Thiers flushed and muttered something about meddling busybodies, then, turning on the aide with a sneer, he cried: “General Pointe-de Gévigny is crazy! I thank him for his good intentions, which are of no use.”
The aide looked as though he would like to sink through the floor; the officers present were thunderstruck.
“I shall form an army which will be quite sufficient for our needs,” continued Thiers; “you can retire.” Noticing de Carette, who still stood at attention, his uniform hanging in shreds upon him, the President added: “Go, Monsieur, change your uniform and return here at eight o’clock.” Alain saluted, and, taking Philip’s arm, went away.
They had walked some distance down the street before either spoke. Then Alain asked:
“What do you think of that?”
“I should not like to say what I think of it.”
“H-m!” said the young soldier; “on the contrary, I should very much like to say what I think of it.”
The mob had possessed themselves of Alain’s watch, purse, and sabre. Philip’s money and watch had, by chance, not been taken. After the experience which they had shared together neither thought of separating. It wanted still five minutes to seven. If de Carette was due at the War Ministry in an hour, so, they each took for granted, was Landes also. Meanwhile, they were torn, and dirty, and starved, neither having washed or eaten since the early morning, and between them they could hardly have mustered one whole garment. They found a bath, sent a messenger to Alain’s quarters and the studio in rue Notre Dame for fresh clothes, and met again in half an hour to dine hastily at the nearest restaurant. It would not do to keep M. Thiers waiting. They dared not linger over their meal, still less did either venture to speak about something that had been in his mind all day, tormenting him with keen anxiety and self-reproach. The discussion of Jeanne de Brassac’s affairs and the probable consequences of their headlong forgetfulness in rushing away from the Hôtel Perret without leaving a soul to guard it, must be postponed until after the interview with Thiers, and they made such dispatch that the clocks were striking eight when they presented themselves again at the War Ministry. The officer of the guard saluted.
“There is nobody here, Captain de Carette.”
“Nobody here!”
“Not a soul.”
“The President? — the Ministers?”
“The Ministers have left. M. Thiers has gone to Versailles.”
“What the devil —— —”
“Precisely. I heard Monsieur Thiers say: ‘Paris has abandoned us, we will abandon Paris. Let her stew in her own juice.’”
“He said that?”
“I heard him, Captain.”
Alain seized the officer by the arm and drew him into the deserted hall. “This is Monsieur Landes, my friend and comrade. Tell us what you know,” he said; “it’s like a cursed nightmare.”
“This is all I know. I was inspecting the guard down here. M. Thiers sat with his Ministers above there in the long salon, pretending to hold a council.
I did not see it myself, but those who did, say he would not listen to a word. He shut up MacMahon-and the old Minister of War, and snubbed Borel and Appert, and yet he had nothing to propose himself. General Vinoy arrived with his staff. They left their horses at the gate surrounded by a squadron of light cavalry who had served as escorts. Every minute messengers arrived with fresh news of the disaster on Montmartre, and brought in witnesses of the murders of the Generals. Suddenly, there came cries from the direction of the Esplanade. It was a battalion of the National Guard marching to the Hôtel de Ville carrying a red flag, and shouting, ‘Vive la Commune!’ I was down here, I didn’t see him, — but they say Thiers squealed like a trapped rabbit, and ran out into the hall. From there I myself heard him give the order to evacuate Paris. Monsieur de Carette,” said the officer, bitterly, “with my handful of men I could have scattered that battalion, red flags and all.”
“Well,” said Alain, through his clenched teeth, “and what did the petit bonhomme do next?”
“He ran back for his hat and the next minute came tumbling down the stairs. ‘ General Vinoy,’ he called out, ‘I will take your escort.’ He jumped into his coupé, and when he was seated he took out a blank book, like one who has forgotten a trifle, and scribbled something. It was an order to abandon Mont-Valérien.”
“Sainte Vierge!” groaned de Carette, “this is criminal.”
