Читать книгу Stromboli and the Guns - Francis Henry Gribble - Страница 3

"

Illustrations

"'Yes, my comrades, it was I who made the revolution of 1848!'"

"'If you prefer not to sign, I am willing to renew the combat."'"

"'Strongboiler,' he said, 'You're a gentleman.'"

"I hurled the teacup at the foremost of them."

"I calmed them with a friendly gesture."

"'Is abdicate the same as git?' asked Colorado Charlie."

"We wrestled together on the floor."

"We walked together on the high, green hill."

"I assailed the door, first with a chair."

"As soon as my right foot was planted on the ground, I launched the *coup de savate* with my left."

"'It was no time for argument. I hurled my stool at the nearest of them.'"

STROMBOLI AND THE GUNS.

It was in the old days, when a certain famous anarchist club held its meetings in a house in one of the dismal streets abutting on the Tottenham Court Road. An evening paper had asked me to write an article about the club. An Italian waiter, whom the proprietors of a West-End café were protecting from the Milan police, introduced me to it as his guest; and there, in an atmosphere of pipes and lager-beer, I met Stromboli. His full name, sprawling in true cosmopolitan fashion over three languages, was Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski; but Stromboli is as much of it as I have ever been able to recall without a special effort of the memory. He was old, white-haired, white-bearded, with a furrowed brow only half hidden by his broad-brimmed, unbrushed, soft felt hat. He wore a coloured flannel shirt, with a turn-down flannel collar, showing the strong line of his throat. Beneath bushy eyebrows his eyes gleamed, keen and restless; and when I first saw him he was the centre of a group of younger revolutionists, whom he was evidently entertaining with animated reminiscences. This was the scrap of his talk that reached my ears through the hubbub—

"Yes, my comrades, it was I—moi qui vous parle—who made the revolution of 1848! It is not in the histories, you tell me? Then so much the worse for the histories, I answer."

"'Yes, my comrades, it was I who made the revolution of 1848!'"

One naturally desired the better acquaintance of an old man who talked like that. My Milanese friend presented me to him with ceremony, as though he were introducing two rival potentates. I bowed low, with a due sense of the honour done to me, and was received with grave condescension; and then I told Stromboli that I fancied that I had heard his name before.

"In connection, if I am not mistaken," I added, "with some revolutionary movement."

Stromboli's face lighted with a smile.

Whether it was a smile of vanity, or a smile of scorn for the ignorance of the man who was not quite sure whether he had ever heard of him or not, I cannot altogether determine; but there the smile was, and it lasted through several sentences.

"It is not impossible," he said, "for I have done things—aye, and I have suffered things! I have been condemned to death by Spaniards at Santiago de Cuba! I checked the worst excesses of the Paris Commune! And there are other stories. The revolutions, in short, have kept me very busy."

"You speak," I protested, "as though to be a revolutionist were a calling, a profession, a métier."

The last word seemed to please him; he smiled again as he rolled it over on his tongue.

"Un métier? Je le crois bien. And why not? Is there no need for 'skilled labour' in the making of a revolution? No less, I take it, than in the building of a battleship. Why, yes, then, if you choose to put it so, I am a revolutionist by métier."

"But still——"

The eyes flashed, and the smile changed its character.

"A poor métier, do you think? Then think again. It has its hazards? Granted. It is less safe than your métier of writing for the newspapers? Granted also. But at least it quickens the pulse and stirs the blood. At the end of it, if one is still alive, one can at least boast that one has lived. To have gambled with death in one's youth—that is something worth remembering in one's old age. And I have gambled with death wherever I could find a worthy stake to play for. If I should ever tell my stories——"

But when a man talks in that way it needs little pressure to get the stories told, and I had not pursued my acquaintance with Stromboli very far before the pressure was applied.

"Voyons!" he said to me one day. "I have creditors; they ask for money, a thing which I have had little leisure to amass. If there were a way of turning stories into money!"

To his astonishment I answered that with some stories, at all events, there was a way; and he forthwith told me the following, in order that the experiment might be tried. I give it in his own words, and call it—

THE GUNS OF THE DUC DE MONTPENSIER.

"Let me begin at the beginning.

"Though I am an old man, you cannot expect my memory to go further back than 1848. But it was I who made the French Revolution of that year. Without me there would have been a revolt; but it was thanks to me—it was thanks to Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski—that the revolt became a revolution.

