"Oh! if one hunts, one always finds what one wants."
Charras started off at a gallop—he had a notion where to look. He went to the manufactory of Sèvres: it would surely be impossible not to find a map of Seine-et-Oise there. Nor was he mistaken: they had two. They were put at his disposal by my namesake, M. Dumas, the chemist, erewhile minister and present senator. Pajol received the two maps a quarter of a league outside Sèvres.
"Now, then, Jacqueminot," he said, "we must have bread, and plenty of it, too.... Go to Versailles and order ten thousand rations."
Jacqueminot started off.
"And we must also have spies," said Pajol. "Who will undertake to find me spies?"
"I will," said Charras.
"Ah! do you mean to undertake to find everything?"
"Why not?" said Charras. "I must make myself useful."
"Where will you find me these?"
"At Versailles."
"Do you know anybody there?"
"Not a soul ... but don't trouble on that account."
"I will go with you," said Bernadou.
"Come, then."
The two young men set off as fast as their horses could go. They reached the Hôtel de Ville of Versailles consumed with thirst. Somebody had conceived the notion of breaking open a dozen barrels of beer in the courtyard, in the full sunshine:they attempted to drink it, but found it like poison. A man in civilian dress was there, representing the mayor, sweating like an ox: for that matter, everybody, mayor, deputies, municipal councillors, were all melting with the heat.
"Look quick!" said Charras; "come, we want spies, horses and a carriage!"
"Excuse me?" asked the perspiring citizen.
"Are you deaf? I ask you for spies, horses and a carriage!"
"Where do you suppose I can find them?" replied the citizen, perspiring more and more.
"That is no concern of mine.... Find them—I must have them. That is all I have to say to you."
"But, all the same, monsieur, who may you be?"
"I am M. Charras, first aide-de-camp to General Pajol, who is commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary Army of the West."
Charras had invented this phrase on the spur of the moment, and, thinking it sufficiently high-sounding, had adopted it to impress the country town's folk.
"All I can do," he said, "is to give you the names of carriage proprietors."
"Give them me.... We shall discover the other things, for you do not seem to me to be very much up to matters yourself."
The man gave the addresses of two or three cab proprietors. They left the mansion-house, which was on the left as you enter the town, about three hundred yards before you come to the château, and they returned in the direction of Paris. A magnificent signboard was grilling in the noonday sun: it represented a coach drawn by four horses, with two saddle-horses held by grooms. This set Charras's mouth watering.
"Hullo there! Where is the proprietor?" he shouted.
"Here I am!" said an individual in a somewhat bad-tempered tone.
"I want a carriage with a couple of horses immediately."
"What for?"
"For the persons whom I shall put inside it."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know yet."
"I haven't any carriages."
"What! no carriages?"
"No."
"What about those in the yard?"
"They are engaged."
"Ah! very well."
Charras looked about him: there were over a hundred people already gathered round, and amongst these spectators were a dozen or so soldiers of the National Guard together with a sergeant.
"Sergeant," said Charras, "do me the kindness to lay hold of that gentleman."
Now a Frenchman is by nature prone to laying hands on people, especially if he wears the uniform of the National Guard. Sergeant Mercier, who refused to seize Manuel, was an exception to this rule and that was why such honours were paid him. The sergeant moved towards the carriage proprietor and seized him by the collar.
"Good!" said Charras; "presently we will see what is to be done with him."
"Really, monsieur," said the proprietor, "who are you?"
"I am M. Charras, first aide-de-camp to General Pajol, who is commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary Army of the West." "Why did you not say so before, monsieur? That quite alters matters."
"Shall I liberate him?" asked the sergeant.
"Not until he has given me a carriage and two horses.... Bernadou, go and choose a couple of good horses and a good carriage."
"All right!"
Bernadou, the sergeant and the proprietor disappeared beneath the large gateway and were lost to sight in the dim distance of the stableyard and the darkness of the stables themselves.
"And now," said Charras, "for two volunteers!"
"What for?" asked a score of voices.
"To go and examine the position of the royal army and to return and give us full particulars."
"Where?"
"Wherever we ... the staff ... and General Pajol may be; there will be no difficulty in discovering that."
"We will go," said two men.
Charras looked at them.
"I do not know who you are," he said; "who will be responsible for your good faith?"
"I," said a gentleman, who was equally unknown to him.
"Very good," continued Charras; "but you must know, messieurs, that you are patriots for us, but spies in regard to the royal army."
"Well?"
"And suppose you are caught...?"
"They will shoot us.... And then...?"
"Good! if you had begun by telling me that I should not have asked for a surety."
The carriage and horses were now brought out. Charras did not leave until he had seen the carriage and the two men safely started upon the road to Rambouillet. The head of the column now came in sight on the Paris road. In a few seconds Charras was beside Pajol.
"It is done, General," he said.
"What?"
"I have found spies."
"Where are they?"
"Gone."
"Really, my dear lad, you are worth your weight in gold!... Now you must go to the village of Cognières; we shall probably halt there."
"Where is it?"
"Here ... see...!"
The general showed the position of the village on the map, four leagues from Rambouillet.
"Good! What am I to do at Cognières?"
"You must tell the mayor I shall want ten thousand feeds of hay by this evening."
"Ten thousand feeds of hay? He will never be able to get so much!"
"What do you think we are to do, then? We have two or three thousand fiacres, twelve or fifteen hundred cabriolets, and tilburys and waggons and the devil knows what beside!"
"All right! don't despair: if we can't get hay, we will get something else...."
"What?" the general interrupted impatiently.
"Why, we will take the standing crops of oats!"
"Excellent!" exclaimed Pajol; "upon my word, you understand the art of war! What is your name?"
"Charras."
"I shall not forget it, be sure! Go! I shall feel as confident of my ten thousand feeds as though I had them here already."
"Oh! you may rely on them."
And again Charras set off. Meanwhile, we had arrived and were dispersing ourselves over Versailles. I, for my part, ran to the barracks of the Guards; I had an intimate friend there, in Grammont's company, a man of irreproachable bravery and, what I appreciated still more, he was marvellously clever. He was called d'Arpentigny. Young though he was, he had been a soldier under the Empire, and he wrote one of the most amazing books imaginable upon his captivity in Russia.
There was not a single Guard at the palace; everyone had followed the king to Rambouillet; they accompanied him as far as Cherbourg, as is known.
After a halt of half an hour, the order was given to resume our march. Just at starting, General Pajol learnt that there were two regiments stationed in Versailles. Would it be wise of him to leave them behind? Three parlementaires were sent and the two regiments gave themselves up without resistance; their arms were distributed among the men of the expedition and my seventeen soldiers got hold of three rifles. On arrival at Saint-Cyr, Degousée proposed seizing the artillery belonging to the École; he asked for volunteers and we offered ourselves,two hundred of us setting out to seize eight pieces of cannon. We harnessed ourselves to them to drag them out as far as the road, and messengers, sent out in all directions, brought back horses and traces.