“Mont-Valérien, the one impregnable fortress between Paris and Versailles!” said Philip, under his breath.
“Then,” continued the lieutenant, passionately,”
“then he stuck his head out of the window and called the escort around him. ‘Gallop! Gallop!’ he cried to the officer in charge. ‘As long as we are on this side of the Pont de Sèvres we are in danger!’ and the squadron departed at full speed, leaving General Vinoy without an escort.”
De Carette turned crimson, and struck the table with his clenched fist.
“This is the man who proposed to reconstruct France. The same man who prepared the revolution of 1830, and when they were fighting in Paris, ran away to Enghien; the same man who prepared the revolution of 1848, and when the revolt flamed up stammered out: ‘The tide rises!’ and fled in disguise.”
Everything was in disorder, seals and papers were lying on the tables, books and precious documents scattered loosely over the desks, the doors of cabinets swung wide open.
“How many men have you, Lieutenant?”
“Thirty.”
“Can you hold the gate?”
“To the last man.”
“Good! Close windows and bar shutters, let them be beaten in before you open. I will attend to these,” motioning toward the litter of books and papers. “Go now.”
The lieutenant saluted and withdrew. Alain dropped his head in his hands but only for a moment. Springing up, he carried, with Philip’s help, all the books, papers, and seals to the cabinets, and closed and locked the doors. It was midnight before they finished. Then Alain called a Huissier and told him to put up two camp beds in the long salon.
Leaving Philip to sleep if he could, de Carette went down to the court below where the little handful of troops were stationed.
“When have your men eaten, Lieutenant?”
“Not in twenty-four hours. There were no orders, no money, and no provision.”
De Carette took some gold pieces from his pocket and handed them to a corporal. “Run over to the nearest restaurant and send food,” he said. “Keep a good watch and call me at the first alarm.”
“When he returned to the long salon, Landes was standing on the balcony. Alain went and stood beside him and they looked out together for a moment. The night was calm, not a gunshot echoed in the city.
“Philip,” said de Carette, “the Hôtel Perret is unguarded.”
“I know it.”
“When did you first remember that we had rushed away and left the de Brassac apartments to the mercy of all the thieves in Paris?”
“Just when we came out on the old Boulevard by the sheds. I was going to speak of it and ask what we should do, — when the people began to eye your uniform. After that it was no use.”
They listened awhile in the serene silence about them. Philip began again.
“This cursed somersault of Thiers makes infinitely worse a situation which I thought was as bad as it could be. There is no police now to search for her or to protect her if I found her, and as for me, I can only move with great caution for they are after me. That shot which knocked over my poor cabby told all I need to know. And now,” he added with a sigh of fatigue and discouragement, “now I lose your help. Of course there is only one thing possible for you, and that is to report to-morrow at the earliest moment at Versailles.”
“Yes. It appears that is the way I reward your devotion of to-day by deserting you to-morrow,” said de Carette, with a flush of mortification.
“You can’t help it,” answered Philip, and they shook hands cordiall
y.
The first morning hour was nearly over when the two young men, after a long and anxious consultation, stretched themselves on their camp beds in the deserted salon, where they were soon lying, worn out and pale, in a deep slumber.
CHAPTER VI. THE DRUMS OF THE 265TH.
AT seven o’clock of the same morning, Philip sprang upright on his cot. “They are knocking, Alain,” he said, but de Carette was already at the door.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“The officer of the guard.”
Alain threw open the door and sitting down began to pull on his riding-boots while the lieutenant reported “all well.”
“General d’ Abzac came at six. He refused to believe me when I told him the government had fled” — a tall figure in the uniform of a chef d’ escadron of artillery appeared in the doorway: “Hello, Alain, I just heard that the government has run away. It’s not true of course, it’s some blague!” Tardif de Moidrey of the artillery stationed at the Tuileries was in a rage. His deep angry voice boomed like a big bell through the empty rooms.
