Complete Works of Emile Zola (87 page)

Mathéus’ reflections were rather sad. He cursed himself a thousand times, for having had the strange idea of taking off his wig, but he did not for a moment suspect the part the Cayols had played in his arrest. Philippe having feigned not to recognise him, he imagined his misadventure had occurred solely from the rioters taking him for a police spy, an accusation he had been unable to refute. At the bottom of his heart, he even laughed at his adversaries for having helped him. However, he did not despair beyond measure, for he had always looked upon the workmen as asses, and he said to himself that he would assuredly find a means of escaping when the barricades were attacked. It was merely an annoyance. He must wait.

Philippe had withdrawn with Marius into a corner, and was saying to him in an animated undertone:

“I preferred not to let him be hanged, for if we conquer, this man will be a terrible arm in our hands against Cazalis.”

“And if we are beaten?” inquired Marius.

“If we are beaten,” Philippe answered, sullenly, “I entrust my child to you; you will protect him. Do not overwhelm me with reproaches. I must go straight ahead, without looking backward.”

The conversation between the two brothers was interrupted by a murmur that arose in the middle of the square. It was about two o’clock. More than an hour had elapsed since the barricades had been completed, and the rioters were waiting. They had taken advantage of this moment of respite to organize a plan of defence and make their final arrangements. Since the arrest of Mathéus a silence of death reigned all around. Each workman, rivetted to his post, was gazing fixedly ahead, with his loaded musket beside him, and all his thoughts bent on vengeance.

Suddenly, those who were guarding the barricade in the Grande Rue, perceived two persons advance and boldly enter the stronghold. On hearing the murmur, that had greeted them, Philippe approached and recognised M. Martelly and Abbé Chastanier. The ship-owner hastened forward to meet him.

“For pity’s sake,” he said to him, “if you have any power over these men, dissuade them from this fratricidal struggle.”

“My child,” murmured the priest on his side, “I have come to you, to beseech you with joined hands, to avoid the effusion of blood.”

Philippe shook his head without answering. He was annoyed at their arrival. He felt more guilty and upset in their presence. The ship-owner continued:

“You see, I come, as I promised you I would, to place myself between the people’s fire and that of the soldiers. I bitterly regret at this moment, that I did not devote a few days to winning popularity with the workmen, so as to make them listen to me and follow my advice.”

“I can do nothing,” Philippe ended by saying. “These men are exasperated, they listen to me because I think as they do, that the people have to take vengeance; but, if I were to speak to them of pardon and forgiveness, they would turn their backs on me. Try it yourself.”

The workmen had, little by little, drawn near, and M. Martelly went up to them.

“My friends,” he said, “I am directed to announce that justice shall be done you. I have just seen the Commissary of the Government.”

These words were listened to amidst silence and sullen anger. After a moment, the entire crowd answered in one single cry:

“It is too late!”

Abbé Chastanier then addressed each workman. But they turned away, one by one, in ferocious ill-humour, without listening. When he told them that the Almighty forbade the shedding of blood, they answered him:

“Why didn’t you say that this morning to the National Guard?”

M. Martelly, on his side, was no more fortunate. They knew him as a man of independent mind, but they also knew he was rich, and they, perhaps, accused him in their hearts of giving way to fright.

The priest and ship-owner returned to Philippe in despair. The latter would have been glad to see them succeed, but he did not dare assist them openly. Thinking of his faults, of which he now saw the consequences, of the danger which threatened his own near relatives, he felt alarmed himself.

“I warned you,” he said, “that any attempt at pacification would be useless. The people want to fight, and will fight. Let us do our duty.”

He stopped to listen. A muffled sound, a distant clinking of metal, came from the Grande Rue.

“Here are the soldiers and National Guard,” he continued in a grave tone of voice.

And he rapidly withdrew, after having pressed the hand of Marius, who hastened upstairs to rejoin Fine. M. Martelly and Abbé Chastanier advanced towards the barricade in the Grand Rue, behind which Philippe had taken up a position.

