BILLOT was in a state of perfect ecstasy.
He had taken the Bastille; he had restored Gilbert to liberty; he had been noticed by Lafayette, who called him by his name; and finally, he had seen the burial of Foulon.
Few men in those days were as much execrated as Foulon. One only could in this respect have competed with him, and this was his son-in-law, Monsieur Berthier de Savigny.
They had both of them been singularly lucky the day following the capture of the Bastille.
Foulon died on that day, and Berthier had managed to escape from Paris.
That which had raised to its climax the unpopularity of Foulon, was that on the retirement of Monsieur Necker he had accepted the place of the “virtuous Genevese,” as he was then called, and had been comptroller-general during three days.
And therefore was there much singing and dancing at his burial.
The people had at one time thought of taking the body out of the coffin and hanging it; but Billot had jumped upon a post, and had made a speech on the respect due to the dead, and the hearse was allowed to continue on its way.
As to Pitou, he had become a perfect hero.
Pitou had become the friend of Monsieur Elie and Monsieur Hullin, who deigned to employ him to execute their commissions.
He was, besides, the confidant of Billot,—of Billot, who had been treated with distinction by Monsieur de Lafayette, as we have already said, who sometimes employed him as a police guard about his person, on account of his brawny shoulders, his herculean fists, and his indomitable courage.
Since the journey of the king to Paris, Gilbert, who had been, through Monsieur Necker, put in communication with the principal members of the National Assembly and the Municipality, was incessantly occupied with the education of the republic, still in its infancy.
He therefore neglected Billot and Pitou, who, neglected by him, threw themselves ardently into the meetings of the citizens, in the midst of which political discussions of transcendent interest were constantly agitated.
At length, one day, after Billot had employed three hours in giving his opinion to the electors as to the best mode of victualling Paris, and fatigued with his long speech, though proud of having played the orator, he was resting with delight, lulled by the monotonous voices of his successors, which he took good care not to listen to, Pitou came in, greatly agitated; and gliding like an eel through the Sessions Hall of the electors in the Hôtel de Ville, and in a palpitating tone, which contrasted greatly with the usual placidity of his enunciation: “Oh, Monsieur Billot!” said he, “dear Monsieur Billot!”
“You know that I had gone to the club of the Virtues, at the Fontainebleau barrier?”
“Well, they spoke there of a most extraordinary event.”
“Do you know that that villain Foulon passed himself off for dead, and carried it so far as to allow himself to be buried?”
“How! passed himself for dead? How say you,—pretended to allow himself to be buried? Nonsense! He is dead enough; for was I not at his funeral?”
“Notwithstanding that, Monsieur Billot, he is still living.”
“As much alive as you and I are.”
“Dear Monsieur Billot, I am not mad. The traitor, Foulon, the enemy of the people, the leech of France, the peculator, is not dead.”
“But since I tell you he was buried after an apoplectic fit, since I tell you that I saw the funeral go by, and even that I prevented the people from dragging him out of his coffin to hang him?”
“And I have just seen him alive. Ah, what do you say to that?”
“As plainly as I now see you, Monsieur Billot. It appears that it was one of his servants who died, and the villain gave him an aristocratic funeral. Oh, all is discovered! It was from fear of the vengeance of the people that he acted thus.”
“Tell me all about it, Pitou.”
“Come into the vestibule for a moment, then, Monsieur Billot. We shall be more at our ease there.”
They left the hall and went into the vestibule.
“First of all, we must know whether Monsieur Bailly is here.”
“Go on with your story; he is here.”
“Good! Well I was at the club of the Virtues, listening to the speech of a patriot. Didn't he make grammatical faults! It was easily seen that he had not been educated by the Abbé Fortier.”
“Go on, I tell you. A man may be a good patriot, and yet not be able to read or write.”
“That is true,” replied Pitou. “Well, suddenly a man came in, completely out of breath. 'Victory!' cried he. 'Victory! Foulon was not dead! Foulon is still alive! I have found him! I have found him!'
“Everybody there was like you, Father Billot. No one would believe him. Some said, 'How! Foulon?' 'Yes.' Others said, 'Pshaw! impossible!' And others said, 'Well, while you were at it, you might as well have discovered his son-in-law, Berthier.'“
“Yes, Berthier de Savigny. Don't you recollect our intendant at Compiègne, the friend of Monsieur Isidore de Charny?”
“Undoubtedly! he who was always so proud with everybody, and so polite with Catherine?”
“Precisely,” said Pitou; “one of those horrible contractors,—a second leech to the French people; the execration of all human nature; the shame of the civilized world, as said the virtuous Loustalot.”
“Well, go on! go on!” cried Billot.
“That is true,” said Pitou; “ad eventum festina,—which means to say, Monsieur Billot, 'Hasten to the winding up.' I shall proceed, then. A man, out of breath, comes running to the club of the Virtues, and shouts: 'I have found Foulon. I have found him.'
