CHAPTER XXV
THE PROCLAMATION
The street lamps had not been lighted when I landed on the left bank ofthe river, well above any outposts of the new revolt. I pulled my skiffsafely under shelter of some bushes. The spot I had chosen was one wellknown to me, and exceedingly safe. My father often sent me over to bringplants and seeds from Arcadius, the gardener at Les Linottes, whoseextensive grounds ran right down to the river's edge. A soft, ratherhulking, good-natured man was Arcadius, who went through the worldapparently breathing to the full ease of life. His body somewhatresembled a large slug supported on two smaller slugs, which were hislegs. He worked in his garden, his pipe continually between his lips. Ata first glance the slowness of his movements seemed laughable andridiculous. But leave him half an hour and then see what he hadaccomplished. There was no man in Aramon who could get through so muchwork as Arcadius the Slug. By a kind of instinct he saw exactly whereevery stroke ought to fall, how much or how little was to be done, andthe completed task ran out behind him like the wake from a well-rowedboat.
It was in a little bay behind a promontory filled with the Slug'ssapling pines that I landed. I knew the place well, I knew also thatArcadius would almost certainly be in his potting house, putting thingsto rights after the labours of the day (the middle of March is highseason for every gardener in the Midi). There indeed I found himsurrounded with repaired hoes and rakes, and at that moment putting anew handle into the small gardener's _beche_ (or mattock) which washardly ever out of his hands while in the open air.
Arcadius was not a man of politics.
"I have never known politics to improve the weather or keep off frosts!"he said. "I have yet to learn what good they do to a working gardener!"
I asked about the works and the town.
"Oh," he said, "my 'prentice lads stayed with me till six o'clockbecause I had put the fear of death on them if they tried to run. Yet Icould see that they were itching to be off, and as soon as six struckfrom the Mairie, they dropped their tools and were over the wall. Onlymy Italians stayed and went soberly to bed. More I do not know. But,though there has been much noise of cheering in the square, there hasbeen no shooting."
I told Arcadius of the skiff fastened up behind his sapling copse. Henodded easily and looked out of doors to examine the weather signs.
"It is not likely to rain, but it will hurt nothing to turn her upsidedown and stay her with a rope and a pair of stones. She will be readywhen you want her. If you are bound on going into Aramon to-night, youmay want her with great suddenness."
I left him at the upper gate of his garden opposite to the waste groundwhere the harmless bull fights of Provence took place.
"Now," he said, "there is a key for you. Put it in your pocket. Crossthat bull yard and go through the passage, at the end of which you willcome upon a door. When you open it you will find yourself in the narrowstreet by the new Lay Schools of the town."
Then my kindly Slug took himself off without waiting for thanks, shakingall over like a jelly, and his lantern making a trickle of clear yellowlight on the pathway in front of him. His wife was calling him in tosupper, "Arcad-arcad-ar-cad-i-oos!"
I crossed the road hastily. All was empty and desolate, and in a momentmore I was fronted by the barricade over which every Sunday the"amateurs" of this innocent bull-baiting leaped back to safety and theapplause of their friends.
Almost I had lost my way among piled benches, when a faint light showedthrough a much barred door. I passed through the money-taker's box withdouble doors and found myself facing the dark tunnel of which Arcadiushad spoken. It looked dismal and uninviting enough, but at least therewas no reason to suppose that any revolutionaries would be skulkingthere. Even if there were, what had I, an old Garibaldian, to fear? Thepassage had evidently been used for bringing the bull into the arena,and I was glad enough when the massive double portal stopped me, eventhough it was the bump on my forehead which first acquainted me with itsposition.
I felt for the keyhole and found that it took all my strength to turnthe wards of the ancient lock which in that damp place creaked dismally.The half of the heavy door swung back ponderously. The street withoutseemed dim and forlorn in front of me, glimmering with a kind of bluishlight. I was glad that I had not to step at once into the brightillumination of the Cours or the more restrained golden glow whichdistinguished the Place de la Mairie. I made what slight toilet I could,carefully wiping my muddy boots on the door-mat of a perfect stranger towhom in days to come I make belated acknowledgments.
I peered out and it was well I did so, for not ten yards from the end ofthe passage a sentry was posted in the dress of the National Guard ofAramon, blue breeches, blue coat liberally faced with red, and a red_kepi_. I could see the light from an unseen lamp shining on the flat ofhis sword-bayonet, no doubt fresh from the storehouse of DennisDeventer.
For since the ignominious retreat of the military two months ago, theGovernment had insisted that a National Guard on the Paris model shouldbe established in Aramon and, for that matter, in all the larger townsof the Midi. Dennis Deventer warned the prefect of the department ofRhone-et-Durance that they were laying up trouble for themselves. Hetold them that if they armed the workmen of the Arms Factories on theslightest outbreak in Paris, all power in Aramon-les-Ateliers would passinstantly into their hands. The like would also happen in every town ofthe Midi.
