A Girl of the Commune

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER XXV.

  Armed with his pass Cuthbert started for the city at ten o'clock nextmorning. A dense pall of smoke hung over Paris. On the south side of theriver the conflict was still raging, as it was also on the north andeast, but the insurgents' shells were no longer bursting up the ChampsElysees and the firing had ceased at the Place de la Concorde. It wasevident that the insurgents, after performing their work of destruction,had evacuated their position there. On reaching the bottom of the ChampsElysees he found that a breach had been made in the barricade and that aconsiderable number of troops were bivouacked in the Place de laConcorde itself.

  The fire-engines from Versailles, St. Denis, and other places round werealready at work, but their efforts seemed futile indeed in face of thetremendous bodies of fire with which they had to cope. Just as Cuthbert,after passing through the breach in the barricade, on the presentationof his pass to the sentries, arrived at the end of the Rue Rivoli, amounted officer dashed up to the two engines at work opposite thebuilding that had first been fired, and said--

  "You can do no good here. Take your engines to the courtyard of theTuileries and aid the troops in preventing the fire from spreading tothe Louvre. That is the only place where there is any hope of doinggood. Now, monsieur," he said to Cuthbert, "You must fall in and aid thePompiers. The orders are that all able-bodied men are to help inextinguishing the fire."

  Cuthbert was glad to be of use, and joining the firemen ran along withthe engines down the Rue Rivoli and turned in with them into thecourtyard of the palace. The western end, containing the Stateapartments, was a mass of fire from end to end, and the flames werecreeping along both wings towards the Louvre. In the palace itself abattalion of infantry were at work. Some were throwing furniture,pictures and curtains through the window into the courtyard; others werehacking off doors and tearing up floors, while strong parties wereengaged on the roofs in stripping off the slates and tearing down thebeams and linings.

  Other engines presently arrived, for telegrams had been sent off soonafter the fires broke out to all the principal towns of France, and evento London, asking for engines and men to work them, and those fromAmiens, Lille, and Rouen had already reached Paris by train.

  After working for three hours Cuthbert showed his pass to the officerand was permitted to pass on, a large number of citizens being by thistime available for the work, having been fetched from all the suburbsoccupied by the troops. Before going very much farther Cuthbert wasstopped by a line of sentries across the street.

  "You cannot pass here," the officer in charge said, as Cuthbert producedhis permit, "the island is still in the hands of the Communists, and thefire from their barricade across the bridge sweeps the street twentyyards farther on, and it would be certain death to show yourself there;besides, they are still in force beyond the Hotel de Ville. You can, ofcourse, work round by the left, but I should strongly advise you to gono farther. There is desperate fighting going on in the Place de laBastille. The insurgent batteries are shelling the Boulevards hotly,and, worst of all, you are liable to be shot from the upper windows andcellars. There are scores of those scoundrels still in the houses; therehas been no time to unearth them yet, and a good many men have beenkilled by their fire."

  "Thank you, sir. I will take your advice," Cuthbert said.

  He found, indeed, that there was no seeing anything that was going on inthe way of fighting without running great risks, and he accordingly madehis way back to the Trocadero. Here he could see that a number of fireshad broken out at various points since morning, even in the part of thetown occupied by the troops; and though some of these might be caused bythe Communists' shell it was more probable that they were the work ofthe incendiary. He had, indeed, heard from some of the citizens to whomhe had spoken while at work at the pumps, that orders had been issuedthat all gratings and windows giving light to cellars, should be closedby wet sacks being piled against them, and should then be coveredthickly with earth, as several women had been caught in the act ofpouring petroleum into the cellars and then dropping lighted matchesdown upon it.

  These wretches had been shot instantly, but the fresh fires continuallyspringing up showed that the work was still going on.