Once more there was silence, deadly silence, and amidst it was heard the regular, heavy tramp of the military. The rioters, bending down and sheltering themselves, waited.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ATTACK

M. DE CAZALIS, thanks to his National Guard uniform, had been able to follow all the different phases of the riot. So far back as the morning, when Mathéus left him opposite the Prefecture, he had slipped into the ranks of the first company he had met, which happened to be that of Sauvaire, and the ex-deputy was thus able to be present at the brush with the people in the Rue de la Palud.

He had but a vague idea of the plans formed by Mathéus, and was urged by curiosity to follow all his manoeuvres. After the barricade had been captured he proceeded with Sauvaire’s company to the Cannebière, and witnessed all the unfortunate events that had occurred there. When he saw the procession led by the spy, go by with the corpse, he understood that a fight was inevitable, and remembered the rendezvous his accomplice had given him. But when a panic of terror had dispersed the multitude, he felt much perplexed. Prudence told him not to abandon his new companions-in-arms; so, for over two hours, he remained on the Place de la Revolution with the company, which was awaiting orders to march. What made him particularly uneasy, was not having a better idea of Mathéus’ plans, for the latter had merely told him to join him at the spot where barricades would be thrown up. He was suddenly relieved of his perplexity by an order, brought by a man on horseback, which Captain Sauvaire communicated to the National Guard in these terms:

“My boys, the country has need of us. Forward, march!”

Never had the ex-stevedore made such an eloquent speech. He felt so enthusiastic at himself, that he began to ascend the Cannebière at the head of his men, with the air of a conqueror, hardly giving a thought to the danger he was about to incur.

M. de Cazalis felt very much surprised when the Company turned to the left, instead of going towards the Rue de Rome. His idea was that Mathéus had been making efforts to bring about the struggle near the Cours Bonaparte, and he could not understand how his accomplice would be able to steal Joseph, if the fighting took place in the old town. From that moment he gave up trying to understand, but as the company reached the Grande Rue he caught sight of the barricade and that was sufficient. He said to himself, he had kept the appointment, and he awaited events.

The Cours Belzunce was full of troops. There were two platoons of infantry, and about three hundred artillerymen. As soon as Sauvaire’s company arrived, the major who had received orders to attack the barricade, had a short interview with the captain.

“I was awaiting you,” he said to Sauvaire. “My orders are to show as much consideration as is possible, and it occurred to me that as the sight of the infantry would be likely to exasperate the workmen, it might be best for the National Guard to march on ahead and make a final effort at conciliation. Speak to the rioters as a fellow-townsman.”

From that moment Sauvaire imagined that the destiny of France was in his hands. He formed his company into column and advanced resolutely into the Grande Rue, the tramp of his men ringing out in the silence. The major set his troops in motion behind the National Guard.

When the captain found himself at fifty paces from the barricade, he commanded: “Halt!” and approached it alone. On hearing his word of command, some fifteen rioters showed themselves. The ex-master-stevedore, seeing the musket barrels flashing at his breast, gave a shudder of fright, but out of vanity, put on a good appearance externally.

“Eh! the deuce!” he said, “I’m a friend, don’t fire. We’re all Marseillais boys; we can’t cut each other’s throats in a family circle. There are none but good fellows here. Is it not so? Come now, throw down your arms and let each go his own way.”

There was but one cry in response to these exhortations.

“It is too late!”

“It is never too late to act like reasonable men,” continued Sauvaire. “In your place, I’d return to duty. They must have told you that the Commissary of the Government had admitted the justice of your claims. What more do you want?”

“What we want is blood, withdraw!” screamed the rioters.

Sauvaire, while speaking, had been attentively following the workmen’s movements. Suddenly, he fancied he heard a strange sound and was about to retreat, when a powerful voice shouted from behind the barricade:

“Look out, stoop down!”

Sauvaire let himself fall heavily to the ground, and the men behind him bent themselves.

At the same moment a discharge from the barricades and neighbouring houses, passed over the heads of the attacking party with a terrible roar, but thanks to the warning, which had caused the soldiers to curve their necks, only about a dozen men were wounded. The attack had been so sudden and unexpected, that the National Guards, seized with panic, had fled. Sauvaire threw himself to the left, against the houses, and hurriedly rejoined his company which had reformed a hundred paces further on.

