The riposte was a deadly one, and General Jacqueminot looked upon himself as a dead man and made no further signs of life. The invasion of the church was rapid, irresistible and terrible; in a few minutes the catafalque was destroyed, the pall was torn to shreds and the altar knocked down; the golden-flowered hanging, sacred pictures, sacerdotal vestments were all trampled under foot! Scepticism revenged itself by impiety, sacrilege and blasphemy, for the fifteen years during which it had been made to hide its mocking face behind the mask of hypocrisy. They laughed, they howled, they danced round all the sacred things they had heaped up, overturned and torn in pieces. One of the rioters came out of the sacristy in the complete dress of a priest: he mounted on the top of a heap of débris and beat time to the infernal din. It looked like a figure of Satan, dressed up ironically in priestly robes, presiding over a revel.
I witnessed the whole scene from the entrance and went away, with bent head and a heavy heart and unquiet mind, sorry I had seen it. I could not hide from myself that the people had been incited to do what they had done. I was too much of a philosopher to expect the people to discriminate between the Church and the priesthood—religion from its ministers; but I was too religious at heart to stay there, and I attempted to get away from the place. I say I attempted, for it was no easy thing to get out: the square of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois was crowded; and the crowd, forced back into the narrow rue de Prêtres, overflowed on to the quays. At one spot this crowd was excited and turbulent; and a struggle was going on from whence issued cries. A tall, pale young man, with long black hair and good-looking countenance, was standing on a post, watching the tumult with some expression of scorn. One of the bystanders, who was probably irritated by this disdain, began to shout: "A Jesuit!" Such a cry at such a time was like putting a match to a bundle of tow. The crowd rushed for the poor fellow, crying—
"Throw the Jesuits into the Seine! Drown him! Give the Jesuits to the nets of Saint-Cloud!"
Baude was the Préfet of Police. I can see him now with his fine locks flying in the wind, his dark eyes darting out lightning flashes, and his herculean strength. It was the second time I had seen him thus. He had just arrived with the Municipal Guard, which he had drawn up before the church door; the men were trying to shut the gates. He flew to the rescue of the unlucky doomed man, who was being passed from hand to hand, and was in his aërial flight approaching the river with fearful rapidity. The desire to hinder a murder redoubled Baude's strength. He reached the edge of the river at the same time as the victim who was threatened with being flung over the parapet. He clutched hold of him and drew him back. I saw no more: for I was being suffocated against the boards which, at that time, enclosed the jardin de l'Infante and, dilapidated though they were, they offered a great deal more resistance than I liked, The necessity for labouring for my personal preservation compelled me to turn my eyes away from the direction of the quay and to struggle on my own account. My stalwart build and the combined efforts of many who recognised me enabled me to reach the quay and, from thence, the pont des Arts. They were still fighting by the parapet. Later, I learnt that Baude had succeeded in saving the poor devil at the expense of a good number of bruises and his coat torn to ribbons. But, whilst the Préfet of Police was playing the part of philanthropist, he was not fulfilling his duties as préfet, and the rioters profited by this lapse in his municipal functions. The people continued pillaging the church and the presbytery of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, and by the time that Baude had done his good action it was all over. Only the room of the Abbé Paravey, who had blessed the tombs of the July martyrs, had been respected. The mob always recognises, even in its moments of greatest anger and its worst sacrilege, the something that is greater than its wrath, before which it stops and bends the knee. On 24 February 1848 the mob served the Tuileries as they had served the Church of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois on 14 February 1831, but it stopped short at the apartment of the Duchesse d'Orléans, as it had done before the Abbé Paravey's room.
[CHAPTER II]
The Préfet of Police at the Palais-Royal—The function of fire—Valérius, the truss-maker—Demolition of the archbishop's palace—The Chinese album—François Arago—The spectators of the riot—The erasure of the fleurs-de-lis—I give in my resignation a second time—MM. Chambolle and Casimir Périer