Then the twenty men shook hands with me, and went away, shouting, "Vive la République!" and flourishing their rifles.
"Now," I said to Darnault, "barricade the door."
"Upon my word," said Harel, "the theatre is your own from this moment, my dear friend, and you can do what you please in it. You have saved it!"
"Let us go and see Georges, and tell her she and the theatre are saved."
We went upstairs; Georges was nearly dead with fright. On seeing me enter, dressed as an artillery-man, she cried aloud, "Are you going out in that costume?"
"Of course!"
"But you will be killed before you reach the faubourg Poissonnière."
"Well, that is quite possible ... and if my friend G. de B. had not taken such bad aim it would already have happened."
"Harel, lend him some clothes."
"Ah! yes, why not, Tom?"
"Well, at any rate, send for some of your own; I will not let you go out in that wretched uniform."
"Well, we will see!"
Harel called Darnault.
"Darnault, have you any of your men here?"
"Yes, I think so," said Darnault; "there is Guérin."
"Send him to fetch some clothes from Dumas's."
"Give me a note," said Darnault to me.
"Lend me your pencil."
I wrote a few pencil lines on a scrap of paper, and he ran off. A quarter of an hour later, Guérin returned safely. For that matter, the road was perfectly cleared. I rapidlydressed myself in my ordinary clothes, and put my uniform under the care of Darnault—not wishing to entrust it to Georges, who would certainly have had it burnt—and I reached M. Laffitte's house by the faubourg Saint-Martin, the passage de l'Industrie, the rue d'Enghien and the rue Bergère. I did not get there till seven in the evening. La Fayette came to it by the boulevard. It was here he related to me the anecdote about the river. We went into Laffitte's house together, which I had not entered since the month of July 1830. The news that from all sides of Paris had reached this centre, of opposition, almost of insurrection, was as follows:—
On the right bank, they were masters of the Arsenal, of la Galiote guardhouse, of that of the Château-d'Eau and of the Mairie of the 8th Arrondissement; the Republicans had control of the Marais, the firearms factory at Popin court had been carried by assault, and twelve hundred rifles were given up to them; they had got to the place des Victories, and were preparing to attack the Bank and the Hôtel des Postes. But the rue Saint-Martin and its neighbouring streets was where the insurrection was concentrated, and the whole of that quarter was busy transforming itself into an impregnable fortress. The troop, still very disturbed by the events of 1830, did not know with whom it ought to side; should it stand by the Government, or should it turn to the People?—1830 pointed to the latter course.
With regard to the National Guard, the appearance of the man with the red flag had flung it into a state of consternation. It saw nothing in the insurrection of 5 June and the shouts of "Vive la République!" but a return to the Terror; it rallied rather for defence than for attack, and it was said that a whole battalion, massed on the pont Notre-Dame, had opened way to let eight insurgents pass through. So the Government, aware that the troops would do nothing except in concert with the Garde Nationale, had concentrated the control of allthe military forces in the Capital in the hands of Maréchal Lobau. It was at this moment, when all this news was being bandied about, that we entered M. Laffitte's salon. The sight of General La Fayette produced an outcry, and people rose and went up to him.
"Well, general," they all called from all quarters, "what have you been doing?"
"Messieurs," he said, "brave young fellows came to my house and appealed to my patriotism."
"What did you say to them?"
"I replied, 'The more riddled with holes the flag is, the more glorious it is! Find a spot for me where a chair can be put and I will sit in it and get myself killed there.'"
The deputies gathered at Laffitte's looked at one another.
"Now, messieurs," said Laffitte to them, with that sweet smile which never left him, even in times of greatest danger, "what do you say to that?"
"What did Maréchal Clausel say?" asked a voice.
"I can tell you," replied Savary, who had just entered, and had heard the question; "I have just come from him."
"Ah!"
"I urged him to join us, and he replied, 'I will join you if you are sure of a regiment.' 'Eh, monsieur!' I said to him, 'if we had a regiment we should have no need of you!' Whereupon I left him."
"Messieurs," said Laffitte, "if we are going to throw ourselves into the insurrection, there is no time to lose; we must instantly proclaim the deposition of the king, and appoint a provisional government, so that Paris may wake up to-morrow to find a proclamation on all the walls."
"Will you sign it, general?" continued Laffitte, addressing himself to La Fayette.
"Yes," La Fayette replied simply.
"I will too," said Laffitte; "we must have a third." The general and the banker looked round; nobody offered.
"Ah! if only Arago were here!" said Laffitte.
"You know that you can count upon him," I hazarded; "he will not deny you: I have just left his brother, who is in the very thick of the insurrection."
"We can risk our own heads," said Laffitte, "but not those of our friends."
"Was it not done in 1830 for the Comte de Choiseul?"
"Yes; but the situation is more serious than in 1830."
"It is the same," I ventured to say.
"Excuse me! in 1830 we had the Duc d'Orléans with us."
"Behind us!"
"Still, he was there, and the proof of it is that to-day he is king."
"If he is the king, General La Fayette will recollect that it was no fault of ours."
Yes, wisdom lay in the young heads! I saw nothing was going to be done in this direction, and that the night would be spent in discussion. I went out: this was the easier to manage as I was a personage of but little importance, and probably no one noticed my absence. It was my intention to go either to theNational,or to Ambert; but, when I regained the boulevard, I learnt that they were fighting in the rue du Croissant. I had no arms. Furthermore, I could scarcely stand, for I was consumed with fever. I took a cab and drove home. I fainted as I was going upstairs, and they found me unconscious half-way up between the first and second landing. Whilst I was being discovered on my staircase, and being undressed and put to bed, the insurrection pursued its course.
