Chapter 5

THE FRIEND OF THE POLICEMAN.It was the morning after the Anarchist Club had been raided by the police. I was sitting up in my bed, reading the graphic account of the occurrence in the morning paper, when the door opened and Stromboli himself burst into my bed-chamber."Hullo!" I ejaculated. "So you have found bail! I was rather expecting that you would come to me for it!""I should have," was the reply, "if I had needed it.""You did not need it? You mean that you managed to escape?""Precisely. Do I not know the tramp of a policeman when I hear it? Are not his boots made so that all the world shall know it?""Ah! then——""I was wise in time. Leaping on to a table, I shouted to my friends: 'We are discovered. This way for the back door. Follow me, and I will lead you to a place of safety.' Then I fled, and, as you see, I reached a place of safety. But alas! I reached it alone. The others, my followers, were caught. I weep for them.""It is unnecessary," I explained. "The English law is lenient in these matters. A small fine will see them through their troubles."My words failed to produce the comforting effect which I intended."If only I had known that!" Stromboli answered, and hung his head dejectedly."Yes? In that case?" I asked."In that case," he answered, "I should not have been in so great a hurry; and if I had not been in so great a hurry, I should not have left my purse on the piano.""You did that?""I did that, having just taken it from my pocket for the purpose of paying for some refreshments. It contained the money which I had set aside for the satisfaction of the claims of my more pressing creditors. I shall have sleepless nights in consequence.""So, I dare say, will they," I interposed; and the remark seemed to exhibit the situation to Stromboli in a light in which he had never previously looked at it."You really think so?" he answered sympathetically. "Then I am indeed distressed for them. I should have remembered that creditors as well as debtors might have their pecuniary embarrassments. If I could be of any service to them—if, for example, by telling another story——""Then you still know other stories?"Stromboli jerked his head disdainfully, saying—"If I know other stories! When I tell you that it was I who, at the time of the Commune of Paris—— But—voyons, mon cher—I have not yet breakfasted."I took the hint and rang the bell."I thank you," said Stromboli. "I will have bacon and eggs for breakfast. It is a comestible of your country for which I have acquired a taste. Though I eat while telling you my story, yet I am an artist, and you may depend upon it that my mouth will not be full at any climax of my narrative.""Then fire ahead!" said I, and Stromboli fired ahead, plying his knife and fork diligently while he unfolded—THE ADVENTURE OF THE FRIEND OF THE POLICEMAN."You think it singular that a revolutionist should have feelings of friendship for a policeman? Singular it is, and only possible upon one condition—that the policeman's daughter is beautiful, and that the revolutionist is in love with her. I myself—I, whom policemen yesterday pursued through the kitchen and offices to the back door, was at the time of the siege of Paris in love with the daughter of asergent de ville."Her name was Fifine, and she was more beautiful than I can tell you—dark, with bright eyes, and a complexion like a peach in bloom, and the tender, coaxing manner which a man delights in. Her father, the Père Dubois, occupied an apartment in the same house with me at Montmartre; and as he was aware of my desire for the regeneration of the world, ferocious pleasantries used to pass between us."'Voyons, rascal!' he used to say to me. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, I would march you straight off to thedepôtand have you locked up there, so that you could do no harm.'"'Old man!' I answered. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, then I would pluck you by that nose of yours and drag you along theboulevard, an object of derision to all Paris.'"'Name of a dog!' he retorted."'Name of a pipe!' I rejoined. And then I conciliated him."'Come now,' I said. 'For Fifine's sake, let us be friends. For Fifine's sake, let us swear a great oath, like the Homeric heroes, that if ever we meet in a battle, or even in a riot, we will spare each other.'"The Père Dubois knew but little of the Homeric heroes, though he understood that they had distinguished themselves in the Napoleonic wars. None the less, he swore the oath over a good bottle of red wine, concluding philosophically—"'Fifine is a good girl. I trust her. I shall tell her what to say to you, and she will reclaim you and make a good citizen of you yet.'"To which I replied—"'Père Dubois, you are very amiable. In compliance with your wishes, I will take quiet walks with Mademoiselle Fifine in the sheltered woods of the Buttes Chaumont, so that she may have every opportunity of converting me to your views. If the weather is fine, we will take such a walk to-morrow.'"He grunted, but agreed. Perhaps, if he could have foreseen—but it is seldom given to a policeman to see as far into the future as a revolutionist. And now, perhaps, you picture Fifine imploring me with persuasive tears to turn my back upon the revolution and apply for a post in thegendarmerie! Then you do not know human nature; you do not know women; you do not know Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!"What is it that a woman likes in a man? She likes him to be different from all other men. She likes him to be strong and masterful, taking his own course and towing her like a little pinnace in his wake. If need be, she will even pique him to perversity; though, in my case, that necessity did not arise. So you must not be astonished when I tell you what Fifine actually said to me was—"'How wonderful to be a revolutionist! Please tell me all about revolutions. I never met a revolutionist before.'"She said it, clinging trustfully to my arm, while we walked together on the high, green hill of the Buttes Chaumont. All Paris was stretched out below us like a map. The blue smoke floated upwards from the chimneys in the autumn air. A misty haze obscured the view beyond the ramparts, and the booming of the big guns of Mont Valerien was the only sign of war; but from the streets ascended a confused hum of angry voices—the noise which, in Paris, expresses the discontent which the man of action can turn into a revolution almost by a gesture. In truth, it was high time for another revolution, and here was Fifine pressing me with her questions—[image]"We walked together on the high, green hill.""'Please tell me all about revolutions. Please tell me what a revolution looks like.'"Curious, is it not, that by such artless speeches women win men's hearts? One wonders if they know it. I answered, half in jest, while pondering a project in my mind—"'A revolution,amie chérie? It is the simplest matter in the world. You get up in the morning feeling discontented, and decide that the Government must be overthrown. Other people are of the same opinion. You leap upon acafétable and harangue them until you have stirred them to the depths of their souls; then you say, "To the Hôtel de Ville!" Some of you march thither, while others go into the churches and ring bells. The procession swells in volume; you call upon the soldiers to fraternise with you; the constituted authorities disappear through the back door. You write names on slips of paper and toss them out of the window. This is the list of the new Government. It is all over in the twinkling of an eye.'"'How wonderful!' Fifine ejaculated, opening her eyes wide."A sudden idea came to me, and I acted upon it."'My angel!' I cried. 'I have told you what a revolution looks like. Now come with me, and I will show you one.'"She looked amazed; it may be that she had reason to. It was such a chance as does not often come the way of the daughter of asergent de ville. But I appealed to her curiosity."'Listen!' I said. 'You hear that noise?'"She nodded."'Well, sweetheart,' I continued, 'whenever I hear that noise in Paris, I can turn it into a revolution in ten minutes.'"'How wonderful!' she once more repeated."'Come and see,' I answered, and her curiosity prevailed over her years. We ran down the hill together, and in a few minutes were in the stormy streets of Paris."It was as I thought. The people of Paris were angry because the pinch of hunger was making itself felt. They were gathering in little knots, and someone was already haranguing them from acafétable; but he was unworthy of the occasion, being drunk, so I pushed him down gently, amid applause, and took his place."'Why do we talk,' I cried, 'when the hour for action has arrived? The Government does nothing. Instead of driving away the Prussians, it deliberates. It is in no hurry, because it possesses secret stores of food; but we, in the meantime, what have we to eat?'"'Rats!En voilà un!' one of my audience shouted, tossing a choice specimen across to me."I caught it dexterously and put it in my pocket. Then I went on—"'You tolerate such a Government! You are willing that it should continue to rule you—to betray you! No, no! A thousand times no. You will sweep it away and govern Paris by yourselves. But there is no time to lose. To the Hôtel de Ville, my comrades! To the Hôtel de Ville!'"Tame words, you may think, as I recite them to you now, in times of peace; but then they were burning words that caused men's blood to boil."'To the Hôtel de Ville!' the Belleville workmen echoed, and the mob became organic, and we marched."Imagine that march! Beginning as a small procession, it grew into a mighty mob, with red flags flying and a brass band playing; and at the head of it, Fifine and I walked, arm-in-arm. She was afraid, but she was curious; her curiosity was stronger than her fears. Ah, she was a true woman, was Fifine!"'Oh! it is wonderful,' she kept repeating. 