“You should have heard the vociferations that followed.”
“He was mistaken,” said Billot, obstinately.
“He was not, for I have seen Foulon.”
“With these two eyes. Wait a moment.”
“I am waiting; but you make my blood boil.”
“Ah, but listen. I am hot enough too. I tell you that he had given it out that he was dead, and had one of his servants buried in his place. Fortunately, Providence was watching.”
“Providence, indeed!” disdainfully exclaimed the Voltairean Billot.
“I intended to say the nation,” rejoined Pitou, with humility. “This good citizen, this patriot, out of breath, who announced the news to us, recognized him at Viry, where he had concealed himself.”
“Having recognized him, he denounced him, and the syndic, whose name is Monsieur Rappe, instantly arrested him.”
“ And what is the name of the brave patriot who had the courage to do all this?”
“Of informing against Foulon?”
Well, his name is Monsieur Saint-Jean.”
“Saint-Jean! Why, that is a lackey's name.”
“And he was precisely the lackey of the villain Foulon. Aristocrat, you are rightly served. Why had you lackeys?”
“Pitou, you interest me,” said Billot, going close to the narrator.
“You are very kind, Monsieur Billot. Well, then, here is Foulon denounced and arrested; they are bringing him to Paris. The informer had run on ahead to announce the news, and receive the reward for his denunciation; and sure enough, in a few moments afterwards Foulon arrived at the barrier.”
“And it was there that you saw him?”
“Yes. He had a very queer look, I can tell you. They had twisted a bunch of stinging-nettles round his neck, by way of cravat.”
“What say you? stinging-nettles? And what was that for?”
“Because it appears that he had said—rascal as he is!—that bread was for men, oats for horses, but that nettles were good enough for the people.”
“Did he say that, the wretch?”
“Yes! by Heaven! he said so, Monsieur Billot.”
“Good! there, now, you are swearing.”
“Bah!” cried Pitou, with a swaggering air, “between military men! Well, they brought him along on foot, and the whole of the way they were giving him smashing blows on his back and head.”
“Oh! oh!” cried Billot, somewhat less enthusiastic.
“It was very amusing,” continued Pitou, “only that everybody could not get at him to give him a blow, seeing that there were ten thousand persons hooting after him.”
“And after this?” asked Billot, who began to reflect.
“After that they took him to the president of the St. Marcel district,—a good patriot, you know.”
“Cloque,—yes, that is it; who ordered him to be taken to the Hôtel de Ville, seeing that he did not know what to do with him; so that you will presently see him.”
“But how happens it that it is you who have come to announce this, and not the famous Saint-Jean?”
“Why, because my legs are six inches longer than his. He had set off before me, but I soon came up with, and passed him. I wanted to inform you first, that you might inform Monsieur Bailly of it.”
“I shall have much more than this to-morrow.”
“Because this same Saint-Jean, who denounced Monsieur Foulon, proposed a plan to catch Monsieur Berthier, who has run away.”
“He knows, then, where he is?”
“Yes; it appears that he was their confidential man,—this good Monsieur Saint-Jean,—and that he received a great deal of money from Foulon and his son-in-law, who wished to bribe him.”
“Certainly, the money of an aristocrat is always good to take; but he said: 'A good patriot will not betray his nation for money.'“
“Yes,” murmured Billot, “he betrays his masters,—that is all. Do you know, Pitou, that your Monsieur Saint-Jean appears to me to be a worthless vagabond?”
“That is possible, but it matters not; they will take Monsieur Berthier, as they have taken Master Foulon, and they will hang them nose to nose. What horrid wry faces they will make, looking at each other,—hey?”
“And why should they be hanged?”
“Why, because they are vile rascals, and I detest them.”
“What! Monsieur Berthier, who has been at the farm,—Monsieur Berthier, who, during his tours into the Île-de-France, has drunk our milk, and eaten of our bread, and sent gold buckles to Catherine from Paris? Oh, no, no! they shall not hang him.”
“Bah!” repeated Pitou, ferociously, “he is an aristocrat,—a wheedling rascal!”
Billot looked at Pitou with stupefaction. Beneath the gaze of the farmer, Pitou blushed to the very whites of his eyes.
Suddenly the worthy cultivator perceived Monsieur Bailly, who was going from the hall into his own cabinet; he rushed after him to inform him of the news.
But it was now for Billot in his turn to be treated with incredulity.
“Foulon! Foulon!” cried the mayor, “what folly!”
“Well, Monsieur Bailly, all I can say is, here is Pitou, who saw him.”
“I saw him, Monsieur Mayor,” said Pitou, placing his hand on his heart, and bowing.
And he related to Monsieur Bailly all he had before related to Billot.
They observed that poor Bailly turned very pale; he at once understood the extent of the catastrophe.
