In a house in the Rue de Berri, at the back of the courtyard, there was a little entresol which was lit by a trickle of daylight as dismal as the stone walls between which it found its difficult way. Henri de BrÉcÉ, son of the Duc Jean de BrÉcÉ, president of the Executive Committee, was seated at his desk with a sheet of paper before him on which he was turning a round blot of ink into a balloon, by the addition of netting, ropes and a car. On the wall behind him was nailed a large photograph of the Prince, looking extremely feeble in his vulgar solemnity and heavy-witted youth. Tricoloured flags spangled with fleurs de lis surrounded the portrait. In the corners of the room banners were displayed on which loyal ladies had embroidered golden lilies and royalist mottoes. At the back of the room several cavalry sabres were fixed to the wainscot, with a cardboard scroll bearing the inscription: “Vive l’armÉe!” Below them, held in place by pins, was a caricature of Joseph Reinach as a gorilla. A chest for papers, a strong box, a Joseph Lacrisse, secretary of the Departmental Committee of Young Royalists, was standing by the fireplace silently conning the list of affiliated members. Henri LÉon, vice-president of the Royalist Committees of the South-West, was seated astride a chair, where, with stony gaze and knitted brows, he was unfolding his ideas. He was considered irrelevant and gloomy, a regular skeleton at the feast, but his inherited financial abilities made him of value to his associates. He was the son of that LÉon-LÉon, the banker of the Spanish Bourbons, who had come to grief in the smash of the Union gÉnÉrale. “We are being hemmed in, I don’t care what you say, we are being hemmed in, I feel it. Day by day the circle is closing upon us. When MÉline was with us we had air and space, as much space as we wanted. We were free to do as we liked.” He jerked his elbows and moved his arms about as though to demonstrate the ease with which people manoeuvred in those happy days which were no more. He continued: “With MÉline we had everything. We Royalists “We still have all that,” said Henri de BrÉcÉ, “and public opinion is more than ever with us now that the Government is so unpopular.” “It’s no longer the same thing. With MÉline we were pseudo-official, we were supporters of the Government, we were Conservatives; the conditions were ideal for conspiracy. Don’t make any mistake about that. France as a whole is conservative, and domestic and changes alarm her. MÉline did us the enormous service of making us appear reassuring; we appeared to be kindly and benign, as benign as he himself appeared. He told the people that we were the true Republicans, and the people believed him. You had only to look into his face; you couldn’t suspect him of a jest. Through him we were accepted by public opinion, and that in itself is no small service.” “MÉline was a good sort,” sighed Henri de BrÉcÉ. “We must at least do him that justice.” “He was a patriot,” said Joseph Lacrisse. “With such a minister,” continued Henri LÉon, “we had everything, we were everything and we could do everything. We had no need to conceal ourselves. We were not outside the Republic; we were above it, and we dominated it from the full height of our patriotism. We were everything; “We were all countrified and content. When Dupuy came along I was less pleased; with him things were not so honest and above-board; we were not so sure of ourselves. Of course he didn’t want to harm us, but he was not a true friend. He was not the kindly village fiddler leading the wedding procession. He was a fat coachman jogging us along in his cab. And we tore along, hanging on anyhow, always in danger of being “I don’t defend Dupuy,” said Henri de BrÉcÉ. “I don’t attack him. I watch him, study him and classify him. I don’t dislike him; he’s been of great service to us. Don’t forget it. If it were not for him, we should all be doing time to-day. Oh yes, I mean it. I’m referring to Faure’s funeral, the great day fixed for simultaneous action. Well, my dear friends, after the failure of the great coup we should have been done for, had it not been for Dupuy.” “It wasn’t us he wanted to spare,” said Joseph Lacrisse, with his nose in his ledger. “I know that. He saw at a glance that he couldn’t do anything because there were some generals mixed up in the business. It was too big for him. But that doesn’t alter the fact that we owe him a jolly big candle.”