________________________________________________
That night marked the culmination of the Dracophil movement. The Royalists had
no longer any doubt of its triumph. Their chiefs sent congratulations to
Prince Crucho by wireless telegraphy. Their ladies embroidered scarves and
slippers for him. M. de Plume had found the green horse.
The pious Agaric shared the common hope. But he still worked to win partisans
for the Pretender. They ought, he said, to lay their foundations upon the
bed-rock.
With this design he had an interview with three Trade Union workmen.
In these times the artisans no longer lived, as in the days of the Draconides,
under the government of corporations. They were free, but they had no assured
pay. After having remained isolated from each other for a long time, without
help and without support, they had formed themselves into unions. The coffers
of the unions were empty, as it was not the habit of the unionists to pay
their subscriptions. There were unions numbering thirty thousand members,
others with a thousand, five hundred, two hundred, and so forth. Several
numbered two or three members only, or even a few less. But as the lists of
adherents were not published, it was not easy to distinguish the great unions
from the small ones.
After some dark and indirect steps the pious Agaric was put into communication
in a room in the Moulin de la Galette, with comrades Dagobert, Tronc, and
Balafille, the secretaries of three unions of which the first numbered
fourteen members, the second twenty-four, and the third only one. Agaric
showed extreme cleverness at this interview.
"Gentlemen," said he, "you and I have not, in most respects, the same
political and social views, but there are points in which we may come to an
understanding. We have a common enemy. The government exploits you and
despises us. Help us to overthrow it; we will supply you with the means so far
as we are able, and you can in addition count on our gratitude."
"Fork out the tin," said Dagobert.
The Reverend Father placed on the table a bag which the distiller of Conils
had given him with tears in his eyes.
"Done!" said the three companions.
Thus was the solemn compact sealed.
As soon as the monk had departed, carrying with him the joy of having won over
the masses to his cause, Dagobert, Tronc, and Balafille whistled to their
wives, Amelia, Queenie, and Matilda, who were waiting in the street for the
signal, and all six holding each other's hands, danced around the bag,
singing:
J'ai du bon pognon,
Tu n'l'auras pas Chatillon!
Hou! Hou! la calotte!
And they ordered a salad-bowl full of warm wine.
In the evening all six went through the street from stall to stall singing
their new song. The song became popular, for the detectives reported that
every day showed an increase of the number of workpeople who sang through the
slums:
J'ai du bon pognon;
Tu n'l'auras pas Chatillon!
Hou! Hou! la calotte!
The Dracophil agitation made no progress in the provinces. The pious Agaric
sought to find the cause of this, but was unable to discover it until old
Cornemuse revealed it to him.
"I have proofs," sighed the monk of Conils, "that the Duke of Ampoule, the
treasurer of the Dracophils, has brought property in Porpoisia with the funds
that he received for the propaganda."
The party wanted money. Prince des Boscenos had lost his portfolio in a brawl
and he was reduced to painful expedients which were repugnant to his impetuous
character. The Viscountess Olive was expensive. Cornemuse advised that the
monthly allowance of that lady should be diminished.
"She is very useful to us," objected the pious Agaric.
"Undoubtedly," answered Cornemuse, "but she does us an injury by ruining us."
A schism divided the Dracophils. Misunderstandings reigned in their councils.
Some wished that in accordance with the policy of M. Bigourd and the pious
Agaric, they should carry on the design of reforming the Republic. Others,
wearied by their long constraint, had resolved to proclaim the Dragon's crest
and swore to conquer beneath that sign.
The latter urged the advantage of a clear situation and the impossibility of
making a pretence much longer, and in truth, the public began to see whither
the agitation was tending and that the Emiral's partisans wanted to destroy
the very foundations of the Republic.
A report was spread that the prince was to land at La Cirque and make his
entry into Alca on a green horse.