The Expeditionary Army of the West now had artillery, but it lacked cartridges and bullets. At this moment, we were joined by Georges La Fayette and, as the command of the artillery was vacant, Pajol gave it to him. I never heard whether they succeeded in obtaining bullets and cartridges. When the Expeditionary Army reached the top of the hill of Saint-Cyr, they began to find the high road strewn with sabres, rifles, cartridge boxes and soldiers' caps. So demoralised was the retreat that the men had actually flung away their arms all along the route. Five more of my men thus found arms for themselves, thanks to these spars of the royal wreckage. We reached Cognières at about seven in the evening, harassed with fatigue and dying with hunger. We had, indeed, managed to pick up some scraps of bread and a few glasses of wine, at Versailles; but, as my scene-shifter said, there was only enough to stop a hollow tooth with. By the time we reached Cognières, there were a terrible number of hollow teeth: the horses had found their ten thousand rations of hay and oats, but the men had found nothing at all to eat. Yet Jacqueminot had scrupulously fulfilled his mission: they had promised him that, as soon as the new prefect arrived (and he was expected any moment), the bread should be hurried up. Every man among us set to work like the lion of Scripture, seeking whom he might devour. I had pitched our camp round a great stack of straw that stood on the right of the road and our flag was planted on the top of the stack by one of the scene-shifters, to serve as a guide-post. I had been singularly unlucky in my search, until, happily, I spied out the curé's house. I went inside and laid my wants and those of my troop before the worthy man. He gave me a fine loaf of bread, which must have weighed three or four pounds, and, as he had no bottles in the house, he filled with wine a bottle intended to hold milk. Whilst I was on my foraging expedition,two things were being attended to elsewhere: thirty of the peasants of Cognières, armed with swords and rifles picked up on the road, were placed as an advance-post, a quarter of a league from the village; and, with the three or four thousand fiacres, fifteen to eighteen hundred cabriolets, tilburys and waggons, etc., they built up a big line of barricades across the road stretching across the plain to left and right, covering the whole of the front of the camp and bending back on two sides upon the flanks. On my way, I had been buttonholed by a gentleman in black coat and trousers with a white waistcoat—the whole forming a pearl-grey picture. He had met the procession, was carried away by the whirlpool, had climbed up the back of a fiacre and been thus transported. He had no weapons of any sort, not even a penknife. I could see he was a very green hand at this sort of business. He had not had a bite to eat since the previous day and was clamouring for some sort of food. By trade, he was a broker and his name was Detours. I pointed our flag out to him and encouraged him to continue his hitherto unfruitful hunt a little longer, and then to join us at our stack, whether his hands were full or empty.
After a quarter of an hour's time, I saw him coming along with a piece of bread and half a leg of mutton. He had met Charras, who had taken pity on him and had put General Pajol's canteen at his disposal. He apologised for not bringing more. My men had, however, gone abroad among the neighbouring farms and had annexed a few fowls and eggs. We put all the provender together and supped as well as possible. But only we four or five hundred, perhaps, who had arrived first, got supper: the groans of hunger of those who came after us were audible all around. When the repast was done, I dug out a sort of vault under the stack, into which Delanoue and I got with sybaritic appreciation. The rest of our men strewed straw on the ground and camped in the open air. As for M. Detours, I do not know whether he lives in Paris or in the provinces, whether he be dead or alive, Bonapartist or Republican, for I have never seen him again. It is by a miracle that I happen to have remembered his name.
Boyer the Cruel—The ten thousand rations of bread—General Exelmans and Charras—The concierge at the prefecture of Versailles—M. Aubernon—Colonel Poque—Interview of Charles X. with MM. de Schonen, Odilon Barrot and Marshal Maison—The Royal Family leave Rambouillet—Panic—The crown jewels—Return to Paris
Boyer the Cruel—The ten thousand rations of bread—General Exelmans and Charras—The concierge at the prefecture of Versailles—M. Aubernon—Colonel Poque—Interview of Charles X. with MM. de Schonen, Odilon Barrot and Marshal Maison—The Royal Family leave Rambouillet—Panic—The crown jewels—Return to Paris
Whilst Delanoue and I slept the sleep of the just; whilst the men in the second line had not half appeased their appetites and were taking in their belts; whilst the men of the third line, who hadn't eaten anything at all, were roaring like a herd of lions in the desert; whilst the drivers were snoring inside their carriages, and the horses were eating their hay and oats; whilst the camp-fires were going out and throwing their uncertain light over an area of three leagues of trampled-down harvest-fields, over sleeping men and wandering phantoms, let us describe what was going on at headquarters.
The advance-guards had hardly established themselves on the road between Cognières and Rambouillet before they brought to the post-hostelry, on the left of the road, a general who had forcibly tried to break through the line of sentinels. He still wore the white cockade: it was old General Boyer, whom we all knew, he who afterwards had a command in Africa, and who won for himself out there, whether justly or not, the nickname of Boyer the Cruel. General Pajol had not yet arrived. Inside the inn parlour were seated, eating, at a round table, M. de Schonen, M. Odilon Barrot and M. le Maréchal Maison; they were on their road to Rambouillet for the second time. Charras was in command, in the absence of General Pajol. They brought General Boyer to him, whofrankly gave his name and admitted that he had come to offer his sword in the service of Charles X. This was, indeed, an embarrassing prisoner for Charras to deal with. The young aide-de-camp went into the room where the three commissioners were dining and, addressing Marshal Maison, he said—
"Monsieur le Maréchal, they have just arrested General Boyer."
"Well," asked the marshal, "what do you want me to do in the matter?"
"Will you make him give his parole? I will set him free."
"No, good gracious! no," exclaimed the marshal. "Keep an eye on him, and, when Pajol comes, he can do what he likes with him."
They brought General Boyer into a room adjoining the one in which the commissioners were dining.
Charras had not eaten anything since the morning he had breakfasted with General Pajol, and the commissioners could easily detect that their dinner was attracting his attention. They therefore offered him a share, which he accepted. Marshal Maison never drank any wine but champagne; he poured out three or four glasses successively (they drank out of a sort of tumbler) for General Pajol's aide-de-camp, who, upon an empty stomach, with nerves excited by his campaign to la Fère and forehead burning from six days' consecutive sun, found himself overcome by quite a fresh kind of excitement. So, accordingly, when General Pajol rejoined them, finding that the bread had not yet arrived, and asking for a volunteer to go to Versailles, Charras, who, reckoning for ins and outs, had already done some twenty leagues during the day,—Charras, I say, seeing that nobody offered, himself volunteered.
"But," said Pajol, "are you made of iron?"
