“‘My good friends, follow the example and behold a model in your chiefs, masters and rulers. See ye not that Tintinnabule remaineth still and doth not for the present tintinnabulate? He awaits a fit and favourable occasion. Is he then pacified? You do not think so. And the young Trublio, doth he desire peace? Nay, he likewise waiteth. Hearken diligently. It is good, profitable and necessary that you appear to desire a favourable, kind, assuaging and purging pacification. What doth it cost you?
Naught. And you shall derive therefrom great profit. You that are not pacified shall appear pacified, and the other folk (those that do not trublion), who are in truth pacified, shall appear unpacified, corrupted, wayward, furious, wholly opposed and contrary to a gracious peace, so covetable, pleasant and desirable. Thus it shall be made manifest that you have great zeal and love for the public peace and welfare, and also that, on the contrary, your opponents have a malign desire to trouble and destroy the city and all that lies about it. And say not that this is difficult. It will be as you desire and you will make the simple folk believe that you desire peace. They will believe what you tell them, for they hearken unto you. If you say “I desire peace” they will straightway believe that you do truly desire it. Say it then to give them pleasure, for ‘twill cost you naught.
“‘Nevertheless, for your enemies and adversaries which at first so piteously bleated “Peace! Peace!” (for they be as gentle as sheep, which cannot be gainsaid) it shall be lawful for you to brain them and to say: “They desired not peace therefore we have overthrown them. We do desire peace and will bring the same to pass when we are your ministers.”
“‘It is worthy of all praise pacifically to wage war. Cry “Peace, Peace!” and smite the while. This is Christian-like. “Peace, Peace! This man is dead! Peace, Peace! I have slain three men!” The intention was pacific and you will be judged according to your intention. Go then, cry “Peace!” and smite stoutly. The bells of the monasteries will ring a merry peal for you that love peace, and the praise of the peaceful citizens will follow you. They seeing your victims with gaping bellies lying upon the highways will say: “That is well done. It is for peace’ sake. Long live peace! Without peace no man can live at ease” ‘“
CHAPTER XXVII
MADAME DE BONMONT knew the Exhibition well, having dined there on several occasions. That evening she was dining at the “Belle Chocolatière” — a Swiss restaurant situated, as every one knows, on the bank of the Seine — together with the militant élite of Nationalism, Joseph Lacrisse, Henri Léon, Gustave Dellion, Jacques de Cadde, Hugues Chassons des Aigues and Madame de Gromance, who, as Henri Léon remarked, was very like the pretty servant in Liotard’s pastel, a greatly enlarged copy of which served as a sign for the restaurant. Madame de Bonmont was gentle and tender-hearted. It was love, relentless love that had placed her among these warriors, and, like the Antigone of Sophocles, she brought among them a soul fashioned not for hatred but for sympathy. She pitied the victims. Jamont seemed to her the most pathetic of these, and the premature retirement of this general moved her to tears. She thought of embroidering a cushion for him, on which he could lay his glorious head. She loved making such presents, the value of which consisted solely in the feeling that prompted them. Her love, strengthened by admiration, for Municipal Councillor Lacrisse, left her a good deal of leisure, which she employed in weeping over the misfortunes of the Army and in eating sweets. She was fast putting on flesh and was becoming quite an imposing figure.
The thoughts of young Madame de Gromance were of a less generous kind. She had loved and deceived Gustave Dellion, and then she had loved him no longer. But as he removed her light pink-flowered cloak under the respectfully-lowered eyes of the ‘ head-waiter on the terrace of the “Belle Chocolatière,” Gustave muttered in her ears words that sounded strangely like “jade” and “beastly strumpet.” She did not allow the least distress to appear on her face, but inwardly she thought him rather sweet, and felt that she was about to love him again. And Gustave thoughtfully realized that for the first time in his life he had spoken like a lover. He sat down solemnly beside Clotilde. The dinner, which was the last of the season, was by no means a merry one. The sadness of farewell was felt and a certain Nationalist melancholy. Doubtless they still hoped — what am I saying? — they still cherished infinite hopes, but it is painful, when one has everything, both men and money, to await the future, the dim, distant future, the realization of long-cherished desires and urgent ambitions. Joseph Lacrisse alone remained calm, thinking that he had done enough for his King in being elected municipal councillor by the Nationalist Republicans of the Grandes-Écuries.
