Taking the Bastile
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The police opened it at once and confronted the farmer, threatening and upright before the house turned inside out.
"But, to make it short, what are you looking for?" roared the caged lion: "Tell me, or by the Lord Harry of Navarre, I swear I'll thump it out of you."
The flocking in of the farm lads had not escaped the corporal's alert eye; he reckoned them and was convinced that, in case of a tussel, he could not crow on the battlefield.
With more honeyed politeness than before, he sneaked up to the speaker and said as he bowed to the ground:
"I am going to tell you, Master Billet, though it goes dead against the rules and regulations. We are looking for a subversive publication, and incendiary pamphlet put on the back list by the Royal Censors."
"A book in the house of a farmer who cannot read?"
"What is there amazing in that, when you are friend of the author and he sent you a copy?"
"I am not the friend of Dr. Gilbert but his humble servant," replied the other. "To be his friend would be too great an honor for a poor farmer like me."
This unreflected reply, in which Billet betrayed himself by confessing that he not only knew the author, which was natural being his landlord, but the book – assured victory to the officer of the law. This man drew himself up to his full height, with his most benignant air, and smiling as he tapped Billet on the shoulder, so that he seemed to cleave his head in twain, he said:
"You have let the cat out of the bag. You have been the first to name Gilbert, whose name we kept back out of discretion."
"That's so," muttered the farmer. "Look here, I will not merely own up but – will you stop pulling things about if I tell you where the book is?"
"Why, certainly," said the chief making a sign to his associates; "for the book is the object of the search. Only," he added with a sly grin, "don't allow you have one copy when you have a dozen."
"I swear, I have only the one."
"We are obliged to get that down to a certainty by the most minute search, Master Billet. Have five minute's farther patience. We are only poor servants of justice, under orders from those above us, and you will not oppose honorable men doing their duty – for there are such in all walks of life."
He had found the flaw in the armor: he knew how to talk Billet over.
"Go on, but be done quickly," he said, turning his back on them.
The man closed the door softly and still more quietly turned the key: which made Billet snap his fingers: sure that he could burst the door off its hinges if he had to do it.
On his part the policeman waved his fellows to the work. All three in a trice went through the papers, books and linen. Suddenly, at the bottom of an open clothespress, they perceived a small oak casket clamped with iron. The corporal pounced on it as a vulture on its prey. By the mere view, by his scent, by the place where it was stored, he had divined what he sought, for he quickly hid the box under his tattered mantle and beckoned to his bravoes that he had accomplished the errand.
At that very moment Billet had come to the end of his patience.
"I tell you that you cannot find what you are looking for unless I tell you," he called out. "There is no need to 'make hay' with my things. I am not a conspirator, confound you! Come, get this into your noddles. Answer, or, by all the blue moons, I will go to Paris and complain to the King, to the Assembly and to the people."
At this time the King was still spoken of before the people.
"Yes, dear Master Billet, we hear you, and we are ready to bow to your excellent reasons. Come, let us know where the book is, and, as we are now convinced that you have only the single copy, we will seize that and get away. There it is in a nutshell."
"Well, the book is in the hands of a lad to whom I entrusted it this morning to carry it to a friend's," said Billet.
"What is the name of this honest lad?" queried the man in black coaxingly.
"Ange Pitou; he is a poor orphan whom I housed from charity, and who does not know the nature of the book."
"I thank you, dear Master Billet," said the corporal, throwing the linen into the hole in the wall and closing the lid. "And where may this nice boy be, prithee?"
"I fancy I saw him as I came in, under the arbor by the Spanish climbing beans. Go and take the book away but do not hurt him."
"Hurt? oh, Master, you do not know us to think we would hurt a fly."
They advanced in the indicated direction, where they had the adventure with Pitou already described. Catherine had heard enough in the words about the doctor, the book, and the search-warrant, to save the innocent holder of the treasonable pamphlet.
Since the double errand of the police was fulfilled, the commander of the expedition was only too glad of the excuse to get far away. So he bounded on his men by his voice and example till they ran him into the woods. Then they came to a halt in the bushes. In the chase they were joined by two more policeman who had hidden on the farm with orders not to run up unless called.
