Complete Works of Emile Zola (84 page)

Captain Sauvaire was exasperated. At the bottom of his heart, what irritated him the most, was the terrible blow his shako had received at the commencement of the action. He considered himself attained in the dignity of his uniform, and feared that all the prestige of his beautiful costume was escaping by the hole made by the revolutionary stone of an insurgent.

Marius, on recognising him, hastened up to him, to obtain some information as to what had occurred. But the ex-master-stevedore did not give him time to question him.

“What do you think of those blackguards,” he shouted, “who attack us with stones? The jackasses have not even guns. Hold on! Look here!”

And he held out his shako, on which the gilded metal ornament was broken.

“A bullet would only have made a small hole,” he resumed. “Now I shall be obliged to purchase a new shako. These things are very expensive.”

“Could you tell me — ?” began Marius.

But Sauvaire would not allow him to finish his sentence. He took him aside, placed his damaged shako on his head, and said:

“Speak frankly. Doesn’t this perforated headgear spoil the look of me? Ah! Brutes of Republicans! I’ll make them pay dearly for their stone!”

Marius profited by his anger to at last ask a question:

“But what has occurred?”

“Eh! we’ve killed one. So much the better! They were there behind those carts, two or three hundred, perhaps a thousand. We got the better of them after an hour’s furious fighting. You see that pool of blood in the street. For sure one of them must be dead. That will teach them to throw stones at the National Guard. Order! Order before everything!”

Marius was about to leave him when he caught him by the button-hole of his coat.

“In reality,” he added, in a voice weak with feeling; “I am sorry of the death of this poor fellow. It was perhaps not he who threw the stone. Oh! if I were certain it were he! Just now, when I saw blood on the ground, I felt a peculiar feeling. After all, order — “

The young man left him talking and joined his brother who was standing a few paces off. He felt extremely sad at what he had just heard. This blood would fall upon the heads of those who had spilt it.

“Well?” asked Philippe.

Marius did not answer at once. He could not hide what had happened from his brother, and he hesitated to tell him of it, expecting a terrible outburst of passion. They took a few steps in silence.

“You don’t answer,” said Philippe in a gloomy manner. “Behind those carts, there were corpses, is it not so?”

“No,” murmured Marius, making up his mind to tell the truth. “Only one workman was killed.”

“Eh! what matters the number?” violently interrupted the Republican. “My duty is now traced out for me. The struggle is inevitable. You’ll not ask me to remain quietly at home any more. That would be cowardly. I have hesitated too long, I’m going to join those I swore to defend, if ever they were attacked.”

The two brothers while talking, had reached the Cours Saint Louis. Their further progress was barred by an immense crowd. There the riot was fermenting.

CHAPTER XV

IN WHICH MATHÉUS COMPLETES HIS WORK

THE delegates who had succeeded in reaching the Commissary of the government, had only been able to obtain a letter from him in which he supported the men’s desire to work only ten hours a day. But this letter came too late. The delegates might well show it to the parties they met, but the word “vengeance” was now on every tongue and the people declared that blood called for blood.

Besides, as generally happens, the causes of the struggle that was in preparation escaped the majority. The greater part of the population were ignorant of the object of the riot; there was rage and terror in the air, that was all. While the beating to arms sounded lugubriously in the streets, and the National Guards hastened to their posts, people questioned one another not knowing who was the enemy against whom they were arming.

A company composed of stevedores, having heard it stated that this enemy was the people, refused to march; notwithstanding the hopes that had, perhaps, been entertained in Conservative quarters, these workmen would not fire on workmen.

The people were in revolt, that was the only certainty that spread among the crowd. Why were they in revolt? What did they want? No one could answer. The workmen themselves were no longer acting on the motives that had brought them to the Prefecture; they were now solely led on by anger. The struggle had become personal without any hidden thought of political insurrection. If some interested leaders had not urged the people on to violence, it is very likely all would have ended in shouts and threats.