'I suppose it is wrong; but it is wonderful, all the same.'"And no one laughed to see her. For those were sentimental days, when every revolutionist rejoiced to have a woman associated with him in his enterprise. It was as though some master of the ceremonies had said—"'Your partners, gentlemen! Take your partners for the Carmagnole.'"So we swayed on, in ever-swelling numbers, until the Hôtel de Ville was reached. A crowd was already besieging its doors and swarming up its stairs. It seemed, for the moment, as though I—I who had instigated this revolution—should be unable to get access to the building. But I called in a commanding tone—"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!'"They fell back, as far as it was possible, and cleared a space for me. With Fifine still upon my arm, I jostled my way into the famous Hall of the Mayors. It took time, but at last we got there. Let me try and draw the picture for you."A large, long room, with portraits of celebrated citizens of Paris hanging on its walls. At one end of the room a large semi-circular table with the Mayors of Paris seated at it; the President in the midst of them, pale and indignant. The rest of the room packed with a crowd of revolutionists, women as well as men, all talking loudly at once, and a fewsergents de villeamong them, disarmed and overmastered, but unable to escape. And, struggling against the tumult, the rumour gradually spread itself from mouth to mouth—"'The Breton Mobiles! They are coming to the rescue of the Mayors.' One saw the point of that. At all events, I saw it, even if the others did not. The Breton Mobiles understood no word of French—understood nothing but their own uncouth Celtic tongue. It would be useless to harangue them on the sacred right of insurrection and appeal to them to fraternise with people. They would sweep on, with fixed bayonets, driving the Parisians before them, blind, deaf, implacable as Destiny itself. For once in my life I perceived failure in front of me, and I felt that I owed Fifine an apology."'Dear angel,' I said to her, 'this is not so brilliant a revolution as I could wish, but it shall have its dramatic climax, all the same. Observe!'"Then I continued to elbow my way to the front, exclaiming—"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'"The crowd parted as before, and I found myself close to the table of the Mayors, with the pale face of the President immediately in front of me. I pulled the rat out of my pocket and tossed it to him, saying—"'Thanks to your incapacity, the people of Paris are eating rats. In the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat a rat yourself.'"The people who heard me cheered, but the Mayor of Paris tried to fling the rat back into my face. I caught it in my right hand and tendered it to him again with dignity."'Be reasonable,' I said. 'It is a present from Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski. As those English say, you must put the gift-horse in your mouth. In the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat the rat before us all, and to pretend that you enjoy it.'"A tremendous cheer broke from the assembled revolutionists. They shook their fists in his face and roared—"'Let him eat the rat! Let him eat the rat!'"He ate it, and we cheered him. Perhaps he was hungry, and needed it, for, owing to the disturbances, he had been a long time without refreshment; and though, to do him justice, he made little pretence of appetite, one of the women—a good, thrifty soul—could not resist exclaiming—"'What a waste of a good rat! Why do you throw it away on him, when the people of Paris are hungry?'"That, however, was a question which, in spite of its importance, I had no time to answer. At last the Mobiles were coming—the Breton Mobiles, with whom it was impossible for the Revolutionists to fraternise, because they did not know their language. There was no purpose to be served by staying any longer, the more especially as I had a lady in my charge."'Dear angel,' I whispered to Fifine, 'there is no more revolution to be seen to-day. I will make haste and take you home.'"It was more easily said than done, but I was not a man to be deterred by obstacles. I shouted as before—"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!'"And room was made. I myself helped to make it, by pushing vigorously with my strong arms. As the Bretons were entering by one door, Fifine and I were issuing by another."It was all over—for the time. Many arrests were made; but, in the confusion, Fifine and I escaped arrest, and it was not until the next day that I knew that my behaviour had been remarked by any public functionary. Then, however, I had a passage of arms with the Père Dubois."'Rascal!' he said. 'I saw you.'"'How now? What do you mean, Père Dubois?' I asked."'I was in the Hôtel de Ville, disarmed and helpless. But I saw you, and now I go to denounce you to the Government.'"I looked him straight and fearlessly in the eyes."'Remember your pact with me, Père Dubois,' I said."'My pact?' he repeated."'The pact we swore, like the Homeric heroes, that, even in a revolution, we would spare each other. This time, as the revolution has failed, it is I who am the gainer by it. Presently, when the revolution is successful, it will be your turn to profit.'"His eyes fell before my gaze as he replied—"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not do it.'"To which I answered—"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not ask you.'"'You think, then,' he continued scornfully, 'that the day will come when it will be in your power to serve me?'"'I am quite sure of it,' I answered, 'and when it comes, you may rely upon me. Let us shake hands.'"So we shook hands, and an armed truce was restored between us; and the days rolled by, until the last great day came when I was called upon to fulfil my obligations."Most of the events of those days belong to history. You know how the Prussians at last starved Paris into surrender. You know how we Communists seized the reins of Government in the month of March. You know how Paris was besieged a second time, and how the barricades sprang up, and how there were bloody battles in the streets. I have nothing new to tell you of these things. I have only to tell you of the service which I, at the last, rendered to the father of Fifine."Fifine herself had been sent to visit friends in the country. Safe-conducts being hard to get, it had been necessary to lower her in a basket over the ramparts after nightfall. I well remember my last talk with her before, with no more luggage than she could carry on her arm, she disappeared into the darkness."'Sweetheart,' she said, 'I thought that revolutions were wonderful, but now I only find them terrible.'"'Sweetheart,' I answered, quoting the proverb, 'how shall we make an omelette without breaking eggs?'"That was too deep for her. She did not even ask whether the omelette was worth the broken eggs, but came to the point without either metaphor or simile."'Dearest,' she pleaded, 'I saw you begin the revolution. Can't you promise, for my sake, that you will stop it?'"I shook my head sadly. It was hard for me, as you can judge, to confess that she had asked me a thing which it was beyond my power to do for her."'Dear angel,' I answered, 'the revolution is irresistible as the rising tide. A man may have the power to start it, but no man has the power to stay it.'"'But my father!' she pleaded. 'Tell me! The revolutionists have no love for the police?'"I was obliged to own, however regretfully, that they had not. For what have policemen ever done, that revolutionists should love them?"'But, dear angel,' I added, 'one may make exceptions, if only for the sake of proving rules. I wield influence, as you have seen, and I will use it. They shall not hurt one hair upon the Père Dubois's head.'"Then we kissed each other and said good-bye. Fifine disappeared, lowered over the ramparts by a sentinel; and it was only two days afterwards that the Versailles soldiers entered Paris, and the fighting in the streets began. I do not describe it to you. I do not boast. One brave man behind a barricade, I take it, is very like another. The tide of battle rolled us back from street to street. The traitors slunk away and hid themselves. The day came when we were only a handful of men, hemmed in by an army. Driven from my lodging in Montmartre, I found a garret to sleep in in Belleville. I was there, snatching the few hours' rest which I had earned, when a child found me, and thrust a note, hastily scrawled in pencil, into my hand."It was from the Père Dubois. How he had found the means of sending it I do not know; but this is what he said—"'I am a prisoner of the Commune, locked up with forty othersergents de villeat La Roquette. Your Communists are murdering their prisoners. For the love of God remember your promise to me before it is too late!'"My mind was made up instantly. Until then I had supposed that a prison was the safest place in Paris in which asergents de villecould find himself; but since this was not so, I knew how to act."Springing from my truckle-bed, upon which I lay only half undressed, I put on my frock-coat and my silk hat, and knotted my red sash round my waist. Then I hurried down seven flights of stairs and almost ran into the arms of our leader, Citizen Ferré."'Well, Ferré, how goes it now?' I asked him."'Badly,' he answered. 'It is all over with us. The Versaillais press us hard. We have only just time to kill the prisoners.'"At first I did not take him seriously."'Is that the way to raise the tone of revolutions?'"He answered grimly—"'Perfectly. We have dealt with the Archbishop; we have dealt with thegendarmes. If we make haste, we shall just have time to deal with thesergents de ville.'"His brutal words horrified me, but I temporised. Time was precious, and I would waste none of it in wrangling. If it had only been the life of an ordinary hostage—an archbishop, for example—that was at stake, I do not say; but the life at issue was the life of the father of Fifine. Therefore, as I have said, I temporised."'You are right, Citizen Ferré,' I replied. 