BOOK II

[1]Do not let it be thought for one moment that it is in order to make out any intimacy whatsoever with the two famous historians, whom I have several times mentioned, that I say Thiers and Mignet; theirs are names which have won the privilege of being presented to the public without the banal title ofmonsieur.

Adèle—Her devotion to Rabbe—Strong meat—Appel à Dieu—L'âme et la comédie humaine—La mort—Ultime lettere—Suicide—À Alphonse Rabbe, by Victor Hugo

We have been forgetful, more than forgetful, even ungrateful, in saying that Rabbe's one and only consolation was his pipe; there was another.

A young girl, named Adèle, spent three years with him; but those three happy years only added fresh sorrows to Rabbe, for, soon, the beautiful fresh girl drooped like a flower at whose roots a worm is gnawing; she bowed her head, suffered for a year, then died.

History has made much stir about certain devoted attachments; no devotion could have been purer or more disinterested than the unnoticed devotion of this young girl, all the more complete that she crowned it with her death.

A subject of this nature is either stated in three brief lines of bald fact, or is extended over a couple of volumes as a psychological study. Poor Adèle! We have but four lines, and the memory of your devotion to offer you! Her death drove Rabbe to despair; from that time dates the most abandoned period of his life. Rabbe found out not only that the seeds of destruction were in him, but that they emanated from him. His wails of despair from that moment became bitter and frequent; and his thoughts turned incessantly towards suicide so that they might become accustomed to the idea. Certain memoranda hung always in his sight; he called them hispain des forts; they were, indeed, the spiritual bread he fed himself on.

We will give a few examples of his most remarkable thoughts from this lugubrious diary:—

"The whole life of man is but one journey towards death."**"Man, from whence comes thy pride? It was a mistake for thee to have been conceived; thy birth is a misfortune; thy life a labour; thy death inevitable."**"Thou living corpse! When wilt thou return to the dust? O solitude! O death! I have drunk deep of thy austere delights. You are my loves! the only ones that are faithful to me!"**"Every hour that passes by drives us towards the tomb and is hastened by the advance of those that precede it."**"Bitter and cruel is the absence of God's face from me. How much longer wilt Thou make me suffer?"**"Reflect in the morning that by night you may be no longer here; and at night, that by morning you may have died."**"Sometimes there is a melancholy remembrance of the glorious days of youth, of that happiness which never seems so great or so bitter as when remembered in the days of misfortune; at times, such collections confront the unfortunate wretch whose aspirations are towards death. Then, his despair turns to melancholy—almost even to hope."**"But these illusions of the beautiful days of youth pass and vanish away! Oh! what bitterness fills my soul! Inexorable nature, fate, destiny of providence give me back the cup of life and of happiness! My lips had scarcely touched it before you snatched it out of my trembling hands. Give me back the cup! Give it back! I am consumed by burning thirst; I have deceived myself; you have deceived me; I have never drunk, I have never satisfied my thirst, for the liquid evaporated like blue flame, which leaves behind it nothing but the smell of sulphur and volcanoes."**"Lightning from heaven! Why dost thou not rather strike the lofty tops of those oaks and fir trees whose robust old agehas already braved a hundred winters? They, at least, have lived; and have satiated themselves with the sweets of the earth!"**"I have been struck down in my prime; for nine years I have been a prey, fighting against death.... Miserable wretch why has not the hand of God which smote me annihilated me altogether?"

"The whole life of man is but one journey towards death."

"Man, from whence comes thy pride? It was a mistake for thee to have been conceived; thy birth is a misfortune; thy life a labour; thy death inevitable."

"Thou living corpse! When wilt thou return to the dust? O solitude! O death! I have drunk deep of thy austere delights. You are my loves! the only ones that are faithful to me!"

"Every hour that passes by drives us towards the tomb and is hastened by the advance of those that precede it."

"Bitter and cruel is the absence of God's face from me. How much longer wilt Thou make me suffer?"

"Reflect in the morning that by night you may be no longer here; and at night, that by morning you may have died."

"Sometimes there is a melancholy remembrance of the glorious days of youth, of that happiness which never seems so great or so bitter as when remembered in the days of misfortune; at times, such collections confront the unfortunate wretch whose aspirations are towards death. Then, his despair turns to melancholy—almost even to hope."

"But these illusions of the beautiful days of youth pass and vanish away! Oh! what bitterness fills my soul! Inexorable nature, fate, destiny of providence give me back the cup of life and of happiness! My lips had scarcely touched it before you snatched it out of my trembling hands. Give me back the cup! Give it back! I am consumed by burning thirst; I have deceived myself; you have deceived me; I have never drunk, I have never satisfied my thirst, for the liquid evaporated like blue flame, which leaves behind it nothing but the smell of sulphur and volcanoes."

"Lightning from heaven! Why dost thou not rather strike the lofty tops of those oaks and fir trees whose robust old agehas already braved a hundred winters? They, at least, have lived; and have satiated themselves with the sweets of the earth!"

"I have been struck down in my prime; for nine years I have been a prey, fighting against death.... Miserable wretch why has not the hand of God which smote me annihilated me altogether?"

Then, in consequence of his pains, the soul of the unhappy Rabbe rises to the level of prayer; he, the sceptic, loses faith in unbelief and returns to God—

"O my God!" he exclaims in the solitudes of night, which carries the plaint of his groans and tears to the ears of his neighbours. "O my God! If Thou art just, Thou must have a better world in store for us! O my God! Thou who knowest all the thoughts that I bare here before Thee and the remorse to which my scalding tears give expression; O my God! if the groanings of an unfortunate soul are heard by Thee, Thou must understand, O my God! the heart that Thou didst give me, thou knowest the wishes it formed, and the insatiable desires that still possess it. Oh! if afflictions have broken it, if the absence of all consolation and tenderness, if the most horrible solitude, have withered it, O my God! help Thy wretched creature; give me faith in a better world to come! Oh! may I find beyond the grave what my soul, unrecognised and bewildered, has unceasingly craved for on this earth...."

Then God took pity on him. He did not restore his health or hope, his youth, beauty and loves in this life; those three illusions vanished all too soon: but God granted him the gift of tears. And he thanked God for it. Towards the close of the year 1829, the disease made such progress that Rabbe resolved he would not live to see the opening of the year 1830. Thus, as he had addressed God, as he had addressed his soul, so he now addresses death—