During this time an incident had occurred, behind the barricade. M. Martelly and Abbé Chastanier had remained among the workmen, exhorting them to avoid the effusion of blood. Whilst Sauvaire was speaking, the ship-owner had noticed that some of the more furious ones were preparing to fire, and it was he who had shouted to the soldiers:

“Look out, stoop down!”

When the rioters perceived what little effect their discharge had produced, they surrounded M. Martelly in a rage. Philippe, who had come down from the barricade, saw the danger his former employer was running, and, to save him, ordered two of the rioters to put him and the priest under arrest and not to lose sight of them. Ultimately both were taken to the little shop where Mathéus was confined.

The troops, however, advanced again. The major had given the infantry orders to take the barricade by assault, and a few of the National Guards, exasperated at the volley they had received, had mixed with the soldiers. Among these was M. de Cazalis. Having perceived Philippe at the top of the barricade, he had but one thought, to hide behind something or in some doorway, and kill his enemy.

As the new attacking column was about to rush upon the barricade, they were repulsed by a second discharge. This volley was much more murderous than the first. A captain, mortally wounded, was carried in a dying condition into a neighbouring house, and more than thirty men were incapacitated from taking any further part in the fray. The major then understood that the struggle was unequal and that he would never capture the barricade by storming it from the front, as the rioters, hidden behind all sorts of shelter, were able to take deadly aim, whilst those attacking could not do so. From that moment, soldiers and National Guards dispersed in the Grande Rue, and throwing themselves on either side of it, along the walls, opened a skirmishing fire. Shot then followed shot, irregularly, here and there; and as soon as a man showed himself, he was certain to get a bullet whistling at his ears.

Sauvaire had sought refuge under a large doorway. The worthy man began to think the business of a National Guard no joke. His vanity had first of all been tickled, by the importance the rank of captain gave him, in the grave events that were occurring; but, when he saw they were fighting in earnest, his bourgeois pity got the better of him; and he watched the men falling around him, with a feeling of sorrow and horror. He felt as if he would like to put a stop to the fighting; first of all, so as not to run the risk of receiving a bullet, and then so as to be spared the disagreeable sight of a battle. Personally he would not have killed a fly, he only thought of securing his own safety and of coming to the assistance of friends who might be mixed up in the disturbance.

It happened by chance that he was hiding under the same doorway as M. de Cazalis. Recognising the ex-deputy, he repressed a gesture of astonishment, and being aware of the hatred he bore the Cayols, he rightly attributed his presence, under a disguise, to thoughts of vengeance. He had noticed Philippe on the barricade, and he now began to watch M. de Cazalis, who, with his musket on a level with his hip, seemed to be waiting. The Republican having stood up to reload his weapon, the Legitimist brought his gun sharply to his shoulder and fired, but Sauvaire, feigning to slip, knocked up against him, and the bullet was flattened out against the façade of a house.

M. de Cazalis was exasperated, but did not dare show his temper to the captain, under whose orders he had voluntarily placed himself. He slid another charge into his gun, repressing an outburst of rage, whilst Sauvaire said to himself:

“Eh! the deuce! the Cayols are my friends. Little Marius gave me many a good laugh in the old days with Clairon. I won’t let them be killed like that. We must be on the alert.”

And from that moment, he forgot he was a captain and only thought of affording little Marius pleasure, by saving Philippe.

The latter had no idea of the danger he had just escaped. Excited by the struggle, he fought as one in despair. All his doubts had left him, he imagined he was defending his child. He fired upon the troops, because the troops were firing on the house where Fine and Joseph were. That was his great anxiety. At every instant, he raised his eyes towards the window of the room, and turned pale when he saw a bullet shatter one of the panes of glass to pieces. M. de Girousse, with superb contempt for peril, leant out, every now and then, from an adjoining window to get a better view. He tranquillized Philippe with a wave of the hand and then enjoyed, as an amateur, the sight afforded by the barricade.