'We must indeed be quick. Let us see which of us can be the quicker. I will race you to the prison of La Roquette.'"'Good,' he replied, and we both began to run with all our speed. Picture us; for the picture must indeed have been a strange one. The enemy surrounded us, and the crack of rifles and the screech ofmitrailleusessounded from the barricades on every side. The rival batteries on the Buttes Chaumont and the Buttes Montmartre hurled their shells all over Paris. Red flames and black clouds of smoke arose from the Tuileries, from La Villette, from the Hôtel de Ville, from blazing buildings in every quarter of the city. Dead bodies of men and horses lay here and there upon the pavements. Mattresses were piled up at the windows to serve as a screen against the bullets. And, in the midst of this, Citizen Ferré and I—he in his soldier's uniform, and I in my frock-coat and silk hat—raced each other to the prison of La Roquette. I was fleet of foot in those days, and I outstripped him. Dashing through the open gate in the prison yard, I called—"'Where are the prisoners of the Commune? Where are thesergents de ville?'"There was no need to ask the question. I could see the heads of several of them at the windows of the cells. So I continued—"'I have the order for them to be shot. Let me go up to them and I will tell them to come down.'"The words were saluted by a bloodthirsty cheer. It occurred to no one to dispute my authority or ask a question. The key was handed to me and I went up to the second storey and entered the door of the long corridor in which their cells were situated."'Gentlemen,' I began. 'I am Jean Antoine——'"Before I could say more, a dozen strong arms had gripped me and thrown me on the ground, and my wrists were tied fast with a handcuff improvised from a piece of string."'A hostage! We also have a hostage,' they cried in an exultant chorus."Then, just as I was fearing more rough usage, I heard the voice of Père Dubois."'Be gentle with him. He is a friend of mine. Hear what he has to say.'"So the policeman who was seated on my chest got up again, and I was able to proceed—"'Gentlemen,' I gasped. 'Citizen Ferré is on his way here to have you shot. I raced him here that I might warn you. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'"They looked inquiringly at me and at each other, and in the meantime there came what looked suspiciously like proof that I was lying. Ferré had, at last, arrived, and a fresh messenger came to the entrance of the corridor; though, with greater caution than I had shown, he only spoke through the keyhole."'The order has come that all the prisoners of the Commune are to be released. Descend at once, and you can go free.'"Some of them flashed a look of triumph on me, seeming to expect that I would blush for shame. But I did not blush. I sprang up and stood with my back to the door, and retorted hotly—"'Idiots! Are you taken in, then, by a simple trick like that? It is a lie to get you down into the courtyard, and shoot you the more easily.'"This gave them pause."'There's reason in that,' they said. 'No doubt the hostage knows the nature of the Communists. But what to do?'"I was impatient."'What to do?' I shouted. 'Do you want a revolutionist to tell you what to do? Barricade yourselves, idiots. Barricade yourselves, and stand siege till the Versaillais come.'"Their good sense prevailed; they jumped at the suggestion."'It is an idea; let us barricade ourselves. Untie the hostage's hands, that he may help.'"It was done, and I, who had shown the people how to build so many barricades in the streets, now taught these forty-two policemen to build a barricade in the corridor of the prison of La Roquette. We made it by taking the mattresses from the beds in the cells, and laying them one upon another carefully and symmetrically, as one builds a wall with bricks. The barrier was so high that no one could climb over it; so thick that no bullet could pass through it; so solid that it could only be pulled down, piece by piece, by unmolested labourers; and scarcely had we finished it before we found the need of it. We heard the voice of Citizen Ferré himself, no longer promising safe-conduct or immunity."'Since you won't come out of it by yourselves, we'll have to fetch you out. Charge, my lads, charge, and we'll treat them as we did thegendarmesin the Rue Haxo.'"Hurling themselves against our woollen wall, they tried to push it before them by sheer weight. It did not yield an inch. Was it not built by a revolutionary leader? And were there not forty-twosergents de villesupporting it with their weight upon the other side?"'Pull it down, bit by bit, from the top, then,' Ferré shouted; and we heard a noise as of a man being hoisted on to another's shoulders, and, for an instant, had a glimpse of a villainously ugly face between the barrier and the ceiling."But only for an instant. Père Dubois—he also hoisted on to a neighbour's shoulders—hurled at the man a piece of crockery intended for a very different purpose. It smote him full upon the jaw, knocking teeth down his throat. Swearing a terrible oath, he disappeared, and no one took his place. Carried away by the joy of battle, I shouted to the Communist, who had so lately been my friend and ally—"'Citizen Ferré! Is this the way you raise the tone of revolutions?'"'Pig! We are not beaten yet,' my old friend answered; and, as we heard him retreating down the staircase, we wondered what fresh devilry he had in his mind."Presently we heard a fresh noise above our heads. Somebody was breaking through the ceiling. Armed though we were, after a fashion, with cudgels and lances, which we had made by breaking up the woodwork of the beds, we knew that we could not hold out long against an assault from that place of vantage. There seemed nothing to be done save to sell our lives as dearly as we could. But, just as we had made up our minds to this, we heard a voice that reassured us."'Hush! Do not be afraid! We are your fellow-prisoners.' And the head which revealed itself through the broken planks—the head at which Père Dubois was preparing to hurl a fresh piece of crockery—proved to be the head of one of the parish priests of Belleville, whom the Communists had locked up as their hostages. Thesergents de villegreeted him with shouts of welcome."'Listen!' said the good old man. 'We have barricaded ourselves, and shall fight for our lives if need be. But, in the meantime, as your lives also are in danger, we would strengthen you with our prayers and with our blessing. Kneel, my brothers, kneel.'"We knelt. It was a strange ceremony—such a ceremony as has never been, perhaps, in the world, before or since. There was no confession. The time was precious and too short for that. But, as we fell upon our knees and bowed our heads, the holy man solemnly pronounced absolution and chanted benediction. Even I—Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, of whom priests in a general way do not approve—took absolution and benediction with the rest. Then the cry was raised—"'Look out! They are returning!'"We went to our post again, wondering what fresh device our enemies had hit upon. It was not long before we knew. They had released the convicts—the thieves and murderers who had been in prison long before the Commune made special prisoners of its own—and had enlisted them as willing allies against their natural enemies, thesergents de ville. We heard them fraternising in the yard."'Long live the Communists!' cried the one."'Long live the convicts!' replied the others."And then, once more, we heard the brutal voice of Citizen Ferré—"'Now, pigs! Your hour is come. Since you won't come out any other way, we're going to burn you out.'"In another instant they had poured petroleum over our mattress barricade and set light to it. It burnt slowly, for wool, packed close, is but a poor combustible, and there was no draught to coax the flames. The whole corridor, however, was filled with a suffocating stench. We coughed and choked, though we had burst every window open. It was only a question of time. Our barricade must ultimately yield to this attack."'Water! Oh, for water!' was the cry that went up on every hand. We had no water save the filthy stuff in which the prisoners had washed, over and over again, since their cells had last been cleaned. So far as we could, we soaked the mattresses with these slops. They added to the stench, but hardly helped to quench the fire. With luck we might hold out for half an hour. Longer we could not hope to hold."Thesergents de villewere losing heart and energy. They had thrown themselves on the floor, because the smoke was less there, and lay about the passage like so many dying men. And Père Dubois whispered to me—"'Oh, think of something! For Fifine's sake, think of something!'"An inspiration came to me. I ran to the window, braving the risk of rifle-bullets, and put my head out of it, and shouted with all my might—"'The Versaillais! The Versaillais! Hold out! Hold out! I see the Versaillais coming!'"The effect was marvellous. Thesergents de villeleapt to their feet again. The convicts scurried down the staircase, tumbling over each other in their haste. They streamed out into the courtyard and became a frightened mob. Their terror was contagious, and every man sought to save his skin. They peeped cautiously through every open door, and when they saw the coast clear made a run for it. They fetched ladders out of unexpected places and scaled the prison walls with them. Citizen Ferré himself attempted to swarm up a water-pipe."And there were no Versaillais coming. I had invented them because I saw that they were necessary to save the situation. They did not actually come until more than two hours afterwards; though, in the meantime, we saw nothing of my old friends, Citizen Ferré and his companions."At last, however, the little men with the red trousers came marching into the courtyard, and I said—"'Let me go down and explain. The Colonel will be surprised to see me.'"Well might he be surprised, even though he failed to recognise me. My frock-coat was singed and torn; my silk hat was battered, and the nap on it was ruffled; my face was as black as a negro's from the smoke. I must, indeed, have looked a pitiable object as I issued from the door, exclaiming—"'Welcome, M. le Colonel. I am Jean Antoine——'"A bullet splashed against the wall beside me, and I withdrew. Tearing off my red sash, and borrowing a helmet and a tunic from one of thesergents de ville, I reappeared and resumed my friendly greeting."'Welcome, M. le Colonel. Herewith I restore to you forty-two policemen whom my old friend Ferré would have shot. I have raised the tone of revolution. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'"I bowed profoundly, and this time no rifle-bullets interrupted my discourse."The Colonel merely said—"'Whoever you are, you'll remain under arrest while the truth of your story is inquired into.'"'That, M. le Colonel,' I said, 'is only reasonable. I am sorry that I have no sword to surrender to you. My only weapon has been a piece of crockery. If you wish that it should be formally handed to you, I will go and fetch it.'"He did not wish it, but proceeded to try me by drum-head court-martial on the spot. With what result you can conjecture. A prisoner who has forty-two policemen vying with each other to give evidence in his favour has little to fear even from an improvised military tribunal."In consideration of my services to the police I was dismissed, within two minutes, without a stain upon my character, and even thanked for what I had done to raise the tone of revolution."To think that, after that, I should have lived to be chased by policemen, as I was yesterday, through the kitchen and offices, out of the back door! Fifine, my angel Fifine! what would you have said if you had lived to hear of it?"THE SECRET SOCIETY.There is no more mysterious, and no more misrepresented society than the Camorra. I never understood its nature or its objects until I heard Stromboli's story. He went to Naples and discovered the Camorra. He investigated it and found out exactly what manner of society it was. But let him tell the story in his own words:—"I had no sooner come to Naples," he said, "than the Camorra forced itself upon my notice. Even as I landed from the steamer, I observed the boatman who had brought ashore my modest luggage surreptitiously slipping a small coin into the hand of a stalwart bystander, gaudily attired in the costume that one associates with brigandage, who had all the air of accepting it, not as an alms, but his due. My watchful curiosity was at once excited."'Who is that man, then?' I asked the sailor curtly."'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man, sir,' he answered, in matter-of-fact tones, as he lifted my luggage into a carriage."I began to wonder."My carriage rattled over the stones and set me down in my hotel. Another stalwart individual was waiting there. He, too, was an ornamental person; he wore wide velvet breeches with gold lace upon them, a loose white shirt, a red sash, and a gaudy silk handkerchief knotted over his head. And he, too, reached out his hand to claim a coin which my driver dropped into his palm."'Who is that man?' I asked again, and got the same answer as before—"'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man.'"'And why do you give him money?' I inquired further."'Because he demands it, signor,' the man replied; and he jumped on to his box and drove away before I had time to pursue the subject any further."I went on wondering."Evidently this was a strange country to which I had come—a country in which you had only to demand money in the name of a mysterious society in order to obtain it. Would people also give money to me, in case of need, if I also dressed gaudily and stepped forward with a bold address, saying 'I am the Camorra man'? The question furnished food for thought."'To-morrow,' I said to myself, 'I will investigate this matter. In the meantime, I will dismiss it from my mind, and dine.'"I ceased wondering, therefore, and ate my dinner, and strolled out into the city to divert myself."My diversion took the form of a game of billiards in acafé, which was not, I must admit, one of the most fashionablecafésin the city. It was, in fact, acaféin the dark and narrow street known as the Tre Capelle—the street of the Three Hats. There was a better opportunity of observing the life of the people there than in the more fashionable quarters."But I did not merely observe the life of the people. I also won the people's money. My skill at billiards was not, in those days, inconsiderable. In several successive games I was the victor, and each game was played for a higher stake than the game preceding it. Altogether, perhaps, I won enough to pay my hotel bill for a week. Then I pocketed my profits and bade the company a courteous 'Good evening.'"'Addio!' I said, waving my broad-brimmed hat and smiling; and then took my umbrella—for it had been raining—and stepped jauntily into the street."Hardly had I gone half-a-dozen steps when a stranger stepped out of the shadow and approached me."The street was dimly lighted with oil lamps, and I could not see him well, but I saw that he, too, was gaudy and robust. His small round felt hat had cocks' feathers in it, and he wore earrings which glittered in the lamplight. He brandished a cudgel in his right hand, while his left was extended like a mendicant's."'Our share, signor?' he asked peremptorily, if not quite truculently."'Whose share? And whom may I have the honour of addressing?' I retorted with no less determination."'Il Camorrista—the Camorra man,' he rejoined, in just such accents as he might have used had he been able to announce himself as the policeman on duty in the neighbourhood."A sudden curiosity seized me. How would this imperious man behave, I wondered, if I were to prod him quite suddenly and very violently in the pit of the stomach with the point of my umbrella? It seemed an interesting experiment, and one well worth trying."'Here, take your share!' I cried, and lunged at him with the skill and rapidity of one accustomed to the foils."My eye and aim were sure, and the result was satisfactory. The ferrule struck my antagonist just beneath the breast-bone—at that sensitive point, in fact, which your prizefighters always aim at."He uttered a cry of pain, staggered, doubled up, and fell in a heap upon the ground."'Addio, Camorrista—farewell, Camorra man,' I said, and strode away with dignity, to the amazement and admiration of the onlookers."But my experience had interested me. I felt that I had lighted upon a mystery, and I was resolved to probe it to the bottom. To that end I rang my bedroom bell the next morning and put a question to the chambermaid who answered it."'Tell me, Lucia, what is the Camorra?'"She stared at me as blankly as though I had requested her to define space or time."'What is the Camorra, signor? The Camorra, signor—it is the Camorra,' she replied."It was an inadequate explanation, but I thought I might succeed better if I tried a gentler method. So I kissed her and took her hand caressingly."'Voyons, sweetheart!' I said. 'There is no need for you to be afraid. I will protect you. Tell me everything that you know about this Camorra.'"To my amazement, she snatched her hand away and ran screaming down the corridor."I changed my tone."'Voyons, baby! Send up the landlord to me!' I shouted after her."He came with the indignant air of a man whose establishment I had outraged by the commission of an impropriety; but I received him with an indignation equal to his own."'Voyons, landlord!' I exclaimed. 'What is the meaning of all this? Is this house a lunatic asylum?'"He replied that it was nothing of the kind."'It is because my house is not a lunatic asylum,' he added, 'that I invite the signor to leave it without delay.'"It was natural that I should express myself strongly."'Leave your house!' I said. 'Neither your manners nor your macaronis tempt me to make a long stay in it. But before I go, I must have an answer to a question. I insist. Attend!'"He glared, as though knowing that the question would be an awkward one. I met his gaze and put the question firmly."'What I want to know is this: What is the Camorra? Why have I been invited—unceremoniously and with menaces—to subscribe to it? To what purpose would my subscription have been devoted had I paid it instead of felling the agent of the society—the collector of its tribute—with an unexpected blow?'"But I did not get the plain answer to the plain question which I thought I had a right to. Nor did I get admiration for my courageous feat of arms. My landlord's face expressed only amazement and dismay. He threw up his arms with the gesture of a man abandoning hope."'The signor struck the Camorrista?'"'I have already told you that I struck him with great force, to the astonishment of the spectators. I left him in the gutter of the street of——'"'Then the life of the signor is in peril, and my life also. The vengeance of the Camorra——'"'What is this Camorra, then?' I interrupted."'The Camorra is——""'Well?'"'The Camorra is the Camorra. It is forbidden to say more.'"'But I command you to say more.'"My tone—perhaps my movements also—implied a vague threat of violence. But the landlord did not wait for me to lay hands on him. He fled, as the chambermaid had fled; but he slammed the door after him and turned the key and locked me in. Then he called through the key-hole—"'Will the signor forgive me? It is the only way. I will arrange for the signor's safety before the Camorra——'"I heard no more, for I was hanging on to the knob, rattling the door, and kicking at the panels."They would not yield, being solid, as though built in the old days when any house might be required at any time to stand a siege. I assailed the door, first with a chair, and then with a wash-hand jug, with no result except that I broke both of them. Then I sat down and reflected. My window was on the fourth floor and looked on the hotel courtyard, so that escape in that direction was impossible. But there still remained one other plan. I had my revolver.