"Iron or no," said Charras, "you can see very well that if I do not go, no one else means to go."
"Off with you, then!... But, of course, if you meet the bread on the road, you will return back with it."
"You bet!"
Charras ran to the stables, saddled his horse and set off at a quick trot. When he had got as far as Trappes he was stopped by an outpost of the rearguard, who blocked the road.
"Qui vive?" cried the sentinel.
"Friend."
"That isn't enough!"
"Why isn't it enough?"
"It isn't! Who are you?"
"Charras, first aide-de-camp to General Pajol, commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary Army of the West."
"Advance one and give the countersign."
Things were all conducted in proper military order, as will be seen.
"Who is in command here?" asked Charras.
"General Exelmans."
"I congratulate him: take me to him."
They gratified his wish, which seemed quite reasonable. The general was asleep under a plum tree, wrapped in his cloak, to the left of the roadside. His son was asleep near him. Charras laid bare the object of his coming.
"Do you know," Exelmans replied, "that we too are all famishing of hunger?"
"General, it is through no fault of General Pajol's; he sent Colonel Jacqueminot to Versailles to order ten thousand rations of bread at eleven o'clock this morning."
"To whom?"
"To the prefect."
"And hasn't the brute sent it?"
"You can see for yourself he has not, since I am on my way to look for it."
"You are quite sure it was ordered?"
"Colonel Jacqueminot started in my presence."
"In that case, monsieur, I, General Exelmans, command you to have the prefect shot."
Charras drew a note-book and pencil from his pocket.
"One word in writing, General, and it shall be accomplished within an hour."
"But, monsieur...."
"In pencil will be all I want."
"But, monsieur...."
"Come," said Charras, "I see the Prefect of Versailles won't be shot to-night."
"But, monsieur, think what it is you are asking me to do!"
"I am only asking you to let me pass through your lines, General."
"Allow this gentleman to pass through," said General Exelmans.
He lay down to sleep again under his plum tree, and Charras continued his journey. He reached the barrier of Versailles, made himself known, took four National Guards with him and made his way to the Prefecture. It was one o'clock in the morning and everyone was asleep. He had to knock a quarter of an hour before extracting the least sign of life from the house. Charras and the Guards went at it tooth and nail, some knocking with the butt-end of their pistols and others with that of their rifles. At last, a voice called out from the courtyard—
"What do you want?"
"I want a word with the prefect."
"What! with the prefect?"
"Yes."
"At this time of night?"
"Certainly."
"He is asleep."
Well, I will wake him up, then. Come, come, open the door, and quickly too, or I shall break it in!"
"You would break open the prefect's door!" exclaimed the stupefied concierge.
"Yes," said Charras. "By Jove! what a gift of the gab the fellow has!"
The concierge opened to them: he was only half awake, half brushed up and half dressed.
"Come now, take me to the prefect."
"But I tell you he is asleep."
"And I tell you to proceed to his room, you rogue!"
He gave the concierge a kick that made him climb the stairs in double quick time and, opening the prefect's room, the concierge placed his tallow candle on the night-table, revealing to Charras a man who was rubbing his eyes; then the concierge went out, saying—
"There is M. le Préfet, settle what you like with him."
The prefect raised himself on his elbow.
"What!" he said,—"what do they want with me?"
"I want to inform you, Monsieur le Préfet," said Charras, "that, whilst you are sleeping tranquilly, there are ten thousand men round Rambouillet who are mad with hunger through your fault."
"How through my fault, pray?"
"No doubt of it.... Did you not receive an order to send off ten thousand rations of bread to Cognières?"
"Well, monsieur?"
"Well, monsieur, those ten thousand rations are still in Versailles, that is all I can say."
"Heavens! What do you want me to do?"
"Want you to do? Oh! that is plain enough.... I want you to get up and come with me to the military bakehouse to have the bread loaded in carriages; I want you to give the order for them to start on their journey at once."
"But, monsieur, you speak in such a tone...."
"I speak as I ought."
"Do you know who I am?"
"What does it matter to me who you are?"
"Monsieur, I am M. Aubernon, Prefect of Seine-et-Oise."
"And I, monsieur, am M. Charras, first aide-de-camp to General Pajol, commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary Army of the West, and I have orders to shoot you if you do not instantly send off the bread."
"To shootme?" cried the prefect, leaping up in his bed.
"Neither more nor less than that.... Will you run the risk?"
"Monsieur, I will get up and go with you to the bakehouse."
"So, well and good!"
The prefect rose and went with Charras to the bakehouse, where the carts were loaded with the bread.
"I will leave you here, monsieur," said Charras; "for you know it is to your best interest to send the carriages off quickly."
And back the indefatigable messenger went, along the road to Cognières.
Meanwhile, the three commissioners had reached Rambouillet, where they arrived about nine o'clock at night. Everything was in the greatest confusion. An event, which was not wanting in a certain degree of solemnity, had clouded people's spirits with trouble. That morning, the identical Colonel Poque by whom La Fayette had sent word to Étienne Arago to discontinue wearing his cockade had arrived with an early troop of insurgents. He may, perhaps, have had some special commission for General Vincent, under whom he had served in 1814. However this may be, when he reached the outposts, he left his little troop behind him and approached within earshot, handkerchief in hand. He was accompanied by a cuirassier, who had passed with the people and who followed Colonel Poque as his orderly. General Vincent was with the Royalist outposts and shouted to the colonel to stop. The colonel stopped, but, waving his handkerchief, he announced that he did not mean to withdraw until he had spoken to the soldiers. General Vincent declared, on his part, that if Poque did not retire he would fire upon him. Poque folded his arms and waited. The general challenged him three times to withdraw and, seeing he remained immovable at the third time, gave the order to fire upon him. All in the front rank obeyed. The cuirassier's horse was struck down under him by three bullets. Colonel Poque had his ankle broken by another bullet and lay down on his horse'sback in agony, but still he did not budge. They went to him, took him off and carried him into the out-buildings of the château. This example showed the soldiers the temper of the men with whom they had to deal.
Charles X. was in despair over the incident: he inquired who Colonel Poque was and sent word by Madame de Gontaut to ask if there was anything he wanted.
Poque, whose mother was in the Pyrenees, desired that she should be told of the accident but not how serious the wound was. Charles X. sent his own doctor to the colonel and the doctor saw that there was nothing for it but to cut off his leg! Madame de Gontaut herself wrote to the mother of the injured man.
At five o'clock they learnt of the approach of the Parisian army; at seven they announced its arrival. Materially, so to speak, this army was not at all terrible; but, morally, it meant the spirit of Revolution advancing against Royalty.