"I was a young man in those days, twenty years old, a student at the University of Paris. I was tall, with long black hair that flowed over my collar; strong as though my muscles were of whip-cord; a swordsman who, at the salle d'armes, could as often as not disarm the fencing master. And when I was not studying—which was often—I talked politics in the cafés of the Latin quarter. There were those who said—behind my back—that I talked nonsense. They would not have dared to say it to my face; and they knew better afterwards.

"One of my comrades, however, seemed to understand me better than the others. His name was Jacques Durand; and he came to me one day with a proposal.

"'Stromboli,' he whispered in my ear. 'You know that we're trying to get up a revolution?'

"I nodded.

"'You ought to be one of us, Stromboli. You ought to join the Society of the Friends of Revolution.'

"'I never heard of that Society,' I answered.

"'That's because it's a secret society,' Jacques explained. 'You can't expect to hear about secret societies before you're asked to join them. The more secret they are the better. You can understand that, can't you?'

"Of course I could understand that.

"'I was asked to get you into it,' Jacques continued. 'A man like you——'

"One ought not, of course, to be susceptible to that sort of flattery. But one is as one is made; and I had spoken in favour of the revolution in the cafés. So it was agreed, and an appointment was arranged.

"'Next Sunday evening,' Jacques whispered.

"'Next Sunday evening,' I replied.

"And now picture me at this important turning point of my career. Observe me guided by my comrade through many dark and dangerous streets, where it seemed to me that a man would carry his life in his hands, unless he were, like myself, of formidable appearance. Our destination was a cellar, underneath a café, and we reached it by a flight of narrow, winding, slimy stairs. Jacques gave the secret signal; three slow, loud knocks upon the panel of the door, and then the humming of two lines of the Carmagnole—

'Vive le son

Du canon.'

There was a rattling of chains, and then the door was opened and we were admitted.

"'Sit down, comrade,' said one who seemed to be the President, and I took the place that had been kept vacant for me, and, as my eyes became used to the gloom, gradually surveyed the scene.

"There were some twenty of us, grouped round a plain deal table. Red flags were draped upon the damp and dripping walls. In the centre of the table was a skull, the eyes serving as the sockets of two guttering tallow candles, which were our only light. The atmosphere was misty with tobacco smoke. But the strangest thing was that almost all the comrades were personally known to me. All of them, like myself, were students at the University of Paris; and there was not a man among them whom I had ever suspected of being an earnest politician.

"But what of that? 'Still waters run deep' is your English proverb, is it not? This was, perhaps, an illustration of it. Otherwise—if that were a rude student's practical joke at the expense of the stranger who had come among —— I said to myself, 'then they shall soon learn that revolution is a subject upon which Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski does not jest.'

"But the voice of the President of the Society interrupted me.

"'The new comrade,' he said, 'will now take the oath to keep the secrets and obey the orders of the Friends of Revolution, and will drink to them in blood drawn from his own veins.'

"And I did this, a vein in my hand being opened with a penknife, and a drop let fall from it into a tumbler of red wine; and the business of the evening was proceeded with. Once more it was the President who spoke:—

"'For the benefit of the new comrade I explain the raison d'être of the Friends of Revolution. Our purpose is to pave the way for a revolution by removing those who are likely to be the chief obstacles to it when it comes. We choose the victim by ballot, and then we choose the executioner by ballot, so that injustice may be done to no one. I give no indications; it is not my place to give any. Some of you may think that a prince of the blood royal, now in Paris, holding high military command—— But this is your affair, not mine; the vote is secret. Vote according to your consciences.'

'We voted in solemn silence, using the President's silk hat for a ballot-urn. Seeing that I paused to think, my neighbour whispered a name into my ear. The suggestion pleased me, and I took it; and in due course the President of the assembly shuffled the papers and read them to us one by one. It was like this—

"'Montpensier, Montpensier, Montpensier, Montpensier. Comrades, the vote is unanimous for citizen the Duc de Montpensier.'

"There were loud cheers, and then there was a deadly silence. Looking round and seeing that the eyes of all were fixed intently upon me, I understood clearly what was coming next. The victim having been selected, they meant to choose me as his executioner. They thought that I should be frightened, that I should draw back, that I should give them the chance to laugh at me for talking bombast in the cafés. But they did not know me; they did not know Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.

