Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 109

THE BARRICADES AT THE PLACE AUX ŒUFS

WHILE the crowd were flying and dispersing in terror, Philippe and Marius had remained, for a few instants, near the Hôtel des Empereurs, sheltered in the recess of a doorway, so as not to be dragged along by the rush of the multitude.

Philippe felt all his sentiments of loyalty revolting within him, at the cowardly attempt that had been made on the General’s life, and his brother, who could read this indignation on his countenance, took advantage of the opportunity to make a final effort to persuade him to throw off his connection with civil war.

As soon as they were alone Marius said:

“Well! do you mean to continue making common cause with these assassins?”

“There are scoundrels in all parties,” Philippe answered sullenly.

“I know it, but an insurrection is fatally doomed when it commences under such auspices. Come with me, I beseech you, do not compromise yourself any further.”

The two brothers had begun slowly ascending towards the Cours. Marius taking Philippe that way, so as to bring him to the room where he had hidden his child; he said to himself, that once there, he would retain him and save him in spite of himself.

“Fine and Joseph have found refuge near here,” he said, as they walked along, “I advised my wife to pass the day with your son in the little lodging on the Place aux Œufs, so as to be beyond reach of a surprise, which could easily be accomplished during the troubles of this day. Come along, we’ll only remain a few minutes if you like.”

Philippe followed his brother without answering. He recalled M. Martelly’s severe language; the shot that had wounded the General still resounded in his ears, he stiffened his neck, he would not abandon the people’s cause, and yet, in spite of himself, he began to hear the grave voice of reason, which whispered to him not to mix in a useless and sanguinary outbreak. Besides, he ignored what was passing; all, perhaps, was over; the workmen might be raising barricades in distant streets, and these would be captured before they had time to defend them. He walked beside his brother with an uneasy mind, half conquered and not knowing what to do.

It was then that the two brothers, on entering the Grande Rue, perceived a crowd of workmen on the Place aux Œufs, who were hastily throwing-up barricades.

Marius stopped in despair. He reflected that Fine and Joseph would find themselves in the centre of the riot and he said to himself, that Philippe would now certainly fight. What worried him more than anything else, was that he accused himself of being the author of all this misfortune. Was it not he who had advised his wife to take refuge there? Was it not he who had just led his brother into the middle of the riot?

Philippe had also stopped, and called his brother’s attention to the scene before them.

“Look,” he exclaimed, “chance has spared me from the shame of acting as a coward, by leading me to those whom I had sworn to defend and whom I was, perhaps, about to abandon. I will fight for liberty, and watch over my son.”

He climbed over the first obstructions that had been thrown across the street, and found himself in the midst of workmen who shook him warmly by the hand. Marius followed, and ran rapidly upstairs to the room where Fine and Joseph were.

Mathéus had completely succeeded. He had attained his end, step by step, assisted by circumstances, and advancing slowly and surely towards his object. It was he who had in a measure produced the events, urging on the people to insurrection, and bringing them to fight at the very spot where he desired the riot to break out.

After having discharged his musket at the General, he ascended in double quick time towards the Cours, leading parties of workmen with him, whilst the terrified crowd were trampling each other under foot. As he ran, he uttered this rallying cry:

“To the Place aux Œufs! To the Place aux Œufs!”

So soon as he had succeeded in getting about a dozen rioters to follow him, he shouted louder than ever, and rapidly had a crowd at his heels. This flood of armed men, passing through the gathering, indicated a direction to the insurrectionary movement which until then had been hesitating. The workmen, not knowing where to entrench themselves, would perhaps have dispersed; but seeing some of their comrades running towards a place they indicated, they wished to follow them, and all who were spurred on to the struggle by thoughts of vengeance, flew into the Grande Rue. The Place aux Œufs was soon full.

Mathéus on reaching the square, pointed out the beautiful spot he had chosen to the workmen about him.

“Look,” he said to them. “The place seems to have been made for fighting.”

That remark ran through the crowd. The revolt was destined to break out in the centre of the old town, amidst those narrow streets that could be easily barricaded. Every one felt that the insurrection was at home there, and they thought only of the struggle. A breath of irritation sped through this fiery-headed mob.