In the midst of these troubles and various counsels and differing decisions they debated what should be done. Some wanted to hold out to the last, proposing a retreat on the Loire, a second Vendée and a Chouans war. Others took a more desponding view of the fortunes of the Monarchy and advised a prompt flight. The dauphin, who had tried to snatch Marshal Marmont's sword from him, had cut his fingers and was sulking like a child. The marshal considered he had been insulted and shut himself up in his room, without a word. At eight o'clock, Rambouillet was already half deserted: the courtiers (those who had dined that very day at the king's table) had disappeared, some of them in such haste that, they had not even stopped to pick up their hats. The soldiers alone remained at their posts although they were moody, sullen and depressed.
It was through this funereal atmosphere, then, that MM. de Schonen, Odilon Barrot and Marshal Maison had to pass to reach Charles X. The old king received them with frowning face and a curtness of manner most unusual to him.
"What more do you want of me, messieurs?" he asked.
"Sire, we have come on behalf of the lieutenant-general."
"Well, but I have come to an agreement with him and everything is settled between us."
The commissioners kept silence.
"Did he not receive the letter I sent him by M. de Latour-Foissac, which contained my abdication and that of the dauphin?"
"Yes, sire; but has he replied to it?"
"No, true, he has not. But what need had he to reply, as he answered my two earlier letters, in each of which he assured me of his devotion?"
The commissioners again remained silent.
"Come, gentlemen, speak," said Charles X.
"Sire, we have come from the Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom, to warn your Majesty that the people of Paris are marching upon Rambouillet."
"But my grandson?... Henri V.?" exclaimed Charles X.
For the third time, the commissioners made no reply.
"His rights cannot be challenged, surely," Charles X. resumed with vehemence; "his rights are reserved by my act of abdication; I have fifteen thousand men round me ready to die to preserve his rights!... Answer me, gentlemen! By all that France holds dear, I adjure you to answer me!"
Marshal Maison made a backward movement, in distress at the sight of the overwhelming grief that revealed itself on the old man's countenance.
"Sire," said Odilon Barrot, "you must not found the throne of your grandson on bloodshed."
"And," added Marshal Maison, "may the king ponder on the fact of sixty thousand men marching towards Rambouillet!"
The king stopped short in front of Marshal Maison and, after a moment's silence, he said—
"Two words aside with you, Monsieur le Maréchal."
The other commissioners drew back.
"I am at the king's commands," said the marshal.
The king signed to the marshal to come to him, and the marshal obeyed.
"Upon your word of honour, monsieur," the king said, looking the marshal straight in the face, "does the Parisian army really number as many as sixty thousand men, as you have assured me?"
The marshal no doubt thought it would be a pious fraud to save the country from civil war. And, perhaps, he may at the same time have believed he was telling the truth: the plain, the road, the whole country between Versailles and Rambouillet was covered with men.
"On my word of honour, it is so, sire!" he said.
"That is all," said Charles X.; "you may withdraw.... I shall take the advice of the dauphin and of the Duc de Raguse."
The commissioners went away; but the dauphin declined to offer advice.
"Sire," the Duc de Raguse replied, "I offer my king a final proof of fidelity by counselling him to retreat."
"Good, Monsieur le Maréchal," said Charles X. "Let everything be ready for our departure to-morrow at seven in the morning."
Alas! thus it was that, compelled, driven into a corner by circumstances, this last of our knightly kings yielded up his sword, not, however, like King John or François I., who did not consider that it could be surrendered except on the field of battle.
But the royal cause now suffered a more disastrous defeat than those at Poitiers or Pavia.
Whilst all these grave concerns were being debated between the powerful or, rather, between the weak ones of the earth (for were not these kings who had to go away, each in his turn, and die in exile at Goritz or at Claremont among the weakest of men?), I, who had had nearly as much difficulty to conquer my straw stack as Louis-Philippe had to conquer his throne, certainly slept better under my straw roof than the king under his velvet canopy. Towards four or five o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by a well-sustained fusillade; the bullets whizzed past one another and the fiacres whichwere meant to serve us as barricades against the attack of the Swiss and Royal Guards, ran away in all directions across the plain as fast as their horses could gallop. It proved a false alarm! Good Heavens! what would have happened had the alarm been real? This was what had taken place. Some men had let off their guns as they ran away from Rambouillet, and the camp thought the fight had begun: it rose half asleep and fired haphazard; the first instinct of any man who has a gun in his hands is to use it, and hence the firing and cross-firing which awaked me. Finally, it was all explained and cleared up, and nothing worse resulted than one man killed and two or three wounded; the army thundered out a tremendousMarseillaiseand went on its way back to Paris. But Delanoue and I made the journey on foot: our fiacre had been one of the first among the deserters and it was impossible for us to lay hands on it. I remember we returned as far as Versailles across the fields with my dear good friends Alfred and Tony Johannot, who both died before their time, brothers in death as well as in life! At Versailles, we took a carriage back to Paris.
But we must relate what became of the general and staff of theExpeditionary Army of the West.Pajol mounted his horse at the first sound of firing and rode through the midst, trying vainly to make his voice heard above the hubbub. Bullets were raining round him, but he did not trouble himself about them any more than he would have done had they been hailstones. I once recalled this incident to him and complimented him upon his courage andsang-froid.
"Bah!" he said, "it would have been a fine thing indeed if an old soldier who had been through all the upheavals of the Empire had taken any notice of a little wall-peppering like that!"
The storm calmed down round him as it did round us, but everyone was not as disposed to retreat as we were: one portion of the Expeditionary Army did not see the fun of having come to Cognières for nothing, and decided to push on to Rambouillet. Pajol looked after these fanatics witha certain feeling of terror and sent Charras and Degousée at their head; but those two leaders soon saw the hopelessness of holding this human flood in bounds and allowed themselves to be borne along with it. They advanced as far as the courtyard of the château de Rambouillet, where the mayor of the town pointed out below his breath, in secrecy, an ammunition waggon, the keys of which he had handed to Marshal Maison. This waggon contained the crown jewels, valued at eighty millions.
"Good!" said Charras: "they must be confided to the care of the people; it is the only way to prevent them coming to harm."