"You of the South are afraid when a mouse squeaks," the Secretary of theInterior had replied (for Dennis and he were closeted together). "Weaccounted for the Reds easily enough in October and again in January.They have lost both in power and numbers since then. If anything gravedoes happen, we can always take Cavaignac's way--isolate suburb fromsuburb and--shoot!"
"Very well," said Dennis, "if you are sure of your regular army that maydo for Paris--but at Aramon, at Marseilles, our suburbs are our richquarters. The men of the revolt live in the city, and to put arms intotheir hands is to centralise all power there."
But the watchword of the Government for the moment was "trust of thepeople," and it was not till its generals were being shot down under thebloody apple blossom of the Rue des Rosiers, its army fraternising withthe revolutionaries, and the chiefs of the Government clattering withfoaming steeds and strained harness on the way to Versailles, that theybecame aware that Dennis Deventer had been right.
At any rate, there was I, who had not been consulted in the affair,almost within arms' length of a National Guard, my refuge in the doorwayliable to be intruded upon at any moment, and all exit blocked. I beganto ask myself what I was doing there.
Yet I had no idea of going back. I must know what had happened atChateau Schneider. I must see Rhoda Polly. There was no sound except aconfused murmur like wind overhead in high trees. No shots were fired,and except the erect sentinel in his blue coat, his red _kepi_ tippedrakishly over one ear, and his shining rifle and sword-bayonet, I heardno sound of civil strife.
I watched him carefully. He was new to his work and fidgeted constantly,now coming a little down the street and then going a little way up, butnever a moment losing sight of my alley arch, which seemed to attracthim like a sort of black hole into the unknown.
Twice or thrice he fumbled in his pockets, and once he drew out a shortpipe which he eyed with longing. But apparently he had had his orders,for he put it back again, changed his piece from one shoulder toanother, and resumed his uneasy guard.
I think that it must have been a good hour that I stood there watchingthe shining of that fellow's broad bayonet. So we might have stoodindefinitely had not the pipe in my gentleman's pocket proved in timetoo much for him. He looked this way and that, ducked suddenly under myarchway, bayonet and all, and then proceeded to strike a match. I canaffirm in excuse for what followed that I had no time to form plans. Themost natural defence was that which most concerned me. My opponent wasarmed and strong, I only agile, young, and unarmed. So while the vilegovernmental match still stank and hissed with its blue flame, I leapedupon him like
a cat.
He screamed, dropped his pipe, and made immediately for the street. Ifhe reached it I was a dead man. So I throttled him, pulling back hishead till I feared his neck might crack. He fell, and in a twinkling Ihad tossed aside his gun and revolver, strapped his hands with mywaistbelt and thrust a handkerchief into his mouth, fastening it in withanother which I found in his own pocket.
Then I dragged him backwards towards the door and after some difficultyopened it. I lifted him as well as I could upon my shoulders so thatonly his feet trailed. But he must have received some stunning blowabout the head, for he never moved, though it was with relief that Ifelt him breathing when I laid him down. I extended him comfortably on afodder crib in the bull enclosure, for which luckily my key was alsogood.
Then I hastily reckoned the chances such as they were. It was clear Icould not go about the streets of Aramon as I was, with armed sentinelsat every corner. The man's red _kepi_ gave me an idea. It had fallenoff. I picked it up, cleaned it, and was about to replace it, when Isuddenly snatched it away again. I lifted the man up and took off hiscloak and blue uniform coat. I would be a National Guard for the night,and I felt sure that with my experience of soldiering I could look thepart. I bestowed my coat upon him, and gazed with longing at his bluebreeches, but gave up that exchange as too long and perilous anundertaking. Dark brown must serve in place of the regulation bluepattern on the principle that at night all cats are grey. But I put onthe coat which was considerably too big. I carefully cleaned the skirtsof the cloak, and then added to my array the red _kepi_.
The door once locked upon my prisoner, I left him to come to himself athis own time and as he would. On my way out I gathered up the arms thatwere missing. Already I had provided myself with his cartridge belt, hishaversack and all accessories. The revolver was safe in its case nearthe door-mat and the rifle and sword-bayonet were soon polished on oneof the tails of the coat. I kept the cloak open a little so that thebroad red facings might show.
With a beating heart I peeped out. The street was empty, and it struckme forcibly that the sooner I got away from there the better.
The military organisation of the Revolt might be more complete than Isupposed. They might send out Grand Rounds to visit their sentinels, orthe guard might be changed---both of which events would be exceedinglyawkward for me, especially as I was wholly without knowledge of thepassword.
Not more than an instant did I hesitate on the threshold. Then with (Iadmit) my heart in my mouth, I stepped out and marched directly for theend of the alley.
The broad Place de la Republique (as it had been named for six months,vice "Imperial" superseded) was filled with a dim but pervadingillumination. The resinous smell of many torches filled the air, and asI turned towards the Hotel de Ville I saw the reason. On the broadplatform over the doorway, many men were standing bareheaded, and alittle in advance of the others one was holding a document in his hand.
Flags that certainly were not tricolour drooped on either hand of thisbalcony and cascaded down the front of the building, hiding thefirst-floor windows and reaching the ground.