“Taking it altogether,” he said, “everything went very well at Longchamps on the 14th. The Army was cheered. There were shouts of ‘Hurrah for Jamont! Hurrah for Bougon!’ There was a great deal of enthusiasm.”
“Doubtless, doubtless,” said Henri Léon; “but Loubet returned unmolested to the Élysée, and the day did not forward our affairs overmuch.”
Hugues Chassons des Aigues, who had a fresh scar on his nose — which was of the big and royal order — frowned and said proudly:
“I can tell you things were hot at the Cascades. When the Socialists cheered the Republic and the Army—”
“The police,” put in Madame de Bonmont, “ought not to allow things to be shouted.”
“When the Socialists cheered the Republic and the Army we replied, ‘Long live the Army! Death to the Jews!’ The ‘white carnations,’ whom I had hidden in the crowd, rallied to my cry. They charged the ‘red eglantines’ under a hail of iron chairs. They were magnificent. But it was no good, the crowd would not respond. The Parisians had come with their wives and children, with baskets and string bags full of food, and the place swarmed with country cousins come to see the Exhibition. Old farmers with stiff legs who looked on with fishy eyes, peasant women in shawls, looking as scared as owls! How could we stir up a family party of that sort?”
“Doubtless,” said Lacrisse, “the moment was ill-chosen. Besides, to a certain extent, we have to respect the Exhibition truce.”
“All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “we hit pretty hard at the Cascades. I gave Citizen Bissolo a crack on the head that sent it down into his hump. I saw him fall to the ground; he looked just like a tortoise. Then, ‘Hurrah for the Army! Death to the Jews P”
“Doubtless, doubtless,” said Henri Léon gravely. “But ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ and ‘Death to the Jews!’ is a trifle subtle for crowds. It is — if I may say so — too literary, too classical, and it is not sufficiently revolutionary. ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ It is fine, it is noble, it is proper, it is cold — yes, it is cold. Let me tell you, there is only one way to excite a crowd, and that is by panic. Believe me, the only way to get a mob of unarmed people on the run is to put fear into their bellies. You should have run, crying — what shall I say?— ‘Save yourselves! Look out! You are betrayed! Frenchmen, you are betrayed!’ If you had shouted that or something like it, in a lugubrious voice, running along the lawn, five hundred thousand people would have run along with you, would have run quicker than you, until they dropped. It would have been terrible and magnificent. You would have been knocked down and trampled to death, mashed to a pulp, but you would have started the revolution.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Jacques de Cadde.
“I am certain of it,” replied Henri Léon. “‘Treachery!’ that is the true cry of riot, the cry that gives wings to the crowd and sets brave men and cowards alike going at the same pace, fills a hundred thousand hearts with one emotion and restores the use of his legs to the paralytic. Ah, my dear Chassons, if you had shouted at Longchamps ‘We are betrayed!’ you would have seen your old screech-owl with her basket of hard-boiled eggs and her umbrella and your old fellow with the stiff legs running like hares.”
“Running where?” asked Lacrisse.
“I don’t know. Who knows where a panic-stricken crowd runs to? They don’t know themselves. But
what does that matter? They’ve been set going, and that’s enough. You can’t cause riots with method. To occupy strategical points was well enough in the far-off days of Barbés and Blanqui, but to-day, what with the telegraph, telephone or merely the police and their bicycles, any sort of concerted action is out of the question. Can you see Jacques de Cadde occupying the police-station in the Rue de Grenelle, for instance? No. All that is possible nowadays is a vague, immense, tumultuous demonstration. And fear, unanimous, tragical fear alone is capable of carrying away the enormous human masses that frequent public fêtes or open-air shows. You ask me where the crowd of the 14th of July would have run to, spurred on as by a big black flag at the cries of ‘Treachery! Treachery! The foreigner! Treachery!’ Where would they have run to? Into the lake, I suppose.”