They concocted a little tricoloured flag upon which they inscribed in black letters "The Crown Jewels": this flag they planted on the waggon and there the matter ended. Then they proclaimed that any who wished to return in company of, and to guard, the crown jewels could travel in the king's coaches. This device of Degousée's was to prevent them setting fire to these carriages. But part of the volunteers preferred to give themselves the pleasure of shooting, and went off into the royal park in pursuit of deer, does and hinds. Others established themselves in the château, made vast orgies of the scraps found about the kitchens of the ex-king and drank the best wines in the cellars. At last, the most reasonable or, perhaps, the vainest among them, climbed into the royal carriages and drove them back to Paris, with the waggon containing the crown jewels in the middle, treated with as much respect as the Israelites showed to the sacred Ark. The comparison is all the more complete as any imprudent man who had dared to lay a finger tip on this modern ark would, assuredly, have been killed and by a very different method of death from that of which the sacrilegious person died who touched the ancient Ark. The whole procession was extraordinary by the contrasts it afforded between lackeys in grand liveries, magnificent harness, and gilded coaches and men in rags riding in carriages. When it had passed at a solemn slow pace along the quai de Passy, thequai de Billy, the quai de la Conférence and the quai des Tuileries, it crossed the Carrousel and stopped in the courtyard of the Palais-Royal. I need hardly say that every one of these unlucky men who accompanied, escorted and mounted guard over eighty millions' worth of jewels were dying of hunger, not having had anything that day but one portion of bread which had been sent the night before by the Prefect of Seine-et-Oise. And as these bread carts had been pillaged, some had only had a half ration and others, again, only a quarter; some, none at all. The lieutenant-general came down and thanked them, smiled upon them and went up again.
"By Jove!" Charras exclaimed to Charles Ledru, "he might have invited us to dinner with him. I am simply starving!"
"Well," said Ledru, "let us go and dine at Véfour's."
"You are most beguiling! But I haven't a sou.... Have you any money at all?"
"I have fifteen francs."
"Oh! thenVive la Charte!"
They went along joyfully together to dine at Véfour's with their arms round one another.
General Pajol, the commander-in-chief of the Expeditionary Army of the West, returned merrily to Paris in a coach which he had picked up at Cognières. Before his departure, the cash-box of the Expeditionary Army had been opened and M. Armand Cassan, the improvised cashier, had paid out to the uttermost farthing for corn that had been cut down, fowls plucked, eggs taken from nests, fruit gathered and wine drunk.
A hundred to one, the peasantry round Cognières did not make a bad thing out of the expedition to Rambouillet.
Harel's idea—It is suggested I should composeLa Parisienne—Auguste Barbier—My state of morals after the Three Days—I turn solicitor—Breakfast with General La Fayette—My interview with him—An indiscreet question—The Marquis de Favras—A letter from Monsieur—My commission
Harel's idea—It is suggested I should composeLa Parisienne—Auguste Barbier—My state of morals after the Three Days—I turn solicitor—Breakfast with General La Fayette—My interview with him—An indiscreet question—The Marquis de Favras—A letter from Monsieur—My commission
I must confess that on this occasion I returned home dead beat, and if the most fascinating expedition imaginable had been suggested to me it would not have dragged me from my bed next day. So I was in bed when Harel called upon me. The idea he brought me for a new play, which he thought would be all the rage in Paris, was one onNapoléon.Let us render justice where it is due. Harel was the first of any of the theatrical directors who conceived the idea of making something out of the great man who had made us all pay dear—Harel or, rather, Mademoiselle Georges. For, indeed, Mademoiselle Georges owed him much! Unfortunately, although the notion struck me as a splendid business speculation, it did not take my fancy from the point of view of art. The injuries Bonaparte had done my family inclined me to be unjust towards Napoleon; moreover, I did not think it possible to write such a drama without rousing evil passions. I therefore refused to undertake the task. Harel burst out laughing.
"You will think better of it," he said.
And he left me, as Louis-Philippe had left the Republicans, humming—
"Il ne faut pas dire: 'Fontaine....'"
I must also say it struck me as curious, at such a time, that anyone could dream of taking pen in handand writing on paper to make a book, or compose a drama.
Zimmermann also approached me to write a cantata to be set to music.
"My friend," I said to him, "ask a man to do that for you who has not been fighting, who has not seen anything of recent events, a poet who has a property in the country, and who, perchance, has remained on his property during the Three Days and he will do it for you to perfection! But I, who have seen and taken an active part, could not do anything good: it would fall below the realities I have witnessed."
He hunted up Casimir Delavigne, who wroteLa Parisienne.
But, suddenly, in the face ofLa Parisienne, and as if to emphasise the hollowness of this imperial poetry, aroseLa Curée, a torch brandished by an unknown poet. This wonderful masterpiece, this iambic poem, burning with the fever of battle and hot sunshine, where Liberty went by with firm step, walking with great strides, with fiery glance and naked breast, was signed Auguste Barbier. We all hailed it with delight. Here was another great poet in our midst; a reinforcement that came to us, as it were, through a trap-door in the midst of the flames, like one of the spirits that take part in the transformation scene of a pantomime. But, whilst the verses of Barbier and even of Hugo roused my enthusiasm, they did not spur me to emulation: I felt so completely indifferent to both prose and poetry, that I realised I must let all this political turmoil have time to subside in me. I should have liked to have rendered France some service: I could not feel that the crisis was past, I felt there was still something to do, in some corner of our great kingdom, and that a fierce storm could not possibly have calmed down suddenly. Finally, I felt disgusted, I might say almost ashamed, of the muddle Paris had made of things. I tried for two or three days to throw myself into something outside my usual life. Apart from my past or my future, I might have obtained another post at the Palais-Royal, and asked for some mission or other, to be sent to Prussia or Russia or Spain; but I would not. I had taken an oath notto re-enter the palace, at least of my own accord. So I turned my thoughts towards la Vendée. There might, perhaps, be work to do there.
Charles X. had been seized with momentary hesitation at Saint-Cloud; M. de Vitrolles had talked to him of la Vendée, and he was within an ace of embarking in the venture. At Trianon, M. de Guernon-Ranville was of opinion that there was only one course left to the king, that of retreating to Tours and convoking both Chambers and all the generals and high public functionaries and great dignitaries of the kingdom. Charles had, doubtless, brushed the suggestion aside; no doubt, he was making for Cherbourg and going to embark for England crushed and dazed; but if the ghosts of the victims of Quiberon rose up and forbade him to go to la Vendée, that province was not averse to receiving other members of his family.
I therefore considered that it would be prudent and politic and humane to influence la Vendée in an opposite direction. Possibly, also, I looked at it in this light because I wanted to travel in The Vendée. So I went and found General La Fayette. I had not seen him since my expedition to Soissons: he knew I had also taken part in that to Rambouillet. He held out his arms when he caught sight of me.
"Ah!" he said "here you are at last! How is it that having seen you during the struggle, I have not seen you since the victory?"
"General," I said, "I have waited till the most pressing matters were over; but now here I am and in the capacity of a beggar."
"Come, now!" he said, laughing, "is it a prefecture you are wanting, by the way?"
"God forbid, no!... I want to go to la Vendée."
"What for?"
"To see if there is any means of organising a National Guard."
"Do you know the country?"
"No, but I can learn all about it."
"There is something in your idea," said the general. "Come and breakfast with me some morning and we will discuss it."
"Here, General?"
"Certainly."
"Thanks, General.... And, at the same time, may I ask you to tell me something?"
"What?"