The workmen, however, did not dare act. The post of National Guards which Mathéus had noticed in the morning was still in a corner of the square.

“Stop,” said Mathéus to the most enthusiastic, “I’ll undertake to disperse them. They are friends.”

He went up to the lieutenant with whom he had previously exchanged a few words, and asked him if his men were for the people. The lieutenant answered that they were there to preserve order.

“So are we,” Mathéus answered, shamelessly.

Then he approached him, and added in a lower tone:

“Listen, I have a bit of advice to give you. You go off as quickly as you can. If you refuse, we shall be obliged to disarm you, perhaps kill you, and brothers, you know, don’t kill each other. Trust in me, don’t remain a minute longer.”

The lieutenant glanced round him. He felt only too glad to go away, but he was afraid of appearing a coward. The position was critical. The rioters slowly surrounded the National Guard and gazed at their muskets with eyes burning with desire. Other men were working at the barricade, and the lieutenant could not quietly look on without making an effort to stop them. He preferred to withdraw; and the National Guards marched off amidst profound silence.

From that moment the square was in possession of the rioters, who began fortifying themselves there as well as they could. Their misfortune was that they had not the necessary materials for throwing up a lofty and solid barricade. They had to be satisfied with the benches and packing cases of the dealers in herbs established there. These they first of all placed across the street, and they then searched the adjoining houses for barrels, planks and any other kind of suitable material.

In the meanwhile, Mathéus was resting on his victory. Now that he had attained his end, he wished to make himself as small as possible, and disappeared in the crowd, so as not to compromise himself further. He had washed his face at a neighbouring fountain, and had left his musket standing against a wall. He lolled about among the crowd, with his hands in his pockets, like a good bourgeois; he presented such a tranquil appearance, that the workmen who had seen him performing the comedy of anger, did not recognise him. He ended by ascending the steps of a house from which he attentively followed the scene that was passing on the square, and searched with his eyes for Philippe and Marius.

“You will fall into the trap, my little beauties,” he thought, with a calm smile. “My snares are well set. Ah! you wanted to place the child in safety. Eh! simpletons that you are, you have thrown him into my arms! You will rush to protect the little darling, and be caught with him!”

He kept on looking, without showing the least impatience. He knew those whom he was awaiting could not fail to come. When the two brothers emerged from the Grande Rue, he merely shrugged his shoulders and murmured:

“I was sure of it.”

Then, he never lost sight of them. He followed them in the crowd, and saw Marius run up to find Fine, whilst Philippe mixed with the rioters.

“Come, that’s perfect,” he murmured again. “I shall, perhaps, be obliged to kill the little young man. As to the great booby, his business is settled, if the National Guards don’t send him to rot in the ground, we’ll see that the assizes send him to rot in prison.”

He descended and went and turned round Philippe out of curiosity. The hour for him to act had not arrived. He thought himself at a play, his instincts were gently tickled at the hope of being present at a massacre. While waiting to accomplish the abduction he had undertaken, he resolved to amuse himself by seeing people kill each other.

The rioters in the meanwhile, had returned to the barricades. Little by little, they had piled up a fairly large quantity of material on the square, comprising a pellmell of all sorts of objects which they distributed as well as possible among the six barricades in course of erection. They formed a chain, passing planks, paving stones, everything they came across, from hand to hand, each ran about on his own account, and returning, threw what he had found on the heap. It was a feverish coming and going, a sort of immense workshop of revolt, where every labourer hurried along zealously yet gloomily at the task, with a threat on his lips and vengeance in his heart.

Whilst the majority brought materials, others, no doubt wheelwrights and carpenters, had undertaken to strengthen the barricades. Having neither nails nor hammers, they confined themselves to dovetailing the objects one with the other.