I saw many National Guards hurrying from their places, some singly, somein little groups of three and four. I let myself be carried along till Ireached the press in front of the ceremony. Discreetly I did not try topenetrate, but kept well on the outskirts, as far from the hundredtorches as possible. Mine was not a popular position, for the reek ofthe tar set people coughing, and most were not slow to move away. But Istood as if on faction, and as such was saluted and passed by a hurryingofficer, who, barely saluting, barked at me the single word "Marx,"shooting it in my direction like a missile. I saluted in return and hewent his way, leaving me in possession of the password for the night. Itwas no immediate service, for all there were too intent on the ceremonyin front of the town hall to look at one National Guard more or less.
When I had accustomed my eyes to the acrid sting of the smoke, I movednearer in order to hear better, and then for the first time I becameaware that the man who was proclaiming the Commune in Aramon was--KellerBey himself!
The accents of the voice, falling clamorously on my ear, had indeedsounded familiar, but I had rather thought of Pere Felix, Pipe-en-Bois,Soult or any other valiants of the former revolutions. What was Kellerdoing here?
Suppositions crowded dizzily about me. Of course, there had always beenan unknown side to Keller Bey, and his hatred of the priests and thebourgeoisie had been things to reckon with.
"Who is the speaker?" I asked of a man beside me, still in the blouse ofhis daily work, his eyes red with tending furnaces and his hands grimywith coal. He cast one look of contempt on me.
"Where have you come from," he demanded, "that you do not know KellerChief of the Secret Council of the Internationale?"
"I have been fighting along with Garibaldi," I answered truthfullyenough, "I have not been long in the National Guard."
Which in its way was still truer.
"Ah," he answered carelessly, "the Italian! I have heard of him. Whatsort of a fellow was he?"
I explained enthusiastically, but as usual quite in vain.
"Well," said the man, cursing the smoke and beginning to move off, "hemight as well have stopped at home for all the good he did. That's myway of it!"
And I will not conceal from the reader that this summed up pretty fairlythe bulk of French opinion upon the great leader.
As may well be imagined I stood far back, shrouded in shadow and smoketill Keller Bey had finished his speech. He told how in Paris the revoltof the proletariat had been completely successful, how the army had goneover to the cause of the people, how the bourgeois Government had fledto Versailles with hardly one to do them honour--how in all the greatcities of France the new Commune was being declared and established. AtMarseilles Gambetta's young Procureur-General, the citizen GastonCremieux, headed the movement. He read a dispatch that moment received,urging Aramon to send a thousand men to help their brothers inMarseilles, threatened with troops from overseas and exposed to dailyattacks from the still untaken forts.
"We shall be glad to aid our brothers in Marseilles if we are let alonehere. We desire no fighting. The troops of the tricolour are not withinour gates, and though there are some left who think differently from us,we can, I believe, live on excellent terms with them, until ourGovernment is solidified and the Company of Arms is ready to nationaliseits works. Till that day we must deal prudently, rule well, allow noattempts on private property, and behave as if we were all in reality aswell as in name comrades and brothers."
So far as I could judge, I think Keller Bey carried the audience withhim. I did not hear a murmur of dissent. Only, on the other hand, theplaudits could not be called long-continued or well-nourished. Theworkers of Aramon-les-Ateliers cherished a secret doubt--a doubt whichthey wished set at rest.
"What of Dennis?" they cried. "Dennis Deventer? Are the works to beclosed? Where is the week's wage to come from?"
Keller Bey rose again, brushing aside the Pere Felix.
"To-morrow," he said "you shall elect your Commune--twenty citizens ofweight and mark to take the place of the present provisional governmentwhich has declared Aramon a city of liberty. Choose you good strong menwho can deal with the Company and the Company's agent. Have no fear. Ourcause is just. Marseilles and the great cities are with us. Andto-morrow, doubt it not, France shall be with us also. We haveinaugurated the reign of international peace. Let us begin by keepingthe peace within our own borders. If we are to govern at all, we mustshow an example of good government, so that every city, town, and hamletshall desire to throw in its lot with us. There is to be no wrecking ofmachinery, which we know must one day belong to the workers. We shallmake friends with the foremen of departments, and when we come torestarting the works on the Communist plan we shall pay every man hiswage according to his deserts--aye, and to Dennis Deventer his, for ahead we must have. A business without a head is like an army without ageneral."
At this moment I was suddenly
gripped solidly from behind, my weaponssnatched away from me, and with the butt of the rifle such a blow wasdelivered on the back of my head that the marvel is I am here writing ofit to-day. My gentleman of the bull enclosure had been cleverer than Ihad anticipated. Most likely he had been shamming dead, and now, havingloosened himself, he had leaped the fence, made a detour of theboulevard and appeared from behind me at the moment when I was expectinghim as little as he had looked for me in the archway.
That gun-butt was enough for me. I sank swooning on the ground under thelow smoke drift from the dim torches and with the words of Keller Bey asto universal peace and concord still in my ears.
A Tatter of Scarlet: Adventurous Episodes of the Commune in the Midi 1871 Page 26