On returning, I found a cord drawn across the street
in front of the barrack in the Rue Verte, and some
forty or fifty ill-dressed and riotous men assembled,
half-a-dozen of whom held the cord. Having approached
close to it, I paused, and, looking calmly at those
who held it, I appealed by looks to their politeness.
Some of them laughed aloud, and asked me if I could
not leap over the barrier that impeded my progress,
drawing the rope still higher while they spoke.
I answered, though I trembled at being exposed to
their rude mirth, and still more rude gaze, “That
I felt sure Frenchmen would not compel me to such
an unfeminine exertion, or give me cause to tell my
compatriots when I returned to England that deference
to women no longer existed in France.”
“Let her pass! let her pass!” exclaimed
nearly all the voices of the group; “she is
courageous, and she speaks rightly, Vivent les
Anglaises! Vivent les Anglaises!” and
the cord was instantly lowered to the ground, and
I hastily stepped over it, glad to get out of hearing
of the rough compliments bestowed on me.
My servant had attempted to address them before I
spoke, but they one and all assailed him with a torrent
of reproach, demanding if he was not ashamed to wear
a livery, the badge of servitude, when all his countrymen
were fighting for their liberty. I had again to
clamber over the barricade, assisted by my servant,
and, before I could cross the Rue St.-Honore, encountered
various groups of men rushing along, all of whom uttered
such invectives against my footman that I determined
not again to go out attended by this symbol of aristocracy.
On reaching my home, the porter observed, with a self-complacency
his prudence could not conceal, that he “knew
Madame la Comtesse had nothing to dread from the people,
they were brave and bons enfans, and would
not injure a lady;”—a commendation
that clearly indicated the state of his feelings.
CHAPTER XXIV.
I have observed a striking change in the manners of
the servants during the last three days. They
are more familiar, without, however, evincing the
least insolence; their spirits seem unusually exhilarated,
and they betray an interest in the struggle in which
the people are engaged that leaves no doubt as to
the side that excites their sympathy. Every rumour
of the success of the insurgents is repeated by them
with ill-suppressed animation and pleasure, and the
power of the people is exaggerated far beyond the
bounds of truth. I confess this folly on their
part annoys me, and the more especially as the class
to which they belong, are totally incapacitated by
ignorance from being able to comprehend even the causes
alleged for this popular outbreak.
Misguided men! can they hope that servitude will be
lightened by their being employed by some parvenus,
elevated from the dregs of the people by a revolution
which sets floating to the top the worst ingredients
of the reeking caldron from which it is formed, instead
of owning the more gentle and infinitely less degrading
sway of those born to, and accustomed to rule?
Copyrights
The Idler in France from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