"Faith, it is a good job the lad did not have the box instead of the book," said the organizer of the attack, "we would be obliged to take post-horses to catch up with him. Hang me if he is a man at all so much as a deer."
"But you have the prize, eh, Master Wolfstep?" said one of the subordinates.
"Certainly, comrade, for here it is," answered the police agent, to whom the nickname had been given for his sidelong "lope" or wolfish tread and its lightness.
"Then we are entitled to the promised reward, eh?"
"Ay, and here you are," said the captain of the squad, distributing gold pieces among them with no preference for those who had actively prosecuted the search and the others.
"Long live the Chief!" called out the men.
"There is no harm in your cheering the Chief," said Wolfstep: "but it is not he who cashes up this trip. It is some friend of his, lady or gentleman, who wants to keep in the background."
"I wager that he or she wants that little box bad," suggested one of the hirelings.
"Rigoulet, my friend," said the leader, "I have always certified that you are a chap full of keenness; but while we wait for the gift to win its reward, we had better be on the move. That confounded countryman does not look easily cooled down, and when he perceives the casket is missing, he may set his farm boys on our track; and they are poachers capable of keeling us over with a shot as surely as the best Swiss marksmen in his Majesty's forces."
This advice was that of the majority, for the five men kept on along the forest skirts out of sight till they reached the highroad.
This was no useless precaution for Catherine had no sooner seen the party disappear in pursuit of Pitou than, full of confidence in the last one's agility, who would lead them a pretty chase, she called on the farm-men to open the door.
They knew something unusual was going on but not exactly what.
They ran in to set her free and she liberated her father.
Billet seemed in a dream. Instead of rushing out of the room, he walked forth warily, and acted as if not liking to stay in any one place and yet hated to look on the furniture and cupboards disturbed by the posse.
"They have got the book, anyway?" he questioned.
"I believe they took that, dad, but not Pitou, who cut away? If they are sticking to him, they will all be over at Cayelles or Vauciennes by this time."
"Capital! Poor lad, he owes all this harrying to me."
"Oh, father, do not bother about him but look to ourselves. Be easy about Pitou getting out of his scrape. But what a state of disorder! look at this, mother!"
"They are low blackguards," said Mother Billet: "they have not even respected my linen press."
"What, tumbled over the linen?" said Billet, springing towards the cavity which the corporal had carefully closed but into which, opening it, he plunged both arms deeply. "It is not possible!"
"What are you looking for, father?" asked the girl as her father looked about him bewildered.
"Look, look if you can see it anywhere: the casket! that is what the villains were raking for."
"Dr. Gilbert's casket?" inquired Mrs. Billet, who commonly let others do the talking and work in critical times.
"Yes, that most precious casket," responded the farmer thrusting his hands into his mop of hair.
"You frighten me, father," said Catherine.
"Wretch that I am," cried the man, in rage, "and fool never to suspect that. I never thought about the casket. Oh, what will the doctor say? What will he think? That I am a betrayer, a coward, a worthless fellow!"
"Oh, heavens, what was in it, dad?"
"I don't know; but I answered for it to the doctor on my life and I ought to have been killed defending it."
He made so threatening a gesture against himself that the women recoiled in terror.
"My horse, bring me my horse," roared the madman. "I must let the doctor know – he must be apprised."
"I told Pitou to do that."
"Good! no, what's the use? – a man afoot. I must ride to Paris. Did you not read in his letter that he was going there? My horse!"
"And will you leave us in the midst of anguish?"
"I must, my girl, I must," he said, kissing Catherine convulsively: "the doctor said: 'If ever you lose that box, or rather if it is stolen from you, come to warn me the instant you perceive the loss, Billet, wherever I am. Let nothing stop you, not even the life of man.'"
"Lord, what can be in it?"
"I don't know a bit. But I do know that it was placed in my keeping, and that I have let it be snatched away. But here is my nag. I shall learn where the father is by his son at the college."
Kissing his wife and his daughter for the last time, the farmer bestrode his steed and set off towards the city at full gallop.
CHAPTER VI.