The two principle barricades were thrown up at the entrance to the Grande Rue, on the side of the Cours, and at the entrance to the Rue Requis Novis. These, notwithstanding the efforts of the rioters, were nothing, in reality, but a mass of objects offering but little resistance and forming in no way a serious obstruction. Four barricades of still less importance, were raised across the Rues de la Vieille Cuiraterie, Lune-Blanche, Vieille-Monnaie and Lune-d’Or. One street only remained open, the Rue des Marquises, which was necessary to the rioters for communication with the Rue Belzunce, the Place des Prêcheurs, and all the narrow crooked lanes of the old quarter, where they intended to fly and lose themselves in case of defeat. The Place aux Œufs, thus fortified, would have been an impregnable stronghold if the barricades had been stronger.

As soon as Philippe found himself amidst the Republicans, he had put his hand to work without hesitation. He had laboured like the others, carrying all that he could find to the scene of action. He forgot Marius’ sober words and thought no more of his child, all his passion was bursting within him, and urging him forward.

As he was dragging a barrel along, he all at once heard an ironical voice say:

“Shall I help you, my friend?”

He raised his head and recognised M. de Girousse, who, with his hands in his pockets, was observing him with a delightful air of curiosity.

M. de Girousse had reached Marseille on the previous evening. Feeling there was something serious in the air, he had hastened there so as not to lose the opportunity of dispelling the dreadful weariness under which he laboured. He had been awaiting a drama ever since the Republic had been proclaimed. He absolutely forgot that he belonged to the nobility and watched the outburst of the people’s anger as a disinterested observer. Searching at the bottom of his heart, he found he had more sympathy for the Democratic cause than for that of the Legitimists to which he was fatally attached by name. At Aix nobody made any ceremony about saying, that M. de Girousse was a regular “original” who found pleasure in shaking hands with workmen, and the nobility would, perhaps, have closed their mansions to him had he not borne one of the oldest names of Provence.

He had been running about the streets of Marseille since the morning, watching the progress of the riot, occupying the most advantageous positions as a spectator, right in the middle of the scrimmage, so as not to lose the least detail. One thing, only, had disgusted him, the shot fired at the General. Otherwise, he found that the people generously risked their lives, that their anger was superb and their violence magnificent.

As soon as he had heard that the rioters were making barricades at the Place aux Œufs, he hastened there. He wanted to be present at the catastrophe. He penetrated within the barricades, mixed with the fighting men and firmly intended not to move until all was over.

Philippe stared at him in amazement. The Count stood there before him, attired in a black frock coat, with a soft felt hat on his head and smiling in a bantering manner. Under his arm, he carried a huge sabre, all rusty and covered with dust.

“What! you here!” exclaimed Philippe. “Are you one of us?”

M. de Girousse glanced at his weapon.

“Look, isn’t it a fine sabre?” he said without answering. “They have just entrusted me with it for the defence of Liberty.”

And then he related in a jeering way, how he had just been enrolled among the rioters. The latter, in need of arms, sought to procure them by all possible means. A locksmith had made the remark in the midst of one of the groups that the dealers in secondhand goods in the Rue Belzunce and the Rue Sainte Barbe must have some old arms in their shops. A band had at once set out to secure them. M. de Girousse, urged on by curiosity, had followed the band and gone with them into the shops. It was in one of these that a workman had handed him the huge sabre which he carried under his arm.

“He gave it me,” he added, “and made me swear to plunge it into the enemies of our country. I don’t think I shall abide by my oath. But as I find the sabre looks very well under my arm, I’ll keep it. Do you think any one of my ancestors, any one of those doughty warriors of the past, cut a better figure than I do at this moment?”

Philippe could not keep from laughing.

“I asked you a stupid question a little time ago,” he said to the Count, with some bitterness. “I asked you if you were one of us. I forgot that you could only be here out of curiosity. You have come to see if the people know how to die. Well! I think you’ll be satisfied with them.”

The Republican had drawn himself up, and pointed out to the nobleman the burning, active crowd of workmen.

“Look at them,” he resumed. “There is the flock your fathers sheared, and branded with a red-hot iron. For the third time in sixty years the flock is getting angry. I predict to you, that it will end by eating up the shepherds. Instead of urging it on to revolt, it would have been better to have given it liberty, and bread, which it requires to live. All the energies it is expending at this hour, in raising barricades, would then have been devoted to useful labour.”