“Into the lake,” repeated Jacques de Cadde. “Well, they would have been drowned, that’s all.”
“Well,” returned Henri Léon, “would thirty thousand drowned citizens have counted for nothing? Would not the Ministry and the Government have experienced serious difficulty and real danger in the matter? Wouldn’t that have been a good day’s work? Look here, you are no politicians. You don’t care a damn whether you overthrow the Republic or not.”
“You’ll see that after the Exhibition,” said young Cadde with the simplicity of faith. “I myself smashed one of them at Longchamps for a start.”
“Ah, you smashed one of them, did you?” asked young Dellion with interest. “What sort of a specimen?”
“A mechanic. It would have been better if he had been a Senator, of course; but in a crowd you are more likely to chance on a workman.”
“What was your mechanic doing?” asked Léon.
“He was shouting ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ so I bashed him.”
Thereupon, fired with generous emulation, young Dellion told them that on hearing a Socialist-Dreyfusard shout for Loubet, he had bashed his jaw for him.
“All goes well!” said Jacques de Cadde.
“There are some things that might go better,” said Hugues Chassons des Aigues. “Don’t let us be too pleased with ourselves. On July the 14th, Loubet, Waldeck, Miller and André each returned home safe and sound. They would not have returned had my advice been heeded. But no one will act, we are lacking in energy.”
Joseph Lacrisse answered gravely:
“No, no, we are not wanting in energy, but for the moment there’s nothing to be done. After the Exhibition we shall enter upon a vigorous course of action. It will be a favourable moment. After her fête France will be suffering from a bad head and a bad temper. There will be lock-outs and strikes.
Nothing simpler than to provoke a Ministerial crisis, even a Presidential crisis. Don’t you agree with me, Léon?”
“Doubtless, doubtless,” replied Henri Léon. “But we must not forget that in three months’ time we shall be a little less numerous and Loubet a little less unpopular.”
Jacques de Cadde, Chassons des Aigues, Dellion, Lacrisse and all the Trublions tried to drown with their protestations so dismal a prediction, but in a very quiet voice Henri Léon proceeded:
“It is inevitable. Loubet will become less unpopular daily. He was primarily disliked because of the reports that we spread about him, but he will not live up to all of them. He is not great enough to equal the picture we drew of him, to the terror of the crowd. We showed them a Loubet of a hundred cubits’ stature, protecting the thieves in Parliament and destroying the Army. The reality will seem much less terrible. They will see that he does not always protect the thieves or disorganize the Army. He will hold reviews. That will produce an impression. He will ride in a carriage. That is more dignified than going on foot. He will bestow crosses and an abundance of academic palms, and those who receive the cross or the palms will refuse to believe that he intends to betray France. He will make tactful speeches; you may be sure of that; tactful because utterly inane. If he wants to be acclaimed he has only to travel about. The country people will cheer for the President as he passes, just as though he were the kind-hearted tanner whose loss we all deplore because he loved the Army. And if the Russian alliance were pulled off — the bare idea of such a thing makes me shudder — you would see our Nationalist friends unharness his carriage and drag it through the streets. I don’t say he’s a genius, but he’s not a bigger fool than the rest of us, and he is trying to improve his position. That’s only natural. We want to overthrow him and he is wearing us out.”
“I defy him to wear us out,” cried young Cadde.
“Time alone will suffice to wear us out,” replied Henri Léon. “How fine our Municipal Council was on the evening of the poll that gave us the majority! ‘Hurrah for the Army! Death to the Jews!’ yelled the electors, drunk with joy, pride and love. And the successful candidates, beaming, replied, ‘Death to the Jews! Hurrah for the Army!’ But as the new Council can neither free the sons of the electors from military service nor distribute the money of the rich Jews among the small shopkeepers nor even spare the working-man the horrors of slack times, it will betray vast hopes and become as odious as it was once desirable. It will shortly run the risk of becoming unpopular over questions of monopoly, gas, water and omnibuses.”