“And Monsieur Acloque sends him here?” murmured he.
“Oh, there is no occasion to be uneasy,” said Pitou, who misunderstood the anxiety of Bailly; “there are plenty of people to guard the prisoner. He will not be carried off.”
“Would to God he might be carried off!” murmured Bailly.
“Plenty of people,—what mean you by that, my friend?”
“More than twenty thousand men, without counting the women,” said Pitou, triumphantly.
“Unhappy man!” exclaimed Bailly. “Gentlemen, gentlemen electors!”
And he related to the electors all he had just heard.
While he was speaking, exclamations and cries of anguish burst forth from all present.
The silence of terror pervaded the hall, during which a confused, distant, indescribable noise assailed the ears of those assembled, like that produced by the rushing of blood to the head in attacks upon the brain.
“What is that?” inquired an elector.
“Why, the noise of the crowd, to be sure,” replied another.
Suddenly a carriage was heard rolling rapidly across the square; it contained two armed men, who helped a third to alight from it, who was pale and trembling.
Foulon had at length become so exhausted by the ill usage he had experienced that he could no longer walk; and he had been lifted into a coach.
Behind the carriage, led on by Saint-Jean, who was more out of breath than ever, ran about a hundred young men, from sixteen to eighteen years of age, with haggard countenances and flaming eyes.
They cried, “Foulon! Foulon!” running almost as fast as the horses.
The two armed men were, however, some few steps in advance of them, which gave them the time to push Foulon into the Hôtel de Ville; and its doors were closed against the hoarse barkers from without.
“At last we have him here,” said his guards to the electors, who were waiting at the top of the stairs. “By Heaven! it was not without trouble!”
“Gentlemen! gentlemen” cried Foulon, trembling, “will you save me?”
“Ah, sir,” replied Bailly, with a sigh, “you have been very culpable.”
“And yet, sir,” said Foulon, entreatingly, his agitation increasing, “there will, I hope, be justice to defend me.”
At this moment the exterior tumult was redoubled.
“Hide him quickly!” cried Bailly to those around him, “or—”
“Listen to me,” said he; “the situation is serious enough for you to be consulted. Will you—perhaps it is not yet too late—will you endeavor to escape from the back part of the Hôtel de Ville?”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Foulon; “I should be recognized—massacred!”
“Do you prefer to remain here in the midst of us? I will do, and these gentlemen will do, all that is humanly possible to defend you; will you not, gentlemen?”
“We promise it,” cried all the electors, with one voice.
“Oh, I prefer remaining with you, gentlemen. Gentlemen, do not abandon me!”
“I have told you, sir,” replied Bailly, with dignity, “that we will do all that may be humanly possible to save you.”
At that moment a frightful clamor arose from the square, ascended into the air, and invaded the Hôtel de Ville through the open windows.
“Do you hear? Do you hear?” murmured Foulon, perfectly livid with terror.
In fact, the mob had rushed, howling and frightful to behold, from all the streets leading to the Hôtel de Ville, and above all from the Quay Pelletier, and the Rue de la Vannerie.
Knives, pikes, scythes, and muskets glistened in the sunshine. In less than ten minutes the vast square was filled with people. It was the whole of Foulon's train, of which Pitou had spoken, and which had been increased by curious idlers, who, hearing a great noise, had run to the Place de Grève as towards a common centre.
All these voices, and there were more than twenty thousand, cried incessantly: “Foulon! Foulon!”
Then it was seen that the hundred young men who had been the precursors of this furious mob, pointed out to this howling mass the gate by which Foulon had entered the building; this gate was instantly threatened, and they began to beat it down with the butt-ends of their muskets, and with crowbars.
The guards of the Hôtel de Ville appeared, and advanced upon the assailants, who, in their first terror, retreated, and left a large open space in the front of the building.
This guard stationed itself upon the front steps, and presented a bold front to the crowd.
The officers, moreover, instead of threatening, harangued the crowd in friendly terms, and endeavored to calm it by their protestations.
Bailly had become quite confused. It was the first time that the poor astronomer had found himself in opposition to the popular tempest.
“What is to be done?” demanded he of the electors,—“what is to be done?”
“No trial can take place when under the intimidation of the mob,” said Bailly.
“Zounds!” exclaimed Billot, “have you not, then, men enough to defend you?”
“We have not two hundred men.”
“You must have a reinforcement, then.”
“Oh, if Monsieur de Lafayette were but informed of this!”
“Well, send and inform him of it.”
“And who would venture to attempt it? Who could make his way through such a multitude?”
And he was about to leave the hall.
“Madman!” cried he; “look at that ocean! You would be swallowed up even by one of its waves. If you wish to get to Monsieur de Lafayette,—and even then I would not answer for your safety,—go out by one of the back doors. Go!”
“'Tis well!” tranquilly replied Billot.
And he darted out of the room with the swiftness of an arrow.