"'Comrades, I claim the work!' I cried, leaping to my feet with vigour, and so making my first appearance in any revolution. 'The choice is good,' I continued, with impetuosity. 'There could be no greater obstacle to revolution than a prince of the blood royal, who is also the commanding officer of the artillery, and would sweep the streets with his cannon when the people rise. But there is no need of any further ballot. A volunteer is better than a pressed man at any time, and I answer for Montpensier. Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski undertakes to see to it that Montpensier shall never turn his guns upon the people.'

"It was the turning of the tables on the jesters. They had brought me to this meeting-place, thinking first to terrify me by assigning me this perilous task, and then to laugh at me for my fears and my credulity in supposing that they were in earnest; and, lo! I had stood up and made them real conspirators against their will. It was their faces, instead of mine, that were now pale with terror; and their efforts to wriggle out of the responsibilities to which I had committed them were laughable.

"'It is well,' said the President; 'but a committee must now be constituted to consult with the comrade Stromboli concerning ways and means.' Which meant, of course, a committee to break it to me gently that the Friends of Revolution had made a fool of me. I repudiated the proposal with all my indignation.

"'M. le President,' I said, 'I will ask for a committee to advise me when I need advice. It was because I did not feel the need of it that I offered to execute the task. I have my plan, which I do not disclose. Within a fortnight you shall know for certain that the Duc de Montpensier will never turn his guns upon the people. In the meantime, drink to my enterprise, and then hold your peace about it.'

"Had I convinced them? Or had the power of my eye laid them under a spell? Or had my earnestness made them ashamed? I cannot say for certain. All that I know is that they rose to their feet and pledged me in the wine-cup, the toast being—

"'To the comrade who will remove Montpensier!'

"But I corrected them.

"'Drink, rather,' I said, 'to the comrade who answers for Montpensier.' And they drank.

"And now you think, perhaps, that I had some dark design to be executed with dagger, with pistol, or with poison. Perish the thought! I am not that kind of revolutionist. On the contrary, it has always been my aim to raise the tone of revolution by employing finesse instead of violence, wherever possible. And this time it seemed to me that finesse could be employed, that I could persuade the Duc de Montpensier to do my bidding, if only I could get speech with him upon a suitable occasion.

"The difficulty was, of course, to find a suitable occasion, to manage to meet the prince at some time when he was amusing himself incognito and unattended by his suite. All princes do these things, and it is not necessary to belong to the secret police to find out when and where. I asked Clarisse, about whom I need only tell you that she was beautiful, and that she loved me. Ah, dear Clarisse! But this is no place for sentimental memories.

"'I should not wonder,' Clarisse said, 'if he were to be at the next masked ball at the Closerie des Lilas.'

"'Eh! what?' I interrupted. 'A royal prince at a masked ball among the students?'

"'And why not, seeing that he will be masked, and no one will ever know of it who is not told?'

"There was reason in that: but a further difficulty presented itself.

"'His being there is little use to me if I cannot recognise him,' I said.

"'Perhaps I could help you,' Clarisse answered.

"'You know him, then?'

"'He does not know that I know him,' she replied.

"'But he has spoken to you?'

"She nodded laughing.

"'And would again?'

"'Perhaps?'

"'And if I were there, and watching, you would make a sign to me?'

"'I might even do that, if you were to ask me nicely.'

"So Clarisse was enlisted as my ally, though without being taken into my confidence; and I felt sure that with her help I should be able to carry out the plan that I had made.

"'We may quarrel about you, Clarisse,' was all I told her; and at that she laughed and clapped her hands.

"'That will be beautiful!' she said; for to be quarrelled about is a joy to all women when they are young and beautiful.

"Then I made other arrangements, and told my friend Jacques Durand that I should want him with me on that night.

"'You will render me,' I said, 'the help that circumstances suggest; but more than that I shall not tell you.'

"For a secret is not a secret any longer, when more than one man knows it. Time enough that Jacques should know my secret when the days had passed, and the night of the masked ball arrived.

"It came before the week was out, and there can be little need for me to tell you what it looked like. You may still see the same thing at any time in Paris, when the students are keeping carnival.