Let us follow it behind the scenes at the barricade of the rue Saint-Merry. We had left Séchan guarding the barricade in the rue de Ménilmontant by himself. Assoon as his comrades had done their meal, they rejoined him. At nine o'clock in the evening they had not yet been disturbed. The more advanced positions of the troops did not exceed the rue de Cléry. There was a great perturbation at the headquarters, where a certain number of generals and ministers had collected. Maréchal Soult, by virtue of his age and experience, found himself the natural president of this gathering. But he was perhaps the most undecided amongst them all. He remembered 29 July 1830 and the anathemas attached to the name of the Duc de Raguse. One general proposed to give the troops the order to withdraw, to draw them up on the Champ de Mars and, from thence, to re-enter Paris sword in hand. This strange strategical idea might have been adopted, but the prefect of police, M. Gisquet, opposed it with all his might. The collision, it will be remembered, had started upon an order of his given to the dragoons, and, during the three days the struggle lasted, he was more earnest in the fight and bolder in making extreme proposals than the boldest of the generals. The discussion went on until they were obliged to act; the danger assumed formidable proportions: the insurgents had successively carried the positions at the Bastille, la Lingerier, Blancs-Manteaux and the marché Saint-Martin, and repulsed the Municipal Guard with great losses. At eight at night the news arrived at headquarters that a barricade had just been constructed by the little bridge of l'Hôtel-Dieu; that the Municipal Guard, forced to beat a retreat, had surrendered the quai aux Fleurs to them; that they had completely surrounded the préfecture of police. Next, they issued orders to recall the troops into the town; a battalion of the 12th Light left Saint-Denis at the same time as the 14th came up from Courbevoie. The battery of the École militaire had been summoned to the Carrousel. A battalion of the 3rd Light and a detachment of the 6th Legion cleared the boulevard dela Madeleine; at the Saint-Martin gate, two squadrons of carabiniers were stationed opposite the theatre, and General Schramm had taken up his position with four companies at the top of the Ambigu. At six o'clock P.M. only, and after repeated charges, the dragoons succeeded in making themselves masters of the place des Victoires, and it was in the presence of M. de Lemet, and passing through a double hedge of the National Guard, that the runners set off. About a quarter past nine P.M., Étienne Arago commanded, in the uniform of an artillery lieutenant, a night patrol of a score of men, completely armed, amongst whom were Bernard (de Rennes) fils, Thomas and Ambert; it joined forces with Bastide, Dussart, Pescheux d'Herbinville and Séchan. The barricade behind which I had seen Séchan alone with his rifle then numbered nearly forty defenders. They spent the night making fortifications. M. Thiers had arrived about the same hour at the headquarters. He had seen the fire near by; by chance, he dined that day at theRocher de Cancalewith Mignet and Haubersaert; they had been surrounded for a moment by the insurgents, who were concentrated in the environs of the Cloître Saint-Merry, and had not the faintest idea that three of the hottest partisans for Louis-Philippe were near to them. M. Thiers had recounted so many battles in hisHistoire de la Révolutionthat he was something of a general himself. Arrived at the place du Carrousel, he made his staff out of MM. Béranger, Kératry, Madier de Montjau and Voisin de Gartempe, who were there, and distributed cartridges whilst telling the deputies who were so inclined to come and join him where he was. Only nine answered to the invitation.[1]They knew the king was to come, and waited for him with great impatience. They would know what he would do by the expression of his face. The king arrived, calm, and even smiling. As we have said, with reference to the manner in which hepossessed himself of the throne, he was by no means audacious but he had great courage.
It was only then that the defence was organised. The insurrection was really situated at the heart of Paris. The rue Saint-Martin was occupied by two barricades, one to the north at the top of the rue Maubuée, the other to the south, powerfully fortified, almost impregnable, at the top of the rue Saint-Merry. In the space between these two barricades, a house had been selected by the insurgents for use both as fortress and general quarters and ambulance. It was Number 30. The position had been chosen by almost as clever a strategist as M. Thiers. It looked on the rue Aubry-le-Boucher, consequently if people came along by that street they fell under a fourfold fire; if they attacked in the rear, they had to deal with the men on the barricades. A man named Jeanne, wearing the July decoration, who had earned a twofold celebrity by his courage in the conflict and his steadfastness before the judges, commanded this dangerous post. Two or three old soldiers were making bullets with lead torn from the gutters; children went and tore down the advertisements from the walls and brought them to make wads. We will presently publish the narrative of one of the children in its simplicity.
Suddenly, some one came to tell the Republicans, half of whom were without arms, that in the courtyard of that very house, No. 30, an armourer's shop was to be found. This was marvellous news indeed. The shop was open, and, without disorder or confusion, all the rifles it contained were distributed, and all the powder was portioned out in equal measures. The distribution was just completed when several shots were heard and the cry "To arms!"
This is what had happened:—
A column of the National Guard, which was reconnoitring in the rue Saint-Martin, had come to give help to the barricade.
"Qui vive?" cried the sentinel.
"Friends!" the commander of the column hastened to reply.
"Are you Republicans?"
"Yes, and we have come to help you."
"Vive la République!" the defenders of the barricade shouted in chorus.
A friend of mine, called Rossignol, could not resist the pleasure of being the first to shake hands with his co-religionists; he leapt over the barricade, and went towards the National Guards shouting, "You are welcome!" But at the same instant a cry went forth from the ranks of the National Guard—
"Ah! brigands! We have got you at last."
"Fire, friends!" cried Rossignol, "they are Philippists." And a discharge was fired from inside the barricade, killing five men of the National Guard.
It was the counterpart of: "A moi d'Auvergne! c'est l'ennemi." Only, more luckily than the Chevalier d'Assas, Rossignol re-entered the barricade safe and sound through a hailstorm of bullets.[2]
After a terrible struggle, and after returning to the charge three times, the National Guard was repulsed, and old men who had left off making their bullet casts, children who had stopped making wads to take up arms, laid their guns down and resumed their task. A lad of twelve had been wounded in the head by the first discharge; Jeanne could not make him leave the barricade, either in his capacity as leader or as a friend.
The National Guard went away and left their dead and wounded; but, as soon as the field of battle was cleared, Jeanne and his men cleared the barricade and picked up the wounded, whom they carried to their ambulances. A medical student who was one of the insurgents dressed their wounds, aided by two women. About a hundred yards from the barricade of the rue Saint-Merry,one was erected in the passage du Saumon, which had its sentinels spread out all along the rue Montmartre. At eight at night, Maréchal Lobau gave orders to take it, no matter at what cost; he meant by daybreak the next day to clear the rue Montmartre. They fought all night long. Those who guarded the barricade made this oath over the bodies of the comrades who had fallen—
"We will either go out conquerors or be carried away dead!"
The ground floor orentresolof a café which no longer exists was used as an ambulance, whilst, from the windows of the first and second storeys, from time to time, there rained into an extended sheet cartridges thrown by unknown hands. There were only twenty defenders of the barricade. When, after a fight lasting nine hours, the soldiers at last cleared the barricade, they found eight dead men lying on the pavement, seven wounded and disabled lying on beds on the ground floor of the café, and a pupil of the École Polytechnique dying on the billiard-table. The four other insurgents had succeeded in escaping.
On the morning of the 6th, the insurrection had receded and concentrated itself in two quarters: on the place de la Bastille and at the entrance to the faubourg Saint-Antoine and in the rues Saint-Martin, Saint-Merry, Aubry-le-Boucher, Planche-Mibray and Arcis. The Government united its whole efforts to carry these last positions. From the next day the place de la Concorde was crowded with Artillery; two battalions hurried from Saint-Cloud, and three regiments of cavalry entered Paris from Versailles, drawing their guns with them. As to the barricade in the rue de Ménilmontant, it held out until daybreak; but, as it was too exposed on all sides, it could not hold out longer; those who guarded it took refuge with Bastide and Thomas, and escaped by a little window that looked out on a small street.
