander grew angry.
What was to be done? What was there that would move this people, and bring about a definite victory in opinion? His hand happened to rest on his hip and to come in contact there with the b.u.t.t end of his revolver, under his red sash. No inspiration, no further word would come. But he drew his pistol, advanced two steps, and, taking aim, fired at the late monarch. The ball entered the forehead, leaving a little, black hole, like a spot, nothing more. There was no effect. Then he fired a second shot, which made a second hole, then, a third; and then, without stopping, he emptied his revolver. The brow of Napoleon disappeared in white powder, but the eyes, the nose, and the fine points of the mustaches remained intact. Then, exasperated, the doctor overturned the chair with a blow of his fist and, resting a foot on the remainder of the bust in a position of triumph, he shouted: ”So let all tyrants peris.h.!.+”
Still no enthusiasm was manifest, and as the spectators seemed to be in a kind of stupor from astonishment, the Commander called to the militiamen: ”You may now go to your homes.” And he went toward his own house with great strides, as if he were pursued.
His maid, when he appeared, told him that some patients had been waiting in his office for three hours. He hastened in. There were the two varicose-vein patients, who had returned at daybreak, obstinate but patient.
The old man immediately began his explanation: ”This began by a feeling like ants running up and down the legs.”
THE ARTIST