M. de Girousse no longer jeered. He had become grave. Philippe continued with violence:

“Your place is not here. You have come amidst our barricades as the patricians of ancient Rome went to the arena to see slaves die. Ah! notwithstanding your goodness, cruel blood runs in your veins. You are pestered with the curiosity of the wearied master; I see it, and our insurrection, this insurrection which will cause us tears, is merely a show for you. Believe me, you will do better to go away. We are not actors, we have no need of the pit.”

The old Count had turned pale. He remained for an instant motionless; then, as Philippe stooped down to take up his barrel, he said to him in a peaceful tone.”

“My friend, will you allow me to help you?”

He grasped the barrel at one end, and Republican and Legitimist carried it together to the barricade and threw it down there.

“The deuce!” said M. de Girousse, “it wasn’t heavy, but my sabre inconvenienced me considerably.”

He rubbed his hands to get rid of the dust, and found himself face to face with Marius. After the first words of surprise, he resumed, smiling:

“Your brother has just been advising me to go away. He is right, I am only an inquisitive old fellow. I wish you would hide me somewhere.”

Marius took him into the house where Fine and Joseph were, and the Count made himself comfortable on the third floor landing, at a window facing the square. What Philippe had said to him had made him profoundly sad.

Marius had merely come down to beg his brother to go and comfort Fine and the child, who were half dead with fright. He returned, after Philippe had promised to rejoin him. The latter wished particularly to take a look round the square. The six barricades were completed; at least, the rioters, being unable to find any more material, had renounced building them any higher. A heavy silence began to reign among the crowd, and the workmen seated themselves on the ground, resting while awaiting events. It was easy to see, from the lowered tone of voice, that the moment of the struggle was approaching.

What annoyed Philippe, was that there were so few efficient arms in the hands of the combatants. Fifty of them at the most had muskets. Some of the others carried sticks, billiard cues evidently stolen in the cafés; a great number of those who were without muskets were provided with curious kinds of weapons that had come from the shops of the secondhand dealers. Some had spits, old lances and sabres; others simply iron bars. Around the fountain which stood in the centre of the square, were a dozen workmen or so, sharpening their rusty blades on the cold stones of the basin. Cartridges also were few in number. There were at the most a hundred or two taken from the ammunition pouches of the National Guards who had been disarmed.

Philippe understood that the barricades could not resist long, but he was determined not to discourage anyone by showing his anxiety. He confined himself to advising them to occupy the houses adjoining the barricades, in the hope that the assailants would retire if a shower of projectiles were cast on them from the roofs and windows.

Several houses had already been invaded. The rioters hammered at the doors of the lodgings they wished to occupy, threatening to break them in if they were not opened. Then, they insisted on having the keys of the doors leading to the flat roofs, and made every window a loophole, and every roof a stronghold. They laboured solely, for nearly half an hour, carrying stones up into the houses. Once above, they tore away and broke up the tiles, and incumbered the tops of the dwellings with rubbish, which they intended throwing on the soldiers’ heads.

When Philippe was satisfied that all the arrangements had been completed, he decided to rejoin his brother. He had placed himself at the head of the men who were to occupy the house where Marius had hidden Fine and Joseph. This house was at the corner of the Grande Rue, and the Place aux Œufs, on the right, coming from the Cours. Philippe foresaw that the barricade in the Grande Rue would be the most vigorously attacked, and he was not without uneasiness as to the danger that would be incurred by the persons who had sought refuge there, and who would be in the midst of the fighting.

He only allowed the most devoted men to enter the building, and made them vow to defend the door to their last breath. After having placed them on the roof and at the windows, he returned to the landing on the third story, where he found M. de Girousse who pointed out a door to him and simply said:

“They’re expecting you.”

Whilst Philippe had been settling all this, Mathéus had ascended the steps of the house which was on the other side of the square. He had seen the Republican at the windows, and his quiet, rascally smile returned like a grimace to his lips.