  It was strangely silent in the streets. With the exception of thesentries at every corner there were few persons indeed abroad. Many werelooking from the windows, but few, indeed, ventured out. They knew notwhat orders had been given to the sentries and feared arrest were theyto stir beyond their doors. Moreover, the occasional crash of a shellfrom the insurgent batteries, the whistling of bullets, and the frequentdischarge of musket shots still kept up by groups of desperateCommunists who had taken refuge in the houses, was sufficient alone todeter them from making any attempt to learn what was going on. But inthe absence of footfalls in the street and of the sound of vehicles, thedistant noises were strangely audible. The rustle of the flames at theHotel de Ville and the great fires across the river, the crash of thefalling roofs and walls, the incessant rattle of distant musketry, andthe boom of cannon, formed a weird contrast to the silence thatprevailed in the quarter. Cuthbert felt that he breathed more freelywhen he issued out again into the Champs Elysees.

  The next day he did not go down. The advance continued, but progress wasslow. On the following morning Paris was horrified by the news publishedin the papers at Versailles that statements of prisoners left no doubtthat the Archbishop of Paris and many other priests, in all a hundredpersons, had been massacred in cold blood, the methods of the firstrevolution being closely followed, and the prisoners made to walk outone by one from the gate of the prison, and being shot down as theyissued out. Another statement of a scarcely less appalling nature wasthat the female fiends of the Commune not only continued their work ofdestruction by fire, but were poisoning the troops. Several instances ofthis occurred. In one case ten men were poisoned by one of these furies,who came out as they passed, and expressing joy at the defeat of theCommune, offered them wine. They drank it unsuspectingly, and within anhour were all dead. Orders, were consequently issued that no soldiershould on any account accept drink or food of any kind offered them bywomen.

  "This horrible massacre of the Archbishop and the other prisoners isnext door to madness," Cuthbert said, as he read the account atbreakfast. "The Communists could have no personal feeling of hostilityagainst their victims, indeed, the Archbishop was, I know, most popular.Upon the other hand it seals the fate of thousands. The fury excited bysuch a deed will be so great that the troops will refuse to give quarterand the prisoners taken will have to suffer to the utmost for the crimecommitted by perhaps a handful of desperate wretches. The omnibusesbegan to run yesterday from Sevres, and I propose, Mary, that we go overto Versailles to-day and get out of sound of the firing. They say thereare fully 20,000 prisoners there."

  "I don't want to see the prisoners," Mary said, with a shudder. "Ishould like to go to Versailles, but let us keep away from horrors."

  And so for a day they left the sound of battle behind, wandered togetherthrough the Park at Versailles, and carefully abstained from allallusion to the public events of the past six months. The next dayCuthbert returned to Paris and made his way down to the Place de laBastille, where, for the sum of half a Napoleon, he obtained permissionto ascend to the upper window of a house. The scene here was terrible.On the side on which he was standing a great drapery establishment,known as the Bon Marche, embracing a dozen houses, was in flames. In thesquare itself three batteries of artillery belonging to Ladmirault'sDivision, were sending their shell up the various streets debouching onthe place.

  Most of the houses on the opposite side were in flames. The insurgentbatteries on the Buttes de Chaumont were replying to the guns of thetroops. The infantry were already pressing their way upwards. Some ofthe barricades were so desperately defended that the method by whichalone the troops on the south side had been able to capture thesedefences, was adopted; the troops taking possession of the houses andbreaking their way with crow-bar and pick-
axe through the party wall,and so, step by step, making their way along under cover until theyapproached the barricades, which they were then able to make untenableby their musketry fire from the windows. Cuthbert remained here for anhour or two, and then making a detour came out on the Boulevards higherup.

  The Theatre of Porte St. Martin was in flames, as were many otherbuildings. A large number of troops with piled arms occupied the centreof the street, taking their turn to rest before they relieved theircomrades in the work of assault. Presently he saw down a side street aparty of soldiers with some prisoners. He turned down to see what wasgoing on. The officer in command of the party came up to him.

  "Monsieur has doubtless a pass," he said, politely.

  Cuthbert produced it.

  "Ah, you are English, monsieur. It is well for you that your countrydoes not breed such wretches as these. Every one of them has been caughtin the course of the last hour in the act of setting houses alight. Theyare now to be shot."

  "It is an unpleasant duty, monsieur," Cuthbert said.

