  Madame de Bonmont knew the Exhibition well, having dined there on several occasions. That evening she was dining at the “Belle ChocolatiÈre”—a Swiss restaurant situated, as every one knows, on the bank of the Seine—together with the militant Élite of Nationalism, Joseph Lacrisse, Henri LÉon, Gustave Dellion, Jacques de Cadde, Hugues Chassons des Aigues and Madame de Gromance, who, as Henri LÉon remarked, was very like the pretty servant in Liotard’s pastel, a greatly enlarged copy of which served as a sign for the restaurant. Madame de Bonmont was gentle and tender-hearted. It was love, relentless love that had placed her among these warriors, and, like the Antigone of Sophocles, she brought among them a soul fashioned not for hatred but for sympathy. She pitied the victims. Jamont seemed to her the most pathetic of these, and the premature retirement of this general moved her to tears. She thought of embroidering a cushion for him, on which he could lay his glorious head. She The thoughts of young Madame de Gromance were of a less generous kind. She had loved and deceived Gustave Dellion, and then she had loved him no longer. But as he removed her light pink-flowered cloak under the respectfully-lowered eyes of the head-waiter on the terrace of the “Belle ChocolatiÈre,” Gustave muttered in her ears words that sounded strangely like “jade” and “beastly strumpet.” She did not allow the least distress to appear on her face, but inwardly she thought him rather sweet, and felt that she was about to love him again. And Gustave thoughtfully realized that for the first time in his life he had spoken like a lover. He sat down solemnly beside Clotilde. The dinner, which was the last of the season, was by no means a merry one. The sadness of farewell was felt and a certain Nationalist melancholy. Doubtless they still hoped—what am I saying?—they still cherished infinite hopes, but it is painful, when one has everything, both men and money, “Taking it altogether,” he said, “everything went very well at Longchamps on the 14th. The Army was cheered. There were shouts of ‘Hurrah for Jamont! Hurrah for Bougon!’ There was a great deal of enthusiasm.” “Doubtless, doubtless,” said Henri LÉon; “but Loubet returned unmolested to the ÉlysÉe, and the day did not forward our affairs overmuch.” Hugues Chassons des Aigues, who had a fresh scar on his nose—which was of the big and royal order—frowned and said proudly: “I can tell you things were hot at the Cascades. When the Socialists cheered the Republic and the Army——” “The police,” put in Madame de Bonmont, “ought not to allow things to be shouted.” “When the Socialists cheered the Republic and the Army we replied, ‘Long live the Army! Death to the Jews!’ The ‘white carnations,’ whom I had hidden in the crowd, rallied to my cry. They charged the ‘red eglantines’ under a hail of iron chairs. They were magnificent. But it was no “Doubtless,” said Lacrisse, “the moment was ill-chosen. Besides, to a certain extent, we have to respect the Exhibition truce.” “All the same,” said Chassons des Aigues, “we hit pretty hard at the Cascades. I gave Citizen Bissolo a crack on the head that sent it down into his hump. I saw him fall to the ground; he looked just like a tortoise. Then, ‘Hurrah for the Army! Death to the Jews!’” “Doubtless, doubtless,” said Henri LÉon gravely. “But ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ and ‘Death to the Jews!’ is a trifle subtle for crowds. It is—if I may say so—too literary, too classical, and it is not sufficiently revolutionary. ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ It is fine, it is noble, it is proper, it is cold—yes, it is cold. Let me tell you, there is only one way to excite a crowd, and that is by panic. Believe me, the only way to get a mob of unarmed people on the run is to put fear into their bellies. You should have run, crying—what shall I say?—‘Save “Do you really think so?” asked Jacques de Cadde. “I am certain of it,” replied Henri LÉon. “‘Treachery!’ that is the true cry of riot, the cry that gives wings to the crowd and sets brave men and cowards alike going at the same pace, fills a hundred thousand hearts with one emotion and restores the use of his legs to the paralytic. Ah, my dear Chassons, if you had shouted at Longchamps ‘We are betrayed!’ you would have seen your old screech-owl with her basket of hard-boiled eggs and her umbrella and your old fellow with the stiff legs running like hares.” “Running where?” asked Lacrisse. “I don’t know. Who knows where a panic-stricken crowd runs to? They don’t know themselves. But what does that matter? They’ve been set going, and that’s enough. You can’t cause riots “Into the lake,” repeated Jacques de Cadde. “Well, they would have been drowned, that’s all.” “Well,” returned Henri LÉon, “would thirty thousand drowned citizens have counted for nothing? Would not the Ministry and the Government have experienced serious difficulty and real danger in the matter? Wouldn’t that have been a good day’s work? Look here, you are no politicians. You don’t care a damn whether you overthrow the Republic or not.” “You’ll see that after the Exhibition,” said “Ah, you smashed one of them, did you?” asked young Dellion with interest. “What sort of a specimen?” “A mechanic. It would have been better if he had been a Senator, of course; but in a crowd you are more likely to chance on a workman.” “What was your mechanic doing?” asked LÉon. “He was shouting ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ so I bashed him.” Thereupon, fired with generous emulation, young Dellion told them that on hearing a Socialist-Dreyfusard shout for Loubet, he had bashed his jaw for him. “All