“It’s true, mon ami,” said Alain.
“What!” thundered de Moidrey. “Damn their white livers, they have left me and my four batteries in the Tuileries without any orders! I want my orders!”
“Mon Commandant,” replied Alain, “nobody is left at the War Ministry but myself and a guard. Go to the Governor of Paris.”
“I have just come from there,” cried de Moidrey, “there isn’t a soul there. At least there’s an officer here.”
“Mon Commandant, what can I do?”
“Have you got the seals of the Ministry?”
“Yes.”
“Then write me an order and I can get out by the Porte Dauphine with my batteries. I call you to witness, Captain de Carette, that Thiers runs away in such haste that he forgets my brave little batteries!” De Moidrey walked furiously about the room, shouting, “Monstrous! Incredible!” while Alain scribbled the order and affixed the seals of the Ministry.
Hardly had de Moidrey stalked wrathfully away with his order when others arrived with similar demands. General Bocher came and said: “My brigade was under arms all night. I would not even let my men lie down. They sat with chassepot in hand on their cots, expecting every moment the order to move on Montmartre.”
Count Arthur de Vogüé of the Mobiles began speaking at the same time, but both were now silenced by a sound from the street, the measured tread of marching men. All crowded to the windows.
“Is it the Federals?” cried Bocher, drawing his revolver.
“No, it’s the Line.”
Farron’s division was swinging along toward the Porte Dauphine in perfect silence save for the metallic clink clank of the steel-shod horses and the rhythmic trample of the men. The 35th passed in splendid order, followed by the 426., several regiments de marche and the Gendarmerie.
“Monsieur Thiers runs away when he has such troops as these at his command,” sneered an officer. “Il me dégoûte à la fin, ce petit bonhomme.”
When the last gendarme had ridden out of the rue St. Dominique, the officers turned to each other with gestures of despair. “There is but one thing for us to do,” they said; “join the army now forming at Versailles.”
One by one they shook hands with Alain and left.
“I’ll take my brigade out without losing a man!” stormed Bocher, as he tramped down the stairs and slammed the wicket. The huissiers were coming up in a body as the officers descended. They wanted “ to know if they might go too.
“The Federals may come at any moment,” said one of them, “and the guard below would only be massacred.”
“You are right,” said de Carette. “Go!” Alain and Philip were left standing alone in the deserted War Ministry.
“One thing more,” said Alain, in a low voice; “that little post below must get out of the city. They’d better go now or it will be too late.” He wrote the order and sealed it, then locking up the seals he took his cap and sabre and beckoned Philip to follow.
When they reached the courtyard the guard of the 110th presented arms.
“I will inspect your men,” said de Carette to the lieutenant in charge, calling the others from the garden.
With their battered forage caps and faded red trousers, their bright faces and firm bearing, the little detachment stood silent and attentive, while de Carette passed them rapidly in inspection. Then he turned to the lieutenant. “Here is your order; go by the Porte Dauphine. March!”
The lieutenant hesitated and stammered:
“But we would like to see you safe first, mon Capitaine; is it not so, mes enfants?” The little troop swinging their battered caps woke up the courtyard and hallway with their cheering.
“Thank you, my children,” said Alain, much moved; “I am safe; obey orders! March!”
The lieutenant straightened up. “March!” he repeated, and saluting, passed out into the street with his handful of men. Alain and Philip were left alone.
“Come up on the terrace of the garden,” said de Carette; “we can talk there and watch the rue de Bourgogne at the same time; they will come from that direction;” and he led the way. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky. Birds chirped from every shrub; it was Sunday, a Sabbath stillness was in the air. Across the river a mellow bell tolled and the soft spring wind bore a murmur of distant chimes to their ears. They sat down on the parapet overlooking the rue de Bourgogne, and Alain produced two rolls and a bottle of milk.
“Perhaps our last meal together,” said Landes, smiling.
