Ange Pitou

by Alexandre Dumas

  Billot was about to do as much for the bust of Necker, but found himself forestalled. A young man, about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, and sufficiently well-dressed to deserve the title of a beau, had followed it with his eyes, which he could do more easily than Billot, who was carrying it; and as soon as the bust had fallen to the ground, he had rushed towards it and seized upon it.

  The good farmer therefore vainly endeavored to find it on the ground; the bust of Necker was already on the point of a sort of pike, and, side by side with that of the Duke of Orleans, rallied around them a good portion of the procession.

  Suddenly a great light illuminates the square; at the same moment a peal of musketry is heard; balls whiz through the air; something heavy strikes Billot on the forehead; he falls. At first, Billot imagined himself killed.

  But as his senses had not abandoned him, as, excepting a violent pain in the head, he felt no other injury,

  Billot comprehended that he was, even at the worst, but wounded. He pressed his hand to his forehead, to ascertain the extent of damage he had received, and perceived at one and the same time that he had only a contusion on the head, and that his hands were streaming with blood.

  The elegantly dressed young man who had supplanted Billot had received a ball full in his breast. It was he who was shot. The blood on Billot's hands was his. The blow which Billot had experienced was from the bust of Necker, which, losing its supporter, had fallen upon his head.

  Billot utters a cry, partly of anger, partly of terror. He draws back from the young man, who was convulsed in the agonies of death. Those who surrounded him also draw back; and the shout he had uttered, repeated by the crowd, is prolonged like a funeral echo by the groups assembled in the Rue St. Honoré.

  This shout was a second rebellion. A second detonation was then heard, and immediately deep vacancies hollowed in the mass attested the passage of the murderous projectiles.

  To pick up the bust, the whole face of which was stained with blood; to raise it above his head, and protest against this outrage with his sonorous voice, at the risk of being shot down, as had been the handsome young man whose body was then lying at his feet, was what Billot's indignation prompted him to effect, and which he did in the first moment of his enthusiasm.

  But at the same instant a large and powerful hand was placed upon the farmer's shoulder, and with so much vigor that he was compelled to bend down beneath its weight. The farmer wishes to relieve himself from this pressure; another hand, no less heavy than the first, falls on his other shoulder. He turned round, reddening with anger, to ascertain what sort of antagonist he had to contend with.

  "Pitou!" he exclaimed.

  "Yes, yes," replied Pitou. "Down! down! and you will soon see."

  And redoubling his efforts, he managed to drag with him to the ground the opposing farmer.

  No sooner had he forced Billot to lie down flat upon the pavement, than another discharge was heard. The Savoyard who was carrying the bust of the Duke of Orleans gave way in his turn, struck by a ball in the thigh.

  Then was heard the crushing of the pavement beneath the horses' hoofs; then the dragoons charged a second time; a horse, with streaming mane, and furious as that of the Apocalypse, bounds over the unfortunate Savoyard, who feels the cold steel of a lance penetrate his breast. He falls on Billot and Pitou.

  The tempest rushed onward towards the end of the street, spreading, as it passed, terror and death. Dead bodies alone remained on the pavement of the square. All those who had formed the procession fled through the adjacent streets. The windows are instantly closed,-a gloomy silence succeeds to the shouts of enthusiasm and the cries of anger.

  Billot waited a moment, still restrained by the prudent Pitou; he felt that the danger was becoming more distant with the noise, while Pitou, like a hare in its bed, was beginning to raise, not his head, but his ears.

  "Well, Monsieur Billot," said Pitou, "I think that you spoke truly, and that we have arrived here in the nick of time."

  "Come, now, help me!"

  "And what to do,—to run away?"

  "No. The young dandy is dead as a door-nail, but the poor Savoyard, in my opinion, has only fainted. Help me to put him on my back. We cannot leave him here, to be finished by those damned Germans."