ON THE ROAD
Pitou was spurred by the two most powerful emotions in the world, love and fear. Panic bade him take care of himself as he would be arrested and perhaps flogged; love in Catherine's voice had said: "Be off to Paris."
These two stimulants led him to fly rather than run.
Heaven is infallible as well as mighty: how useful were the long legs of Pitou, so ungraceful at a ball, in streaking it over the country, as well as the knotty knees, although his heart, expanded by terror, beat three to a second. My Lord Charny, with his pretty feet and little knees, and symmetrically placed calves, could not have dashed along at this gait.
He had gone four leagues and a half in an hour, as much as is required of a good horse at the trot. He looked behind: nothing on the road; he looked forward; only a couple of women.
Encouraged, he threw himself on the turf by the roadside and reposed. The sweet smell of the lucerne and marjoram did not make him forget Mistress Billet's mild-cured bacon and the pound-and-a-half of bread which Catherine sliced off for him at every meal. All France lacked bread half as good as that, so dear that it originated the oft repeated saying of Duchess Polignac that "the poor hungry people ought to eat cake."
Pitou said that Catherine was the most generous creature in creation and the Billet Farm the most luxurious palace.
He turned a dying eye like the Israelites crossing the Jordan towards the east, where the Billet fleshpots smoked.
Sighing, but starting off anew, he went at a job-pace for a couple of hours which brought him towards Dammartin.
Suddenly his expert ear, reliable as a Sioux Indian's, caught the ring of a horseshoe on the road.
He had hardly concluded that the animal was coming at the gallop than he saw it appear on a hilltop four hundred paces off.
Fear which had for a space abandoned Pitou, seized him afresh, and restored him the use of those long if unshapely legs with which he had made such marvellous good time a couple of hours previously.
Without reflecting, looking behind or trying to hide his fright, Ange cleared the ditch on one side and darted through the woods to Ermenonville. He did not know the place but he spied some tall trees and reasoned that, if they were on the skirts of a forest, he was saved.
This time he had to beat a horse; Pitou's feet had become wings.
He went all the faster as on glancing over his shoulder, he saw the horseman jump the hedge and ditch from the highway.
He had no more doubts that the rider was after him so that he not only doubled his pace but he dreaded to lose anything by looking behind.
But the animal, superior to the biped in running, gained on him, and Pitou heard the rider plainly calling him by name.
Nearly overtaken, still he struggled till the cut of a whip crossed his legs, and a well-known voice thundered:
"Blame you, you idiot – have you made a vow to founder Younker?"
The horse's name put an end to the fugitive's irresolution.
"Oh, I hear Master Billet," he groaned, as he rolled over on his back, exhaustion and the lash having thrown him on the grass.
Assured of the identity he sat up, while the farmer reined in Younker, streaming with white froth.
"Oh, dear master," said Pitou, "how kind of you to ride after me. I swear to you that I should come back to the farm late. I got to the end of the double-louis Miss Catherine gave me. But since you have overtaken me, here is the gold, for it is your'n, and let us get back."
"A thousand devils," swore the yeoman, "we have a lot to do at the farm, I don't think. Where are the sleuth-hounds?"
"Sleuth hounds?" repeated Pitou, not understanding the nickname for what we call detective police officer's, though it had already entered into the language.
"Those sneaks in black," continued Billet, "if you can understand that better."
"Oh, you bet that I did not amuse myself by waiting till they came up."
"Bravo, dropped them, eh?"
"Flatter myself I did."
"Then, if certain what did you keep on running for?"
"I thought you were their captain who had taken to horse to have me."
"Come, come you are not such a dunderhead as I thought. As the road is clear, make an effort, get up behind me on the crupper and let us hurry into Dammartin. I will change horses at Neighbor Lefranc's, for Younker is done up, so we can push ahead for Paris."
"But I do not see what use I shall be there," remonstrated Pitou.
"But I think the other way. You can serve me there, for you have big fists, and I hold it for a fact that they are going to fall to hitting out at one another in the city."
Far from charmed by this prospect, the lad was wavering when Billet caught hold of him as of a sack of flour and slung him across the horse.
Regaining the road, by dint of spur, cudgel and heel, Younker was sent along at so fair a gait that they were in Dammartin in less than half an hour.
