Chapter 3

"Oh, you scamp!" he said, shaking his fist at him, "I don't want to have anything to do with you ... but the first officer of your regiment that I come across, I promise you, on my word of honour, I will box his ears for him."

I tried to quieten him down.

"No, no, no," he said; "when I promise I keep my word; and you shall be my second, will you not?"

I replied "Yes," to quieten him, and dragged him away into the rue de Valois. There, under pretext of inquiring the motive of his quarrel, I asked him what had taken place, and he told me what I have just related. In the midst of his recital he found a chance to ask me if I had read his drama. I replied in the affirmative.

"Very well, then," he said; "I will come and talk about it with you to-morrow."

And, as though he feared the tumult would calm down in his absence, he rushed back into the Palais-Royal garden. I did not restrain him, for I knew all I wanted to know—there had been no premeditated plot in this accident—it was nothing but a bit of tomfoolery. I went back into the palace and gave M. le Duc de Chartres an account of my expedition.

The narrative was so short and concise that, when it had been transmitted by the young prince to his father's illustrious guests, it immediately calmed the fears they appeared for a moment to have had. But, for greater safety, the crowd was made to leave the garden, and the fête continued, without further interruption, until daybreak.

At midnight the king and the royal family retired.

A pressing affair—One witness lost, and two found—Rochefort—Signol at the Théâtre des Italiens—He insults Lieutenant Marulaz—The two swords—The duel—Signol is killed—Victorineandle Chiffonnier—Death steps in

Next day I was awakened by Signol. A minute after his return to the garden of the Palais-Royal, he had been compelled to leave it at the point of a bayonet. He seemed to me to be, if possible, still more exasperated in the morning than on the previous night. Now, he not merely thirsted to kill one officer of the 3rd Regiment, but, like Han d'Islande, he desired to annihilate the whole regiment. As I thought I detected incipient madness in this mania for slaughter, I started the subject of his melodrama. Then the man's mood changed: he had written the drama with the object of bringing some comfort to his aged mother, and a whole year's hopes and happiness rested on that work. If I did not keep it to re-read and did not offer to touch it up, or, at any rate, advise him where to do so, he was conscious that, in its present state of incompletion, it could not be acted and would be refused; then, good-bye to the sweet light of hope which had shone for a brief space in the hearts of both mother and son! I therefore promised to re-readle Chiffonnierand to do my best to promote its success. After which promise I invited the author to breakfast. We parted between noon and one o'clock. He went to the Théâtre-Italien to claim a stall which he received as editor of some paper or other.

La Gazza ladrawas being played that night. I myself had an appointment with a very pretty woman, whom I had metat Firmin's house, a lady who played inles Marsin the provinces; and it was a rendezvous of such an interesting nature that I did not return home until the following noon. My servant told me that the young man who had breakfasted with me the day before had called to see me at seven in the morning and had seemed very vexed at not finding me at home. He had asked for a pen and paper and written this note—which Joseph (my servant) handed me:—

"Alphonse Signol, on very pressing business."

I thought it was about his drama, and, as I did not consider that business so pressing as Signol did, and as I was very tired, I went to bed and told my servant to tell any caller that I was not at home. Towards five o'clock I woke and rang. Signol had returned and written another note, which, when brought to me, contained these words:—

"DEAR DUMAS,—I fight a duel with swords to-morrow morning with M. Marulaz, lieutenant of the 3rd Guards Regiment. I told you I should ask you to be my second and I came this morning to beg you to render me that service. You were not at home, so I had to look for someone else. I have found a substitute. If I am killed, I bequeathle Chiffonnierto your charge; it will be the only source of income I have to leave to my mother."Vale et me ama"SIGNOL"

"Vale et me ama"SIGNOL"

This letter filled me with sad thoughts for the rest of that day and night. I had no notion where Signol lived, or whether he had a home at all, so I could not send to him. I suddenly bethought me that I might possibly gain news of him at the café des Variétés, which he frequented most days; also, a month previous to this time, he had had a quarrel with Soulié, which had ended in the exchange of a couple of pistol shots. It was now nearly five o'clock in the afternoon. Rochefort (a friend of mine, a clever fellow who composed several original plays, one of them beingJocko, besides some delightful poems) was taking a glass of absinthe at one of the café tables. He rose when he caught sight of me.

"Ah!" he said, scratching his nose,'a habit he had, "you know poor Signol!..."

"Well?"

"He has just been killed!"

I heaved a sigh, although, really, it was no news to me, for my presentiments had already told me Rochefort's news. Here is an account of what had happened. When he left me two nights before, he had gone to get his stall ticket from the Théâtre-Italien. By ill-luck they gave him a stall in the orchestra. A second unfortunate coincidence decreed that an officer and soldiers of the 3rd Regiment of the Guard should be on duty that night at the Italiens. There was an empty seat in front of Signol, which an officer came and appropriated at the conclusion of the first act. He was the son of General Marulaz, now, I believe, himself a general. It was not really his turn on duty, but he had taken the place of one of his friends; his friend had a special engagement that night (notice the strange chain of circumstances!), he therefore begged Marulaz to be so good as to take his place. Marulaz consented, and had hardly sat down before he felt two hands leaning on the back of his stall. He did not think any rudeness was intended by the action, so he did not take any notice at first; but when the hands remained there for ten minutes, he turned round and saw that they belonged to Signol. Marulaz politely intimated that the back of his seat was not the right place for Signol's hands and, without replying, Signol withdrew them. The young officer thought the incident was accidental, and accordingly attached no significance to it. Five minutes later, on leaning back in his seat, he again felt the hands there. He did not wait this time, but turned round immediately.

"Monsieur," he said, "I have already intimated to you that your hands annoy me there; have the goodness to put them in your pockets if you have no other place for them, but please be so good as to take them off my seat!"

Signol withdrew them a second time. But, at the end of another two minutes, the young officer felt, not merelyhis irritating neighbour's hands but also his head upon his shoulder. This time he lost all patience, jumped up and turned round.

"Monsieur! monsieur!" he exclaimed, "if you are doing it on purpose to pick a quarrel with me, tell me so outright."

"Very well, then; it is done on purpose," Signol replied, rising too.

"Why?"

"On purpose to insult you, and if I have not done sufficient to that end already, take that!" And the angry madman gave Marulaz a blow across the face.

Thoroughly astounded at this incomprehensible conduct, the young officer mechanically drew his sword half out of its sheath.

"Look!" shouted Signol, "he is going to murder me!"

Marulaz pushed his sword back again into its scabbard and replied—

"No, monsieur; I will not assassinate you, but I will kill you!"

And, to avenge the insult he had thus gratuitously received, Marulaz, who was very strong, lifted Signol as though he had been a child right across from the one row to his own, and then placed him under his feet.

