Ange Pitou (Volume 1)

  Around them had ranged themselves some grenadiers of the French Guard, whose uniform, having become popular during the last two days, was an object of veneration to the people.

  Monsieur de Launay had escaped receiving any blow as long as the arms of his generous defenders were able to ward them off; but he had not escaped insulting language and threats.

  At the corner of the Rue de Jouy, of the five grenadiers of the French Guards who had joined the procession on leaving the Bastille, not one remained. They had one after the other been carried off on the way, by the enthusiasm of the crowd, and perhaps also by the calculation of assassins, and Gilbert had seen them disappear one after the other, like beads from a rosary of which the cord had been broken.

  From that moment he had foreseen that the victory which had been gained was about to be tarnished by a sanguinary sacrifice; he had attempted to jump from the table which served him as a triumphal car, but arms of iron had riveted him to it. In his powerless position, he had directed Billot and Pitou to rush forward to defend the governor, and both of them, obedient to his voice, had made every effort to cleave through the human waves and get near to Monsieur de Launay.

  And in fact the little group of his, defenders stood in great need of a reinforcement. Chollat, who had not tasted food since the previous evening, had felt his strength giving way, and at length had fainted; it was with great difficulty that he had been raised and saved from being trampled under foot.

  But this was a breach made in the wall, a falling-in of the dyke.

  A man rushed through this breach, and whirling the butt of his gun over his head, aimed a deadly blow at the uncovered head of the governor.

  But De Lépine, who saw the terrific blow descending, had time enough to throw himself with outstretched arms between the governor and his assailant, and received on his forehead the blow intended for the governor.

  Stunned by the shock, blinded with his own blood, which streamed into his eyes, he staggered, and covered his face with his hands, and when he could again see, the governor was twenty paces from him.

  It was at this moment that Billot, dragging Pitou after him through the crowd, came up to him.

  He perceived that what exposed Monsieur de Launay, above all, to observation, was his being the only man in the crowd who was bareheaded.

  Billot took his hat, stretched out his arm, and placed it on the governor's head.

  De Launay turned round and recognized Billot.

  "I thank you," he said; "but whatever you may do, you will not save me."

  "Let us only reach the Hôtel de Ville," said Hullin, "and I will answer for your safety."

  "Yes," replied De Launay, "but shall we reach it?"

  "With the help of God, we will attempt it," rejoined Hullin.

  And in fact there was some hope of succeeding, for they were just entering the square before the Hôtel de Ville; but this square was thronged with men with naked arms, brandishing pikes and sabres. The report, which had flown from street to street, had announced to them that the governor and the major of the Bastille were being brought to them; and like a pack of hungry hounds eager to be loosed upon their prey, they awaited, grinding their teeth and impatient for their approach.

  As soon as they saw the procession approach they rushed towards the governor.

  Hullin saw that this was the moment of extreme danger, of the last struggle; if he could only get the governor to the front steps, and get him to rush up the staircase, De Launay was saved.

  "To me, Elie!—to me, Maillard!—to me, all men with hearts," cried he: "our honor is at stake."

  Elie and Maillard heard the appeal; they made a rush into the centre of the mob, and the people seconded them but too well; they made way for them to pass, but closed in behind them.

  In this manner Elie and Maillard were separated from the principal group, and were prevented returning to it.

  The crowd saw the advantage it had gained, and made a furious effort. Like an enormous boa, it entwined its gigantic folds around the group. Billot was lifted off his feet and dragged away; Pitou, who thought only of Billot, allowed himself to be forced away in the same throng. Hullin, being hurried on by the crowd, stumbled against the first step of the Hôtel de Ville, and fell. He got up, but it was to fall again almost immediately, and this time De Launay fell with him.

  The governor was constant to the last; up to the final moment, he uttered not a single complaint; he did not ask for mercy, but he cried out in a loud, shrill tone,—

  "Tigers that you are, at all events do not allow me to remain thus in suspense; kill me at once!"