DEATH"Thou diest! Thou hast reached the limit to which all things comes at last; the end of thy miseries, the beginning ofthy happiness. Behold, death stands face to face with thee! Thou wilt not longer be able to wish for, nor to dread it. Pains and weakness of body, sad heart-searchings, piercing spiritual anguish, devouring griefs, all are over! Thou wilt never suffer them again; thou goest in peace to brave the insolent pride of the successful evil-doer, the despising of fools and the abortive pity of those who dare to style themselvesgood."The deprivation of many evils will not be an evil in itself; I have seen thee chafing at thy bit, shaking the humiliating chains of an adverse fate in despair; I have often heard the distressing complaints which issued from the depths of thy oppressed heart.... Thou art satisfied at last. Haste thee to empty the cup of an unfortunate life, and perish the vase from which thou wast compelled to drink such bitter draughts."But thou dost stop and tremble! Thou dost curse the duration of thy suffering and yet dost dread and regret that the end has come! Thou apprisest without reason or justice, and dost lament equally both what things are and what they cease to be. Listen, and think for one moment."In dying, thou dost but follow the path thy forefathers have trodden; thousands of generations before thee have fallen into the abyss into which thou hast to descend; many thousands will fall into it after thee. The cruel vicissitude of life and death cannot be altered for thee alone. Onward then towards thy journey's end, follow where others have gone, and be not afraid of straying from it or losing thyself when thou hast so many other travelling companions. Let there be no signs of weakness, no tears! The man who weeps over his own death is the vilest and most despicable of all beings. Submit unmurmuringly to the inevitable; thou must die, as thou hast had to live, without will of thy own. Give back, therefore, without anxiety, thy life which thou receivest unconsciously. Neither birth nor death are in thy power. Rather rejoice, for thou art at the beginning of an immortal dawn. Those who surround thy deathbed, all those whom thou hast ever seen, of whom thou hast heard speak or read, the small number of those thou hast known especially well, the vast multitude of those who have lived formerly or been born or are to be born in ages to come throughout the world, all these have gone or will go the road thou art going. Look with wise eyes upon the longcaravan of successive generations which have crossed the deserts of life, fighting as they travel across the burning sands for one drop of the water which inflames their thirst more than it appeases it! Thou art swallowed up in the crowd directly thou fallest: but look how many others are falling too at the same time with thee!"Wouldst thou desire to live for ever? Wouldst thou only wish thy life to last for a thousand years? Remember the long hours of weariness in thy short career, thy frequent fainting under the burden. Thou wast aghast at the limited horizon of a short, uncertain and fugitive life: what wouldst thou have said if thou hadst seen an immeasurable, inevitably long future of weariness and sorrow stretch before thy eyes!"O mortals! you weep over death, as though life were something great and precious! And yet the vilest insects that crawl share this rare treasure of life with you! All march towards death because all yearn towards rest and perfect peace."Behold! the approach of the day that thou fain wouldst have tried to bring nearer by thy prayers, if a jealous fate had not deferred it; for which thou didst often sigh; behold the moment which is to remove the capricious yoke of fortune from the trammels of human society, from the venomous attacks of thy fellow-creatures. Thou thinkest thou wilt cease to exist and that thought torments thee.... Well, but what proves to thee that thou wilt be annihilated? All the ages have retained a hope in immortality. The belief in a spiritual life was not merely a dogma of a few religious creeds; it was the need and the cry of all nations that have covered the face of the earth. The European, in the luxuries of his capital towns, the aboriginal American-Indian under his rude huts, both equally dream of an immortal state; all cry to the tribunal of nature against the incompleteness of this life."If thou sufferest, it is well to die; if thou art happy or thinkest thou art so, thou wilt gain by death since thy illusion would not have lasted long. Thou passest from a terrestrial habitation to a pure and celestial one. Why look back when thy foot is upon the threshold of its portals? The eternal distributor of good and evil, our Sovereign Master, calls thee to Himself; it is by His desire thy prison flies open; thy heavy chains are broken and thy exile is ended; therefore rejoice! Thou wilt soar to the throne of thy King and Saviour!"Ah! if thou art not shackled with the weight of some unexpiated crime, thou wilt sing as thou diest; and, like the Roman emperor, thou wilt rise up in thy agony at the very thought, and thou wouldst die standing with eyes turned towards the promised land!"O Saint Preux and Werther! O Jacob Ortis! how far were you from reaching such heights as that! Orators even to the death agony, your brains alone it is which lament; man in his death throes, this actually dying creature, it is his heart that groans, his flesh that cries out, his spirit which doubts. Oh! how well one feels that all that hollow philosophising does not reassure him as to the pain of the supreme moment, and especially against that terror of annihilation, which brought drops of sweat to the brow of Hamlet!"One more cry—the last, then silence shall fall on him who suffered much."

"Thou diest! Thou hast reached the limit to which all things comes at last; the end of thy miseries, the beginning ofthy happiness. Behold, death stands face to face with thee! Thou wilt not longer be able to wish for, nor to dread it. Pains and weakness of body, sad heart-searchings, piercing spiritual anguish, devouring griefs, all are over! Thou wilt never suffer them again; thou goest in peace to brave the insolent pride of the successful evil-doer, the despising of fools and the abortive pity of those who dare to style themselvesgood.

"The deprivation of many evils will not be an evil in itself; I have seen thee chafing at thy bit, shaking the humiliating chains of an adverse fate in despair; I have often heard the distressing complaints which issued from the depths of thy oppressed heart.... Thou art satisfied at last. Haste thee to empty the cup of an unfortunate life, and perish the vase from which thou wast compelled to drink such bitter draughts.

"But thou dost stop and tremble! Thou dost curse the duration of thy suffering and yet dost dread and regret that the end has come! Thou apprisest without reason or justice, and dost lament equally both what things are and what they cease to be. Listen, and think for one moment.

"In dying, thou dost but follow the path thy forefathers have trodden; thousands of generations before thee have fallen into the abyss into which thou hast to descend; many thousands will fall into it after thee. The cruel vicissitude of life and death cannot be altered for thee alone. Onward then towards thy journey's end, follow where others have gone, and be not afraid of straying from it or losing thyself when thou hast so many other travelling companions. Let there be no signs of weakness, no tears! The man who weeps over his own death is the vilest and most despicable of all beings. Submit unmurmuringly to the inevitable; thou must die, as thou hast had to live, without will of thy own. Give back, therefore, without anxiety, thy life which thou receivest unconsciously. Neither birth nor death are in thy power. Rather rejoice, for thou art at the beginning of an immortal dawn. Those who surround thy deathbed, all those whom thou hast ever seen, of whom thou hast heard speak or read, the small number of those thou hast known especially well, the vast multitude of those who have lived formerly or been born or are to be born in ages to come throughout the world, all these have gone or will go the road thou art going. Look with wise eyes upon the longcaravan of successive generations which have crossed the deserts of life, fighting as they travel across the burning sands for one drop of the water which inflames their thirst more than it appeases it! Thou art swallowed up in the crowd directly thou fallest: but look how many others are falling too at the same time with thee!

"Wouldst thou desire to live for ever? Wouldst thou only wish thy life to last for a thousand years? Remember the long hours of weariness in thy short career, thy frequent fainting under the burden. Thou wast aghast at the limited horizon of a short, uncertain and fugitive life: what wouldst thou have said if thou hadst seen an immeasurable, inevitably long future of weariness and sorrow stretch before thy eyes!

"O mortals! you weep over death, as though life were something great and precious! And yet the vilest insects that crawl share this rare treasure of life with you! All march towards death because all yearn towards rest and perfect peace.

"Behold! the approach of the day that thou fain wouldst have tried to bring nearer by thy prayers, if a jealous fate had not deferred it; for which thou didst often sigh; behold the moment which is to remove the capricious yoke of fortune from the trammels of human society, from the venomous attacks of thy fellow-creatures. Thou thinkest thou wilt cease to exist and that thought torments thee.... Well, but what proves to thee that thou wilt be annihilated? All the ages have retained a hope in immortality. The belief in a spiritual life was not merely a dogma of a few religious creeds; it was the need and the cry of all nations that have covered the face of the earth. The European, in the luxuries of his capital towns, the aboriginal American-Indian under his rude huts, both equally dream of an immortal state; all cry to the tribunal of nature against the incompleteness of this life.

"If thou sufferest, it is well to die; if thou art happy or thinkest thou art so, thou wilt gain by death since thy illusion would not have lasted long. Thou passest from a terrestrial habitation to a pure and celestial one. Why look back when thy foot is upon the threshold of its portals? The eternal distributor of good and evil, our Sovereign Master, calls thee to Himself; it is by His desire thy prison flies open; thy heavy chains are broken and thy exile is ended; therefore rejoice! Thou wilt soar to the throne of thy King and Saviour!

"Ah! if thou art not shackled with the weight of some unexpiated crime, thou wilt sing as thou diest; and, like the Roman emperor, thou wilt rise up in thy agony at the very thought, and thou wouldst die standing with eyes turned towards the promised land!

"O Saint Preux and Werther! O Jacob Ortis! how far were you from reaching such heights as that! Orators even to the death agony, your brains alone it is which lament; man in his death throes, this actually dying creature, it is his heart that groans, his flesh that cries out, his spirit which doubts. Oh! how well one feels that all that hollow philosophising does not reassure him as to the pain of the supreme moment, and especially against that terror of annihilation, which brought drops of sweat to the brow of Hamlet!

"One more cry—the last, then silence shall fall on him who suffered much."

Moreover, Alphonse Rabbe wished there to be no doubt of how he died; hear this, his will, which he signed; there was to his mind no dishonour in digging himself a grave with his own hands between those of Cato of Utica and of Brutus—

"31December1829"Like Ugo Foscolo, I must write myultime lettere.If every man who had thought and felt deeply could die before the decline of his faculties from age, and leave behind him hisphilosophical testament, that is to say, a profession of faith bold and sincere, written upon the planks of his coffin, there would be more truths recognised and saved from the regions of foolishness and the contemptible opinion of the vulgar."I have other motives for executing this project. There are in the world various interesting men who have been my friends; I wish them to know how I ended my life. I desire that even the indifferent, namely, the bulk of the general public (to whom I shall be a subject of conversation for about ten minutes—perhaps even that is an exaggerated supposition), should know, however poor an opinion I have of the majority of people, that I did not yield to cowardice, but that the cup of my weariness was already filled, when fresh wrongs came and overthrew it. I wish, in conclusion, that my friends, those indifferent to me, and even my enemies, should know that I have but exercised quietly and with dignity the privilege thatevery man acquires from nature—the right to dispose of himself as he likes. This is the last thing that has interest for me this side the grave. All my hopes lie beyond it ...if perchance there be anything beyond."

