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"No, no, Cuthbert, we of the studio may be wild and thoughtless. We live gayly and do not trouble for the morrow, but we are not altogether fools; and even were there nothing else to unite us against the Commune, the squalor and wretchedness, the ugliness and vice, the brutal coarseness, and the foul language of these ruffians would band us together as artists against them. Now, enough of Paris, what have you been doing in England, besides recovering your health?"
"I have been recovering a fortune, too, René. A complicated question concerning some property that would, in the ordinary course of things, have come to me has now been decided in my favor."
"I congratulate you," René said, "but you will not give up art, I hope?"
"No, I intend to stick to that, René. You see I was not altogether dependent on it before, so that circumstances are not much changed."
"You finished your pictures before you went away, did you not? The temptation to have a peep at them has been very strong, but I have resisted—nobly it was heroic, was it not?"
"It must have been. Yes, I put the finishing touches to them before I went away, and now I will show them to you René; it is the least I can do after all your kindness. Now go and look out of the window until I fix the easels in a good light, I want your first impressions to be favorable. There," after a pause, "the curtain is drawn up and the show has begun." He spoke lightly, but there was an undertone of anxiety in his voice. Hitherto no one but Mary had seen them, and her opinion upon the subject of art was of little value. He, himself, believed that the work was good, but yet felt that vague dissatisfaction and doubt whether it might not have been a good deal better, that most artists entertain as to their own work. In the school René's opinion was always sought for eagerly; there were others who painted better, but none whose feeling of art was more true or whose critical instinct keener.
René looked at the pictures for a minute or two in silence, then he turned to Cuthbert and took one of his hands in his own. "My dear friend," he said, "it is as I expected. I always said that you had genius, real genius, and it is true; I congratulate you, my dear friend. If it were not that I know you English object to be embraced, I should do so, but you are cold and do not like a show of feeling. These pictures will place you well in the second rank; in another year or two you will climb into the first. They will be hung on the line, that goes without saying. They are charming, they are admirable, and to think that you are still at the school. I might paint all my life and I should never turn out two such canvases; and it is a sin that one who can paint like that should expose himself to be shot at by Prussians. Now, do you sit down and let me look at them."
"Do so, René, and please remember that I want not praise, but honest criticism; I know they have defects, but I want you to point them out to me, for while I feel that they might be improved, I have my own ideas so strongly in my head, that I cannot see where the faults are as you can. Remember, you can't be too severe, and if possible to do so, without entirely having to repaint them, I will try to carry out your suggestions."
René produced a pipe, filled and lighted it, then placed a chair so that he could sit across it and lean upon the back. He sat for upwards of a quarter of an hour puffing out clouds of tobacco-smoke without speaking.
"You mean what you say, Cuthbert?" he said at last. "Very well, I will take the bright one first. As to the figure I have nothing to say; the effect of the light falling on her head and face is charming; the dress is perhaps a little stiff, it would have been bettered if relieved by some light lace or gauze, but we will let that pass; it is a portrait and a good one. It is your pretty nurse at the Ambulance. Am I to congratulate you there too?"
Cuthbert nodded.
"I thought so," René went on, without moving his gaze from the pictures, "and will congratulate you presently. The background of the figure is the one weak point of the picture, that, too, like the portrait, I doubt not, was taken from reality, for with your artistic feeling you would never have placed that bare wall behind the figure. You have tried by the shadows from the vine above to soften it, and you have done all you could in that way, but nothing could really avail. You want a vine to cover that wall. It should be thrown into deep cool shadow, with a touch of sunlight here and there, streaming upon it, but less than you now have falling on the wall. As it is now, the cool gray of the dress is not sufficiently thrown up, it, like the wall, is in shade except where the sun touches the head and face; but, with a dark cool green, somewhat undefined, and not too much broken up by the forms of the foliage, the figure would be thrown forward, although still remaining in the shade, and I am sure the picture would gain at once in strength and repose. Now, as to the other. It is almost painfully sombre, it wants relief. It expresses grief and hopelessness; that is good; but it also expresses despair, that is painful; one does not feel quite sure that the young woman is not about to throw herself into the sea. Now, if you were to make a gleam of watery sunshine break through a rift in the cloud, lighting up a small patch of foam and breaker, it would be a relief; if you could arrange it so that the head should stand up against it, it would add greatly to the effect. What do you think?" he asked, breaking off suddenly and turning to Cuthbert.
