CHAPTER XXX
DEVILS' TALK
The black day which was coming upon Aramon was not long in dawning.Barres and Imbert were the leaders of the anarchist party, which hadalways secretly opposed the Marxian communism of Keller Bey and hisadherents.
These were the men of the opposition, dark-browed cub-engineers andpiece-workers, not high in their professions--being far too careless andoff-hand for regular work, but with a dashing strain in them, and a wayof putting the matter which imposed upon the younger men.
Were they hungry? There was food in the shops. Was their miserablefifteen pence a day insufficient? Yonder were the villas of the traderswho had sucked and grown rich on the money they had earned, inadequateas it was. Had any man a wrong? The Government had put arms in hishands--let him go and right it!--It may be imagined what was the outcomeof this kind of talk. So long as Keller Bey kept his hold there was nonight plundering, and several men caught playing at "individualexpropriation" were first threatened with the provost marshal and thenwith a firing party. Instead they were sent to the care of Calvi in theprison of Monsieur le Duc because the heart of Keller was tender.
This gloomy, four-square hulk of a mediaeval keep had been built in thethirteenth century by the Duke of Burgundy, to awe the riotous Frankishburghers of Aramon le Vieux, and stands still, machicolated and fossed,much as he left it.
It was difficult now to think of the Aramon with its strong guild ofhammer men, its coppersmiths swarming from their clattering toil, itstanners and booth-men pouring out of these same _ruelles_ and squares,now grey with mistral or dreamy in the white sunshine. To-day not a catwould jump for a dozen Dukes of Burgundy, but seven hundred years agoAramon le Vieux had a fierce _elan_ of its own and knew how to singe thebeard of an oppressor, especially if he were at some considerabledistance.
After the building of the great feudal keep on the opposite bank, wehear little more of the turbulent traders, and the likelihood is thatthey paid their dues and gave no trouble ever afterwards, especiallyafter the Duke constructed a bridge of boats which opened at both sidesto allow of traffic.
Now, however, the lofty walls of the fortress of Monsieur le Duc becamethe rallying place of revolt. Every evening in front of the grandentrance, or upon the _fosse_ bridge, Georges Barres preached thedoctrine of plunder and petroleum. There were in Aramon a certain numberof "haves"--let those who heard him see to it that there were ten timesthat number of "takes"! For what were their brethren shut up there (hepointed to the Loches-like cliff of masonry above him, nearly twice theheight of Rochester Castle), and answered, "For retaking their own--forredressing the wrongs of the poor!"
"For plain theft--they stole hens!" proclaimed a voice in the crowd.
"Down with the spy--kill the royalist--dismember the traitor!" howledthe mob. And to show their honesty they fell upon a good citizen ofAramon, a respectable apothecary, come there almost at random. He hadbeen discreetly silent. It was not he who had made the outcry, but worehe not a black frock-coat and looked he not sleek and well fed? If hewere not a spy, what was he doing there? So they threw him in the Rhone.He was fished out half a mile below, where for a long distance theworkshop wall skirts the river. Jack Jaikes did the job with grumblingthoroughness and the man of drugs was brought to with a science andcelerity unknown in his own pharmacy.
Having thus asserted its power, the crowd turned with self-approval tolisten to its favourite orator.
"Here in Aramon we have a Government, and over it presides a GreatShadow which has been sent us from the Internationale. What did ever theInternationale do for us? Did it stop this war? Did it force back theGermans? You tell me that we owe to this shadow the thirty sous a day onwhich we starve. What of that? It is a bribe to keep us from taking allthey possess. Every day in that Chateau yonder the silver gleams on thewhite table-cloth, the red wine mantles in the glass, the champagnefoams, and--my great God! you can hear them laughing--from the miserablelairs where your children are clamouring for bread, and your wives areweeping because there is none to give them!"
Now the soul of such crowds is most strange. In all that listeningassembly there was no single man who did not know that every word wasfalse. There was a special grant for families, and if any worker'schildren had not enough bread, it was because the patriot himself hadspent the money on absinthe! Every worker knew this. Yet tears startedto their eyes, and a deep-throated roar of anger went out against theGovernment which had arranged such a monstrous iniquity.
"Yonder lie the workshops--the place where money is spun--money such asyou have no idea of--millions a week--all the fruit of your toil. Do notbreak the machinery. We will set it spinning money on our ownaccount--but first we must be quit of Dennis Deventer and his foreigngang. Keller Bey will tell you that they are workers likeyourselves--citizens, of equal rights before the Internationale. Whythen did they collect together yonder, these brave citizens, thesehonest workers, these noble revolutionaries? Why are they not walkingabout these streets and taking their turn at mounting guard? I will tellyou. Because they are the guardians of the treasures of themasters--they are keeping locked in Dennis Deventer's safes the millionswhich have been wrung from you in cruelty and blood and tears!"
Such a roar as went up from that black assembly in which the white capsof women were dotted and the massed blue knots of the National Guardcould be seen! It reached the council, drearily debating in the townhouse, and there was a general desire to adjourn. The air was electricwith coming trouble. These duly elected members of the Commune feltthemselves caught between two great unknown forces--the Government ofVersailles, which was represented by the pushing surveyors of theengineers' corps, the first skirmishers of an army which was certain tocome upon them from the north, and this uprising of the idlers andworkspoilers of their own kind.