These rumours excited the fanatical monks, delighted the poor nobles,
satisfied the rich Jewish ladies, and put hope in the hearts of the small
traders. But very few of them were inclined to purchase these benefits at the
price of a social catastrophe and the overthrow of the public credit; and
there were fewer still who would have risked their money, their peace, their
liberty, or a single hour from their pleasures in the business. On the other
hand, the workmen held themselves ready, as ever, to give a day's work to the
Republic, and a strong resistance was being formed in the suburbs.
"The people are with us," the pious Agaric used to say.
However, men, women, and children, when leaving their factories, used to shout
with one voice:
A bas Chatillon!
Hou! Hou! la calotte!
As for the government, it showed the weakness, indecision, flabbiness, and
heedlessness common to all governments, and from which none has ever departed
without falling into arbitrariness and violence. In three words it knew
nothing, wanted nothing, and would do nothing. Formose, shut in his
presidential palace, remained blind, dumb, deaf, huge, invisible, wrapped up
in his pride as in an eider-down.
Count Olive advised the Dracophils to make a last appeal for funds and to
attempt a great stroke while Alca was still in a ferment.
An executive committee, which he himself had chosen, decided to kidnap the
members of the Chamber of Deputies, and considered ways and means.
The affair was fixed for the twenty-eighth of July. On that day the sun rose
radiantly over the city. In front of the legislative palace women passed to
market with their baskets; hawkers cried their peaches, pears, and grapes; cab
horses with their noses in their bags munched their hay. Nobody expected
anything, not because the secret had been kept but because it met with nothing
but unbelievers. Nobody believed in a revolution, and from this fact we may
conclude that nobody desired one. About two o'clock the deputies began to
pass, few and unnoticed, through the side-door of the palace. At three o'clock
a few groups of badly dressed men had formed. At half past three black masses
coming from the adjacent streets spread over Revolution Square. This vast
expanse was soon covered by an ocean of soft hats, and the crowd of
demonstrators, continually increased by sight-seers, having crossed the
bridge, struck its dark wave against the walls of the legislative enclosure.
Cries, murmurs, and songs went up to the impassive sky. "It is Chatillon we
want!" "Down with the Deputies!" "Down with the Republicans!" "Death to the
Republicans!" The devoted band of Dracophils, led by Prince des Boscenos,
struck up the august canticle:
Vive Crucho,
Vaillant et sage,
Plein de courage
Des le berceau!
Behind the wall silence alone replied.
This silence and the absence of guards encouraged and at the same time
frightened the crowd. Suddenly a formidable voice cried out:
"Attack!"
And Prince des Boscenos was seen raising his gigantic form to the top of the
wall, which was covered with barbs and iron spikes. Behind him rushed his
companions, and the people followed. Some hammered against the wall to make
holes in it; others endeavoured to tear down the spikes and to pull out the
barbs. These defences had given way in places and some of the invaders had
stripped the wall and were sitting astride on the top. Prince des Boscenos was
waving an immense green flag. Suddenly the crowd wavered and from it came a
long cry of terror. The police and the Republican carabineers issuing out of
all the entrances of the palace formed themselves into a column beneath the
wall and in a moment it was cleared of its besiegers. After a long moment of
suspense the noise of arms was heard, and the police charged the crowd with
fixed bayonets. An instant afterwards and on the deserted square strewn with
hats and walking-sticks there reigned a sinister silence. Twice again the
Dracophils attempted to form, twice they were repulsed. The rising was
conquered. But Prince des Boscenos, standing on the wall of the hostile
palace, his flag in his hand, still repelled the attack of a whole brigade. He
knocked down all who approached him. At last he, too, was thrown down, and
fell on an iron spike, to which he remained hooked, still clasping the
standard of the Draconides.
On the following day the Ministers of the Republic and the Members of
Parliament determined to take energetic measures. In vain, this time, did
President Formose attempt to evade his responsibilities. The government
discussed the question of depriving Chatillon of his rank and dignities and of
indicting him before the High Court as a conspirator, an enemy of the public
good, a traitor, etc.
At this news the Emiral's old companions in arms, who the very evening before
had beset him with their adulations, made no effort to conceal their joy. But
Chatillon remained popular with the middle classes of Alca and one still heard
the hymn of the liberator sounding in the streets, "It is Chatillon we want."