The incident caused a great commotion in the theatre, especially as even those close by did not know what it was all about: they had heard an altercation, seen the blow, and heard the words "He is going to murder me!" They had seen the flash of the drawn sword and its speedy return to its sheath; finally, they saw one man standing over another with his foot upon him. Not knowing precisely which was in the right or wrong of the quarrel, they took the part of the weaker, surrounded Marulaz, and pulled him off Signol, who, staggering and half suffocated, made for the corridor and street, and thence to the theatre café. Marulaz followed him there, and it became then a question of reparation, no longer one that could be settled by an immediate fight. They exchangedcards and fixed a meeting for the next day but one, in the bois de Vincennes.

The next day was to be spent by each combatant in choosing his seconds, and by the seconds in arranging the conditions of the duel. At two o'clock the following day, the four seconds met, conferred together and agreed upon swords as the weapons to be employed. Lieutenant Marulaz chose as one of his seconds the friend whom he had replaced on duty; this friend had duelling swords, and Marulaz examined them, pronounced them suitable and told him to bring them on the occasion.

"Agreed," said his friend; "but I warn you one of the two is an unlucky weapon: it has already served a similar purpose three or four times, and the combatants who used it were either killed or hurt."

"Plague take it!" Marulaz replied laughingly; "don't tell me which it is, then, and if I draw it I would rather not know."

The following morning they met in the bois de Vincennes. All had brought swords with them. They drew lots for them, and those brought by Marulaz' seconds won. Then they drew which should have the choice of these two swords. Marulaz again won the toss. He took the first that came to hand haphazard.

"Bravo!" his friend whispered to him; "you have drawn the right one!"

They stood to attention. At the second round, Marulaz disarmed Signol.

"Monsieur," he exclaimed, taking a step backwards, "I am disarmed!"

"So I see, monsieur," Marulaz coolly replied; "but since you are not wounded, pick up your sword and let us continue."

Signol picked it up, drew some string from his pocket, made surer hold of his sword, and, with a rapid attack, against the customary rules of duelling, stood on guard, lunged and wounded his adversary severely in the arm. When Marulazfelt the cold steel and saw the flow of blood he felt goaded to frenzy, sprang at his enemy and forced him to retreat twenty paces, bringing him up against a hedge where he lunged and passed his sword clean through the body. Signol uttered a sharp cry, stretched out his arms and died before he had time to fall to the ground.

"Messieurs," Marulaz said, turning to the four seconds, "have I fought fairly?"

All bowed in acknowledgment that he had. Had there been any recriminations to make in that fatal encounter, they would have been directed against the dead man. But no one thinks of laying blame on a corpse....

It will be remembered that I had now inherited Signol's manuscript, of which the manager of the Porte-Saint-Martin possessed a duplicate. Three or four months later, I was present at the first production ofVictorine, ou la Nuit porte conseil.It was the skeleton idea ofChiffonnier, it is true, but encased in a delightful setting that was none of Signol's creation. One of its authors was Dupeuty, the others were Dumersan and Gabriel. I sought out Dupeuty, placed the MS. ofChiffonnierin his hands and asked him if he thought it fair to deprive Signol's mother of what I considered to be her share of the production. Dupeuty and his collaborators had no notion of the existence of an original manuscript, as the idea of their vaudeville had been supplied them by the manager of the Porte-Saint-Martin, and they had worked upon it; but when they learnt the true parentage, they spontaneously, generously and loyally agreed to include the poor mother in their success.

And that is the story of Signol's death and of the composition and production ofVictorine, ou la Nuit porte conseil.

Alphonse Karr—The cuirassier—The medal of life saving and the Cross of the Légion d'honneur—Karr's home at Montmartre—Sous les tilleulsand the critics—The taking of Algiers—M. Dupin senior—Why he did not write his Memoirs—Signing of the Ordinances of July—Reasons that prevented my going to Algiers

The events we have just recorded in our last chapter bring us up to the 2nd of June.

As Charles X. looked up at the starry heavens from the top of the Duc d'Orléans' terrace he said—

"What splendid weather for my Algerian fleet!"

But he was mistaken: almost immediately the fleet had left port it had been scattered by a storm, and, when Charles made his comment, it was having the utmost difficulty in rallying at Palma.

As regards other matters, the Opposition was going ahead and great and small newspapers kept hitting at the Government, some with clubs and some with staves. We have mentioned how theJournal des Débatstreated the Polignac Ministry upon its accession to power. If we had these little papers under our notice we might, perhaps, be able to prove that the banter of dwarfs can work as much mischief as insults inflicted by giants.

Le Figarowas among the number of the small journals which, at that time, were carrying on a skirmishing engagement with the Government. It was under the management of Bohain, and, as is well known, Janin, Romieu, Nestor Roqueplan, Brucker, Vaulabelle, Michel Masson and Alphonse Karr were among its mostprominent contributors. Karr was, at that time, perhaps, the least known of that Pleiades of fighting men. He has since become one of our most distinguished literary artists—observe, I say literary artists and not literati or men of letters—but at that time he was fighting his maiden battles. He had been present at the reading ofHenri III., at Nestor Roqueplan's, where I became acquainted with him. According to our usual custom in the case of all the remarkable men of our day, let us select for particular comment, from his early efforts, that special faculty which has the power of giving to truth the charm of paradox. This truth, bare and undraped when treated by others, is always, on leaving the hands of Alphonse Karr, clad in a veil of gold. Without doubt Alphonse Karr has, since 1830, told the various Governments which have succeeded each other, as well as those who have flattered or attacked them, a greater number of truths than any other man. And, different from the supposed truths of others, those of Alphonse Karr are real and undeniable, the more they are probed the more they are proved to be true. Alphonse Karr was, in those days, a handsome young man of twenty-two or twenty-three, with regular features set in a frame of dark hair; he had adopted an eccentric form of dress, which he has always adhered to; he was extremely well made, strong physically, and an adept at all gymnastic exercises, especially at swimming and fencing. During the year 1829, when bathing in the Marne, he had rescued a cuirassier from drowning. The man was heavy and nearly as strong as Karr himself, so that it almost happened that, instead of Karr saving the cuirassier, the cuirassier drowned Karr. The act made sufficient of a stir for Karr to receive a medal from the Government, and I have occasionally seen him wear it. This medal was, in the hands of wags, the source of endless gibes, which Karr's reputation for bravery maintained, it is true, within the bounds of propriety, but which was never exhausted. There was no precedent for that famous medal, and I was reading something about it, only yesterday, in some newspaper rag or other. One day, at a great dinner at which I was present togetherwith a host of people wearing decorations—not just ordinary medals but the Cross of the Légion d'honneur, which, at the present day, is distributed and conferred in a totally different manner from all the medals in the world—those jokes at Karr's expense, who was also one of the guests, broke out afresh. Karr, with his cool and habitual phlegm, called the waiter and asked for a pen, ink and paper. He cut the paper into as many round pieces as there were decorated guests at the table, wrote on each piece the reason for which the wearer had been decorated and passed each slip to its proper quarter. It completely silenced his scoffers.

