Here I interrupted him.
"But this law of the 31st of May, it was Louis Bonaparte who instigated it, it was Rouher who made it, it was Baroche who proposed it, and the Bonapartists who voted it. You are dazzled by a thief who has taken your purse, and who restores it to you!"
"Not I," said Auguste, "but the others."
And he continued, "To tell the whole truth, people did not care much for the Const.i.tution, they liked the Republic, but the Republic was maintained too much by force for their taste. In all this they could only see one thing clearly, the cannons ready to slaughter them--they remembered June, 1848--there were some poor people who had suffered greatly--Cavaignac had done much evil--women clung to the men"s blouses to prevent them from going to the barricades--nevertheless, with all this, when seeing men like ourselves at their head, they would perhaps fight, but this hindered them, they did not know for what." He concluded by saying, "The upper part of the Faubourg is doing nothing, the lower end will do better. Round about here they will fight. The Rue de la Roquette is good, the Rue de Charonne is good; but on the side of Pere la Chaise they ask, "What good will that do us?" They only recognize the forty sous of their day"s work. They will not bestir themselves; do not reckon upon the masons." He added, with a smile, "Here we do not say "cold as a stone," but "cold as a mason""--and he resumed, "As for me, if I am alive, it is to you that I owe my life. Dispose of me. I will lay down my life, and will do what you wish."
While he was speaking I saw the white curtain of the glazed part.i.tion behind him move a little. His young wife, uneasy, was peeping through at us.
"Ah! my G.o.d," said I to him, "what we want is not the life of one man but the efforts of all."
He was silent. I continued,--
"Listen to me, Auguste, you who are good and intelligent. So, then, the Faubourgs of Paris--which are heroes even when they err--the Faubourgs of Paris, for a misunderstanding, for a question of salary wrongly construed, for a bad definition of socialism, rose in June, 1848, against the a.s.sembly elected by themselves, against universal suffrage, against their own vote; and yet they will not rise in December, 1851, for Right, for the Law, for the People, for Liberty, for the Republic. You say that there is perplexity, and that you do not understand; but, on the contrary, it was in June that all was obscure, and it is to-day that everything is clear!"
While I was saying these last words the door of the parlor was softly opened, and some one came in. It was a young man, fair as Auguste, in an overcoat, and wearing a workman"s cap. I started. Auguste turned round and said to me, "You can trust him."
The young man took off his cap, came close up to me, carefully turning his back on the glazed part.i.tion, and said to me in a low voice, "I know you well. I was on the Boulevard du Temple to-day. We asked you what we were to do; you said, "We must take up arms." Well, here they are!"
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and drew out two pistols.
Almost at the same moment the bell of the street door sounded. He hurriedly put his pistols back into his pockets. A man in a blouse came in, a workman of some fifty years. This man, without looking at any one, without saying anything, threw down a piece of money on the counter.
Auguste took a small gla.s.s and filled it with brandy, the man drank it off, put down the gla.s.s upon the counter and went away.
When the door was shut: "You see," said Auguste to me, "they drink, they eat, they sleep, they think of nothing. Such are they all!"
The other interrupted him impetuously: "One man is not the People!"
And turning towards me,--
"Citizen Victor Hugo, they will march forward. If all do not march, some will march. To tell the truth, it is perhaps not here that a beginning should be made, it is on the other side of the water."
And suddenly checking himself,--"After all, you probably do not know my name."
He took a little pocket-book from his pocket, tore out a piece of paper, wrote on it his name, and gave it to me. I regret having forgotten that name. He was a working engineer. In order not to compromise him, I burnt this paper with many others on the Sat.u.r.day morning, when I was on the point of being arrested.
"It is true, sir," said Auguste, "you must not judge badly of the Faubourg. As my friend has said, it will perhaps not be the first to begin; but if there is a rising it will rise."
I exclaimed, "And who would you have erect if the Faubourg St. Antoine be prostrate! Who will be alive if the people be dead!"
The engineer went to the street door, made certain that it was well shut, then came back, and said,--
"There are many men ready and willing. It is the leaders who are wanting.
Listen, Citizen Victor Hugo, I can say this to you, and," he added, lowering his voice, "I hope for a movement to-night."
"Where?"
"On the Faubourg St. Marceau."
"At what time?"
"At one o"clock."
"How do you know it?"
"Because I shall be there."
He continued: "Now, Citizen Victor Hugo, if a movement takes place to-night in the Faubourg St. Marceau, will you head it? Do you consent?"
"Yes."
"Have you your scarf of office?"
I half drew it out of my pocket. His eyes glistened with joy.
"Excellent," said he. "The Citizen has his pistols, the Representative his scarf. All are armed."
I questioned him. "Are you sure of your movement for to-night?"
He answered me, "We have prepared it, and we reckon to be there."
"In that case," said I, "as soon as the first barricade is constructed I will be behind it. Come and fetch me."
"Where?"
"Wherever I may be."
He a.s.sured me that if the movement should take place during the night he would know it at half-past ten that evening at the latest, and that I should be informed of it before eleven o"clock. We settled that in whatever place I might be at that hour I would send word to Auguste, who undertook to let him know.
The young woman continued to peep out at us. The conversation was growing prolonged, and might seem singular to the people in the parlor. "I am going," said I to Auguste.
I had opened the door, he took my hand, pressed it as a woman might have done, and said to me in a deeply-moved tone, "You are going: will you come back?"
"I do not know."
"It is true," said he. "No one knows what is going to happen. Well, you are perhaps going to be hunted and sought for as I have been. It will perhaps be your turn to be shot, and mine to save you. You know the mouse may sometimes prove useful to the lion. Monsieur Victor Hugo, if you need a refuge, this house is yours. Come here. You will find a bed where you can sleep, and a man who will lay down his life for you."
I thanked him by a hearty shake of the hand, and I left. Eight o"clock struck. I hastened towards the Rue de Charonne.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE REPRESENTATIVES HUNTED DOWN
At the corner of the Rue de Faubourg St. Antoine before the shop of the grocer Pepin, on the same spot where the immense barricade of June, 1848, was erected as high as the second story, the decrees of the morning had been placarded. Some men were inspecting them, although it was pitch dark, and they could not read them, and an old woman said, "The "Twenty-five francs" are crushed--so much the better!"