THE FRIEND OF THE POLICEMAN.

It was the morning after the Anarchist Club had been raided by the police. I was sitting up in my bed, reading the graphic account of the occurrence in the morning paper, when the door opened and Stromboli himself burst into my bed-chamber.

"Hullo!" I ejaculated. "So you have found bail! I was rather expecting that you would come to me for it!"

"I should have," was the reply, "if I had needed it."

"You did not need it? You mean that you managed to escape?"

"Precisely. Do I not know the tramp of a policeman when I hear it? Are not his boots made so that all the world shall know it?"

"Ah! then——"

"I was wise in time. Leaping on to a table, I shouted to my friends: 'We are discovered. This way for the back door. Follow me, and I will lead you to a place of safety.' Then I fled, and, as you see, I reached a place of safety. But alas! I reached it alone. The others, my followers, were caught. I weep for them."

"It is unnecessary," I explained. "The English law is lenient in these matters. A small fine will see them through their troubles."

My words failed to produce the comforting effect which I intended.

"If only I had known that!" Stromboli answered, and hung his head dejectedly.

"Yes? In that case?" I asked.

"In that case," he answered, "I should not have been in so great a hurry; and if I had not been in so great a hurry, I should not have left my purse on the piano."

"You did that?"

"I did that, having just taken it from my pocket for the purpose of paying for some refreshments. It contained the money which I had set aside for the satisfaction of the claims of my more pressing creditors. I shall have sleepless nights in consequence."

"So, I dare say, will they," I interposed; and the remark seemed to exhibit the situation to Stromboli in a light in which he had never previously looked at it.

"You really think so?" he answered sympathetically. "Then I am indeed distressed for them. I should have remembered that creditors as well as debtors might have their pecuniary embarrassments. If I could be of any service to them—if, for example, by telling another story——"

"Then you still know other stories?"

Stromboli jerked his head disdainfully, saying—

"If I know other stories! When I tell you that it was I who, at the time of the Commune of Paris—— But—voyons, mon cher—I have not yet breakfasted."

I took the hint and rang the bell.

"I thank you," said Stromboli. "I will have bacon and eggs for breakfast. It is a comestible of your country for which I have acquired a taste. Though I eat while telling you my story, yet I am an artist, and you may depend upon it that my mouth will not be full at any climax of my narrative."

"Then fire ahead!" said I, and Stromboli fired ahead, plying his knife and fork diligently while he unfolded—

THE ADVENTURE OF THE FRIEND OF THE POLICEMAN.

"You think it singular that a revolutionist should have feelings of friendship for a policeman? Singular it is, and only possible upon one condition—that the policeman's daughter is beautiful, and that the revolutionist is in love with her. I myself—I, whom policemen yesterday pursued through the kitchen and offices to the back door, was at the time of the siege of Paris in love with the daughter of asergent de ville.

"Her name was Fifine, and she was more beautiful than I can tell you—dark, with bright eyes, and a complexion like a peach in bloom, and the tender, coaxing manner which a man delights in. Her father, the Père Dubois, occupied an apartment in the same house with me at Montmartre; and as he was aware of my desire for the regeneration of the world, ferocious pleasantries used to pass between us.

"'Voyons, rascal!' he used to say to me. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, I would march you straight off to thedepôtand have you locked up there, so that you could do no harm.'

"'Old man!' I answered. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, then I would pluck you by that nose of yours and drag you along theboulevard, an object of derision to all Paris.'

"'Name of a dog!' he retorted.

"'Name of a pipe!' I rejoined. And then I conciliated him.

"'Come now,' I said. 'For Fifine's sake, let us be friends. For Fifine's sake, let us swear a great oath, like the Homeric heroes, that if ever we meet in a battle, or even in a riot, we will spare each other.'

"The Père Dubois knew but little of the Homeric heroes, though he understood that they had distinguished themselves in the Napoleonic wars. None the less, he swore the oath over a good bottle of red wine, concluding philosophically—

"'Fifine is a good girl. I trust her. I shall tell her what to say to you, and she will reclaim you and make a good citizen of you yet.'

"To which I replied—

"'Père Dubois, you are very amiable. In compliance with your wishes, I will take quiet walks with Mademoiselle Fifine in the sheltered woods of the Buttes Chaumont, so that she may have every opportunity of converting me to your views. If the weather is fine, we will take such a walk to-morrow.'

"He grunted, but agreed. Perhaps, if he could have foreseen—but it is seldom given to a policeman to see as far into the future as a revolutionist. And now, perhaps, you picture Fifine imploring me with persuasive tears to turn my back upon the revolution and apply for a post in thegendarmerie! Then you do not know human nature; you do not know women; you do not know Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!

"What is it that a woman likes in a man? She likes him to be different from all other men. She likes him to be strong and masterful, taking his own course and towing her like a little pinnace in his wake. If need be, she will even pique him to perversity; though, in my case, that necessity did not arise. So you must not be astonished when I tell you what Fifine actually said to me was—

"'How wonderful to be a revolutionist! Please tell me all about revolutions. I never met a revolutionist before.'

"She said it, clinging trustfully to my arm, while we walked together on the high, green hill of the Buttes Chaumont. All Paris was stretched out below us like a map. The blue smoke floated upwards from the chimneys in the autumn air. A misty haze obscured the view beyond the ramparts, and the booming of the big guns of Mont Valerien was the only sign of war; but from the streets ascended a confused hum of angry voices—the noise which, in Paris, expresses the discontent which the man of action can turn into a revolution almost by a gesture. In truth, it was high time for another revolution, and here was Fifine pressing me with her questions—

[image]"We walked together on the high, green hill."

[image]

[image]

"We walked together on the high, green hill."

"'Please tell me all about revolutions. Please tell me what a revolution looks like.'

"Curious, is it not, that by such artless speeches women win men's hearts? One wonders if they know it. I answered, half in jest, while pondering a project in my mind—

"'A revolution,amie chérie? It is the simplest matter in the world. You get up in the morning feeling discontented, and decide that the Government must be overthrown. Other people are of the same opinion. You leap upon acafétable and harangue them until you have stirred them to the depths of their souls; then you say, "To the Hôtel de Ville!" Some of you march thither, while others go into the churches and ring bells. The procession swells in volume; you call upon the soldiers to fraternise with you; the constituted authorities disappear through the back door. You write names on slips of paper and toss them out of the window. This is the list of the new Government. It is all over in the twinkling of an eye.'

"'How wonderful!' Fifine ejaculated, opening her eyes wide.

"A sudden idea came to me, and I acted upon it.

"'My angel!' I cried. 'I have told you what a revolution looks like. Now come with me, and I will show you one.'

"She looked amazed; it may be that she had reason to. It was such a chance as does not often come the way of the daughter of asergent de ville. But I appealed to her curiosity.

"'Listen!' I said. 'You hear that noise?'

"She nodded.

"'Well, sweetheart,' I continued, 'whenever I hear that noise in Paris, I can turn it into a revolution in ten minutes.'

"'How wonderful!' she once more repeated.

"'Come and see,' I answered, and her curiosity prevailed over her years. We ran down the hill together, and in a few minutes were in the stormy streets of Paris.

"It was as I thought. The people of Paris were angry because the pinch of hunger was making itself felt. They were gathering in little knots, and someone was already haranguing them from acafétable; but he was unworthy of the occasion, being drunk, so I pushed him down gently, amid applause, and took his place.

"'Why do we talk,' I cried, 'when the hour for action has arrived? The Government does nothing. Instead of driving away the Prussians, it deliberates. It is in no hurry, because it possesses secret stores of food; but we, in the meantime, what have we to eat?'

"'Rats!En voilà un!' one of my audience shouted, tossing a choice specimen across to me.

"I caught it dexterously and put it in my pocket. Then I went on—

"'You tolerate such a Government! You are willing that it should continue to rule you—to betray you! No, no! A thousand times no. You will sweep it away and govern Paris by yourselves. But there is no time to lose. To the Hôtel de Ville, my comrades! To the Hôtel de Ville!'

"Tame words, you may think, as I recite them to you now, in times of peace; but then they were burning words that caused men's blood to boil.

"'To the Hôtel de Ville!' the Belleville workmen echoed, and the mob became organic, and we marched.

"Imagine that march! Beginning as a small procession, it grew into a mighty mob, with red flags flying and a brass band playing; and at the head of it, Fifine and I walked, arm-in-arm. She was afraid, but she was curious; her curiosity was stronger than her fears. Ah, she was a true woman, was Fifine!

"'Oh! it is wonderful,' she kept repeating. 'I suppose it is wrong; but it is wonderful, all the same.'

"And no one laughed to see her. For those were sentimental days, when every revolutionist rejoiced to have a woman associated with him in his enterprise. It was as though some master of the ceremonies had said—

"'Your partners, gentlemen! Take your partners for the Carmagnole.'

"So we swayed on, in ever-swelling numbers, until the Hôtel de Ville was reached. A crowd was already besieging its doors and swarming up its stairs. It seemed, for the moment, as though I—I who had instigated this revolution—should be unable to get access to the building. But I called in a commanding tone—

"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!'

