This retort, the truth of which there is nothing to establish, spread throughout the town.
At night, in the theatre, there were outcries to hold the ball forbidden by the préfet; but matters went no further than that.
Next day the town seemed quiet; but a rumour spread abroad that they were going to give a charivari that night to M. le préfet. The Dauphiné charivaris are celebrated; some time previously they had given one at Vizille, which had made much stir. In the morning M. Maurice Duval was warned of the project. So he sent an order to the mayor to put a battalion of the National Guard under arms. Now this despatch,—by what cause or from what reason is still unknown,—sent from the préfecture at noon, never reached the Mairie until a quarter to five in the evening. This was too late: the summons could not take effect.
The charivari was no empty threat. About eight at night a gathering began to collect: it had nothing hostile about it, for nearly a third of it was composed of women and children. This crowd, which had no arms, nor even at that moment, at least, any means necessary for the giving of a charivari, was contented with shouts of laughter, uttering of halloes, and occasionally cries of "Down with the préfet!"
This was all very disagreeable, but ranked, however, among the insults to which not merely public functionaries are exposed, but Conservative deputies even still more. A summons could put an end to the gathering of the crowd; but M. Duval was not content with merely reestablishing order; he wished to punish those who had annoyed him. He gave orders to MM. Vidal and Jourdan, police commissaries, to go to the barracks where the soldiers had been confined for four hours, each to take a company, and to surround, the agitators. Amongst these agitators, a tipsy youth was bringing notice upon himself by his droll gesticulations and frantic shouts. The police agents made way through the crowd to arrest the charivariseur from the midst of its numbers. The crowd let them do so, and the young man was taken away to the guardhouse. But the arrest was hardly accomplished before all those men who had kept silence, and given way to two policemen, reproached themselves with their cowardice, and excited one another, clamouring at the top of their voices for the prisoner. Then the charivari began to change its aspect: it turned to a riot. It was at this moment, and as the first deputy of the mayor was about to set the prisoner free—who, ignorant of the cause of all the uproar, had been asleep in the guardhouse—that the grenadiers and light infantry appeared: the grenadiers, led by M. Vidal, were advancing across the Place Saint-André; the infantry, led by M. Jourdan, by the rue du Quai. These were the only two ways of egress. The soldiers wore the gloomy expression which indicates determined purpose. They marched in file, advanced in silence, the drummers having their drums on their backs. Suddenly M. Vidal disappeared, and across the Place Saint-André this order was given from between the officer's clenched teeth—"Soldiers, forward!" The grenadiers lowered their rifles at this order—charged their bayonets and advanced at charging pace, taking up the whole width of the street. The crowd fled by the rue du Quai, the only outlet which seemed open to it; but in that street it met and dashed against another crowd which was flying before the infantry. Then on all sides a frightful tumult took place in the crowd thus threatened, and it was drowned in the voice of an officer who gave this laconic order—"Fix bayonets! charge!" Almost at the same moment cries of pain succeeded those of terror; one could distinguish this from the anguished tones which cried out—
"Pardon!... Help!... Murder!"
Luckily the windows of a study opened and some thirty persons rushed into the shelter thus afforded. M. Marion, councillor to the cour royale of Grenoble, flung himself into the entry of Bailly's shop, and there met a man covered with blood. A student named Huguet, wishing to protect a woman threatened with a grenadier's bayonet, threw himself in front of her and received on his arm the blow meant for her. A cabinetmaker named Guibert backed up against the wall, seeing the circle of bayonets come towards him, cried out, "Do not hit me! I am not making any disturbance!" He received three thrusts from the bayonets, one of which, in the groin, sent him spinning close to the statue of Bayard.
Imagine that statue, after three hundred years, looking on with the eyes of the chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, and judge of his amazement!
It was in the midst of this turmoil that Bastide and the two brothers Vasseur arrived. The opportunity for which the intrepid agent of the Société des Municipalités was looking had come to meet him. The two brothers Vasseur exchanged a few words with the associates, and, during the night, all the young men, enrolled in secret companies, rushed off to meet Bastide. All were of opinion that the moment had come to strike the blow. There was such enthusiasm in those young heads at this period, such courage in all young hearts, that they had scarcely realised their conviction before they were trying to imbue others with the idea that the time for action had come. Every one thought that the fiery atmosphere he breathed was the atmosphere of the whole of France. It was then decided that, next day, they should take advantage of all the circumstances and try to get up a more serious struggle. It was, indeed, a wonder they waited till the morrow.