Karr was born in Germany, in December 1808, and has only become a naturalised Frenchman since 1848. His father was one of the five or six German musicians who evolved the piano from the harpsichord. Three of his uncles died as captains in the French service. He was, besides, a nephew of Baron Heurteloup, and a cousin of Habeneck. In those days he wrote no political articles for theFigaro.He has more than once told me, in all seriousness, that he saw the Revolution of July, and even that of February, without knowing what they were about. But, later, he studied the subject of I revolutions very deeply; for, in 1848, he wrote on the subject—

"Plus cela change, plus c'est la même chose!" ("The more things change, the more do they remain the same!")

In 1829 he was an assistant professor in the Collège Bourbon and took to writing poetry, some of which he sent to theFigaro.Bohain opened all the letters received. Now Bohain was one of those plain-spoken men who openly professed a lofty scorn for poetry. His reply to Karr was—

"MY DEAR SIR,—Your lines are charming; but send me prose. I would rather be hanged than put a single line of poetry in my paper!"

Karr did not press the point: clever men are rare, and, as he did not wish Bohain to hang himself, he sent him prose instead. This was a great humiliation for the youngpoet to have to swallow. All the articles of a pastoral nature that were published byle Figaroat this period were by Alphonse Karr. Karr had made himself the oddest of dwelling-places. He had hired the old Tivoli at Montmartre, which had half tumbled in ruins into the quarries: there still remained a little wood and the cloakroom made of rushes. By night he slept in the cloakroom; by day he walked in the little wood. Here he began his first novel,Sous les tilleuls.He finished it in the rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins, in the workshop of the two brothers Johannot, which he took after them. From Montmartre, Alphonse Karr only came into Paris about twice a month. He had a boat at Saint-Ouen, where he spent all the time he had left from his wood or the cloakroom.

Sous les tilleulsappeared in 1831, I believe. The book, worthy of notice, was accordingly noticed. That means it was attacked bitterly, as all things that show originality and power are attacked in France. They first accused the author of imitating a book of Nodier's that had appeared a fortnight after his; unfortunately, the date being on the title page, they had to withdraw that accusation. They next accused him of having translated it wholesale from the German, and even went so far as to give the title of the German original,Unter den Linden(Under the Limes), but it was soon seen that there was no book bearing such a title throughout the whole range of German literature, and that in nearly all the large towns was to be found a public promenade called thus—a fact Alphonse Karr did not deny. The author had placed as epigrams at the head of his chapters or letters verses of his own, no doubt those that Bohain had rejected, but which he had felt it his duty to adorn with the names of Schiller, Goethe and Uhland. The critics were taken in, and praised them at the expense of the prose. Prose and verse were both Karr's! Besides, a large number of the letters in the novel had been actually written to a young girl of whom Karr had been deeply enamoured. Karr did not receive his decoration until 1845 or 1846. One day he was told by Cavé that it was a question of giving the Cross to his father or himself. Marie-Louise hadpromised the Cross to his father, who, in 1840, was still waiting for it. Karr sought out M. Duchâtel, and, having satisfied himself that Cavé was quite correct in his statement, he said to the minister—

"Monsieur, when a father and son are both deserving of the Cross, the son does not accept it before his father."

And M. Duchâtel only gave the decoration to the father, whereas both father and son ought to have had it. When his father died, Karr received a decoration; he took the last ribbon his father had worn from his coat and put it on his own.

Early in June 1830, I met him in the street, arm in arm with Brucker. Brucker was a painter on china, and one of the most original workers in the journalism of 1830. I met them both at the very moment when the first of the hundred guns announcing the capture of Algiers were being fired.

"Listen!" Karr asked. "What is that? It sounds like the firing of guns."

"Doubtless Algiers has been taken," I replied.

"Bah! Have they been besieging it?" Karr replied.

Algiers was, indeed, taken; its surname ofla Guerrièrehad not availed to save it. That nest of vultures which, as Hugo said, had been only half killed by Duquesne, was, at last, destroyed by M. de Bourmont. Directly the great news was received, the Minister for Marine, Baron d'Haussez, rushed off to the king. When he was announced, Charles X. sprang towards him with open arms; M. d'Haussez intended to kiss his hand, but Charles drew him to his breast.

"Come to my arms," he said; "to-day we all kiss one another."

And the king and his minister embraced.

However, amidst these apparent favours which Providence seemed to be piling on the head of the Elder Branch, clearsighted men could discern a yawning abyss.

"Take care!" M. Beugnot exclaimed, like a terrified pilot. "Unless you take care, the Monarchy will founder under canvas like a fully armed ship!"

"I should be much less uneasy were M. de Polignac a bitmore so!" M. de Metternich remarked to our Ambassador at Vienna, M. de Renneval.

It must be confessed that even the Opposition, who were not so far-seeing as M. Beugnot and M. de Metternich, undertook to reassure the king, in the event of His Majesty feeling any anxiety. How, indeed, could they fear anything, when M. Dupin senior, one of the leaders of the Opposition, said, during the debate on the Address—

"Thefundamental basisof the Address isa profound respect forthe person of the King; it expresses in the very highest degreeveneration for the ancient race of Bourbons; it representslegitimacy, as alegal truthsbut, further, as asocial necessity-anecessity—now recognisedby all thoughtful minds, the trueoutcome of experience and of conviction."

O good Monsieur Dupin! of sound mind and integrity of judgment, a shining light of the Bar, a fearless and blameless legislator; you who, pondering over the trial of Jesus, wrote these sublime lines on Pontius Pilate—

"Pilate, seeing that he could not prevail over the spirit of the multitude, but that their excitement increased more and more, sent for water and washed his hands before the people, saying, 'I am innocent of the blood of this righteous man: see ye to it' (Matt, XXVII. 24); 'and he granted them their request' (Luke XXIII. 24), 'and delivered him into their hands to be crucified' (Matt, XXVII. 26). Wash thy hands, O Pilate! they are dyed with innocent blood. Thou hast given in through weakness, and art just as guilty as though thou hadst sacrificed him from wicked intention; generations have repeated it down to our times. 'The righteous man suffered under Pontius Pilate' (passus est sub Pontio Pilato). Thy name stands in history as a lesson to warn all public men, all pusillanimous judges, to show them the shame of yielding against their own convictions! The populace shrieked in fury at the foot of thy tribunal; perhaps thy own life was not safe, but what matter? Thy duty was plain, and in such a dilemma it is better to suffer death than to inflict it"—