"They fell back, as far as it was possible, and cleared a space for me. With Fifine still upon my arm, I jostled my way into the famous Hall of the Mayors. It took time, but at last we got there. Let me try and draw the picture for you.

"A large, long room, with portraits of celebrated citizens of Paris hanging on its walls. At one end of the room a large semi-circular table with the Mayors of Paris seated at it; the President in the midst of them, pale and indignant. The rest of the room packed with a crowd of revolutionists, women as well as men, all talking loudly at once, and a fewsergents de villeamong them, disarmed and overmastered, but unable to escape. And, struggling against the tumult, the rumour gradually spread itself from mouth to mouth—

"'The Breton Mobiles! They are coming to the rescue of the Mayors.' One saw the point of that. At all events, I saw it, even if the others did not. The Breton Mobiles understood no word of French—understood nothing but their own uncouth Celtic tongue. It would be useless to harangue them on the sacred right of insurrection and appeal to them to fraternise with people. They would sweep on, with fixed bayonets, driving the Parisians before them, blind, deaf, implacable as Destiny itself. For once in my life I perceived failure in front of me, and I felt that I owed Fifine an apology.

"'Dear angel,' I said to her, 'this is not so brilliant a revolution as I could wish, but it shall have its dramatic climax, all the same. Observe!'

"Then I continued to elbow my way to the front, exclaiming—

"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'

"The crowd parted as before, and I found myself close to the table of the Mayors, with the pale face of the President immediately in front of me. I pulled the rat out of my pocket and tossed it to him, saying—

"'Thanks to your incapacity, the people of Paris are eating rats. In the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat a rat yourself.'

"The people who heard me cheered, but the Mayor of Paris tried to fling the rat back into my face. I caught it in my right hand and tendered it to him again with dignity.

"'Be reasonable,' I said. 'It is a present from Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski. As those English say, you must put the gift-horse in your mouth. In the name of the Republic, I call upon you to eat the rat before us all, and to pretend that you enjoy it.'

"A tremendous cheer broke from the assembled revolutionists. They shook their fists in his face and roared—

"'Let him eat the rat! Let him eat the rat!'

"He ate it, and we cheered him. Perhaps he was hungry, and needed it, for, owing to the disturbances, he had been a long time without refreshment; and though, to do him justice, he made little pretence of appetite, one of the women—a good, thrifty soul—could not resist exclaiming—

"'What a waste of a good rat! Why do you throw it away on him, when the people of Paris are hungry?'

"That, however, was a question which, in spite of its importance, I had no time to answer. At last the Mobiles were coming—the Breton Mobiles, with whom it was impossible for the Revolutionists to fraternise, because they did not know their language. There was no purpose to be served by staying any longer, the more especially as I had a lady in my charge.

"'Dear angel,' I whispered to Fifine, 'there is no more revolution to be seen to-day. I will make haste and take you home.'

"It was more easily said than done, but I was not a man to be deterred by obstacles. I shouted as before—

"'Room there! Room for a lady! Room for Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!'

"And room was made. I myself helped to make it, by pushing vigorously with my strong arms. As the Bretons were entering by one door, Fifine and I were issuing by another.

"It was all over—for the time. Many arrests were made; but, in the confusion, Fifine and I escaped arrest, and it was not until the next day that I knew that my behaviour had been remarked by any public functionary. Then, however, I had a passage of arms with the Père Dubois.

"'Rascal!' he said. 'I saw you.'

"'How now? What do you mean, Père Dubois?' I asked.

"'I was in the Hôtel de Ville, disarmed and helpless. But I saw you, and now I go to denounce you to the Government.'

"I looked him straight and fearlessly in the eyes.

"'Remember your pact with me, Père Dubois,' I said.

"'My pact?' he repeated.

"'The pact we swore, like the Homeric heroes, that, even in a revolution, we would spare each other. This time, as the revolution has failed, it is I who am the gainer by it. Presently, when the revolution is successful, it will be your turn to profit.'

"His eyes fell before my gaze as he replied—

"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not do it.'

"To which I answered—

"'If it were not for Fifine's sake, I would not ask you.'

"'You think, then,' he continued scornfully, 'that the day will come when it will be in your power to serve me?'

"'I am quite sure of it,' I answered, 'and when it comes, you may rely upon me. Let us shake hands.'

"So we shook hands, and an armed truce was restored between us; and the days rolled by, until the last great day came when I was called upon to fulfil my obligations.

"Most of the events of those days belong to history. You know how the Prussians at last starved Paris into surrender. You know how we Communists seized the reins of Government in the month of March. You know how Paris was besieged a second time, and how the barricades sprang up, and how there were bloody battles in the streets. I have nothing new to tell you of these things. I have only to tell you of the service which I, at the last, rendered to the father of Fifine.

"Fifine herself had been sent to visit friends in the country. Safe-conducts being hard to get, it had been necessary to lower her in a basket over the ramparts after nightfall. I well remember my last talk with her before, with no more luggage than she could carry on her arm, she disappeared into the darkness.

"'Sweetheart,' she said, 'I thought that revolutions were wonderful, but now I only find them terrible.'

"'Sweetheart,' I answered, quoting the proverb, 'how shall we make an omelette without breaking eggs?'

"That was too deep for her. She did not even ask whether the omelette was worth the broken eggs, but came to the point without either metaphor or simile.

"'Dearest,' she pleaded, 'I saw you begin the revolution. Can't you promise, for my sake, that you will stop it?'

"I shook my head sadly. It was hard for me, as you can judge, to confess that she had asked me a thing which it was beyond my power to do for her.

"'Dear angel,' I answered, 'the revolution is irresistible as the rising tide. A man may have the power to start it, but no man has the power to stay it.'

"'But my father!' she pleaded. 'Tell me! The revolutionists have no love for the police?'

"I was obliged to own, however regretfully, that they had not. For what have policemen ever done, that revolutionists should love them?

"'But, dear angel,' I added, 'one may make exceptions, if only for the sake of proving rules. I wield influence, as you have seen, and I will use it. They shall not hurt one hair upon the Père Dubois's head.'

"Then we kissed each other and said good-bye. Fifine disappeared, lowered over the ramparts by a sentinel; and it was only two days afterwards that the Versailles soldiers entered Paris, and the fighting in the streets began. I do not describe it to you. I do not boast. One brave man behind a barricade, I take it, is very like another. The tide of battle rolled us back from street to street. The traitors slunk away and hid themselves. The day came when we were only a handful of men, hemmed in by an army. Driven from my lodging in Montmartre, I found a garret to sleep in in Belleville. I was there, snatching the few hours' rest which I had earned, when a child found me, and thrust a note, hastily scrawled in pencil, into my hand.

"It was from the Père Dubois. How he had found the means of sending it I do not know; but this is what he said—

"'I am a prisoner of the Commune, locked up with forty othersergents de villeat La Roquette. Your Communists are murdering their prisoners. For the love of God remember your promise to me before it is too late!'

"My mind was made up instantly. Until then I had supposed that a prison was the safest place in Paris in which asergents de villecould find himself; but since this was not so, I knew how to act.

"Springing from my truckle-bed, upon which I lay only half undressed, I put on my frock-coat and my silk hat, and knotted my red sash round my waist. Then I hurried down seven flights of stairs and almost ran into the arms of our leader, Citizen Ferré.

"'Well, Ferré, how goes it now?' I asked him.

"'Badly,' he answered. 'It is all over with us. The Versaillais press us hard. We have only just time to kill the prisoners.'

"At first I did not take him seriously.

"'Is that the way to raise the tone of revolutions?'

"He answered grimly—

"'Perfectly. We have dealt with the Archbishop; we have dealt with thegendarmes. If we make haste, we shall just have time to deal with thesergents de ville.'

"His brutal words horrified me, but I temporised. Time was precious, and I would waste none of it in wrangling. If it had only been the life of an ordinary hostage—an archbishop, for example—that was at stake, I do not say; but the life at issue was the life of the father of Fifine. Therefore, as I have said, I temporised.

"'You are right, Citizen Ferré,' I replied. 'We must indeed be quick. Let us see which of us can be the quicker. I will race you to the prison of La Roquette.'