  Never was order more promptly executed than this reproachful request of the poor governor. In an instant around the fallen De Launay every head was bowed down towards him. For a moment nothing could be seen but upraised and threatening hands, grasping poniards which as suddenly disappeared then was seen a head severed from the body, and which was raised, still streaming with blood, upon the end of a pike; the features had retained their livid and contemptuous smile.

  This was the first.

  Gilbert, from his elevated position, could see all that was passing; Gilbert had once more attempted to spring to the assistance of the governor, but two hundred arms prevented him.

  He turned his head from the disgusting spectacle and sighed.

  This head, with its staring eyes, was raised immediately in front, and as if to salute him with a last look, of the window in which De Flesselles was standing, surrounded and protected by the electors.

  It would have been difficult to decide whether the face of the living or that of the dead man was the most pale and livid.

  Suddenly an immense uproar arose from the spot on which was lying the mutilated body of De Launay. His pockets had been searched by his assassins, and in his breast-pocket had been found the note which the Provost of the Merchants had addressed to him, and which he had shown to De Losme.

  This note, our readers may remember, was couched in the following terms:—

  Hold firm!—I amuse the Parisians with cockades and promises. Before the close of the day Monsieur de Besenval will send you a reinforcement.

  DE FLESSELLES.

  The most blasphemous imprecations rose from the pavement of the square to the window of the Hôtel de Ville in which De Flesselles was standing.

  Without guessing the cause of this new tumult, he fully comprehended the threat, and hastily drew back from the window; but he had been seen; every one knew that he was there; the crowd rushed up the staircase, and this time the movement was so universal that the men who had been carrying Doctor Gilbert abandoned him to follow the living tide which in a tempest of passion was overflowing the great staircase.

  Gilbert would also have gone into the Hotel de Ville, not to threaten but to protect Flesselles. He had already ascended three or four of the front steps, when he felt himself violently pulled back. He turned round to disengage himself from this new obstruction, but he recognized Billot and Pitou.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Gilbert, who from his commanding position could glance over the whole square, "what can they be doing yonder?"

  And he pointed with his convulsively clinched hand to the corner of the Rue de la Tixéranderie.

  "Come with us, Doctor, come!" simultaneously cried Billot and Pitou.

  "Oh, the assassins!" cried the doctor, "the assassins!"

  And indeed at that moment Major de Losme fell, killed by a desperate blow from a hatchet,—the people confounding in their rage the egotistical and barbarous governor, who had been the persecutor of his prisoners, with the generous man who had been their friend and reliever.

  "Oh, yes, yes," said he, "let us be gone, for I begin to be ashamed of having been liberated by such men."

  "Doctor," said Billot, "be not uneasy on that score. The men who fought down yonder are not the same men who are committing these horrid massacres."

  But at the moment when the doctor was about to descend the steps which he had gone up, to has
ten to the assistance of Flesselles, the flood which had poured into the building was again vomited forth. Amid this torrent of men was one who was struggling furiously as they dragged him forward.

  "To the Palais Royal! to the Palais Royal!" cried the crowd.

  "Yes, my friends—yes, my good friends—to the Palais Royal!" repeated the man.

  And they went towards the river, as if this human inundation had wished, not to bear him towards the Palais Royal, but to drag him towards the Seine.

  "Oh!" cried Gilbert, "here is another they are about to murder!—let us endeavor to save him at least." But scarcely had he pronounced these words when a pistol-shot was heard, and De Flesselles disappeared amid the smoke.

  Gilbert covered his eyes with both his hands, with a gesture of excessive anger; he cursed the people who, after having shown themselves so great, had not the firmness to remain pure, and had sullied the victory they had gained by a triple assassination.

  Then, when he removed his hands from his eyes, he saw three heads raised above the crowd, on three pikes.

  The first was that of De Flesselles, the second that of De Losme, the third that of De Launay.