  "It would be horrible at any other time," the officer said. "But wecannot consider these creatures as human beings. They are wild beastsand I verily believe the women are worse than the men. There is only oneI would spare, though she is the worst of all. At every barricade wherethe fighting has been fiercest for the last four days she has beenconspicuous. The troops got to know her by her red cap and dress. Shehas been seen to shoot down men who attempted to retire, and she has leda charmed life or she would have been killed a thousand times. When shewas taken she had on an old dress over her red one, and a hideous bonnetin place of the cap. She was caught just as she had dropped a lightedmatch into a cellar. The flames flashed up at once, and two soldiersnear ran up and arrested her. She stabbed one, but the other broke herwrist with a blow from the butt of his musket.

  "Then came a curious thing. A man who had been standing in a doorway onthe opposite side of the street ran out and declared that he was asharer in her crime. His air was that of a madman, and the men wouldhave pushed him away, but he exclaimed, 'I am Arnold Dampierre, one ofthe leaders of the Commune. This is my wife.' Then the woman said, 'Theman is mad. I have never seen him before. I know Arnold Dampierreeveryone knows him. He does not resemble this man, whose proper place isa lunatic asylum.' So they contended, and both were brought before thedrumhead Court Martial.

  "The man had so wild an air that we should not have believed his story,but on his being searched his American passport was found upon him. Thenthe woman threw herself into his arms. 'We will die together then!' shesaid. 'I would have saved you if you would have let me.' Then she turnedto us. 'Yes, I am guilty. I have fought against you on the barricades,'and she tore off her outer dress and bonnet. 'I have kindled twentyfires, but in this I am guilty alone. He stood by me on the barricades,but he would have nothing to do with firing houses. But I am a Parisian.I am the daughter of Martin Dufaure, who was killed an hour since, andmy duty was to the Commune first, and to my husband afterwards. I hateand despise you slaves of tyrants. You have conquered us but we havetaught a lesson to the men who fatten on our suffering.'

  "Of course they were both ordered to be shot. I have given them all fiveminutes, but the time is up. Range them by the wall, men," he said,turning to the soldiers.

  Cuthbert glanced for a moment and then turned away. The other women weremostly old, or at least middle-aged, and they stood scowling at thesoldiers, and some of them pouring out the foulest imprecations uponthem.

  Minette stood in the centre of the line conspicuous by her red dress.One hand grasped that of Arnold, who was gazing upon her as if obliviousto all else. Her head was held erect and she looked at her executionerswith an air of proud defiance.

  Cuthbert hurried away, filled with an intense feeling of pity andregret. He heard Minette cry in a loud clear voice, "Vive la Commune!"Then there was a sharp volley and all was over, and a minute later thesoldiers passed him on the way to join their comrades.

  He stood for a time at the corner of the street irresolute. He had seenscores of dead in the streets. He had thought he could see nothing worsethan he had witnessed, but he felt that he could not go back, as he hadfirst thought of doing, to the scene of execution. Comrades had fallenby his side in the fight at Champigny, but he had not felt for them asfor this comrade who lay behind him, or for the girl who, with hertalents, might have had a bright future before her had she been thrownamid other surroundings. He wondered whether he could obtain theirbodies for burial.

  It did not seem to him possible. Vehicles could not be obtained at anyprice. The very request would seem suspicious, and suspicion at thathour was enough to condemn a man unheard. The difficulties in the waywould be enormous. Indeed, it would matter nothing. Arnold and Minette.They had fallen together and would lie together in one of the greatcommon graves in which the dead would be buried. It would be littleshort of a mockery to have the burial service read over her, and hadArnold been consulted he would have preferred to lie beside her to beinglaid in a grave apart.

  So after a pause of five minutes Cuthbert moved away without venturing asingle look back at the group huddled down by the wall, but walked awayfeeling crushed and overwhelmed by the untimely fate that had befallentwo persons of whom he had seen so much during the past year, andfeeling as feeble as he did when he first arose from his bed in theAmerican ambulance.

