Taking the Bastile (62 page)

And Pitou bared his arms, which were as knotty as the trunk of a holly tree. And, having drawn this parallel, he paused, well assured that he had produced, without coming to a regular conclusion, an immense effect.

After having received the visit we have related, and his harangues being terminated, Pitou, compelled by his appetite to attend to minor matters, set to work and cooked his young rabbit, regretting that it was not a hare. But, in fact, had the rabbit been really a hare, Pitou would not have eaten, but would have sold it. After his repast, Pitou went into the forest to seek a snug corner where he could take a nap. It is scarcely necessary to say that as soon as the unfortunate youth had finished talking politics and found himself alone, he had incessantly before his eyes the spectacle of M. Isidore making love to Mademoiselle

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Catherine. Once hidden beneath the tan trees of his natal forest, Pitou, inspired by their cool and invigorating shade, became more firm in his heroic resolution, and this was to disappear from before the eyes of Catherine to leave her altogether free, and not to aflect himself extravagantly as to her preference of another, that he might not be more humiliated than was necessary by invidious comparison. It was a highly painful effort to abstain from seeing Mademoiselle Catherine; but a man ought to be a man. Moreover, this was not precisely the case in question. The question was not exactly, that he should no more sea Mademoiselle Catherine, but that he should not be seen by her. Now, what waa there to prevent the contemned lover from carefully concealing himself and catching a glance of the cruel fair one ? Nothing. Pitou would go at night to lay his wires, and the next morning, from the top of some high hillock, he would cast his eyes over the

Elain and watch Mademoiselle Catherine’s doings. This e had the right to do; this, to a certain point, was his duty, being the authorised a^ent, as he undoubtedly was, of Father Billot. Thus, having consoled himself, and as it were, in spite of himself, Pitou thought he might cease sighing. He dined off an enormous slice of bread he had brought with him, and when the evening had closed in, he laid a dozen wires and threw himself down upon the heather, still warm from the sun’s rays. There he slept like a man in utter despair that is to say, hut sleep was almost aa undisturbed as that of death.

The coolness of the night awoke him; he went to examine his wires. Nothing had been taken; but Pitou calculated always more upon the morning passage; only, as his head felt somewhat heavy, he determined on returning to his lodgings and looking to his wires the following day.

But this day, which to him had passed by so devoid of events and intrigues, had been passed in a very different manner by the inhabitants of the hamlet, who had employed it in reflecting and in making combinations. Pitou was the first great cause of all this; Pitou had been the breath of discord which had stirred these straws which began to whirl about confusedly. And he, the occasion of all this agitation, had not even thought one moment on the subject. But at the moment when he was going towards his own lodging, although the clock had struck ten, and usually at that hour not a single light was to

PITOU A CONSPIRATOR 4x1

be seen, not an eye was still open in the village, he perceived a very unaccustomed scene around the house which he resided in. He saw a number of men seated in groups, a number standing in groups, several groups walking up and down.

‘What can be the matter with them all I’ said Pitou to himself.

And he modestly retired to his own lodging, after having exchanged salutations with a few of the villagers as he passed by them. He had scarcely shut the door of his house when there was a slight knock upon the door-post, and two of the young inhabitants of the village Claude Tellier and Desir6 Maniquet entered his abode.

‘We would speak with you, Ange,’ said one of them, with a singular expression.

‘Well, let us go out, then,’ said Pitou. And the three went out together.

They walked on until they reached the first open space in the road, Ange Pitou still not knowing what they wanted of him.

‘Well?’ inquired Pitou. seeing that his two companions topped.

‘You see now, Ange,’ said Claude, ‘here we are, D6sir6 Maniquet and myself. We manage to lead all our companions in the country. Will you be one of us?’

‘To do what?’

‘To conspire 1’ murmured Claude in Pitou ‘s ear. ‘All the townships of France, as you have told us, desire to be armed, and on the footing of National Guards 1’

‘That is true 1’ said Pitou.

‘Well, then, why should Haramont not be armed like the other townships?’

‘You say why, only yesterday, Claude,’ replied Pitou, ‘when I proposed my resolution that we should arm ourselves. Haramont is not armed because Haramont has no muskets 1’

‘Oh 1 as to muskets, we need not be uneasy about them, since you know where they are to be had.