"'Good,' he replied, and we both began to run with all our speed. Picture us; for the picture must indeed have been a strange one. The enemy surrounded us, and the crack of rifles and the screech ofmitrailleusessounded from the barricades on every side. The rival batteries on the Buttes Chaumont and the Buttes Montmartre hurled their shells all over Paris. Red flames and black clouds of smoke arose from the Tuileries, from La Villette, from the Hôtel de Ville, from blazing buildings in every quarter of the city. Dead bodies of men and horses lay here and there upon the pavements. Mattresses were piled up at the windows to serve as a screen against the bullets. And, in the midst of this, Citizen Ferré and I—he in his soldier's uniform, and I in my frock-coat and silk hat—raced each other to the prison of La Roquette. I was fleet of foot in those days, and I outstripped him. Dashing through the open gate in the prison yard, I called—

"'Where are the prisoners of the Commune? Where are thesergents de ville?'

"There was no need to ask the question. I could see the heads of several of them at the windows of the cells. So I continued—

"'I have the order for them to be shot. Let me go up to them and I will tell them to come down.'

"The words were saluted by a bloodthirsty cheer. It occurred to no one to dispute my authority or ask a question. The key was handed to me and I went up to the second storey and entered the door of the long corridor in which their cells were situated.

"'Gentlemen,' I began. 'I am Jean Antoine——'

"Before I could say more, a dozen strong arms had gripped me and thrown me on the ground, and my wrists were tied fast with a handcuff improvised from a piece of string.

"'A hostage! We also have a hostage,' they cried in an exultant chorus.

"Then, just as I was fearing more rough usage, I heard the voice of Père Dubois.

"'Be gentle with him. He is a friend of mine. Hear what he has to say.'

"So the policeman who was seated on my chest got up again, and I was able to proceed—

"'Gentlemen,' I gasped. 'Citizen Ferré is on his way here to have you shot. I raced him here that I might warn you. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'

"They looked inquiringly at me and at each other, and in the meantime there came what looked suspiciously like proof that I was lying. Ferré had, at last, arrived, and a fresh messenger came to the entrance of the corridor; though, with greater caution than I had shown, he only spoke through the keyhole.

"'The order has come that all the prisoners of the Commune are to be released. Descend at once, and you can go free.'

"Some of them flashed a look of triumph on me, seeming to expect that I would blush for shame. But I did not blush. I sprang up and stood with my back to the door, and retorted hotly—

"'Idiots! Are you taken in, then, by a simple trick like that? It is a lie to get you down into the courtyard, and shoot you the more easily.'

"This gave them pause.

"'There's reason in that,' they said. 'No doubt the hostage knows the nature of the Communists. But what to do?'

"I was impatient.

"'What to do?' I shouted. 'Do you want a revolutionist to tell you what to do? Barricade yourselves, idiots. Barricade yourselves, and stand siege till the Versaillais come.'

"Their good sense prevailed; they jumped at the suggestion.

"'It is an idea; let us barricade ourselves. Untie the hostage's hands, that he may help.'

"It was done, and I, who had shown the people how to build so many barricades in the streets, now taught these forty-two policemen to build a barricade in the corridor of the prison of La Roquette. We made it by taking the mattresses from the beds in the cells, and laying them one upon another carefully and symmetrically, as one builds a wall with bricks. The barrier was so high that no one could climb over it; so thick that no bullet could pass through it; so solid that it could only be pulled down, piece by piece, by unmolested labourers; and scarcely had we finished it before we found the need of it. We heard the voice of Citizen Ferré himself, no longer promising safe-conduct or immunity.

"'Since you won't come out of it by yourselves, we'll have to fetch you out. Charge, my lads, charge, and we'll treat them as we did thegendarmesin the Rue Haxo.'

"Hurling themselves against our woollen wall, they tried to push it before them by sheer weight. It did not yield an inch. Was it not built by a revolutionary leader? And were there not forty-twosergents de villesupporting it with their weight upon the other side?

"'Pull it down, bit by bit, from the top, then,' Ferré shouted; and we heard a noise as of a man being hoisted on to another's shoulders, and, for an instant, had a glimpse of a villainously ugly face between the barrier and the ceiling.

"But only for an instant. Père Dubois—he also hoisted on to a neighbour's shoulders—hurled at the man a piece of crockery intended for a very different purpose. It smote him full upon the jaw, knocking teeth down his throat. Swearing a terrible oath, he disappeared, and no one took his place. Carried away by the joy of battle, I shouted to the Communist, who had so lately been my friend and ally—

"'Citizen Ferré! Is this the way you raise the tone of revolutions?'

"'Pig! We are not beaten yet,' my old friend answered; and, as we heard him retreating down the staircase, we wondered what fresh devilry he had in his mind.

"Presently we heard a fresh noise above our heads. Somebody was breaking through the ceiling. Armed though we were, after a fashion, with cudgels and lances, which we had made by breaking up the woodwork of the beds, we knew that we could not hold out long against an assault from that place of vantage. There seemed nothing to be done save to sell our lives as dearly as we could. But, just as we had made up our minds to this, we heard a voice that reassured us.

"'Hush! Do not be afraid! We are your fellow-prisoners.' And the head which revealed itself through the broken planks—the head at which Père Dubois was preparing to hurl a fresh piece of crockery—proved to be the head of one of the parish priests of Belleville, whom the Communists had locked up as their hostages. Thesergents de villegreeted him with shouts of welcome.

"'Listen!' said the good old man. 'We have barricaded ourselves, and shall fight for our lives if need be. But, in the meantime, as your lives also are in danger, we would strengthen you with our prayers and with our blessing. Kneel, my brothers, kneel.'

"We knelt. It was a strange ceremony—such a ceremony as has never been, perhaps, in the world, before or since. There was no confession. The time was precious and too short for that. But, as we fell upon our knees and bowed our heads, the holy man solemnly pronounced absolution and chanted benediction. Even I—Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, of whom priests in a general way do not approve—took absolution and benediction with the rest. Then the cry was raised—

"'Look out! They are returning!'

"We went to our post again, wondering what fresh device our enemies had hit upon. It was not long before we knew. They had released the convicts—the thieves and murderers who had been in prison long before the Commune made special prisoners of its own—and had enlisted them as willing allies against their natural enemies, thesergents de ville. We heard them fraternising in the yard.

"'Long live the Communists!' cried the one.

"'Long live the convicts!' replied the others.

"And then, once more, we heard the brutal voice of Citizen Ferré—

"'Now, pigs! Your hour is come. Since you won't come out any other way, we're going to burn you out.'

"In another instant they had poured petroleum over our mattress barricade and set light to it. It burnt slowly, for wool, packed close, is but a poor combustible, and there was no draught to coax the flames. The whole corridor, however, was filled with a suffocating stench. We coughed and choked, though we had burst every window open. It was only a question of time. Our barricade must ultimately yield to this attack.

"'Water! Oh, for water!' was the cry that went up on every hand. We had no water save the filthy stuff in which the prisoners had washed, over and over again, since their cells had last been cleaned. So far as we could, we soaked the mattresses with these slops. They added to the stench, but hardly helped to quench the fire. With luck we might hold out for half an hour. Longer we could not hope to hold.

"Thesergents de villewere losing heart and energy. They had thrown themselves on the floor, because the smoke was less there, and lay about the passage like so many dying men. And Père Dubois whispered to me—

"'Oh, think of something! For Fifine's sake, think of something!'

"An inspiration came to me. I ran to the window, braving the risk of rifle-bullets, and put my head out of it, and shouted with all my might—

"'The Versaillais! The Versaillais! Hold out! Hold out! I see the Versaillais coming!'

"The effect was marvellous. Thesergents de villeleapt to their feet again. The convicts scurried down the staircase, tumbling over each other in their haste. They streamed out into the courtyard and became a frightened mob. Their terror was contagious, and every man sought to save his skin. They peeped cautiously through every open door, and when they saw the coast clear made a run for it. They fetched ladders out of unexpected places and scaled the prison walls with them. Citizen Ferré himself attempted to swarm up a water-pipe.

"And there were no Versaillais coming. I had invented them because I saw that they were necessary to save the situation. They did not actually come until more than two hours afterwards; though, in the meantime, we saw nothing of my old friends, Citizen Ferré and his companions.

"At last, however, the little men with the red trousers came marching into the courtyard, and I said—

"'Let me go down and explain. The Colonel will be surprised to see me.'

"Well might he be surprised, even though he failed to recognise me. My frock-coat was singed and torn; my silk hat was battered, and the nap on it was ruffled; my face was as black as a negro's from the smoke. I must, indeed, have looked a pitiable object as I issued from the door, exclaiming—

"'Welcome, M. le Colonel. I am Jean Antoine——'

"A bullet splashed against the wall beside me, and I withdrew. Tearing off my red sash, and borrowing a helmet and a tunic from one of thesergents de ville, I reappeared and resumed my friendly greeting.