  Several times he had to pause and lean against the wall, and when hehad passed the barricade at the Place de la Concorde, towards which hehad almost instinctively made his way, he sat down on one of thedeserted seats in the Champs Elysees, and burst into tears. It hadhardly come upon him as a surprise, for he had felt that, conspicuous ashe had made himself, the chances of Arnold making his escape were smallindeed, especially as Minette would cling to the Commune until the veryend. Still it never struck him as being possible that he himself mightwitness the end. He had thought that the same obscurity that hung overthe fate of most of the other leaders of the Commune would envelop thatof Arnold. He would have fallen, but how or when would never have beenknown. He would simply have disappeared. Rumor would have mentioned hisname for a few days, the rumor that was already busy with the fate ofother leaders of the insurrection, and he had never dreamt that it wouldbe brought home to him in this fashion. After a time Cuthbert pulledhimself together, waited until a fiacre came along for on this side ofParis things were gradually regaining their usual aspect and then droveback to Passy.

  "What is the matter, Cuthbert?" Mary exclaimed as she caught sight ofhis face. "Are you ill? You look terribly pale and quite unlikeyourself. What has happened?"

  "I have had a shock, Mary," he said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "avery bad shock. Don't ask me about it just at present. Please get mesome brandy. I have never fainted in my life, but I feel very near itjust at present."

  Mary hurried away to Madame Michaud, who now always discreetly withdrewas soon as Cuthbert was announced, and returned with some cognac, atumbler, and water. She poured him out a glass that seemed to herself tobe almost alarmingly strong, but he drank it at a draught.

  "Don't be alarmed, Mary," he said, with a smile, at the consternation inher face. "You won't often see me do this, and I can assure you thatspirit-drinking is not an habitual vice with me, but I really wanted itthen. They are still fighting fiercely from Porte St. Martin down to thePlace de la Bastille. I believe all resistance has been crushed out onthe south side of the river, and in a couple of days the whole thingwill be over."

  "Fancy a week of fighting. It is awful to think of, Cuthbert. How manydo you suppose will be killed altogether?"

  "I have not the least idea, and I don't suppose it will ever be known;but if the resistance is as desperate for the next two days as it hasbeen for the last three, I should say fully 20,000 will have fallen,besides those taken with arms in their hands, tried, and shot. I hearthere are two general court-martials sitting permanently, and that sevenor eight hundred prisoners are shot every day. Then there are someei
ghteen or twenty thousand at Versailles, but as these will not betried until the fighting is over, and men's blood cooled down somewhat,no doubt much greater leniency will be shown."

  "There is a terrible cloud of smoke over Paris, still."

  "Yes, fresh fires are constantly breaking out. The Louvre is safe, andthe firemen have checked the spread of the flames at the publicbuildings, but there are streets where every house is alight for adistance of a quarter of a mile; and yet, except at these spots, thedamage is less than you would expect considering how fierce a battle hasbeen raging. There are streets where scarce a bullet mark is to be seenon the walls or a broken pane of glass in a window, while at pointswhere barricades have been defended, the scene of ruin is terrible."

  Two days later a strange stillness succeeded the din and uproar that hadfor a week gone on without cessation night and day. Paris was conquered,the Commune was stamped out, its chiefs dead or fugitives, its rank andfile slaughtered, or prisoners awaiting trial. France breathed again. Ithad been saved from a danger infinitely more terrible than a Germanoccupation. In a short time the hotels were opened and visitors began topour into Paris to gaze at the work of destruction wrought by the orgieof the Commune. One day Cuthbert, who was now installed in his ownlodging, went up to Passy.

  "I hear that the English Church is to be open to-morrow, Mary. I calledon the clergyman to-day and told him that I should probably require hisservices next week."

  "Cuthbert!" Mary exclaimed in surprise, "you cannot mean----" and aflush of color completed the sentence.

  "Yes, that is just what I do mean, Mary. You have kept me waiting threeyears and I am not going to wait a day longer."

  "I have given up much of my belief in women's rights, Cuthbert, butthere are some I still maintain, and one of these is that a woman has aright to be consulted in a matter of this kind."

