The Parisians — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (best novels ever txt) 📕

“Forgive me, but you are not young; you belong to an old school.”

“Poor young man!” said Lebeau, readjusting his spectacles, “I recognise in you the genius of Paris, be the genius good or evil. Paris is never warned by experience. Be it so. I want you so much, your enthusiasm is so fiery, that I can concede no more to the mere sentiment which makes me say to myself, ‘It is a shame to use this great-hearted, wrong-headed creature for my personal ends.’ I come at once to the point—that is, the matter on which I seek you this evening. At my suggestion, you have been a ringleader in strikes which have terribly shaken the Imperial system, more than its Ministers deem; now I want a man like you to assist in a bold demonstration against the Imperial resort to a rural priest-ridden suffrage, on the part of the enlightened working class of Paris.”

“Good!” said Monnier.

“In a day or two the result of the plebiscite will be known. The result of universal suffrage will be enormously in favour of the desire expressed by one man.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Monnier, stoutly. “France cannot be so hoodwinked by the priests.”

“Take what I say for granted,” resumed Lebeau, calmly. “On the 8th of this month we shall know the amount of the majority—some millions of French votes. I want Paris to separate itself from France, and declare against those blundering millions. I want an emeute, or rather a menacing demonstration—not a premature revolution, mind. You must avoid bloodshed.”

“It is easy to say that beforehand; but when a crowd of men once meets in the streets of Paris—”

“It can do much by meeting, and cherishing resentment if the meeting be dispersed by an armed force, which it would be waste of life to resist.”

“We shall see when the time comes,” said Monnier, with a fierce gleam in his bold eyes.

“I tell you, all that is required at this moment is an evident protest of the artisans of Paris against the votes of the ‘rurals’ of France. Do you comprehend me?”

“I think so; if not, I obey. What we ouvriers want is what we have not got—a head to dictate action to us.”

“See to this, then. Rouse the men you can command. I will take care that you have plentiful aid from foreigners. We may trust to the confreres of our council to enlist Poles and Italians; Gaspard le Noy will turn out the volunteer rioters at his command. Let the emeute be within, say a week, after the vote of the plebiscite is taken. You will need that time to prepare.”

“Be contented—it shall be done.”

“Good night, then.” Lebeau leisurely took up his hat and drew on his gloves—then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he turned briskly on the artisan and said in quick blunt tones:

“Armand Monnier, explain to me why it is that you—a Parisian artisan, the type of a class the most insubordinate, the most self-conceited that exists on the face of earth—take without question, with so docile a submission, the orders of a man who plainly tells you he does not sympathise in your ultimate objects, of whom you really know very little, and whose views you candidly own you think are those of an old and obsolete school of political reasoners.”

“You puzzle me to explain,” said Monnier, with an ingenuous laugh, that brightened up features stern and hard, though comely when in repose. “Partly, because you are so straightforward, and do not talk blague; partly, because I don’t think the class I belong to would stir an inch unless we had a leader of another class—and you give me at least that leader. Again, you go to that first stage which we all agree to take, and—well, do you want me to explain more?”

“Yes.”

“Et bien! you have warned me, like an honest man; like an honest man I warn you. That first step we take together; I want to go a step further; you retreat, you say, ‘No:’ I reply you are committed; that further step you must take, or I cry ‘Traitre!—au la lanterne!’ You talk of ‘superior experience:’ bah! what does experience really tell you? Do you suppose that Philippe Egalite, when he began to plot against Louis XVI., meant to vote for his kinsman’s execution by the guillotine? Do you suppose that Robespierre, when he commenced his career as the foe of capital punishment, foresaw that he should be the Minister of the Reign of Terror? Not a bit of it. Each was committed by his use of those he designed for his tools: so must you be—or you perish.”

Lebeau, leaning against the door, heard the frank avowal he had courted without betraying a change of countenance. But when Armand Monnier had done, a slight movement of his lips showed emotion; was it of fear or disdain?

“Monnier,” he said, gently; “I am so much obliged to you for the manly speech you have made. The scruples which my conscience had before entertained are dispelled. I dreaded lest I, a declared wolf, might seduce into peril an innocent sheep. I see I have to deal with a wolf of younger vigour and sharper fangs than myself, so much the better: obey my orders now; leave it to time to say whether I obey yours later. Au revoir.”