“You are wrong, my dear Léon,” cried Joseph Lacrisse. “There is nothing to fear with regard to the renewal of monopolies. We say to the electors, ‘We are giving you cheap gas,’ and the electors will not complain. The Municipal Council of Paris, elected on an exclusively political programme, will exercise a decisive influence on the political and national crises that will follow immediately after the closing of the Exhibition.”
“Yes, but in order to do that,” said Chassons des Aigues, “it will have to place itself at the head of the revolutionary movement. If it is moderate, prudent, conciliatory, considerate, all is lost. The Council must realize that it has been elected to overthrow and smash Parliamentarianism.”
“Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” cried Jacques de Cadde.
“Little must be said, but that little to the point,” continued Chassons des Aigues.
“Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!”
Chassons des Aigues disdained the interruption.
“A pledge, a simple pledge should be expressed from time to time. Such as: ‘Impeachment of the Ministers—’”
“Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” cried young Cadde louder than ever.
Chassons des Aigues tried to make him listen to reason.
“I am not opposed on principle to our friends sounding the hallali of the parliamentarians, but in public gatherings the trumpet is the supreme argument of the minority. We must keep it for the Luxembourg and Palais Bourbon. I should like to point out, my dear fellow, that at the Hôtel de Ville we are in the majority.”
This consideration did not move young Cadde, who continued to vociferate:
“Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet! Do you know how to blow the trumpet, Lacrisse? If you don’t, I’ll teach you; it is quite essential for a municipal councillor to know how to blow the trumpet.”
“To resume,” said Chassons des Aigues, as solemn as a judge, “the first pledge of the Council should be the impeachment of the Ministers; the second, the impeachment of the Senators; and the third, the impeachment of the President of the Republic. After a few resolutions of this description the Ministry will proceed to the dissolution of the Council. The Council resists, and makes a vehement appeal to public opinion. Outraged Paris rises—”
“Do you think so?” asked Henri Léon quietly. “Do you really think, Chassons, that outraged Paris will rise?”
“I do think so,” replied Chassons des Aigues.
“I do not think so,” said Henri Léon. “You know Citizen Bissolo — since it was you who nearly brained him on the fourteenth of July at the review — I know him too. One night, on the boulevard, during a demonstration following the election of the deplorable Loubet, Citizen Bissolo came to me as the most constant and most generous of his enemies. We exchan
ged a few words. All our paid roughs were shouting at the top of their voices. Shouts of ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ resounded from the Bastille to the Madeleine. Smiling and amused, the passers-by were on our side. Bissolo stretched out his long hunchback’s arm like a scythe in the direction of the crowd and remarked: ‘I know the jade. Mount her, and she’ll break your back by suddenly lying down when you aren’t expecting it.’ Those were the words of Citizen Bissolo as we stood at the corner of the Rue Drouot on the day when Paris offered herself to us.”
“But this Bissolo of yours is a rogue,” cried Joseph Lacrisse. “He insults the people.”
“He is a prophet,” replied Henri Léon.
Young Jacques de Cadde chanted, in his thick voice:
“Blow the trumpet! It’s the only way!”
THE END
A MUMMER’S TALE
Translated by Charles E. Roche
A Mummer’s Tale was first published in 1903, before being translated into English and released by John Lane of London in 1921. The novel is set in the theatre world of Paris and explores ideas of love, death and religion. A prominent figure in the work is the actress Felicie Nanteuil, who is an unexceptionable performer, but a charming woman. She is the source of much admiration from men and rumours abound around Paris of her many dalliances with an assortment of gentlemen. Nanteuil places little importance on these relationships, but this relaxed attitude is not always shared by the men she spends time with. Monsieur Chevalier is deeply infatuated with the actress, and becomes desperate when he learns of her attachment to another man.
Complete Works of Anatole France Page 182