“To arms!”
It was an old enemy of his who was causing a block to the festivities.
Father Fortier had been designated to perform the office of celebrating the Federation Mass on the Altar of the Country, for which the holy vessels were to be carried from the church. The mayor, Longpre, was to superintend the transfer. Like everybody he knew the schoolmaster’s temper and thought he would not bear him good will for the part he took in the turning over the muskets.
So, rather than face him, he had sent him an order in writing to be present for the mass at ten.
At half past nine he sent his secretary to see how things looked. The gentleman brought bad news. The church was locked up. The church officials were all laid up with various complaints. It had the air of a conspiracy.
At ten the crowd gathered and talked of beating in the church doors and taking out the church plate.
As a conciliator, Longpre quieted them as well as he could and went to knock at Fortier’s housedoor.
In the meantime he sent for the armed forces. The gendarmes officers came up. They were attended by additions to the mob.
As they had no catapult to force the door, they summoned the locksmith. But when he was going to insert a picklock, the door opened and Abbé Fortier appeared, with fiery eye and hair bristling.
“Back,” he cried with a threatening gesture, “back, heretics, impious relapsers! avaunt ye from the sill of the man of God!”