"A vast room with a polished floor, and galleries running round it, where they served refreshments; a profusion of gaily-coloured lamps suspended from the ceiling; a string band that played the tunes that set your feet dancing whether you would or no; a mob of men and girls all gaily and fantastically attired—a goodly proportion of them in masks and dominoes, and all of them, or nearly all, uproarious in their behaviour. Such was the scene through which I strode, in the garb of Mephistopheles, to answer for Montpensier.

"Jacques followed close behind me in the costume of a mediæval jester—a costume which, I allow, was scarcely appropriate to the occasion. But I had no time to think of that; for Clarisse, dressed as the Queen of Sheba, was already beckoning to me.

"'Keep near,' she whispered. 'When the time comes, I will hold up two fingers to you, thus.'

"So I kept near, and saw man after man come up, and speak to her, and go away again. My patience was sorely tried; and I began to think that she had led me on a vain chance, after all. My eyes had begun to wander about the room when Jacques recalled my attention, saying—

"'Look there, Stromboli! look!'

"I looked. A tall figure, in the guise of a Spanish Inquisitor, masked beyond all possibility of recognition, was bending down and talking to Clarisse. Her eyes caught mine, and she lifted her two fingers, giving the preconcerted signal. The hour had come.

"'Now, Jacques,' I whispered, 'I rely on you. Support me in this, and you shall see how revolutions can be helped upon their way by unexpected means.'

"'But what——'

"'Wait,' I interrupted. 'The time for explanations will come afterwards. Now is the time to act.'

"And so saying, I stepped forward and slapped my Spanish Inquisitor violently on the back.

"'What is the meaning of this, sir?' I cried angrily. 'What do you mean by insulting a lady who is here under my escort?'

"At first I thought he would have tried to strike me; but, with an effort, he restrained himself.

"'You make a mistake, sir,' he answered. 'I do not think the lady complains of having been insulted. If she does, I am quite ready to apologise to her.'

"He looked at her, as though appealing to her to say something to save the situation, and I doubt not that, being frightened, she would have said it, had I not made haste to speak again before she had time to do so.

"'You will apologise? Well and good, sir, provided that you apologise to me as well as to Madame. But an apology from a masked man is an apology that one does not accept. Take off your mask, or I shall take it off for you, and insist upon satisfaction for this insult.'

"But to unmask was, of course, the one thing that he would not do—that was what I had foreseen when I had laid this plan. And the next thing that I heard was the voice of another masked man—some courtier evidently—whispering in my ear—

"'Don't make a fool of yourself. You're talking to the Duc de Montpensier. It mustn't be known that he was here.'

"I had expected something of that sort, however, and was ready with my reply.

"'I don't believe you,' I said, with dignity. 'It is no use to romance like that with Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski. The story is the lie of a coward who dares not face the consequences of his misbehaviour.'

"Again the man approached and whispered—

"'If money is what you want to stop this row—'

"They were in such a quandary, you see, that they were ready to bribe me not to expose them. But I was a revolutionist, not a blackmailer, and this fear of exposure, thus candidly confessed, was the thing that I had relied upon to help me to my end. I took no notice of the offer, but turned again to my other masked antagonist, saying—

"'I give you your choice, sir, to unmask and apologise, or to give me satisfaction this very evening. I undertake to provide the place and the weapons. An affair of honour can be settled as well by candlelight as by daylight, and you are quite welcome to fight me with your mask on if you prefer it.'

"He was a brave man—I will do him that justice—and I had pushed him into a very awkward corner. For a minute or two he conferred in hasty whispers with his friend, and, without troubling to listen, I overheard fragments of their colloquy.

"'Mustn't let all Paris ring with this.'

"'Anything to avoid a scandal.'

"'Only an affair of five minutes.'

"'Teach the noisy braggart the lesson he deserves.'

"Then, when I thought the conference had lasted long enough—

"'Your decision, sir?' I demanded.

"It was the masked friend who answered, speaking very quietly—

"'Provided that we can get away from here without being followed by a crowd, we are at your service.'

"'That is easy,' said I, in the same tone. 'We have only to behave as though we were reconciled, and sit together for a minute at one of these refreshment tables.'