The Place Royale, which since February had been named the Place de la Revolution, became the centre of the movement. Some Republican companies had made it their headquarters. As soon as the news of the fight which had just taken place at the barricade in the Rue de la Palud, had spread among the groups assembled on the Cours and Cannebière, the workmen advanced in a crowd towards these companies and inquired whether they also were going to march against them. The gathering was soon considerable: the events of the morning were related with furious exclamations and the names given of those who had been killed or wounded by the troops and National Guard. These accounts excited those who heard them and the tumult continued to increase. But the crowd did not move, confining itself to shouting and calling for vengeance. It required another shock to throw it into open revolt.

At this moment, the General commanding the National Guard made a supreme effort. He went into the midst of the people endeavouring to pacify their minds by gentle words.

This General was not popular. He was taxed rightly or wrongly with being hostile to the Republic. He had unfortunately gathered around him a staff chosen in the ranks of the reaction. To the crowd he was unknown, and the people, blind with anger, made him responsible for the deplorable events that were occurring. No one had noticed his gesture of despair in the Rue Saint Ferréol when the soldiers had crossed bayonets without his order. As soon as he made his appearance, he was surrounded by exasperated men who reviled him and accused him of all the misfortunes of the morning. He remained calm, did not seek to defend himself, confining his remarks to promising the people all possible satisfaction and beseeching them not to bring about still greater trouble. But it was necessary for the Republican companies to come to his assistance. He withdrew pronouncing words of peace in a loud, firm voice. After his departure the tumult, instead of subsiding, increased.

Then an officer of police appeared and summoned the crowd to withdraw. At the same time the companies received orders to go and post themselves on the Cannebière; one of them closed the street in its entire breadth, another drew up on the left hand pavement. But this movement did not have the effect of displacing the centre of the gathering. The Cours Saint Louis and the Cannebière were invaded. At every instant the lines of the National Guards were broken and swarms of people passed through them. The crowd became a crush and the clamour more violent. The least thing would have caused an explosion.

All at once a hubbub burst forth on the Cours Saint Louis. The procession in which the body of the workman killed in the Rue de la Palud, was being carried, and at the head of which marched Mathéus, had just left the Rue d’Aubagne. Mathéus had torn his clothes to make believe in a hand-to-hand struggle, and had placed himself in the first rank howling, black with dust and furiously shaking his red wig. Four men followed him bearing the body, the arms and legs of which were dangling down and swinging about in a horrible way. The head which was thrown back, displayed a horrible wound that had carried away half the cheek. Then came the little party who had defended the barricade, with their eyes darting out of their heads and beside themselves with the mad race Mathéus had made them take in the streets of the city. And all shouted: “Vengeance! Vengeance!” in a hoarse, heart-rending voice.

The effect produced by this procession was overwhelming.

Mathéus, guessing the Cours and Cannebière would be full of people, had arranged so as to produce a final dramatic stroke. It was for that reason he had led his followers through all the narrow streets, before bringing them suddenly into the midst of the crowd. He wanted to give the gathering time to form and he sought above all, to fatigue his men, to deprive them of sound judgment, to turn them into furious maniacs, whom he would then cast to the four corners of the city to bring out the entire population.

As soon as the procession had left the Rue d’Aubagne, the crowd opened violently before him, with cries of rage and horror. There was a crush which threw the on-lookers against the houses, and the funeral procession, amidst the fury and terror it excited on every side, went straight ahead, piercing the crowd, tracing a broad road, which closed behind it amidst frightful tumult.

On reaching the upper end of the Cannebière the procession broke the line of National Guards who were barring the street, and passed through the crowd assembled on the pavement, to the Place de la République. The effect produced on this second gathering was terrible in the extreme.

These few bleeding men seemed to cast burning embers around them as they marched along.