‘I know 1 I know I’ said Pitou, who saw at what Claude was aiming, and who felt the danger of the proceeding.

‘Well,’ continued Claude, ‘all the patriotic young fellows of the village have been consulting together to-day.’

‘Good 1’

‘And there are thirty-three of us.’

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‘That is the third of a hundred, less one,’ added Pitou.

‘Do you know the manuaJ exercise?’ inquired Claude.

‘Do I not,’ exclaimed Pitou, who did not even know how to shoulder arms.

‘ Good 1 and do you know how to manoeuvre a company ?

‘I have seen General Lafayette manoeuvring forty thousand men at least ten times,’ disdainfully replied Pitou.

‘Well, then, will you command us?’ said Claude to Pitou.

‘Who I?’ exclaimed Pitou, starting with surprise.

‘Yes, you yourself !’

And the two conspirators intently eyed Pitou.

‘Come, now, speak out,’ said Desire; ‘will you accept the appointment?’

‘Wefl, then, yes; I will accept it,’ said Pitou, carried away by his enthusiasm, and also, perhaps, by a feeling which was awakening within him, and which is called pride.

‘It is agreed; from to-morrow morning you will be our commander.’

‘And what shall I command you to do?’

‘Our exercise, to be sure.’

‘And the muskets?’

‘Why, since you know where there are muskets ‘

‘Oh I yes, at the house of the Abbe Fortier.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Only it is very likely the Abbe Fortier will refuse to let me have them.’

‘How 1 do you believe the old man would refuse?’

‘He would refuse them even to a squadron of the Royal Germans.’

‘Ah I in good truth,’ said Desire, ‘we have chosen an excellent chief, Claude; he is alarmed at everything.’

Claude shook his head. Pitou perceived that he was compromising his high position; he remembered that fortune always most favoured those who possess most audacity.

‘Well, be it so,’ said he; ‘I win consider it.’

‘You, then, will manage the affair of the muskets?’

‘Oh I that is agreed upon,’ cried Pitou, interrupting him, who was, in truth, extremely uneasy at the task imposed upon him; but whom, however, ambition was counselling to venture on deeds which required great

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daring. And thus it was, by the light of the stars, and in an opening of the forest, that the insurrection was declared in the department of the Aisne, by the three Haramontese, unwitting plagiarists of William Tell and bis three companions.

The fact is, that Pitou dimly foresaw that, after all the perils and troubles he would have to encounter, he would have the happiness of appearing gloriously invested with the insignia of a commander of the National Guard before the eyes of Catherine; and the insignia appeared to him to be of a nature to cause her to feel, if not remorse, at least some regret for the conduct she had pursued.

THE whole of that night, Pitou was so absorbed in reflecting on the great honour which had befallen him, that he forgot to visit his wires. The next morning he donned his helmet, and buckled on his great sabre, and set out manfully towards Villers-Cotterits. It was just striking six o’clock when Pitou reached the square before the chateau, and he modestly knocked at the small door, which opened into the Abbe Fortier’s garden. Pitou had knocked loud enough to satisfy his conscience, but gently enough not to be heard from the house. He had hoped thus to gain a quarter of an hour’s respite, and during that time to summon up some flowers of oratory wherewith to adorn the speech he had prepared for the Abb6 Fortier. But his astonishment was great, when, notwithstanding his having knocked so gently, he saw the gate at once opened; but his astonishment soon ceased, when in the person who had opened it he recognised Sebastian Gilbert. The lad was walking in the garden studying his lesson by the sun’s first rays. Sebastian uttered a joyous cry on perceiving Pitou.

‘Where is the abb6?’ he inquired.

Sebastian bent his ear towards the house, and, although the width of the courtyard and the garden separated him from the staircase, which creaked beneath the steps of the worthy priest, ‘Why,’ said he, ‘he is just coming downstairs.’

Pitou went from the garden into the courtyard, and it

was only then that he heard the heavy footsteps of the abbe. The worthy professor was reading the newspaper as he came downstairs. His faithful cat-o’- nine-tails was, as usual, hanging by his side. With his nose close to the newspaper, the abbe almost ran against Ang6 Pitou, who had assumed the most majestic air he could put on, in order to contend with his political antagonist.