"'It was agreed. The crowd took no further notice of us, for little disturbances of that kind were usual enough at the Closerie des Lilas. Five minutes later the four of us were seated together in a carriage, driving to the house in which I had hired a room in readiness for this affair—a long, empty room above a shop that was for the moment without a tenant.

"The duelling-swords were there, the blinds were drawn, and the shutters closed, and a sufficiency of candles stood ready to be lighted; but one more desperate effort was made to keep the peace.

"'If my friend is willing to unmask here——'

"'He can unmask or not, as he likes,' I directed Jacques to answer; 'but I shall expect him to fight in any case.'

"'That is absolutely final?'

"'Absolutely.'

"'Very well. It is an unpleasant business. Let us make haste and get it over.'

"So lots were drawn for stations and for weapons. The lights were arranged, so far as possible, so as to favour neither of us. Still wearing our masks, but stripped of every trimming of our fancy costumes which could hinder the freedom of our movement, we advanced to the centre of the floor.

"The toss of the coin had given Jacques the direction of the combat. He made us cross our blades at the usual distance from each other, and gave the usual signal—

"'Allez, messieurs!"

"My antagonist could fence well. It was, no doubt, because of his skill with the small-sword that he had consented to this meeting. He meant to make it clear to me that he had spared my life, and then trust to my gratitude and my sense of honour to keep his secret. But though he was a good fencer, Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski was a better.

"You know the trick of fence which the French call enlacer le fer. After a cautious pass or two, I tried that, with the result that I whirled my opponent's sword out of his hand.

"'Try again, sir, when you are ready,' I said, lowering my point.

"He tried again, fighting more viciously this time, but with no more effect. Again he found himself in one corner of the room and his weapon in another.

"'Perhaps, sir, Fortune will be kinder to you the third time,' I suggested; and for the third time he advanced and faced me.

"This time I played with him longer. I took the ligne basse, which is always fatal, and withheld my lunge at the moment when he saw clearly, that, if I had chosen, I could have run him through. Not until nearly two minutes had elapsed did I give the quick turn of my wrist which disarmed him as before.

"Then I felt that I had sufficiently proved myself, and that the moment for my great coup had come.

"'Sir,' I said, bowing courteously to this proud prince, 'I honour you for your courage in this encounter with one who has the advantage over you in point of strength and skill. I could have unmasked you, or I could have killed you. Your life and your reputation have been equally at my mercy; and now I am willing to make you a free gift of both, on one condition.'

"The answer was brave enough.

"'I have asked no favour from you, sir.'

"'It is an easy condition, sir,' I continued, 'or I would not affront you by proposing it. I only ask your promise that, whatever may happen, whatever the provocation, you, as commander of the artillery, will never cause a gun to be fired upon the people of Paris.'

"He laughed. I imagine he thought he was dealing with a lunatic.

"'Is that all?' he said. 'I promise gladly. Nothing could be further from my wish than to use the guns of the French artillery against Frenchmen. Shall we now say "Good evening"?'

"He was going, but I stopped him.

"'Stay,' I said; 'it is necessary that I should have that in writing.'

"'My word, then,' he objected, 'is not enough for you?'

"'It is enough for me,' I answered; 'but I must have something to show to my friends in proof that I have executed the task which they entrusted to me. Here is the document to which I desire your signature.'

"I produced the slip of paper. These were the words upon it—

"'I, Louis Charles, Duc de Montpensier, in consideration of my life having been spared in fair fight by Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, do hereby engage that in no event—not even in the event of revolution—will I, as commander of the artillery, cause or permit the cannon to be used against the people."

"'As witness my hand.'

"'Now, M. le Duc,' I said, as I handed it to him, 'if you will sign this document, I pledge my word of honour that the world shall know nothing of it so long as you are faithful to the undertaking which it expresses. On the other hand, if you prefer not to sign it, I am willing to renew the combat.'

"'If you prefer not to sign, I am willing to renew the combat."'"

"Yet again the prince stepped aside to confer with his companion. I caught odd words and phrases of their conversation—'Dangerous madman.' 'Official denial.' 'Only way out of it.' 'Avoid a scandal at all hazards.' But I affected not to hear, and waited.

"'Well, M. le Duc?' I said at last.

"He laughed again.

"'Well, well, suppose I sign? You have pen and ink there? Thank you. Even in the event of revolution? How ridiculous! As if there were any chance of another revolution in this country?'