At four o'clock in the morning it was rumoured thateverything had quietened down. After a feverish night I got up to find out the news; but, not being able to walk, I took a carriage. I drove to the rue des Pyramides. I hoped to see Arago there and learn the news from him. But neither he nor Bernard, fils (of Rennes) had returned; M. Bernard (of Rennes) and his charming daughters (whom I have not seen again, I believe, since that day) were very anxious; but whilst I was there a vigorous ringing of the bell announced with certainty some news either good or bad. They ran to the door and uttered a cry of joy. The father had his son back again, and the sisters beheld their brother again. I left the excellent family fondling their prodigal child, and went upstairs to Arago's rooms. He had taken off his artillery uniform.
"What barricade have you been behind all night?" he asked me, when he saw I was as pale as death.
"In my bed, unluckily.... And you?"
He related the story of the barricade in the rue de Ménilmontant.
"Is that all you know?" I asked.
"What more do you think I know? I left my rifle,... but come to theNationalwith me, where we shall find news."
We went down, and, on the stairs, we met Charles Teste, who was going to Bernard (de Rennes).
"Ah! there you are, deserter," he said to Arago.
"How a deserter?" exclaimed the latter. "I have just come from fighting."
"It is just that that I mean; but there are various ways of deserting: you were themaire,and your place was not behind a barricade, but at your own offices; when one is the head, one must not make oneself a branch.
...Parbleu!I too would have liked to take up my gun, it would not have been a very wicked thing to do, but I said to myself, 'Stay, Charles! You are the head, and you must not take the part of an arm too!'"
To those who knew Charles Teste, these words summed up the man himself in the one word—duty. We reached theNational; it was very difficult to get into the offices, as they were very crowded. There we learned of the dispersion of the barricade au Saumon, but, at the same time, we also learned that the one in the rue Saint-Merry still held its ground. Latouche entered at this moment in great perturbation.
"It is all over!" he said.
"What, quite over?"
"Yes, quite."
"Have you come from it?"
"No, but I have just met some one who has."
"Good!" said Arago, "there is hope left yet.... Who will come with me?"
I yearned to go, but I could scarcely walk; a capital young fellow, a friend of ours, Howelt, wearing the July decoration, whom I still come across from time to time, came forward.
"Go to Laffitte's," Arago said to me, "and tell François, if he is there, that I have gone to find out the news."
I went to Laffitte's. The whole gathering was in a frightful state of confusion. They proposed to send a deputation to Louis-Philippe to protest against the revolt of the previous day. But let it be said that the proposition was rejected with horror and scorn. I recollect a saying of Bryas, which was superb in its indignation. His son, a pupil at the École Polytechnique, was among the insurgents. La Fayette also refused to take a step towards the king.
"Why this aversion," cried a voice; "is not the Duc d'Orléans the best of Republicans?"
"Ah! as the opportunity presents itself of denying the proposal erroneously attributed to me," exclaimed the noble old man, "I deny it."
Finally, they appointed three representatives, not to make apologies in the name of the insurrection, but toimplore the clemency of the king in favour of those who were still held. These three representatives were François Arago, Maréchal Clausel and Laffitte. Clausel declined, and Odilon Barrot was substituted. We other young men had not been able to get into the Committee Room, but I had met Savary in the courtyard—Savary, a member of the Institut, the great geometrician and physicist and astronomer and scientist of means, of whom death has since deprived his country before he had lived half an ordinary life!
We were very harmonious in opinions and, as our republic was not one shared by everybody, we at once seized upon one another to thresh out our ideas of a Utopia. So we had met and thus were occupied whilst waiting there together. Arago came out first, and we ran to him. Louis Blanc, who, in his capitalHistoire de Dix Ans,has not let a single detail of that great period escape unnoticed, mentions our interview in these terms:—
"As M. Arago came out, he met Savary and Alexandre Dumas in the courtyard, a savant and a poet, both very excited; they had no sooner learnt what had passed at M. Laffitte's, than they broke into passionate and bitter speech, saying that Paris had only waited for one signal to rise in revolt, and that the deputies who were so ready to disclaim the efforts of the people were grossly culpable towards their country.
"'But is not everything at an end now?' asked François Arago.
"'No,' said a man of the people who was present, listening to our conversation, 'they are waiting for the tocsin from the Church of Saint-Merry,for so long as a sick man's death rattle can be heard he is alive.'
"I was struck with the expression and, as will be seen, I did not forget it."
[1]Louis Blanc,Histoire de Dix Ans.
[1]Louis Blanc,Histoire de Dix Ans.
[2]Noël Parfait,Episodes des5and 6 June1832.
[2]Noël Parfait,Episodes des5and 6 June1832.
Inside the barricade Saint-Merry, according to a Parisian child's account—General Tiburce Sébastiani—Louis-Philippe during the insurrection—M. Guizot—MM. François Arago, Laffitte and Odilon Barrot at the Tuileries—The last argument of kings—Étienne Arago and Howelt—Denunciation against me—M. Binet's report
Inside the barricade Saint-Merry, according to a Parisian child's account—General Tiburce Sébastiani—Louis-Philippe during the insurrection—M. Guizot—MM. François Arago, Laffitte and Odilon Barrot at the Tuileries—The last argument of kings—Étienne Arago and Howelt—Denunciation against me—M. Binet's report
Whilst MM. Laffitte, François Arago and Odilon Barrot were on their way to see the king, let us see what was going on behind the Saint-Merry barricade.
One of those strokes of good luck which at times happens to us enables us to take the reader behind the scenes. A child of fourteen who was there, and who has since become a very distinguished man, sent me the following details three years after the cessation of the insurrection, written in his own hand, which I will reproduce in all its native simplicity. After a lapse of nineteen years I have discovered the paper creased and the ink turned yellow, but the story exact and faithful.
"On the morning of 5 June 1832 my father sent me on an errand along the boulevard du Temple. It was the day of the funeral of the famous General Lamarque and there were large crowds in the place de la Bastille and along the boulevards. Like the true child of Paris that I am, eager to know everything, I stopped at each crowd: they were talking hotly about politics; several persons were so exasperated that they broke the little trees newly planted in place of those which had been sawed down in 1830, to make the barricades. We are well aware, they said, that they will not be of much use against rifles andcannons, but they are first-rate against spies and policemen. There was nothing for it but for me to play truant. Instead, then, of returning home promptly, urged on by my insatiable curiosity I soon reached the Porte Saint-Martin; then I caught sight of General Lamarque's procession in the distance. The hearse came on slowly and stopped from time to time. I was surprised to see so few troops at a general's funeral-cortège; there were at the most only enough soldiers to keep some order during the march. At my age one judges the magnificence of a funeral procession by the number of troops which accompany it, and as a few weeks before I had seen at Casimir Périer's splendid cortège long and wide columns of soldiers marching on both sides of the carriage, I was at first astonished that they did not pay the same military honours to a general as to a banker.