  Billot spoke a language which went straight to Pitou's heart. He had no answer to make but to obey. He took up the fainting and bleeding body of the poor Savoyard, and threw him, as he would have done a sack, across the shoulders of the robust farmer; who, seeing that the Rue St. Honoré was free, and to all appearance deserted, advanced with Pitou towards the Palais Royal.

  1 The city of Paris is encircled by a wall, and at every entrance to it is a custom-house, where people coming from the country are obliged to give an account of the produce,—poultry, meal, butter, eggs, etc., —and pay the city dues upon them.—TRANSLATOR.

  | Go to Contents |

  Chapter XI

  The Night between the 12th and 13th of July

  THE street had, in the first place, appeared empty and deserted to Billot and Pitou, because the dragoons, being engaged in the pursuit of the great body of the fugitives, had turned into the market of St. Honor, and had followed them up the Rue Louis—le—Grand and the Rue Gaillon. But as Billot advanced towards the Palais Royal, roaring instinctively, but in a subdued voice, the word "Vengeance!" men made their appearance at the corners of the streets, at the end of alleys, and from under the carriage gateways, who, at first, mute and terrified, looked around them, but being at length assured of the absence of the dragoons, brought up the rear of this funereal march, repeating, first in hollow whispers, but soon aloud, and finally with shouts, the word "Vengeance! vengeance!"

  Pitou walked behind the farmer, carrying the Savoyard's black cap in his hand.

  They arrived thus, in gloomy and fearful procession, upon the square before the Palais Royal, where a whole people, drunk with rage, was holding council, and soliciting the support of French soldiers against the foreigners.

  "Who are these men in uniform?" inquired Billot, on arriving in front of a company who were standing with grounded arms, stopping the passage across the square, from the gate of the palace to the Rue de Chartres.

  "They are the French Guards!" cried several voices.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Billot, approaching them, and showing them the body of the Savoyard, which was now a lifeless corpse,—"Ah! you are Frenchmen, and you allow us to be murdered by these Germans!"

  The French Guards drew back with horror.

  "Dead?" murmured a voice from within their ranks.

  "Yes, dead! dead! assassinated!—he and many more besides!"

  "And by whom?"

  "By the Royal German Dragoons. Did you not hear the cries, the firing, the galloping of their horses?"

  "Yes, yes, we did!" cried two or three hundred voices. "They were butchering the people on the Place Vendôme!"

  "And you are part of the people, by Heaven, you are!" cried Billot, addressing the soldiers. "It is therefore cowardly in you to allow your brothers to be butchered."

  "Cowardly!" exclaimed several threatening voices in the ranks.

  "Yes, cowardly! I have said it, and I repeat the word. Come, now," continued Billot, advancing three steps towards the spot from whence these murmurs had proceeded; "well, now, will you not kill me, in order to prove that you are not cowards?"

  "Good that is all well, very well," said one of the soldiers. "You are a brave fellow, my friend. You are a citizen, and can do what you will; but a military man is a soldier, do you see, and he must obey orders."

  "So that," replied Billot, " if you received orders to fire upon us,—that is to say, upon unarmed men,—you would fire, you who have succeeded the men of Fontenoy, who gave the advantage to the English by telling them to fire first!"

  "As to me, I know that I would not fire, for one," said a voice from the ranks.

  "Nor I!—Nor I!" repeated a hundred voices.

  "Then see th
at others do not fire upon us," cried Billot. "To allow the Germans to butcher us is just the same thing as if you slaughtered us yourselves."

  "The dragoons! the dragoons!" cried several voices at the same time that the crowd, driven backwards, began to throng the square, flying by the Rue de Richelieu.

  And there was heard the distant sound of the galloping of heavy cavalry upon the pavement, but which became louder at every moment.

  "To arms! to arms!" cried the fugitives.

  "A thousand gods!" cried Billot, throwing the dead body of the Savoyard upon the ground, which he had till then held in his arms; "give us your muskets, at least, if you will not yourselves make use of them."

  "Well, then, yes; by a thousand thunders, we will make use of them!" said the soldier to whom Billot had addressed himself, snatching out of his hand his musket, which the other had already seized. "Come, come! let us bite our cartridges, and if the Austrians have anything to say to these brave fellows, we shall see!"