"31December1829

"Like Ugo Foscolo, I must write myultime lettere.If every man who had thought and felt deeply could die before the decline of his faculties from age, and leave behind him hisphilosophical testament, that is to say, a profession of faith bold and sincere, written upon the planks of his coffin, there would be more truths recognised and saved from the regions of foolishness and the contemptible opinion of the vulgar.

"I have other motives for executing this project. There are in the world various interesting men who have been my friends; I wish them to know how I ended my life. I desire that even the indifferent, namely, the bulk of the general public (to whom I shall be a subject of conversation for about ten minutes—perhaps even that is an exaggerated supposition), should know, however poor an opinion I have of the majority of people, that I did not yield to cowardice, but that the cup of my weariness was already filled, when fresh wrongs came and overthrew it. I wish, in conclusion, that my friends, those indifferent to me, and even my enemies, should know that I have but exercised quietly and with dignity the privilege thatevery man acquires from nature—the right to dispose of himself as he likes. This is the last thing that has interest for me this side the grave. All my hopes lie beyond it ...if perchance there be anything beyond."

Thus, poor Rabbe, after all thy philosophy, sifted as fine as ripe grain; after all thy philosophising; after many prayers to God and dialogues with thy soul, and many conversations with death, these supreme interlocutors have taught thee nothing and thy last thought is a doubt!

Rabbe had said he would not see the year 1830: and he died during the night of the 31 December 1829.

Now, how did he die? That gloomy mystery was kept locked in the hearts of the last friends who were present with him. But one of his friends told me that, the evening before his death, his sufferings were so unendurable, that the doctor ordered an opium plaster to be put on the sick man's chest. Next day, they hunted in vain for the opium plaster but could not find it....

On 17 September 1835, Victor Hugo addresses these lines to him:—

À ALPHONSE RABBEMort le31décembre1829"Hélas! que fais tu donc, ô Rabbe, ô mon ami,Sévère historien dans la tombe endormi?Je l'ai pensé souvent dans les heures funèbres,Seul, près de mon flambeau qui rayait les ténèbres,O noble ami! pareil aux hommes d'autrefois,Il manque parmi nous ta voix; ta forte voix,Pleine de l'équité qui gonflait ta poitrine.Il nous manque ta main, qui grave et qui burine,Dans ce siècle où par l'or les sages sont distraits,Où l'idée est servante auprès des intérêts;Temps de fruits avortés et de tiges rompues,D'instincts dénaturés, de raisons corrompues,Où, dans l'esprit humain tout étant dispersé,Le présent au hasard flotte sur le passé!Si, parmi nous, ta tête était debout encore,Cette cime où vibrait l'éloquence sonore,Au milieu de nos flots tu serais calme et grand;Tu serais comme un pont posé sur le courant.Tu serais pour chacun la boix haute et senséeQui fait que, brouillard s'en va de la pensée,Et que la vérité, qu'en vain nous repoussions,Sort de l'amas confus des sombres visions!Tu dirais aux partis qu'ils font trop be poussièreAutour de la raison pour qu'on la voie entière;Au peuple, que la loi du travail est sur tous,Et qu'il est assez fort pour n'être pas jaloux;Au pouvoir, que jamais le pouvoir ne se venge,Et que, pour le penseur, c'est un spectacle étrange.Et triste, quand la loi, figure au bras d'airain,Déesse qui ne doit avoir qu'un front serein,Sort, à de certains jours, de l'urne consulaire,L'œil hagard, écumante et folle de colère!Et ces jeunes esprits, à qui tu souriais,Et que leur âge livre aux rêves inquiets,Tu leur dirais: Amis nés pour des temps prospères,Oh! n'allez pas errer comme ont erré vos pères!Laissez murir vos fronts! gardez-vous, jeunes gens,Des systèmes dorés aux plumages changeants,Qui, dans les carrefours, s'en vont faire la roue!Et de ce qu'en vos cœurs l'Amérique secoue,Peuple à peine essayé, nation de hasard,Sans tige, sans passé, sans histoire et sans art!Et de cette sagesse impie, envenimée,Du cerveau de Voltaire éclose tout armée,Fille de l'ignorance et de l'orgueil, posantLes lois des anciens jours sur les mœurs d'à présent;Qui refait un chaos partout où fut un monde;Qui rudement enfoncé,—ô démence profonde!Le casque étroit de Sparte au front du vieux Paris;Qui, dans les temps passés, mal lus et mal compris,Viole effrontément tout sage, pour lui faireUn monstre qui serait la terreur de son père!Si bien que les héros antiques tout tremblantsS'en sont voilé la face, et qu'après deux mille ans,Par ses embrassements réveillé sous la pierre,Lycurgue, qu'elle épouse, enfante Robespierre!"Tu nous dirais à tous: 'Ne vous endormez pas!Veillez et soyez prêts! Car déjà, pas à pas,La main de l'oiseleur dans l'ombre s'est glisséePartout où chante un nid couvé par la pensée!Car les plus nobles fronts sont vaincus ou sont las!Car la Pologne, aux fers, ne peut plus même, hêlas!Mordre le pied tartare appuyé sur sa gorge!Car on voit, chaque jour, s'allonger dans la forgeLa chaîne que les rois, craignant la liberté,Font pour cette géante, endormie à côté!Ne vous endormez pas! travaillez sans relâche!Car les grands ont leur œuvre et les petits leur tâche;Chacun a son ouvrage à faire, chacun metSa pierre à l'édifice encor loin du sommet—Qui croit avoir fini, pour un roi qu'on dépose,Se trompe: un roi qui tombe est toujours peu de chose;Il est plus difficile et c'est un plus grand poidsDe relever les mœurs que d'abattre les rois.Rien chez vous n'est complet: la ruine ou l'ébauche!L'épi n'est pas formé que votre main le fauche!Vous êtes encombrés de plans toujours rêvésEt jamais accomplis ... Hommes, vous ne savez,Tant vous connaissez peu ce qui convient aux âmes,Que faire des enfants, ni que faire des femmes!Où donc en êtes-vous? Vous vous applaudissezPour quelques blocs de lois au hasard entassés!Ah! l'heure du repos pour aucun n'est venue;Travaillez! vous cherchez une chose inconnue;Vous n'avez pas de foi, vous n'avez pas d'amour;Rien chez vous n'est encore éclairé du vrai jour!Crépuscule et brouillards que vos plus clairs systèmesDans vos lois, dans vos mœurs et dans vos espritsmêmes,Partout l'aube blanchâtre ou le couchant vermeil!Nulle part le midi! nulle part le soleil!'Tu parlerais ainsi dans des livres austères,Comme parlaient jadis les anciens solitaires,Comme parlent tous ceux devant qui l'on se tait,Et l'on t'écouterait comme on les écoutait;Et l'on viendrait vers toi, dans ce siècle plein d'ombre,Où, chacun se heurtant aux obstacles sans nombreQue, faute de lumière, on tâte avec la main,Le conseil manque à l'âme, et le guide au chemin!Hélas! à chaque instant, des souffles de tempêtesAmassent plus de brume et d'ombre sur nos têtes;De moment en moment l'avenir s'assombrit.Dans le calme du cœur, dans la paix de l'esprit,Je l'adressais ces vers, où mon âme sereineN'a laissé sur ta pierre écumer nulle haine,À toi qui dors couché dans le tombeau profond,À toi qui ne sais plus ce que les hommes font!Je l'adressais ces vers, pleins de tristes présages;Car c'est bien follement que nous nous croyons sages.Le combat furieux recommence à gronderEntre le droit de croître et le droit d'émonder;La bataille où les lois attaquent les idéesSe mêle de nouveau sur des mers mal sondées;Chacun se sent troublé comme l'eau sous le vent ...Et moi-même, à cette heure, à mon foyer rêvant,Voilà, depuis cinq ans qu'on oubliait Procuste,Que j'entends aboyer, au seuil du drame auguste,La censure à l'haleine immonde, aux ongles noirs,Cette chienne au front has qui suit tous les pouvoirs,Vile et mâchant toujours dans sa gueule souillée,O muse! quelque pan de ta robe étoilée!Hélas! que fais-tu donc, ô Rabbe, ô mon ami!Sévère historien dans la tombe endormi?"