"There were no soldiers; but an immense crowd flooded the boulevards, pushing and squeezing to get near the hearse. People were attached to it and drew the catafalque, shouting from time to time: 'Honour to General Lamarque!' That cry went all through me each time I heard it. They were quarrelling to get hands on the ropes: every one wanted the honour of drawing the precious burden; it was then, for the first time, that I heard men call each other by the name ofcitizens.Every face was stamped with an indefinable electrical enthusiasm, which was communicated through the whole of the crowd; a strong emotional feeling which was neither of grief nor of reflection lit up every face. I was only fourteen then, and I felt the enthusiasm to the bottom of my heart, and an emotion which no language could possibly express.
"'Bah!' I said, 'my father will scold me, but never mind that! I must pull that rope; some day, if I have any children, I will tell them, "I too helped to draw General Lamarque's hearse!" Just as my grandfather is always telling us, "I too belonged to the federation!"'
"Hardly had I hold of the rope—and that was not in a hurry, I can tell you,—when they stood in file! and I realised that the number of soldiers more or less had nothing to do with the matter, but that it was worth more to be a general of one's country than a minister of Louis-Philippe. At the end of a hundred yards I had to giveup my place to others: they would have killed me, I believe, to take the rope from me, so I let go and planted myself in front of one of the hedges which the people formed all along the boulevard; but I was violently pushed by the surging of the crowd against a dragoon's horse, and I had one of my big toes nearly broken. It was horribly painful, but, upon my word, it seemed as though enthusiasm could give me courage to bear the pain, if not actually make me forget it, for, hopping along, I followed the cortège as far as the place d'Austerlitz. The vast crowds which were gathering there became more and more menacing. A man with a long beard was haranguing the citizens; he held a red flag, and wore a Phrygian cap. They were discussing preparations for a fight. I listened to it all without understanding much of what it meant. Suddenly, a squadron of cavalry rushed full tilt at the people in a terrible charge: several shots were fired at the same time. Although wounded in the foot, as I have said, I did not stay to be the last on the square. As I was running away, I recognised a friend of mine called Auguste.
"'Where are you going?' I asked him.
"'With the Republicans, of course!' he replied.
"'What to do?'
"'To attack all the guardhouses at the barriers. Are you coming?'
"'Rather! Yes.' And I went. A few of the guardhouses made resistance, but nearly all surrendered without firing. I had no arms, to my disgust. Fortunately, during the attack on one of the positions, a young man, well dressed and with refined manners, fired a pistol; it was overloaded: the butt end went one way and the muzzle another, and the young man fell backwards. I leapt upon the muzzle, picked it up and put it in my pocket, intending to cock it on the sly.
"'Good! the Republicans have artillery,' said Auguste.
"Meanwhile the young man of the pistol picked himself up; he was hurt in the hand, and blood was flowing copiously.
"'Where is there a piece of rag?' he said; 'who has a bit of linen?'
"A boy in a blouse tore his shirt and gave strips of it to the injured man, who kissed him.
"'How funny it is!' I said to Auguste. 'I have never cried at a play and yet I am crying now.'
"In less than three hours, all the guardhouses were taken and disarmed on the place de la Bastille. At that moment, I thought seriously of going back to my father, but two artillerymen of the National Guard asked me if I would do them a kindness. I agreed, of course. They told me to go to the top of the faubourg Saint-Jacques to tell their mother, Madame Aumain, that her sons were all right; that they would probably return home a little later, but that, meantime, she must not be uneasy. I went with Auguste, looking upon it as a sacred duty to give a mother news of her children, and forgetting that my own mother might be just as uneasy as the mother to whom I was going. I should also add that, fearing my father's anger, I delayed as long as I could the moment for returning. We found Madame Aumain at the address given. The lady asked us eagerly how long it was since we had left her sons, and where we had left them; then she put a host of questions to us about the events of the day. She seemed to take the greatest interest in the success of the Republicans. A rather tall girl of exquisite beauty, probably the sister of the two artillerymen, was there, listening and questioning. Delighted with the importance bestowed on us by our errand, Auguste and I bragged like true children of Paris. When the ladies had learned all they wished to know—and they took over an hour in doing so—they urged us to return to our respective parents promptly. In spite of our fears of being severely scolded on our return, we decided to follow their advice, and left Madame Aumain, resolved not to stay on our way. Unfortunately, the traffic was stopped. When we reached the bridges, no use! it was impossible to go over. Then we retreated under a doorway with other individuals, similarly stopped short. But the concierge turned us out at eleven o'clock. Not being able to cross the river, and afraid of being taken up by the patrols, we returned to Madame Aumain, who received us as a mother would her own children, and we improvised a bed in the dining-room. Next day, at four in themorning, Madame Aumain woke us, and told us to go quickly home, so as not to leave our mothers in anxiety any longer. It was easy to say, "Go home!" but to return from the faubourg Saint-Jacques to the faubourg Saint-Antoine, you must pass the Hôtel de Ville. More than two thousand men were stationed on the place de Grève; there was no way of passing through, and we stopped for two or three hours to watch the soldiers going and coming. Every moment big detachments were arriving, and succeeding one another all along the quays. About seven, an officer ran up scared, and shouted 'To arms!'[2] Then, all inquisitive people rushed towards the rue des Arcis. We ran in common with everyone else to see what was going on in that district. A strong barricade was supported on one side against the corner of the rue Aubry-le-Boucher, and, on the other, against No. 30 rue Saint-Martin. They could see well enough that Auguste and I were not enemies, so the Republicans allowed us to pass the barricade. At some distance from the first, there was a second at the top of the rue Maubuée. In the intervening space were sixty armed men. Old men and children were making cartridges. Women were dealing out lint. Over each barricade a red flag floated. One citizen held it up in his left hand, whilst brandishing a sword in his right. One of two men shouted out to the soldiers—
"'Come on, you sluggards! We are waiting for you.'
"A detachment of soldiers appeared in the rue des Arcis at that moment. A young girl, whose lover was among the insurgents, and who stood watching from a window, saw them before anybody else did, and cried, 'To arms.' At the cry of 'To arms!' uttered by the girl, the Republicans took their places, and prepared to repulse the soldiers. The standard-bearers remained motionless on their barricades, ready to sustain the fire. It did not keep them waiting long, and a standard-bearer fell dead. The place was not long vacant; another sprang on the barricade, re-erected the flag and, ten minutes later, also fell. But it seemed they had agreed to see to it that the red flag should still stand, for a third Republican took the place of the second, and again the flag floated. The third was killed like the two others.A fourth took his place and fell near the three others. Then a fifth. The sixth was a working man, a house painter; he seemed to be protected by a charm; for more than an hour he waved the flag, shouting, 'Vive la République!' At last, at the end of an hour, he slowly got down and leant near the door of the house numbered 30, against which Auguste and I were standing. Then he fell heavily, heaving a sigh: he had said nothing, but he had been hit close to the heart. His brother, who saw him fall, dropped his gun for an instant to come and look after him; but, seeing he was nearly dead, and, sure that his efforts would be useless, he kissed him repeatedly, took up his rifle again, climbed up on the barricade, and slowly took aim, each time that he fired shouting, 'Vive la République!' Each time, the sixty men who defended the barricade repeated the same cry, and the cry of sixty men, surrounded by 20,000 soldiers, made the throne of Louis-Philippe totter. Finally, both the soldiers and the National Guard at the outskirts of the city were forced to beat a retreat, after three hours' struggle. Meanwhile, Auguste and I, who had not been able to fight, climbed on to the railings of the shop of a wine merchant, and shouted with all the strength of our lungs—'À bas Louis-Philippe!' The truce was not for long: in an hour's time, soldiers and National Guards returned to the charge. Then the fight began again. Meanwhile Auguste and I returned to our doorway, and at times we made lint while at others we cast bullets. I often put my head out of the alley to see what was going on when the firing was hottest: then Auguste dragged me back with all his might.