"Tell me ... I am going to ask you an odd question, I know, but the fall of the Bourbons deprives it of half its gravity ... tell me how it has come about that, after being mixed up—as I know through Dermoncourt you have been—in all the conspiracies of Béfort, Saumur and la Rochelle, you have never yet been arrested."
La Fayette began to laugh.
"You put me a question that has already been asked more than once, and to which I have replied that I attribute my impunity to good luck; that has been my answer to the question hitherto; but now, thank God! I can give another reason.... Your wish, however, changes the place of our breakfast together, and, instead of coming here, come to my house.... You know my address?"
"Do you not recollect that I was there a week ago?"
"I beg your pardon, so you were."
"When shall the breakfast be, General?"
"Let me see ... to-day is the 5th ... what about to-morrow? or if not then, it must not be until the 10th or the 11th."
"I would prefer to-morrow, General; I am eager to start. So it shall be to-morrow in the rue d'Anjou-Saint-Honoré?"
"Yes."
"At what time?"
"Nine o'clock.... It is early, I know, but I should like to be here at eleven."
"Don't be afraid, General, I will not keep you waiting."
"We shall be by ourselves, for I wish to talk at length and undisturbed with you."
"You are conferring a twofold favour on me, General."
Some deputation or other was announced at this juncture and I withdrew.
Next day, at ten minutes to nine, I presented myself at No. 6 Rue d'Anjou-Saint-Honoré. The general was waiting for me in his study.
"We will have breakfast in here, if you don't mind. We shall then have certain things to hand necessary for our conversation."
I smiled.
He stopped me short, seeing that I was going to renew my question of the previous day.
"Let us first talk of your plan for la Vendée."
"Willingly, General."
"Have you thought more about it?"
"As much as I am capable of reflecting on any subject: I am a man of impulses and not given to reflection."
"Well, then, tell me all about your proposition."
"My proposal is that you send me to la Vendée to see if it be possible to organise a National Guard there to protect that part of the country itself; and to oppose any Royalist plots, should such arise."
"How do you think it possible to preserve a Royalist country from Royalist attempts?"
"General," I said, "there I may be at fault, but first listen to me, for I do not think what I am going to lay before you is entirely devoid of reason; and what appears to you at the first glance impracticable is, nevertheless, I am of opinion, at least possible, though, perhaps, not easy of accomplishment."
"Proceed: I am listening."
"La Vendée of 1830 is a different matter from la Vendée of 1792: the population was formerly exclusively composed of nobles and farmers; it has been increased since then by a new social class, which has inserted itself between the two others, namely, that of the proprietors of national estates. Now, this great work of territorial division, whether it was the real intention, or whether it was the result of measures broughtabout by the Convention, as you please, has had considerable trouble in becoming established in the country in question, in consequence of the twofold influence of the priests and of the nobility, and especially by reason of that terrible disintegrating factor, civil war, and there were few big landholders who did not leave some remnants of their inheritance in the hands of the Revolution.
"Well, then, General, these remnants have gone to form a secondary class of landholders who are possessed with a spirit of progress and liberty, because progress and liberty alone can secure to them the tranquil possession of their estates, the right to which any reactionary Revolution might call in question. Have you not thought of this yourself at times, General? It is just that secondary class which has sent us since 1815 patriotic deputies; and it rejoiced in the Revolution of 1830, because it looked upon itself as an offspring of the Revolution of 1792, although but a maimed representative. This class it is which, seeing in the Revolution a fresh consecration of the sale of national property, must, consequently, uphold it by every means in its power. Now, I ask you, General, by what better means could it possibly support it than by the organisation of a National Guard, commissioned to watch over the tranquillity of the country, which, composed of a class sufficiently numerous to obtain a majority at elections, will naturally also be sufficiently powerful to impose peace on the country through armed force? You see, General, that my plan is like a solution in Algebra, as substantial as every problem based on figures is, logical in idea and, therefore, possible of execution."
"Ha, ha! my dear poet," said La Fayette; "so we also dabble in politics, do we?"
"General," I replied, "I believe we have reached a crisis of social genesis, to which every man is called upon to contribute, either his physical or mental powers, either materially or intellectually: the poet with his pen, the painter with his brush, the mathematician with his compass, the workman with his rule, the soldier with his gun, the officer with his sword,the peasant with his vote. Very well, then, I bring my contribution as poet: my part is the desire to do good, scornful of danger, hopeful of success. Frankly speaking, I do not esteem myself greater than I really am. Do not value me at my own estimation, but at yours."
"Good!... after breakfast you shall have your letter."
We sat down to table. General La Fayette had a delightful mind, fair and sensible: he erred on the side of goodness, but not from want of ability; he had seen much, and this made up for his lack of book-knowledge. Think what it was for a young man like me, to talk face to face with the history of half a century—as it were; with the man who had known Richelieu, shaken hands with Major André, argued with Franklin, been the friend of Washington, the ally of the native tribes of Canada, the brother of Bailly, one of the denouncers of Marat, the man who saved the queen's life, the antagonist of Mirabeau, the prisoner of Olmütz, the representative abroad of French chivalry, the upholder of liberty in France, the person who became a hero by proclaiming the rights of man in the Revolution of 1789, and again made himself a prominent figure by the part he took in the programme of affairs at the Hôtel de Ville in the Revolution of 1830! Alas! I was terribly ignorant of history at that time, and my admiration of the general was so much that of an amateur as hardly to be flattering to him. This world-wide conversation brought us by degrees to dessert and naturally led us back to the topic suggested by my question.
"Now, General," I asked him, "will it be impertinent of me to repeat what I said yesterday? How has it come about that, after having taken part in all the conspiracies of Béfort, Saumur and la Rochelle, you were never put to inconvenience?"
The general got up, went to a secretaire, opened it, pulled from it a locked portfolio and took out a paper which he kept in the palm of his left hand; with this he returned and sat down at the table again.
"Have you ever heard of a man called Thomas de Mahi, Marquis de Favras?" he asked me.
"Was he not the leader of a plot who was executed in 1790 or 1791?"
"Precisely the same.... He was the first and last nobleman who was hanged. He plotted on behalf of Monsieur the king's brother, and tried to carry off poor Louis XVI. from the Tuileries, whether voluntarily or by force, and to transport him to some strongly fortified place or other, in order to get Monsieur appointed regent."
"Monsieur, who afterwards became Louis XVIII.?"
"The same.... Well, on the evening of Christmas Day 1789, M. de Favras was arrested; all the papers he had upon him were seized and, as I was commander-in-chief of the National Guard, they brought them to me. Among those papers was this letter. Read it."
