The sentry, seeing these soldiers arrive, halted, but at the moment when he was going to challenge them with a _qui-vive_, the Adjutant-Major seized his arm, and, in his capacity as the officer empowered to countermand all instructions, ordered him to give free pa.s.sage to the 42d, and at the same time commanded the amazed porter to open the door.
The door turned upon its hinges, the soldiers spread themselves through the avenue. Persigny entered and said, "It is done."
The National a.s.sembly was invaded.
At the noise of the footsteps the Commandant Mennier ran up.
"Commandant," Colonel Espina.s.se cried out to him, "I come to relieve your battalion." The Commandant turned pale for a moment, and his eyes remained fixed on the ground. Then suddenly he put his hands to his shoulders, and tore off his epaulets, he drew his sword, broke it across his knee, threw the two fragments on the pavement, and, trembling with rage, exclaimed with a solemn voice, "Colonel, you disgrace the number of your regiment."
"All right, all right," said Espina.s.se.
The Presidency door was left open, but all the other entrances remained closed. All the guards were relieved, all the sentinels changed, and the battalion of the night guard was sent back to the camp of the Invalides, the soldiers piled their arms in the avenue, and in the Cour d"Honneur.
The 42d, in profound silence, occupied the doors outside and inside, the courtyard, the reception-rooms, the galleries, the corridors, the pa.s.sages, while every one slept in the Palace.
Shortly afterwards arrived two of those little chariots which are called "forty sons," and two _fiacres_, escorted by two detachments of the Republican Guard and of the Cha.s.seurs de Vincennes, and by several squads of police. The Commissaries Bertoglio and Primorin alighted from the two chariots.
As these carriages drove up a personage, bald, but still young, was seen to appear at the grated door of the Place de Bourgogne. This personage had all the air of a man about town, who had just come from the opera, and, in fact, he had come from thence, after having pa.s.sed through a den.
He came from the Elysee. It was De Morny. For an instant he watched the soldiers piling their arms, and then went on to the Presidency door.
There he exchanged a few words with M. de Persigny. A quarter of an hour afterwards, accompanied by 250 Cha.s.seurs de Vincennes, he took possession of the ministry of the Interior, startled M. de Thorigny in his bed, and handed him brusquely a letter of thanks from Monsieur Bonaparte. Some days previously honest M. De Thorigny, whose ingenuous remarks we have already cited, said to a group of men near whom M. de Morny was pa.s.sing, "How these men of the Mountain calumniate the President! The man who would break his oath, who would achieve a _coup d"etat_ must necessarily be a worthless wretch." Awakened rudely in the middle of the night, and relieved of his post as Minister like the sentinels of the a.s.sembly, the worthy man, astounded, and rubbing his eyes, muttered, "Eh! then the President _is_ a ----."
"Yes," said Morny, with a burst of laughter.
He who writes these lines knew Morny. Morny and Walewsky held in the quasi-reigning family the positions, one of Royal b.a.s.t.a.r.d, the other of Imperial b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Who was Morny? We will say, "A noted wit, an intriguer, but in no way austere, a friend of Romieu, and a supporter of Guizot possessing the manners of the world, and the habits of the roulette table, self-satisfied, clever, combining a certain liberality of ideas with a readiness to accept useful crimes, finding means to wear a gracious smile with bad teeth, leading a life of pleasure, dissipated but reserved, ugly, good-tempered, fierce, well-dressed, intrepid, willingly leaving a brother prisoner under bolts and bars, and ready to risk his head for a brother Emperor, having the same mother as Louis Bonaparte, and like Louis Bonaparte, having some father or other, being able to call himself Beauharnais, being able to call himself Flahaut, and yet calling himself Morny, pursuing literature as far as light comedy, and politics, as far as tragedy, a deadly free liver, possessing all the frivolity consistent with a.s.sa.s.sination, capable of being sketched by Marivaux and treated of by Tacitus, without conscience, irreproachably elegant, infamous, and amiable, at need a perfect duke. Such was this malefactor."
It was not yet six o"clock in the morning. Troops began to ma.s.s themselves on the Place de la Concorde, where Leroy-Saint-Arnaud on horseback held a review.