"'Come, look here, do you want to get killed?' he cried.
"Then he would look out in his turn, and it became my turn to grab hold of him. Once, when I had pulled him back more roughly than was permissible, he was angry, and, whilst the people outside were fighting with guns, we fought with our fists. We were both in the right: death was speedy, and the whistling of the bullets so continuous that it sounded like the noise of the wind through a badly-fitting door. No one had yet eaten anything from morning until three in the afternoon.At three, a distribution of brown bread was announced from the house opposite that where we were hiding. Then we ran across the street to fetch our rations in the thick of the bullets. We were just about to bite into our loaves as quickly as possible, when suddenly we heard the cry, 'We are lost!' Then we saw that, whilst the defenders of the barricade still kept possession of it, a dozen people, as curious as ourselves, rushed into the house to seek hiding-places. Auguste and I, who were there already, took the lead, and, climbing the stairs four at a time, soon reached the attic. There was a way out of the attic through a narrow dormer-window, and a man sat astride the roof, holding a strong arm to those who wished to cross to the other side and who were not afraid of attempting that aerial route. Auguste and I did not hesitate for one moment; from roof to roof we gained a window, and found ourselves inside the garrets of another house. The inhabitants of the attic helped us to enter, to the great anguish of the landlord, who shouted on the staircase, 'Be off with you, you scamps! You will burn my house down!' But, as you may well imagine, nobody took any notice of the landlord; all installed themselves as best they could. Things were much worse when he saw two or three combatants, black with powder, arrive in their turn, rifles in hand.
'At least fling away your weapons!' he cried, tearing his hair.
'Throw our rifles away?' replied the fighters.
'Never!'
'But what do you mean to do?'
'To defend ourselves unto death.'
"And as they had no more bullets, but some powder left, they tore the rods from the curtains and slipped them up the muzzles of their guns.
"As for us, who had no arms, and whom the struggle had not transported to such a degree of heroic exaltation as this, we went down to the cellars, which were full of packing cases and vegetables, and we hid ourselves as well as we could. A dozen people descended after us, and also hid themselves to the best of their ability. On the cellar stairs several Republicans planted themselves, standing ready to defend themselves to the last extremity. At thatmoment we heard the roar of cannon, which shook the house to its base. The paving stones of the barricade flew into splinters, and rebounded on the pavement. Then only was it that I realised the extent of the danger we were running. My first idea was that the house was going to fall, and that we should be buried under its ruins. Then I sank on my knees and, weeping, said all the prayers I could remember. I asked my father and mother's forgiveness for having disobeyed them and for having left them in trouble; I fervently called upon God, and beat my breast with all my might. Auguste showed less despair, and waited death with more courage than I. From time to time we pressed one another tightly in our arms. During one of these embraces he noticed that I still had the barrel of the pistol in my pocket, and he made me throw it to a corner of the yard. Several voices shouted, 'Shoot him if he will not speak!' It was the concierge that was being threatened thus, because he refused to tell where we were hidden. Five minutes later, the door of the cellar was violently broken in, and three or four soldiers sprang on the stairs. Some shots exploded, which lit up the cellar strangely and filled it with smoke. Then, whilst other voices shouted 'Lights!' thirty to forty soldiers rushed into the cellar. From that moment I saw no more; I only heard cries of pain, a clashing of steel, and I felt a hand take me by the neck and shake me violently. Then the hand lifted me two feet from the ground and flung me against the wall. I fell in a faint on the bottom of the cellar steps. Yet from the depths of my unconsciousness, whilst unable to shake myself free from it, I felt those who went up and down the cellar steps pass over my body. At last I succeeded in rousing myself by a violent effort of will. I first got up on one knee with my head bent as though it were so heavy that I could not hold it; then, at last, by the assistance of the wall, I got on to my feet. At that moment an officer caught sight of me and sprang at me, kicking and cuffing me: 'What!' he exclaimed, 'are there even street urchins here?' At the same time a soldier gave me a blow with the butt end of his gun. This flung me against the wall, and instinctively I put up my hands, otherwise my skull would have been broken. Auguste, who followed me, was more lucky;whilst they were mauling me he slipped rapidly up the stairs and escaped a portion of the ill-treatment that those met with who were found in the cellar. At last, with hard cuffs, they made me go up into the yard, and, like all the other prisoners, I was kept in sight under the carriage gateway of No. 5. Our guard was made up of a sergeant and two soldiers. I had been crying so long and been so badly handled that I could scarcely stand on my legs; so in a few minutes I felt I was going to faint again. I held out my arms and called for help. The sergeant sprang forward and caught me. Whilst I was fainting, I did not hear plainly what the good man was saying: I gathered, however, that he was sorry for me, and gave me into the soldier's care.
"That brought me back to my senses in a few minutes, and I opened my eyes again. Then I told him how I came to be there, and the circumstances which had brought Auguste and me to this. My story bore the stamp of such truthfulness that he was touched, and promised he would do us no harm. We remained over half an hour under this doorway, and during that time I was present at all the atrocities which could be committed during a civil war. The victorious soldiers, irritated by their losses, wanted to shed blood in compensation for shed blood. They fired on everybody, without troubling whether they were Republicans or inoffensive citizens; from time to time a dull thud was heard: we did not even seek to ascertain the causes of the noise. It was the wounded being pitched out of the windows, and, as they fell, they slid down the roofs and fell on the pavement. They brought a Republican, taken with arms in his hand, opposite the door and crushed him with blows from the butt end of their guns, spitting him with bayonet thrusts.
"'Wretches!' he cried, 'respect the conquered and prisoners, or give me some sort of weapon and let me defend myself.'
"They loosed him, knocked him over with their rifle butts and shot him point blank.
"Oh! monsieur, I swear that, when a child of fourteen sees such things, he prays to God all his life he may not see them again.