O worthy Monsieur Dupin! advocate of Jesus Christ and of Béranger under the Restoration; President of the Chamberand Procurator-General under Louis-Philippe; President of the National Assembly, why do you not write your Memoirs, as I am writing mine? Why do you not, contrary to the cowardice and fear of Pontius Pilate, show yourself immovable in your convictions, unshaken in your duty, tenacious in your sympathies, immovable upon your bench as procurator-general, calm in your presidential chair, rigid on your curule chair of legislator? What instruction the world could have derived from the Memoirs of a man like yourself, who had such hosts of opportunities of showing proof of his faithful allegiance to the Elder Branch of the Bourbons on 29 July 1830, to the Younger Branch on 24 February 1848, and, finally, of his fidelity to the Republic on 2 December 1851! But you are too modest, good Monsieur Dupin! Modesty, combined with civil courage and a political conscience, is one of your greatest qualities, and it is only from modesty that you do not yourself dare to say what you think of yourself. But, never mind, for, every time that occasion presents, I shall do myself the honour of taking your place in the honourable task, my only regret being that I do not know more than I do, in order to speak out more fully and to treat you according to your deserts. What reason for fear had the legitimacy when the SocietyAide-toi! le ciel aidera, at the Festival of the Gathering of the Grapes in Burgundy, declared that the king was the first power in the State, and drank toasts to the health of Charles X.? Why need they be afraid when M. Odilon Barrot, in another banquet given by six hundred electors, which was decorated with two hundred and twenty-one symbolic crowns, mingled the king and the law together in one single toast? O great statesmen, you who dig graves for kings and who bury monarchies, when, indeed, will the people, tired of your sham science, rub your faces, once for all, in the history which you are making, and which you do not see?

Thus, on 24 July, Charles X. called together a Council in absolute confidence. At this Council the fate of the Monarchy was again weighed in the balance, and it was decided to sign the Ordinances. But M. d'Haussez ventured to observeto the President of the Council that M. de Bourmont had extracted a promise from him to risk nothing during his absence.

"Bah!" the Prince de Polignac remarked, "what need have we of him? Am I not the War Minister during his absence?"

"But," M. d'Haussez asked, "how many men can you rely on in Paris? Have you, at the lowest computation, even as many as twenty-eight or thirty thousand?"

"Oh, more than that; I have forty-two thousand."

M. d'Haussez shook his head dubiously.

"Look, then, for yourself," the President of the Council said, and threw him a rolled document across the table.

M. d'Haussez unrolled it and added up the figures.

"But I can only find here thirteen thousand men, and that number on paper will mean scarcely seven to eight thousand men actually fit for war. Where do you get your missing twenty-nine thousand to complete your total of forty-two thousand?"

"Make yourself easy about the matter," M. de Polignac replied; "they are scattered round Paris and, in a few hours' time, if needed, could be all collected on the Place de la Concorde."

The Ordinances were signed the following day.

When signing, the king had the dauphin on his right hand and M. de Polignac on his left; the other ministers completed the circle round the green table. Each one signed in turn. M. d'Haussez again raised his objections.

"Monsieur," Charles X. said to him, "do you refuse to co-operate with your colleagues?"

"Sire," responded M. d'Haussez, "may I be allowed to put a question to the king?"

"What is it, monsieur?"

"Does the king intend to proceed, supposing one or more of his ministers should resign?"

"Yes," Charles replied with decision.

"Then, in that case," said the Naval Minister, "I will sign." And he did so.

Five minutes later, they all stood up and, as Charles X. passed by M. d'Haussez, he noticed that the minister's attentive gaze was fixed on the walls, and he asked—

"What are you looking at so attentively, Monsieur d'Haussez?"

"Sire, I was looking to see if by any chance I could find a picture of the Earl of Strafford."[1]

The king smiled and passed on.

These details became known afterwards; they were kept a profound secret at the time. Only two or three men were aware of what was happening. Casimir Périer, who was deeply attached to the Older Branch of the Bourbons, at that time, as were M. Dupin and M. Barrot and many others (we shall see presently how Périer did his utmost to quell the Revolution of July when it broke out) was dining at his country house in the bois de Boulogne, when he received a tiny triangular-shaped note. He opened, read it and grew pale, then livid, and his arms fell to his sides in despair. It announced that the Ordinances had been signed that very day. Who sent him the news never transpired. On the evening of the 25th or 26th, M. de Rothschild, who was speculating on a rise in stocks, received this simple statement from M. de Talleyrand:—

"I have just come from Saint-Cloud: speculate for a fall in prices."

But I, who was neither a M. Casimir Périer nor a M. de Rothschild nor yet a friend of M. de Talleyrand, I, who neither speculated upon rises or falls on the Stock Exchange, knew absolutely nothing of what was going on, and I was about to start for Algiers. Algiers would be a really fine sight during the early days of its conquest. I had taken my seat on the mail coach for Marseilles and packed my luggage; I had exchanged three thousand francs in silver for three thousand francs in gold, and I was to have set out at fivein the evening of Monday the 26th, when, at eight on Monday morning, Achille Comte entered my room and said—

"Have you heard the great news?"

"No."

"The Ordinances are announced in theMoniteur.Shall you still go to Algiers?"

"I shall not be so foolish. We shall see stranger events here at home than out there!"

'Then I called my servant.

"Joseph," I said, "go to my gun-maker's and bring me back my double-barrelled gun and two hundred bullets of twenty calibre!"

[1]See the passage wherein Louis Blanc admirably describes this scene in hisHistoire de dix ans.

The third storey of No. 7 in the rue de l'Université—The first results of the Ordinances—The café du Roi—Étienne Arago—François Arago—The Academy—La Bourse—Le Palais-Royal—Madame de Leuven—Journey in search of her husband and son—Protest of the journalists—Names of the signatories

My servant returned with the necessary articles a couple of hours later. I carefully locked up gun and ammunition and went out to take a breath of air in the streets. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the face of Paris looked as quiet as though theMoniteurhad announced the beginning of the shooting season, instead of having published the Ordinances. Comte laughed at my forebodings. I took him to breakfast on the third floor of No. 7 rue de l'Université. It was then occupied by a very pretty woman, who had taken such a warm interest in my intended departure for Algiers that she meant to accompany me as far as Marseilles. I went to tell her that, for the time being, at all events, I had given the journey up and that, consequently, if she had packed her trunks, she could unpack them. She had not been able to take in the fact that my real motive for my African trip was curiosity; she could not understand any more clearly my reasons for staying in France, which were entirely from curiosity. She considered I ought to have found more adequate reasons both for my going and for my staying.

My readers who have been good enough to follow the different phases of my life in these Memoirs must have noticed that I have been careful to avoid details of the kind just hinted at above; but I shall have occasion to refer more than once to this friendship, which was to be the means, byGod's providence, of bringing me much happiness, in dark days turning sadness to joy and tears to smiles.

I owed the acquaintance to Firmin. He had been acting Saint-Mégrin in the provinces and, one day, he came to my rooms, bringing with him a magnificent "Duchesse de Guise," on whose behalf he solicited all the influence I could bring to bear in theatrical circles. I began by asking Firmin what amount of interest and what kind of interest he took in his protégée. I have ever been careful to respect the various protégées of my friends; and the question was of some importance with reference to this beautiful woman.

Firmin replied that his interest in her was entirely artistic, and that my own might assume what form I pleased.