  "Yes, yes, we'll see!" cried the soldiers, putting their hands into their cartouche—boxes and biting off the ends of their cartridges.

  "Oh, thunder!" cried Billot, stamping his feet; "and to think that I have not brought my fowling—piece! But perhaps one of those rascally Austrians will be killed, and then I will take his carbine."

  "In the mean time," said a voice, "take this carbine; it is ready loaded."

  And at the same time an unknown man slipped a richly mounted carbine into Billot's hands.

  At that instant the dragoons galloped into the square, riding down and sabring all that were in their way.

  The officer who commanded the French Guards advanced four steps.

  "Hilloa, there, gentlemen dragoons!" cried he; "halt there, if you please!"

  Whether the dragoons did not hear, or whether they did not choose to hear, or whether they could not at once arrest the violent course of their horses, they rode across the square, making a half—wheel to the right, and ran over a woman and an old man, who disappeared beneath their horses' hoofs.

  "Fire, then, fire!" cried Billot.

  Billot was standing close to the officer. It might have been thought that it was the latter who had given the word.

  The French Guards presented their guns, and fired a volley, which at once brought the dragoons to a stand.

  "Why, gentlemen of the Guards," said a German officer, advancing in front of his disordered squadron, "do you know that you are firing upon us?"

  "Do we not know it?" cried Billot; and he fired at the officer, who fell from his horse.

  Then the French Guards fired a second volley, and the Germans, seeing that they had on this occasion to deal, not with plain citizens, who would fly at the first sabrecut, but with soldiers, who firmly waited their attack, turned to the right—about, and galloped back to the Place Vendôme, amidst so formidable an explosion of bravoes and shouts of triumph, that several of their horses, terrified at the noise, ran off with their riders, and knocked their heads against the closed shutters of the shops.

  "Long live the French Guards!" cried the people.

  "Long live the soldiers of the country!" cried Billot.

  "Thanks," replied the latter. "We have smelt gunpowder, and we are now baptized."

  "And I, too," said Pitou, "I have smelt gunpowder."

  "And what do you think of it?" inquired Billot.

  "Why, really, I do not find it so disagreeable as I had expected," replied Pitou.

  "But now," said Billot, who had had time to examine the carbine, and had ascertained that it was a weapon of some value, "but now, to whom belongs this gun?"

  "To my master," said the voice which had already spoken behind him. "But my master thinks that you make too good use of it to take it back again."

  Billot turned round, and perceived a huntsman in the livery of the Duke of Orleans.

  "And where is your master?" said he.

  The huntsman pointed to a half—open Venetian blind, behind which the prince had been watching all that had passed.

  "Your master is then on our side?" asked Billot. "With the people, heart and soul," replied the huntsman.

  "In that case, once more, 'Long live the Duke of Orleans!'" cried Billot. "My friends, the Duke of Orleans is with us. Long live the Duke of Orleans!"

  And he pointed to the blind behind which the prince stood.

  Then the blind was thrown completely open, and the Duke of Orleans bowed three times.

  After which the blind was again closed.

  Although of such short duration, his appearance had wound up the enthusiasm of the people to its acme.

  "Long live the Duke of Orleans!" vociferated two or three thousand voices.

  "Let us break open the armorers' shops!" cried a voice in the crowd.

  "Let us run to the Invalides!" cried some old soldiers. "Sombreuil has twenty thousand muskets."

  "To the Invalides!"

  "To the Hôtel de Ville!" exclaimed several voices. "Flesselles the provost of the merchants, has the key of the depôt in which the arms of the Guards are kept. He will give them to us."

  "To the Hôtel de Ville!" cried a fraction of the crowd.

  And the whole crowd dispersed, taking the three directions which had been pointed out.

  During this time the dragoons had rallied round the Baron de Besenval and the Prince de Lambesq, on the Place Louis XV.