"In No. 30, on the third floor, some soldiers seized a wounded man by his legs and arms and threatened to throw him out of the window. His body was already half in space and about to be flung on the pavement, when other soldiers below, who were firing on the roofs and through the windows, were horrified at this action, and threatened to fire on their comrades. The man was not thrown down. But was he saved, for all that? I have no idea. Soon the sergeant with whom I had made friends received orders to take us to the guardhouse des Innocents. We went through the rue Aubry-le-Boucher and by the front of the markets. As it rained at the time, a great number of soldiers stood under the arcades; as we passed they reviled us, shouting to their comrades—
"'Knock the ruffians down! Kill them!'
"I never took my eyes off the good and kind sergeant, and, whilst a crowd of curious spectators watched us pass and the crowd made a sort of block, he made me a sign. I slipped between the two soldiers, Auguste following me. The crowd made way for us and closed in after us; the soldiers let fly a big oath as though they were furious, though really at heart they were delighted. Our sergeant seemed to have endowed each of his men with some of his own kindliness of heart.
"I ran home without stopping, and fell like a bomb into the midst of my family. My mother fainted; my father stood speechless. They had been told that I had been flung over the pont d'Austerlitz into the Seine. They thought I had died the day before. I was very ill. My father sent me to bed and I nearly had brain fever. I am told, Monsieur Dumas, that this story will interest you, and I send it you.
"Ah! You whose voice is powerful say clearly and say often—
"'ANYTHING RATHER THAN CIVIL WAR!'"
What the poor child said is only too true: there were terrible acts of vengeance done on that fatal 6 June, by both the troops and the National Guard. It is a happiness to mention here the name of General Tiburce Sébastiani, whose unending kindness hasmade us forget (and even worse than forget), the welcome his eldest brother gave us on our arrival in Paris.
General Tiburce Sébastiani, better than any one, could raise the blood-stained veil which we throw over those atrocities; for he was a providence to the wounded whom they finished off slowly, and to the prisoners whom they meant to shoot. Not being able to stand, I had sat down in a chair in the Café deParis,I think it was, and there I waited for news, when, all at once, cries resounded of "Vive le roi!" uttered by the National Guard, and the king appeared on horseback accompanied by the Minister of the Interior, for War and for Commerce. At the club in the rue de Choiseul, he stopped and held out his hand to a group of armed National Guards; even those who, sixteen years later, were to overthrow him, uttered cries of savage joy at the honour he was paying them. He then continued on his way. When I saw him pass, calm and smiling and unconcerned about the danger he was incurring, I felt a sort of moral vertigo, and I asked myself if the man who saluted to these many cheers was not verily a man elect, and if one had the right to strike a blow at a power with which God Himself, by declaring for him, seemed to side. And at each fresh attempt at assassination made against him, from which he escaped safe and sound, I put the same question to myself, and, each time, my conviction got the better of the doubt, and I said—"No, things cannot remain as they are!" The traces of this conviction will be discovered all through my works—in the Epilogue toGaule et France,in my letter addressed from Reichenau to the Duc d'Orléans, in my visit to Arenenberg, in my articles on the death of the Duc d'Orléans.
This ride seemed to open the series of attempted assassinations of Louis-Philippe; for the attempt at M. Berthier de Sauvigny's cabriolet, on the place du Carrousel, cannot seriously be regarded as an attempt on the king. On thequay not far from the place de Grève, a young woman lay with her wounded husband's rifle to her cheek; but the weapon was too heavy, and her hand too weak: the weight of the gun lowered her hand and the shot was not sent. The king returned about two o'clock. M. Guizot awaited him in his cabinet. The statesman and the king remained together for an hour. No one knows what was decided during thattête-à-tête; but we may be sure that M. Guizot, according to the character we know of him, would not be for conciliatory measures. As M. Guizot left by one door, an open carriage brought MM. François Arago, Laffitte and Odilon Barrot. I take the following details from the lips of our famous savant himself. He reminded me of them as he leant on my arm during the walk of 26 or 27 February 1848, to the Bastille. He was then a member of the Provisional Government which reigned for a brief space over the kingdom of Louis-Philippe.
An open carriage, as we said, containing MM. Arago, Laffitte and Odilon Barrot entered the Tuileries courtyard. Scarcely had it turned the corner of the gateway, when a stranger stopped the horses, and ran excitedly to the window. "Do not enter," he said.
"Why not?" asked Odilon Barrot.
"Guizot is leaving."
"Very well, what then?"
"Guizot is your personal enemy, and, perhaps, is giving the order to arrest you at this very moment, as in the case of Cabet and Armand Carrel."
The three commissioners thanked the unknown person; but, not believing there was any danger—or at least, not any imminent—they went on their way, got out of the carriage, and had themselves announced to the king. The king soon gave orders for them to go in. At the moment when he was just passing through the door, M. Laffitte turned round to his two colleagues, and whispered to them—
"Let us be on our guard, gentlemen! he is going to try to make us laugh."
It was a strange moment to choose for fearing such a means of controversy. But M. Laffitte boasted he knew the king better than any body else. It was an assumption allowable to the man who had given him his popularity, and sold the forest of Breteuil.
The king, in fact, received the three deputies with a tranquil face, almost smiling. He told them to be seated, which indicated that the audience would be long, or, at all events, would be as long as the gentlemen wished it to be. Louis Blanc, who was informed by all three actors in that scene, has related it in full detail. I will not add anything, therefore, to it, but put it in dialogue form, which makes it perhaps more vivid.
The situation was a grave one: insurrection at Lyons, insurrection at Grenoble, insurrection in la Vendée, riots or revolution everywhere. But there remained the question as to what were the causes of these bloody troubles and terrible collisions. According to the opinion of the three deputies, it was the reaction brought about by getting farther day by day from the programme of July. The king said it was the spirit of Jacobinism, not properly extinguished under the Convention, the Directory and the Empire, which strove to revive the Days of the Terror. He instanced the appearance of the man with the red flag, whom the Republicans sent back to the rue de Jerusalem, whence he made out he had come.
A conversation based on such lines between a barrister and a king threatened to be of long duration. A sinister sound which was to be heard in the streets of Paris more than once under the reign of Louis-Philippe now made itself heard, and cut the conversation in half, as a blow from a scythe cuts a snake in two.
"Sire, do I hear wrongly?" asked Laffitte, trembling, "Is that cannon?"
"Yes;... they have pushed on," said the king, "to takethe Monastery of Saint-Merry without too great loss of life."
"Sire," Laffitte continued, "you are less severe with respect to the Legitimists than towards the Republicans." "In what way?"
"Your Majesty employs strange dealings towards them!"
"Listen, Monsieur Laffitte," said the king, "I always remember the saying of Kersaint: 'Charles I. was beheaded, and his son ascended the throne; James II. was only exiled, and his race died out on the continent.'"
"Sire," said Arago, "we had hoped, however, that, when Casimir Périer died, this system of reaction and of persecution would stop."
"So," replied the king, laughing, "they attribute this system to a minister?"