  The one rose above the front steps of the Hôtel de Ville, the other from the middle of the Rue de la Tixéranderie, the third on the Quai Pelletier.

  From their relative positions they assumed the form of a triangle.

  "Oh, Balsamo! Balsamo!" murmured the doctor, with a sigh; "is it then such a triangle as this that is to be symbolical of liberty!"

  And he ran along the Rue de la Vannerie, Billot and Pitou accompanying him.

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  Chapter XX

  Sebastien Gilbert

  AT the corner of the Rue Planche Mibray the doctor met a hackney coach, made a sign to the coachman to stop, and hastily got into it.

  Billot and Pitou quickly followed him.

  "To the College of Louis-le-Grand!" cried Gilbert, and threw himself into one corner of the vehicle, where he fell into a profound reverie, which was respected by Billot and Pitou.

  They went over the Pont au Change by the Rue de la Cité, the Rue St. Jacques, and at length reached the College Louis-le-Grand.

  All Paris was trembling with emotion. The news had spread rapidly throughout the city; rumors of the assassinations on the Place de la Grève were mingled with the glorious recital of the taking of the Bastille. On every face could be seen depicted the various emotions to which the news gave rise, according to the varied feelings they excited,—the lightning of the soul which thus betrayed themselves.

  Gilbert had not once looked out of the coach window; Gilbert had not uttered a single word. There is always a ridiculous side in popular ovations, and Gilbert contemplated his ovation in that point of view.

  And besides, it also appeared to him that notwithstanding all he had done to prevent it, some drops of the blood which had been shed would fall upon his head.

  The doctor alighted from the hackney coach at the college gate, and made a sign to Billot to follow him.

  As to Pitou, he discreetly remained in the coach.

  Sebastien was still in the infirmary; the principal in person, on Doctor Gilbert's being announced, conducted him thither.

  Billot, who, although not a very acute observer, well knew the character of both father and son,—Billot attentively observed the scene which was passing before his eyes.

  Weak, irritable, and nervous, as the boy had shown himself in the moment of despair, he evinced an equal degree of tranquillity and reserve in the moment of joy.

  On perceiving his father he turned pale, and words failed him. His lips quivered, and then he ran and threw his arms round his father's neck, uttering a cry of joy, which resembled a cry of grief, and then held him silently clasped within his arms.

  The doctor responded as silently to this mute pressure; only, after having embraced his son, he looked at him with an expression that was more sorrowful than joyous.

  A more skilful observer than Billot would have said that some misfortune or some crime existed in the relations between that youth and that man.

  The youth was less reserved in his conduct towards Billot. When he could observe any one excepting his father, who had in the first moment engrossed all his attention, he ran to the good farmer, and threw his arms round his neck, saying,—

  "You are a worthy man, Monsieur Billot; you have kept your promise to me, and I thank you for it."

  "Yes, yes," replied Billot, "and it was not without some trouble, I can assure you, Monsieur Sebastien. Your father was very nicely and safely locked up, and it was necessary to do a tolerable deal of damage before we could get him out."

  "Sebastien," inquired the doctor with some anxiety, "you are in good health?"

  "Yes, Father," replied the young man, "although you find me here in the infirmary."

  Gilbert smiled.

  "I know why it was you were brought here," said he.

  The boy smiled in his turn.

  "Have you everything you require here?" continued the doctor.

  "Everything—thanks to you."

  "I shall then, my dear boy, still recommend to you the same, the only line of conduct,—study assiduously."

  "Yes, Father."

  "I know that to you the word 'study' is not a vain and monotonous word; if I believed it to be so, I would no longer say it."

  "Father, it is not for me to reply to you on that head. It is the province of Monsieur Bérardier, our excellent principal."

  The doctor turned towards Monsieur Bérardier, who made a sign that he had something to say to him.

  "I will speak to you again in a moment, Sebastien," said the doctor.