* “It’s possible, but Dupuy allowed us plenty of time to pull ourselves together after the funeral stampede, and I confess I am grateful to him for that. On the other hand, without ill will, possibly without intending it, he has done us a great deal of harm. Suddenly, just when we least expected such a thing, he appeared to be furiously angry with us. He made out that he was defending the Republic. His position demanded the attitude; I recognize that. It wasn’t a serious matter, but it had a bad effect. I get tired of telling you the same thing; that this country is conservative at heart. Unlike MÉline, Dupuy did not tell people that we were the Republicans, that we were the Conservatives; for that matter, no one would have believed him if he had. During his ministry we lost something of our authority over the country. We were no longer on the side of the government. We were no longer reassuring; professional Republicans began to feel anxious about us. That was to our credit, but it was dangerous. Our position was not so good under Dupuy as under MÉline, and it is worse to-day, under Waldeck-Rousseau, than it was under Dupuy. That’s the truth, the bitter truth.” “Of course,” said Henri de BrÉcÉ, pulling his “It may be unpopular,” returned Henri LÉon, “but are you quite sure it won’t last long enough to do us harm? Unpopular governments last as long as popular ones. To begin with, no government is ever really popular. To govern is to displease. We are among ourselves and there is no need to mince matters. Do you for one moment imagine that we shall be popular when we form the government? Do you imagine, BrÉcÉ, that the people will weep with emotion when they see you attired as king’s chamberlain with a key hanging down your back? And you, Lacrisse, do you suppose you’ll be cheered in the working-class districts during a strike, when you are, say, prefect of police? Look at yourself in the glass and then tell me whether you look like an idol of the people. Don’t let us deceive ourselves. We say that the Waldeck-Millerand Cabinet is composed of idiots; we are quite right to say so, but we should be wrong to believe it.” “What ought to encourage us,” said Joseph Lacrisse, “is the weakness of a government which cannot enforce obedience.” “All our governments have been weak for many a long year,” said Henri LÉon, “but “The Waldeck Ministry has not a single police-commissary at its disposal,” said Joseph Lacrisse. “Not one!” “So much the better for us,” said Henri LÉon, “for one would be enough to jug all three of us. I tell you the circle is closing in. Consider these words of a philosopher; they are worth the trouble: ‘Republicans govern badly, but they defend themselves well.’” But Henri de BrÉcÉ, bending over his desk, was turning a second blot of ink into a beetle by the addition of a head, two antennÆ and six legs. He gave a satisfied glance at his work, looked up and remarked: “We still hold trump cards, the Army, the Church——” Henri LÉon interrupted him: “The Army, the Church, the magistracy, the bourgeoisie, the butcher boys—in other words, the whole excursion train of the Republic. The train is travelling nevertheless, and will continue to do so until the driver stops the engine.” “Ah,” sighed Joseph Lacrisse, “if only we had President Faure with us still.” “FÉlix Faure,” resumed Henri LÉon, “joined us out of sheer vanity. He became a Nationalist “Then there is another thing,” he continued, “and that is the general indifference of the public. Speaking of that, reminds me of a very significant remark once made by Citizen Bissolo. It was when the anti-Semites and ourselves were organizing spontaneous manifestations against Loubet. Our crowds went down the boulevards shouting ‘Panama! Resign! Long live the Army!’ It was magnificent. Young Ponthieu and General Decuir’s two sons headed the crowd, with glossy silk hats, white carnations in their buttonholes, and gold-headed canes in their hands. And the toughest hooligans of Paris made up the procession. We had seen to “A counter-manifestation quickly made its appearance; a smaller and more insignificant crowd, though warlike and determined enough, advanced to meet us amid shouts of ‘Long live the Republic! Down with the priests!’ with an occasional solitary cry for Loubet that seemed surprised to find itself in the air. Before it was over this unexpected disturbance aroused the anger of the police, who at that moment were barricading the boulevard and looking just like an austere border of black wool on a brightly variegated carpet. Soon, however, this black border, actuated by a movement of its own, hurled itself upon the van of the counter-manifestation, while another body of police harassed them from the rear. In this way the police had soon dispersed the partisans of Monsieur Loubet, dragging the unrecognizable dÉbris off to the insidious depths of the Drouot police-station. That was the way they did things in those troublous times. Was Monsieur Loubet, at the ÉlysÉe, ignorant of the methods employed by his police for enforcing in the streets of Paris respect for the head of the State? Or, if he knew of them, was he unable and unwilling to alter them? I do not “However, one night, one of the last of that eventful week, when the expected manoeuvre was taking place from point to point, and the counter-manifestation found itself attacked simultaneously in the van and in the rear by the police and in flank by us, I saw Bissolo extricate himself from the menaced van of the Republicans and, with long strides and a desperate wriggling of his little body, reach the “All this made me treat Bissolo with courtesy. I had only to say ‘Hullo, here’s Bissolo,’ and my “As this unfortunate prisoner passed us, Bissolo, although he was on hostile territory, could not help sighing and saying: ‘It is a strange thing that Republicans should be so treated in a Republic.’ I politely replied that it was in truth somewhat amusing. ‘No, Citizen Monarchist,’ replied Bissolo, ‘it is not amusing, it is sad. But that is not the chief misfortune. The chief misfortune, I tell you, is the lethargy of the public.’ Bissolo spoke these words with a confidence that did us both honour. I glanced at the crowd, and it is a fact that it seemed to me flabby and without energy. Now and again a cry rose from its depths like a firework let off by a child: ‘Down with Loubet! Down with the thieves! Down with the Jews! Long live the Army!’ And it seemed friendly enough towards the worthy police, but there was no electricity in the air—no storm brewing. Citizen Bissolo continued with melancholy philosophy: ‘The great evil is the lethargy of the public. We Republicans, Socialists and Libertarians are suffering from it to-day. You Monarchists and Imperialists will suffer from it to-morrow, and will learn in “I must admit that by the light of these words I seemed to catch a glimpse of a profoundly dismal future flashing across my vision. Somewhat ostentatiously, however, I replied: ‘Citizen Bissolo, there is nevertheless this difference between you and ourselves—that the crowd looks upon you as a mob of time-servers without love for your country, while we Monarchists and Imperialists enjoy the esteem of the public. We are popular.’ Citizen Bissolo smiled pleasantly at this and remarked: ‘Your horse is there, monseigneur, and you have only to mount her. But when you are on her back she will quietly lie down by the side of the road and will pitch you off. There is no sorrier jade anywhere, I warn you. Tell me which one of her riders has not had his back broken by popularity? In time of peril have the people ever been able to offer the least assistance to their idols? You Nationalists are not so popular as you profess, you and your candidate Gamelle are almost unknown to the general public. But if ever the mob enfolds “I could not refrain from reproaching Bissolo severely for calumniating the French public. He replied that he was a sociologist, that his Socialism was based on science, and that he had a little box at home filled with actual facts minutely classified, which enabled him to bring about a methodical revolution. And he added: ‘Science, and not the people, possesses sovereign power. A stupidity repeated by thirty-six millions of mouths does not for that reason cease to be stupid. Majorities, as a general rule, display a superior capacity for servitude. Among the weak, weakness is multiplied in proportion to number. Mobs are always inert. They possess a little energy only when they are starving. I can prove to you that on the morning of the 10th of August, 1792, the people of Paris were still Royalists. I have been addressing public meetings for ten years and have had my share of hard blows. The education of the people has hardly commenced; that is the fact of the matter. In the brain of the working man, in the place where the bourgeois carry their inept and brutal prejudices, there is a great cavity. That has got to be filled. We shall do it. It will take a long time. In the meanwhile it is better to have an empty head than one filled with toads and Joseph Lacrisse, who had listened without enthusiasm to this long story, asked whether Citizen Bissolo wasn’t merely an animal. “On the contrary, he is a very clever man,” replied Henri LÉon, “the sort of man one would like to have as a neighbour in the country, as Bismarck used to say of Lassalle. Bissolo spoke only too truly when he said that you may lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make him drink.” |