"No, but at least we hoped it was his work."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," said the king, frowning; "the system is mine; M. Casimir Périer was but an instrument in my hands, strong, and yet pliant like steel; my will has always been, is now and ever shall be immovable. Once only it gave way, as you very well know," added the king. "As M. de Salvandy has said, 'At my fête du Palais-Royal we marched over a volcano—the Revolution, which has spread its principles through every nation in Europe—but every nation has not an Orléans on the throne to suppress them.'"
It was a very differently specified programme than that of the Hôtel-de-Ville. Then M. Arago rose—
"Sire," he said, "after hearing the expression of such opinions as that, do not ever count on my co-operation."
"What do you mean by that, Monsieur Arago?"
"That never, under any capacity, will I serve a king who binds the hands of progress; for, in my opinion, progress is only another name for a well-conducted Revolution."
"Neither more nor less, sire," said Odilon Barrot.
But the king, touching him on the knee, said—
"Monsieur Barrot, recollect that I have not accepted your resignation."
In fact, on 24 February 1848, at seven in the morning, M. Barrot was appointed Minister. True, at noon, he was so no longer! the revolution, which the king boasted to have suppressed, carried him away as a hurricane carries off a dead leaf.
The three deputies got up. As nothing could be done, there was nothing to be said. They were accompanied on their return to the Hôtel Laffitte by the report of cannon. We have related, or, rather, a child of fourteen, an eye-witness, has related the end of the terrible scene. One of our friends, Étienne Arago, was among the Republicans while his brother was with the king. We saw him setting off with Howelt; the same night, thinking I was ill, he wrote to me as follows:—
"MY DEAR DUMAS,—All is over, for to-day, at any rate. The men at the Cloître Saint-Merry fell, but as they should, like heroes. In a word, this is what we saw with our own eyes: We left, as you know, with Howelt; we went along the boulevards, and down the rue du Petit-Carreau. Having gone through the zone of fire which swept the adjacent streets, we saw at the end of the rue Aubry-le-Boucher, where No. 30 rue Saint-Martin is visible, that approach was possible. We had just arrived between two attacks. We took advantage of it to proceed as far as the barricade; it had just been deserted. All was concentrated at No. 30; both attack and defence. We went to a herbalist's and, behind the bunches of herbs hung in his window, we saw the taking of No. 30. The artillery arrived. Can you not imagine my state? I trembled lest my brother Victor, a captain at Vincennes, were among the artillerymen. When I meet you, I will tell you what we saw. Finally!... We only left the street at half-past six. I returned to the Vaudeville, where I came across Savary; he had met you, he told me, at Laffitte's, and there you had both spoken with my brother François."I received word from Germain Sarrut to warn me that a warrant had been issued against me.—Yours,"ÉTIENNE ARAGO"
"MY DEAR DUMAS,—All is over, for to-day, at any rate. The men at the Cloître Saint-Merry fell, but as they should, like heroes. In a word, this is what we saw with our own eyes: We left, as you know, with Howelt; we went along the boulevards, and down the rue du Petit-Carreau. Having gone through the zone of fire which swept the adjacent streets, we saw at the end of the rue Aubry-le-Boucher, where No. 30 rue Saint-Martin is visible, that approach was possible. We had just arrived between two attacks. We took advantage of it to proceed as far as the barricade; it had just been deserted. All was concentrated at No. 30; both attack and defence. We went to a herbalist's and, behind the bunches of herbs hung in his window, we saw the taking of No. 30. The artillery arrived. Can you not imagine my state? I trembled lest my brother Victor, a captain at Vincennes, were among the artillerymen. When I meet you, I will tell you what we saw. Finally!... We only left the street at half-past six. I returned to the Vaudeville, where I came across Savary; he had met you, he told me, at Laffitte's, and there you had both spoken with my brother François.
"I received word from Germain Sarrut to warn me that a warrant had been issued against me.—Yours,"ÉTIENNE ARAGO"
I was not too easy on my own account. I had been seen and recognised in artillery dress by everybody on the boulevard; I had distributed arms at the Porte-Saint-Martin; finally, I knew that, in the December of the preceding year, a denunciatory epistle against me had been addressed to the king. It was a strange document! it was discovered in 1848 among Louis-Philippe's papers, and fell into the hands of one of the unknown friends of whom I often speak and for whose friendship I am grateful. That friend sent it to me. It is a report dated 2 December 1831, bearing the number 1034. I will transcribe it exactly, although I truly hold a secondary and episodic place in it. It will prove that what I say of my opinions, which are always the same, is not exaggerated. Besides, I think the moment is not very opportunely chosen to brag of being a Republican. It is an authentic report, and bears M. Binet's signature. I need hardly say that I had not the honour of that gentleman's acquaintance. (SeeAppendix.)
Le Fils de l'Émigré—I learn the news of my premature death—I am advised to take a voyage for prudence and health's sake—I choose Switzerland—Gosselin's literary opinion on that country—First effect of change of air—From Châlon to Lyons by a low train—The ascent of Cerdon—Arrival at Geneva
Le Fils de l'Émigré—I learn the news of my premature death—I am advised to take a voyage for prudence and health's sake—I choose Switzerland—Gosselin's literary opinion on that country—First effect of change of air—From Châlon to Lyons by a low train—The ascent of Cerdon—Arrival at Geneva
On the morning of 7 June, Harel came to my house. "Come," he said, "dear friend, you must lose no time. Peace is re-established; as is the case after all great upheavals, there is going to be a reaction in favour of the theatres. People must forget the cholera and the riotings; the cholera has died a natural death; the insurrection is killed; which proves that Louis-Philippe is stronger than Broussais. Where have you got to inLe Fils de l'Émigré?"
"My dear friend, three acts are done."
"Done ... written out?"
"Done and written out! but I declare to you that, for the moment, I am unequal to set to it again. I am broken down with fatigue, consumed with fever and have lost all appetite!"
"FinishLe Fils de l'Émigré,and then go a journey.... You will make prodigious sums of money this summer; you can very well take a little rest!"
"Have you any money to give me?"
"How much do you want?"
"A thousand francs or so ... two perhaps ... and authority to draw upon you for as much."
"Give me my two last acts and I will give you the money and a draft."
"You know I think it execrable."
"What?"
"Le Fils de l'Émigré."
"Bah! You told us the same aboutLa Tour de Nesle....Georges is delighted with the prologue, and Provost also."
"All right, when you go, ask Anicet to come and see me.... I will try to do my best."
Anicet came to me in a quarter of an hour's time. He is a conscientious worker and an indefatigable hunter-up of things; no one could do his part more generously in a collaboration. I have already said that he brought me the plan ofTérésaalmost entirely done. I gave him the idea ofAngèle; and, at the same time, it was he who discovered notMuller médecinbutMuller malade de la poitrine,namely, the profoundly melancholy side of the work. The idea ofLe Fils de l'Émigréwas his; the execution—specially in the three first acts—was entirely mine. We did the two last acts together during 7 and 8 June.