If anything of poor Rabbe still survives, he will surely tremble with joy in his tomb at this tribute. Indeed, few kings have had such an epitaph!

Chéron—His last compliments to Harel—Obituary of 1830—My official visit on New Year's Day—A striking costume—Read theMoniteur—Disbanding of the Artillery of the National Guard—First representation ofNapoléon Bonaparte—Delaistre—Frédérick Lemaître

Meantime, throughout the course of that glorious year of 1830, death had been gathering in a harvest of celebrated men.

It had begun with Chéron, the author ofTartufe de Mœurs.We learnt his death in a singular fashion. Harel thought of taking up the only comedy that the good fellow had written, and had begun its rehearsals the same time asChristine.They rehearsed Chéron's comedy at ten in the morning andChristineat noon. One morning, Chéron, who was punctuality itself, was late. Harel had waited a little while, then given orders to prepare the stage forChristine.Steinberg had not got further than his tenth line, when a little fellow of twelve years came from behind one of the wings and asked for M. Harel.

"Here I am," said Harel, "what is it?"

"M. Chéron presents his compliments to you," said the little man, "and sends word that he cannot come to his rehearsal this morning."

"Why not, my boy?" asked Harel.

"Because he died last night," replied the little fellow.

"Ah! diable!" exclaimed Harel; "in that case you must take back my best compliments and tell him that I will attend his funeral to-morrow."

That was the funeral oration the ex-government inspector to the Théâtre-Français pronounced over him.

I believe I have mentioned somewhere that Taylor succeeded Chéron.

At the beginning of the year, on 15 February, Comte Marie de Chamans de Lavalette had also died; he it was who, in 1815, was saved by the devotion of his wife and of two Englishmen; one of whom, Sir Robert Wilson, I met in 1846 when he was Governor of Gibraltar. Comte de Lavalette lived fifteen years after his condemnation to death; caring for his wife, in his turn, for she had gone insane from the terrible anxiety she suffered in helping her husband to escape.

On 11 March the obituary list was marked by the death of the Marquis de Lally-Tollendal, whom I knew well: he was the son of the Lally-Tollendal who was executed in the place de Grève as guilty of peculation, upon whom it will be recollected Gilbert wrote lines that were certainly some of his best. The poor Marquis de Lally-Tollendal was always in trouble, but this did not prevent him from becoming enormously stout. He weighed nearly three hundred pounds; Madame de Staël called him "the fattest of sentient beings."

Perhaps I have already said this somewhere. If so, I ask pardon for repeating it.

The same month Radet died, the doyen of vaudevillists. During the latter years of his life he was afflicted with kleptomania, but his friends never minded; if, after his departure they missed anything they knew where to go and look for the missing article.

Then, on 15 April, Hippolyte Bendo died. He was behindhand, for death, who was out of breath with running after him, caught him up at the age of one hundred and twenty-two. He had married again at one hundred and one!

Then, on 23 April, died the Chevalier Sue, father of Eugène Sue; he had been honorary physician in chief to the household of King Charles X. He was a man of great originality of mind and, at times, of singular artlessness of expression; those who heard him give his course of lectures on conchology will bear me out in this I am very sure.

On 29 May that excellent man Jérôme Gohier passed away, of whom I have spoken as an old friend of mine; and who could not forgive Bonaparte for causing the events of 18 Brumaire, whilst he, Gohier, was breakfasting with Josephine.

On 29 June died good old M. Pieyre, former tutor and secretary to the duc d'Orléans; author ofl'École des pères; and the same who, with old Bichet and M. de Parseval de Grandmaison, had shown such great friendship to me and supported me to the utmost at the beginning of my dramatic career.

Then, on 29 July, a lady named Rosaria Pangallo died; she was born on 3 August 1698, only four years after Voltaire, whom we thought belonged to a past age, as he had died in 1778! The good lady was 132, ten years older than her compatriot Hippolyte Bendo, of whom we spoke just now.

On 28 August Martainville died, hero of the Pont du Pecq, whom we saw fighting with M. Arnault overGermanicus.

On 18 October Adam Weishaupt died, that famous leader of the Illuminati whose ashes I was to revive eighteen years later in my romanceJoseph Balsamo.

Then, on 30 November, Pius VIII. passed to his account; he was succeeded by Gregory XVI., of whom I shall have much to say.

On 17 December Marmontel's son died in New York, America, in hospital, just as a real poet might have done.

Then, on the 31st of the same month, the Comtesse de Genlis died, that bogie of my childhood, whose appearances at the Château de Villers-Hellon I related earlier in these Memoirs, and who, before she died, had the sorrow of seeing the accession to the throne of her pupil, badly treated by her, as a politician, in a letter which we printed in ourHistoire de Louis-Philippe.

Finally, on the last night of the old year, the artillery came to its end, killed by royal decree; and, as I had not heard of this decree soon enough, it led me to make the absurd blunder I am about to describe, which was probably among all the grievances King Louis-Philippe believed he had against methe one that made him cherish the bitterest rancour towards me. The reader will recollect the resignation of one of our captains and my election to the rank thus left vacant; he will further remember that, owing to the enthusiasm which fired me at that period, I undertook the command of a manœuvre the day but one after my appointment. This made the third change I had had to make in my uniform in five months: first, mounted National Guard; then, from that, to a gunner in the artillery; then, from a private to a captain in the same arm of the service. In due course New Year's day was approaching, and there had been a meeting to decide whether we should pay a visit of etiquette to the king or not. In order to avoid being placed upon the index for no good reason, it was decided to go. Consequently, a rendez-vous was made for the next day, 1 January 1831, at nine in the morning, in the courtyard of the Palais-Royal. Whereupon we separated. I do not remember what caused me to lie in bed longer than usual that New Year's morning 1831; but, to cut a long story short, when I looked at my watch, I saw that I had only just time, if that, to dress and reach the Palais-Royal. I summoned Joseph and, with his help, as nine o'clock was striking, I flew down stairs four steps at a time from my third storey. I need hardly say that, being in such a tremendous hurry, of course there was no cab or carriage of any description to be had. Thus, I reached the courtyard of the Palais-Royal by a quarter past nine. It was crowded with officers waiting their turn to present their collective New Year's congratulations to the King of the French; but, in the midst of all the various uniforms, that of the artillery was conspicuous by its absence. I glanced at the clock, and seeing that I was a quarter of an hour late, I thought the artillery had already taken up its position and that I should be able to join it either on the staircases or in one of the apartments. I rushed quickly up the State stairway and reached the great audience chamber. Not a sign of any artillerymen! I thought that, like Victor Hugo's kettle-drummers, the artillerymen must have passed and I decided to go in alone.

Had I not been so pre-occupied with my unpunctuality, I should have remarked the strange looks people cast at me all round; but I saw nothing, thanks to my absent-mindedness, except that the group of officers, with whom I intermingled to enter the king's chamber, made a movement from centre to circumference, which left me as completely isolated as though I was suspected of bringing infection of cholera, which was beginning to be talked about in Paris. I attributed this act of repulsion to the part the artillery had played during the recent disturbances, and as I, for my part, was quite ready to answer for the responsibility of my own actions, I went in with my head held high. I should say, that out of the score of officers who formed the group I had honoured with my presence, I seemed to be the only one who attracted the attention of the king; he even gazed at me with such surprise that I looked around to find the cause of this incomprehensible stare. Among those present some put on a scornful smile, others seemed alarmed; and the expression of others, again, seemed to say: "Seigneur; pardon us for having come in with that man!" The whole thing was inexplicable to me. I went up to the king, who was so good as to speak to me.

"Ah! good day, Dumas!" he said to me; "that's just like you! I recognise you well enough! It is just like you to come!"

I looked at the king and, for the life of me, I could not tell what he was alluding to. Then, as he began laughing, and all the good courtiers round imitated his example, I smiled in company with everybody else, and went on my way. In the next room where my steps led me I found Vatout, Oudard, Appert, Tallencourt, Casimir Delavigne and a host of my old comrades. They had seen me through the half-open door and they, too, were all laughing. This universal hilarity began to confuse me.