  And he went over to the principal.

  "Sir," said Sebastien, with anxious feeling, to Billot, "can anything unfortunate have happened to Pitou? The poor lad is not with you."

  "He is at the door in a hackney coach," replied Billot.

  "Father," said Sebastien, "will you allow Monsieur Billot to fetch Pitou to me? I should be very glad to see him."

  Gilbert gave an affirmative nod; Billot left the room "What is it you would say to me?" inquired Gilbert of the Abbé Bérardier.

  "I wished to tell you, sir, that it is not study that you should recommend to the young lad, but, on the contrary, to amuse himself."

  "And on what account, good abbé?"

  "Yes, he is an excellent young man, whom everybody here loves as a son or as a brother, but—"

  The abbé paused.

  "But what?" cried Gilbert, with anxiety.

  "But if great care be not taken, Monsieur Gilbert, there is something that will kill him."

  "And what is that?" said Gilbert.

  "The study which you so strongly recommend to him."

  "Study?"

  "Yes, sir, study. If you could but see him seated at his desk, his arms crossed, poring over his dictionary, with eyes fixed—"

  "Studying, or dreaming?" asked Gilbert.

  "Studying, sir; endeavoring to find a good expression the antique style, the Greek or Latin form—seeking for it for hours together; and see! even at this very moment!—look at him!"

  And indeed the young man, although it was not five minutes since his father had been speaking to him, although Billot had scarcely shut the door after him, had fallen into a reverie which seemed closely allied to ecstasy.

  "Is he often thus?" anxiously inquired Gilbert.

  "Sir, I could almost say that this is his habitual state; only see how deeply he is meditating."

  "You are right, sir; and when you observe him in this state, you should endeavor to divert his thoughts."

  "And yet it would be a pity, for the results of these meditations are compositions which will one day do great honor to the College Louis-le-Grand. I predict that in three years from this time that youth yonder will bear off all the prizes at our examination."

  "Take care!" replied the doctor; "this species of absorption of thought, in which you see Seba
stien now plunged, is rather a proof of weakness than of strength, a symptom rather of malady than of health. You are right, Monsieur Principal; it will not do to recommend assiduous application to that child; or, at least, we must know how to distinguish study from such a state of reverie."

  "Sir, I can assure you that he is studying."

  "What, as we see him now?"

  "Yes; and the proof is that his task is always finished before that of the other scholars. Do you see how his lips move? He is repeating his lessons."

  "Well, then, whenever he is repeating his lessons in this manner, Monsieur Bérardier, divert his attention from them. He will not know his lessons the worse for it, and his health will be better for it."

  "Do you think so?"

  "I am sure of it."

  "Well," cried the good abbé, "you ought to understand these matters,—you, whom Messieurs de Condorcet and Cabanis proclaim to be one of the most learned men now existing in the world."

  "Only," rejoined Gilbert, "when you wish to draw him out of such reveries, you must do it with much precaution. Speak to him very softly in the first instance, and then louder."

  "And why so?"

  "To bring him gradually back to this world, which his mind has left."

  The abbé looked at the doctor with astonishment. It would not have required much to make him believe that he was mad.

  "Observe," continued the doctor; "you shall see the proof of what I am saying to you."

  Billot and Pitou entered the room at this moment. In three strides Pitou was at the side of the dreaming youth.

  "You asked for me, Sebastien," said Pitou to him; "that was very kind of you."

  And he placed his large head close to the pale face of the young lad.

  "Look!" said Gilbert, seizing the abbé's arm.

  And indeed Sebastien, thus abruptly aroused from his reverie by the cordial affection of Pitou, staggered, his pale face became livid, his head fell on one side, as if his neck had not sufficient strength to support it, a painful sigh escaped his breast, and then the blood again rushed to his face.

  He shook his head and smiled.

  "Ah, it is you, Pitou. Yes; that is true: I asked for you."