Mathéus allowed the procession to be lost in the old town and ran rapidly uphill towards the Cours Saint Louis. As he crossed it, he perceived in a café which was then undergoing repairs, some National Guards who had taken refuge there in order to save themselves from being torn to pieces by the mob. He returned, so as to put in action a plan that the sight of the National Guards had instilled into him. His sole anxiety consisted in seeing the workmen without arms, because the struggle would only be serious from the moment the people had guns. If a few shots were not immediately exchanged, the crowd might be dompted and muzzled. It was the want of arms that alone delayed the insurrection.

So soon as he reached the Cours Saint Louis again, he mixed with the groups of people who were still excited at the view of the funeral procession, and he drew attention to the café where the municipal troops were.

“They are Carlists,” he exclaimed. “Down with the National Guard!”

That cry found a responding echo in the crowd. Everyone turned towards the café, every mouth began to revile and threaten those who had taken refuge there.

“I know them,” shouted Mathéus, “they belong to the company who fired on us in the Rue de la Palud.”

This statement was false, but who could deny it amidst such confusion. The cries became louder, and the most daring began to pick up stones and to cast them at the windows where they saw the National Guards. The latter were guilty of the imprudence of pointing their muskets at the people. Then the crowd lost their heads and rushed toward the café. Mathéus was ahead and shouted:

“We want muskets. Let us disarm them!”

Philippe and Marius had been standing for a quarter of an hour at the entrance to the Rue de Rome. Being unable to advance to the first ranks, they had confined themselves to following the mob in a most excited frame of mind, and had seen the lugubrious procession go by with the dead workman.

“Look!” Philippe exclaimed, simply pressing his brother’s arm vigorously.

And he resumed savage silence. Then, when the National Guards pointed their muskets at the people, he dashed forward, without uttering a word and rushed with the mob to the assault of the café.

He and Marius, who had followed him step by step, entered the café almost at the same time as Mathéus. The rooms above were invaded in a few seconds, the National Guards being prudent enough not to offer any serious resistance and allowing themselves to be disarmed by the first who entered.

Philippe seized two muskets and presented one to his brother.

“No,” said the latter. “I don’t fight with Frenchmen.”

Philippe gave a gesture of impatience and hurried off to the Cours, without even looking to see if Marius was following him. The latter, none the less, went after him, unable to make up his mind to leave him, and still hoping to save him from the scrimmage.

The excitement was intense on the Cours and Cannebière. The few rioters who had succeeded in procuring muskets by disarming the National Guard, ran and mixed with the Republican companies massed on the pavement. Philippe stopped before the Hôtel des Empereurs, at one or two paces from Mathéus.

It was just at that moment that the General made another attempt at conciliation. He showed himself again in the crowd preaching concord. By a fatal error the people continued to regard him as the only person guilty of the accidents in the morning. As he was passing before the Hôtel des Empereurs, some men sprang at the bridle of his horse and a crowd formed round him insulting and threatening him, while a few National Guards tried in vain to release him.

In the meanwhile, Mathéus looked to see if his gun was loaded. His eyes shone, and an ugly smile distorted his features. A new idea had just occurred to him to hurry on events. Hiding behind the crowd, he aimed at the General who was opposite him. The gun went off and there was then a tremendous outcry. The General quietly wiped away with his hand, the few drops of blood the bullet had drawn from him in grazing his cheek.

Mathéus’ shot was followed by several others, which completed the panic. The simple on-lookers rushed away in disorder, quite terrified, and expecting to be riddled with bullets in their flight. The rioters moved off with the cry:

“To the barricades! to the barricades!”

It looked as if an angry breeze were sweeping the crowd away. The lines of National Guards were broken, and the companies dispersed by the torrent bearing them along. In less than two minutes, the Cannebière and Cours were deserted.

The General had withdrawn looking pale and sad. Mathéus had disappeared as if by enchantment. Philippe full of indignation, had dashed in vain to the spot where a streak of smoke revealed the assassin’s presence; but he was only able to distinguish an indistinct form stooping down and fleeing.