I unfolded the paper which I supposed, after what the general had told me, had been taken from the pocket of a man who had been tried, condemned to death, executed and been dust for forty years past, with a shudder of aversion. I might have spared my feelings, for the paper was only a copy, not the original. This was the contents:—
"1November1790"I do not know, monsieur, to what purpose you will employ the time and money I am sending you. The evil gets worse and worse; the Assembly keeps on taking away something or other from the royal power—what will be left if you put it off? I have told you often, and in writing, too, that it is not by means of lampoons, paid tribunes and by bribing a few wretched political parties that you will succeed in getting Bailly and La Fayette out of the way; they have incited the people to insurrection; it wants another insurrection to correct them and to prevent them from relapsing. This plan has, moreover, the advantage of intimidating the new Court and of causing the removal of a king of straw; when he is at Metz or at Péronne, he must abdicate. All these things that we desire are for his welfare; since he loves the nation, he will be delighted to see it properly governed. Send a receipt at the foot of this letter for two hundred thousand francs."LOUIS-STANISLAS XAVIER"
"1November1790
"I do not know, monsieur, to what purpose you will employ the time and money I am sending you. The evil gets worse and worse; the Assembly keeps on taking away something or other from the royal power—what will be left if you put it off? I have told you often, and in writing, too, that it is not by means of lampoons, paid tribunes and by bribing a few wretched political parties that you will succeed in getting Bailly and La Fayette out of the way; they have incited the people to insurrection; it wants another insurrection to correct them and to prevent them from relapsing. This plan has, moreover, the advantage of intimidating the new Court and of causing the removal of a king of straw; when he is at Metz or at Péronne, he must abdicate. All these things that we desire are for his welfare; since he loves the nation, he will be delighted to see it properly governed. Send a receipt at the foot of this letter for two hundred thousand francs.
"LOUIS-STANISLAS XAVIER"
"Ah! indeed," I said. "I begin to understand. But why have you only the copy and not the original?"
"Because the original, to the possession of which I attribute my impunity, is in London in the hands of one of my friends, a great collector of autographs, who looks upon it as extremely precious, and who, I am very sure, will not lose it; whilst in France," the general added, smiling, "you understand ... it might be lost."
I understood perfectly. I was burning with the desire to ask leave to take a copy of the duplicate. But I did not dare to.
In due course I will relate how it is I am now able to give the reader a copy.
The general folded up the letter again, put it back in the portfolio and consigned both to his desk. Then he took a pen and paper and wrote:—
"M. Alexandre Dumas is authorised to travel through the departments of la Vendée, the Loire-Inférieure, Morbihan and Maine-et-Loire, as Special Commissioner, to confer with the local authorities of these various departments on the question of the formation of a National Guard."We commend M. Alexandre Dumas, an excellent patriot from Paris, to our brother-patriots in the West.—All good wishes.LA FAYETTE"6August1830"
"M. Alexandre Dumas is authorised to travel through the departments of la Vendée, the Loire-Inférieure, Morbihan and Maine-et-Loire, as Special Commissioner, to confer with the local authorities of these various departments on the question of the formation of a National Guard.
"We commend M. Alexandre Dumas, an excellent patriot from Paris, to our brother-patriots in the West.—All good wishes.
LA FAYETTE
"6August1830"
He handed me the paper which constituted my commission.
"Do you authorise me to wear some sort of uniform, General?" I asked after I had read it.
"Of course," he replied; "have something made resembling an aide-de-camp's uniform."
"Very well."
"Only, I must warn you that a uniform is the most unsafe dress you could adopt in travelling through la Vendée; there are many hedges and not a few deep lanes, especially in le Bocage, and a rifle-shot is soon despatched!"
"Bah! General, we will see about that when we are there."
"All right! it is settled, then, and you mean to go?"
"Directly the uniform is made, General."
"And you will correspond with me direct?"
"Of course!"
"Then go, andbon voyage!I must now attend the Chamber."
He embraced me, and I took leave.
I have often seen the noble, dignified, excellent old man since. The reader will meet him again at my house at an evening's entertainment I gave, an artists' fancy dress ball, himself in costume, playing écarté with Beauchesne, dressed as Charette, playing his stakes with louis bearing the effigy of Henry V., like the true Vendean he was.
I was astonished to come across the matter of the original letter of Favras, as far as I can remember, word for word, in that excellent and conscientious work by Louis Blanc upon the Revolution. It is from that work I borrow my copy, and I refer my readers to it if they would like more details about the unfortunate Favras, who denied Monsieur to La Fayette whilst the latter had the prince's letter in his pocket and only had to draw it forth to prove his dishonourableness.
Léon Pillet—His uniform—Soissonnais susceptibility—Harel returns to the charge with his play—I set out for la Vendée—The quarry—I obtain pardon for a coiner condemned to the galleys—My stay at Meurs—Commandant Bourgeois—Disastrous effect of the tricolours in le Bocage—Fresh proofs that a kindness done is never lost
Léon Pillet—His uniform—Soissonnais susceptibility—Harel returns to the charge with his play—I set out for la Vendée—The quarry—I obtain pardon for a coiner condemned to the galleys—My stay at Meurs—Commandant Bourgeois—Disastrous effect of the tricolours in le Bocage—Fresh proofs that a kindness done is never lost
As I crossed the place du Carrousel on my way to see Madame Guyet-Desfontaines, whom I had not yet thanked for her hospitality during the perilous days of the Revolution, I saw coming towards me a man I recognised, and I ran to meet my good friend Léon Pillet. Léon Pillet was one of my best friends, and, although his father, who was proprietor of theJournal de Paris, had given me rather a dressing down aboutHenri III., it was done so deftly and in such good taste that, instead of bearing a grudge against the old Classicist, I had thanked him. But as I ran towards him I was more taken up with the brilliant costume Léon Pillet was attired in than anything else: he had a shako with flowing tricoloured plumes, silver epaulettes, a silver belt and a royal-blue coat with trousers to match. Here was the very uniform for a man in search of one for his travels in la Vendée. My first word to Léon Pillet, after inquiring about his health, was to ask him in what corps he was an officer, and what was the charming uniform he wore. Léon Pillet was not an officer in any corps; the uniform was that of an ordinary soldier in the mounted National Guard, a uniform which, I suspected, he had just invented and was advertising to the world on his own person. The advertisement certainly produced its effect on me, for I was much taken with it: I asked for his tailor's address, and he gave it me. The tailor's name was Chevreuil; he was oneof the best in Paris, and then lived in the place de la Bourse. I rushed off to Chevreuil immediately, and he measured me, undertaking to provide me with shako, epaulettes, sword and belt, and to send them all home by the 9th or 10th. I returned by the Pont des Arts. It was the first time I had passed by the Institut since I had been stationed there; its façade was riddled with the marks of bullets and shot, like the face of a man pitted with smallpox. On coming in, I found two young men awaiting me: from the gravity of their greeting I guessed they had some serious motive in their visit. They gave their names: one was M. Lenoir-Morand, captain of the military firemen, from Veilly; the other was M. Gilles, of Soissons.