The Commissaries of Police, Bertoglio and Primorin ranged two companies in order under the vault of the great staircase of the Questure, but did not ascend that way. They were accompanied by agents of police, who knew the most secret recesses of the Palais Bourbon, and who conducted them through various pa.s.sages.
General Leflo was lodged in the Pavilion inhabited in the time of the Duc de Bourbon by Monsieur Feucheres. That night General Leflo had staying with him his sister and her husband, who were visiting Paris, and who slept in a room, the door of which led into one of the corridors of the Palace. Commissary Bertoglio knocked at the door, opened it, and together with his agents abruptly burst into the room, where a woman was in bed.
The general"s brother-in-out sprang out of bed, and cried out to the Questor, who slept in an adjoining room, "Adolphe, the doors are being forced, the Palace is full of soldiers. Get up!"
The General opened his eyes, he saw Commissary Bertoglio standing beside his bed.
He sprang up.
"General," said the Commissary, "I have come to fulfil a duty."
"I understand," said General Leflo, "you are a traitor."
The Commissary stammering out the words, "Plot against the safety of the State," displayed a warrant. The General, without p.r.o.nouncing a word, struck this infamous paper with the back of his hand.
Then dressing himself, he put on his full uniform of Constantine and of Medeah, thinking in his imaginative, soldier-like loyalty that there were still generals of Africa for the soldiers whom he would find on his way.
All the generals now remaining were brigands. His wife embraced him; his son, a child of seven years, in his nightshirt, and in tears, said to the Commissary of Police, "Mercy, Monsieur Bonaparte."
The General, while clasping his wife in his arms, whispered in her ear, "There is artillery in the courtyard, try and fire a cannon."
The Commissary and his men led him away. He regarded these policemen with contempt, and did not speak to them, but when he recognized Colonel Espina.s.se, his military and Breton heart swelled with indignation.
"Colonel Espina.s.se," said he, "you are a villain, and I hope to live long enough to tear the b.u.t.tons from your uniform."
Colonel Espina.s.se hung his head, and stammered, "I do not know you."
A major waved his sword, and cried, "We have had enough of lawyer generals." Some soldiers crossed their bayonets before the unarmed prisoner, three _sergents de ville_ pushed him into a _fiacre_, and a sub-lieutenant approaching the carriage, and looking in the face of the man who, if he were a citizen, was his Representative, and if he were a soldier was his general, flung this abominable word at him, "Canaille!"
Meanwhile Commissary Primorin had gone by a more roundabout way in order the more surely to surprise the other Questor, M. Baze.
Out of M. Baze"s apartment a door led to the lobby communicating with the chamber of the a.s.sembly. Sieur Primorin knocked at the door. "Who is there?" asked a servant, who was dressing. "The Commissary of Police,"
replied Primorin. The servant, thinking that he was the Commissary of Police of the a.s.sembly, opened the door.
At this moment M. Baze, who had heard the noise, and had just awakened, put on a dressing-gown, and cried, "Do not open the door."
He had scarcely spoken these words when a man in plain clothes and three _sergents de ville_ in uniform rushed into his chamber. The man, opening his coat, displayed his scarf of office, asking M. Baze, "Do you recognize this?"
"You are a worthless wretch," answered the Questor.
The police agents laid their hands on M. Baze. "You will not take me away," he said. "You, a Commissary of Police, you, who are a magistrate, and know what you are doing, you outrage the National a.s.sembly, you violate the law, you are a criminal!" A hand-to-hand struggle ensued--four against one. Madame Baze and her two little girls giving vent to screams, the servant being thrust back with blows by the _sergents de ville_. "You are ruffians," cried out Monsieur Baze. They carried him away by main force in their arms, still struggling, naked, his dressing-gown being torn to shreds, his body being covered with blows, his wrist torn and bleeding.
The stairs, the landing, the courtyard, were full of soldiers with fixed bayonets and grounded arms. The Questor spoke to them. "Your Representatives are being arrested, you have not received your arms to break the laws!" A sergeant was wearing a brand-new cross. "Have you been given the cross for this?" The sergeant answered, "We only know one master." "I note your number," continued M. Baze. "You are a dishonored regiment." The soldiers listened with a stolid air, and seemed still asleep. Commissary Primorin said to them, "Do not answer, this has nothing to do with you." They led the Questor across the courtyard to the guard-house at the Porte Noire.