"Ah!" said Vatout. "Well, you have a nerve, my friend!"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, you have just paid the king a New Year's visit in a dress ofdissous."

Bydissousunderstanddix sous(ten sous).

Vatout was an inveterate punster.

"I do not understand you," I said, very seriously.

"Come now," he said. "You aren't surely going to try to make us believe that you did not know the king's order!"

"What order?"

"The disbandment of the artillery, of course!"

"What! the artillery is disbanded?"

"Why, it is in black and white in theMoniteur!"

"You are joking. Do I ever read theMoniteur?"

"You are right to say that."

"But, by Jove! I say it because it is true!"

They all began laughing again.

I will acknowledge that, by this time, I was dreadfully angry; I had done a thing that, if considered in the light of an act of bravado, might indeed be regarded as a very grave impertinence, and one in which I, least of any person, had no right to indulge towards the king. I went down the staircase as quickly as I had gone up it, ran to the cafédu Roi,and asked for theMoniteurwith a ferocity that astonished the frequenters of the café. They had to send out and borrow one from the caféMinerve.The order was in a prominent position; it was short, but explicit, and in these simple words—

"LOUIS-PHILIPPE, KING OF THE FRENCH,—To all, now and hereafter, Greeting. Upon the report of our Minister, the Secretary of State for Home Affairs, we have ordained and do ordain as follows:—"ARTICLE I.—The corps of artillery of the National Guard of Paris is disbanded."ARTICLE 2.—Proceedings for the reorganisation of that corps shall begin immediately."ARTICLE 3.—A commission shall be appointed to proceed with that reorganisation."

"LOUIS-PHILIPPE, KING OF THE FRENCH,—To all, now and hereafter, Greeting. Upon the report of our Minister, the Secretary of State for Home Affairs, we have ordained and do ordain as follows:—

"ARTICLE I.—The corps of artillery of the National Guard of Paris is disbanded.

"ARTICLE 2.—Proceedings for the reorganisation of that corps shall begin immediately.

"ARTICLE 3.—A commission shall be appointed to proceed with that reorganisation."

After seeing this official document I could have no further doubts upon the subject. I went home, stripped myself of my seditious clothing, put on the dress of ordinary folk, and went off to the Odéon for my rehearsal ofNapoléon Bonaparte,which was announced for its first production the next day. As I came away after the rehearsal, I met three or four of my artillery comrades, who congratulated me warmly. My adventure had already spread all over Paris; some-thought it a joke in the worst possible taste, others thought my action heroic. But none of them would believe the truth that it was done through ignorance. To this act of mine I owed being made later a member of the committee to consider the national pensions lists, of the Polish committee and of that for deciding the distribution of honours to those who took conspicuous part in the July Revolution, and of being re-elected as lieutenant in the new artillery,—honours which naturally led to my taking part in the actions of 5 June 1832, and being obliged to spend three months' absence in Switzerland and two in Italy.

But, in the meantime, as I have said,Napoléonwas to be acted on the following day, a literary event that was little calculated to restore me to the king's political good books. This time, the poor duc d'Orléans didnotcome and ask me to intercede with his father to be allowed to go to the Odéon.Napoléonwas a success, but only from pure chance: its literary value was pretty nearly nil. The rôle of the spy was the only real original creation; all the rest was done with paste and scissors. There was some hissing amongst the applause, and (a rare thing with an author) I was almost of the opinion of those who hissed. But the expenses, with Frédérick playing the principal part, and Lockroy and Stockleit the secondary ones; with costumes and decorations and the burning of the Kremlin, and the retreat of Bérésina, and especially the passion of five years at Saint Helena, amounting to a hundred thousand francs; how could it, with all this, have been anything but a success? Delaistre acted the part of Hudson Lowe. I remember they were obliged to send the theatre attendants back with him each night to keep him from being stoned on his way home. The honours of the first night belonged by right to Frédérick far more than to me. Frédérick had just begun to make his fine and great reputation, a reputationconscientiously earned and well deserved. He had made his first appearances at the Cirque; then, as we have stated, he came to act at the Odéon, in the part of one of the brothers inLes Macchabées, by M. Guiraud; he next returned to the Ambigu, where he created the parts of Cartouche and of Cardillac, and, subsequently, he went to the Porte-Saint-Martin, where his name had become famous by his Méphistophélès, Marat and Le Joueur. He was a privileged actor, after the style of Kean, full of defects, but as full, also, of fine qualities; he was a genius in parts requiring violence, strength, anger, sarcasm, caprice or buffoonery. At the same time, in summing up the gifts of this eminent actor, it is useless to expect of him attributes that Bocage possessed in such characters as the manAntony, and inLa Tour de Nesle.Bocage and Frédérick combined gave us the qualities that Talma, in his prime, gave us by himself. Frédérick finally returned to the Odéon, where he played le Duresnel inLa Mère et la Fillemost wonderfully; and where he next playedNapoléon.But Frédérick's great dramatic talents do not stand out most conspicuously in the part ofNapoléon.To speak of him adequately, we must dwell upon hisRichard Darlington,Lucrèce Borgia, KeanandBuy Bias.

In this manner did I stride across the invisible abyss that divided one year from another, and passed from the year 1830 to that of 1831, which brought me insensibly to my twenty-ninth year.

The Abbé Châtel—The programme of his church—The Curé of Lèves and M. Clausel de Montais—The Lévois embrace the religion of the primate of the Gauls—Mass in French—The Roman curé—A dead body to inter

A triple movement of a very remarkable character arose at this time: political, literary and social. It seemed as though after the Revolution of 1793, which had shaken, overturned and destroyed things generally, society grew frightened and exerted all its strength upon a general reorganisation. This reconstruction, it is true, was more like that of the Tower of Babel than of Solomon's Temple. We have spoken about the literary builders and of the political too; now let us say something about the social and religious reconstructors.

The first to show signs of existence was the Abbé Châtel.

On 20 February 1831, the French Catholic Church, situated in the Boulevard Saint-Denis opened with this programme—

"The ecclesiastic authorities who constitute the French Catholic Church propose, among other reforms, to celebrate all its religious ceremonies, as soon as circumstances will allow, in the popular tongue. The ministers of this new church exercise the offices of their ministry without imposing any remuneration. The offertory is entirely voluntary; people need not even feel obliged to pay for their seats. No collection of any kind will disturb the meditation of the faithful during the holy offices."We do not recognise any other impediments to marriagethan those which are set forth by the civil law. Consequently, we will bestow the nuptial benediction on all those who shall present themselves to us provided with a certificate, proving the marriage to have taken place at themairie, even in the case of one of the contracting parties being of the reformed or other religious sect."

"We do not recognise any other impediments to marriagethan those which are set forth by the civil law. Consequently, we will bestow the nuptial benediction on all those who shall present themselves to us provided with a certificate, proving the marriage to have taken place at themairie, even in the case of one of the contracting parties being of the reformed or other religious sect."

I need hardly say that the Abbé Châtel was excommunicated, put on the index and pronounced a heretic. But he continued saying mass in French all the same, and marrying after the civil code and not after the canons of the Church, and not charging anything for his seats. In spite of the advantages the new order of religious procedure offered, I do not know that it made great progress in Paris. As for its growth in the provinces, I presume it was restricted, or partially so, to one case that I witnessed towards the beginning of 1833.

