Chapter Thirty.
Inside the Tuileries.
There is a day in the annals of Paris, that to the limits of all time will be remembered with shame, sorrow, and indignation.
And not only by the people of Paris, but of France—who on that day ceased to be free.
To the Parisians, more especially, was it a day of lamentation; and its anniversary can never pass over the French capital without tears in every house, and trembling in every heart.
It was the Second of December, 1851.
On the morning of that day five men were met within a chamber of the Tuileries. It was the same chamber in which we have described a conspiracy as having been hatched some months before.
The present meeting was for a similar purpose; but, notwithstanding a coincidence in the number of the conspirators, only one of them was the same. This was the president of the former conclave—the President of France!
And there was another coincidence equally strange—in their titles; for there was a count, a field-marshal, a diplomatist, and a duke, the only difference being that they were now all of one nation—all Frenchmen.
They were the Count de M., the Marshal Saint A., the Diplomatist La G., and the Duke of C.
Although, as said, their purpose was very similar, there was a great difference in the men and their mode of discussing it. The former five have been assimilated to a gang of burglars who had settled the preliminaries for “cracking a crib.” Better might this description apply to the conspirators now in session; and at a still later period, when the housebreakers are about entering on the “job.”
Those had conspired with a more comprehensive design—the destruction of Liberty throughout all Europe. These were assembled with similar aim, though it was confined to the liberties of France.
In the former case, the development seemed distant, and would be brought about by brave soldiers fighting on the battle-field. In the latter the action was near, and was entrusted to cowardly assassins in the streets, already prepared for the purpose.
The mode by which this had been done will be made manifest, by giving an account of the scenes that were passing in the chambers occupied by the conspirators.
There was no persiflage of speech, or exchange of light drolleries, as in that conclave enlivened by the conversation of the English viscount. The time was too serious for joking; the occasion for the contemplated murder too near.
Nor was there the same tranquillity in the chamber. Men came and went; officers armed and in full uniform. Generals, colonels, and captains were admitted into the room, as if by some sign of freemasonry, but only to make reports or receive orders, and then out again.
And he who gave these orders was not the President of France, commander-in-chief of its armies, but another man of the five in that room, and for the time greater than he!
It was the Count de M.
But for him, perhaps, that conspiracy might never have been carried to a success, and France might still have been free!
It was a strange, terrible crisis, and the “man of a mission,” standing back to the fire, with split coat tails, was partially appalled by it. Despite repeated drinks, and the constant smoking of a cigar, he could not conceal the tremor that was upon him.
De M— saw it, and so did the murderer of Algerine Arabs, once strolling-player, now field-marshal of France.
“Come!” cried the sinful but courageous Count, “there must be no half measures—no weak backslidings! We’ve resolved upon this thing, and we must go through with it! Which of you is afraid?”
“Not I,” answered Saint A.
“Nor I,” said La G—, ci-devant billiard-sharper of Leicester Square, London.
“I’m not afraid,” said the Duke. “But do you think it is right?”
His grace was the only man of the five who had a spark of humanity in his heart. A poor weak man, he was only allied with the others in the intimacy of a fast friendship.
“Right?” echoed La G—. “What’s wrong in it? Would it be right to let this canaille of demagogues rule Paris—France? That’s what it’ll come to if we don’t act. Now, or never, say I!”
“And I!”
“And all of us?”
“We must do more than say,” said De M—, glancing toward the tamer of the Boulogne eagle, who still stood against the fire-place, looking scared and irresolute. “We must swear it!”
“Come, Louis!” he continued, familiarly addressing himself to the Prince-President. “We’re all in the same boat here. It’s a case of life or death, and we must stand true to one another. I propose that we swear it!”
“I have no objection,” said the nephew of Napoleon, led on by a man whom his great uncle would have commanded. “I’ll make any oath you like.”
“Enough!” cried De M—, taking a brace of duelling pistols from the mantelshelf and placing them crosswise on the table, one on top of the other. “There, gentlemen! There’s the true Christian symbol, and over it let us make oath, that in this day’s work we live or die together?”
“We swear it on the Cross!”
“On the Cross, and by the Virgin!”
“On the Cross, and by the Virgin!”
The oath had scarce died on their lips when the door was once more opened, introducing one of those uniformed couriers who were constantly coming and going.
They were all officers of high rank, and all men with fearless but sinister faces.
“Well, Colonel Gardotte!” asked De M—, without waiting for the President to speak; “how are things going on in the Boulevard de Bastille?”
“Charmingly,” replied the Colonel. “Another round of champagne, and my fellows will be in the right spirit—ready for anything!”
“Give it them! Twice if it be needed. Here’s the equivalent for the keepers of the cabarets. If there’s not enough, take their trash on a promise to pay. Say that it’s on account of—Ha! Lorrillard!”
Colonel Gardotte, in brilliant Zouave uniform, was forgotten, or at all events set aside, for a big, bearded man in dirty blouse, at that moment admitted into the room.
“What is it, mon brave?”
“I come to know at what hour we are to commence firing from the barricade? It’s built now, and we’re waiting for the signal?”
Lorrillard spoke half aside, and in a hoarse, hurried whisper.
“Be patient, good Lorrillard?” was the reply. “Give your fellows another glass, and wait till you hear a cannon fired in front of the Madeleine. Take care you don’t get so drunk as to be incapable of hearing it. Also, take care you don’t shoot any of the soldiers who are to attack you, or let them shoot you!”
“I’ll take special care about the last, your countship. A cannon, you say, will be fired by the Madeleine?”
“Yes; discharged twice to make sure—but you needn’t wait for the second report. At the first, blaze away with your blank cartridges, and don’t hurt our dear Zouaves. Here’s something for yourself, Lorrillard! Only an earnest of what you may expect when this little skirmish is over.”
The sham-barricader accepted the gold coins passed into his palm; and with a salute such as might have been given by the boatswain of a buccaneer, he slouched back through the half-opened doorway, and disappeared.
Other couriers continued to come and go, most in military costumes, delivering their divers reports—some of them in open speech, others in mysterious undertone—not a few of them under the influence of drink!
On that day the army of Paris was in a state of intoxication—ready not alone for the suppression of a riot they had been told to prepare for; but for anything—even to the slaughter of the whole Parisian people!
At 3 p.m. they were quite prepared for this. The champagne and sausages were all consumed. They were again hungry and thirsty, but it was the hunger of the hell-hound, and the thirst of the bloodhound.
“The time has come!” said De M— to his fellow-conspirators. “We may now release them from their leash! Let the gun be fired?”