I had then only gone so far as to notice the beautiful duchesse from the point of view of her stage qualifications. Her hair was jet black, and her eyes were a deep blue, her nose as straight as that of the Venus de Milo and her teeth like pearls. I need hardly say that I placed myself entirely at her disposal. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the time for entering into theatrical engagements was over; this takes place in April, and Madame Mélanie S—— was only presented to me in the month of May. I was therefore unsuccessful in my introduction on her behalf; but, as the beautiful duchesse saw that it was through no fault of mine, she did not take umbrage at my failure. I even persuaded her to remain on in Paris: she was young and could wait; opportunities were sure to come her way if she were on the spot and ready to seize them; moreover, if such occasion did not come unasked, I would arrange to bring them about. I had already at that time sufficient reputation to get the doors of a theatre opened wide for any man or woman to whom I handed a signed note addressed to the manager.

Meanwhile, following the example of the Abbé Vertot, I began my siege. I thought for the moment that I was to have nine years, as Achilles before Troy! But I was mistaken; it only lasted three weeks, as did the siege of the Duc d'Orléans before Anvers. If my readers be frank, they will admit thatwhich our French engineers have admitted loudly in their praises of General Chassé's tactics: a resistance of three weeks is an honourable one; there are but few places, no matter how strongly fortified, that can hold out so long. Now, mine had held out as long and, as it had only been taken by surprise in the end, it had not therefore been stipulated among the articles of capitulation, that I should be forbidden to leave Paris merely on the grounds of curiosity. I have already stated how great my curiosity had been to see Algiers just after its capture, and how a still stronger feeling of curiosity induced me to alter my plans. Then, too, I ought to confess another thing, which I remember, far off though that day is from the time during which the events I am relating happened, namely, that my insatiable curiosity to see Algiers came over me in a moment of ill temper; that, directly the mood passed, I was equally pleased to find an excuse for staying in Paris, as I had been, at the time, for going.

Achille Comte and I came down at one o'clock and took a few turns together along the quays; then, as there seemed no appearance of any excitement, he left me, and we arranged to meet again next day. I went to the Palais-Royal, where I hoped to have gained intelligence; but nothing was known there: the Duc d'Orléans was at Neuilly and the Duc de Chartres at Joigny, at the head of his regiment; M. de Broval was at Villiers, and nobody had seen anything of Oudard. So I went to the café du Roi. Its principal frequenters were, it will be recollected, the editors of theFoudre, of theDrapeau blanc, and of theQuotidienne, all Royalist journals. They applauded the measure highly. Lassagne alone appeared anxious about it. I did not join much in the conversation, as all these men, Théaulon, Théodore Anne, Brissot, Rochefort and Merle held different views from my own, but were my personal friends. I have a perfect horror of disputing with my friends, and much prefer to fight a duel with any of them. For I always held the conviction that, before twenty-four hours had gone, such dispute would end in pistols.

Whilst I was in the café du Roi Étienne, Arago entered. Our friendship dated, as I have mentioned, from the time when he took notice of myOde au général Foyand myNouvelles contemporaines, inla Lorgnetteandle Figaro.But on this particular day there was another reason for our seeking one another—our political opinions were the same. We went out together at half-past one and, at two o'clock, his brother François was to make a speech at the Academy. As Étienne had a spare ticket, he proposed I should accompany him. I had never seen more of theInstitutthan its exterior, and thought it might be a long while before I had such a good chance again of seeing the inside of it, so I accepted his invitation. At the beginning of the Pont des Arts we met a barrister friend of ours—Mermilliod, I think. At the first news of the Ordinances, five or six journalists and as many deputies had assembled at the house of Maître Dupin to ask the famous lawyer if there were any means of publishing newspapers without authority; but, instead of solving the problem, the lawyer contented himself with answering—

"Messieurs, the Chamber is dissolved—I am therefore no longer a deputy...."

And no matter how they tried, the journalists and deputies could not get any more out of him. The journalists had gone away in a furious rage; the editors of theCourrier français,Journal du Commerceand theJournal de Parisdeclared they would appeal, in the first instance, to M. de Belleyme, President of the Tribunal, for an order calling upon the printers to lend their presses for the printing of the unauthorised newspapers. But it seemed pretty hopeless to expect M. de Belleyme to issue any decree, when M. Dupin had refused to grant even a simple consultation touching the event of the moment! Nevertheless, all these proceedings clearly indicated the beginning of resistance. Étienne, for his part, asserted that his brother would not now give his lecture, urging the gravity of the political situation as the reason for his abstention.

The courage and patriotism of François Arago were too wellknown for this opinion (which was put forth by his brother) to be thought extraordinary. When we reached theInstitutwe found a great commotion and excitement among the usually calm and collected immortals, in their blue coats braided with green. Their meeting had not yet begun. A rumour had spread abroad that Arago would not speak, and some of the Academicians said that he would, because he was much too straightforward a man to compromise the Academy by his silence.

"Will he speak or will he not?" I inquired of Étienne.

"We will find out," he replied. "There he is, out there."

"Ah!" I said, "isn't he talking to the Duc de Raguse?"

"Yes; the Duc de Raguse is one of his oldest friends."

"Let us push forward, then.... I am very anxious to know what the subscriber to the capitulation of Paris has to say about the subscribers to the Ordinances."

"By Jove!" Étienne replied, "he will say that they have undone to-day, 26 July 1830, all he did on 30 March 1814!"

We continued our course, but it was no easy matter to thread our way through the midst of an illustrious crowd, to whom one had to offer at least one apology for each push of the elbow. By the time we reached François Arago, the duke was already some distance away from him.

"You have just left Marmot," Étienne asked; "what does he say?"

"He is furious! He says they are the type of people who fling themselves in the very teeth of ruin, and he only hopes he won't be obliged to draw swords on their behalf."

"Good!" I said; "he only needs to do that to make himself popular."

"And what have you to say about it?" Étienne asked his brother.

"I? Oh! I should not speak."

Cuvier was going by. He had just happened to catch these words in passing, and he stopped.

"What! you won't speak?" he exclaimed.

"No," Arago replied,

"Quite right, too!" interpolated Étienne.

"Look here, my dear fellow, come aside with me and let us talk reasonably," said Cuvier.

He drew François Arago away to a distance from us. We could judge, from the spot where we stood, of the animated discussion that ensued by the vivacity of their gestures. M. Villemain joined the two speakers and seemed to be taking Cuvier to task. Several other Academicians, whom I did not know by sight, and, perhaps, not even by name, surrounded Arago, and, contrary to M. Villemain, seemed to be insisting with Cuvier that Arago should speak. After a quarter of an hour's discussion, it was settled that Arago should speak. Now, this decision had been arrived at by a majority of votes, so to speak, and it would have been impossible for the famous astronomer to withstand the wishes of the majority of his confrères, who all loudly declared that they would regard his silence as contentious. He passed by us as he went to his place.

"Well, you are going to speak after all?" Étienne said to him.

"Yes, but set your mind at rest," he replied; "I assure you, by the end of my speech, they will think it would have been as well if I had not opened my mouth."

"What the dickens can he find to say about Fresnel?" I asked Étienne.

It was in praise of Fresnel that he was to speak.