I do not know what paper it was that related my expedition to Soissons in a way that insulted the town; I think it was, perhaps,le Courrier français; the feelings of the two Soissonnais had been hurt, and they had come to demand an explanation.
"Messieurs," I said to them, "I can easily explain the matter to you."
They bowed.
"This is what I would suggest to you. In order not to draw public attention to my very inferior personality in the midst of important events that were in process of accomplishment, I only gave a verbal report to General La Fayette upon my expedition to Soissons. I am going to draw up a written report, which is intended to go into theMoniteur; if that report contains the exact truthaccording to your thinking, you shall sign it. It shall be inserted in the official journal with the confirmation of your two signatures, and the matter will be at an end. If, on the contrary, the report does not seem to you suitable, and it is only trueaccording to my version of the facts, you will refuse to sign it—though I give you notice that that will not prevent my putting it in theMoniteur; but the same day it appears I will be at your service, and I will fight a duel with whichever of you two lot may decide.... Will that satisfy you?"
MM. Lenoir-Morand and Gilles accepted my proposition.
I sat down there and then at a sort of desk which was almostuseless to me to work at, as I had the habit of working only in bed, and, as fast as my pen would go, I drew up a report containing the account of the events I have herein related. When I had done it, I read it out to the two Soissonnais, who considered it to be so exact that they both signed it without making a single objection. This report, signed first by myself and Bard and Hutin, and then by MM. Lenoir-Morand and Gilles, can be read in theMoniteurfor 9 August 1830.[1]
This point cleared up, I paid a long visit to my good mother, whom I had neglected somewhat in the midst of all these events; but I first made an appointment for the Soissonnais and Parisians all to dine together at theFrères provençaux.My poor mother had learnt that something had been happening in Paris, and was eagerly awaiting my coming to tell me that M. le Duc d'Orléans had a chance of succeeding to the throne and to congratulate me upon the advantages which the new king's accession would bring me. It was my sister, who had just arrived from the provinces to petition me on behalf of her husband, who had told her this. Poor mother! I took good care not to let her know that, far indeed from being able to do anything to further my brother-in-law's administrative career, my own was quite done for in the Palais-Royal quarter.
A messenger came from Harel whilst I was with my mother. That stubborn manager urged me by every means in his power, as did also Mademoiselle Georges, to write aNapoleonplay. He was expecting me to discuss conditions, which should be of my own fixing, he said. I sent word to Harel that I was starting for la Vendée the next day or day after; that I would reflect upon the subject deeply, and, if I saw the makings of a drama in it, I would write it and send it him. This was not at all what Harel wanted, but he had to be content with the promise, vague as it was. Besides, he had a play by Fontan to put on, calledJeanne la Folle.Fontan was liberated from prison, as a matter of course, after the Days of July, without which he would have been shut up at Poissy for ten years, and he was hurrying on his rehearsals.
I paid farewell visits to M. Lethière, and to M. de Leuven and to Oudard. Oudard wanted to retain me forcibly in Paris, or, rather, to despatch me to St. Petersburg with M. Athalin, who was going as Envoy Extraordinary to the Emperor Nicholas, he said. Here was the very opportunity for me to obtain the cross of theLégion d'honneurwhich I had missed at the last promotion, in spite of the letter M. le Duc d'Orléans had written to Sosthènes. I thanked Oudard and begged him to look upon me in future as in no way connected with the royal duke's administration. Oudard persisted strenuously in trying to make me renounce my resolution, and I left him genuinely grieved at my departure, which he knew very well meant a complete rupture. Finally, on 10 August, the day after the proclamation of the July Monarchy, I entered the diligence, very unhappy that I could not make up an equivalent for Paris of the farewell that Voltaire had made for Holland.[2]
Thus I started on the evening of 10 August in the grand uniform of a mounted National Guard. My first stop was at Blois; I wished to visit its bloodstained château, and I climbed the ladder-like streets which lead up to it. I hunted in vain for the equestrian statue of Louis XII. over the gateway, before which Madame de Nemours had stood weeping, craving vengeance for the murder of her two grandsons; I went into the courtyard, and admired that quadrangular enclosure built under four different reigns, each side showing a distinctly different style of architecture: the wing built by Louis XII., beautiful in its severe simplicity; that of François I., with its colonnades overloaded with ornamentation; Henri III.'s staircase, with carved open work; then, as a protest against the Gothic and Renaissance styles—against imagination and art, that is to say—the cold, tasteless building by Mansard, which the concierge kept pointing out to me persistently, amazed that anybody could admire anything but it in that marvellous courtyard! The rapidity with which I examined it, the kind of grimace that expressed itself involuntarily on my face by the unwonted curl of my lower lip, brought a smile ofcontempt to the honest fellow's lips, which I was not slow in justifying entirely, by refusing to believe his obstinate asseverations that a special spot was where the Duc de Guise was said to have been assassinated. True, I discovered, beyond reach of any doubt, at the other end of the apartment, which had been a dining hall, a secret staircase, by which the Duc de Guise had left the state room; the corridor which led to the king's private oratory; and everything, even to the very place where the duke must have fallen when Henri III., pale and imploring, lifted the tapestry curtain and asked in a whisper, "Messieurs, is it all over?" for it could only have been at that moment that the king caught sight of the blood flowing across the passage and saw that the soles of his slippers were soaked in it; then he came forward and gave the face of the poor dead body a kick with his heel,—just as the Duc de Guise in his turn had kicked the admiral on St. Bartholomew's Day,—then, drawing backward, as though alarmed at his courage, he said, "Good Lord! how tall he is! He looks taller lying down than upright, dead than alive!"[3]
Meantime, while I was remembering these things, the concierge was tenaciously endeavouring to bring me round to his way of thinking.
"But, monsieur, only you, and a big fair gentleman named M. Vitet, have ever disbelieved what I state," he said.
Then he went on to show me the fireplace where the bodies of the duke and cardinal had been cut in pieces and burnt; the window out of which the ashes of the two bodies had been scattered to the winds; the oubliettes made by Catherine de Médici, eighty feet deep, with their steel blades as sharp as razors, their cramp-irons as pointed as lances, so numerous and so artistically arranged in spirals that a man who fell from above would be a creature in God's image the moment before falling, but, losing a piece of fleshor some member of his body at each impact, would be nothing but a shapeless, hacked-up mass by the time he reached the bottom, upon which quicklime was thrown the next day in order to consume the remains. And the whole of this castle, the royal palace of the Valois, with its memories of assassination and its marvellous art treasures, was now the barracks of the cuirassiers, who reeled about drinking and singing; who, in their transports of love or patriotism, scraped with the point of their long swords some charming bit of carving by Jean Goujon in order to write on the wood thus planed down, "I love Sophie!" or "Long live Louis-Philippe!"[4]