The History of a Crime - Victor Hugo (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📗
- Author: Victor Hugo
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Arnauld added to the workman's letter a letter of introduction, signed by himself, and enclosed the two letters in the same envelope.
But here the same question arose.
How was the letter to be delivered?
Arnauld, for still weightier reasons than those of the workman, could not take it himself.
And time pressed!
His wife saw his difficulty and quietly said,—
"I will take charge of it."
Madame Arnauld de l'Ariége, handsome and quite young, married scarcely two years, was the daughter of the Republican ex-Constituent Guichard, worthy daughter of such a father, and worthy wife of such a husband.
They were fighting in Paris; it was necessary to face the dangers of the streets, to pass among musket-balls, to risk her life.
Arnauld de l'Ariége hesitated.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"I will take this letter."
"You yourself?"
"I myself."
"But there is danger."
She raised her eyes, and answered,—
"Did I make that objection to you when you left me the day before yesterday?"
He kissed her with tears in his eyes, and answered, "Go."
But the police of the coup d'état were suspicious, many women were searched while going through the streets; this letter might be found on Madame Arnauld. Where could this letter be hidden?
"I will take my baby with me," said Madame Arnauld.
She undid the linen of her little girl, hid the letter there, and refastened the swaddling band.
When this was finished the father kissed his child on the forehead, and the mother exclaimed laughingly,—
"Oh, the little Red! She is only six months' old, and she is already a conspirator!"
Madame Arnauld reached the Archbishop's Palace with some difficulty. Her carriage was obliged to take a long round. Nevertheless she arrived there. She asked for the Archbishop. A woman with a child in her arms could not be a very terrible visitor, and she was allowed to enter.
But she lost herself in courtyards and staircases. She was seeking her way somewhat discouraged, when she met the Abbé Maret. She knew him. She addressed him. She told him the object of her expedition. The Abbé Maret read the workman's letter, and was seized with enthusiasm: "This may save all," said he.
He added, "Follow me, madam, I will introduce you."
The Archbishop of Paris was in the room which adjoins his study. The Abbé Maret ushered Madame Arnauldé into the study, informed the Archbishop, and a moment later the Archbishop entered. Besides the Abbé Maret, the Abbé Deguerry, the Curé of the Madeleine, was with him.
Madame Arnauld handed to M. Sibour the two letters of her husband and the workman. The Archbishop read them, and remained thoughtful.
"What answer am I to take back to my husband?" asked Madame Arnauld.
"Madame," replied the Archbishop, "it is too late. This should have been done before the struggle began. Now, it would be only to risk the shedding of more blood than perhaps has yet been spilled."
The Abbé Deguerry was silent. The Abbé Maret tried respectfully to turn the mind of his Bishop towards the grand effort unsoiled by the workman. He spoke eloquently. He laid great stress open this argument, that the appearance of the Archbishop would bring about a manifestation of the National Guard, and that a manifestation of the National Guard would compel the Elysée to draw back.
"No," said the Archbishop, "you hope for the impossible. The Elysée will not draw back now. You believe that I should stop the bloodshed—not at all; I should cause it to flow, and that in torrents. The National Guard has no longer any influence. If the legions appeared, the Elysée could crush the legions by the regiments. And then, what is an Archbishop in the presence of the Man of the coup d'état? Where is the oath? Where is the sworn faith? Where is the Respect for Right? A man does not turn back when he has made three steps in such a crime. No! No! Do not hope. This man will do all. He has struck the Law in the hand of the Representatives. He will strike God in mine."
And he dismissed Madame Arnauld with the look of a man overwhelmed with sorrow.
Let us do the duty of the Historian. Six weeks afterwards, in the Church of Notre Dame, some one was singing the Te Deum in honor of the treason of December—thus making God a partner in a crime.
This man was the Archbishop Sibour.
CHAPTER VIII. MOUNT VALERIEN
Of the two hundred and thirty Representatives prisoners at the barracks of the Quai d'Orsay fifty-three had been sent to Mount Valérien. They loaded them in four police vans. Some few remained who were packed in an omnibus. MM. Benoist d'Azy, Falloux, Piscatory, Vatimesail, were locked in the wheeled cells, as also Eugène Sue and Esquiros. The worthy M. Gustave de Beaumont, a great upholder of the cellular system, rode in a cell vehicle. It is not an undesirable thing, as we have said, that the legislator should taste of the law.
The Commandant of Mount Valérien appeared under the archway of the fort to receive the Representative prisoners.
He at first made some show of registering them in the jailer's book. General Oudinot, under whom he had served, rebuked him severely,—
"Do you know me?"
"Yes, General."
"Well then, let that suffice. Ask no more."
"Yes," said Tamisier. "Ask more and salute. We are more than the Army; we are France."
The commandant understood. From that moment he was hat in hand before the generals, and bowed low before the Representatives.
They led them to the barracks of the fort and shut them up promiscuously in a dormitory, to which they added fresh beds, and which the soldiers had just quitted. They spent their first night there. The beds touched each other. The sheets were dirty.
Next morning, owing to a few words which had been heard outside, the rumor spread amongst them that the fifty-three were to be sorted, and that the Republicans were to be placed by themselves. Shortly afterwards the rumor was confirmed. Madame de Luynes gained admission to her husband, and brought some items of news. It was asserted, amongst other things, that the Keeper of the Seals of the coup d'état, the man who signed himself Eugène Rouher, "Minister of Justice," had said, "Let them set the men of the Right at liberty, and send the men of the Left to the dungeon. If the populace stirs they will answer for everything. As a guarantee for the submission of the Faubourgs we shall have the head of the Reds."
We do not believe that M. Rouher uttered these words, in which there is so much audacity. At that moment M. Rouher did not possess any. Appointed Minister on the 2d December, he temporized, he exhibited a vague prudery, he did not venture to install himself in the Place Vendôme. Was all that was being done quite correct? In certain minds the doubt of success changes into scruples of conscience. To violate every law, to perjure oneself, to strangle Right, to assassinate the country, are all these proceedings wholly honest? While the deed is not accomplished they hesitate. When the deed has succeeded they throw themselves upon it. Where there is victory there is no longer treason; nothing serves like success to cleanse and render acceptable that unknown thing which is called crime. During the first moments M. Rocher reserved himself. Later on he has been one of the most violent advisers of Louis Bonaparte. It is all very simple. His fear beforehand explains his subsequent zeal.
The truth is, that these threatening words had been spoken not by Rouher, but by Persigny.
M. de Luynes imparted to his colleagues what was in preparation, and warned them that they would be asked for their names in order that the white sheep might be separated from the scarlet goats. A murmur which seemed to be unanimous arose. These generous manifestations did honor to the Representatives of the Right.
"No! no! Let us name no one, let us not allow ourselves to be sorted," exclaimed M. Gustave de Beaumont.
M. de Vatimesnil added, "We have come in here all together, we ought to go out all together."
Nevertheless a few moments afterwards Antony Thouret was informed that a list of names was being secretly prepared, and that the Royalist Representatives were invited to sign it. They attributed, doubtless wrongly, this unworthy resolution to the honorable M. de Falloux.
Antony Thouret spoke somewhat warmly in the centre of the group, which were muttering together in the dormitory.
"Gentlemen," said he, "a list of names is being prepared. This would be an unworthy action. Yesterday at the Mairie of the Tenth Arrondissement you said to us, 'There is no longer Left or Right; we are the Assembly.' You believed in the victory of the People, and you sheltered yourself behind us Republicans. Today you believe in the victory of the coup d'état, and you would again become Royalists, to deliver us up, us Democrats! Truly excellent. Very well! Pray do so."
A universal shout arose.
"No! No! No more Right or Left! All are the Assembly. The same lot for all!"
The list which had been begun was seized and burnt.
"By decision of the Chamber," said M. de Vatimesnil, smiling. A Legitimist Representative added,—
"Of the Chamber? No, let us say of the Chambered."
A few moments afterwards the Commissary of the fort appeared, and in polite phrases, which, however, savored somewhat of authority, invited each of the Representatives of the People to declare his name in order that each might be allotted to his ultimate destination.
A shout of indignation answered him.
"No one! No one will give his name," said General Oudinot.
Gustave de Beaumont added,—
"We all bear the same name: Representatives of the People."
The Commissary saluted them and went away.
After two hours he came back. He was accompanied this time by the Chief of the Ushers of the Assembly, a man named Duponceau, a species of arrogant fellow with a red face and white hair, who on grand days strutted at the foot of the Tribune with a silvered collar, a chain over his stomach, and a sword between his legs.
The Commissary said to Duponceau,—"Do your duty."
What the Commissary meant, and what Duponceau understood by this word duty, was that the Usher should denounce the Legislators. Like the lackey who betrays his masters.
It was done in this manner.
This Duponceau dared to look in the faces of the Representatives by turn, and he named them one after the other to a policeman, who took notes of them.
The Sieur Duponceau was sharply castigated while holding this review.
"M. Duponceau," said M. Vatimesnil to him, "I always thought you an idiot, but I believed you to be an honest man."
The severest rebuke was administered by Antony Thouret. He looked Sieur Duponceau in the face, and said to him, "You deserve to be named Dupin."
The Usher in truth was worthy of being the President, and the President was worthy of being the Usher.
The flock having been counted, the classification having been made, there were found to be thirteen goats: ten Representatives of the Left; Eugène Sue, Esquires, Antony Thouret, Pascal Duprat, Chanay, Fayolle, Paulin Durrien, Benoit, Tamisier, Tailard Latérisse, and three members of the Right, who since the preceding day had suddenly become Red in the eyes of the coups d'état; Oudinot, Piscatory, and Thuriot de la Rosière.
They confined these separately, and they set at liberty one by one the forty who remained.
CHAPTER IX. THE LIGHTNING BEGINS TO FLASH AMONGST THE PEOPLE The evening wore a threatening aspect.
Groups were formed on the Boulevards. As night advanced they grew larger and became mobs, which speedily mingled together, and only formed
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