Billet rode in by a lane, not the main road, to Father Lefranc's farm, where he left his man and horse in the yard, to run direct into the kitchen where the master, going out, was buttoning up his leggings.
"Quick, quick, old mate, your best horse," he hailed him before he recovered from his astonishment.
"That's Maggie – the good beast is just harnessed. I was going out on her."
"She'll do; only I give fair warning that I shall break her down most likely."
"What for, I should like to know?"
"Because I must be in Paris this evening," said the farmer, making the masonic sign of "Pressing danger."
"Ride her to death, then," answered Lefranc; "but give me Younker."
"A bargain."
"Have a glass of wine?"
"Two. I have an honest lad with me who is tired with traveling this far. Give him some refreshment."
In ten minutes the gossips had put away a bottle and Pitou had swallowed a two-pound loaf and a hunk of bacon, nearly all fat. While he was eating, the stableman, a good sort of a soul, rubbed him down with a wisp of hay as if he were a favorite horse. Thus feasted and massaged, Pitou swallowed a glass of wine from a third bottle, emptied with so much velocity that the lad was lucky to get his share.
Billet got upon Maggie, and Pitou "forked" himself on, though stiff as a pair of compasses.
The good beast, tickled by the spur, trotted bravely under the double load towards town, without ceasing to flick off the flies with her robust tail, the strong hairs lashing the dust off Pitou's back and stinging his thin calves, from which his stockings had run down.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRST BLOOD
Night was thickening as the two travelers reached La Villette, a suburb of Paris. A great flame rose before them. Billet pointed out the ruddy glare.
"They are troops camping out," said Pitou; "Can't you see that, and they have lighted campfires. Here are some, so that there may naturally be more over yonder."
Indeed, on attentively looking on the right, Father Billet saw black detachments marching noiselessly in the shadow of St. Denis Plain, horse and foot. Their weapons glimmered in the pale starry light.
Accustomed to see in the dark from his night roaming in the woods, Pitou pointed out to his master cannon mired to the hubs in the swampy fields.
"Ho, ho," muttered Billet: "something new is going on here. Look at the sparks yonder. Make haste, my lad."
"Yes, it is a house a-fire. See the sparks fly," added the younger man.
Maggie stopped; the rider jumped off upon the pavement and going up to a group of soldiers in blue and yellow uniforms, bivouacking under the roadside trees, asked:
"Comrades, can you tell me what is the matter in Paris?"
The soldiers merely replied with some German oaths.
"What the deuce do they say?" queried Billet of his brother peasant.
"All I can tell is that it is not Latin," replied the youth, trembling greatly.
"I was a fool to apply to the Kaiserlicks (Kaiserlich, Imperial Austrian grenadiers)?" muttered Billet, in his curiosity still standing in the middle of the road.
"Bass on mit your vay," said an officer, stepping up; "Und bass bretty tam queeck, doo!"
"Excuse me, captain," said the farmer, "but I want to go into Paris."
"Vat next?"
"As I see you are between me and the turnpike bars, I feared I would not be let go by."
"Yah, you gan by go."
Remounting, Billet indeed got on. But it was only to run in among the Bercheny Hussars, swarming in La Villette. This time, as they were his own countrymen, he got along better.
"Please, what is the news from Paris?" he asked.
"Why, it's your crazy Parisians, who want their Necker, and fire their guns off at us, as if we had anything to do with the matter." So replied a hussar.
"What Necker? have they lost him?" questioned Billet.
"Certainly, the King has turned him out of office."
"That great man turned out?" said the farmer with the stupor of a priest who hears of a sacrilege."
"More than that, he is on the way to Brussels at present."
"Then it is a joke we shall hear some laughing over," cried Billet in a terrible voice, without thinking of the danger he ran in preaching insurrection amid twelve or fifteen thousand royalist sabres.
Remounting Maggie, he drove her with cruel digs of the heel up to the bars. As he advanced he saw the fire more plainly; a long column rose from the spot to the sky. It was the barrier that was burning. A howling and furious mob with women intermixed, yelling and capering as usual more excitedly than the men, fed the flames with pieces of the bars, the clerk's office and the custom-house officers' property.