goes well!” said Jacques de Cadde. “There are some things that might go better,” said Hugues Chassons des Aigues. “Don’t let us be too pleased with ourselves. On July the 14th, Loubet, Waldeck, Millerand and AndrÉ each returned home safe and sound. They would not have returned had my advice been heeded. But no one will act, we are lacking in energy.” Joseph Lacrisse answered gravely: “No, no, we are not wanting in energy, but for the moment there’s nothing to be done. After the Exhibition we shall enter upon a vigorous course of action. It will be a favourable moment. After her “Doubtless, doubtless,” replied Henri LÉon. “But we must not forget that in three months’ time we shall be a little less numerous and Loubet a little less unpopular.” Jacques de Cadde, Chassons des Aigues, Dellion, Lacrisse and all the Trublions tried to drown with their protestations so dismal a prediction, but in a very “It is inevitable. Loubet will become less unpopular daily. He was primarily disliked because of the reports that we spread about him, but he will not live up to all of them. He is not great enough to equal the picture we drew of him, to the terror of the crowd. We showed them a Loubet of a hundred cubits’ stature, protecting the thieves in Parliament and destroying the Army. The reality will seem much less terrible. They will see that he does not always protect the thieves or disorganize the Army. He will hold reviews. That will produce an impression. He will ride in a carriage. That is more dignified than going on foot. He will bestow crosses and an abundance of academic palms, and those who receive the cross or “I defy him to wear us out,” cried young Cadde. “Time alone will suffice to wear us out,” replied Henri LÉon. “How fine our Municipal Council was on the evening of the poll that gave us the majority! ‘Hurrah for the Army! Death to the Jews!’ yelled the electors, drunk with joy, pride and love. And the successful candidates, beaming, replied, ‘Death to the Jews! Hurrah for the Army!’ But as the new Council can neither free the sons of the electors from military service nor distribute the money of the “You are wrong, my dear LÉon,” cried Joseph Lacrisse. “There is nothing to fear with regard to the renewal of monopolies. We say to the electors, ‘We are giving you cheap gas,’ and the electors will not complain. The Municipal Council of Paris, elected on an exclusively political programme, will exercise a decisive influence on the political and national crises that will follow immediately after the closing of the Exhibition.” “Yes, but in order to do that,” said Chassons des Aigues, “it will have to place itself at the head of the revolutionary movement. If it is moderate, prudent, conciliatory, considerate, all is lost. The Council must realize that it has been elected to overthrow and smash Parliamentarianism.” “Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” cried Jacques de Cadde. “Little must be said, but that little to the point,” continued Chassons des Aigues. “Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” Chassons des Aigues disdained the interruption. “A pledge, a simple pledge should be expressed “Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” cried young Cadde louder than ever. Chassons des Aigues tried to make him listen to reason. “I am not opposed on principle to our friends sounding the hallali of the parliamentarians, but in public gatherings the trumpet is the supreme argument of the minority. We must keep it for the Luxembourg and Palais Bourbon. I should like to point out, my dear fellow, that at the HÔtel de Ville we are in the majority.” This consideration did not move young Cadde, who continued to vociferate: “Blow the trumpet! Blow the trumpet! Do you know how to blow the trumpet, Lacrisse? If you don’t, I’ll teach you; it is quite essential for a municipal councillor to know how to blow the trumpet.” “To resume,” said Chassons des Aigues, as solemn as a judge, “the first pledge of the Council should be the impeachment of the Ministers; the second, the impeachment of the Senators; and the third, the impeachment of the President of the Republic. After a few resolutions of this description the Ministry will proceed to the dissolution of the Council. The Council resists, and makes a “Do you think so?” asked Henri LÉon quietly. “Do you really think, Chassons, that outraged Paris will rise?” “I do think so,” replied Chassons des Aigues. “I do not think so,” said Henri LÉon. “You know Citizen Bissolo—since it was you who nearly brained him on the fourteenth of July at the review—I know him too. One night, on the boulevard, during a demonstration following the election of the deplorable Loubet, Citizen Bissolo came to me as the most constant and most generous of his enemies. We exchanged a few words. All our paid roughs were shouting at the top of their voices. Shouts of ‘Hurrah for the Army!’ resounded from the Bastille to the Madeleine. Smiling and amused, the passers-by were on our side. Bissolo stretched out his long hunchback’s arm like a scythe in the direction of the crowd and remarked: ‘I know the jade. Mount her, and she’ll break your back by suddenly lying down when you aren’t expecting it.’ Those were the words of Citizen Bissolo as we stood at the corner of the Rue Drouot on the day when Paris offered herself to us.” “But this Bissolo of yours is a rogue,” cried Joseph Lacrisse. “He insults the people.” Young Jacques de Cadde chanted, in his thick voice: “Blow the trumpet! It’s the only way!” THE END. Transcriber’s Note: Punctuation has been standardised. Punctuation, spelling and accents have been retained as in the original publication, except as follows:
|
|