This was the name which was given to a little door contrived under the vault opposite the treasury of the a.s.sembly, and which opened upon the Rue de Bourgogne, facing the Rue de Lille.
Several sentries were placed at the door of the guard-house, and at the top of the flight of steps which led thither, M. Baze being left there in charge of three _sergents de ville_. Several soldiers, without their weapons, and in their shirt-sleeves, came in and out. The Questor appealed to them in the name of military honor. "Do not answer," said the _sergent de ville_ to the soldiers.
M. Baze"s two little girls had followed him with terrified eyes, and when they lost sight of him the youngest burst into tears. "Sister," said the elder, who was seven years old, "let us say our prayers," and the two children, clasping their hands, knelt down.
Commissary Primorin, with his swarm of agents, burst into the Questor"s study, and laid hands on everything. The first papers which he perceived on the middle of the table, and which he seized, were the famous decrees which had been prepared in the event of the a.s.sembly having voted the proposal of the Questors. All the drawers were opened and searched. This overhauling of M. Baze"s papers, which the Commissary of Police termed a domiciliary visit, lasted more than an hour.
M. Baze"s clothes had been taken to him, and he had dressed. When the "domiciliary visit" was over, he was taken out of the guard-house. There was a _fiacre_ in the courtyard, into which he entered, together with the three _sergents de ville_. The vehicle, in order to reach the Presidency door, pa.s.sed by the Cour d"Honneur and then by the Courde Canonis. Day was breaking. M. Baze looked into the courtyard to see if the cannon were still there. He saw the ammunition wagons ranged in order with their shafts raised, but the places of the six cannon and the two mortars were vacant.
In the avenue of the Presidency the _fiacre_ stopped for a moment. Two lines of soldiers, standing at ease, lined the footpaths of the avenue.
At the foot of a tree were grouped three men: Colonel Espina.s.se, whom M.
Baze knew and recognized, a species of Lieutenant-Colonel, who wore a black and orange ribbon round his neck, and a Major of Lancers, all three sword in hand, consulting together. The windows of the _fiacre_ were closed; M. Baze wished to lower them to appeal to these men; the _sergents de ville_ seized his arms. The Commissary Primorin then came up, and was about to re-enter the little chariot for two persons which had brought him.
"Monsieur Baze," said he, with that villainous kind of courtesy which the agents of the _coup d"etat_ willingly blended with their crime, "you must be uncomfortable with those three men in the _fiacre_. You are cramped; come in with me."
"Let me alone," said the prisoner. "With these three men I am cramped; with you I should be contaminated."
An escort of infantry was ranged on both sides of the _fiacre_. Colonel Espina.s.se called to the coachman, "Drive slowly by the Quai d"Orsay until you meet a cavalry escort. When the cavalry shall have a.s.sumed the charge, the infantry can come back." They set out.
As the _fiacre_ turned into the Quai d"Orsay a picket of the 7th Lancers arrived at full speed. It was the escort: the troopers surrounded the _fiacre_, and the whole galloped off.
No incident occurred during the journey. Here and there, at the noise of the horses" hoofs, windows were opened and heads put forth; and the prisoner, who had at length succeeded in lowering a window heard startled voices saying, "What is the matter?"
The _fiacre_ stopped. "Where are we?" asked M. Baze.
"At Mazas," said a _sergent de ville_.
The Questor was taken to the office of the prison. Just as he entered he saw Baune and Nadaud being brought out. There was a table in the centre, at which Commissary Primorin, who had followed the _fiacre_ in his chariot, had just seated himself. While the Commissary was writing, M.
Baze noticed on the table a paper which was evidently a jail register, on which were these names, written in the following order: Lamoriciere, Charras, Cavaignac, Changarnier, Leflo, Thiers, Bedeau, Roger (du Nord), Chambolle. This was probably the order in which the Representatives had arrived at the prison.
When Sieur Primorin had finished writing, M. Baze said, "Now, you will be good enough to receive my protest, and add it to your official report."