  "Quite so, dear, and therefore I have left the matter open, and I willleave you to fix the day and you can choose any one you like from Mondayto Saturday next week."

  "But I must have time, Cuthbert," she said, desperately. "I have, ofcourse, things to get."

  "The things that you have will do perfectly well, my dear. Besides, manyof the shops are open and you can get anything you want. As for a dressfor the occasion, if you choose to fix Saturday you will have twelvedays, which is twice as long as necessary. Putting aside my objection towaiting any longer I want to get away from here to some quiet placewhere we can forget the events of the past month, and get our nervesinto working order again. If there is any reason that you can declarethat you honestly believe to be true and valid of course I must giveway, but if not let it be Saturday week. That is right. I see that youhave nothing to urge," and a fortnight later they were settled in achalet high up above the Lake of Lucerne.

  Rene and Pierre acted as Cuthbert's witnesses at the marriage. Pierrehad escaped before the fighting began. Rene had done service with theNational Guard until the news came that the troops had entered Paris,then he had gone to M. Goude's who had hidden him and seven or eight ofthe other students in an attic. When the troops approached, they hadtaken refuge on the roof and had remained there until the tide of battlehad swept past, and they then descended, and arraying themselves intheir painting blouses had taken up their work at the studio; and when,three days later, the general search for Communists began, they werefound working so diligently that none suspected that they had ever fireda shot in the ranks of the Communists.

  When the salon was opened, long after its usual time, Cuthbert'spictures were well hung and obtained an amount of praise that more thansatisfied him, although his wife insisted that they were not half aswarm as the pictures deserved. It was not until they had been for sometime in Switzerland that Mary had learned the details of the deaths ofArnold and Minette Dampierre. That both were dead she knew, for when shementioned their names for the first time after the close of thefighting, Cuthbert told her that he had learned that both were dead, andbegged her to ask no question concerning them until he himself returnedto the subject.

  Mary wrote to her mother a day or two after she was married giving herthe news. An answer was received from Scarborough expressing greatsatisfaction, and saying that it was probable that the family wouldsettle where they were. Neither Cuthbert nor his wife liked the thoughtof returning to England, and for the next five years remained abroad.After spending a few months at Dresden, Munich, Rome, and Florence, theysettled at Venice. Cuthbert continued to work hard, and each year two orthree of his pictures hung on the walls of the Academy and attractedmuch attention, and were sold at excellent prices. All his earnings inthis way and the entire income of Fairclose were put aside to pay offthe mortgage, and when, at the end of the five years, Cuthbert, hiswife, and two children returned to Fairclose, the greater portion of themortgage had been paid off, and three years later it was entirely wipedout.

  Although very warmly received by the county, Cuthbert retained hispreference for London, and during the winter six months always moved upto a house in the artists' quarter at St. John's Wood. Although he nolonger painted as if compelled to do so for a living, he workedregularly and steadily while in town, and being able to take his time incarrying out his conceptions, his pictures increased in value and hetook a place in the front rank of artists, and some fifteen years afterthe siege of Paris was elected Academician. Before this he had soldFairclose and built himself a house in Holland Park, where he was ableto indulge his love for art to the fullest extent.

  Of his wife's family he saw but little. Mary's sisters both marriedbefore he and his wife returned from abroad. Mary went down occasionallyto Scarborough, and stayed with her father and mother, but Mr. Brandersteadily refused all invitations to visit them in London, and until hisdeath, fifteen years later, never left Scarborough, where he became avery popular man, although no persuasions could induce him to take apart in any of its institutions or public affairs.

  Cuthbert has often declared that the most fortunate event in his lifewas that he was a besieged resident in Paris through its two sieges. Asfor Mary she has been heard to declare that she has no patience,whatever, with the persons who frequent platforms and talk about women'srights.

  Not far from the spot in la Chaise where the pits in which countlessnumbers of Communists were buried are situated, stands a small marblecross, on whose pedestal are inscribed the words:--"To the memory ofArnold Dampierre and his wife, Minette, whose bodies rest near thisplace."

  THE END.