I was at Levéville, staying at the château of my dear and excellent friend, Auguste Barthélemy, one of those inheritors of an income of thirty thousand francs, who would have created a revolution in society in 1852, if society had not in 1851 been miraculously saved by thecoup d'étatof 2 December 1851, when news was brought to us that the village of Lèves was in a state of open revolution. This village stands like an outpost on the road from Chartres to Paris and to Dreux; so much for its topography. Now, it had the reputation of being one of the most peaceful villages in the whole of the Chartrian countryside, so much for its morality. What unforeseen event could therefore have upset the village of Lèves? This was what had happened—

Lèves possessed that rare article, a curé it adored! He was a fine and estimable priest of about forty years of age, abon vivant, giving men handshakes that made them yell with pain; chucking maidens under their chins till they blushed again; on Sundays being present at the dances with his cassock tucked up into his girdle; which permitted of the display, like Mademoiselle Duchesnois in Alzire, of a well-turned sturdy leg; urging his parishioners to shake off the cares of the week, to the sound of the violin and clarionet; pledging a healthwith the deepest of the drinkers, and playing piquet with great proficiency. He was called Abbé Ledru, a fine name which, like those of the first kings of France, seemed to be derived both from his physical and mental qualities. All these qualities (to which should be added the absence of the orthodox niece) were extremely congenial to the natives of Lèves, but were not so fortunate as to be properly appreciated by the Bishop of Chartres, M. Clausel de Montais. True, the absence of a niece, which the Abbé Ledru viewed in the light of an advantage, could prove absolutely nothing, or, rather, it proved this—that the Abbé Ledru had never regarded the tithes as seriously abolished, and, consequently, exacted toll with all the goodwill in the world from his parishioners, or, to speak more accurately, from his female parishioners. M. Clausel de Montais was then, as he is still, one of the strictest prelates among the French clergy; only, now he is twenty years older than he was then, which fact has not tended to soften his rigidness. When Monseigneur de Montais heard rumours, whether true or false, he immediately recalled the Abbé Ledru without asking the opinion of the inhabitants of Lèves, or warning a soul. If a thunderbolt had fallen upon the village of Lèves out of a cloudless sky it could not have produced a more unlooked-for sensation. The husbands cried at the top of their voices that they would keep their curé, the wives cried out even louder than their husbands and the daughters exclaimed loudest of all. The inhabitants of Lèves rose up together and gathered in front of their bereft church; they counted up their numbers, men, women and children; altogether there were between eleven and twelve hundred souls. They dispatched a deputation of four hundred to M. Clausel de Montais. It comprised all the men of between twenty and sixty in the village. The deputation set out; it looked like a small army, except that it was without drums or swords or rifles. Those who had sticks laid them against the town doors lest the sight of them should frighten Monseigneur, the bishop. The deputies presented themselves at the bishop's palace and were shown in. They laid the object of their visit before theprelate and insistently demanded the reinstatement of the Curé Ledru. M. Clausel de Montais replied after the fashion of Sylla—

"I can at times alter my plans—but my decrees are like those of fate, unalterable!"

They entreated and implored—it was useless!

What was the origin of M. de Montal's hatred towards the poor Abbé Ledru? We will explain it, since these Memoirs were written with the intention of searching to the bottom of things and of laying bare the trifling causes that bring about great results. The Abbé Ledru had subscribed towards those who were wounded during July; he had made a collection in favour of the Poles; he had dressed the drummer of the National Guards of his commune out of his own pocket; in brief, the Abbé Ledru was a patriot; whilst M. de Montals, on the contrary, was not merely an ardent partisan, but also a great friend, of Charles X., and, according to report, one of the instigators of the Ordinances of July. It will be imagined that, after this, the diocese was not large enough to hold both the bishop and the curé within its boundaries. The lesser one had to give in. M. de Montals planted his episcopal sandal upon the Abbé Ledru and crushed him mercilessly!

The deputies returned to those who had sent them. As the Curé Ledru was enjoined to leave the presbytery immediately, a rich farmer in the district offered him a lodging and the church was closed. But, although the church was shut up, the need was still felt for some sort of religion. Now, as the peasantry of Lèves were not very particular as to the sort of religion they had, provided they had something, they made inquiries of the Abbé Ledru if there existed among the many religions of the various peoples of the earth one which would allow them to dispense with M. Clausel de Montals. The Abbé Ledru replied that there was that form of religion practised by the Abbé Châtel, and asked his parishioners if that would suit them. They found it possessed one great advantage in that they could follow the liturgy, which hitherto they had never done, as it was said, in French instead of Latin. Theinhabitants of Lèves pronounced with one common voice, that it was not so much the religion they clung to, as the priest, and that they would be delighted to understand what had hitherto been incomprehensible to them. The Abbé Ledru went to Paris to take a few lessons of the leader of the French church, and, when sufficiently initiated into the new form of religion, he returned to Lèves. His return was made the occasion of a triumphant fête! A splendid barn just opposite their old Roman church, which had been closed more out of the scorn of the Lévois than because of the bishop's anger, was placed at his service and transformed into a place of worship. Everyone, as for the temporary altars at the fête of Corpus Christi, brought his share of adornment; some the covering for the Holy Table, some altar candles, some the crucifix or the ciborium; the carpenter put up the benches; the glazier put glass into the windows; the river supplied the lustral water and all was ready by the following Sunday.

I have already mentioned that we were staying at the Château de Levéville. I did not know the Abbé Châtel and was ignorant of his religious theories; so I thought it a good opportunity for initiating myself into the doctrine of the primate of the Gauls. I therefore suggested to Barthélemy that we should go and hear the Châtellaisian mass; he agreed and we set off. It was somewhat more tedious than in Latin, as one was almost obliged to listen. But that was the only difference we could discover between the two forms. Of course we were not the only persons in the neighbourhood of Chartres who had been informed of the schism that had broken out between the Church of Lèves and the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church; M. de Montals was perfectly acquainted with what was going on, and had hoped there would be some scandal during the mass for him to carp at: but the mass was celebrated without scandal, and the village of Lèves, which had listened to the whole of the divine office, left the barn quite as much edified as though leaving a proper church.

But the result was fatal; the example might become infectious—people were strongly inclined towards Voltairism in 1830.The bishop was seized with great anger and, still more, with holy terror. What would happen if all the flock followed the footsteps of the erring sheep? The bishop would be left by himself alone, and his episcopal crook would become useless. ARomanpriest must at once be supplied to the parish of Lèves, who could combat theFrenchcuré with whom it had provided itself. The news of this decision reached the Lévois, who again assembled together and vowed to hang the priest, no matter who he was, who should come forward to enter upon the reversion of the office of the Abbé Ledru. An event soon happened which afforded the bishop tip opportunity of putting his plan into execution, and for the Lievois to keep their vow. A Lèves peasant died. This peasant, in spite-of M. de Montal's declaration, had, before he died, asked for the presence of a Catholic priest, which consolation had been refused him; but, as he was not yet buried, the bishop decided that, as compensation, he should be interred with the full rites of the Latin Church. This happened on Monday, 13 March 1833. On the 14th, Monseigneur, the Bishop of Chartres, despatched to Lèves a curate of his cathedral named the Abbé Duval. The choice was a good one and suitable under the circumstances. The Abbé Duval was by no means one of that timid class of men who are soon made anxious and frightened by the least thing; he was, on the contrary, a man of energetic character with a fine carriage, whose tall figure was quite as well adapted to the wearing of the cuirass of a carabinier as of a priest's cassock. So the Abbé Duval started on his journey. He was not in entire ignorance of the dangers he was about to incur; but he was unconscious of the fact that no missionary entering any Chinese or Thibetan town had ever been so near to martyrdom. The report of the Roman priest's arrival soon spread through the village of Lèves. Everybody at once retired into his house and shut his doors and windows. The poor abbé might at first have imagined that he had been given the cure of a city of the dead like Herculaneum or Pompeii. But, when he reached the centre of the village, he saw that all the doors opened surreptitiously and the windows were slily raised a little;and in a minute he and the mayor, who accompanied him, were surrounded by about thirty peasants who called upon him to go back. We must do the mayor and abbé the justice to say that they tried to offer resistance; but, at the end of a quarter of an hour, the cries became so furious and the threats so terrible, that the mayor took the advantage of being within reach of his house to slink away and shut the door behind him, abandoning the Abbé Duval to his unhappy fate. It was extremely mean on the part of the mayor, but what can one expect! Every magistrate is not a Bailly, just as every president is not a Boissy-d'Anglais—consult, rather, M. Sauzet, M. Buchez and M. Dupin! Luckily for the poor abbé, at this critical moment a member of the council of the préfecture who was well known and much respected by the inhabitants of Lèves passed by in his carriage, inquired the cause of the uproar, pronounced in favour of the abbé, took possession of him and drove him back to Chartres.

Meanwhile the dead man waited on!