"You are right in both instances, René. Both the backgrounds are from sketches I made at the time; the veranda in the one case, and the sea and sky and rock in the other are as I saw them, and it did not occur to me to change them. Yes, you are a thousand times right. I see now why I was discontented with them, and the changes you suggest will be invaluable. Of course, in the sea-scene the light will be ill-defined, it will make its way through a thin layer of cloud, and will contrast just as strongly with the bright warm sunshine on the other picture, as does the unbroken darkness. There is nothing else that you can suggest, René?"
"No, and I almost wish that I had not made those suggestions, the pictures are so good that I am frightened, lest you should spoil them by a single touch of the brush."
"I have no fear of that, René, I am sure of the dark picture, and I hope I can manage the other, but if I fail I can but paint the wall in again. I will begin at once. I suppose you are going round to Goudé's; tell him that I am back, and will come round this evening after dinner. Ask all the others to come here to supper at ten; thank goodness we shall have a decent feed this time."
Directly René had left, Cuthbert set to work with ardor. He felt that René had hit upon the weak spots that he had felt and yet failed to recognize. In four hours the sea-scape was finished, and as he stepped back into the window to look at it, he felt that the ray of misty light showing rather on the water than on the air, had effected wonders, and added immensely to the poetry of the picture.
"I have only just time to change, and get there in time," he said, with a very unlover-like tone of regret, as he hastily threw off his painting blouse, ate a piece of bread left over from breakfast, and drank a glass of wine. He glanced many times at the picture.
"Curious," he muttered, "how blind men are to their own work. I can detect a weak point in another man's work in a moment, and yet, though I felt that something was wrong, I could not see what it was in my own. If I succeed as well with the other as I have done with this I shall be satisfied indeed."
"You are a quarter of an hour late, sir," Mary said, holding up her finger in reproof as he entered. "The idea of keeping me waiting, the very first time after our engagement. I tremble when I look forward to the future."
"I have been painting, Mary, and when one is painting one forgets how time flies; but I feel greatly ashamed of myself, and am deeply contrite."
"You don't look contrite at all, Cuthbert. Not one bit."
"Well, I will not press for forgiveness now, I think when you see what I have been doing you will overlook the offence."
"What have you been doing? I thought you told me that you had quite finished the two pictures, the day you came to say good-bye before you started for Brussels."
"René has been criticising them and has shown me where I committed two egregious blunders."
"Then I think it was very impertinent of him," Mary said in a tone of vexation. "I am sure nothing could have been nicer than they were even when I saw them, I am certain there were no blunders in them, and I don't see how they could be improved."
"Wait until you see them again, Mary. I altered one this morning, but the other will take me three or four days steady work. I am not so sure of success there, but if you don't like it when you see it, I promise you that I will restore it to its former condition, now let us be off; if I am not mistaken there is something going on, I saw several battalions of National Guards marching through the streets; and there is a report that 50,000 men are to march against Versailles. We may as well see them start, it may turn out to be an historic event."
CHAPTER XXII
The march against Versailles did not take place on the first of April, although the Communists had every reason to believe that they would meet with no opposition, as on the previous night two regiments of the army, forming the advanced guard between Versailles and Paris, came in, together with a battery of artillery, and declared for the Commune. The next morning Cuthbert went up at nine o'clock, as he had arranged to take Mary out early, and to work in the afternoon. Just as he reached the house he heard a cannon-shot.
"Hurry on your things," he said as he met her, "a gun has just fired; it is the first in the Civil War; perhaps the National Guard are starting against Versailles; at any rate it will be worth seeing."