“Who knows. Versailles is not far off,” said de Carette. “Not far off,” he repeated, sadly; “and yet I predict that if we have found it easy to leave Paris we shall not find it easy to return. It’s a bad business — a bad business.” Landes nodded.
“As for leaving you, can you imagine how I hate to do that? It seems like desertion, you know. If I could stay, Philip, my friend, I would.”
“I know you would,” answered Philip; “why speak of it? Do you think Thiers means to come back?”
“He means to, yes, and he will if he can. Oh, of course some time we shall retake the city, but what will happen first?”
“The Commune means the Reign of Terror,” said Landes.
“That, and nothing else,” said Alain. “What will these fishmonger captains do with their newly acquired power? What will that criminal Flourens, what will those creatures Assi and Delescluze — what will Raoul Rigault —— — —”
A voice from the street broke in:
“Hey! you officer up there!”
“What do you want?” said de Carette, sharply, looking over the parapet. It was a man in the uniform of a National Guard, swaying backwards and forwards on the sidewalk, very drunk.
“What d’ I want? I’ll tell you, young cock-of-the-walk; I want you to und’stand that I am as good as you are, and thash what I want.”
De Carette watched him closely. “There may be more of them,” he whispered to Landes; “get your revolver ready.”
“Wha’ d’ I want? Thash good. I’m a goin’ to tell you, my gold-trimmed canary bird. I’m Yssel — Jean Marie Joseph Yssel — from Lorient, ‘n thash a dam good place!”
“Excellent,” replied Alain, and cocked his revolver.
“Dam sight better ‘n Paris!”
“Dam sight,” replied the urbane Captain.
“I’m Yssel, Jean Marie Joseph Yssel, fourth comp’ny 266th battalion, corporal, an’ know a dam sight more ‘n my Colonel.”
“You are very intelligent,” replied Alain. The fellow whipped out a revolver and began firing in all directions, accompanying each shot with unearthly whoops.
“I’m dam sight better ‘n the Colonel, better ‘n you, better ‘n everybody,” he yelled, as the racket of his fusilade died away, and he hurled his empty revolver across the street. Then with a vinous smile he sat down on the steps.
“You ‘re a hell of a Captain!” he observed to de Carette.
>
“Oh, I’m not perfect.”
“No, you ‘re an ass!!”
Alain and Landes had to laugh, and the drunkard promptly joined in. Then he got up and tried the gate.
“We ‘re three pretty good fellows,” he called up, with a wink, “ain’t we?”
“We are, indeed,” replied Landes, fervently, “especially you.”
“Say — I like your friend,” bawled the soldier to Alain; “he’s a good fellow, ain’t he? Lemme in.”
“Where are your friends?” asked Alain.
“Ain’t got no fren’s,” bawled the drunkard, weeping and snuffling. “Ain’t got nothin’ nor nobody! Lemme in!” and he beat upon the gate at the foot of the steps.
“Where’s your battalion?”
“Ain’t got no battalion.”
“Yes, you have; where is it?”
“In h — l! In Belleville.”
“They ‘re synonymous,” whispered Alain to Philip. “Are they coming this way?”
“Yes, guess so.”
“When?”
“Lemme in, Captain,” pleaded the corporal, knocking great dents in his rifle barrel against the gate.
“Not till you tell me when your battalion is coming.”
“It’s coming soon — at ten o’clock ‘n’ all’s well ‘n’ I’m drunk,” sang the man.
“Who’s the Colonel?”
“Colonel’s a fool.”
“Yes — but what’s his name?”
“I said fool. Op’n the gate. I want to be sociable.”
“I mean his other name,” persisted Alain, patiently.
“Wilton, — École des Beaux Arts.”
“I know him,” whispered Philip, excitedly. “He’s an American student, an artist, great chum of Gustave Courbet.
“Ain’t you goin’ to lemme in?” pleaded the corporal, with a final bang on the gate which sent his rifle into smithereens.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 26