Fine example of religious toleration—The Abbé Dallier—The Circes of Lèves—Waterloo after Leipzig—The Abbé Dallier is kept as hostage—The barricades—The stones of Chartres—The outlook—Preparations for fighting

Although the Lévois had liberated their prisoner, they realised, none the less, that war was declared; threats and coarse words had been hurled at the bishop's head, but they knew his grace's character too well to expect that he would consider himself defeated. That did not matter, though! They had made up their minds to push their faith in the new religion to the extreme test of martyrdom, if need be! In the meantime, as there was nothing better to do, they proposed to get rid of the dead man, the innocent cause of all this rumpus. He had, it was said, abjured the Abbé Ledru with his last breath; but it was not an assured fact and the report might even have been set about by the bishop! moreover, new forms of religion are tolerant: the Abbé Ledru knew that he must lay the foundations of his on the side of leniency; he forgave the dead man his momentary defection, supposing he had one, said a French mass for him and buried him according to the rites of the Abbé Châtel! Alas! the poor dead man seemed quite indifferent to the tongue in which they intoned mass over him and the manner in which they buried him! They waited from 24 March until 29 April—nearly six weeks—before receiving any fresh attack from high quarters, and before the bishop showed any signs of his existence. The Abbé Ledru continued to say mass, and the Lévois thought they were fully authorised to follow the rite that suited them best for the good of their souls.

But Sunday, 29 April, came at last, the date which the bishop and préfet had fixed for the re-opening of the Roman Church and the installation of a new priest. In the morning, a squadron of the 4th regiment of rifles and a half section of the gendarmerie came and took up their position in front of the church. An hour later than the soldiers, the Préfet of Rigny arrived, also the commander-general of the department and the chief of the gendarmerie. They brought with them a new abbé, Abbé Dallier. This priest came supported by a respectable body of armed force to reinstate the true God in the church. Things began to wear the look of a parody from theLutrin.Notwithstanding all this, the whole of the population of Lèves had gradually collected in the street that we will call La rue des Grands-Prés, although I am very much afraid that we are really its spouses. To prevent the re-opening of the Latin Church, the women, who were even more bitter than the men against the re-opening, had crowded themselves together under the porch. The préfet tried to break through their ranks, followed by a locksmith; for the Lévois threw the keys of the church into the river when the Abbé Duval arrived. As the locksmith possessed no claims of an administrative nature, it was to him they addressed their outcries and threats. These rose to such a swelling diapason that the poor devil took fright and fled. It will be seen that the protection of the préfet only half assured him. The example proved contagious: for, whether the préfet in his turn gave way to fright at these cries, whether, without the locksmith, any attempts to open the church doors were useless, he too beat a retreat. It is true, however, that they had just told him that the riflemen—seduced by the blandishments of the women of Lèves, as the King of Ithaca's companions were by the witchcraft of Circe—had forgotten themselves so far before the arrival of the authorities above mentioned, as to shout: "Vive l'Abbé Ledru!" "Vive l'Église française!" It was rather a seditious cry, at a period when the army neither voted nor deliberated! Whatever the cause, the préfet, as we have said, beat a retreat. Just at this moment the Abbé Ledruappeared at the door of his barn. Four women at once constituted themselves as alms-collectors, using their outstretched aprons as alms-boxes. The total of the four collections was employed in the purchase of eau-de-vie for the soldiers. Was it the Abbé Ledru who gave such corrupt advice? or was it, indeed, the alms-collectors' own idea? Woman is ever deceitful and the devil sly! The soldiers, after shouting "Vive l'Abbé Ledru!" drank to that abbé's health and to the supremacy of the French Church—this was, indeed, a serious thing! If he had known how to take advantage of the frame of mind the soldiers were in, the Abbé Ledru would have been equal to laying siege to Rome, as did the Constable of Bourbon. But his ambition, probably, fell short of this and he did not even make the suggestion.

Meanwhile, the préfet, the general-commander of the department and the chief of the gendarmerie were debating at the mairie as to the action they should take. The officers of the riflemen felt that their men were almost escaping from their control: the squadron threatened to appoint the primate of the Gauls as its chaplain, and to proclaim that, if the Roman Catholic religion was the ritual of the State the French form should be that of the Army. It was decided to send for the king's attorney, who was supposed to have a shrewd head. He arrived an hour later with two deputies and a judge. The squadron of riflemen continued drinking the health of the Abbé Ledru and to the supremacy of the French Church. Reinforced by four magistrates, the préfet, commander-general of the department and chief of the gendarmerie took their way to the rue des Grands-Prés. The street was now literally packed. They meant to make a second attempt upon the church. They had reckoned that this body of military dignitaries, civil and magisterial, would have an awe-inspiring effect on the crowd. Bah! the people only began shouting at the top of their voices—

"Down with the Carlists!" "Down with the Jesuits!"

"Down with the bishop!" ... "Long live the King and the French Church!"

The préfet tried to speak, the king's attorney tried to demand, the deputies tried threats, the judge to open the code, the general tried to draw his sword, the chief of the gendarmerie attempted to flourish his sabre; but every one of their efforts were frustrated and drowned in the singing ofLa ParisienneandLa Marseillaise.These gentlemen had a good mind to make the call to arms, but the attitude of the troop was too doubtful for them to risk the chance. The préfet withdrew a second time, followed by the general, chief of gendarmerie, king's attorney, deputies and the judge. It was a case of Waterloo after Leipzig! A minute later, the troop received orders to quit the rue des Grands-Prés; and, as there was nothing hostile against the population in such an order, the troop obeyed. Soldiers and inhabitants embraced and fraternised and drank together for the third time, then separated. The Lévois believed that the préfet had definitely renounced the idea of opening the church; but their delusion was not of long duration. News came to them that an orderly had been sent off to Chartres, charged with the commission of bringing back another squadron of rifles and all the reinforcements they could possibly muster. Whereupon the cry of "To arms!" was set up. At this war cry, a man in a cassock attempted to fly—it was the Abbé Dallier, who had been completely forgotten by the préfet, general, chief of gendarmerie, king's attorney, the two deputies and the judge, in their precipitation to beat a retreat! The poor abbé was caught by his cassock and made prisoner and shut up in a cellar, while they announced to him, through the grating, that he was to be kept as hostage and that if the slightest injury happened to any inhabitant of the village commune, the penalty of retaliation would be applied to him in full force. They next began to construct barricades at each end of the rue des Grands-Prés, where stood, as we know, both the Latin and French churches. For the material wherewith to build these barricades, which rose up as quick as thought, a wooden shoemaker gave three or four beams, a carter brought two or three waggons, the schoolmaster took his desks and the inhabitants made anoffering of their shutters. The street lads collected heaps of stones.

I do not know whether my readers are acquainted with the Chartres stones; they are pretty ones that vary from the size of a pigeon's egg to that of an ostrich, and when broken, either by art or nature, they show an edge as sharp as that of a razor. Chartres is partly paved with these stones, and the paviors are usually careful to place the sharp edges upwards so that the pedestrian's boots may come in contact with them; which makes one think with some justification that the worthy guild of shoemakers must give the paviors a consideration. One of my friends, Noël Parfait, a true Chartrian, and jealous, as are all true-hearted patriots, of the honour of his country, maintains that Chartres was once a seaport, and that these stones are clearly the shingle that the ocean swell threw up on the beach in former times. In an hour's time, there was enough ammunition behind each barricade to hold a siege for eight days. Projectiles, also, grew under the hands, or rather, the feet, of the providers. One individual climbed the church tower, to watch the Chartres road in order to sound the alarm as soon as the troop appeared in sight. The Abbé Ledru blessed the fighters, and invoked the God of armies in French; then they waited, ready for anything that might happen. All these preparations had been made in sight of the riflemen and gendarmes who, withdrawn to the Grand-Rue, looked on at all these preparations for fighting without protest. Truly, the wretched fellows were won over to heresy.

Ten minutes after the finishing of the barricades, the alarm bell sounded. It signified that troops had left Chartres. These troops were preceded by a locksmith, who was brought under the escort of two gendarmes; but the man was so railed at by the Abbé Ledru's fierce sectaries, as soon as the first houses in Lèves were reached, that he took advantage of a momentary hesitation on the part of the two gendarmes to slip between the legs of the one on his right, reach a garden and disappear into the fields! This was the second locksmith that melted away out of the clutch of authority. It remindsone of those rearguards of the army of Russia which slipped through Ney's hands! The new troops came on the scene full of alacrity. Care was taken that they did not come into contact with the disaffected squadron, and they decided to take the barricades by main force. But, at the same time, about thirty Chartrain patriots hurried up to the assistance of the insurgents—amateurs, desirous of taking their part in the dangers of their brothers of Lèves. They were greeted with shouts of joy;La ParisienneandLa Marseillaisewere thundered forth more loudly, and the tocsin rang more wildly than ever! The préfet and the general headed the riflemen, and the force marched up to the barricade.