On 9 June I read in a Legitimist newspaper that I had been taken with arms upon me in the affair at the Cloître Saint-Merry, judged by court-martial during the night and shot at three in the morning. They deplored the premature death of a young author of such hopeful promise! The news wore such a stamp of truth; the details of my execution, that I had, by the way, borne with the greatest courage, were so circumstantial; the information was derived from such a good source that, for the moment, I had my doubts and felt myself all over. For the first time the newspaper said something nice of me; but then the editor believed I was dead. I sent him my card and wrote on it, "Avec tous mes remercîments."
As my messenger went out, another came in, bringing a letter from Charles Nodier. It was couched in these terms:—
"MY DEAR ALEXANDRE,—I have at this moment read in a newspaper that you were shot on 6 June at three in the morning. Be so good as to tell me if it will prevent you from coming to dine to-morrow at the Arsenal, with Dauzats, Taylor, Bixio and in fact our usual friends.—Your very good friend,CHARLES NODIER"who will be delighted at the opportunity to ask you for news of the other world."
"MY DEAR ALEXANDRE,—I have at this moment read in a newspaper that you were shot on 6 June at three in the morning. Be so good as to tell me if it will prevent you from coming to dine to-morrow at the Arsenal, with Dauzats, Taylor, Bixio and in fact our usual friends.—Your very good friend,CHARLES NODIER"who will be delighted at the opportunity to ask you for news of the other world."
I made answer to my beloved Charles that I had just read the same news in the same paper; that I was not sure myself whether I was alive; but that, body or shade, I would be with him next day at the hour named. However, as I had not eaten much for the last six weeks, I added that it would be more a question of my shadow than my body; I was not dead, but distinctly very ill! Moreover, I had been warned by an aide-de-camp of the king that the possibility of my arrest had been seriously discussed; I was advised to go and spend a month or two abroad, then to return to Paris, and on my return no more would be said. My doctor gave me the same advice in hygiene as His Majesty's aide-de-camp gave me in politics. I had always had a great desire to visit Switzerland. It is a magnificent country, the backbone of Europe, the source of three great rivers which flow to the north, east and south of our continent. Further it is a republic, and, small as it was, I was not at all sorry to see a republic. Moreover I had a notion I should be able to turn my travels to account.
I went in search of Gosselin, to whom I offered to write a couple of volumes on Switzerland. Gosselin shook his head: according to him, Switzerland was a played-out country about which there was no more to write; everybody had been there. It was in vain I told him that if everybody had been there everybody would go, and that,supposing those who had been there would not read my book, I should at all events be read by those who were going; but I could not succeed in convincing him. I, therefore, decided to regard the two or three months I was to spend in Switzerland as time wasted. I sent Harel the last two acts of theFils de l'Émigré; he gave me the 3000 francs promised, and I received a draft to draw upon him for another 2000 francs. At last, provided with a proper passport, I started on the night of 21 July.[1]
As will be well understood, I have no intentions of beginning over again here myImpressions de Voyage:I will only tell in my Memoirs what has not found a place in my first narrative, it will not be much for frankness is one of my qualities: it has made me many enemies, but I do not thank God any the less for having given me this virtue. The reader may, then, make himself easy: I am going to take him as rapidly as possible over the route on which, in myImpressions de Voyage,I was obliged to stop at every step.
The day after my departure from Paris, I arrived at Auxerre. The change of air began to produce its effect upon my health; at Auxerre, seated at the table where the diligence dinner was served, I regained a little appetite. An enormous dish of cray-fish drove away all my doubts! I ate, so I should not be long before I was better. I slept at Auxerre, wishful to give the good fairy we call Sleep time to complete his work. The ancients called Sleep the brother of Death; but, exact as they were in their definitions, in my opinion, they are ungrateful to Sleep: it is the restorer of strength; the source whence youth derives its energy, and health conceals its treasury. Ah, good gentle sleep of youth! how well one feels that thou art life! Lose love, lose fortune, even hope, if only sleep comes: for the time being, it will return to you all that you have lost.For the moment, I say, indeed; but it is exactly by means of the sorrow you take up again directlyyou open your eyes that you understand how sweet and potent sleep is!
We stopped afresh at Châlon. A friend who was there suggested to me that, instead of the urban curiosities, the great cellars like catacombs, we should visit a freak of nature and a ruin made by time: the Reaux-Chignon and the château de la Roche-Pot. I have described the one and told about the other; it will all be found in myImpressions de Voyage.The drought had interrupted the service of steamboats for some time; however, on returning to Châlon, we learnt that a boat drawing eighteen inches of water only was going to attempt the voyage. We embarked next day about noon, and reached Mâcon, indeed, but it was impossible to go further: it was too much to expect eighteen inches of water of the Saône. Places in the carriages had been reserved for three days past. I was very simple-minded at that period. Alas! I must say I have kept that silly characteristic intact. Boatmen came seeing my predicament, and as the wind was favourable, proposed to row me to Lyons in six hours. I allowed them eight; they deemed there was no need for such an addition of time, and that I had been too generous. Consequently, we settled the fare, and they took me to a big boat in which a dozen innocents like myself were packed together. Among them were three or four who had a double right to this title—some poor babies of five or six months old, accompanied by their nurses. I made a grimace when I saw the company into which I was brought; but bah! six hours are soon passed! It was one o'clock in the afternoon, by seven we should be at Lyons. But, instead of starting at one, we did not leave till three. Our boatmen thought us too comfortable, seated on top of one another as we were, and they probably counted on putting a second row across us. Luckily, they did not succeed. After two hours of fruitless waiting, they at last unmoored. The wind kept the promise it had made us on starting pretty much for an hour, andduring that hour we made a league or a league and a half. Then the wind fell. I had thought that, should occasion arise, our boatmen would apply themselves to the oars; but no! we descended the Saône at the same rate as a drowned dog which floated twenty paces from us! Next day, at three in the afternoon, just at the same time as our drowned dog, which kept us company faithfully, we recognised the île Barbe. We reached Lyons fifty minutes later. My health must have been already much stronger to withstand the night I had just passed on the Saône. We stayed three days in Lyons, and, on the third, at three in the afternoon, we took carriage for Geneva. At six in the morning the conductor opened the carriage door, saying, "If the gentlemen would like to do a bit of the way on foot they will have time." It was an invitation offered us by our horses who found that the carriage was quite heavy enough to pull up the incline of Cerdon without us. This climb begins the first slopes of the Alps; it leads to the fort de l'Écluse, posted astride the road, under the arch of which they scrutinise passports. After three hours' walk, on coming from Saint-Genis the conductor, whom I had begged to tell me the exact moment when I got into Switzerland, turned round towards me and said—
"Monsieur, you are no longer in France."
"How far are we from Geneva?"
"An hour and a half's walk."
"Then let me get out and I will walk the remainder of the way."
The conductor complied with my request and, at the end of an hour and a half's walk, I entered the birthplace of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and of Pradier.