Personally their Socialism was not deep-rooted. They had the nationalrespect for small property-holders, and even if they possessed nonethemselves, Oncle Jean Marie or Tante Frizade were _proprietaires_ intheir own right. When these heritages fell in none of their lovingnephews and nieces would fight harder for their share than thered-begirt members of the Commune of Aramon.
Only men like Keller Bey and Gaston Cremieux lived in a world beyondsuch things--and on the other hand were those who, like Barres andImbert, had nothing to gain or to lose however fortune's wheel mightturn.
Pere Felix pushed his way into the dense masses about the entrance ofthe prison keep. He was sure of himself, but very indignant at those ofthe Commune who had allowed him to come alone. Of course it was notfitting that Keller Bey should expose his person, but if the twenty ofAramon had marched together in a body, each with his crimson scarf ofoffice girding him, they might have dominated the mob and silenced thehair-brained Barres. Still, all the more honour to himself, when heshould go back to twit them with their fears and tell them the story ofhis triumph!
"We don't want to hear Pere Felix! Down with the traitor! Trample him,spit upon him!"
He could not believe his ears. For then began a din such as he had neverheard. The young men on the outskirts had seized the instruments of theband of the National Guard and were now blowing, bellowing, and clangingupon them. He stood beside Barres, who looked at him contemptuously,tossing the light fall of hair off his brow with a regular movement, asa challenged bull tosses his horns.
"Comrades and citizens, in the name of the Commune of Aramon, elected byyou, I address you----"
Brazen horns brayed, tin trays and kettles were beaten, the big drumthundered just underneath. Words issued from the mouth of Pere Felix.They must have done so, for his lips were moving, but not even himselfheard a word, and the sardonic smile on the face of the Catalan Barresbecame a grin.
The old orator, who had swayed all meetings of the plebs in Aramon eversince '48, threw up his hands in hopeless misery.
"They will not hear me," he cried, so that this time the words reachedthe ear of Barres. "Why will they not hear me?"
Now Barres was by this ti
me content with his triumph, and he put hishand to the old man's ear and shouted, "Because your day is past--youare down, you and all your gang. You silenced me at the Riding Schoolmeeting three months ago, but then you had Gaston Cremieux to help you.You had better go home. I shall see to it that you do go home, and letnot Aramon see your face again. Keep on the farther side of the Duranceand no man shall meddle with you. But from this day forth take noticethat Aramon means to do without you!"
He beckoned a few determined-looking fellows from the crowd, each armedwith a rifle and cartridge-belt. A few instructions, a determined pushthrough the crowd which divided to right and left, shouting hatefulwords all the time he was passing, and Pere Felix found himself thrustignominiously out of the northern gate of Aramon. His captors hadtreated him with a certain hasty roughness, but had up till nowrefrained from insult. Now they tore the red scarf of office from abouthis body and trampled it in the dust. The rule of the Twenty was over inAramon.
Slowly and mournfully Pere Felix took the way under the beautiful treesof the water road toward the Durance. He did not see where he was going.His foot caught more than once in twisted roots from which the soil hadbeen washed away by the winter floods. Under the willows and among theglimmering poplars shedding blue and gold, he drew nearer the brokenpier and the little height of sandy dune from which he could see theblue reek curl upward from the kitchen chimney of the restaurant of theSambre-et-Meuse.
When he saw it his heart gave a sudden throb, as if he had recognisedsuddenly the face of a friend unseen and neglected for years.
"This is mine," he muttered, "and what have I been caring for? Thepopular applause! Mariana told me they would turn upon me and kick me atthe last. Then perhaps I would remember that I had a home. They trampledmy red sash in the dust. It was they who gave it to me--it was their ownauthority vested in me. They ought to have remembered!"
There were tears in the eyes of Pere Felix. The tribune of the peoplecould not all at once bring himself to accept a final defeat. But as helooked a different feeling gathered warm about his heart. Yonder wasJeanne bringing back a boat-load of firewood gathered from the floodmark. How tall she was, and how beautiful! He had not noticed thesethings before. How nobly and regularly she stood in the stern and poledthe boat with the current--a splash or two and she was safe within thelittle backwater. Beyond was Mariana, busy with her fowls, scatteringfeed for them with the shrill _chook_--_chook-chookychooks_ used on suchoccasions by the hen-wives of all nations. Pere Felix could see thebirds running stumblingly with wings outspread to the feast. Marianaturned, glanced across the water, put on her spectacles, and calledaloud to Jeanne without any surprise.
"There is your father, Jeanne--go, fetch him home!"
And suddenly, as his daughter leaped lightly out of the boat and kissedhim on both cheeks, the colour flushing to her face and her bosomheaving, Pere Felix felt himself no more ashamed and outcasted.
"Father," said Jeanne, "I have found such a nest of logs--fine burningwood. You are just in time to cut it into faggots for me. Then I can goand bring away the rest while you are at work."
"Felix, you are just in time for dinner," his wife cried out at sight ofhim. "There is roast lamb and green peas from Les Cabannes. You oldgourmand, I'll wager you knew and came home on purpose!"
No, Pere Felix had not known, but he certainly did come on purpose andon purpose he meant to stay.
A Tatter of Scarlet: Adventurous Episodes of the Commune in the Midi 1871 Page 31