  Of this Billot and Pitou were ignorant. They had not followed either of the three troops of citizens, and they found themselves almost alone in the square before the Palais Royal.

  "Well, dear Monsieur Billot, where are we to go next, if you please?" said Pitou.

  "Why," replied Billot, "I should have desired to follow those worthy people,—not to the gunmakers' shops, since I have such a beautiful carbine, but to the Hôtel de Ville or to the Invalides. However, not having come to Paris to fight, but to find out the address of Doctor Gilbert, it appears to me that I ought to go to the College of Louis—le—Grand, where his son now is; and then, after having seen the doctor, why, we can throw ourselves again into this seething whirlpool." And the eyes of the farmer flashed lightning.

  "To go in the first place to the College of Louisle—Grand appears to me quite logical," sententiously observed Pitou; "since it was for that purpose that we came to Paris."

  "Go, get a musket, a sabre, a weapon of some kind or other from some one or other of those idle fellows who are lying on the pavement yonder," said Billot, pointing to one out of five or six dragoons who were stretched upon the ground; "and let us at once go to the college."

  "But these arms," said Pitou, hesitating, "they are not mine."

  "Who, then, do they belong to?" asked Billot.

  "To the king."

  "They belong to the people," rejoined Billot.

  And Pitou, yielding implicitly to the opinion of the farmer, whom he knew to be a man who would not rob a neighbor of a grain of millet, approached with every necessary precaution the dragoon who happened to be the nearest to him, and after having assured himself that he was really dead, took from him his sabre, his musketoon, and his cartouche—box.

  Pitou had a great desire to take his helmet also, only he was not quite certain that what Father Billot had said with regard to offensive weapons extended to defensive accoutrements.

  But while thus arming himself, Pitou directed his ears towards the Place Vendôme.

  "Ho, ho!" said he, "it appears to me that the Royal

  Germans are coming this way again."

  And in fact the noise of a troop of horsemen returning at a foot—pace could be heard. Pitou peeped from behind the corner of the coffee—house called La Regence, and perceived, at about the distance of the market of St. Honoré, a patrol of dragoons advancing, with their musketoons in hand.

  "Oh, quick, quick!" cried Pitou, "here they are, coming back again."

  Billot cast his eyes around him to see if there was any means of offering resistance. There was scarcely a person in the square.


  "Let us go, then," said he, "to the College Louis—le—Grand."

  And he went up the Rue de Chartres, followed by Pitou, who, not knowing the use of the hook upon his belt, was dragging his long sabre after him.

  "A thousand thunders!" exclaimed Billot; "why, you look like a dealer in old iron. Fasten me up that lath there."

  "But how?" asked Pitou.

  "Why, so, by Heaven!—there!" said Billot. And he hooked Pitou's long sabre up to his belt, which enabled the latter to walk with more celerity than he could have done but for this expedient.

  They pursued their way without meeting with any impediment, till they reached the Place Louis XV.; but there Billot and Pitou fell in with the column which had left them to proceed to the Invalides, and which had been stopped short in its progress.

  "Well!" cried Billot, "what is the matter?"

  "The matter is, that we cannot go across the Bridge Louis XV."

  "But you can go along the quays."

  "All passage is stopped that way, too."

  "And across the Champs Élysées?"

  "Also."

  "Then let us retrace our steps, and go over the bridge at the Tuileries."

  The proposal was a perfectly natural one, and the crowd, by following Billot, showed that they were eager to accede to it. But they saw sabres gleaming half—way between them and the Tuileries Gardens. The quay was occupied by a squadron of dragoons.

  "Why, these cursed dragoons are, then, everywhere," murmured the farmer.

  "I say, my dear Monsieur Billot," said Pitou, "I believe that we are caught."

  "Pshaw! they cannot catch five or six thousand men; and we are five or six thousand men, at least."

  The dragoons on the quay were advancing slowly, it is true, at a very gentle walk; but they were visibly advancing.

  "The Rue Royale still remains open to us. Come this way; come, Pitou."