"Oh!" replied Étienne, "I am not alarmed on that score. If it were about the Grand Turk, he would manage to squeeze in what he wanted to say."

And Arago, taking as his subject the clever engineer of bridges and embankments, the learned physician, the severe examiner of the École polytechnique, the famous inventor of lenticular lighthouses, actually found means of throwing fiery allusions upon the burning political situation, which were received by the assembly with frantic applause.

Cuvier and the other Academicians who had insisted that Arago should speak were right; only, they were right according to our point of view, not from their own.

Arago's lecture was a splendid triumph. Indeed, it is impossible for any speaker to be more picturesque, grander or more striking than François Arago in the tribune when carried away by genuine passion; he would throw up his head and shake back his locks—locks dark in colour in 1830, grey in 1848. Whether he were attacking the violators of the Royalist charter or defending the Republican constitution, he was ever the same eloquent orator, ever the inspired poet, the same convinced legislator. For Arago is not only science, he is conscience itself; he is not only genius, but the soul of honour. Let us state this in passing; though I know that plenty of others will say the same, yet I should like to be among their number.

When I left the Institut, I went upstairs to see Madame Chassériau, who lived at the Academy, owing to the position which her father, M. Amaury Duval, occupied there. Madame Chassériau, who, later, was called Madame Guyet-Desfontaines, was one of my oldest friends: I think I have already spoken of her and said that at her house, as well as at those of Nodier and Zimmermann, I always felt in the best intellectual form. Do not let me be misunderstood: I am not paying myself a compliment, I am only rendering justice to Madame Guyet-Desfontaines. She was so good and kind and affable, and laughed so prettily, had such lovely teeth, one would be a downright idiot not to show in her company a wit at least equal to her own. She, too, like everybody else, was full of the events taking place: she would soon receive news, as M. Guyet-Desfontaines had gone to consult that great testing thermometer of the Parisian mind, the Bourse. The Bourse was in a state of uproar, Three Per Cents, had fallen from seventy-eight francs to seventy-two. Was it not curious that, on the same day and at the same moment, the Academy and the Stock Exchange, knowledge and money, should both cry "Anathema" and be of the same opinion?

I went to dine at Véfour's. As I crossed the gardens of the Palais-Royal, I noticed some excitement going on among a group of youths who were mounted on chairs reading theMoniteuraloud; but their imitation of Camille Desmoulins did not meet with much success. After my dinner, I ran to Adolphe de Leuven, whose father was, as my readers know, one of the principal editors of theCourrier.Madame de Leuven was very uneasy about her husband, who had left home at two o'clock in the afternoon and had not returned by seven in the evening. She had sent Adolphe to find out about him, but, like the raven from the Ark, he too had not returned. So I, in my turn, went in pursuit of Adolphe. M. de Leuven had not come in because there had been a meeting at the office of theCourrier français, and Adolphe had not come back because he had been sent to Laffitte's. They were drawing up a protest in the name of the Charter, in the offices of theCourrier, which was to be signed by all the journalists. With regard to the form resistance was to take, they, at present, merely talked of refusing to pay the taxes. Suddenly Châtelain came in triumphant. M. de Belleyme had just issued a decree bidding the printers to print the suspended newspapers. Everyone in the political world was acquainted with Châtelain; he was one of the most honourable men on the press, and one of the rare number who held Republican views in 1830. He formally declared that theCourrier françaiswould appear next morning, even if on his own responsibility alone. Adolphe de Leuven was the next to enter: he had found Laffitte's doors closed. I returned to give this news to Madame de Leuven; unfortunately, it was not such peaceful information as that of the dove, and I was bringing anything but an olive branch back with me; but I was able to reassure her about her husband and son: both were safe and sound and would return home as soon as the protest had been drawn up. We saydrawn up, instead ofsigned, because the question whether the protest should be signed or not was debated for a long time. Some asserted that there was an unplumbed force in the press which was increased by a mystery. These urged that it should not be signed. Others, on the contrary, declared that it would be much better to make the act of opposition a public one, andto sign the protest with names in full. It was a singular thing that it was MM. Baude and Coste, two bold sportsmen, who wanted to preserve anonymity; and M. Thiers, the cautious politician, who wished it to be signed openly. The opinion of M. Thiers carried the day. By midnight the last page of the protest was covered with forty-five signatures. They were those of MM. Gauja, Thiers, Mignet, Carrel, Chambolle, Peysse, Albert Stapfer, Dubochet and Rolle, of theNational; Leroux, Guizard, Dejean and de Rémusat, of theGlobe; Senty, Haussman, Dussart, Busoni, Barbaroux, Chalas, Billard, Baude and Coste, of theTemps; Guyet, Moussette, Avenel, Alexis de Jussieu, Châtelain, Dupont and de la Pelouze, of theCourrier français; Année, Cauchois-Lemaire and Évariste Dumoulin, of theConstitutionnel; Sarrans junior, of theCourrier de Électeurs; August Fabre and Ader, of theTribune des départements; Levasseur, Plagnol and Fazy, of theRévolution; Larreguy and Bert, of theJournal du Commerce; Léon Pillet, of theJournal de Paris; Bohain and Roqueplan, of theFigaro; Vaillant, of theSylphe.

Lest my readers should be surprised at my giving here all the forty-five names, I would point out that they were the names of forty-five men all of whom risked their heads by signing. While I, who risked nothing at all, but would have asked nothing better than to run some such risk, simply returned to my rooms at eleven o'clock, after first taking care to go and give news of myself at No. 7 rue de l'Université. They thought I had left for Algiers!

The morning of July 27—Visit to my mother—Paul Foucher—Amy Robsart—Armand Carrel—The office of theTemps—Baude—The Commissary of Police—The three locksmiths—The office of theNational—Cadet Gassicourt—Colonel Gourgaud—M. de Rémusat—Physiognomy of the passers-by

I returned home in order to keep my entire freedom of action for the morrow. I meant to visit my mother first thing in the morning: I had not seen her for two days and feared she would be uneasy, especially if she had heard what was happening outside. My poor mother, at that time, was living in the rue de l'Ouest. I think I have previously stated that we chose this new home for her so that she could be nearer to the Villenave family, who had left the rue de Vaugirard, and were living next door to her. But, unluckily, just when my mother had needed neighbourly help the most, Madame Villenave and Madame Waldor and Élisa (my mother's most faithful companion, with her cat, Mysouf) had gone to la Vendée, where they owned a little country place called la Jarrie, three leagues from Clisson. I found my mother in the most perfect state of tranquillity of mind and body; no rumour of passing events had yet penetrated into that Thébaïd called the quartier du Luxembourg. I breakfasted with her, kissed her and left her in her sweet, undisturbed quiet.

