I had none of the documents with me which we had just drawn up. Versigny had gone away with the copies. I took a sheet of paper, and, leaning on the corner of the chimney-piece, I wrote the following Proclamation:—
"TO THE ARMY.
"Soldiers!
"A man has just broken the Constitution. He tears up the oath which
he has sworn to the people; he suppresses the law, stifles Right,
stains Paris with blood, chokes France, betrays the Republic!
"Soldiers, this man involves you in his crime.
"There are two things holy; the flag which represents military honor
and the law which represents the National Right. Soldiers, the
greatest of outrages is the flag raised against the Law! Follow no
longer the wretched man who misleads you. Of such a crime French
soldiers should be the avengers, not the accomplices.
"This man says he is named Bonaparte. He lies, for Bonaparte is a
word which means glory. This man says that he is named Napoléon. He
lies, for Napoléon is a word which means genius. As for him, he is
obscure and insignificant. Give this wretch up to the law. Soldiers,
he is a false Napoléon. A true Napoléon would once more give you a
Marengo; he will once more give you a Transnonain.
"Look towards the true function of the French army; to protect the
country, to propagate the Revolution, to free the people, to sustain
the nationalities, to emancipate the Continent, to break chains
everywhere, to protect Right everywhere, this is your part amongst
the armies of Europe. You are worthy of great battle-fields.
"Soldiers, the French Army is the advanced guard of humanity.
"Become yourselves again, reflect; acknowledge your faults; rise up!
Think of your Generals arrested, taken by the collar by galley
sergeants and thrown handcuffed into robbers' cells! The malefactor,
who is at the Elysée, thinks that the Army of France is a band of
mercenaries; that if they are paid and intoxicated they will obey.
He sets you an infamous task, he causes you to strangle, in this
nineteenth century, and in Paris itself, Liberty, Progress, and
Civilization. He makes you—you, the children of France—destroy all
that France has so gloriously and laboriously built up during the
three centuries of light and in sixty years of Revolution! Soldiers!
you are the 'Grand Army!' respect the 'Grand Nation!'
"We, citizens; we, Representatives of the People and of yourselves;
we, your friends, your brothers; we, who are Law and Right; we, who
rise up before you, holding out our arms to you, and whom you strike
blindly with your swords—do you know what drives us to despair? It
is not to see our blood which flows; it is to see your honor which
vanishes.
"Soldiers! one step more in the outrage, one day more with Louis
Bonaparte, and you are lost before universal conscience. The men who
command you are outlaws. They are not generals—they are criminals.
The garb of the galley slave awaits them; see it already on their
shoulders. Soldiers! there is yet time—Stop! Come back to the
country! Come back to the Republic! If you continue, do you know
what History will say of you? It will say, They have trampled under
the feet of their horses and crushed beneath the wheels of their
cannon all the laws of their country; they, French soldiers, they
have dishonored the anniversary of Austerlitz, and by their fault,
by their crime, the name of Napoléon sprinkles as much shame to-day
upon France as in other times it has showered glory!
"French soldiers! cease to render assistance to crime!"
My colleagues of the Committee having left, I could not consult them—time pressed—I signed:
"For the Representatives of the People remaining at liberty, the
Representative member of the Committee of Resistance,
"VICTOR HUGO."
The man in the blouse took away the Proclamation saying, "You will see it again to-morrow morning." He kept his word. I found it the nest day placarded in the Rue Rambuteau, at the corner of the Rue de l'Homme-Armé and the Chapelle-Saint-Denis. To those who were not in the secret of the process it seemed to be written by hand in blue ink.
I thought of going home. When I reached the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, opposite my door, it happened curiously and by some chance to be half open. I pushed it, and entered. I crossed the courtyard, and went upstairs without meeting any one.
My wife and my daughter were in the drawing-room round the fire with Madame Paul Meurice. I entered noiselessly; they were conversing in a low tone. They were talking of Pierre Dupont, the popular song-writer, who had come to me to ask for arms. Isidore, who had been a soldier, had some pistols by him, and had lent three to Pierre Dupont for the conflict.
Suddenly these ladies turned their heads and saw me close to them. My daughter screamed. "Oh, go away," cried my wife, throwing her arms round my neck, "you are lost if you remain here a moment. You will be arrested here!" Madame Paul Meurice added, "They are looking for you. The police were here a quarter of an hour ago." I could not succeed in reassuring them. They gave me a packet of letters offering me places of refuge for the night, some of them signed with names unknown to me. After some moments, seeing them more and more frightened, I went away. My wife said to me, "What you are doing, you are doing for justice. Go, continue!" I embraced my wife and my daughter; five months have elapsed at the time when I am writing these lines. When I went into exile they remained near my son Victor in prison; I have not seen them since that day.
I left as I had entered. In the porter's lodge there were only two or three little children seated round a lamp, laughing and looking at pictures in a book.
[11] This list, which belongs to History, having served as the base of the proscription list, will be found complete in the sequel to this book to be published hereafter.