"'Nevertheless, M. le Duc,' I answered, watching him as he wrote his name, and as both his masked friend and Jacques Durand witnessed the signature—'nevertheless, M. le Duc, the wise man is he who is prepared for all emergencies.'

* * * * *

"'We saluted ceremoniously, and drove away, this time in separate carriages; and most of what remains of my story is in the history books. All the world knows that the revolution came, as I anticipated, bursting like a thunderclap in a clear sky. All the world knows that King Louis Phillipe drove away from the Tuileries in a cab, and travelled to England under the alias of 'Mr. Smith,' hoping, as he explained, to pass as the head of the English family of that name. But just one new thing I can tell you—a thing that I learnt afterwards from one of the royal servants, a maid who waited upon the Duchesse de Montpensier and became a good Republican after the dynasty had fallen.

"'Ah, that scene!' she said to me. 'That terrible scene! Never shall I forget it!'

"'What scene, Babette?' I asked her.

"'What scene?' she repeated, and then described it to me.

"'It was on that dreadful morning when the news came to us that Paris had, as we said, gone mad, and the people were on their way from Saint Antoine to batter down the palace gates. I was alone with the Duchess, who was crying. I was trying to console her, telling her that the police would soon take all the wicked rioters to prison; and as I did this the door opened, and who should enter, unannounced, but Queen Marie Amélie herself. Ah, she was a woman of spirit, though she was old, was Queen Marie Amélie!

"'"Where is Montpensier?" she asked, without a word of greeting.

"'It was no time for idle forms of etiquette, so the Duchess stepped to the other door of her boudoir and called down the passage, just as any common woman might.

"'A minute later M. le Duc entered. He was dressed as though for a journey, and his face was pale—I do not think I ever saw a paler face. Ignoring my presence, the Queen broke out into reproaches.

"'"Montpensier! For shame, Montpensier! Your father's throne in peril, and you strike no blow for it!"

"'If possible, his pallor deepened. Even a girl, as I was, could see that there was some struggle, which I did not understand, proceeding in his mind.

"'"What would you have me do, my mother?"' he asked, trembling before her.

"'"What to do?" she repeated. "Was it for this, then, that you were given the command of the artillery—that you should tell us in the day of trouble that you don't know what to do? For shame, Montpensier! And, once more, for shame! Can't you bring out your guns and shoot this rabble down? Better to die at your post——"

"'He answered, "Anything is better, my mother, than that the French guns should be turned on the French people.'

"'"And to think that it is my own son who speaks thus to me! To think that I have lived to learn that I am the mother of a coward!"

"'It was clear that the taunt stung him to the quick. I thought that it must move him to take up the challenge and offer to risk his life against any odds. But no; he stood his ground and answered, with a cold, impassive stare—

"'"My mother, if I told you that I have given my plighted word to act as I am acting, you would not believe me; but so it is. Some day, it may be, you will know the truth. In the meantime I would rather be thought a coward than know myself to be a liar."

"'"Yes, Montpensier, you are a coward! Coward—coward!" she hissed, and turned upon her heel and left him.

"'And he was a coward, wasn't he?' Babette commented. 'Even a Republican like you must think of him as a coward.'

"'No, no, Babette,' I answered; 'he was no coward. He was an honourable man who faithfully kept the pledge that had been extracted from him by Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.'

"And then, in answer to her questions, I told her as much of the truth as it was good for her to know, and also described to her the last scene of all in this remarkable adventure.

"I now come to it. Observe!

"The populace, as you know, besieged the Tuileries, and the king and the royal family drove away in cabs. I was in the crowd, and as the Duc de Montpensier came out of the gate, I advanced a step or two to speak to him.

"'M. le Duc,' I said, "you are an honourable man, and you have kept your word. You did not use your guns against the people. Good. Accept my congratulations, and let me return to you the written undertaking which you gave me, in order that you may use it, if need be, to rehabilitate your reputation with your friends.'

"'I thank you, sir,' he answered, bowing gravely, as he took the paper from me. 'I now understand that a revolutionist may also be a man of honour.'

"He whipped up the horses and drove off, and I have never seen him since. But now you know how I made my first appearance in any revolution, and what was my meaning when I said that it was I who brought about the overthrow of the Orleanists in 1848."