As I went away, I ran across Paul Foucher. He was returning from his brother-in-law, Victor Hugo's, who lived in the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, and to whom he had been to announce that he had to give a reading the following day, of what play or at what particular theatre, I know not. Paul Foucher was then the same short-sighted, absent-minded fellow that hestill is, knocking indifferently into passers-by, posts and trees, on which he always seemed to be looking for the bills of the theatres where his pieces were being played; absorbed in the train of thought that preoccupied him at the moment you met him, and incapable of entering into yours, or of coming out of his own, into which he would lead you back again and again. His dominant thought when I met him that morning was the reading he was to give next day. Paul Foucher, young though he was, had made quite a sensational entry into the dramatic life. The year before, a piece of which he was said to be the author had been played at the Odéon, but its great beauty, a beauty of an eccentric character and ill adapted to the stage, had hastened its failure, and the failure, though great, was glorious, the kind of failure that brings to light a man's qualities, just as certain defeats reveal the character of a nation. Paul Foucher had had his Poitiers, his Agincourt and his Crécy, and could take his stand accordingly. The play was calledAmy Robsart, and was taken from, or, rather, inspired by, Walter Scott's romance ofKenilworth. The day after its failure, Hugo proclaimed himself its author; but the honour of the only representation it had was none the less inseparably associated with Paul Foucher. The play was never printed. Hugo made me a present of the manuscript later; I daresay I have it still in my possession. I tried in vain to get any information out of Paul: he knew but one piece of news, and did not consider either the political or literary world needed to know any other. This news was that next day he was to read a play in five acts. I saw the moment coming when he was about to anticipate the right of the Committee and read me his play. But the reading of the finest drama the world ever saw would not have consoled me for losing the smallest detail of the play which Paris was at that moment putting on the stage. I leapt into a cab and escaped from the reading. I gave the driver Carrel's address.

Since the present crisis had arisen, Carrel was looked upon by the younger members of the Opposition as their leader, elected, if not publicly, at least by tacit consent. I had becomeacquainted with Armand Carrel at M. de Leuven's, who, since the return to France of the young political exile, after the coronation of Charles X., had placed him on the editorial staff of theCourrier; he lived, if I remember rightly, in the rue Monsigny or near by. As he died in 1836, he is already, to the young generation of between twenty and twenty-five years of age, but a historical figure. At the time of which we are now speaking, he was a man of twenty-eight, of medium height, with a calm and retreating forehead, dark hair, small, lively, flashing eyes, a long sharp nose, thin and rather pale lips, with white teeth and a bilious complexion. Although Carrel professed the most advanced of Liberal opinions, as is often the case with men of great intellect and of refined organisation, he had the most aristocratic habits imaginable, and this made the contrast between his words and his appearance very strange. He almost invariably wore patent leather boots, a black cravat tied tight round his neck, a black frock-coat buttoned up all but the last button, a waistcoat of white piqué or of chamois leather and grey trousers. His whole get-up revealed the military style of the former officer. This warlike quality had, to some extent, passed from Carrel's body into his mind. Charlemagne signed his treaties with the pommel of his sword and enforced them with its point; and so with Carrel: his articles always seemed to have been written with a steel point, similar to those used by the ancients, which left deep traces of sharpness on their tablets of wax. But Carrel's polemical style of writing was very fine, noble and frank; he boldly showed his front to his enemies: it was in some way similar both to Pascal's and Paul-Louis Courier's. He had received but little historical education, except about our neighbours across the Channel; he was secretary to Augustin Thierry while he wrote his fine book on the Conquest of England by the Normans (Conquête de l'Angleterre par les Normands). Carrel, with his usual earnestness, had picked up the crumbs that fell from that sumptuous table, and had compiled an abridged History of England. We were good enough friends, although, perhaps, we were not quite just toone another; he looked upon me as too much of a poet, and I looked upon him as too much of a soldier. I found him quietly engaged eating his breakfast. He had signed the protest as a duty; risking his head as coolly at the point of the pen as he had already done several times at the point of the sword, though believing in nothing but lawful methods of resistance. As for armed resistance, he would have nothing to do with it. He had meant to stay at home all day to work; but, upon my entreaties, and, owing to my telling him I thought I had seen some rising excitement in the streets, he decided to go out with me. He put a pair of small pistols in his pocket, of the kind called pocket pistols, took a little whalebone cane in his hand as flexible as a horsewhip, and we went down together towards the boulevards. Doubtless cooled by his action at Béfort and Bidassoa, he hesitated to put himself forward when so many people were seen to hang back. We tramped the boulevards from the rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin to the rue Neuve-Vivienne, and then we went along the Place de la Bourse. People were rushing in the direction of the rue de Richelieu. They reported that the offices of theTempswere invaded, and being sacked by a detachment of mounted police.

Of course, needless to relate, we, too, followed the crowd; there was, as usual, but a portion of truth in the rumour. A score of police were drawn up in line in front of the building where the printing was carried on, which stood at the bottom of a very large courtyard. The street door was closed and, before they could invade the workshops, they were waiting for the arrival of the Commissaire de Police. When he arrived, Baude, one of the editors of theTemps, and signers of the protest, gave orders to close the workshop door and to open the one on the street. The Commissaire, wearing his white scarf of office, knocked at the door exactly as it was being opened, and Baude and he stood face to face. The Commissaire stepped back before the formidable apparition. Baude was a magnificent figure of a man, not only in general appearance but in every detail of his person. He was a giant of five feet eight or ten inches, with thick black hair whichfloated round his head like a mane; his eyes were brown and deeply set beneath dark eyebrows: they seemed, at certain moments, to shoot out lightning; he had a rough, tremendous voice which, heard amid the noise of a revolution, sounded like thunder in a storm. Baude was followed by other editors and by employés and workmen, who formed up behind him in a body of thirty persons. When they saw the bare-headed, pale-faced leader and the set faces of the workmen, they guessed that, beneath the legal resistance which Baude had called to his aid, lay a very real and material resistance, namely, one that meant resistance with arms. I squeezed Carrel's arm; he was very pale and seemed greatly moved, but he kept quite mute and shook his head in sign of disapproval. There was such a dead silence throughout the street, filled with, perhaps, a couple of thousand people, that a child's breathing could have been heard. Baude was the first to speak and to question the Commissaire.

"What do you want, monsieur? and why have you presented yourselves before our printing house?"

"Monsieur," stammered the Superintendent of Police, "I have come in consequence of the Ordinances...."

"To break up our presses, I suppose?" Baude questioned. "Well, then, in the name of the Code, which is both anterior and superior to your Ordinance, I call upon you to respect them!"

And Baude stretched forth a copy of the Code opened at the article onEffraction(Housebreaking). This weapon was, certainly, of a more alarming and terrible nature than the presenting of pistols or swords, but the Superintendent's orders had been perfectly clear.

"Monsieur," he said, "I am obliged to do my duty"; and, turning to one of his men, he said, "Send somebody to find a locksmith."

"All right! I will wait till he comes," said Baude.

A murmur ran through the crowd. They began to understand that there, in the open street, before the eyes of the crowd, under the gaze of Providence, was going to take placeone of the grandest spectacles that it is given to human sight to behold—the resistance of law to arbitrary force, of the individual to the crowd, of conscience to tyranny.

