THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

      CHAPTER XIV

      THE RIOT

      WHILST Mathéus had been following Fine and had called to inform M. de Cazalis of what he had done, the column of workmen was descending towards the Cannebière. This column, which had started from the railway station, then only comprised a few hundred workmen; but as it advanced, it recruited all whom it met on its road. Men and women, the floating population of the streets, were dragged along by this human torrent which poured down from the heights of Marseille. When the manifestation issued from the Rue de Noailles, it extended to the bottom of the Cours like an immense flood. Thousands of heads were there, swaying about like the waves of a human ocean.

      A dull, confused sound, similar to the harsh voice of the sea, ran through the ranks of this multitude. Still, it was frightfully calm. It advanced gloomy and mute, without uttering a cry, without doing any damage. It fell upon, swarmed upon Marseille, it seemed unconscious of its acts and appeared to obey natural laws of downfall and passion. An enormous rock hurled from the plain, would thus have rolled to the Port.

      White and blue blouses predominated in the ranks. There were a few bright-coloured skirts of women, and from distance to distance, the black spots of coats: dark clothes worn by men whom the people seemed to obey. The crowd descended the Cannebière with a threatening murmur, passing between the rows of houses like a running stream full of multi-coloured reflex.

      Philippe marched at the head amidst a lot of workmen, with his head thrown back and a harsh, resolute expression on his countenance. He wore a black frock coat which he had buttoned up closely, and which fitted him in at the waist like a military tunic. One felt he was ready for the struggle, that he awaited and desired it. His eye was clear, his lips were firmly set together and he uttered not a word. The pale, silent workmen by whom he was surrounded, glanced at him from time to time and seemed to be awaiting his orders.

      As the column entered the Rue Saint Ferréol, there was a slight tumult; it halted for one or two minutes, then marched on again. The street, as far as the square where it ends, was empty, a few shopkeepers had put up their shutters; people were looking out from the windows; there was a deathlike silence, broken only by the deep sound of the tramp of the crowd.

      In the middle of the empty street and at the corner of a narrow thoroughfare that crossed it, those who were in the first rank perceived a short, delicate-looking man awaiting the column. As soon as Philippe was near him, he recognised his brother. Marius without uttering a word, placed himself beside him and walked quietly amidst the rioters. The two brothers exchanged a simple look. The people must have thought they were strangers to each other.

      And the human flood continued to roll on thus to the Place Saint Ferréol.

      There, at a few yards from the square, further advance was arrested by a cordon of troops. The crowd was without arms, and the soldiers’ bayonets glittered in the sun. Murmurs of surprise and anger ran through the first ranks and rapidly spread from one end to the other of the column, the tail of which was still on the Cannebière. The workmen said in a low angry tone that they wanted to slaughter them, that they must be surrounded by troops and that the manifestation had only been authorized, in order that they might be massacred at ease.

      While these murmurs were increasing, four delegates left the ranks and asked to be taken to the Commissary of the Government, as had been arranged the day before. They had hardly disappeared behind the line of soldiers when an irreparable event occurred attended by most sanguinary consequences.

      When those at the tail of the column heard talk of troops under arms, bayonets and massacre, they apparently thought that those on ahead were being slaughtered, and began to push furiously forward.

      Under the impulse of the irresistible movement of this mass of men, the group surrounding Philippe were compelled to advance a few steps. With their arms crossed over their breasts, to show they had no intention of making an attack, and that they were simply yielding to pressure from behind, the workmen arrived in this way before the soldiers. An officer seeing them approach lost his head and abruptly gave the command to lower bayonets. And the bright sharp weapons came down and faced the people.

      A desperate attempt was made to retire. Philippe and those around him threw themselves backward endeavouring to stem the enormous, crushing crowd that were pushing them on to death. But this living wall could not be resisted. It advanced solid as a wall of stone. The workmen forcibly, fatally, reached the points of the bayonets which the soldiers held ready for them. They saw these points at their breasts and felt them enter, little by little, into their flesh.

      It is related that while the general commanding made a despairing gesture and ordered the bayonets to be raised a clear voice was heard to shout from the Place Saint Ferréol: “Stick those ruffians! Stick them!” And, from the windows of a neighbouring aristocratic club, well dressed gentlemen applauded at the sight of the people’s blood flowing, as if they had been in a box at a theatre and were amused at the by-play of an actor.

      The workmen, at the first bayonet wounds, uttered cries of rage and terror. This crowd which had hitherto been silent, became mad at being attacked without any legal warning. It had only its fists to protect it against the muskets by which it was threatened.

      Philippe was not wounded thanks to Marius, who held him back at the moment when he was committing the folly of throwing himself forward with clenched fists. A few workmen around him were slightly hurt. One only had his arm run through.

      At the general’s word of command, the soldiers had raised their bayonets and retired step by step, but the crowd had suddenly stopped on realizing the fact that it was without arms. A shudder ran through the column from one end to the other. All at once it disbanded, rushing into the cross streets with the cry: “Vengeance! Vengeance! They are murdering our brothers!”

      For an instant there was a terrible noise; then the clamour died away: the workmen went off in search of arms, calling for assistance, spreading terror and anger in each street and always uttering the painful and formidable cry: “They are murdering our brothers! Vengeance! Vengeance!”

      At that moment M. de Cazalis and Mathéus were descending the Cours Bonaparte. The sullen rumble that they heard was the rush of the mob. Mathéus understood that here was a rupture and joyfully rubbed his hands. To ascertain the truth he stopped a peaceful bourgeois who was flying in terror, impatient to shut himself up at home.

      “Oh! sir,” he stammered out in answer to the inquiry, “they are killing one another over there. The soldiers have charged the people, and the people will set fire to the city, that’s sure.”

      And he fled, fancying he saw the flames behind him.

      “Well! What did I tell you?” said Mathéus to M. de Cazalis, “I knew very well we should be able to take advantage of circumstances. Here we are in the midst of a revolution. We must attend to our little business.”

      “What are you going to do?” asked the ex-deputy in an undertone.

      “Oh! what I am going to do is very simple. Now the people are mad, I can lead them along as I like. It will suffice if they fight at the place I shall take them to.”

      And as M. de Cazalis did not understand but gave him an inquiring look, the spy added:

      “Trust to me. I have not time to explain all to you. A final word: I advise you to take advantage of your disguise to mix with a company of National Guards. If you see a barricade anywhere, march with the troops that attack it.”

      “Why?”

      “Didn’t you tell me you were impatient and curious? Then do what I tell you: you will be in the first row.”

      Mathéus chuckled and