Attack of the barricade—A sequel to Malplaquet—The Grenadier—The Chartrian philanthropists—Sack of the bishop's palace—A fancy dress—How order was restored—The culprits both small and great—Death of the Abbé Ledru—Scruples of conscience of the former schismatics—TheDies iræof Kosciusko

At this period it was still usual to summon the insurgents to withdraw, and this the préfet did. They responded by a hailstorm of stones, one of them hitting the general. This time, he lost all patience and shouted—

"Forward!" and the men charged the barricade sword in hand. The Lévois made a splendid resistance, but a dozen or more riflemen managed to clear the obstacle; however, when they reached the other side of the barricade, they were overwhelmed with stones, thrown down and disarmed. Blood had flowed on both sides; and temper was roused to boiling point; it would have gone badly with the dozen prisoners if some men, who were either less heated or more prudent than the rest, had not carried them off and thus saved their lives. Let us confess, with no desire whatever of casting a slur on the army, which we would uphold at all times, and, nowadays, more than ever, that, from that moment, every attempt of the riflemen to take the barricade failed! But what else can be said? It is a matter of history; as are Poitiers, Agincourt and Malplaquet! A shower of stones fell, compared with which the one that annihilated the Amalekites was but an April shower.

The préfet and the general finally decided to give up the enterprise; they sounded the retreat and took their road backto Chartres. As the insurgents did not know what to do with their prisoners, and being afraid of a siege, and not having any desire to burden themselves with useless mouths, the riflemen were released on parole. They could not believe in the retreat of the troops; it was in vain the watchmen in the tower shouted, "Victory!" The conviction did not really take hold of the minds of the Lévois until their look-out declared that the last soldier had entered Chartres. Such being the case, it was but one step to turn from doubt to boldness: they began by giving aid to the wounded; then, as no signs of any uniforms reappeared upon the high road, by degrees they grew bolder, until they arrived at such a pitch of enthusiasm that one of the insurgents, having ventured the suggestion that they should march the Abbé Dallier round the walls of Chartres, as Achilles had led Hector round the walls of Pergamus, the proposition was received with acclamation. But, as the vanquished man was alive and not dead, they put a rope round his neck instead of round his ankles and the other end was placed in the hands of one of the Abbé Ledru's most excited penitents, who went by the name of theGrenadier.I need hardly add that the penitent's name was, like that of the Abbé Ledru, conspicuous for the physical and moral qualities of a virago. Every man filled his pockets with stones in readiness for attack or defence, and the folk set out for Chartres, escorting the condemned man, who marched towards martyrdom with visible distaste. It is half a league between Lèves and Chartres; and that half league was a real Via Dolorosa to the poor priest. The Lévois had calculated to perfection what they were doing when they gave the rope's end to the care of the Grenadier. When the savages of Florida wish to inflict extreme punishment on any of their prisoners they hand the criminals over to the women and children. When the victors reached Chartres, they did not find the opposition they had looked for; but they found something else equally unexpected: they saw neither préfet, nor general, nor chief of the gendarmerie, nor king's attorney, neither deputies nor judges; but several philanthropists approached them and made themlisten to what was styled, at the end of last century, the language of reason—

It was not the poor priest's fault that he had been selected by the bishop to replace the Abbé Ledru; he did not know in what esteem his parishioners held him, he was neither more nor less blameworthy than his predecessor, the Abbé Duval; and when the one had come to a flock of sheep, why should another priest fall among a band of tigers? It was the fault of the bishop, who had instantly and brutally deposed the Abbé Ledru, and then had the audacity to appoint first one and then another successor!

Upon this very reasonable discourse, the scales fell from the eyes of the inhabitants of Lèves, as from Saint Paul's, and they began to see things in their true light. The effect of their enlightenment was to make them untie the rope and to let the Abbé Dallier go free with many apologies. But, at the same time, it was unanimously agreed that, since there was a rope all ready, the bishop should be hanged with it.

When people conceive such brilliant ideas, they lose no time in putting them into execution. So they directed their steps rapidly in the direction of M. Clausel de Montal's sumptuous dwelling-place. But although these avenging spirits had made all diligence, M. Clausel de Montais had made still greater; to such an extent that, when the hangmen arrived at the bishop's palace, they could nowhere find him whom they had come to hang: Monseigneur the bishop had departed, and with very good reason too! We know what happens under such circumstances; things pay for men, and the bishop's palace had to pay instead of the bishop. This was the era of sacrilege; the sacking of the palace of the Archbishop of Paris had set the fashion of the destruction of religious houses. They broke the window panes and the mirrors over the mantelpieces, they tore down the curtains, and transformed them into banners. Finally, they reached the billiard room, where they fenced with the cues, and threw the balls at each other's heads, whilst a sailor neatly cut off the cloth from the billiard table,which he rolled into a ball and tucked under his arm. Three or four days later, he had made a coat, waistcoat and trousers out of it, and promenaded the streets of Lèves, amidst the enthusiastic applause of his fellow-citizens, clad entirely in green cloth, like one of the Earl of Lincoln's archers! But the life the Lévois led in the palace was too delightful to last for long; authority bestirred itself; they brought the riflemen out of their barracks once more, and beat the rappel, and, a certain number of the National Guard having taken up arms, they directed their combined forces upon the palace. The attack was too completely unexpected for the spoilers to dream of offering resistance. They went further than that, and, instead of the wise retreat one would have expected from men who had vanquished the troops which one is accustomed to call the best in the world, they took to flight as rapidly as possible: leaping out of the windows into the garden and scaling the walls, they ran across the fields and regained Lèves in complete disorder. That same night every trace of barricading disappeared. Next day, each inhabitant of Lèves attended to his work or play or business. They were thinking nothing about the recent events, when, suddenly, they saw quite an army arriving at Chartres from Paris, Versailles and Orléans. This army was carrying twenty pieces of artillery with it. It was commanded by General Schramm, and was coming to restore order. Order had been re-established for the last fortnight, unassisted! That did not matter, however; seeing there had been disorder, they were marching on Lèves to carry out a razzia.

The threatened village quietly watched this left-handed justice approach: its eleven to twelve hundred inhabitants modestly stood at their doors and windows. Peace and innocence reigned throughout from east to west, from north to south; anyone entering might have thought it the valley of Tempe, when Apollo tended the flocks of King Admetus. The inhabitants of Lèves looked as though they were the actors in that play (I cannot recall which it is), where Odry had sent for the commissary at the wrong moment and, when the commissaryarrived, everybody was in unity again; so that everybody asked in profound surprise—

"Who sent for a commissary? Did you? or you? or you?"

"No.... I asked for a commissionaire," replied Odry; "just an ordinary messenger, that is all!" and the agent took himself off abashed and with empty hands.

That happened in the piece, but not exactly in the same way at Lèves. A score of persons were arrested, and these were divided into two categories: the least guilty and the most guilty. The least guilty were handed over to the jurisdiction of the police; the guiltiest were sent before the Court of Assizes. A very curious thing resulted from this separation. At that time, thepolice correctionellealways sentenced, whilst the jury acquitted only too eagerly. The least guilty men who appeared before thepolice correctionnellewere found guilty, while the most culpable, who were tried before a jury, were acquitted. The sailor in the green cloth was one of the most guilty, and was produced before the jury as an indisputable piece of evidence. The jury declared that billiard tables had not a monopoly for clothing in green; that if a citizen liked to dress like a billiard table, why! political opinions were free, so a man surely might indulge his individual fancy in his style of dress. The religious question was decided in favour of the French Church, and this decision lasted as long as the Abbé Ledru himself, namely, four or five years; during which period of time the parish of Lèves was separated from the general religion of the kingdom, in France, without producing any great sensation. At the end of that time, the Abbé Ledru committed the stupidity of dying. I am unaware in what tongue and rites he was interred; but I do know that, the day after his death, the Lévois asked the bishop for another priest, and this bishop proved a kind father to his prodigal children and sent them one.

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