Not a man among the spectators had said to Baude, "You can count on my support"; but it was apparent that he felt he could reckon on all.

The locksmith arrived; and, at the order of the Superintendent, he was just going to cross the threshold of the street door, in order to go and open the doors of the printing house with his tools, when Baude, stopping him, by gently taking hold of his arm, said—

"My friend, you probably do not know what risks you are running by obeying the orders of the Superintendent of Police? You are running the risk of being sent to the galleys." And he read in a loud voice the following lines:—

"Any person will be punished with penal servitude who is guilty of, or accomplice in, theft committed by means of breaking into a house or room or lodging dwelt in or serving as a dwelling-house by means of breaking in from without by scaling or by using false keys, whether he assume the rank of a public functionary or of a civil or military officer, or after having put on the uniform or dress of a public functionary or officer, or alleging a false order of the civil or military authorities."

As Baude read on, the locksmith raised his hand to his cap and, by the end of the article, he was listening to the reader with bared head. At this token of respect shown to the law by a man of the people the crowd broke out into immense applause. The Commissaire insisted, and the locksmith, obeying his authoritative commands, made an attempt at entrance. Baude drew back and made way for him.

"Do it!" he said, "but you know that it will mean the galleys for you."

The locksmith again stopped and the cheering redoubled. The Superintendent renewed his orders to pick the locks of the doors.

"Messieurs," Baude cried in a loud voice, "I appeal againstM. le Commissaire to a jury, and from the Ordinances to the Assizes.... Who will give me their names as witnesses of the outrage offered to me?"

Five hundred voices simultaneously responded. Pencils and papers were instantly circulated among the crowd with wonderful eagerness and unanimity; each took the pencil in turn and wrote down his name and address on the paper. Then all were handed in to Baude.

"You see for yourself, monsieur," he said to the Superintendent of Police, "I have plenty of witnesses."

"Upon my word, Monsieur le Commissaire," the locksmith finally said to that officer of the law, "get somebody else to do your job, I back out of it."

And, putting his cap on his head, he withdrew. He was accompanied by vivats and more applause.

"Force, however, still must rest with the law!" retorted the Superintendent.

"I am beginning to believe, indeed, that it will," Baude replied ironically.

"Oh, I know my business," the officer replied. "Call another locksmith."

An official in black appeared from the crowd as before, and returned with a locksmith carrying a bunch of picklocks at his waist. The applause that had accompanied the retreat of the other man changed quickly to groans as this fresh one appeared. The locksmith was frightened.

As he made his way through the crowd he slipped his bunch of picklocks into the hand of one of the spectators, who passed it on to the next man, and so on through the crowd. When he had reached the door, the order previously given to his colleague was renewed.

"Monsieur le Commissaire," he said, pointing to his empty girdle, "I cannot do it: my tools have been stolen from me."

"You lie!" exclaimed the Commissaire, "and I will have you arrested!"

The hand of one of his men was stretched out to seize him, but the crowd opened a way for him and then closed upafter him, wrapped him in its folds and engulfed him completely in its stream. He disappeared literally as though he had been devoured!

They then summoned the blacksmith whose duty it was to rivet the convict's fetters. But, as the opposition of the crowd began to assume a grave character, and looked dark and threatening, the street was cleared with the help of the police.

The crowd withdrew by way of the place Louvois and the arcade Colbert, and by the rue de Ménars, shouting—

"Vive la Charte!"

Men climbed upon posts, waved their hats and cried out to Baude—

"You may rely on us—you have our addresses. We will be witnesses for you.Au revoir! au revoir!"

A reinforcement of police seen coming from the direction of the Palais-Royal completed the clearing of the street. But what did that matter? The moral victory remained with the Opposition, and Baude had played as great a part as any ghostly Revolutionist of 1789.

Carrel and I left the rue de Richelieu and went to theNationaloffices. TheNationalhad scarcely been in existence a year then; it had been started by Thiers, Carrel and the Abbé Louis, at the château de Rochecottes, at the feet of Madame de Dino, under the eye of M. de Talleyrand. The Duc d'Orléans, who had lent the necessary funds, paid, as it were, for the nursing of this infant Hercules, which, eighteen years later, was to seize him round his waist and suffocate him. These offices were situated in the rue Neuve-Saint-Marc, at the corner of the place des Italiens. We found it a hotbed of news. The evening before one of the editors had come in, out of spirits and broken down: he had been scouring the poorest quarters, which are always the easiest to stir up, and, shaking his head, he had pronounced these discouraging words:—

"The people will not be moved!"

And when we entered theNationaloffices at two o'clockthe people were still quiet; but one could feel that kind of shiver of excitement in the air which made people hurry in their walk and grow paler, they knew not why; like the deep, instinctive terror felt by animals at the approach of an earthquake.

From whence arose this shuddering, which was but yet, as it were, upon the surface of society? It is easy to make a guess. The motion of M. Thiers, which had borne forty-five signatures at the foot of the journalists' protest (it had been published in theGlobe, theNational, and theTemps, and a hundred thousand copies had, perhaps, been printed and distributed in the streets), this motion, we say, had compromised forty-five persons. Now, these forty-five individuals made up a compact body working upon the masses, and each also was a separate force, working upon individual members of society. Each signature was the centre of a more or less wide circumference of friends, employés, clerks, workmen, compositors, journeymen and printers' devils. Each one stirred up his own particular circle, and each individual member of this circle, however humble, was himself an agent and used his influence on his subordinates; therefore, as soon as the impulse was given, it was communicated from great centres to small, the wheels began to turn, and one felt society tremble under the throbbing of an invisible machine, almost as one feels a windmill quiver from the revolution of its sails or a steamboat from the beating of its paddles. Carrel was invited to three different meetings, all for the purpose of organising opposition. One was purely of a Liberal character, bordering on Republicanism, and was held in the rue Saint-Honoré in the house of the chemist Cadet de Gassicourt; the principal members were Thiers, Charles Teste, Anfous, Chevalier, Bastide, Cauchois-Lemaire and Dupont; at this one they discussed a motion as to creating a committee of resistance in every arrondissement (ward), with power to put itself into direct communication with the deputies. The second was Bonapartist, and was held at the house of Colonel Gourgaud. It was chiefly composed, first and foremost, ofthe master of the house, then of Colonels Dumoulin, Dufays and Plavet-Gaubet, and of Commandant Bacheville. Their object was to try and promote the affairs of Napoleon II., but, as all these men were more men of action than of thought, nothing was settled, and they fixed another meeting for the next day at the place des Petits-Pères. The third meeting took place in theGlobeoffices and was composed of Pierre Leroux, Guizard, Dejean, Paulin and Rémusat, and of several persons who had nothing to do with the staff of the paper. Here, the most conflicting counsels were put forth: some wanted to appeal to arms on the morrow, others were horrified at the pace at which, as soon as any movement is started, it descends, in spite of everything, down the path that leads to revolution.

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