The Ministers were embarrassed. They intended to indict Chatillon before the
High Court. But they knew nothing; they remained in that total ignorance
reserved for those who govern men. They were incapable of advancing any grave
charges against Chatillon. They could supply the prosecution with nothing but
the ridiculous lies of their spies. Chatillon's share in the plot and his
relations with Prince Crucho remained the secret of the thirty thousand
Dracophils. The Ministers and the Deputies had suspicions and even
certainties, but they had no proofs. The Public Prosecutor said to the
Minister of justice: "Very little is needed for a political prosecution! but I
have nothing at all and that is not enough." The affair made no progress. The
enemies of the Republic were triumphant.
On the eighteenth of September the news ran in Alca that Chatillon had taken
flight. Everywhere there was surprise and astonishment. People doubted, for
they could not understand.
This is what had happened: One day as the brave Under-Emiral Vulcanmould
happened, as if by chance, to go into the office of M. Barbotan, the Minister
of Foreign Affairs, he remarked with his usual frankness:
"M. Barbotan, your colleagues do not seem to me to be up to much; it is
evident that they have never commanded a ship. That fool Chatillon gives them
a deuced bad fit of the shivers."
The Minister, in sign of denial, waved his paper-knife in the air above his
desk.
"Don't deny it," answered Vulcanmould. "You don't know how to get rid of
Chatillon. You do not dare to indict him before the High Court because you are
not sure of being able to bring forward a strong enough charge. Bigourd will
defend him, and Bigourd is a clever advocate. . . . You are right, M.
Barbotan, you are right. It would be a dangerous trial."
"Ah! my friend," said the Minister, in a careless tone, "if you knew how
satisfied we are. . . . I receive the most reassuring news from my prefects.
The good sense of the Penguins will do justice to the intrigues of this
mutinous soldier. Can you suppose for a moment that a great people, an
intelligent, laborious people, devoted to liberal institutions which. . ."
Vulcanmould interrupted with a great sigh:
"Ah! If I had time to do it I would relieve you of your difficulty. I would
juggle away my Chatillon like a nutmeg out of a thimble. I would fillip him
off to Porpoisia."
The Minister paid close attention.
"It would not take long," continued the sailor. "I would rid you in a trice of
the creature. . . . But just now I have other fish to fry. . . . I am in a bad
hole. I must find a pretty big sum. But, deuce take it, honour before
everything."
The Minister and the Under-Emiral looked at each other for a moment in
silence. Then Barbotan said with authority:
"Under-Emiral Vulcanmould, get rid of this seditious soldier. You will render
a great service to Penguinia, and the Minister of Home Affairs will see that
your gambling debts are paid."
The same evening Vulcanmould called on Chatillon and looked at him for some
time with an expression of grief and mystery.
"My do you look like that?" asked the Emiral in an uneasy tone.
Vulcanmould said to him sadly:
"Old brother in arms, all is discovered. For the past half-hour the government
knows everything."
At these words Chatillon sank down overwhelmed.
Vulcanmould continued:
"You may be arrested any moment. I advise you to make off."
And drawing out his watch:
"Not a minute to lose."
"Have I time to call on the Viscountess Olive?"
"It would be mad," said Vulcanmould, handing him a passport and a pair of blue
spectacles, and telling him to have courage.
"I will," said Chatillon.
"Good-bye! old chum."
"Good-bye and thanks! You have saved my life."
"That is the least I could do."
A quarter of an hour later the brave Emiral had left the city of Alca.
He embarked at night on an old cutter at La Cirque and set sail for Porpoisia.
But eight miles from the coast he was captured by a despatch-boat which was
sailing without lights and which was under, the flag of the Queen of the Black
Islands. That Queen had for a long time nourished a fatal passion for
Chatillon.
Read next: BOOK V - MODERN TIMES: CHATILLON#CHAPTER VII - CONCLUSION
Read previous: BOOK V - MODERN TIMES: CHATILLON#CHAPTER V - THE PRINCE DES BOSCENOS
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