The girl was ready in two or three minutes, and they walked briskly to the Arc de Triomphe. As they did so they could hear not only the boom of cannon, but the distant firing of musketry. Around the Arch a number of people were gathered, looking down the long broad avenue running from it through the Porte Maillot, and then over the Bridge of Neuilly to the column of Courbeil. Heavy firing was going on near the bridge, upon the banks of the river, and away beyond it to the right.
"That firing means that France is saved from the horrors of another red Revolution, Mary," Cuthbert said. "It shows that some of the troops at least are loyal, and in these matters example is everything. There was a report that Charrette's Zouaves and the gendarmes have been placed at the outposts, and if the report is true, it was a wise step, indeed, for McMahon to take, for both could be relied upon; and now fighting has begun, there is hope that the troops behind will stand firm."
"Why should they, Cuthbert?"
"Some of the shots from this side are sure to fall among them, and if a few are killed and wounded the rest will get angry, and all idea of fraternizing with the men who are firing on them will be at an end. I should like to see how that crowd of National Guards are behaving."
"Shall we go down and look, Cuthbert. See, there is an omnibus going down the hill, so I don't suppose there can be much danger."
"I don't think that there is any danger at present, Mary; the balls will hardly come so far, but if the troops open fire with cannon, they will send shell right up this avenue."
"Would you go by yourself if I were not here, Cuthbert?"
"Well, I certainly should, but that is no reason why I should go with you."
"I can see women looking out of the windows," she said, "so we will go down together, Cuthbert. We had the German shell falling near us while the siege was going on, and things went on just as usual."
"Come on then, dear; at any rate it will be only field-guns and not heavy siege artillery, and I dare say we can get into one of the houses and look out from them; a twelve-pounder would scarcely do much harm to one of these solid stone buildings."
They went quietly down the road. No whiz of bullet or crash of shell was heard, and without interruption they continued their course until they arrived near the gate. Near it were two battalions of the National Guard, who were in a state of utter disorder. Some of the men were quietly walking away with their rifles slung behind them, in spite of a line of sentries placed across the road and the efforts of their officers. Cuthbert questioned some of the men, as they came along, as to what had happened, but the most contradictory answers were given. They had been fired upon from Fort Valerien; they had been attacked from Courbevoie; they had been betrayed; they had been sent out without any cannon: ammunition was short; they were not going to stay to be shot down; they were going to the Hôtel de Ville to turn out the traitors who had sent them out without a proper supply of ammunition. That they had some ammunition was evident from the fact that several muskets went off accidentally, the result of nervousness on the part of those that held them.
"We won't stay here to risk being shot by these cowardly fools," Cuthbert said, "let us get into one of the houses."
They went back a short distance, and Cuthbert spoke to a man standing at his door. "This lady and myself are English," he said, "would you allow us to go up and stand at one of the windows to see what is going on?"
The request was at once acceded to, and they were soon posted at a window on the fifth floor.
"Look at them," Cuthbert said in disgust, "these are the heroes who clamored to go out and destroy the Germans."
The scene below was certainly singular—the bugles and drums sounded the assembly and beat the rappel alternately, but the men paid not the slightest attention to the call, but continued to slink away until the drummers and buglers remained alone. Of the two battalions, some fifty men posted at the loop-holes of the crenelated wall by the gate remained; the rest had melted away. From the balcony at the window a fine view was obtained across the country. A heavy musket-fire was still maintained along the river-side, and there was a continuous roll of musketry at Courbevoie, where, as one of the National Guard had told them, a battalion which occupied the barracks there had been cut off by the advance of the troops. Artillery and musketry were both at work there, but elsewhere there was no artillery fire.