But we must first of all say a few words as to the position of the Abbe Fortier, which might have appeared tedious in any other page, but which here find their natural place. They will explain how it was that the thirty or forty muskets which have been so much talked about happened to be in the Abbe Fortier’ s charge; which muskets had become the object of the ambition of Pitou and of bis two accomplices, Claude and Desire. The Abbe Fortier, who had formerly been the almoner or sub-almoner of the chateau, as we have already had occasion to explain elsewhere, had. in course of time, and above all with that patient fixity of ideas inherent in ecclesiastics, become sole mtendant of what in theatrical language is called the properties of the chateau. Besides the sacred vases, besides the library, he had received in charge all the hunting apparatus of the Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe, the father of Philippe, who was afterwards called KgalitA. Some of this apparatus had been in the family as far back as the reigns of Louis XIII. and Henri III. All these articles had been artistically arranged by him in one of the galleries of the chateau, which had been allotted to him for this express purpose. The door of this gallery was formidably defended by two small cannon of plated bronze, given by Louis XIV. to his brother Monsieur. Besides these, there were about fifty musketoons, brought as trophies by Joseph Philippe from the battle of Ushant, ana presented by him to the municipality of Villers-Cotter4ta; and the municipality, as we have said, having furnished the Abb* Fortier with a house free of rent, had placed these muskets, not knowing what to do with them, in the collegiate house. Such was the treasure guarded by the dragon, named Fortier, and threatened by the Jason, named Ange Pitou.

Having said this much, let us return to Pitou. He very gracefully bowed to the Abbe Fortier, accompanying his bow with a slight cough, such as we use to attract the attention of persons who are naturally absent, or who are

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preoccupied. The Abbe Fortier raised his nose from the newspaper.

‘Well, I declare said he, “tis Pitou.’

‘To serve you, should I be capable of doing to,’ courteously replied Ange.

‘Ah 1 yes but in that lies the misfortune,’ replied the abbe jeeringly, ‘seeing that you are not capable.

‘Oh 1 most worthy abb6.

‘Do you hear me, Mr Hypocrite?’

‘Oh 1 good abbe.’

‘Do you hear me, Mr Revolutionist?’

‘Come now, this is good; for before I have spoken even a single word, you get into a passion with me. This is but a bad beginning, abbe.’

Sebastian, thinking it better not to be present during the quarrel which must necessarily ensue between his schoolmaster and his friend, stole away as quickly as he could. Pitou observed Sebastian’s escape with a certain degree of sorrow. He was not a very vigorous ally, but he was a youth of the same political communion with himself. And therefore, when he perceived him stepping through the door, he could not avoid uttering a sigh then, turning to the abbe, ‘Come now. Monsieur Fortier,’ said he, ‘why do you call me a revolutionist? Would you insinuate that I am the cause of the revolution?’

‘You have lived with those who are carrying it on.’

‘Good Monsieur Abb6,’ said Pitou, with supreme dignity, ‘the thoughts of every man are free.’

‘Ah I indeed.’

‘Est penes hominem arbiirium est ratio.’

‘Why, really,’ cried the abbe, ‘you know T^tf^ then, you clown?’

‘I know what you taught me of it.’ modestly replied Pitou.

‘Yet revised, corrected, augmented, and embellished with barbarisms.’

‘Good again, Monsieur Abbe barbarisms 1 and who is there who does not commit them?’

‘Vile fellow 1’ cried the abbe, evidently wounded by this apparent tendency of Pitou’s to generalise. ‘What ! do you believe that I am guilty of barbarisms?’

‘You would commit them in the eyes of a man who was a better Latin scholar than yourself.’

‘Only hear that I’ cried the abbe, turning pale with

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anger, and yet struck with the reasoning, which was not devoid of point. Then, in a melancholy tone, ‘There, in two words, is the system of these vile wretches; they destroy and degrade, and who profits by it? They know not even themselves it is to the profit of the unknown. Come, now, Monsieur Dunce, speak out freely do you know any one who is a better Latin scholar than I am?’