On the road, Hungarian and German regiments looked on at the devastation, with their muskets grounded, without blinking.
Billet did not let the rampart of flame stop him: but urged Maggie through smoke and fire. She bravely burst through the incandescent barrier; but on the other side was a compact crowd stretching from the outer town to the heart of the city, some singing, some shouting:
"To arms!"
Billet looked what he was, a good farmer coming to town on his business. Perhaps he roared "Make way there!" too roughly, but Pitou tempered it with so polite a "Make way, if you please!" that one appeal corrected the other. Nobody had any interest in staying Billet in attending to his business and they let him go through.
Maggie had recovered her strength from the fire having singed her hide and all this unusual clamor worried her. Billet was obliged to hold her in now, in the fear of crushing the idlers classed before the town gate and the others who were as curiously running from the gates to the bars.
Somehow or other they pushed on, till they reached the boulevard, where they were forced to stop.
A procession was marching from the Bastile to the Royal Furniture Stores, the two stone knots binding the enclosure of Paris to its girth. This broad column followed a funeral barrow on which were placed two busts, one covered with crape, the other with flowers; the one in mourning was Necker's, the Prime Minister and eminently the Treasurer, dismissed but not disgraced; the flower-crowned bust was the Duke of Orleans', who had openly taken the Swiss financier's part.
Billet, asking, learned that this was popular homage to the banker and his defender.
The farmer was born in a country where the Orleans family had been venerated for a century and more. He belonged to the Philosophical sect and consequently regarded Necker not only as a great minister but an apostle of humanity.
There was ample to fire him. He jumped off his horse without clearly knowing what he was about and mingled with the throng, yelling:
"Long live the Duke of Orleans! Necker forever!"
Once a man mixes with a mob his individual liberty disappears. He was the more easily carried on as he was at the head of the party.
As they kept up the shouting, "Long live Necker – no more foreign troops – down with the outlandish cutthroats!" he added his lusty voice to the others.
Any superiority is always appreciated by the masses. The shrill, weak voice of the Parisian, spoilt by wine bibbing or want of proper food, was nowhere beside the countryman's fresh, full and sonorous roar, so that without too much jostling, shoving and knocking about, Billet finally reached the litter.
In another ten minutes, one of the bearers, whose enthusiasm had been too great for his strength, gave up his place to him.
Billet, you will observe, had got on.
Only the propagator of Gilbert's doctrines a day before, he was now one of the instruments in the triumph of Necker and the Duke of Orleans.
But he had hardly arrived at his post than he thought of Pitou and the borrowed horse. What had become of them?
While nearing the litter, Billet looked and, through the flare of the torches accompanying the turn-out, and by the lamps illumining all the house windows, he beheld a kind of walking platform formed of half a dozen men shouting and waving their arms. In the midst it was easy to discern Pitou and his long arms.
He did what he could to defend Maggie, but spite of all the horse was stormed and was carrying all who could clamber on her back and hang on to the harness and her tail. In the enlarging darkness she resembled an elephant loaded with hunters going for the tiger. Her vast neck had three or four fellows established on it, howling: "Three cheers for Orleans and Necker – down with the foreigners!"
To which Pitou answered: "All right, but you will smother Maggie among ye."
The intoxication was general.
For an instant Billet thought of carrying help to his friend and horse but he reflected that he would probably lose the honor of bearing the litter forever if he gave it up; he bethought him also of the bargain made with Lefranc about swapping the horses, and anyhow, if the worst happened, he was rich enough to sacrifice the price of a horse on the altar of his country.
Meanwhile the procession made way: turning to the left it went down Montmarte Street to Victoires Place. Reaching the Palais Royale, a great throng prevented its passing on, a number of men with green leaves stuck in their hats who were halloaing:
"To arms!"
Were these friends or foes? Why green cockades, green being the color of Count Artois, the King's youngest brother?
After a brief parley all was explained.
On hearing of Necker's removal from office, a young man had rushed out of the Foy Coffeehouse, jumped on a table in the Palais Royale Gardens, and flourishing a pistol, shouted: