THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
the end of the barrel of your musket. Don’t go and miss him; and no bad joke, don’t fire at me so as to free yourself of my personality. That’s understood. When the barricade is taken I’ll show you how I work.”
Mathéus hurried rapidly away. He was impatient to go and embroil matters. As he followed the Rue Grignan to enter the Rue Saint Ferréol and mix with the retiring workmen, he saw two men talking together on the pavement, and recognised Marius and Philippe.
“Wait, wait,” he murmured as he ran along, “I think I shall be able to make you come and fight with us.”
Marius was beseeching Philippe not to compromise himself any further. He reminded him of his son, of the happiness of all of them, and as his brother showed signs of impatience he exclaimed:
“Well! So let it be! let us not speak of ourselves. But do you not see that the insurrection which is about to break out cannot succeed? The desire of a good patriot should be to avoid the effusion of blood, when fighting is contrary to the interests of all. I think I serve the country better than you, by preaching peace.”
“They have tried to murder our brothers,” answered Philippe, in a sullen voice, “we must have vengeance. We did not commence. Look here, shall I tell you? We don’t want any more of this bourgeois Republic; we want a Republic of our own, a Republic of the people. Don’t answer, it’s useless. If the people fight, I shall fight.”
“But, unfortunate being that you are! you are ruining yourself and your friends themselves by encouraging them with your presence, by leading them to certain imprisonment. Remember what M. Martelly told you.”
Marius, for more than a quarter of an hour, endeavoured to influence his brother with arguments such as these, but the latter stood there with cloudy brow and sparkling eyes, and hardly listened to him. All at once Philippe seized his arm and compelled him to be silent. The sharp crack of musketry was heard at the bottom of the Rue Saint Ferréol.
“Do you hear?” he exclaimed, excitedly, “they’re firing on unarmed men who ask for justice! And you wish me to stand by quietly, while that is going on, you want me to be a coward!”
He went a few steps; then, turning round, continued more softly.
“If I’m killed you’ll watch over Joseph. Adieu!”
Marius hastened to join him.
“I’ll go with you,” he said quietly.
The two young men descended the Rue Saint Ferréol in all haste. On reaching the Rue Vacon, they heard the firing on their right and proceeded rapidly to the Rue de Rome. There, they were in the midst of the battle.
Mathéus, on mixing with the workmen had begun to shout for vengeance louder than the others, and thus gathered a group of the most hot-headed round him. This party descended the Rue Saint Ferréol singing the Marseillaise, and ended by stopping at the corner of the Rue Pizançon, to listen to Mathéus, who demanded silence with a motion of the hand.
“My friends,” he said, “it’s stupid to sing, we must act. If we run about the streets in this way we shall meet with soldiers who will either kill us or make us prisoners.”
The crowd uttered a cry of rage.
“Let us avenge our brothers,” resumed Mathéus. “Blood calls for blood.”
“Yes, yes!” howled the workmen. “To the barricades! to the barricades!”
At that moment Mathéus glanced towards the upper part of the street and perceived a company of National Guards advancing with a heavy tread.
“You see, brothers,” he exclaimed, “they are sending these men to massacre us. We will defend ourselves to the last!”
The people were intoxicated, they shook their fists at the National Guards and looked for stones to throw at them.
“No, not here, we could not hold out for five minutes,” said Mathéus. “Come!”
The workmen followed him. They wanted a chief and they chose this man because he spoke of massacre. They ran to the Rue de Rome. Just then three large empty carts were passing along the street. The spy sprang to the head of the first horse, and notwithstanding the carter’s cries ordered his men to unharness it. Then, when that was done, he said to the driver:
“Take away your horses. The people want the carts. They’ll pay you if they conquer.”
Turning towards the crowd he pointed to the Rue de la Palud which faced them and added:
“Quick, shove these carts along and turn them over on the side, across this street. Search in the adjoining shops and see if you can’t find something to add to the barricade.”
In five minutes the obstruction was raised. It was only composed of three carts and a few empty barrels which had been found in a neighbouring cellar. It was foolish to think seriously of defending themselves there. But the rioters were mad with irritation, they did not even trouble to reflect that they had no arms, and were about to be riddled with bullets without being able to respond.
Mathéus silently enjoyed the fun. At the bottom of his heart he was not sorry to get some of his good friends, the workmen, killed, for they had been wearying him profoundly during the past four months with their humanitarian speeches. Besides, there must be at least one corpse in order for his plans to be successful, and for that reason he had taken care that the barricade should be full of holes so that the bullets might pass through it.
A deathlike silence reigned around. The workmen, lying flat on the ground, waited. All of a sudden, they heard the heavy, measured tread of a company advancing in the Rue de Rome. Then only did they remember that they had no arms. Furiously they, commenced tearing the stones out of the road: flat, sharp stones that would play terrible havoc.
The heavy, measured tread became more and more distinct. At last, the company which the workmen had already seen behind them, appeared at the corner of the Rue de Rome. Captain Sauvaire who was marching at the head, stopped anxiously before the barricade. At the same moment a shower of stones fell on the National Guards. Men were wounded and the captain’s shako was smashed in with a large flint.
The company retreated a few steps at this sudden attack. Stones continued to arrive falling one by one into the body of men with dull thuds. Then a police commissary left the ranks and read aloud the three, legal summonses to disperse, amidst profound silence. The rioters, who had expended all their store of stones were again lying down tearing up the road and preparing for the struggle, without even listening to the summonses.
As they rose, the police commissary withdrew, the muzzles of the muskets were lowered and a shower of bullets passed over the barricade. They had only just time to stoop down, to hide in the recesses of the doorways, anywhere, in fact, where they could find shelter. None of them were wounded. Their rage was such that they did not think of flight; they continued throwing stones, hiding themselves as best they could. The badly-aimed shots passed over their heads or were lost at the base of the barricade.
Mathéus had prudently found shelter behind a huge cask. From there he encouraged his men, furious at the clumsiness of the National Guards and endeavouring to place the workmen in the line of fire.
He murmured between his teeth:
“You’ll see that not one of those wretches will get killed!”
He was not without feeling a certain terror. He knew better than anyone that the barricade would be captured as soon as the National Guards chose, and he disliked falling into their hands, as that would have put a sudden stop to the exploits he meditated. He wanted a corpse, nothing more: after that he would fly as fast as his legs could carry him. The misfortune was that none of the rioters seemed disposed to get killed.
For five long minutes he remained behind his cask, sweating with fear and anxiety. The firing continued, causing splinters of wood to fly about and riddling the carts with bullets. The workmen did not dare leave their hiding place. At last one of them decided to risk his presence in the middle of the street to gather a new lot