"'Welcome, M. le Colonel. Herewith I restore to you forty-two policemen whom my old friend Ferré would have shot. I have raised the tone of revolution. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'

"I bowed profoundly, and this time no rifle-bullets interrupted my discourse.

"The Colonel merely said—

"'Whoever you are, you'll remain under arrest while the truth of your story is inquired into.'

"'That, M. le Colonel,' I said, 'is only reasonable. I am sorry that I have no sword to surrender to you. My only weapon has been a piece of crockery. If you wish that it should be formally handed to you, I will go and fetch it.'

"He did not wish it, but proceeded to try me by drum-head court-martial on the spot. With what result you can conjecture. A prisoner who has forty-two policemen vying with each other to give evidence in his favour has little to fear even from an improvised military tribunal.

"In consideration of my services to the police I was dismissed, within two minutes, without a stain upon my character, and even thanked for what I had done to raise the tone of revolution.

"To think that, after that, I should have lived to be chased by policemen, as I was yesterday, through the kitchen and offices, out of the back door! Fifine, my angel Fifine! what would you have said if you had lived to hear of it?"

THE SECRET SOCIETY.

There is no more mysterious, and no more misrepresented society than the Camorra. I never understood its nature or its objects until I heard Stromboli's story. He went to Naples and discovered the Camorra. He investigated it and found out exactly what manner of society it was. But let him tell the story in his own words:—

"I had no sooner come to Naples," he said, "than the Camorra forced itself upon my notice. Even as I landed from the steamer, I observed the boatman who had brought ashore my modest luggage surreptitiously slipping a small coin into the hand of a stalwart bystander, gaudily attired in the costume that one associates with brigandage, who had all the air of accepting it, not as an alms, but his due. My watchful curiosity was at once excited.

"'Who is that man, then?' I asked the sailor curtly.

"'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man, sir,' he answered, in matter-of-fact tones, as he lifted my luggage into a carriage.

"I began to wonder.

"My carriage rattled over the stones and set me down in my hotel. Another stalwart individual was waiting there. He, too, was an ornamental person; he wore wide velvet breeches with gold lace upon them, a loose white shirt, a red sash, and a gaudy silk handkerchief knotted over his head. And he, too, reached out his hand to claim a coin which my driver dropped into his palm.

"'Who is that man?' I asked again, and got the same answer as before—

"'It is the Camorrista, signor—it is the Camorra man.'

"'And why do you give him money?' I inquired further.

"'Because he demands it, signor,' the man replied; and he jumped on to his box and drove away before I had time to pursue the subject any further.

"I went on wondering.

"Evidently this was a strange country to which I had come—a country in which you had only to demand money in the name of a mysterious society in order to obtain it. Would people also give money to me, in case of need, if I also dressed gaudily and stepped forward with a bold address, saying 'I am the Camorra man'? The question furnished food for thought.

"'To-morrow,' I said to myself, 'I will investigate this matter. In the meantime, I will dismiss it from my mind, and dine.'

"I ceased wondering, therefore, and ate my dinner, and strolled out into the city to divert myself.

"My diversion took the form of a game of billiards in acafé, which was not, I must admit, one of the most fashionablecafésin the city. It was, in fact, acaféin the dark and narrow street known as the Tre Capelle—the street of the Three Hats. There was a better opportunity of observing the life of the people there than in the more fashionable quarters.

"But I did not merely observe the life of the people. I also won the people's money. My skill at billiards was not, in those days, inconsiderable. In several successive games I was the victor, and each game was played for a higher stake than the game preceding it. Altogether, perhaps, I won enough to pay my hotel bill for a week. Then I pocketed my profits and bade the company a courteous 'Good evening.'

"'Addio!' I said, waving my broad-brimmed hat and smiling; and then took my umbrella—for it had been raining—and stepped jauntily into the street.

"Hardly had I gone half-a-dozen steps when a stranger stepped out of the shadow and approached me.

"The street was dimly lighted with oil lamps, and I could not see him well, but I saw that he, too, was gaudy and robust. His small round felt hat had cocks' feathers in it, and he wore earrings which glittered in the lamplight. He brandished a cudgel in his right hand, while his left was extended like a mendicant's.

"'Our share, signor?' he asked peremptorily, if not quite truculently.

"'Whose share? And whom may I have the honour of addressing?' I retorted with no less determination.

"'Il Camorrista—the Camorra man,' he rejoined, in just such accents as he might have used had he been able to announce himself as the policeman on duty in the neighbourhood.

"A sudden curiosity seized me. How would this imperious man behave, I wondered, if I were to prod him quite suddenly and very violently in the pit of the stomach with the point of my umbrella? It seemed an interesting experiment, and one well worth trying.

"'Here, take your share!' I cried, and lunged at him with the skill and rapidity of one accustomed to the foils.

"My eye and aim were sure, and the result was satisfactory. The ferrule struck my antagonist just beneath the breast-bone—at that sensitive point, in fact, which your prizefighters always aim at.

"He uttered a cry of pain, staggered, doubled up, and fell in a heap upon the ground.

"'Addio, Camorrista—farewell, Camorra man,' I said, and strode away with dignity, to the amazement and admiration of the onlookers.

"But my experience had interested me. I felt that I had lighted upon a mystery, and I was resolved to probe it to the bottom. To that end I rang my bedroom bell the next morning and put a question to the chambermaid who answered it.

"'Tell me, Lucia, what is the Camorra?'

"She stared at me as blankly as though I had requested her to define space or time.

"'What is the Camorra, signor? The Camorra, signor—it is the Camorra,' she replied.

"It was an inadequate explanation, but I thought I might succeed better if I tried a gentler method. So I kissed her and took her hand caressingly.

"'Voyons, sweetheart!' I said. 'There is no need for you to be afraid. I will protect you. Tell me everything that you know about this Camorra.'

"To my amazement, she snatched her hand away and ran screaming down the corridor.

"I changed my tone.

"'Voyons, baby! Send up the landlord to me!' I shouted after her.

"He came with the indignant air of a man whose establishment I had outraged by the commission of an impropriety; but I received him with an indignation equal to his own.

"'Voyons, landlord!' I exclaimed. 'What is the meaning of all this? Is this house a lunatic asylum?'

"He replied that it was nothing of the kind.

"'It is because my house is not a lunatic asylum,' he added, 'that I invite the signor to leave it without delay.'

"It was natural that I should express myself strongly.

"'Leave your house!' I said. 'Neither your manners nor your macaronis tempt me to make a long stay in it. But before I go, I must have an answer to a question. I insist. Attend!'

"He glared, as though knowing that the question would be an awkward one. I met his gaze and put the question firmly.

"'What I want to know is this: What is the Camorra? Why have I been invited—unceremoniously and with menaces—to subscribe to it? To what purpose would my subscription have been devoted had I paid it instead of felling the agent of the society—the collector of its tribute—with an unexpected blow?'

"But I did not get the plain answer to the plain question which I thought I had a right to. Nor did I get admiration for my courageous feat of arms. My landlord's face expressed only amazement and dismay. He threw up his arms with the gesture of a man abandoning hope.

"'The signor struck the Camorrista?'

"'I have already told you that I struck him with great force, to the astonishment of the spectators. I left him in the gutter of the street of——'

"'Then the life of the signor is in peril, and my life also. The vengeance of the Camorra——'

"'What is this Camorra, then?' I interrupted.

"'The Camorra is——"

"'Well?'

"'The Camorra is the Camorra. It is forbidden to say more.'

"'But I command you to say more.'

"My tone—perhaps my movements also—implied a vague threat of violence. But the landlord did not wait for me to lay hands on him. He fled, as the chambermaid had fled; but he slammed the door after him and turned the key and locked me in. Then he called through the key-hole—

"'Will the signor forgive me? It is the only way. I will arrange for the signor's safety before the Camorra——'

"I heard no more, for I was hanging on to the knob, rattling the door, and kicking at the panels.

"They would not yield, being solid, as though built in the old days when any house might be required at any time to stand a siege. I assailed the door, first with a chair, and then with a wash-hand jug, with no result except that I broke both of them. Then I sat down and reflected. My window was on the fourth floor and looked on the hotel courtyard, so that escape in that direction was impossible. But there still remained one other plan. I had my revolver.

Back to IndexNext