Close to the bridge at Neuilly the struggle was maintained for a time, and presently a column of troops were seen advancing against the bridge. As it did so the firing there ceased at once, and it was soon evident that the troops had gained the position. Numbers of National Guards soon came trooping in at the gate. A very few remained there; the rest, without waiting for orders, hurried on into Paris. A dark group now appeared on the road leading up to Courbeil; there was a white puff of smoke and a shell exploded a hundred yards on the other side of the gate. A steady fire was now kept up by two guns, the greater part of the shells exploded beyond the outer works; but several came up the avenue, two of them striking houses, and others exploding in the roadway. Each time when the whistle of a shell was heard approaching, Cuthbert drew Mary back from the balcony into the room.
"I fancy," he said, "the troops have an idea that there are masses of the Communists assembled near the gates in readiness for a sortie, and they are firing to prevent their coming out, until they have fortified the bridge and the other points they have occupied."
The firing continued for some time. At other windows the inhabitants were watching the conflict, and Cuthbert pointed out, to Mary's great amusement, the precautions that some of them were taking to ensure their personal safety. One woman had drawn down the Venetian blinds, and was looking between them, another was peering out with a pillow held over her head. The few National Guards who remained at their post were men of courage, for they showed no signs of flinching even when shells exploded within a few yards of the position they occupied. Presently there was a sound of wheels, and two four-pounder guns were brought up and placed one on each side of the gate to sweep the approaches.
Between one and two o'clock several battalions of National Guards came leisurely up, piled their arms and sat down under shelter of the wall. It was evident they had no idea of making a sortie, but had been brought up to defend the gate in case it was attacked. Soon after their arrival, a party that had remained near the river returned and it was clear that at least a portion of the troops had proved faithless, for with them were forty or fifty soldiers, who had come over during the fight. They were disarmed and then escorted into the town, where, as Cuthbert afterwards learned, they were received with enthusiasm by the mob.
"It is evident that there is no idea of any attempt being made to recapture the bridge at present, Mary; I don't know how you feel but I am getting desperately hungry, so I think we may as well be going back. I should like to see what is going on in the city. Will you come with me? I have no doubt we shall be able to get a voiture up at the arch, and we can have lunch there."
Mary was as anxious to see what is going on as he was, and in a quarter of an hour they alighted in the Rue Rivoli. As yet the population had heard but vague reports that fighting was going on, and matters were comparatively quiet, for so many rumors had pervaded the town during the last few days, that they were not generally believed. Accordingly, after lunch, Cuthbert took Mary home in a fiacre.
"I have been quite alarmed about you, my dear, where have you been?" Madame Michaud said as they entered.
"We have been seeing the fighting, madame, and the Reds have been beaten."
"I have heard all sorts of stories about it, but most of them say that the Versailles people got the worst of it."
"Then the stories were not true," Mary said, "most of the National Guard wouldn't fight at all, and the regiments all broke away and went into Paris without firing a shot, the troops have taken the bridge of Neuilly."
"The good God be thanked," Madame Michaud said piously, "my husband was afraid the troops would not fight, and that we were going to have terrible times; but there is a hope now, that the Commune will be put down."
"Every hope, madame," Cuthbert said. "I was sure this scum of Paris would not fight if the troops would do so. They have too much regard for their worthless skins. It may be some time before McMahon can get a force together sufficient to take Paris, but sooner or later he will do so, though it will be a serious business with the forts all in the hands of the Communists. If they had but handed over one or two of the forts to the gendarmes, or kept a company or two of sailors there, there would have been a line by which the troops could have approached the town, as it is they will have to bring up siege-guns and silence Issy and Vanves before much can be done."
An hour later Monsieur Michaud arrived; he too had been in the city and was in ignorance of what had taken place during the morning.
"That accounts for it," he said, "we are all ordered to be under arms at eight o'clock this evening."
"But you will not go?" his wife exclaimed anxiously.
"But I must go, my dear. I have no desire to be shot, and I think there is much more fear of my being shot, if I don't answer to the call of my name than there will be if I do. In the first place, we may not go out beyond the wall, in the second place, if there is I may see a chance of running away, for mind you, though I hope I should have fought as bravely as others if the Germans had come, I do not feel myself called upon to fight against Frenchmen and in a cause I hate."
"You will find yourself in good company anyhow, Monsieur Michaud," Cuthbert laughed. "We have seen nineteen hundred and fifty men out of two thousand march off without firing a shot to-day."
"So much the better, monsieur, four out of five of the National Guards hate it all as much as I do. Will you dine with us to-day, monsieur, and then we can go down together afterwards."
Cuthbert accepted the invitation willingly. "Yes, you can come down with us, Mary," he went on, in answer to a look of appeal from her. "I will bring her back safely, Madame Michaud, the sight will be well worth seeing. Before I go I will have a look round and see if I can get a bed for the night, it is a long way out from my lodgings and I should like to be out here by daylight, for if they mean to march on Versailles they are sure to start as soon as it is light."
"We have a spare room," Madame Michaud said, "and it is quite at your disposal. It will be doing us a kindness if you will accept it, for when my husband is away I always feel nervous without a man in the house, and as it is but ten minutes' walk from here to the Arc de Triomphe, you will be on the spot, and indeed from the roof of this house you can obtain a view all over the country."
A great change had taken place in the appearance of Paris when they went down in the evening, the town was in a state of the wildest excitement, everywhere drums were beating and trumpets sounding, everywhere National Guards mustering. The streets were crowded, the most violent language uttered by the lower classes, and threats of all kinds poured out against the 'butchers of Versailles.' On the walls were red placards issued by the Commune and headed "Men of Paris. The butchers of Versailles are slaughtering your brethren!!!"
"As a rule the brethren decline to be slaughtered, Mary," Cuthbert said as they read the proclamation. "You see, if the troops fire they are butchers, if the National Guards fire they are heroes. Considering that Paris has ten armed men to every one McMahon has got, even if all the troops could be relied upon, the Parisians must indeed be of a mild temper if they submit to be butchered."
Monsieur Michaud now left them to take his place in the ranks of his battalion. It was not long before the National Guards were in motion, and for hours columns of troops moved up the Champs Elysées. The Rue Rivoli was actually choked with the men; the mob shouted "Vive la Commune" until they were hoarse, and the battalions from the working quarters lustily sang the chorus of the Marseillaise.
At ten o'clock Cuthbert and Mary arrived at the Arc de Triomphe on their way back. Along the whole line from the Tuileries the National Guard were bivouacked. The arms were piled down the centre of the road, and many of the men had already wrapped themselves in their blankets and lain down to sleep with their heads on their knapsacks. The wine-shops in the neighborhood were all crowded, and it was evident that many of the men had determined to keep it up all night.
Madame Michaud had coffee ready for them on their return, and after drinking it they went to their rooms, Mary being completely tired out with the fatigue and excitement of the day. At five o'clock Cuthbert was up; he had told Mary the night before that he would return for her at eight. On arriving at the Arc de Triomphe he found the National Guards pouring down the avenue to the Fort Maillot. Three heavy columns were marching along the roads which converged at the Bridge of Neuilly. Here Cuthbert expected a desperate struggle, but a few shots only were fired, and then a small body of troops covered by a party of skirmishers, retired up the hill, and then turning off made their way towards Fort Valerien.
The force was evidently insufficient to hold the bridge against the masses of revolutionists advancing against it, and the real resistance to the forces of the Commune would commence further back. Crossing the bridge the National Guard spread out to the right and left and mounted the hill, as they did so some eighteen-pounder guns which had been the day before mounted on the Fort, opened fire on the bridge, and for a time the forward movement ceased, and the regiment on their way down towards the gate were halted. Cuthbert chatted for some time with one of the officers and learnt from him that this was not the real point of attack.
"It is from the other side of the river that the great stroke against the Versaillaise will be struck," he said, "a hundred and fifty thousand National Guards advanced on that side; they will cross the heights of Meudon, and move straight to Versailles. We have but some twenty-five thousand here, and shall advance as soon as the others have attacked Meudon."